When it was finally done, Wayne headed home, where he hunched over the toilet bowl for a few minutes, trying to puke up the broiling nastiness in the pit of his belly. But it wouldn't come. It was almost as if his own body were punishing him for what he had done. Eventually he gave up and went into the kitchen. There, the crumpled sheet of paper with the address and phone number on it was still staring at him from the counter.

Without thinking, Wayne grabbed it and fished his phone out of his pocket. He began to dial.

But before he could hit the 'call' button, the phone began to vibrate in his hand. An incoming call.

"Fucking hell," he said. Then he answered.

"Wayne?"

"What is it, Yuri?"

"My father wishes to meet with you. It is a matter of some delicacy."

"What, now?"

"If not now, when?"

"It's just... I'm a bit busy at the moment."

Yuri's voice grew disconcertingly soft and icy. "Wayne, I would advise you to attend this meeting."

"Alright. Where?"

"Blackfriars Railway Bridge."

The answer surprised Wayne. Typically, whenever the old Russian wanted to see him, he was summoned out to the countryside under cover of darkness. A daylight meeting, in a public place? This was unusual. Troublingly so. Wayne would need to keep his wits about him.

He decided to swap cars – the Range Rover was still muggy with the stench of dried blood. Instead he opted for the Porsche. With the top down, he drove back into London. He let the cool breeze wash over him and tried to clear his head. He parked in a little tucked-away spot he knew about not far from the bridge. Then he headed along the riverside and mounted the steps which led into Blackfriars Station. He bought a ticket – which was the only way he could get through the turnstiles – and headed along the platform.

*

Edwards puffed as he clambered up the steps into the station. He was getting old and fat, he knew it. But he wasn't done just yet. He still had his brain, which was all he needed. Throughout the morning, he had been getting increasingly suspicious of Wayne Carter. But he couldn't just go to David with suspicions. That was the way to end up dead in a ditch somewhere. After all, David Carter had a bad habit of shooting messengers. But if he found proof, then he'd be able to do the boss man a favour. And that could prove very valuable indeed. Maybe he'd even be able to contemplate retirement a few years earlier than anticipated.

He bought himself a ticket and made his way through the midday crowds along the platform. Wayne Carter slowed his pace, so Edwards did, too. Wayne appeared to be looking for someone. Was this a clandestine meeting with his contact in the Popov organisation? Edwards felt a flutter of excitement. He'd long ago lost any real sense of enjoyment in his day job, but for the first time in many years, he felt it creeping back. He was making headway. Getting things done.

Wayne scanned the crowd carefully. A train had just rolled in, so people were beginning to disperse. Wayne kept his eyes peeled. The hiss of the train's automatic doors and the fuzzy burble of the PA system seemed to echo around him. What was he doing here? What was it all about? If he'd been in his right mind, he might have stopped to ask himself some of these questions. But he was in that manic fugue state that had taken over him in the aftermath of his injury. He was in limbo. He didn't know what to do for the best. And so he went along with the ebb and flow of the crowd.

That's when he spotted a familiar face at the other end of the platform. It was not Mikhail – in fact it was Yuri. The suave psychopath who had butchered Chloe and the others. Wayne slowed his pace. Mikhail was nowhere in sight.

Wayne felt a pang of fear. Why had they brought him here, out into the open? Here, of all places?

By now the crowd was beginning to thin out as travellers continued to board the waiting train. Soon they would all be on board and being borne across London to God knows where. The platform continued to empty as Wayne drew nearer to Yuri.

Yuri was gazing in his direction with a faint smile. But he was not looking directly at Wayne. In fact, he seemed to be staring at something over his shoulder. Something approaching behind him.

With another hiss and another burble from the PA system, the train doors slithered shut, leaving only a handful of people on the platform. All men. All in black leather jackets, in spite of the warmth of the station. The train rumbled lazily away and Wayne finally realised he had walked into a trap.

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"What's this about?" He snapped.

"I'm sorry, Wayne," said Yuri, "I had to bring you here under false pretences. My father doesn't know about this meeting. And I know you're not going to tell him."

"If you hurt me," Wayne said, "you'll fucking regret it. All of you." He cast his gaze around at the other men, who were all beginning to form a semi-circle to block his escape.

"Nothing to be frightened of, Wayne," Yuri said. He spoke in a chillingly reasonable tone of voice that was also horrifyingly unconvincing. "This was simply an experiment. I had a suspicion that I wished to confirm. Tell me, Wayne, were you aware that a man by the name of Edwards has been following you for the last few days?"

"What?"

Yuri stepped close to him, so they were almost nose to nose. "I would advise you to keep your voice down, my friend. He is on a bench just over there."

*

What was going on now? Edwards slumped on a bench and grabbed a free Metro newspaper. They were all converging on Wayne. Was this going to turn ugly? Edwards looked up and down the platform and noticed for the first time just how empty it was. What exactly had he wandered into? What was going to happen now?

And did it really matter? Edwards had all the proof he needed now. He had seen Wayne Carter engaging in a secret meeting with Yuri Popov. Slowly, subtly, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his jacket and emerged with his mobile phone. With a flick of his thumb, he activated the camera and angled the lens towards the group at the other end of the platform. They weren't looking. No one had noticed him. He was perfectly safe.

*

"You should look over your shoulder from time to time, Wayne," Yuri advised. He spoke like an elder passing on his wisdom to a young initiate. "You might be surprised at what is creeping up behind you."

Wayne didn't say anything. He was rooted to the spot.

"He works for your father, of course. But it appears that he has grown suspicious of you and has been gathering information to present to Mr. Carter. I presume you had no idea of any of this?"

Wayne shook his head.

"Good. That was my suspicion, but I wished to confirm it. Hence the cloak and dagger nature of this meeting. The next train arrives in six minutes. Feel free to get on it, or not get on it. That's up to you. But there is an interesting fact about that particular bench on which Inspector Edwards is sitting. Due to a technical failure, it is in a CCTV black spot. Whatever happens to him now, there will be no record of it."

Wayne couldn't bring himself to meet the Russian's eye. "Just get on with it," he said.

Yuri grinned. "I'm glad we have your blessing. Not that we needed it, of course. But it's nice to have. After all, I value you as a friend, Wayne."

A chill ran down Wayne's spine. This man was like a shop mannequin. Just a shape in a suit, devoid of humanity. The idea of him valuing anyone as a friend was absurd.

Things happened very quickly after that. Wayne simply stood and watched as the semicircle of assailants converged on Edwards, who seemed to realise a moment too late that it was him and not Wayne who was their target. Then they were on him.

One of the men emerged with a phone that Wayne assumed belonged to Edwards. He dropped it onto the platform and crushed it beneath his boot. Then he patiently and meticulously scooped the fragments into a clear plastic bag.

Yuri slipped an arm through Wayne's in a kind of parody of affection. He leaned close and almost whispered: "There are two ways we can do this. Either we proceed quietly, or else we send a message. Just like the Linleys. Which do you suggest?"

Wayne stood, petrified at the very mention of the Linleys.

“You don’t need to worry about witnesses,” Yuri continued. “They’re already taken care of. The poor man committed suicide – everyone saw it. The question is, how did he do it? Did he step off the platform in front of the train? Or did he do something a little more… ostentatious?”

Still, Wayne did not answer.

"Yes," said Yuri, "I agree. It's always best to send a message." He gave the men a nod and they heaved the bucking and kicking Edwards off the bench and carried him to the edge of the bridge. Looping a length of cord around his throat and tethering the other end of it to the handrail, they swiftly heaved him over the side.

Wayne did not see the man fall, but all the same he convinced himself that he heard the sickening crack of bone as Inspector Edwards's neck snapped.

Then all at once the men scattered in all directions, as though this were some kind of well-rehearsed dance. The conclave dispersed just as swiftly as it had convened. Wayne looked and saw that Yuri was heading at a leisurely pace towards the exit. A train lumbered to a halt beside the platform and the next clutch of commuters began spilling out, chatting and grumbling and fiddling with their phones. It was as if that brief flash of violence had been a figment of Wayne's imagination.

And yet the cord, tethered to the handrail, was still in his line of sight. He was almost tempted to sidle over and check whether there really was a corpse hanging from the other end of it. But he knew he had to get out of there. The corpse of a police inspector swinging from Blackfriars Rail Bridge was not exactly something you could sweep under the rug.

Immediately conscious of just how shifty he looked, Wayne ducked onto the train and found himself a seat. He kept his eyes focused dead ahead as he counted the seconds until it carried him away from the scene of this new atrocity. Things had gone so far out of control. It was terrifying. Monstrous. Without thinking, he fished a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Murmurs and disapproving looks from the other passengers eventually reached his ears and he hastily stubbed it out. This was all wrong. All wrong.

Burying his hands in his pockets, his fingers curled around the sheaf of paper. He must have brought it with him without realising. He took it out and unfolded it. The familiar name and the unfamiliar address. His mother was out there somewhere. She had been for all these years.

That's when Wayne realised that the train was heading in the vague direction of her home. If he stayed on it long enough, he would arrive within two miles of the address. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.