He held the paper between his fingers just out of my reach. A carrot on a stick. ‘Ms Kilkenny, please proceed with the utmost discretion. Any harassment of witnesses or underhand dealings could seriously compromise my client and adversely affect the outcome of his trial. My client has been charged with a heinous crime, and he will be tried under the criminal justice system. I am a qualified solicitor working within that system. I cannot pretend that I am happy that Mr Wallace has seen fit to employ your services.’ There was a ring of malice in his tone of voice. I was rubbish. ‘My experience is that unqualified amateurs, albeit well-intentioned, can rarely contribute anything of value and all too often do harm where they would wish to do good.’
My cheeks were burning. I breathed in and out very slowly and studied a mole to the left of his nose. He passed me the piece of paper.
‘Goodbye, Mr Pitt.’
‘Ms Kilkenny.’
My restraint broke as I barrelled along Deansgate towards the station. ‘Arrogant bastard. Prat. Who the hell does he think he is?’ I muttered and cursed. People gave me a wide berth. I didn’t care. It had taken all my control not to rise to Pitt’s bait, not to argue the toss or try and needle him as he had me, but I couldn’t jeopardise the job like that. He had the power to withhold the information I wanted. Oh, probably not for ever. I could have got Luke to request it in writing, or even found the addresses a more convoluted way, but time was flying by and my pride had to be sacrificed to the urgency of the job in hand.
My mobile rang when I was halfway across town heading for the buses at Piccadilly Gardens. It was Debbie Gosforth. The stalker was back.
There’s a black Hackney-cab stand near the statue of Queen Victoria. I asked the driver to drop me at the bottom of Chorlton Green. From there I could walk along Debbie’s street. I needed a way to loiter without looking suspicious. Nothing occurred during the journey. The driver chatted about the Euro 96 results. I was aware that the Championship was on and that Manchester was full of European football supporters, but I hadn’t joined Ray in watching any of the matches on the television.
The sun was hot but there was a light breeze, just enough to stir the branches of the trees on the main road. There was no one about on Debbie’s street and I felt conspicuous as I walked along.
He was there. My heart kicked in my chest. I stopped to tie my lace before I got too close. Debbie’s description had been accurate. Slim, dark hair, probably late thirties or early forties. In his suit he looked like a displaced bank clerk or estate agent. Presumably he didn’t have a regular job if he turned up at all times of the day and night.
