Release me. Now. Or I ire going to call the police." "What's in the bottle?" said John, moving closer. "I mean, what's in the glass in front of you?" I looked down. I was holding a piece of paper, an A5 sheet about the size of a postcard. I glanced at it. "Nothing important. It's nothing." I shoved the sheet into my pocket. John reached into the inner pocket of his coat and brought out his gun. "Let's start again. Where's Ginny?" "Ginny? Ginny's not here." "The other one. The one I saw at your office." "She's dead," said Tom. "She's dead and Ginny's dead." He paused. "What have you done with them?" "I haven't done anything. I'm just trying to save my daughter. It's you who's done something." "Save my daughter?" said Tom. "How?" "We might be able to help each other. I'm willing to listen to you. We might find Ginny." "You need to talk to me now." "But—" "I haven't got time for you to stall and argue." "I'm not arguing. I'm not stalling. It's—" "Where's the child?" said John, moving closer, almost in his brother's face. He was shouting now. I felt very afraid, but there was something much more worrying than the anger of two angry men. They were both looking at the kitchen table. "What are you doing?" said Tom. "I think the question is what are you doing?" "What I'm doing? I'm being held at gunpoint." "You've got me wrong. I'm not threatening you. I'm asking you a question. Where's the child? The little girl. I'm not here to hurt you, but if you don't answer me I'll have to." "I don't know where she is," said Tom. "You've been lying to me for years. You've got me wrong." "No, I haven't got you wrong. I haven't lied to you. I've been looking for her. That's all I've done. I've been looking for her. But they've got her. And I don't know where she is." John stared at him. "I don't think so," said Tom. "You're not telling me the truth. But I'll let that pass. Who are you?" "My name's Tom." "Okay, Tom. Now I want you to explain to me. In your own words. Tell me about the little girl. About Ginny and your daughter. Where are they? Where have they got them? Tell me what they've done to them. I want to hear it from you. I need you to understand why I'm doing what I'm doing. So I need you to tell me. Tell me what they've done." "They killed her. The little one. Ginny. Ginny killed her." "What?" "That's what they did. Ginny shot her. And my name's— Tom. And the only thing I have left is this." "No!" "No?" said John. "No? I'm not going to listen to you." "You're going to have to," said Tom. "Where are they? Where have they got them?" "They've got them in that bedroom, on the other side of the house." "Oh no," said John. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no. No! You're not telling me. They can't have. Ginny—Oh no. Oh no. My baby. My baby." His scream was ear-piercing. It echoed against the walls. He dropped his gun. He bent over, collapsing to his knees. His face was buried in his hands. He was a man who I had trusted. But he hadn't been the father of this little girl. # Chapter Sixty-Five I looked at Tom. "I haven't got time for this," said John. He lifted his head and glared at Tom. "What's going on? You've got to help me, Tom. You've got to talk to me. What's going on?" "They'll kill me," said Tom. John pulled himself to his feet. His face was grim and set. "Where are they? Where is it? What do you need?" "I told you. She's got my daughter. They've got her, don't you understand? She's my daughter. Ginny killed her. Now they've got her. I'm not lying to you. It's true. Now I'm not lying to you." John looked stunned. "What? What are you saying? What are you talking about?" "My daughter," said Tom. He spoke to John's back, his voice hollow with despair. "My daughter. She's not dead. He killed her. It's your fault. Your fault." John turned round. His face was as pale as Tom's. He couldn't seem to form any words. "I'm not lying. You'd better believe me. She's my daughter. The little girl. I've been looking for her. They've got her. And they're going to kill me if I don't get her back. And you. You're going to get them too. We need to find them. You and me. We need to find Ginny and get my daughter back." John looked at him. It was a long moment. He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't say anything. He shook his head. He looked at the table, then the window, then back at Tom. He shook his head. "Then you don't understand what I've done to get her back," said Tom. "To save her. They're going to kill me. I can't get Ginny." John looked at me. "You should listen to him. It's the truth. He's not lying. You should listen to him." I felt bewildered. I wasn't sure what to say. John seemed to think that what Tom had said made sense. His mind was working quickly, jumping from one idea to the next. He was starting to believe it. "Okay, you want to find her. But we can't go to that house. We can't. They're not there. They've gone. There's nothing left. So what are we going to do?" John said, "You knew about Ginny. You must have known where Ginny lived. Where they lived. You kept saying she was important." "You lied to me, you bastard." "Ginny? Ginny's her mother?" "Yes." "We can't go to her house. There's no point." "Don't you see? We need to find her. And her. If we don't do this, they'll kill me. She's my daughter. I need to take care of her. I can't let them kill her. If they killed Ginny, they're going to do it again. If I don't get her back. You understand that, don't you? They might have killed her already. I don't know. They might have already got her." John stared at me. He took my hands in his. "What do you want? You're saying that there's another house somewhere. I don't know where. Or how you found out. But you've got to tell me. We can't do anything until we know." I couldn't answer. John said, "I don't know why they're going to kill me, but we need to find them. We need to find Ginny. Don't you understand? And what we can do about her, I don't know either. We need to find her. I can't do anything without Ginny. She's my daughter. I need to get her back." "You can't. She's already dead. She was already dead when she came to your house. You knew she wasn't alive. Ginny killed her. The same Ginny who did this." John turned around and pointed at his own neck. He looked at me. I saw his eyes narrowing. I saw his finger pointing at his neck. I was confused. I looked from one of them to the other. "What did you say?" I said. "Ginny killed her," said John, in a flat, bitter voice. "Ginny killed her. Look, it's true. We're not making it up. We're not lying to you. It was Ginny. It was Ginny who did it. We know all about her. We know about her. We know how she kills. We know why she kills." "But you've got to tell me," said Tom. I turned to him. "Who are you talking about?" "There's only