Forty-five. Jude

The night air had a surprising bite to it. So much for summer. It seemed to be passing me by. I zipped up my jacket and thrust my free hand further into my pocket.

'Hang on a minute, Morgan,' I said into my mobile phone.

I looked around, nervous as a rabbit in a fox's den, but I was in no danger here. The city centre was practically deserted and the few people who were milling around didn't want to linger too long because of the chill in the air.

'So did you do it?' Morgan asked again. 'Did you kill that girl like they're saying on the news?'

'How many times do I have to say no before you believe me?' I snapped.

'I wouldn't put it past you, Jude,' said Morgan.

'Thanks.'

'I mean it. You scare me sometimes and I know you. It wouldn't surprise me if the woman looked at you sideways twice and that's why you did her.'

I stopped walking and took the phone away from my ear at that. At that moment, if Morgan had been standing in front of me, I'd've decked him.

'It's nice to know who my friends are,' I told him pointedly. I still hadn't forgotten how Morgan had shacked up with my girlfriend, Gina. I didn't care about her so much, but I did care that he'd done that to me. Friends don't do that to other friends. Which just went to prove Jude's law number eight: There are no such things as friends. Just acquaintances who haven't let you down yet. With maybe a little of rule number three chucked in for good measure – Watch your back.

'I am your friend, Jude. You might not believe that, but it's true.'

'Is that right? So how's Gina?'

Morgan sighed. 'If it really bothers you that I'm with her, then I'll move on. Just say the word.'

He sounded like he meant it.

'You have to make up your own mind about what you want to do,' I told him. I certainly wasn't going to salve his guilty conscience for him. I didn't have enough salve to go around.

'I'll do that,' said Morgan. 'Look, did you know Cara Imega?'

'I might've done,' I replied.

'D'you know who killed her?'

I didn't answer.

'Well, whether or not you did it, you'd better keep your head lower than your heels for the next few months,' said Morgan.

'Now tell me something I don't know,' I said, irritated. 'And Morgan, just for the record – I didn't do it.'

And with that I ended the call. I kept telling myself that I'd done nothing wrong. I'm a freedom fighter. Sometimes we have to do whatever is required by any means necessary. But each time I tried to convince myself of that, the words rang out loud and hollow, clanging like a relentless bell. I looked around again. Ever since the police had issued a Photofit of me and announced my real name to the world, I'd been like a cat dancing on hot coals. I knew it was only a matter of time before they matched up the fingerprints found in Cara's house to the fingerprints they had of me on file. But the delay in announcing my involvement with Cara had foolishly raised my hopes. I'd begun to think that I might just get away with it. I should've known better. So now I'm having to keep my head not just down but out. Out of the spotlight. Out of everyone's gaze. I was holed up in a cheap hotel and I lived like some kind of bat, only coming out at night to lurk in doorways and shadows where my face couldn't be seen.

Which suited me just fine.

Cara was yesterday. I still had today and tomorrow to sort out. For all my plotting and planning and scheming, I was still no closer to exposing Andrew Dorn for the blanker traitor he was. I hadn't even worked out how to do it. I couldn't let them catch me now. I still had so much to do. After pushing my mobile phone deep into my jacket pocket, I rubbed my hands together. Strange, but no matter what I did these days, I was always chilly. Even though it was late summer and supposed to be quite warm, my hands and feet were frequently unpleasantly cold.

'Hello, Jude . . .'

At the sound of my name, I swung round, groaning inwardly a split second later when I realized I'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book. My hand flew towards my jacket pocket – but I was too late. At least eight armed dagger cops sprang out of the doorways and from behind cars and I was surrounded.

'HANDS IN THE AIR. DO IT!'

I stood still, wondering how many of them I could take out before they blew my head off. There was a gun in my jacket pocket; it was on the inside and my hands were on the outside. Could I do it? Should I go for it?

'LIE DOWN ON THE GROUND. NOW!'

Maybe I could get the three directly in front of me, and with luck the one to my left. With an inner sigh, I decided that it was unlikely I'd even get my gun out. I reluctantly knelt down on the ground.

'HANDS IN THE AIR. LIE DOWN. WE WON'T TELL YOU AGAIN.'

Slowly, I raised my arms to about shoulder height. I lay down by falling forward, but making sure my hands hit the ground first. Immediately about four of the daggers jumped on me, wrenching my arms behind my back and handcuffing me. Someone kicked me in the side for good measure. Hands were all over me, searching my pockets, moving up and down my legs and taking both the gun and the knife I kept in its sheath in my left sock. The handcuffs were tight. My arms were being pulled back so hard I thought both my shoulders were going to dislocate. I was yanked to my feet and bundled into the back of a police car with a dagger cop on either side of me.

'You're going to swing for this, McGregor,' said the cop to my left. 'Just like your raping, murdering brother. Must be something bad in your blood.'

'Sod you,' I hissed at him.

He punched me in the mouth, wincing almost as much as I did. I could taste blood in my mouth where he'd split my Up. I watched with appreciation as he had to rub his hand afterwards. The pain in my Up was almost worth it.

'This one will definitely hurt you more than it hurts me,' he said. And he pushed my head forward before punching me in my side – the same side that one of them had kicked just moments earlier. I groaned, much to his satisfaction.

'That's enough, Powell,' said the dagger on the other side of me.

'He deserves it.'

'That's for a court to decide, not you,' the other dagger said.

'You're such a bleeding heart,' Powell said with disgust.

The other dagger turned to look out of the window. I leaned back, knowing that this was it. They'd caught me – and I was as good as dead already.