He realised that he was lying across the front pa.s.senger seat, his bare legs crumpled against the dashboard.

'Can you move?' said Wilfreda.

'Uh ...'

'Are you okay?' a breathless voice inquired. It was coming from far away. From outside the car. 'What happened? Oh my G.o.d a '

'It's all right,' said Nikolai, coolly. 'We're all fine.'

'But a '

'She knocked the gearstick,' Nikolai explained, while Cadel struggled to rearrange his legs and sit up. He felt a bit dizzy, and his wrist hurt. He couldn't put any weight on it.

'Ouch!' he croaked.

'Do you want me to call an ambulance?' Someone was peering in through the front pa.s.senger window a a young man with a beard. He was barely visible in the murky light.

'We're fine,' said Wilfreda. 'We'll take care of it.'

'Are you sure? Because a '

'I'm sure. Thanks.' The Daihatsu's engine was still running. Wilfreda hauled at its wheel and began to guide the car back onto the road. The bearded young man had to jump aside. Something clanked as they bounced over a ditch and across the gravel-strewn shoulder. But nothing fell off. 'He's got a b.l.o.o.d.y cell phone,' said Nikolai, looking back. 'He's reading our licence.' 'It's okay.' Wilfreda was scrabbling around for her mobile phone. 'Just look after Cadel.'

'How can I?'

'Get him in the back with you, stupid! Make sure he lies down!'

'Ow-augh!' Busy suddenly groaned. 'My neck.'

'Shut up!' snapped Wilfreda.

Cadel was beginning to understand what had happened. They had swerved off the road but hadn't hit anything. Someone behind them had pulled over to help. Wilfreda had left the scene as quickly as possible.

And Cadel had lost his chance, too dazed to manage an escape attempt.

Even now, he wasn't quite himself.

'I'm going to be sick,' he moaned, and vomited onto the floor.

'Oh, Christ,' said Wilfreda into her mobile. 'h.e.l.lo? Who's that? Lennox? Oh. Well, I need a pick-up now, I'm in a dead car and I've got cargo. Forget that, it's solved. It's sorted. Yes! Well, use the b.l.o.o.d.y ute, then, just get up here with it! I don't know, behind Yorkie's? Okay. Okay, good.' She signed off with a curse. 'What a shambles. n.o.body seems to know what the h.e.l.l is going on.'

Cadel allowed himself to be dragged, awkwardly, into the back seat. He had lost Nikolai's sungla.s.ses. He felt something trickling down his forehead: blood, perhaps? Nikolai pressed a handkerchief to the wound.

'Lie down,' he ordered. 'Stretch out. Put your head here.'

'Is he hurt bad?' Busy wanted to know. 'If he is, we're dead.'

'Shut up!' spat Wilfreda. 'He's fine! He'll be fine!'

'He was out,' said Nikolai gravely. 'Out cold. That's not good.'

'He was out for five seconds. That's nothing.'

'You should call a doctor.'

'I will. When we get there.'

Cadel's mind was beginning to clear. He understood, when Wilfreda pulled off the road and parked, that they were waiting for another car a a car that wouldn't attract unwelcome attention on the highway. With his head cradled in Nikolai's lap, Cadel couldn't see where they were waiting, except that it was dark. Nikolai refused to let him sit up.

'Not until you must,' said Nikolai.

'But I feel all right,' Cadel protested. 'I feel better . . .'

'No more risks. Not now.'

'You've caused enough trouble,' Busy interjected, in bitter accents. 'Can't you just do what you're told?'

Cadel decided not to argue the point with his companions. He was lucky; it hadn't even crossed their minds that he had nudged the gearstick on purpose. If he was obedient, the possibility might never occur to them.

So he lay quietly, trying to plan ahead. After about half an hour of tense silence, he heard a vehicle pull up somewhere nearby. Wilfreda murmured something under her breath. There was a fusillade of slamming doors. Nikolai said: 'Can you get up? Cadel?'

'I a I don't know.' Cadel had decided to fake severe injury.

It was, he thought, a way of tipping the balance in his favour. If he looked ill enough, they might underestimate him. 'I feel dizzy.'

'Wilfreda? Did you hear that?'

'I heard,' said Wilfreda, shortly. She sounded to Cadel as if she was outside the car. 'You'd better carry him. Busy? Help Nikolai.'

I can't,' whined Busy. 'My neck . . .'

'Oh for Chrissake! Len, you do it.'

Through half-closed eyes, Cadel saw a wiry little man with a crooked nose and a huge Adam's apple thrust his bald head into the car. He took hold of Cadel's legs, and he and Nikolai awkwardly transferred Cadel from the red Daihatsu to the elevated cabin of a white utility truck. As they did so, Cadel took in his surroundings from beneath drooping eyelids. He couldn't see much, in the evening dimness. He thought there might be a fence on one side of him, and a eucalyptus sapling on the other. Beyond the eucalypt was a kind of shadowy dip a a culvert? a and beyond it a two-storey building studded with glowing security lights. A faded sign on this building said: 'Brakes a Wheel alignment a Spare parts'.

'Where are we supposed to sit?' Busy demanded, gazing at the ute.

'You're not,' said Wilfreda. 'There's no room. I'll take the ute. The rest of you can make your own way back.'

'What?'

'Yorkie might let you borrow one of his cars,' Wilfreda went on, climbing into the ute beside Cadel. 'Or you can nick one.' 'But a ' 'My advice is to get rid of that Daihatsu quick smart.' Cadel almost felt sorry for the three men left standing in the cloud of dust that was left behind as Wilfreda drove away. Almost, but not quite. He was too worried about his own immediate plans to concern himself with theirs. Although he was now sitting right beside a door, that door was much higher off the ground than the taxi's doors had been. Jumping out at a red light would therefore be rather more dangerous. After his disastrous attempt to disable the Daihatsu, he wondered if he should risk tangling with another moving vehicle.

Probably not.

So he concentrated on looking sick. It wasn't hard. His head still hurt where he'd b.u.mped it, and he thought that he'd probably sprained his wrist. Slumped against the pa.s.senger-side window, he moaned occasionally, and let his lips go dry. Once or twice, Wilfreda addressed him.

'Cadel? You still with me? Hang in there, kid.'

'I want to lie down.'

'You will. In a minute. We're not far away.'

She was right. It didn't seem all that long before they pa.s.sed through the gates to Curramulla, and were b.u.mping along Thaddeus's private road. When they reached the house, Wilfreda pulled up right next to the front steps.

Cadel saw the car immediately. Abraham's car.

Gazo's car.

It was parked under one of the windows, which blazed with light. The whole house was lit up, keeping the night at bay. 'What a what a ?' Cadel stammered. He couldn't believe it.

Abraham's car?

'Dammit,' Wilfreda muttered. 'Where is everyone? Cadel? We're home.'

Cadel tried not to wince. Home? What a terrible thought! 'That car,' he said. 'Why a why is it here?'

'Huh? Oh.' Wilfreda shot the Cortina a careless glance. 'Your friend brought it when he rescued Vadi.'

'When he what?' Cadel couldn't believe his ears.

'Come on. Out.'

'But what happened?' As Wilfreda hopped from her seat and came around to his side of the ute, Cadel pressed her for an explanation. 'Are you talking about Gazo? The guy in the s.p.a.cesuit?'

'That's the one.'

'But a '

'He was watching your house, apparently.' Wilfreda opened the car door, and helped Cadel down. 'Don't ask me why. Worried about you, he said. Maybe Dr Roth didn't tell him you were all right a he has a lot on his mind, has Dr Roth.'

'So a so Gazo was there when the police raided us?'

'Vadi spotted him. Vadi had to move fast, with the cops swarming around. He jumped into your friend's car. Made him come back here.' Wilfreda peered into Cadel's face. 'You feeling better, now?'

'Not really.' Remembering that he was supposed to be con-cussed, Cadel hung off Wilfreda, dragging his feet as they slowly climbed the stairs to the front door. His mind was whirring. If Gazo was around a why, he had an ally! Unless he had underestimated Gazo. Perhaps Wilfreda had lied. Perhaps Gazo, too, was one of Thaddeus's creatures.

'I'll take you straight up to your bedroom,' Wilfreda gasped. 'Then I'll get some help. h.e.l.lo? Dammit.'

No one answered her hail. So she unlocked the door and entered the house, which, though well lit, was apparently unoccupied. Cadel's heart began to beat more quickly. If she left him here, and went to get help . . . why, he could walk straight out again! Walk straight out and take the truck!

He had never driven a ute before a he had never even driven a car before a but he knew all about it, in theory. He understood engines better than most people. Surely it couldn't be too hard?

'Here,' said Wilfreda, having heaved him upstairs and into his bedroom. The bed had been remade. The photograph of Cadel's mother was still sitting between the lamp and the clock. Wilfreda turned on the lamp. She let Cadel fall onto a luxurious stack of pillows propped against the bed-head. She pulled off his shoes, hoisting up his long skirt to do so. 'Now just lie still,' she said. 'There's bound to be someone around here somewhere a this place is supposed to have twenty-fouraseven security. I shouldn't be long.'

And she disappeared.

Cadel waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded into silence. Then he got up and put his shoes back on. Their rubbery soles squeaked a little against the parquet floor of the hallway, but not enough to concern him too much. Every few steps he would stop and listen, but he couldn't hear anything except the distant pulse of the tide, and the ticking of a nearby clock. The only thing moving was a gauze curtain, which fluttered in a sea-breeze at the end of the corridor.

Coast's clear, Cadel thought, and swallowed. Shaking with nervous tension, he began to tip-toe down the sweeping staircase.

He was almost at the bottom when the living-room door burst open, and Thaddeus Roth emerged.

FIFTY-FIVE.

Thaddeus saw Cadel and froze. For a moment they stared at each other.

Then Thaddeus staggered.

'Elspeth?' he hissed. 'But you're dead! I saw you a '

He stopped suddenly but it was too late.

Cadel already knew.

'You killed her,' he gasped.

'Cadel?'

'You killed my mother.' It was all so clear. Cadel had seen Thaddeus's expression. He had heard the anger and the fear and the hatred in Thaddeus's voice.

'Cadel, my G.o.d!' The psychologist stepped forward. 'You escaped?'

'Get away from me!'

'Listen, Cadel a '

Cadel turned and bolted up the stairs. He intended to lock himself in his bedroom. But Thaddeus had longer legs than he did.

Cadel didn't even make it to the first landing.

'Wait! Cadel!'

'Let go!' Almost crazed with fear and revulsion, Cadel lashed out. He strained against the psychologist's grip. 'I hate you! I hate you!'

'Cadel a '

'I know what happened!' cried Cadel. He kicked and clawed, exploding against the months and months of endless surveillance, the lying, the manipulation. 'You were afraid, so you killed her! You sc.u.m! You murderer! You've made me a murderer!'

'Shh. Calm down.' 'You s.h.i.t!' Cadel spat, tears of rage and sorrow spilling from his eyes. 'You lying sc.u.mbag! You lied to me, Prosper!' The psychologist blinked, and stared. He opened his mouth. Before he could speak, however, someone else did.

'Hey.'