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had he shuddered to think where it might have got him. Now, all these years later, despite the fact that Gatling’s name was virtually unknown to the public, there wasn’t a senior newspaper editor, high-ranking politician or top-level financier in London who wasn’t aware of exactly who he was. Each would have had to deal with him, and Colin knew only too well that Gatling’s unerring talent for never setting a challenge he couldn’t win or granting a favour without a high price was unparalleled. It was at the very core of his success, and what made him the single most powerful ally anyone at the top could have – or the very deadliest foe.
    The Special Branch detective kept his questions brief and to the point. Colin answered the same way. Yes, he did understand the concerns of their mutual friends. No, he had not seen anyone else in Sophie’s flat. Yes, he had gone there for sex. No, he hadn’t taken anyone into his confidence over matters regarding the syndicate. Not his wife. Nor his lawyers. No, Sophie hadn’t known anything either. Yes, he was sure. No, there was no one shecould have told. He had never discussed anything with her, so she had nothing to tell.
    The man hesitated. The air in the cell became clammier, edgier with tension, making it hard to breathe. Colin watched him, waiting, knowing there was more to come. He was at this man’s mercy. The rest of his life moved forward from here.
    The man’s eyes were like granite. Sweat trickled down Colin’s back.
    Then came the question that took the floor from under Colin’s world. If Sophie Long knew nothing, why had he killed her?
    Fear filled his head like a cloud of hot ash. He understood only too well what he was being told, and he had no words to protest.
    The man spoke briefly again, then he turned and left. As the door closed Colin’s breath was still skimming the top of his lungs. This was the first time the force of Gatling’s will had been levelled at him, and it was like standing in the path of a wrecking ball with his feet anchored to the ground. He was on his own now – the detective’s parting words had made that abundantly clear – and he knew very well that no one who could make a difference would be fool enough to run up against Gatling even if they wanted to. For one wild moment he considered making contact with Elliot Russell, perhaps the smartest reporter around, but not even Russell was going to take this on.
    So he had no friends in high places now, only enemies, and until he figured out how to fight this, the only way he was going to keep those he loved safe was to stay silent and take the rap.
    *
    Beth was in the basement kitchen of Charlie and Sandra Sheldon’s lavish Maida Vale mansion. It was still only eight in the morning, but Bruce and Charlie had left an hour ago, and Georgie’s mobile had already started ringing.
    The morning papers were spread out on the huge glass-topped dining table, where solid shafts of sunlight streamed in through the bay windows like spotlights on the many and various pictures of Colin and the cute, twenty-two-year-old Sophie Long. Every front page carried the story, the tabloids crowing with sanctimonious outrage at all its scandalous glory, while the broadsheets had taken a slightly more tempered, though none the less outspoken, approach. None was in any doubt of his guilt: he’d been caught red-handed and the only confusion seemed to be over whether or not he had denied it. Some papers claimed he had, while others were insisting he’d confessed either at the scene or under early interrogation. As for motive, the general opinion seemed to be that the evil Svengali, whose reputation as an adulterer and womanizer spanned at least two decades, had been systematically abusing his recently achieved power to seduce young girls with promises of high-paying jobs and the kind of flashy, celebrity-studded parties that would turn the head of anyone with a small income and social ambition. Where it