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in danger. We need to get upstairs and find them. You need to lead your team and we need to stop this man before he kills again.’
    Savage took a deep breath.
    ‘You’re right. We can do this,’ he said, reassuring himself. ‘You and I, we can do this. We were a good team when we worked together. Good cop, bad cop – in every sense of the word.’
    Roscoe offered a smile in an attempt to support his former colleague. Savage was right. This was a brutal attack, not something he had ever seen the like of before. And he knew they had to go to the Harlington family – whatever it meant they might discover. ‘We need to go upstairs now. We’ve got to go to twenty-five.’
    Savage called over two of the armed officers to accompany them up the building, leaving one officer to secure the scene. In silence they walked past the blood-soaked elevator, Roscoe pressing the call button for the neighbouring one. As the doors opened, the three men and one woman stepped inside.
    Journeying up through the building, Roscoe wondered what might greet them on the twenty-fifth floor. When the elevator doors finally opened, he led them out onto the hallway’s hand-woven Indian rug, weapon drawn. As he did so, he heard a desperate cry for help.
    It was coming from the Royal Garden Suite.

CHAPTER 12
    QUICKLY AND WITHOUT hesitation, Roscoe moved down the hallway, his position covered by the armed officers following close behind him. As he reached the door to the Royal Garden Suite, another terrified cry for help came from inside the room. He pushed at the door but found it securely locked. He reached for his access pass, only to realise he had left it with Anna. Immediately he grabbed a fire extinguisher from the hall, smashed the lock and then forced the door open.
    The living room and dining room were both deserted. Roscoe crossed to the entrance to the main bedroom and indicated to one of the officers to open the door as he and Savage covered him.
    Another piercing scream came from inside the room.
    The door swung open.
    Roscoe turned to Savage and quietly said, ‘Thank God for that.’
    Tied back to back on the bed were Jacqueline Harlington, the daughter of Jackson Harlington, and Oscar Miller. Miller had been struck on the head and blood had run down across his face. Both he and Jacqueline had been gagged but Jacqueline had worked her gag loose, making her the source of the cries for help. The police officers scanned the room as Roscoe pointed towards the closed bathroom door.
    ‘My mom’s in the bathroom,’ Jacqueline Harlington sobbed. ‘Be quick. You need to see if she’s okay.’
    Roscoe ran to the bathroom and threw open the door. Lying on the floor was Jocasta Harlington, her hands tied, her feet bound and a gag tightly wrapped around her mouth. Roscoe knelt on the bathroom floor, removing the gag and untying the ropes, which he saw had cut into her wrists.
    ‘Jacqueline?’ came the first cry from Jocasta.
    ‘It’s okay, Mom, I’m here. I’m okay.’
    ‘And Oscar?’
    ‘I’ll be fine,’ replied Oscar Miller, a little blearily but with nothing more than superficial injuries.
    ‘Thank you, God,’ cried Jocasta. ‘And thank you, Jon,’ she said, turning to Roscoe, the man who had headed her husband’s security team for the past two years.
    ‘Can you tell me what happened, Mrs Harlington?’ asked Roscoe.
    He helped Jocasta to her feet and supported her as she walked shakily into the bedroom. Jacqueline and Oscar Miller had been untied by the officers and Jocasta rushed across to hug her daughter.
    ‘I can see this has been a horrible ordeal, Mrs Harlington,’ persisted Roscoe, ‘but we need to know what happened.’
    ‘Jon, it was terrifying – horrendous. Jackson had invited Oscar to come up to the suite when he was ready.’ Jocasta suddenly stopped and turned to the police officers. ‘Jackson?’ she exclaimed. ‘Where’s Jackson? Jon, he took Jackson. Where’s my husband?’
    Stepping forward,