Usually, Robert opened the door almost as soon as the bell had sounded, but today there was no response. Maybe Robert was out, talking to a tyre company, negotiating a deal to get Lizzie back on the street.
Jake rang the bell again.
‘Come on, Robert,’ he muttered impatiently to himself. He didn’t fancy exposing himself on this doorstep for any longer than was necessary. With so many people after him, who knew who might be watching.
He gave a bang on the door with his knuckles. As he did, the door swung inwards. Immediately, Jake felt alarm bells ringing in his head. Why was the door unlocked? Jake stayed outside and peered into the house, into the long hallway, his ears straining for any sound.
‘Robert!’ he called.
There was no answer.
Something was wrong. Robert wouldn’t go out and leave his front door open and unlocked, he was far too careful for that.
‘Robert!’ Jake called again, louder this time.
There was still no answer.
Warily, Jake entered the house, all his senses alert for any sound or movement. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, adding to his feeling of controlled panic. Was there someone waiting for him, waiting to pounce? But if so, why wait? Surely they’d have come out at him already, as soon as he walked in.
The first door on his left was the small living room. Carefully, slowly, Jake put his fingertips against the door and pushed it open. Nothing happened. No one rushed out at him. He looked into the room. It was empty, everything was in its proper place, everything neat and tidy. No sign of any disturbance.
Jake moved back into the hallway and moved on, still quietly, still listening intently. Next was the kitchen. The door was already half open. Jake entered, and stopped dead, in shock. Robert was tied to a wooden chair, his clothes torn and stained with blood. Blood had run down from a gash on his scalp and was starting to congeal on Robert’s face. He was deathly still, only held upright by the ropes that tied him to the back of the chair.
Jake hurried over and put his fingers to Robert’s neck, and felt a faint pulse.
‘Robert!’ said Jake.
There was no response.
Jake looked at Robert’s bruised and battered face and felt a mixture of fury and nausea rise up in him. He pulled out his mobile and tapped out 999. Urgently, he gave Robert’s address to the operator.
‘He’s been attacked,’ he told her. ‘He needs an ambulance and paramedics urgently.’
‘Your name, please?’ asked the operator.
‘John Smith,’ replied Jake. ‘Please, hurry. He may be dying.’
Then he clicked off the phone and headed back out through the hallway and out to the street. There was nothing he could do for Robert right now. He didn’t know how badly he was damaged, what sort of internal injuries he might have. If Jake tried to take him out of the chair it might make them worse.
Jake crossed the road, walked along to a nearby bus stop and joined the short queue, his eyes on Robert’s house. All he could do for Robert was wait to make sure the paramedics turned up, and if they didn’t, phone again.
He stood at the bus stop for five minutes, checking his watch and getting more and more agitated as he waited for the emergency services to arrive, aware that every second that passed meant Robert could be slipping further into danger. Finally, he heard the sound of the sirens approaching, then an ambulance appeared at the far end of the street and screeched to a halt outside Robert’s house. A police car was close behind it.
Relieved, Jake waited until he saw the medics and police hurry into the house, then he slipped away from the crowd waiting for the bus and headed towards the tube station. Please let Robert be all right, he prayed silently. Let him live. Let him recover. Let him return to full health.
Whoever had done that to Robert had thought he had the book, or that he knew where it was. Who? Not the people that Andy had been hired by, surely. Andy had known that Jake had the book on him. Unless the people who had beaten up Robert had been looking for Jake and were trying to force Robert to tell them where Jake was.
At the thought of Robert, tied to the chair, bloody and unconscious, Jake shuddered. These people would stop at nothing. They wanted the book. If they caught him, they’d do the same to him as they’d done to Robert. He had to get the book to Michelle. There was no time to wait. He had to make sure she went public with it now.
He dialled Michelle’s number, but just got voicemail. Where was she? Why wasn’t she answering? The awful thought struck him that the people who’d beaten Robert up so badly had got to her. In which case, they could well be watching the offices of the magazine where she worked, waiting for him to show up.
I’m caught, he realised. I can’t go home. I can’t go to Michelle’s office. I can’t stay around Robert’s house.