Page 192 of Private Lives

‘Taxi for Natasha?’ she whispered.

‘Hop in, love. Where to?’

‘London. Richmond.’

The cabby glanced in the mirror, then pulled the car away. As it built up speed, Anna felt her fast-beating pulse slow.

She took her mobile out of her bag and tapped in a message to Amir Khan, Andy’s investigator. Amir had asked her to tell him the moment she knew anything new. ‘Amy’s Peter is Peter Rees, COO of Dallincourt. Any use?’

She pressed ‘Send’ and sat back in the seat. The car was surrounded by blackness, only the occasional farm or house revealed by a gap in the trees. She tried to relax, but her body was still tense, her heart thumping with adrenalin. At the same time she felt strangely dejected, wrung out. In truth, she’d been lucky to get out of there in one piece – and for what? She had Peter’s name, she knew he had been with Amy, knew that the mention of her name had made him frightened and angry, but where did that really get her? She had to admit to herself that she hadn’t thought any of this through properly; she’d just been stumbling from clue to clue, hoping that the next one would reveal how Amy had really died. The reality was that she might well never know.

‘Look at this wanker behind us,’ said the cabby, shaking her from her thoughts. ‘Pissed, I bet you.’

She turned in her seat, but she could only see the too-bright full-beam headlights of a car coming up fast behind, dangerously close.

The cabby sounded his horn, but the car only seemed to get closer, the lights filling the taxi’s interior. Then Anna grabbed the door handle as she felt a bump behind her.

‘Christ!’ shouted the cabby. ‘What’s he doing?’

The car had pulled out and had drawn up against the side of them. It was a black SUV, but Anna couldn’t make out any driver or passenger, as the windows were tinted. She heard metal scrape against metal as it slammed against them.

‘Shit!’ cried the cabby as the SUV banged into them again, forcing them up on to an embankment, skidding to a halt. They both watched in disbelief as the red lights of the other car disappeared into the distance.

‘You all right, miss?’ said the driver, turning in his seat. ‘Did you get his plates?’

Anna shook her head.

‘Me neither,’ said the cabby bitterly. ‘There goes my bloody no-claims. What the hell was he playing at?’

But Anna knew exactly what the driver had been playing at, and she had no doubt what that little road race had meant. She had been well and truly warned.

60

‘You sure this is where you want to go, love? I thought you said Richmond.’ The cabby pulled up outside an anonymous-looking block of flats behind the Tate Modern.

‘This is just fine,’ said Anna, handing him a fistful of tenners.

‘Ride is on me, love.’

‘You sure?’

He nodded. She could tell he was relieved that she hadn’t taken his insurance details and done him for whiplash.

She looked down at Amir Khan’s address, which he had sent by text message. She had called him on the taxi ride home, partly because she was so shaken, and partly because she had become even more determined to nail Peter Rees for what he had done. If the car had slammed into her taxi intentionally, then Rees had sent it. Perhaps it had been because he was angry that she had run away from their bedroom tryst. Or perhaps it was because the mention of Amy Hart had rattled him. Why? Anna asked herself. Because he had something to do with Amy’s death?

She felt a shiver of worry for her own safety. Thankfully the South Bank was still busy, despite the late hour. Wanting to get off the street, she pressed the intercom of the building in front of her and was buzzed inside.

Inside, it was just as blank-looking as outside. Long cream corridors lit up by fluoro strip lights.

A door at the end of the corridor creaked open and made her jump.

‘You looking for me?’ Amir asked, smiling.

Relieved, she almost ran into his apartment.

‘Don’t creep up on me, I’m jumpy enough as it is.’

‘I hope you don’t mind coming to my flat after dark,’ he said politely. ‘But this is where I work most of the time.’