Set in Darkness Read Online Free PDF

quietly.
    ‘Could be worse, I suppose.’ Sandra studied her reflection. ‘I could always be pregnant, couldn’t I?’
    Her rapist had worn a condom, leaving no semen for the labs to analyse. They’d run checks on sex offenders, ruled out a slew of interviewees. Sandra had gone through the picture books, a gallery of misogyny. Just looking at their faces was enough to give some women nightmares. Bedraggled, vacuous features, dull eyes, weak jaws. Some victims who’d gone through the process . . . they’d hadunasked questions, questions Clarke thought she could phrase along the lines of:
Look at them, how could we let them do this to us? They’re the ones who look weak
.
    Yes, weak at the moment of photographing, weak with shame or fatigue or the pretence of submission. But strong at the necessary moment, the crackling moment of hate. The thing was, they worked alone, most of them. The second man, the accomplice . . . Siobhan was curious about him. What did he get out of it?
    ‘Seen anyone you fancy?’ Sandra was asking now. Her lipstick trembled slightly as she applied it.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Got someone at home?’
    ‘You know I haven’t.’
    Sandra was still watching her in the mirror. ‘I only know what you’ve told me.’
    ‘I told you the truth.’
    Long conversations, Clarke setting aside the rule book and opening herself to Sandra, answering her questions, stripping away her police self to reveal the person beneath. It had begun as a trick, a ploy to win Sandra over to the scheme. But it had evolved into something more, something real. Clarke had said more than she’d needed to, much more. And now it seemed Sandra hadn’t been convinced. Was it that she didn’t trust the detective, or was it that Clarke had become part of the problem, just someone else Sandra could never wholly trust? After all, they hadn’t known one another until the rape; would never have met if it hadn’t happened. Clarke was here at the Marina, looking like Sandra’s friend, but that was another trick. They weren’t friends; probably would never be friends. A vicious assault had brought them together. In Sandra’s eyes, Clarke would always remind her of that night, a night she wanted to forget.
    ‘How long do we have to stay?’ she was asking now.
    ‘That’s up to you. We can leave any time you like.’
    ‘But if we do, we might miss him.’
    ‘Not your fault, Sandra. He could be anywhere. I just felt we had to give it a try.’
    Sandra turned from the mirror. ‘Half an hour more.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I promised my mum I’d be home by twelve.’
    Clarke nodded, followed Sandra back into a darkness punctuated by lightning, as if the light show could somehow earth all the energy in the room.
    Back at the booth, Clarke’s seat had been taken by a new arrival. Youngish male, fingers running down the condensation on a tall glass of what looked like straight orange juice. The club members seemed to know him.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said, getting to his feet as Clarke and Sandra approached. ‘I’ve nicked your seat.’ He stared at Clarke, then put out his hand. When Clarke took it, his grip tightened. He wasn’t going to let her go.
    ‘Come and dance,’ he said, pulling her in the direction of the dance floor. She could do little but follow him, right into the heart of the storm where arms buffeted her and the dancers squealed and roared. He looked back, saw that they were no longer visible from the table, and kept moving, crossing the floor, leading them past one of the bars and into the foyer.
    ‘Where are we going?’ Clarke asked. He looked around, seemed satisfied and leaned towards her.
    ‘I know you,’ he said.
    Suddenly, she knew that his face was familiar to her. She was thinking: criminal, someone I helped put away? She glanced to left and right.
    ‘You work at St Leonard’s,’ he went on. She stared towards where his hand still held her wrist. Following her gaze, he let go suddenly. ‘Sorry,’ he