Free Time of the Assassins by Alistair MacLean Page A

something wrong, Miss Cassidy?' Farouk said, noticing her frown.

She cursed herself silently for letting her guard drop. 'Sorry, I was just surprised that the New York police had his fingerprints on file. I never realized he had a criminal record.'

'He was once convicted of a drink-driving offence.'

'I didn't know that,' she said then sat forward, her eyes burrowing into Farouk. 'I still don't believe Mike killed this man. It's not in his character.'

'Well, unless he turns himself in we have to assume that he is the killer. And the longer he remains on the run, the worse it will become for him.'

'I think he's being held against his will somewhere,' she said.

'Perhaps he's already fled the country. InterpoPs been alerted.'

'How could he have fled the country without any money?' She shook her head. 'No, it all points to him being held against his will somewhere. Mike never travels without cash and credit cards. So why call me unless he had lost them? Or had them stolen?'

'You really believe he's innocent, don't you?'

'Yes, I do.' She got to her feet. 'Is there anything I can do to help him?'

'It's a police matter now, Miss Cassidy.' Farouk capped his pen and pointed it at her. 'If he should contact you, tell him to call me. It would be in his best interests.'

'I doubt he will call me,' she said with a dejected shrug. 'He doesn't even know I'm here.'

Farouk got to his feet and came round the desk to shake her hand. 'Thank you for your time,.Miss Cassidy.'

She nodded and walked to the door.

'Oh, Miss Cassidy?' Farouk waited until she turned to look at him. 'If you're caught trying to help him escape you'll be charged with aiding and abetting a wanted criminal. Bear it in mind.'

'Sure,' she replied and closed the door behind her.

Laidlaw had been detained by the police only hours after Barak's murder and although they had interrogated him at regular intervals every four hours, trying to break him down, he had managed to stick to his

story. He had met Graham, or Green as he had referred to him throughout the interrogation, for the first time at the Windorah. They had talked for a while then he had given Green a lift back to his hotel. He had never seen him again after that. He knew no-one had seen him at Barak's house otherwise he'd have been charged straight away.

He had been finally released after thirty-six hours. He had tried to sleep when he got home but to no avail. The voice haunted him: the voice of the policeman, Farouk. But he had never seen Farouk's face. He had asked the questions at every interrogation but always from behind the sanctuary of a powerful table lamp. Why hadn't he shown his face? Laidlaw had racked his brains over and over but he couldn't place the name. So why had he been so secretive? Laidlaw knew he could be overreacting from lack of sleep - it could have been a plan to try and break him down: a voice, no face. But still it troubled him. Who was Farouk?

He punched the pillow angrily. Forget Farouk. Just get some sleep. But he couldn't. That monotonous, grinding voice was in his head and he couldn't get rid of it. He kicked the sheet off and swung his legs onto the floor. Pushing the hair from his face he looked at the bedside clock. It had been five hours since he'd got home, and he hadn't slept in that time. All because of that damn voice. He stifled a yawn then stood up and went into the kitchen. He opened the freezer and helped himself to a cold beer and the last of the chicken drumsticks from the packet he had bought earlier in the week. He tossed the empty packet onto the overflowing bin in the corner of the room and sat

down at the table. Just as he was about to open the beer the doorbell rang. He shook his head in despair then got to his feet and went to open the door.

'Russell Laidlaw?'

'That's right,' Laidlaw muttered. 'You're not a reporter, are you?'

'My name's Sabrina Cassidy, I'm a friend of Mike's.'

'Mike?'

'Mike Graham,' Sabrina retorted with a hint of irritation