Rogue Element [antikvár]

Prologue'So tell me,' she said.He was standing at the window, holding the yellowing net curtain to one side, staring out at the warm, wet night. It had grown dark while they'd talked and now the soft August rain fell like sparkling grains of amber around the sodium streetlight.Just like that, he thought, tell me. As if it was that goddamn easy. If it were that simple he'd have told them months ago. Chosen any one of the tabloid hacks who were trying to track him down, cheque-books out and pens poised. Name your price, Roddy Littlechild, just name it.Perhaps he should have done. Taken the money and run. Let them splash their grotesque headlines between the bingo promotion and a picture of some semi-naked model. Let them run to a three-page spread, picking the juicy bits from his story, making up the parts he had deliberately left out, barely bothering to check the facts. Not that such facts were easily checked. No one would ever admit to anything.But he hadn't wanted that. If it was going to be told at all, he wanted it at least to be accurate. The cold hard truth.She spoke again, her voice now edged with impatience. 'It's gone ten, Roddy. I've got to get home.''Sure,' he said, dropping the curtain and turning to face back into the kitchenette of the seedy little flat.Lisa Hardcastle. Well-named. Hard-nosed, hard bitch, he thought. Pushy, thirtysomething director on the Fifth Amendment series for Channel Four. Working for Double Vision Productions, freelance documentary makers who appreciated her impeccable left-wing credentials. Journalistic teeth cut on the New Statesman and the Guardian, she was desperate for recognition and a media award before plunging into belated motherhood.His face was in shadow so she couldn't see how he glared at1if ,! 'i'l-fil'lp'!i'tl fn11'iI i ' 'VI ill. h''V''I ,u 1I ,W4 I