As slowly as he could manage, Simon adjusted his kneeling position to prevent himself losing the feeling in his legs. The dog raised its head. The beast was comfortable and its eyes were closing, but every time Simon thought it might be asleep it moved; his thought stirred it on each occasion.
He continued to keep his thoughts benign, but it was difficult, because he was exhausted and wanted to sleep too, even if only for a few minutes. It was tempting. Blinking became a dangerous operation as opening his eyes again now required significant effort.
Counting was soporific. He searched for something else to focus his attention on. From Sarah's room, he heard the start-up bleep of her computer, followed a minute or so later by the jingle of the operating system. In the space between the beep and the music, he had taken two breaths, very slow and even, like a diver conserving his oxygen supply.
The dog’s body shivered as it panted. The sound, like a steam train gathering speed, filled the room and filled his head. The odour of its body and its foetid breath did the same, swamping his senses, nauseating him.
He dug deeper. And deeper still.
In this state, it could have been three minutes or thirty three before he heard Firdy’s voice in the next room. He couldn’t make out the individual words, but he recognised the rhythm as one side of a telephone conversation. It was repeated several times, amid the clattering of drawers, the scattering of papers, the smashing of glass.
He's the hangman, he thought, drawing the noose tight.
The dog’s ears pricked up. Simon knew better than to attempt to rein his thought in. That would only cause more ripples. He let it go, the one that got away, disappearing in the murky waters of this lake, still, serene and submerged, leaving barely a trace, but a trace nonetheless.
The dog squinted at him and sighed.