by Tony Kent
‘We’re here because of the actions of a man you testified against when you were a child, Jessica. Do you remember the name Karl Hirst?’
It did not matter how softly Hale delivered the words. Or how many years had passed. The name still seemed to strike like a bolt of electricity. Jessica immediately looked up. Her eyes bore into Hale’s own. Wide and fearful. But she remained silent.
‘I’ll take that as a “yes”, Jessica.’ Not that Hale had ever doubted the answer. ‘So I don’t need to tell you how seriously we take any threat involving that man.’
Jessica opened her mouth to speak. Hale noticed her right hand instinctively cup her left as she did so. Covering her two missing fingers. A subconscious act.
‘I . . . I . . . I don’t understand.’ Jessica’s voice was almost inaudible. ‘Karl Hirst was sent to prison for life.’
‘That’s not quite right,’ Hale explained. ‘He was released three years ago.’
Jessica’s eyes widened at Hale’s words. Tears had been building in them from the first moment Hale had met her. They now streamed down her cheeks.
‘But . . . but . . . that can’t be, that can’t be right.’ The weak voice was now breaking. ‘Mr Blunt said that he’d never be released. And Mr Devlin. They both . . . they both . . .’
Jessica’s voice trailed off.
Hale watched Jessica place her elbows onto the low table and drop her head into her open hands. Her thin, pale forearms looked barely strong enough to take the weight.
Hale found his gaze drift towards her left hand. A natural human reaction. Somehow Jessica’s lank black hair had fallen forward at exactly the right point, obscuring the view of her missing fingers. It could not be a coincidence, he thought; in the height of despair, Jessica was still obscuring her scars.
That one action, more than anything else, revealed to Hale the devastating truth about her life: whether called Tina Barker or Jessica Boon, this poor girl would never stop being Karl Hirst’s victim.
Jessica’s slight body shook with every sob. Both her physical and emotional weakness painfully evident. As Hale saw the effect of just the name ‘Karl Hirst’, he felt a combination of anger and sympathy churn within his gut.
For several minutes the only sounds in the undersized kitchen came from Jessica. None of them words, but still they said enough.
Hale did not want to interrupt. He wanted to give Jessica the time she needed. But he knew that he did not have that choice.
‘Jessica?’ When Hale spoke again his voice was softer than before. ‘Jessica, I know how much of a shock this must be to you. I know how you must be feeling. But we’re here to protect you. We’re here to make sure Hirst can’t get anywhere near you. And I’m here to bring you to London. To Scotland Yard. Where you’ll be as protected as anyone can be, for as long as it takes us to find him.’
Jessica moved her hands away from her face, cupping her left with her right as she did so. She sat upright, making no attempt to wipe away the tears or mascara that now stained her cheeks.
‘Then you really think he’s coming for me?’ Her voice was stronger now. As if she was becoming resigned to her own recurring nightmare.
‘Actually we don’t.’ Hale slowly reached out and placed his own hand on top of Jessica’s right. Careful not to touch her left. ‘We don’t have any reason to think that he knows where you are. We don’t even think he knows your new name, Jessica. We’re just not taking any risks.’
Jessica sat back in her chair, took her hands out from under Hale’s, placed her left on her lap and used her right to wipe her eyes. For a few moments she was lost in thought while Hale watched. He could see that she was steeling herself for more. Finally she broke the silence.
‘What has he done?’ Jessica’s voice was weak once again. As if asking the question had taken all of her strength. ‘Hirst, I mean.’
‘I’ll tell you, Jessica. But when I do, please remember that he has no way of finding you.’
‘I . . . I know that.’
‘OK. Then what he seems to have done, Jessica – what he seems to be doing – is tracking down everyone involved in his trial. Everyone he blames for sending him to prison for your brother’s death.’
‘My God!’ Jessica’s right hand covered her mouth. The tears returned. ‘Who . . . who . . . who has he found?’
‘Everyone but you and Michael Devlin.’
‘And what has he done to them?’
‘I, erm, I really don’t think you need to know the details of that . . . But I’m afraid they’re dead. Hirst killed them all.’
‘NO!’
Jessica stood up from her chair. For the first time she made no effort to hide her left hand. Her terror was clear on her face and her tiny body shook as she fought to take a breath. Stepping backwards, she lost her footing and began to fall. Hale – already rising – saw the stumble. With one swipe of his arm he threw the kitchen table aside and caught Jessica before she hit the floor. In a movie the moment would play out as a grand romantic gesture. But not in real life. Jessica was still panicking. She fought to escape Hale’s arms, her frail body struggling upright.
‘Jessica, please, you have to calm—’
Hale’s words were cut short by what sounded like the two beats of a jackhammer. A sound he had heard before.
He wasted no time, placing Jessica onto the kitchen floor and ordering her to stay down. Then he hurried into the small living room at the front of the house.
The two officers were already on their feet as Hale slid open the door that separated the kitchen from the living room. Both looked confused.
‘What was that sound?’ asked the first. The smaller of the two.
‘Suppressed pistol fire.’ There was no doubt in Hale’s mind as he strode across the room, careful to avoid opening a direct line of sight between himself and the large window that looked out onto the street. The net curtain that hung across it helped, obscuring the view from one side of the window to the other.
The room’s other occupants were less sure of themselves. They remained fixed to the spot. Standing in the centre of the living room. If someone was outside and ready to fire, both would already be dead. The fact they were not allowed Hale some comfort.
‘A suppressed pistol?’ the older officer asked.
‘It means a silencer,’ said Hale, unsure if the comment had been a question. He reached the window, keeping his back tight to the wall, and glanced through the thinnest gap between glass and curtain. Just for an instant. ‘Shit. I can’t see from here.’
‘A silencer? Then how did we hear it?’ The younger officer this time. His voice fearful. Hale had not noticed until now just how inexperienced this guy obviously was.
‘Jesus Christ, what is this? A ballistics lesson?’ Hale snapped impatiently. ‘You heard it because silencers are bullshit. They don’t work. Now get that out of your head and get it back on the job. Got that?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the older, obviously more experienced officer replied. ‘What do you need?’
‘I need you to get into the kitchen, secure the girl and call this in. We need back-up – armed back-up – and we need it now.’
‘Sir.’
‘And keep your eye on the front and back doors at all times. Keep out of sight of both of them, and of any windows. We have to assume Hirst is here, so stay away from any point where he could get a bead on you from outside.’
‘Shit.’
‘Exactly.’
Hale moved to the foot of the staircase, just feet from the front door, and gripped the lowest banister.
‘I need to get a glimpse of the car out front. Those two sounds were shots, which means we’ve probably lost two guys already. The fact they’re not banging on the front door right now makes that almost certain. But I need to see, so I need to get upstairs for a better view.’
Hale took the first three steps in one stride. The next two in another. He was upstairs within moments.
The layout of the small house was s
imple enough. At the top of the stairs was a bedroom that looked to the rear. Next to that a bathroom. And finally a second bedroom that looked outwards onto the street. Which was where Hale needed to be.
He strode through the door, stepping round the small single bed to get to the window. It was dark inside, but there was enough illumination from outside for him to navigate.
The distance from the upstairs window to the street gave Hale a little more security. But not much. The range was still fine for a half-decent marksman. Hale had to assume that Hirst was better than that.
He jerked his head from behind the wall, just for a second. Long enough to get his bearings, short enough to make a clean shot unlikely. It told him little but enough; where the marked police car was, relative to his own position.
Hale slid the full length of his body to the floor, feeling the thin carpet against his fingers. He could smell it as it came close to his face. Clean, but old. It again aroused his pity for the life that Hirst had left for Jessica. For Tina.
Not even a life, in fact. Just a bare existence.
Such thoughts were no help now and so he shook them off, instead concentrating on the job at hand. He crawled to the far end of the window. Once there he slowly lifted his head, so it was just underneath the window ledge. Then he positioned himself where the police car would be directly ahead once he left cover. He knew he could risk just moments. He did not waste a single one.
Hale had positioned himself perfectly. His eyes fixed on the front of the police car the instant his head was raised. Milliseconds later and he saw what he needed to know. What could only be the body of Jim Durham, slumped to his left across the motionless form of his colleague.
‘Fu—’ Before Hale completed the word, the same jackhammer sound of compressed pistol fire assaulted his ear, twice in quick succession.
The first beat sent Hale diving for cover. The second told him he was still alive. Instinct made Hale search himself for injury. It took just an instant to confirm that there were none.
Hale exhaled in relief. He almost smiled, but the flicker of his mouth was interrupted by two realisations. The first concerned the bedroom window.
Two shots, Hale thought. Two shots and the window’s still there. How the hell did he miss?
If the first thought had banished Hale’s adrenaline and replaced it with confusion, the second brought that adrenaline flooding back.
The shots were louder.
Hale had not moved so quickly in years. The last two shots had come from inside the house. He realised that now. Two shots. Two officers down. The third – the officer outside the back door – most likely taken out silently.
That left Jessica, alone and at the mercy of Karl Hirst. The thought fuelled Hale to an almost superhuman physical effort. It also clouded his judgement.
Hale did not have to question if the next shot – so much closer and therefore so much louder than the others – had hit him. The explosion of blood, bone and ligament at his right knee was his answer.
The impact came as Hale reached the halfway point on the staircase and sent him careening the rest of the way down. The pain as the hard front door abruptly ended his fall should have been debilitating. But the human brain can shut pain off when it needs to. When its continued existence is on the line.
Hale turned himself onto his back, no need to glance at his devastated right leg. Its useless weight told him enough. Instead he looked ahead. At the sight of the other officers, both lying motionless, their lives both ended by a bullet to the forehead.
Despairing, he looked through the hallway that led to the garden. It was open, its frame occupied by the lifeless body of the fifth and final member of Jessica’s protective detail.
He could not see how the man had died. Not that it mattered.
Karl Hirst was barely six feet from where Hale had landed. Jessica was slumped at his feet.
Dead? Hale could not tell, but she did not seem to be moving.
His attention was drawn to the suppressed pistol that remained fixed in Hirst’s hand.
‘No knives this time, then?’ Hale asked painfully. He struggled to get the words out as the loss of blood started to hit.
‘Do you think I’ll fall for that, Steve? Get me talking until the back-up gets here?’
Hale’s weakened mind focused on a single word.
‘How do you know my name?’
‘I know it’s what Levy calls you,’ Hirst replied. He smiled as he spoke. A soulless, reptilian grin. ‘Just like I know she sent you up here to bring Tina Barker into secure custody. To protect her.’
Hirst placed a foot under Jessica/Tina’s body and pushed her onto her back. The sound of pain told Hale she was still alive.
‘How’s that job worked out?’ Hirst asked, still grinning.
‘How can you know that?’ Hale asked again. It was no bluff. No attempt to gain time. There was no back up on the way. Hale just could not understand how this man knew so much.
‘How do you think?’ Hirst replied. ‘Modern technology, Steve. The sort of thing I wish I’d had last time. Surveillance equipment. Bugs so small and so discrete your people would never think to look for them.’
‘Bugs?’ Hale could feel himself growing weaker. Every beat of his heart was firing more blood from his body, out of his devastated knee. But the pain of Hirst’s words was greater. That they had missed something so simple. ‘You . . . you bugged us?’
‘It’s amazing what you can get on the internet, isn’t it?’ Hirst was enjoying himself. ‘Just a few lightbulb bugs at each scene. Perfect place, lightbulbs. The sort of thing your forensic guys would have no reason to check, but good enough to listen in and keep a few steps ahead of you all. That was the plan, anyway. What I didn’t expect was this.’
Hale could feel himself slipping. He pulled in two lungfuls of oxygen, fighting to clear his head. A glance at Jessica had the desired effect. He was the only thing keeping her alive, and as long as Hirst was talking she would stay that way.
‘You didn’t expect what?’ Hale asked, clinging determinedly to consciousness.
‘I didn’t think that you’d lead me to Tina. I’d given up on her. I was content with the rest of them. Longman, Blunt, Reid. They were going to be enough. And then I heard you talking about Tina in Reid’s kitchen. Heard Levy send you up here. All I had to do was follow you. And you led me straight to her.’
‘You . . . you . . .’ Hale felt what was left of his adrenaline surge with nowhere to go. The thought that he had brought Hirst here – that he had led him to Jessica – was too much. ‘You . . . fucking . . .’
Hirst placed his pistol on the arm of the living room sofa as Hale tried to speak. Then he reached around to the back of his waist.
‘That’s why it was a gun this time. I had to keep it simple. No time to plan.’ Hirst’s hand had returned to his side. It was not empty. ‘But you still get a knife, Steve. You deserve for me to do this right. You deserve to die like a man, for giving me Tina.’
Hirst took a step forward. Slowly. Deliberately.
‘Nothing more to say?’
Hale opened his mouth as he fought off the darkness. No sound came out.
‘Shame,’ said Hirst. ‘I was enjoying the chat.’
Hirst lowered himself to a knee as he reached Hale. He placed his left hand on Hale’s chest, an eight-inch blade held firm in his right. Then he fixed his pale eyes on to those of his victim.
‘I don’t know where we go after this, Steve. But wherever it is, enjoy the ride.’
Hirst spoke the final sentence with a broad, lifeless smile as he brought the blade down hard.
SIXTY
Michael Devlin stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. Warm water dripped from his body as he stepped into the bedroom, wetting the deep-blue carpet with every step. It wouldn’t matter. Any damage done would be rectified within hours. One of the few upsides of hotel living.
Michael paid no attention to the increasingly damp floor. Or
to much else. Like every waking moment of the past fourteen hours, only two things occupied his mind: Derek Reid and Karl Hirst. The only other thing beginning to break that cycle was his headache. The result of a combination of grief, stress and alcohol.
Michael could not afford to be in this state. Certainly not today. He tried to shake it off, to get his mind moving. He glanced towards the bedside table at the clock face below the wireless Bose iPod dock, as he had done so often during his mainly sleepless night. At least it now read a more acceptable time: 6.23 a.m.
The day had started. It was time for him to join it.
It took just a minute to dry the rest of his body. Done, he threw the towel into the corner of the room, onto a pile of clothes he had dumped there the night before. Michael was usually a tidy man. Meticulous. But not this morning. And certainly not last night.
He had arrived at the Malmaison Hotel in London’s Smithfield Market at around 9 p.m. the previous evening. Alone. In the end Joelle Levy had come down on Sarah’s side, supporting the demand that Michael should be with his family in the police safe house, but it was an argument neither woman could win. Ultimately the police have no power to force their protection on anyone of sound mind, and so Michael’s word was final.
But Levy had at least secured one concession. She had convinced Michael that he could not risk staying alone in the family home. Instead he would stay at a hotel.
Won’t make a difference, Michael had thought when accepting Levy’s demand. He’ll still find me here. And when he does he’ll get the fight of his life.
A short walk from the Old Bailey, the Malmaison had a large, well-lit and busy reception. A public space that every visitor passed through upon arrival. Levy had seen this as a key defence against Karl Hirst, whose face would soon be as recognisable as any celebrity’s.
The fact the hotel was fully occupied was a security bonus. With guests in earshot Hirst would not have the time he had enjoyed in the empty homes of his other victims. It was still far from ideal but Levy had had no choice but to accept that. It was the best she was going to achieve with a man who – unknown to her – wanted to be found.