A Long Way Down

by Ken McCoy

She tilted his chin up with a finger and saw a tear in his eye. A rare occurrence for Sep Black.

  ‘Why that?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know – delayed shock maybe. When I was coming round from under the anaesthetic I had a sort of awareness of what was happening and what was happening was me dying. It’s hard to explain but I thought I was going to die and I wasn’t ready.’

  ‘Did I come into these thoughts by any chance?’

  ‘They weren’t thoughts as such, just an awareness of my mortality, which was coming to an end. The surgeon told me they lost me for a full minute, which is a long time dead – defibrillator job and all that – maybe that was it.’

  ‘Did you see a bright light beckoning you towards it?’

  ‘No light. When you’re that close to the exit door it’s like your brain’s running on fumes with not much to fire the thought processes. All I had was this … this vague awareness. They were about to call it when someone suggested they give the defibrillator one last go for luck and bang! The flat line on the computer screen beeped back to life, as did I.’

  ‘Is that because you decided you weren’t ready to die, so you didn’t, just out of awkwardness.’

  ‘Something like that. How do you know?’

  ‘Oh, it was just something Fiona said when you were in theatre.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Sep wiped away another tear, embarrassed at having to do so, but it was an action that further endeared him to Winnie who put an arm around him. It was something of a stretch to reach right across his broad shoulders, but she managed it.

  ‘We’re too good together to throw this away, Sep. Look, if you want to carry on with being a detective you should be a Sherlock Holmes not a Sam Spade. Use your brain not your brawn.’

  ‘You’re assuming I’ve got a brain, then?’

  ‘You’re a very smart guy, I know that.’

  ‘I don’t go out looking for fights.’

  ‘No, but you think you’re indestructible. You walk into danger with your eyes shut. Maybe I should be your eyes from now on.’

  ‘Winnie, I’ll settle for your eyes any day of the week.’

  ‘Just as long as you confine this sweet talk to me and not every skirt that passes you by.’

  He took her hand and squeezed it. It was all he could do to reassure her without filling up again. Tears were alien beings to Sep Black.

  ‘I’ll put the telly on,’ Winnie said. ‘There’s a good western on Sky.’

  Sep took a sip of his whisky and settled back in his chair, determined never to let this good woman down – and to enjoy the three Ws – whisky, western and Winnie.

  A short while later Wolf was picking up Bazz who got into his car with a Smith and Wesson .357 revolver in his shoulder holster and a sheath knife in his belt, just in case. He told Wolf about this because Wolf would want to know.

  Wolf nodded. ‘Only if needed,’ he said.

  The house was slightly isolated from its neighbours and was double-glazed, so a gunshot might not create too much concern, should the need arise.

  FOURTEEN

  There was but a slither of moon in the clear sky and Wolf was wearing black clothing so his movements in Sep’s back garden wouldn’t have been noticed even if there had been close neighbours watching. It was 11.45 when he prised open the window to the kitchen. A full hour after the upstairs light had gone out. An hour is plenty of time for people to fall asleep. He opened the window and the two of them climbed through, dropping to the tiled floor silently. There was enough light coming through the window for him to make his way to the door, beyond which was the hall. He knew the layout well and gave Bazz whispered directions. Up the stairs and into the door opposite. There would be a double bed facing him, a window to his right and built-in wardrobes running the full length of the wall to his left. A dressing table would be under the window and in the bed a sleeping woman.

  Bazz raised a thumb to say he understood. He didn’t hear his own footsteps as he mounted the carpeted stairs. When he got to the top he checked the Smith in its holster and the knife in its sheath; neither of which he was planning to use, but there just in case. If he had to shoot the woman, he’d fly down the stairs. Wolf should have finished his own piece of business by then. He pushed open the bedroom door and saw the bed in front of him. In the gloom he picked out the vague shape of the sleeping person.

  Downstairs Wolf approached Black, who was snoring gently. As the hitman leaned over him, Sep kicked up with his good leg and caught Wolf in the groin, causing him to shout out. Sep rolled out of bed, the pain in his right leg masked by the rush of adrenalin surging through him. This would be the man who had run him down, come to finish him off. Wolf, partially recovered, had pulled out a knife and was standing in a knife-fighter’s pose. Sep took a quick step towards him and batted the knife away with a swinging left hand, sending it spinning across the room.

  There was enough dim light penetrating the curtain for Sep to see what, if not exactly who, he was up against. Wolf was a powerful man but much smaller than Sep who was six three and sixteen stones of solid muscle. As an ex-special forces soldier Sep Black always had the edge in close combat. In the same move as he batted the knife away he threw a heavy punch at Wolf’s nose that made excellent contact and this, plus the pain in his groin made the hitman scream even louder with a combination of pain and rage. He stuck his hand inside his coat and took out a pistol which he pointed at Sep’s face, holding it two inches from his nose, screaming with rage.

  ‘Know any prayers, pig?’

  A more experienced assassin would have stood back to take the shot but Wolf was holding the gun well within Sep’s reach. In one swift movement Sep jabbed his right hand up beneath the gun, which fired a round into the ceiling, at which point Sep went straight into part two of a much-practiced move and twisted the weapon from Wolf’s hand, causing it to fall to the floor.

  Just these few moves had taken a lot out of Sep after his long hospitalization. He felt he hadn’t a good punch left in him. Wolf sensed this and hurled himself at Sep, knocking him to the floor. As he fell back, Sep grabbed at Wolf’s clothing and pulled him down with him so they both fell together and as they landed Sep proceeded to head butt Wolf on his already damaged nose. He held the hitman’s head firmly in position so he couldn’t avoid the rain of blows Sep was landing on him. Eventually Sep’s strength deserted him completely and he fell back on the floor, breathing heavily and raucously and completely done in, awaiting whatever Wolf could throw at him, but Wolf was in no state to do anything. The centre of his face demolished, he could scarcely see for all the blood and the pain too intense for him to carry on with the fight. All he wanted was to get out of here. He struggled to his feet and staggered away, moaning loudly as Sep, soaked in Wolf’s blood, tried to regain his breath.

  Upstairs, Winnie, awakened by the commotion downstairs, was watching the menacing figure of Bazz approaching her. She screamed for Sep.

  A shot and the scream from upstairs didn’t immediately register with Sep who had struggled to his knees, still breathing heavily and immensely grateful that Wolf had left him alone.

  Dripping blood from his demolished nose, Wolf climbed out through the same window he’d arrived through and made for his car, forgetting all about his crony. Downstairs, the memory of the shot and the scream now registered with Sep who could do little more than gasp, ‘Winnie? What is it, Winnie?’

  The room light was out but he had an elbow crutch leaning against his chair. It was a skill he hadn’t fully mastered but the urgency of the moment spurred him on despite the pain in his right leg. He arrived at the bottom of the stairs and switched on the hall light.

  ‘Winnie, what is it? What’s wrong?’

  His voice was just a croak. Perhaps she couldn’t hear him. On the stairs there was a balustrade to Sep’s left and a handrail to his right. He abandoned the crutch and attempted to climb the stairs by holding on both sides and hopping up from step to step using his good leg. Step
by step he hopped slowly up using his good leg, increasingly exhausted by the effort. After all those weeks in hospital the fight had taken a lot out of him.

  ‘Winnie. I’m coming up, are you OK?’

  No answer. Sep looked back at the crutch, thinking he’d been foolish leaving it behind; maybe he should have thrown it up on to the half-landing. Two more steps, then rest, then two more. Silence. Jesus, what had happened? He got to the half-landing and leaned against the wall to regain his strength, breathing heavily. His injured leg was giving him pain, his good leg ached with the effort. Three steps to go. After his breather he did them all in one burst. Then he hopped over to the bedroom door. It was half open. He pushed it fully open and peered inside. The light was still out but there was enough light coming from outside for him to see Winnie standing by the bed and a dark shape on the floor. He reached around for the light switch and turned it on. His exhaustion made speaking difficult but he managed a wheeze.

  ‘Bloody hell, Winnie! Who’s that?’

  ‘I don’t know, Sep. I shot him. I think he’s dead.’

  ‘Shot him? What did you shoot him with?’

  She pointed to the gun lying on the floor, having dropped it out of her frozen hand.

  ‘My gun, where did you get it?’

  ‘It was in the drawer. I … I took it out w-when I heard noises downstairs. Are you all right? You’ve got blood on your face, what happened to you?’

  ‘It’s not my blood, Winnie. Bloody hell! You shot him, did you? I thought someone had shot you.’

  He sat on a chair with great relief, still breathing heavily. This was a situation that needed some clear thought.

  ‘Am I in trouble, Sep?’

  ‘Not if we get our story straight, Winnie.’

  ‘You mean we lie, do we?’

  ‘We certainly do. There’s a time and place for the truth, Winnie, and this is neither. Right … you – you shot an intruder … There – there was one downstairs after me, but I fought him off.’

  ‘You fought him off? How could you fi … fight anyone off in your state?’

  Their voices were stilted and strained. It was more a series of groans than a conversation.’

  ‘He was here to kill me. Look, do you … do you … think you could go downstairs and bring me that elbow crutch up. I left it at the bottom of the stairs.’

  ‘I shot him with your ill-illegal gun, Sep. I killed him.’

  ‘I know, Winnie, but you’re alive, which is more important. Just get me the crutch, we – we just need to make our story fit what’s here.’

  Two minutes later Sep was leaning heavily on the crutch, standing over Bazz’s body. Winnie was standing in the doorway, with a hand over her mouth, still in floods of tears.

  ‘Winnie, can you come over here, please?’

  She complied, cautiously.

  ‘Look, I want you to open his coat. I want to see where he was shot.’

  Winnie bent down and opened Bazz’s coat. The bullet had entered straight through the heart, so there was no doubt that he was dead.

  ‘What’s that under his left armpit?’ Sep asked.

  Winnie took a closer look, then she looked up at Sep. ‘It’s a gun in a holster.’

  ‘That could be helpful. Can you take it out?’

  Gingerly, Winnie took the bloodied gun from the holster and gave it to Sep, who now noticed something else. ‘Is that a sheath knife in his belt?’

  ‘It is, yes.’

  ‘He’s a hitman,’ said Sep. ‘Winnie, you’ve just shot a hitman who was here to kill us both no doubt. Well done.’

  ‘Sep, I don’t think the police will be saying “well done” when they find out I shot him with an illegal gun.’

  ‘But you shot him with his own gun.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘That’s our story.’

  ‘Sep, it’s not even the same type of gun as yours.’

  ‘No, but it’s a small handgun, as is the Webley you’ve just shot him with, which is a stroke of luck.’

  ‘Luck? Really?’

  Sep put his Webley in the hitman’s holster. It fitted perfectly

  ‘See? Made to measure for my gun.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So, I want you to pick my gun up, get a facecloth from the bathroom, rub all the prints off it and dry it off. Then put it in his right hand and squeeze it tight, to get his prints on it, then put your prints on top of his, then drop it on the floor, exactly where it was when you first dropped it.’

  ‘How do we know he’s right-handed?’

  ‘Because the holster’s under his left armpit. He’d have a job getting it out with his left hand. My Webley is going to be the gun he brought in his shoulder holster. It’s a gun I picked up on a job some time ago; they can’t trace it to me. We’ll have to hide his gun.’

  ‘But how did I come to shoot him?’

  Sep looked around. On the bedside table was a heavy brass travelling clock. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand. ‘This’ll do,’ he said.

  ‘Do for what?’

  Sep held it over Bazz’s body and dropped it in his eye. Then he looked at Winnie.

  ‘This is what happened Winnie. You heard a noise outside the door and you knew it couldn’t be me. You picked up the clock and held it in your hand as a weapon, scared to death you were.

  ‘Then he came into the room, all big and ugly in the dark. He came up to the bed and you saw a gun in his hand. You threw the clock at him as hard as you could. It hit him in the face – in the eye, even. It made him drop the gun on the bed right next to you – you picked it up and shot him.’

  ‘That’s it, is it?’ said Winnie.

  ‘Yep. What’s wrong with it? Unless you went to bed with your own gun, which is highly unlikely. We know he was armed because he had a holster that the gun fits in. He was also carrying a knife and it might well be that he’s the man who killed Graham Feather.’

  ‘Couldn’t he have been the man who tried to kill you?’

  ‘Possibly. I’d lay good money it was one of them and there’s enough DNA around to identify both of them if they’ve ever been arrested in the past. Forensics definitely found some DNA at Feather’s crime scene. It’s perfect, Winnie.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we get rid of his gun?’

  ‘No, it’s a .357 Smith and Wesson, not a bad weapon. I’ll clean his prints off it and hide it somewhere.’

  ‘But won’t the police find it?’

  ‘Why would they even look for it? They have his weapon here. Everything else fits. You were the right distance from him when you shot him. The bullet went right through him and hit the wall.’

  Winnie turned to look at the wall behind her. There was a single bullet hole in it, surrounded by hairline cracks.

  ‘The bullet will obviously match the Webley which he brought in his holster,’ Sep said.

  ‘I feel sick,’ Winnie said.

  ‘Natural reaction for a human being,’ said Sep. ‘I threw up the first time I killed a man and that was also in self-defence.’

  ‘This guy one might well have raped you before he killed you. Had you not acted as swiftly as you did you’d be dead by now, so might I, had he gone back down and saw me struggling with my man. Take a look at his hands, Winnie, like bunches of bananas. Did you ever see such deadly murder weapons? Strangulation is the method of choice for many hitmen. I reckon that’s what he had in mind for you.’ He paused and added, ‘that and worse.’

  ‘You mean rape? Why would a hitman waste time raping me?’

  ‘Because that’s what they do to attractive naked women. They’re evil men, Winnie.’

  ‘I’m naked! Oh my God, Sep! Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  ‘I thought you knew.’

  ‘Fiona, it’s Sep. Are you on shift?’

  ‘Yeah, ten till six. Why?’

  ‘Well, I know I should have reported this through more official channels but I’m hoping for Winnie’s sake that you’ll be dealing with it.’
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  ‘Dealing with what?’

  ‘Winnie’s just shot a hitman. He’s dead in my bedroom. Is Hawkins on shift?’

  ‘Not until tomorrow.’

  ‘Excellent. Best not disturb her beauty sleep. This means I’m the Cold Case senior officer on duty.’

  ‘Are you on duty, sir?’

  ‘I am now.’

  ‘Winnie OK?’

  ‘She’s in shock, but she saved both my life and hers. There were two of them. I was attacked as well.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Not too bad, considering.’

  ‘We’ll have to bring her in for questioning.’

  ‘I know what we have to do, sergeant. I can tell you pretty much what happened.’

  ‘Why, were you there?’

  ‘No, it happened upstairs, I was downstairs fighting off my man. What she managed to do was amazing.’

  ‘I hope it’s not too amazing, sir.’

  ‘Now then, Fiona. She saved the life of your best pal. Just remember that. Bring a uniformed officer with you. Is Inspector Renholm on duty?’

  ‘I’ll check, sir.’

  Fiona and Inspector Renholm looked at the evidence presented to them by Sep. Winnie was downstairs, drinking sweet tea and rehearsing the answers to the questions Sep had prepped her on. What actually happened was so near the truth that she had no problem mentally substituting the hitman’s gun for Sep’s. It was a better story and one she wanted to believe herself. It was the very story Sep was telling the two policemen:

  ‘Winnie heard the noise we were making downstairs. I reckon one of them will have killed James Boswell and Graham Feather and the old woman in the Grimshawe Hotel.’

  ‘So, how did Winnie get hold of his gun?’ asked Fiona.

  ‘Well, the noise we were making downstairs woke her up. She saw her bedroom door opening and she picked up the travel clock off the bedside table as a weapon. It’s quite a heavy thing.’

  ‘She armed herself?’ said Renholm. ‘Most women would hide under the bedclothes.’

  ‘Believe me, Winnie’s not most women.’

  ‘True,’ confirmed Fiona, who felt obliged to back Sep’s story. ‘It’s definitely what Winnie would have done.’