The Divinities

by Parker Bilal

  ‘Fuck, that hurts!’

  Drake put a hand to her right side and felt the wetness that he knew was blood. The knife had gone in under the tactical vest she wore. He ripped one of the velcro straps aside.

  ‘He stabbed you.’

  ‘How bad is it?’ she groaned.

  ‘I can’t tell. It doesn’t look too bad.’ Drake studied the wound for signs of bubbles that would indicate a lung had been punctured. He couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she gasped.

  ‘Stop talking.’ He pulled the straps tighter in the hope that it would at least slow the bleeding. His hands were already slippery with blood.

  ‘Always wanted to be the mysterious scarred woman,’ Kelly groaned.

  ‘I can see how that might appeal to you.’

  ‘Just get the bastard.’

  Drake called for an ambulance as he went down the stairs two at a time. He came out of the door and barrelled into Fenton.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘An ambulance is coming. Stand by the road to wave them in.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just do it!’

  The sky was lightening. Ahead of him, Drake could see Hakim climbing onto a scooter and kicking it off its stand. The rear wheel slid about on the rain-slick cement as he started up. He gained speed, shooting straight out through the gate into the traffic without hesitation. It could have ended there, but by some miracle he wasn’t hit. Cars hooted and tyres squealed. Hakim almost tipped over, losing control of the scooter. Drake watched him haul the bike upright and twist the throttle before shooting off again. Drake reached his car and threw himself inside. It started first time, something of a miracle in itself. He pushed the gearstick into place and floored the accelerator, skidding into the road and fishtailing as he swung left, calling out directions over the radio as he steered.

  ‘Parsons Green Lane heading north. Suspect is on a silver Yamaha scooter.’

  Drake turned the responses over in his head as he concentrated on not hitting anything. The scooter was weaving about the road ahead of him. Hakim was tall and made an awkward figure perched on the small machine, turning to look over his shoulder at Drake.

  The road was narrow and Drake was forced to pull in time and again to make way for oncoming traffic. He had flashing lights on the front of the car but even then and with the siren on he knew it was reckless. A double-decker bus careered towards him and he just managed to swerve out of its way, feeling the rear wheel hit the kerb of a traffic island and hearing what sounded like a hub cap coming off. He changed gear and put his foot down again. The engine gave a high-pitched whine as he rushed straight into the junction without stopping. There were horns and shouts, the sound of brakes. He caught a glimpse of a startled man jumping out of the way as he spun the wheel. The scooter was racing away along the Fulham Road. There was a jolt as the side of the car hit a lamp post. He bumped off the kerb.

  There were calls coming in for more directions and he was yelling into the radio as he stamped on the brakes. A woman with a pushchair had stepped blithely out onto a zebra crossing. She glared at him, apparently oblivious to the fact that he had blue lights flashing on his car front and a siren going. By the time Drake got around her the scooter had vanished.

  Slowing down, Drake cut the siren as he cruised along, scanning every side street. Realizing he’d gone too far he did a U-turn and started back trying to think the way Hakim would think. Get off the main road. How well did Hakim know the area?

  Turning again, Drake decided to take the plunge. He sped down one street and then back up another. Racing across intersections, he cut straight through, glancing left and right before jamming the brakes and hitting reverse. Down a street to his left Hakim had tipped over and was trying to right the bike. Spinning the wheel and braking, Drake managed to both stall the car and ride up onto the corner with a crash of his tail light shattering. He twisted the ignition key. Once. Twice.

  ‘Come on!’

  It started on the third attempt. He heard the whine of the scooter as he struggled with the gearstick. He shot forward realizing, too late, that someone was coming in from the left. The collision shook him but his offside wing took the brunt of it, then he jolted away. Right, left and then right again. The scooter went straight across the North End Road without stopping. Hakim was either under the illusion that he had divine protection or was set on getting himself killed. Narrowly missing being broadsided by a black cab, Drake aimed the BMW down the street ahead of him. They raced between rows of parked cars. He was finally gaining on the scooter, when Hakim’s luck ran out. A white van reversing out of a driveway slammed straight into him. Drake felt his wheels lock and heard rubber squeal as he came to a halt. Hakim had just gone flying, somersaulting over the bonnet of a parked car. Drake climbed out and rushed over. Scrambling over the wrecked scooter he saw Hakim hobbling up the road.

  ‘Shit!’

  Drake took off after him, trying to remember where this road led and what it was called. He passed a sign and called it in while gasping for air. ‘Seagrave Road heading north.’

  He heard a squawk from the handheld radio but was too busy running to listen. When he reached the corner Hakim was already halfway across the railway bridge on Lillie Road. Drake ran on as Hakim disappeared into the entrance of West Brompton station. Drake barged into the crowd gathered around the ticket barrier and waved his badge for them to let him through.

  ‘Which way?’

  The station master was an elderly man with an impassive face that might have been carved from ebony. Maybe he had a thing about the police. Maybe he didn’t believe the badge was real. Either way, he took his sweet time before pointing a gnarled finger. Drake took the stairs three at a time to arrive on the overground platform just as a train pulled in. The doors opened releasing a swarm of passengers onto the platform. Drake pushed through, moving up and down, peering into carriages, scanning the people heading for the stairs, thinking Hakim might try to double back. He debated whether to get on the train and finally decided not to. The doors slid closed and the train moved out. Another train pulled in on the other side. Drake moved along the platform, wondering if it was possible for Hakim to have dropped down and crossed the tracks to the opposite side.

  It wasn’t until he reached the last carriage that his eye fell on a man inside standing with his back to him. He heard the warning buzzer as the doors closed. The man remained standing there, not moving. There was something about him and Drake knew. Then, just as the train began to pull out, the man turned and glanced over his shoulder.

  Hakim.

  CHAPTER 34

  By the time Drake got back to Fenton’s the place was overrun with emergency vehicles. Police cars, a couple of forensics vans and an ambulance. Kelly had already been taken away in another one. Wheeler was waiting for him and he wasn’t happy.

  ‘Ah, look who we have here, our very own Steve McQueen. Have you any idea how much your little escapade is going to cost us? The preliminary reports alone are enough to turn your hair white.’

  ‘DC Marsh had just been stabbed.’

  ‘We don’t undertake the pursuit of suspects if there is a danger to the general public. You know that. I understand that you were upset, but that’s precisely why you shouldn’t have gone after him.’

  ‘Any news on Kelly’s condition?’

  Wheeler shook his head. ‘They think her lung’s been punctured. The good news is that she’s stable. That’s all they would tell me. What the hell did you think you were playing at, Cal? Why did you go in there without support?’

  ‘It was a long shot. I really wasn’t sure it would lead to anything.’

  ‘It was reckless. You put the life of a fellow officer in danger.’

  Drake sank back against the chain fence. ‘I wanted to be sure.’

  ‘I warned you about this, Cal, going off on your own like that. This maverick act always ends badly. It’s what got you demoted in the Malevich case
, as if you need reminding. You can’t spirit key witnesses away without going through the proper channels and procedures. You were wrong then and you’re wrong now.’ Wheeler leaned closer. ‘People don’t trust you, Cal, because you’re secretive. You play your cards too close to your chest. Then when it blows up in your face you’re surprised that nobody comes to your defence.’

  It was a sermon Drake had heard before. He listened without saying a word.

  ‘You’re out on a limb here, Cal. Pryce wants your balls nailed to the wall, and you’re handing them to him on a silver platter.’ Wheeler levelled a finger. ‘You’re lucky that girl was not seriously wounded, let alone killed, heaven forbid.’

  Wheeler was called away and Drake walked back up through the rows of parked cars to the house. He stopped at the top of the stairs beside what looked like a lot of blood. Fast Eddie, the senior Scene of Crime Officer, was up there with his assistant. A tall, willowy figure of a woman who looked like a ghost as she floated silently down the corridor in her pale blue jumpsuit.

  ‘Heard you were with her when it happened.’

  Drake nodded. ‘He was going for the stairs. She got in his way.’

  ‘Lost a lot of blood,’ Fast Eddie nodded at the congealing pool.

  ‘Yeah, I need to get to the hospital to see how she’s doing.’

  ‘Right.’ Fast Eddie waved Drake to follow. ‘After the Thermite at the mosque we decided not to take any chances, so we’ve been walking on eggshells.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing of any great value.’ The forensics officer indicated a row of clear plastic bags lined up along the hallway. Drake sifted through, lifting each plastic bag up to examine the contents. A cheap digital watch, disposable lighter, a biro with a chewed end and a simple reporter’s notebook opened to display a page of doodles, images of what looked like demons with hooked fangs and scaly heads.

  ‘Twisted minds, eh?’ Fast Eddie leaned over his shoulder.

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  He took a look inside the storage room where Hakim had been sleeping. The floor was littered with a stained mattress, pizza boxes, scattered wrappers.

  ‘No weapons of any kind?’

  ‘Apart from what he took with him, nothing.’

  Drake lifted the notebook. ‘Can I take this?’

  ‘Sure, just make a note in the logbook.’ Fast Eddie waved his assistant forward. ‘Celia.’

  Drake managed to get away without running into Wheeler again. He called the hospital from the car. They told him Kelly was in surgery. At Raven Hill, he found Milo in a state of shock.

  ‘He stabbed her?’

  ‘She’s going to be fine, Milo. You can go and visit her later. Take her some flowers.’

  ‘Maybe chocolates is better. Flowers can be interpreted as a romantic gesture.’

  ‘A what?’ Drake stared at him.

  ‘Maybe not so good?’

  ‘Chocolate is fine.’

  ‘But if it’s a stomach wound she can’t eat anything, so chocolate’s not good.’

  ‘Milo, listen to me, chocolates will be fine. Where are you going?’

  He was getting to his feet, tidying up his desk. He nodded over at the conference room where people were gathering.

  ‘Briefing. You should be there too.’

  Drake edged into the back of the crowded conference room. Pryce spotted him as he made his way to the front.

  ‘Ah, DS Drake, glad you could join us. Bad luck with DC Marsh. How’s she doing?’

  ‘Too early to say. She’s in surgery.’

  ‘Right, well, I’m sure she’s in good hands.’

  When he reached the end of the room, Pryce turned to address everyone.

  ‘Now, as you know, we were brought in to take command of the Magnolia Quays investigation. Now, despite the fact that one of our own has been hurt, I don’t want this to deflect from our purpose. The suspect is Duwayne Jones, a.k.a. Akbar Hakim.’ Pryce pressed the remote he was holding and an image appeared on the screen behind him. It was a mugshot from Hakim’s time at Wandsworth. He was barely recognizable as the bearded man Drake had pursued that morning. Younger and leaner, the only thing that was familiar about him was the deranged look in his eye.

  ‘Jones/Hakim is a small-time drug dealer with a history of Islamic radicalization. He’s to be considered armed and dangerous. We think he’s gone to ground in the Freetown estate.’

  Drake cleared his throat.

  ‘You’re missing the point.’

  Everyone in the room turned to look. Pryce cocked his head to one side. ‘DS Drake, you have something to share with us?’

  ‘Hakim is tied in to Magnolia Quays.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Pryce frowned. ‘Do you have evidence to back this up? Something I haven’t seen?’ There was a murmur in the room. ‘For those of you unfamiliar with DS Drake,’ Pryce smiled as he went on, ‘his methods can seem a little unconventional.’

  ‘Hakim was working at the site,’ said Drake.

  ‘His name is not on the list of workers.’

  ‘That’s because he was using another name.’

  ‘This is the first I’ve heard of any of this.’ Pryce folded his arms.

  ‘I was trying to bring Hakim in for questioning.’

  ‘Yes, and as a result of that DC Marsh is now in hospital with a punctured lung.’ Pryce exhaled heavily. ‘I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, DS Drake, but this is a Murder Investigation Unit. We work as a team. Do you have a problem with that?’

  ‘No problem.’ Drake raised his hands in surrender.

  ‘Good, then that’s settled.’ Pryce turned to address the room. ‘Okay, so, back to work. Bear in mind that Hakim has already attacked one officer. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.’

  As the team turned to file out of the room, Pryce signalled for Cal to stay behind.

  ‘A word please, DS Drake.’ Pryce waited until they were alone. ‘Carry on trying to disrupt my authority and I will have you dropped from the team. I am leading this unit and your job is to assist in any way you can.’

  ‘Got it,’ said Drake, turning to leave. Pryce stepped up and put a hand out to hold the door.

  ‘I’m not finished. What happened to DC Marsh was avoidable. If you had followed procedure and informed me what you were planning we could have gone in there with a team. We would have detained Hakim and DC Marsh would not be lying in hospital.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Drake sighed. ‘Look, Pryce, neither of us wants this but we’re stuck with working together until this is over.’

  ‘I’m ranking senior officer here, in case you hadn’t noticed. You forget, Cal, I know you better than most.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Pryce leaned closer. ‘It means that if I had my way you wouldn’t be anywhere near this case. I don’t trust you. You always seem to get away with it. Wheeler may fall for your charm, but I don’t. One thing I can’t stand is a dirty copper.’

  Drake shook his head. ‘There was an investigation, remember? And no charges were brought.’

  ‘You and I both know that those investigations have one purpose and that’s to give the Met a clean bill of health.’ Pryce sneered. ‘Public opinion, that’s all those things count for.’

  Drake stepped closer to him. ‘If you’ve got something to prove your case then bring it on, but otherwise, you go back to what you are good at, fucking things up.’

  ‘Wake up, Cal. Wheeler isn’t going to be able to protect you for ever.’

  Milo was waiting as Drake walked back out into the Murder Room.

  ‘What was all that about?’ he asked.

  ‘DCI Pryce was just filling me in on my career prospects.’

  ‘Things not looking bright, then?’

  ‘Understatement of the year. So, where are we?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Milo said. He looked tired. ‘I just don’t see where to go from here.’

  ‘If you’re worried about Kelly, don’t b
e. She’s tougher than most men I know.’

  ‘If the blade had gone in half an inch to the left it would have gone through her heart.’

  ‘Yeah, but it didn’t.’ Drake patted Milo’s shoulder. ‘Let’s find this bastard and make him pay. What’s all this?’ Drake leaned forward over the pile of documents on his desk.

  ‘That’s all about Thwaite’s interests in Iraq. Kelly was working on that before . . .’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’

  Drake sifted through the folder slowly. A hospital building in the town of Tikrit. A ministry in Baghdad. He looked at the price tags. These were big contracts. Howard Thwaite had made a nice piece of cash out of the war.

  ‘The other folder is on the kidnapping.’

  Drake leafed through the second folder. He found Tei Hideo’s CV which pointed out that in 2008 he was doing something for the UN. Looking at the impact of the war on bird populations. Well, somebody had to.

  A series of newspaper cuttings from the time outlined the case further. Drake sifted through them slowly. Three UN scientific advisors taken hostage and held for ransom. Hideo, an American seismologist named Janet Avery, and an English art historian who was concerned about stolen Iraqi artefacts. He studied the photograph. A grainy blow-up from a newspaper article. Her hair was longer and darker, but it was clearly her.

  ‘Marsha Thwaite.’

  ‘Marsha Chaikin, as she was then,’ said Milo. ‘She and Thwaite had travelled out separately. He was still on his first marriage and had to keep up appearances.’

  ‘Nice set-up.’ Drake looked at the picture again. It was an amateur photograph taken in bad light that showed a young woman who had just been through a harrowing experience. Milo shrugged.

  ‘When the government started to back out, Thwaite stepped in. He made contact with the kidnappers and got his firm to put up the ransom money. The kidnappers asked for three million dollars.’

  Drake gave a low whistle. ‘That’s a lot of donuts. Do we know exactly what happened to the third hostage, the one that didn’t make it?’

  ‘Janet Avery. Yeah, it was nasty.’

  ‘Break it down for me.’

  ‘Okay, so the Hawkestone team were to go in, pay the ransom and collect the hostages.’