Honor felt cold. There was nothing in O’Rourke’s eyes, blank discs shining with fanatical delight that was as empty as it was frightening, a soul without empathy, but not one that had been born empty of love or hope. This was a man shaped by his life, by the cruel hand of fate, unable to deal with the blows it had dealt him.
‘If that were true, then you’d feel no grief at the loss of your mother.’
Kieran’s smile slipped, cold hatred flaring in his gaze like a blade catching the light. ‘You know nothing about my life or…’
‘You took your grief out on others, because you couldn’t get over the loss of your mother.’
Kieran said nothing, grinding his teeth in his jaw but unable to break his gaze. ‘Kept your father in agony for decades,’ Honor went on. ‘Funny, Kieran, how you put so many people through such horrific torture, and yet when it came to your turn to face your fears, you failed miserably.’
Kieran’s eye twitched as Honor edged closer to the window, their faces only inches apart, and spoke softly.
‘Every single one of your victims overcame their fears and fought for their lives, but you, you just folded and ran away like the coward that you are.’
‘You know nothing! You’re just like all the rest!’ ‘I am,’ Honor replied. ‘I owe you one, Kieran.’ O’Rourke’s rage subsided into confusion.
‘I haven’t got over the loss of my baby,’ she said, so softly that she could barely hear herself. ‘That was a life taken from me, but it was nobody’s fault. It just happened. I need to talk about it, so I will, so I don’t end up like you.’
Kieran’s outrage tried to reassert itself, but she could tell that his twisted mind couldn’t find a way to turn her brutal honesty into a victory that would soothe his tortured ego.
‘You’ll never get your baby back,’ he hissed, lips twisted into a grimacing grin.
‘I know,’ Honor replied. ‘Just as you’ll never get your life back. But me, I’ll walk away from this.’
‘You’ll suffer in a cell just like me,’ O’Rourke snapped, ‘for the rest of your life.’
Honor stepped back one pace from the door and looked over her shoulder. ‘You can remove the cuffs, now, Sergeant.’
Honor looked back at Kieran, and saw the confusion on his features as he watched the cuffs being removed.
‘Five canonical victims,’ Honor said as the sergeant took the cuffs off her wrists. ‘So you believe, but of course that’s not how it played out at all. Sebastian Dukas died at your hands, because you screwed up his dose of GHB. Amber Carson died a horrific death, but Jayden Nixx escaped. Both the Wilsons survived their ordeals and have identified you as their attacker.’
Kieran’s features began to collapse. ‘You killed Natalie Delray, and your detective lays dead on the floor where I left him.’
Honor said nothing but she smiled now, a long, slow smile that she could see further infuriated Kieran with every second that she kept it on her face.
‘You’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison for murder!’ Kieran shrieked at her, spittle flecking the glass.
Honor shook her head, and with one hand held up the evidence bag with the camera and its severed strap. Kieran’s eyes locked onto it, and in an instant, she saw a devastation crush his warped dreams as she spoke softly.
‘Natalie Delray is alive and well, and Samir Raaya is recovering in hospital,’ she replied. ‘So, in fact, you only really killed two people, as I’m guessing your father doesn’t count to you. Still, the campaign itself will ensure that you’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars, unable to bring your own suffering to an end.’
Honor lowered the bag back out of sight, turned on her heel, and walked away from the door.
‘You won’t forget about this!’ O’Rourke yelled after her. ‘The world won’t forget about this!’
Honor paused, looked over her shoulder, then walked back to the window.
‘I certainly hope so,’ she replied quietly. ‘Your greatest legacy might well become as an example of how we catch the next serial killer, because unlike the Ripper, you screwed up just about everything.’
Honor reached up and slammed the window shutter closed before she turned again and walked back to the custody bridge. Her heart was battering the walls of her chest but she felt suddenly buoyed by the confrontation. She turned and walked away from the cell, heard O’Rourke screaming something unintelligible from within, but she knew now that she would never see him again.
‘Turning the screws,’ Danny smiled as he walked with her. ‘You’ve got a hard edge that I really quite like.’
Honor shook her head. Like the victim who beats a bully, she found that there was little surcease in victory when so many had lost so much. Sure, she’d got O’Rourke, but the pain that had driven him was no different from the pain that swilled deep within her, one that she knew she must confront and move past, in as much as any person could.
‘I just wanted to pull his chain a bit,’ she replied as they walked back through the custody suite. ‘I’ll never come face to face with him again, never give him the chance to argue his case. That’ll hurt a narcissist like him more than anything else, hopefully.’
Danny checked his watch. ‘I’m going to head home, see my girls before bed.’
Honor turned to him. For a moment she didn’t know what she wanted to say, only that she knew she had to say something. She tried, but nothing came out. Danny leaned
on the wall at his side, his hands in his pockets, saw her try to speak and somehow come up short. One side of his mouth curled up in a little smile.
Sometimes, every now and again, Honor realised that you didn’t have to say something, you already just knew. Danny watched her for a moment longer, and then he pushed off the wall.
‘I’ve got your back,’ he said simply.
As they were buzzed out of the custody bridge, she noticed a lot of activity outside the station, flashing cameras, commingled voices. Above the noise, DCI Mitchell’s voice rumbled as he addressed the media.
‘I’m gonna head out the side entrance,’ she said to Danny, keen to avoid the chaos on the street outside B–Gate.
As she turned, she saw a wall–mounted television showing the BBC News channel, with her face upon it. For a moment her shoulders sank as she realised that they were still tearing her apart, even after all that she had done.
‘Jesus, I just can’t get away from this shit.’
‘It’s great, isn’t it?’ Danny said as he saw her face on the television.
‘You’re kidding, right? The national character assassination? It’s not my finest hour, Danny, thanks for reminding me.’
Danny looked at her, confused, and then he got it.
‘You haven’t seen the news since you caught O’Rourke,’ he pointed out. ‘Everything’s changed. Millions of people are talking about what you did.’
‘That’s kind of what I didn’t want.’
‘They’re talking about you bringing O’Rourke in,’ Danny added. ‘How you fooled O’Rourke, saved a life and captured the perpetrator. It’s all they’re talking about, on the news, everywhere. Some are even saying you engineered the whole pursuit, put yourself in harm’s way just to bring him to justice.’
Honor wasn’t sure what to make of that. ‘It’s BS,’ she replied. ‘I almost got killed.’
‘Kind of the point,’ Danny acknowledged. ‘They know what you went through and it was all on film, right there, live on television. There’s not a news network in the world that isn’t showing it, so now they’re looking at you for all the right reasons. You did this.’ He stepped closer to her, and gently poked her in the shoulder. ‘You did this.’
‘You gonna head out that door and face the media, or keep hiding in the shadows?’ Danny asked her.
Honor glanced again at the station doors, her stomach turning over upon itself at the thought of facing the media once again. Truth was, the attention was the last thing that she wanted, victor or no. So what did she want? For a
moment, as always, she couldn’t tell. Then, she turned to Danny.
‘Come with me?’
Danny nodded, grinned, and gestured the way to the doors with a grand sweep of his arm.
‘After you, boss.’
Honor took a breath, steeled herself, and walked toward the station doors. Danny opened them, and she saw DCI Mitchell turn to face her, ranks of reporters and cameras and flashing lights, the dark night sky, the traffic thundering past on wet roads, the scent and the presence of London filling her universe.
And then the applause from the deep ranks of reporters, cheers, the broad grin on DCI Mitchell’s face as he stood back to let her come forward from the doors, the gentle, friendly nudge from Danny’s elbow to get her moving. Honor couldn’t manage to
crack a smile, but she found herself walking down the steps, no longer as afraid as she used to be.
It’s on you. It’s all on you. Everybody is watching you. Everybody is interested in you. Everybody cares.
***
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dean Crawford is the Sunday Times best-selling author of more than thirty thrillers and science fiction novels. His books have sold in over twenty countries worldwide and have attracted interest from Hollywood production studios. He lives in the United Kingdom.
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