The Sh0ut

by Stephen Leather

‘And him,’ said Walsh, tapping another figure. ‘That was the second guy.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘Dead sure,’ said Walsh.

  ‘For the benefit of the recording, would you name the two people you have just pointed at.’

  Walsh leaned forward and squinted at the caption. ‘Neil Hopkins, head of security. And Alan Muir. It doesn’t say what he does.’

  ‘And just to confirm, Neil Hopkins gave you two thousand pounds to set fire to the hotel in Kilburn, and Alan Muir paid you a further eight thousand pounds after you carried out your instructions.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And did either of these two men tell you that there would be people in the building?’

  Walsh nodded. ‘They said there were Romanian squatters living there, but they were usually out in the evenings.’

  ‘So they were definitely aware that there were people living there?’

  ‘Sure. But they were living on the top floor. They never went into the bar, which is where the consumer board was.’

  ‘They weren’t concerned about the people living there?’

  ‘No. But they said they would be blamed for the fire.’ He sat back and folded his arms. ‘So are we good?’

  The two detectives looked at each other, then back at Walsh. The inspector nodded. ‘Provided you’re happy to give evidence in court, I’d say we’re definitely good,’ he said.

  Vicky raised her hand. ‘Can I ask a question?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the inspector.

  Vicky looked at Walsh and he licked his lips. ‘How many fires did you set?’

  ‘Three,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They wanted the building destroyed. That’s what the first guy said. It had to be damaged so badly that they would have to knock it down.’

  Vicky looked over at the inspector. ‘That’s what they did,’ she said. ‘They’ve redeveloped the site in a way that wouldn’t be possible with a listed building. That’s why they were in such a rush to pay me off.’

  The inspector nodded. ‘Interview terminated at …’ He looked at his watch. ‘Ten forty-five.’

  DC Price gathered up the digital recorder. Vicky and Mulholland stood up.

  ‘I want her to come to court,’ said Walsh.

  ‘I’m sorry, what?’ said the inspector.

  Walsh gestured at Vicky. ‘I want her in court when I give evidence.’

  The inspector began to protest but Vicky cut him off with a wave of her hand. ‘I’m okay with that.’

  Walsh grinned and rubbed his hands together.

  Vicky left with the detectives and Mulholland. They collected their phones and gathered together on the pavement outside the prison. ‘He’ll be a good witness,’ said the inspector. ‘We’ll bring in Hopkins and Muir and I’m guessing we won’t have any problem getting them to roll over on their bosses. They were clearly acting under orders, I doubt they had much to gain financially.’

  Vicky punched the air. ‘Finally. Thank you so much.’ She patted Mulholland on the back. ‘Thanks, Peter. You don’t know what this means to me.’

  ‘Someone’s going to have to talk to Willie Campbell,’ he said.

  ‘He’s coming back from Spain next week,’ said the inspector. ‘We’ll be at the airport to meet him. He’s got a lot of explaining to do, obviously.’

  56

  Vicky parked on the street and walked to Dowgate station. Jamie Hughes was throwing a tennis ball for Watson and the dog was running up and down excitedly. ‘He looks happy,’ said Vicky.

  ‘He’s easy enough to please,’ said Hughes. ‘Not like some people I could mention.’ He flashed her a sarcastic smile.

  ‘Bloody hell, Jamie, I just didn’t fancy dating you, no need to bear a grudge.’

  ‘But you’re okay to go out with Matt the barman?’

  ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘Everybody knows. Why? Is it a secret?’

  ‘I had a pizza, it’s no big thing.’

  ‘I could have taken you for a pizza.’

  ‘You didn’t offer me pizza.’

  ‘If I had done, you’d have gone?’

  Vicky laughed. ‘I think that ship has sailed,’ she said. ‘But if it makes you feel any better, Matt did ask me first.’

  Watson returned with the tennis ball and Hughes took it from him. ‘So how’s Des?’ he asked.

  ‘On the mend.’

  ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘He doesn’t want me to say.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much.’

  ‘It’s not me, Jamie. It’s Des. He’s been chasing up some cases and it looks like it came back to bite him on the arse.’

  ‘What cases?’

  Vicky sighed. ‘What bit of “he doesn’t want me to say” don’t you understand?’

  Hughes held up his hands in surrender. ‘Fine,’ he said. Watson barked for the ball and Hughes threw it.

  ‘It’s not you, Jamie. He doesn’t want anyone to know. But between you and me, someone set fire to his house so he’s going to be staying with me for a while.’

  ‘Why would anyone set fire to Des’s house?’

  Vicky sighed. ‘He’s on the trail of a killer who’s been using fire to cover his tracks. He wants me to pick up some evidence he left in his office. But Jamie, mum’s the word, okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Give Des my best, yeah. I hope he’s up and around soon.’

  ‘I will,’ said Vicky.

  Hughes went over to Watson and took the ball from him while Vicky went upstairs to Farmer’s office. She sat down at his desk, deep in thought. She had been there for less than a minute when the door opened. It was Danny Maguire. ‘I thought I heard someone here,’ he said.

  ‘I’m just picking something up for Des.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘He’s okay, but his flat is a write-off.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘Dale’s got the case,’ said Vicky. ‘What does he say?’

  ‘He says it’s ongoing, but Des is a smoker, and you know …’ He shrugged.

  ‘It wasn’t an accident, Danny,’ said Vicky.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Remember that case I was asking you about? Samantha Stewart? It’s connected to that. Look, best we don’t talk in the office. I’ll see you downstairs in the bar in five minutes.’

  Maguire nodded and left, closing the door as he went. Vicky closed the desk drawer and sat back in Des’s chair. She didn’t like lying to her colleagues, but she didn’t have any choice. The killer had tried to kill Des and would almost certainly try again. And when he did, Vicky’s life would also be on the line.

  She sat for a few minutes then went to the gym, where Bob Morris was on an exercise bike, listening to music on his iPhone. He took his earphones out when he saw Vicky. ‘What can I do you for, darling?’

  ‘I want to borrow a couple of pieces of kit, on the QT.’

  She told him what she wanted and he frowned. ‘What the hell do you need that for?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ she said. ‘Are you okay with it? I’ll get everything back to you tomorrow morning.’

  ‘No problem, we’ve got spares. But if you get caught, it’s on you.’

  ‘Deal,’ she said, patting him on the back.

  57

  Matt looked over at the table where Vicky was deep in conversation with Danny Maguire and wondered what they were talking about. He had been in the stockroom when they turned up so he hadn’t served them, but he had caught Vicky’s eye a couple of times and she had smiled and waved. She was dressed casually in a sweatshirt and jeans and a long scarf wound around her neck so he figured it was her day off.

  After fifteen minutes Maguire drained his glass and left. Matt took the opportunity to pop over to the table.

  ‘How are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Good,’ she said.

  ‘I sent you a text.’

  ‘I
’m sorry. I’ve been rushed off my feet and my battery died.’

  He picked up the empty glass. ‘So I heard Des was in a fire,’ said Matt. ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘He’s in hospital. But he’s out today.’

  ‘What was it? An accident?’

  ‘Someone set fire to his flat.’

  ‘No way.’

  She lowered her voice and leaned towards him. ‘Des reckons it was the killer. He thinks the killer found out what he was doing and wanted to stop him.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘That’s what it looks like, Matt. Why else would anyone set fire to his flat?’

  ‘No idea. My God. So what happened?’

  ‘I dragged him out. Just in time.’

  ‘Wow. What, the flat was on fire and you went in?’

  Vicky nodded.

  Matt smiled. ‘You can’t help but be a hero, can you?’

  ‘I don’t think I was being heroic. I just needed to get him out.’

  ‘Fireman’s lift?’ Vicky nodded and Matt grinned. ‘Sorry. Probably easier carrying him down than up, though being unconscious wouldn’t help.’

  ‘He’s not getting any lighter, that’s a fact,’ said Vicky. ‘But at least this proves his killer theory, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Hell yeah,’ said Vicky. ‘Now he’s got the Evening Standard interested and they’re going to do a story on the whole thing. Remember that reporter who did the story on me? India? She’s really interested. She says she’ll do a front-page story on it and that’ll get the cops fired up. She’s going to interview me and Des tomorrow.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better be going. I’ve got to pick him up.’

  ‘Not literally?’

  ‘Ha ha. In the car.’ She drank the rest of her wine and put down the empty glass.

  ‘Always the chauffeur,’ said Matt. ‘You should tell him to get an Addison Lee account. Or a bloody bike.’

  ‘He’s staying with me for a few days,’ said Vicky.

  ‘This gets better and better,’ laughed Matt.

  ‘His flat is a mess, it’ll be a while before he can move back in.’

  ‘So he forced himself on you? He’s unstoppable, isn’t he?’

  ‘It’s okay. My mum has gone on holiday with her sister so there’s plenty of room.’

  ‘You’ll be waiting on him hand and foot,’ said Matt. ‘You know what he’s like.’

  ‘What can I say?’ Vicky stood up. ‘He’s the guv.’

  ‘You’re too bloody good to him,’ said Matt, picking up her empty glass and standing up. ‘So, fancy a pizza or something over the weekend?’

  ‘Or something?’ she said.

  ‘I thought I’d leave my options open,’ he said. ‘Saturday?’

  Vicky grinned. ‘Saturday,’ she said. She looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to dash.’

  ‘Give my regards to the Grouch,’ said Matt.

  ‘Will do,’ said Vicky. She headed for the door as Matt took her glass over to the bar.

  58

  By the time Vicky got to the hospital, Des Farmer was waiting for her, sitting on his bed with his bag packed. ‘You’re late,’ he said. He looked at his watch and shook his head.

  ‘To be fair, we didn’t have a time fixed,’ said Vicky. ‘Anyway, how are you?’

  ‘Hungry,’ he said. ‘The food’s crap here.’

  ‘I’ll cook something when we get home,’ she said. ‘Well, I say cook, I mean I’ll reheat something my mum left for me.’

  ‘Or we could order pizza.’

  ‘Yes, we could order pizza,’ she said, picking up his bag. ‘Are you good to go?’

  He nodded and stood up. He took a deep breath and Vicky took his arm. He shook her off. ‘I’m not an invalid, sweetheart.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She walked with him to the lift, and down to the ground floor. She found him a seat in reception and went off to get her car, but by the time she returned with the BMW he was standing outside, his bag at his feet, as if he feared that at any moment he might be dragged back inside.

  She helped him into the car and put his bag in the boot.

  ‘How about we pick up a pizza on the way.’

  ‘What is with you guys and pizza?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That’s what Matt’s offering me over the weekend.’

  ‘He’s a pretty boy, isn’t he?’

  ‘And charming. Don’t forget charming. Guv, did you tell anyone about being zapped and drugged?’

  He frowned. ‘The doctors, you mean?’

  Vicky shook her head. ‘Anyone from Dowgate?’

  ‘Just Dale.’

  ‘But no one else?’

  ‘Dale likes to gossip so I assume everyone at Dowgate knows now. Why do you ask?’

  Vicky shrugged. ‘No reason. Just wanted to know.’

  59

  He heard the car coming down the road and he hugged the shadows. He was standing at the side of the house. The house was in darkness. He had his backpack slung over his shoulder and he was wearing blue latex gloves and a dark coat with a black wool beanie hat.

  The car turned into the driveway. The flash BMW that she’d bought with her compensation money. The headlights were blinding but he caught a glimpse of someone in the front passenger seat before he ducked back into the darkness. The garage door rattled up and he frowned, wondering what was happening, then realised she must have used a remote to open it. She drove slowly into the garage and the door closed behind it. He waited, breathing slowly and evenly. When she didn’t reappear he assumed there must be a connecting door from the garage to the house and that she’d gone inside. He’d heard the dog bark for a while and then it fell silent.

  He heard voices in the kitchen. Her voice, and a man’s. He hadn’t seen the man’s face but he knew it was her boss, Des Farmer. The one they called the Grouch. The kitchen light went off and everything went quiet. He peered around the side of the house. The sitting-room curtains were drawn but he could see that the lights were on. He waited, shifting his weight from side to side to keep his circulation flowing. It was getting cold and his breath was feathering in the night air. Ten minutes passed and he checked again. The sitting-room lights were off.

  He walked slowly across the lawn and looked up at the rear of the house. Vicky’s lights were on. Then the bathroom light went on. She must have been showering. Or doing whatever it was she did to her scars. He waited. The bathroom light went off. Five minutes later Vicky’s bedroom light went off. He assumed the dog was upstairs with Vicky but he had a contingency plan for the dog if it was still downstairs.

  He went around to the front of the house. All the upstairs lights were off. The house was in darkness. He walked quietly to the rear of the house again, sat down and waited. He needed them to be in a deep sleep and for most people that happened about an hour and a half after they went to bed.

  He kept checking his watch as time crawled by. His heart was racing, he wanted to get inside the house and get it over with, but he knew that he had to be patient. There were two people inside, Vicky and her boss, and if either heard him breaking in then it would all be over. One woman he could overpower easily enough, but to be sure of overpowering two people he would need them asleep.

  He checked his watch. Ninety minutes had passed. He stood up and rolled his shoulders, then did some stretching exercises to get his muscles working again. He took a few deep breaths, then walked around to the front door. He checked the lock and smiled to himself. A Yale. Easy enough to pick and he’d had plenty of practice. He had a set of picks in his backpack and knew from experience that it would take less than a couple of minutes to open it. As a fall-back position he had a glass-cutter but he would prefer to get inside without causing any damage.

  He checked the garage door but it was down and locked. He went back along the side of the house. An upstairs window was open slightly, the glass was frosted so it was probably a bathroom. There was a drainpipe running up by the w
indow and he tested it. It was metal and looked as if it would bear his weight.

  He carried on around the side of the house and to the kitchen door. He tried the handle but it was locked. To the right was a conservatory with sliding doors on to a small terrace. He stepped on to the terrace and gently pushed the glass door. It slid open. He smiled to himself. It was his lucky day.

  He took a small foil-wrapped package out of his pocket. Inside was a piece of raw steak. He’d never yet met a Labrador that couldn’t be won over by a treat. He slipped inside and pushed the door closed behind him. He stood for a while, steadying his breathing. There was a wicker sofa and a wicker chair with matching cushions, a glass-topped wicker coffee table and dozens of assorted potted plants. Beyond the sofa was another sliding door, this one leading to a sitting room. The curtains were drawn and a small patch of moonlight illuminated the threshold, but the rest was in darkness.

  He tiptoed around the wicker sofa and stepped into the darkened living room. All he could make out were dark furniture shapes. He figured the door to the hallway would be to the left and he looked over that way, blinking his eyes as he tried to see. That was when the light flicked on.

  60

  ‘Hello, Matt.’ Vicky had been sitting in the armchair for the best part of an hour before she had heard the door to the patio slide open. She had left it unlocked, figuring that whoever had attacked Farmer would also be after her. She had the thermal-imaging camera that she had borrowed from Dowgate and she had watched as the figure had stood in the conservatory, listening.

  It was only when the figure had stepped across the threshold into the sitting room that she knew for sure that it was Matt from the bar. Matt who had kissed her. Matt who been the perfect gentleman. She had suspected, of course. But it could just as easily have been Jamie Hughes or Danny McGuire. Or anyone from Dowgate. Everyone now knew about Farmer’s obsession with the serial killer, and that he had been attacked in the flat. The truth was, she had hoped it was anyone but Matt. She liked him, she really liked him. But the Matt she thought she knew wasn’t the real Matt. He wasn’t Matt the potential boyfriend or Matt the man she could settle down and have children with. He was Matt the arsonist. Matt the killer.