The Huntsman dipped his head, trying to peer under the Fedora, watching as the figure’s white cotton-gloved hand scrambled about under the scarf.
The synthetic voice of the mask was replaced with words that might have been forced through a cheese grater. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nathan Hunter.”
The Huntsman stood, accepting the gloved hand offered to him. “Queenie?”
Queenie’s head bowed slightly. “Ronnie McQueen. Mister Ronnie McQueen.”
The Huntsman stared, stunned, then broke into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. “No way. The Ronnie McQueen? You’re supposed to be dead!”
Queenie’s hand went to his throat again, adjusting the mechanical voice box that allowed him to speak. “It was a close call. I figured I would get far more done if people believed that was the case.” He inhaled slowly, chest rattling, an ominous gurgling noise coming from his throat as saliva struggled to moisten the airways.
The Huntsman took a step back to study the figure before him. “You say you’re Ronnie McQueen. You could be Donald Trump for all I know.”
“You want to see my birth certificate?”
The Huntsman folded his arms and crossed his ankles, as if preparing to watch a show. “We had a deal, remember? I need to see the full monty, Queenie boy, or there’ll be no apple love for you today.”
Queenie’s shoulders sank beneath the Paisley gown. “Nathan, you know my fate. I was burned alive in an acid vat.”
“They said you were killed instantly.”
“Do you believe everything you read in the papers?”
“There was a funeral.”
“Some tramp from Regent’s Park.”
“So there was no acid bath?”
Queenie struggled to laugh, pulling aside the neck-scarf to reveal the metal voice box. “Sadly that was for real. Fully immersed.”
The Huntsman shrugged indifferently. “You’re still here. Can’t have been that bad.”
The reflective sunglasses glared. “When they pulled me out, most of my skin had already come off. I had ninety-five per cent burns and was in an induced coma for eight months.”
The Huntsman shrugged. “Life sucks. Have you ever seen what napalm does? Show us your boat and I’ll give it marks out of ten compared to some of the villagers we scorched outside Kinshasa.”
“The difference being they died.”
“Eventually, yeah. Usually we put a bullet in them just to shut them up.”
“Very thoughtful of you. I sometimes wish someone had put a bullet through me.”
“Like hell you do. You’re still here, trying to appreciate the finer things in life. Things ain’t so bad for you.”
“Bits of me are still here.” Queenie cocked his head to one side as far as his taut skin would allow. “I’ve had twenty-four skin grafts, Nathan.”
“Should I be impressed?”
“No, but you might show some respect.”
“Show me your boat and maybe I will.”
“I have no hair. No nails.” He paused. “No genitals. No vocal chords, or oesophagus. I haven’t eaten anything solid since the day…”
“Like I said, you could be anyone under that little get up.”
“Do you honestly think I am going to display my suffering for your amusement?”
The Huntsman sighed, blinking slowly, a rueful smile on his lips. “For my amusement, no. For the pomme-rouge, yes.”
The sunglasses stared back beneath the rim of the Fedora. A nod of the head.
“I see I was right to hire you, Nathan.” The lingering stare moved down to the bag at the Huntsman’s feet. “And if my suspicions are correct about what you have there then we have further business to conduct.” He reached across to the intercom on the desk. “Glenlivet and two glasses. And bring a hammer.”
Chapter 56.
“Come on, Jim, just for an hour?” Red pushed a huge bacon bun across the canteen table toward her DS.
“I’m not a baby-sitter, Guv,” Mackenzie protested. “I’m employed by Her Majesty to put criminals behind bars, not little kids.”
“There’s guaranteed OT for the next two weekends for the team if you help me out? Think what that will do to your street cred’.”
“Think what it will do if the Super found out.”
Red turned on the smile. “If a man of your talents can’t outwit Blake, nobody can. So how about it?”
Mackenzie sighed, glancing around the empty canteen. “Just the two of them, right?’
“Yup. Pippa’s son Jack, and his friend. Quick visit to the cells; ride in a car; blues and twos; and maybe a look in stores at the kit. I’ll owe you big time if you can swing it with the custody suite.”
Mackenzie grabbed the bun with massive hands, ketchup oozing out onto the Formica table top as he took a bite. “Mmmm, you sure will.” He shook his head at her. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into these things.”
Red put both palms on the table, leaning over to flutter her eyelashes. “Because you love me. The Super’s too pre-occupied with this pomme-rouge business to worry about the Station, so perfect timing. I’ll go and get them. Thanks, Jim!”
“What? You mean they’re already here? What if I’d have said no?”
Red blew him a faux kiss as she rushed from the station canteen. “You wouldn’t have.”
Chapter 57.
“Dude, this is seriously cool!” Darren held his arms steady as Jack tightened the cuffs around his friend’s wrists.
Jack shot a conspiratorial wink at Red. “You do have a key right, Cass?”
“Key?” She looked from Darren’s shackled wrists to Mackenzie, then back to Jack, feigning ignorance, palms in the air.
“Yeah, right,” Darren said with faux bravado, worried eyes darting from Red to Mackenzie.
Mackenzie played along. “Don’t look at me, Guv, they’re your cuffs.”
Red patted her pockets. “I had it this morning, but then…Oh no.” A theatrical hand raced to her mouth. “My jacket. I left it in the briefing room. They must be in there.”
Jack beamed at Darren, punching him playfully on the arm. “Looks like you’re nicked, son.”
The colour drained from Darren’s face as he strained against the cuffs, a hint of panic.
Red laughed, placing a reassuring hand on the boys’ shoulder. “Steady on there, Daz. Just messing.” She produced a key from her pocket, beaming at Darren. “April fool!”
“Let that be a lesson to you, young man.” Mackenzie ruffled Darren’s short-cropped hair. “We don’t want to be doing this for real in five years’ time, do we?”
Red popped the cuffs open, rubbing Darren’s wrists as she freed him.
Darren rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat, bravado suddenly restored. “Is it okay if we stay in the cells for a bit, Cass?” He nudged Jack.
“Yeah, can we?”
Red glanced at Mackenzie. “Up to the big man here. As Acting Custody Officer he outranks me down here.”
Mackenzie nodded, a rueful smile playing on his lips. “Sergeant Rodgers has gone for an extra long lunch break. I can give you ten minutes. DI Rose and I are going to be right out here discussing important police business.”
“Wicked!” Jack clapped his hands together, giving Red a semi-toothless grin. He produced his phone from his pocket, aiming it at his friend. “Daz, put the cuffs back on and stand over there near the door while I get your photo. This is so going straight on Facebook!”
Chapter 58.
The Huntsman poured the scotch with practised movements, his eyes never leaving Queenie’s gloved fingers as they carefully unfolded the velvet cloth and extracted the pomme-rouge. He set the two glasses down by the hammer.
“You first.”
Queenie looked up, the jewel in his hand.
The Huntsman motioned to the tumblers. “You wanted scotch. Drink.”
Queenie let out a breathless chuckle. “You think I might try to poison you?”
“
It would be cheaper than paying me.”
Queenie’s sunglasses reflected the Huntsman’s gaze. “Have you any idea how much I’m worth, Nathan? The interest on the Heathrow bullion job alone will cover your fees several times over.”
“Maybe so. But I tend to find the more someone has, the more they want to hang on to it.”
“Here.” Queenie reached for a tumbler, raising it to his lips. A finger edged the silk scarf back enough to receive the glass. He tipped his head back, downing the liquid in one. He returned the tumbler to the table. “Satisfied?”
“It pays to be careful.” The Huntsman downed the second glass, replenishing both. “As I was saying, you owe me one million, cash.”
Queenie raised a finger. “Correction. I will owe you one million, once you’ve sorted Andrews.” He laid out the velvet cloth on the table, placed the pomme-rouge in the centre and brought the edges up to enfold it.
The Huntsman threw down his glass. “You’ve got your bloody pomme-rouge, McQueen. Don’t play games with me.”
Queenie glared back, his words grating through the air. “Did you seriously think Southgate would have let the pomme-rouge out of his sight? Idiot!” He grabbed the hammer, bringing it smashing down on the velvet-enfolded jewel on the table.
The Huntsman watched in stunned silence as Queenie unfolded the velvet to reveal shattered glass.
“Shit.”
“As I said, Nathan, one million for Andrews. The other million when I get the apple. So far you’ve delivered on neither.”
“Andrews is marked. Don’t worry about that.”
“And the apple?”
“I guess Southgate has it.”
“Obviously Southgate has it. And the last person he’ll sell it to is me, at any price.”
“Then why?” The Huntsman gestured to the smashed costume jewellery. “What the hell was I…”
“I needed to be sure it was him.”
The Huntsman leapt forward, grabbing at Queenie’s scrawny neck, pressing his nose to Queenie’s covered face. “Don’t ever do that to me again, you freak! Do you understand me?” His fingers slipped beneath the scarf. “I could have been— ”
The Huntsman recoiled, staring at the puss glistening on his hand. “What the...?”
He stepped back, wiping his hand on his jeans, staring at Queenie. Queenie’s sunglasses stared back.
“You want to know if I’m really Ronnie McQueen? Well so be it, Nathan, you shall.” Queenie eased himself onto a chair, slowly raised his arms, wincing with pain. Stiff, awkward movements unravelled the scarf from his face like a mummy being disrobed. Slowly he lifted his hat from his head, his gaze dropping to the floor.
The Huntsman leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped together, elbows on his knees. He titled his head slightly as if admiring a painting in an art gallery. Slowly he whistled, a smile spreading across his face. “Well they made a right royal mess of you, didn’t they, Ronnie?”
Queenie cleared his throat repeatedly, unable to swallow properly. The Huntsman slid the tumbler across the desk, watching as Queenie put it to his scorched lips, a scarred tongue flicking around, frantically seeking moisture. Queenie’s eyes darted like a reptile’s, eyelids barely existent; scalded, taut flaps of burnt skin. The scalp red and angry, like cheese bubbling under a grill. Holes for a nose, and what looked like someone else’s lips grafted onto the face.
Queenie’s breathing eased, the chords in his neck relaxing. He swiped a gloved hand across his lips, blood and skin sticking to the white cotton. He dragged his eyes up to meet the Huntsman’s. “Happy now?” he rasped.
“Southgate did this?”
“His turn will come. But when you get the pomme-rouge, Nathan, it’s imperative he’s not harmed.”
“Not? You want me to kill a cop, but you don’t want the guy harmed who did this to you?”
“Andrews was just doing his job. Too well. He’s ruined one too many of my operations. I need to send out a signal.”
“And Southgate?”
“Oh, don’t worry. Southgate has a bath to look forward to. But I want him pristine when he goes in, lower body first. I’m going to video him as his skin peels away, then play it back to him when he regains consciousness. ”
The Huntsman’s face broke into a grin. “I’d like to see that.”
“Private event. Just bring me the apple.”
“In return for?”
“As agreed.”
“My price has just gone up.”
Queenie leaned forward. “I thought I knew you better. How much?”
“It’s not about numbers. It’s just the principle. Extra work. Extra pay. You want Southgate, that’s another million.”
“I see.” Queenie considered the issue a moment, then, “As you say, it’s not about the numbers. So, seeing as we’re on intimate terms now, Nathan, maybe I can be more help to you in other ways.”
“Other ways? What can you do for me?”
“I believe you have a small family matter to resolve?”
A smile spread across the Huntsman’s lips. “My, my, Queenie. You have been doing your homework.”
Chapter 59.
Red and Mackenzie backed out of the cell, making a jangling show of locking the door behind them. Neither boy even turned in their direction — too busy playing the hardened criminal for the camera.
“Nice kids.” Mackenzie dug into his trouser pocket for change for the drinks machine. He fed the coins in with practised precision, jabbing at the buttons without even looking.
“Jack has really started to warm to me recently, and today certainly won’t have done any harm. Thanks, Jim. I owe you.”
Mackenzie passed Red a steaming plastic cup. “No worries. I know what it’s... Shit.” He whipped his head toward the security monitor. “It’s the bleeding Super! What the hell’s he doing here?”
Superintendent Blake appeared in the door, his look of surprise seeing Red and Mackenzie in the cell block equalled only by Red’s expression as she saw Taylor emerge behind Blake.
“Cass? You’re the last person I expected to see down here. And you, James? I didn’t see anything flagged up when I last checked. Have CID just brought someone in?”
“You could say that, Sir,” Mackenzie ventured. “ He slipped behind the desk. DS Rodgers had to take a private call, Sir. Family problem. I just stepped in to cover him.”
Blake turned to Red. “And DI Rose just happened to be down here too?”
Red watched Taylor’s eyes savouring her discomfort as she scrambled her thoughts together. “The Burns brothers, Sir. I needed to check on the dates they were last in custody.”
Blake eyed her warily. “Oh? Is there something wrong with the computer in your office?”
Red shuffled on her feet, feeling Taylor’s eyes boring into her. “No, Sir, it’s just...”
Blake waved a dismissive hand. “Well see that it’s sorted, and quickly. Right, James, if you can unlock the doors.”
“Doors, Sir?”
“Routine inspection. I know there are bigger things to worry about, but that doesn’t mean we can overlook the routine checks on our guest accommodation. I’ll be in and out in two minutes.”
Mackenzie stared helplessly at Red. “Yes, Sir.” He pressed the button unlocking the cell block gate. “Ready when you are, Sir.”
“Barry, would you do the honours?” Blake gestured for Taylor to take the cell keys. “So, all empty, I take it? Early morning checks are always the easiest. I’m glad I’m not on duty Friday evenings.”
“I...” Mackenzie’s voice trailed off.
Red glanced anxiously at Taylor. “Barry, shouldn’t you be with Jez?”
“He’ll only be a few minutes, Cass, then he’s all yours again. In fact I wanted –” Blake stopped in mid-sentence as his mobile rang. “Ah, just the man I want.” He passed Taylor the clipboard and pen. “You go on ahead, Barry. I just need to speak to DCI Andrews a moment. I’ll catch you up.”
Taylor ea
gerly took the clipboard, grinning inanely as Red escorted him along the cell corridor, stopping at the first door, keys jangling.
“Everything alright, Guv?” Taylor’s face made clear he knew it wasn’t. He pushed the cell door open, making a point of running his finger down the list, ticking boxes. Blanket. Check. Toilet paper. Check. Cleanliness. Check.”
Red looked nervously at the Super, jabbering on his mobile. “Are you doing this with every cell?”
Taylor pulled the cell door shut. “Yep. Is there a problem, Guv?” He moved to the next cell door, keys ready.
Red looked from Taylor to Blake and back, eyes pleading. “Yes. Number Four,” she whispered.
Taylor strolled casually to cell four, flipping open the peep hole. He let it close, turning to Red, a toothy smile cracking his face wide. “A new youth custody pilot scheme, Guv?”
Red stared back, unable to formulate a response, a bead of sweat on her upper lip as she heard Superintendent Blake end his call. Finally, “It’s Pippa’s son, Jack. And a friend. It was just a –”
Blake’s voice boomed behind her. “Sorry about that. Now, where were we?”
Taylor held Red’s eyes as long as he dared before turning to Blake. “All done, Sir. Everything checked off. All clean and tidy.” He looked at Red. “As you say, Sir, so much easier when the cells are empty.” Taylor quickly ticked some more boxes, scribbled away like an enthusiastic PA on their first day at work, before handing the clipboard to Blake, gently nudging him back out of the cell corridor.
Red slumped against the wall, exhaling slowly, Blake’s parting words lost to her relief. Taking a deep breath she straightened her top and walked back into the custody reception as Blake disappeared through the door. Taylor hung back in the exit, waiting for her to appear.
He held out a hand. “Quits, Red?”
Chapter 60.
“Open it, open it!” Ruby squealed, clapping her tiny hands together gleefully.
Saffina Desforges' ROSE RED Crime Thriller Boxed Set Page 16
