The Murder Exchange

by Simon Kernick

  ‘But why me, Joe? What did I ever do to you?’

  ‘You killed my wife, Max. You killed my wife.’

  ‘What the fuck are you—?’ I never finished the question. I saw Joe raising the spade, the metal gleaming in the moonlight, and threw up my arms to protect my face as it came crashing down on my elbows, blade first, sending a searing pain up them. I fell backwards and lay there, curled up in a ball. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joe,’ I said, my voice muffled by the fact that my arms were still pressed close to my face. ‘Honest, I don’t.’

  ‘Modern technology, Max. That’s your problem. You remember Dietrich Fenzer, the guy who got convicted? Well, he committed suicide six months ago, still protesting his innocence. Said he definitely saw and argued with Elsa that night but that he never killed her. Three weeks ago, I got a call from the German authorities, saying that they were reopening the case. Apparently they’d started to get their own doubts about it, and they looked again at DNA samples taken from Elsa’s body at the time, and after further investigation it turned out that they didn’t come from Fenzer at all.’ He stopped and struck me hard across the back, making me cry out in pain. ‘Too late for him, but it got me thinking back. Because you see, at the time, I knew she was having affairs with other men. It upset me, but I could tolerate it because I really fucking loved her. But I remember things she said, things that made me think that maybe one of the men she was having an affair with was you.’

  ‘Joe, I swear—’

  The spade came down again, this time on my fingers. I heard several of them break but didn’t move them, knowing that to do so would invite a further blow to my exposed head. I clenched my teeth hard against the excruciating pain.

  ‘I always tried to push those thoughts out of my head because you were Max Iversson, my good mate, my fucking drinking buddy.’

  ‘I was. I am.’

  ‘Like fuck you are!’ he snarled, smacking me again on the broken fingers. I wailed with the pain, my eyes watering. I wondered how much more of this I could stand. ‘But then the copper who phoned me said they were looking again at the soldiers on the base at the time because they believed that several of them had been having affairs with her, and I got to thinking about how you’d been after the murder, and how jittery you were, and that maybe, just maybe, if they hadn’t arrested Fenzer so quick I would have probably ended up suspecting you, even though you were my friend. And then I also thought that if you’d seen her arguing with Fenzer then maybe you could have planted the weapon you used in his house—’

  ‘Please, Joe … please. I didn’t do it, I swear.’

  I felt the edge of the spade cut deep into my thigh as Joe brought it down with all his strength. Instinctively, I grabbed at the wound with one of my battered hands, feeling the blood gurgle out, and Joe lifted the spade high above his head ready to strike. ‘Why don’t you just admit it, Max? Why don’t you just fucking admit it? I know you—’

  The gunshot cracked across the still night air and suddenly Joe’s expression changed from rage to mild surprise. He stumbled, and the spade fell from his hands, clanking loudly on the concrete. A second shot rang out, and this time he fell forwards, narrowly missing me, and rolled over. Within a couple of seconds he’d stopped moving.

  Slowly and painfully, I manoeuvred my body round so I could see who the shooter was. Tugger was holding the gun, a .38 by the looks of things, different to the one he’d been holding when he’d bumped into me in the hallway. He was still lying on the ground, having propped himself up on one elbow to deliver the shots, and he looked close to death. His eyes seemed glazed and the blood was still coming out of his mouth. The knife, too, remained firmly embedded in his back.

  Somehow I managed to stagger to my feet, wincing as I used my broken fingers to lift myself up. I limped over to Tugger, still holding my bleeding leg, but he was fading fast.

  He rolled onto his side and coughed violently. A thick load of gluey blood and phlegm emerged, winding its way slowly towards the ground. I sat down in front of him, trying to think what I could do to save his life, but knowing it was a lost cause. His eyes tried to focus on me but they couldn’t. Finally, he spoke, slowly but emphatically, the effort looking like it might prove too much for him at any time.

  ‘I don’t cheat at cards,’ was all he said. Then he rolled onto his back and died.

  For a long time I watched him, my mind so torn up by what had happened that I found it impossible to think straight and to come to terms with events. Eventually I forced myself to my feet and staggered towards the van, knowing that I had to get that flight to Bermuda if it was the last thing I ever did.

  I had difficulty turning the key to let myself into her apartment, but managed it on the third go. It was five past seven in the morning and I looked a mess, probably the worst I’d ever looked. My eyes had been blackened, my lips were split, and I had a long, deep cut across my forehead. Three fingers were broken and the wound in my thigh looked like it might be getting infected. It had been a bastard of a journey to get here, but I’d made it.

  The apartment was dark. I didn’t call her name, figuring that she was probably asleep. I needed sleep too, more than I’d ever needed it. I was going to have to get myself cleaned up before she saw me, otherwise the poor woman would get the shock of her life, but it was going to have to wait.

  I walked down the hall to the bedroom and slowly opened the door. It was dark in there and the curtains were drawn, but I could make out her figure under the sheets. It was the most welcoming sight I thought I’d ever seen. I put the holdall on the floor and removed my jacket and shirt, chucking them down too. When I was naked, I checked my wounds again, and saw that my thigh was still oozing blood. I was going to have to bandage it before getting in beside her.

  ‘Max? Is that you?’ Elaine sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were coming back later.’

  ‘Nothing. Don’t worry. I’m coming to bed in a moment.’

  She switched on the bedroom light and gasped. ‘What the fuck’s happened to you? Have you been attacked?’

  I think I might have managed a grim smile. ‘You could say that. Look, don’t worry about it. I’m OK, I promise.’

  ‘Christ, come here.’ She stepped out of bed, dressed only in a baby doll nightie, and for a moment I felt my troubles fading. It’s amazing what female flesh can do for a man. We embraced, and I kissed her on the mouth, ignoring the pain in my lips. ‘It’s good to have you back,’ she whispered, looking up at me, her fingers stroking my inner thigh. In spite of everything that had happened, I began to get a hard on. ‘Did you get the money OK?’

  I smiled as her fingers drifted across to my balls, and motioned towards the holdall. ‘Yeah, I got the money. And I think I’ve earned it.’

  Gallan

  I yawned. It was early, far too early for a Sunday, but it was all about surprise. Confront your quarry when they least expect it. However, quarter past seven on a Sunday morning could almost be construed as harassment. I was sure a clever lawyer would see it that way, but I’d worry about that later. I didn’t want to waste any time. With all the absentees on the Matthews case, it was good to get the chance to speak to someone who was still actually around.

  I crossed the road and walked up to the entrance of the apartment building. An attractive middle-aged lady in jogging gear was coming out. I smiled at her, and she automatically kept the door open for me to walk through. Very careless, particularly in a city like London. I could have been anyone. I didn’t complain, though, since it made my job easier. Just smiled and thanked her, and she smiled back.

  When I was inside, I started up the stairs.

  Iversson

  She pulled me towards her, kissing me hard, her tongue slithering and tumbling into my mouth like a three-legged lizard. ‘We’re rich, baby. Rich beyond our wildest fucking dreams.’ She laughed out loud, stroking my cock while I let loose with the old moans of pleasure, beginning to forg
et all my various aches and pains. Bending down in front of me, she brushed her lips across my nipple, gently nibbling it, before sinking slowly down to her knees in a way that was guaranteed to bring forth a bout of premature ejaculation. I let out a thin gasp like a hamster’s squeak as she slowly swallowed me up, all the time gazing up at me with those big brown bedroom eyes.

  I smiled down at her, then let my eyes drift around the room as I tried to stop myself from coming, eager to prolong things as long as possible. My battered face stared back at me from the mirror on the opposite wall, grinning stupidly. I focused on it for a moment as Elaine’s tongue created sensations I could hardly stand.

  And then, as I was beginning to turn away, I saw it. A wicked-looking silencer coming into view. Pointing straight towards the back of my head. I heard the creak of a floorboard behind me and knew immediately that I was one second away from death.

  In one single movement I threw myself against the wall, ignoring the pain as Elaine bit me in the shock of my sudden withdrawal, and lashed out with my arm, knocking the gun flying. Its owner, a stocky bloke in a baseball cap, looked momentarily shocked. I took my chance and jumped forward, grabbing him as best I could and headbutting him on the bridge of his nose. The cut on my forehead immediately reopened but the gunman had been hurt. He took a step backwards but quickly recovered himself, delivering a sudden flurry of rabbit punches to my kidneys as he struggled to break my grip.

  Every part of my body seemed to be burning with pain, and blood from the head wound was dripping down my forehead and into my eyes. But I knew I couldn’t give up. I had to protect us.

  Summoning all my strength, I headbutted the gunman again and wrestled him through the bedroom door and out into the hallway, banging him hard against the opposite wall. His cap fell off, revealing a hairless head beneath, and for some reason this seemed to give him a renewed burst of strength, like Samson in reverse. He cursed and managed to push me away, before trying but failing to deliver a punch to my bollocks. I gasped as he got a better shot to my ribs, and took a step back as if hurt, before charging forward, head bowed like a bull, and delivering another ferocious headbutt right to the chin. Something cracked in there and the gunman made a sound half like a cough, half like a scream. Realizing my head was my best weapon, I shoved him back against the wall, then swung round so my back was facing him and delivered a skull-jarring reverse butt. His resistance simply evaporated and he slid down the wall, unconscious.

  My head was spinning and my eyes stinging with blood, so much so that I could hardly see. Regaining my balance, I wiped at my face with my forearm, clearing the worst of the obstruction, and tried to focus again.

  Which was the moment when the silencer hissed and a searing pain that eclipsed anything I’d yet felt surged through my shoulder, the force of it sending me reeling into the wall.

  Gallan

  I was just about to knock on the door when I heard a loud commotion from inside and the sound of shouting. I put my head against the wood and listened. It sounded like a fight between two men, and I wondered for a moment if I’d got the wrong place. One of the men howled in pain, and there was a crash as if they’d both just charged into a wall. They were big blokes, I could tell that from the force of the impact, and I decided that discretion was the better part of valour and that it was best just to call for reinforcement.

  Then there was a pause in proceedings for a couple of seconds, followed by a faint popping sound, then a cry of pain and a dull thud.

  I’d seen enough Hollywood films to know immediately that it was a gunshot from a silencer, and the damage it had done was obvious, even if I couldn’t see it. I stepped back from the door and dialled the station on my mobile. The controller answered after four rings. I gave my location and called for back-up.

  ‘I need firearms units as well as an ambulance,’ I hissed into the phone. ‘Someone in there is definitely armed, and it’s the address of a person we need to question with reference to a murder, although I must emphasize that at the moment the person is not, I repeat not, a suspect.’

  I switched off the mobile and went back to the door and listened. There were voices coming from inside, one sounding in pain, the other dominant, firm. Ruthless. I knew I should wait for reinforcements. All my training told me there was no point confronting armed suspects in an enclosed space when unarmed, particularly when it was obvious that the suspect had just shot someone. All my instincts agreed. It was a united stand. But at the same time I also knew I couldn’t stand there and do nothing while someone was murdered, and from the tone of the conversation in there it sounded like that was exactly what was about to happen. Sometimes, like it or not, you simply have to stick your neck out. The alternative is the eternal knowledge that you could have done something to save a life but chose not to.

  I pulled a credit card out of my pocket and, using the method a convicted burglar had once taught me, went to unlock the door.

  Iversson

  I was sitting back against the wall, shaking as my body went into shock. To my left lay the unconscious gunman. In front of me stood the woman I was in love with, half naked, very beautiful, and pointing a long-barrelled Browning at me, the end of the silencer only a few feet from my face. After everything else, it was a sight my mind really couldn’t fathom. It felt like I’d finally cracked and this was the beginning of my short and probably one-way route to the loony-bin.

  ‘Elaine,’ I managed to say through teeth that were chattering manically. ‘What are you doing?’

  She managed a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, Max, I really am. If it’s any consolation, it’s just business. Nothing else. You’re actually not a bad bloke, even if Joe Riggs does say you murdered his missus a few years back; you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, I didn’t want to do this – that was his job.’ She motioned towards the unconscious gunman. ‘In fact, it was Joe’s job, but the thing is, you don’t seem to want to die. And now it’s left to little old me to do the dirty deed. You know something, Max, I’ve never shot anyone before, and I’ve never really wanted to either, particularly someone who was such a good lay, and in my fucking flat as well, but you know what they say, never let emotions stop you from doing your job.’

  Still I couldn’t get a grip on what was going on. I heard her words, delivered in a slightly weary matter-of-fact tone, saw her standing there pointing a gun at me, but none of it seemed to register. It seemed like maybe I’d fallen asleep, and that any second now I’d wake up in her arms with her stroking my head, telling me it was OK, it was just a bad dream, like my mum used to do when I was a kid.

  ‘Elaine,’ I whispered. ‘I love you.’ And I know it sounds stupid, but I really meant it.

  ‘I know you do, darling,’ she said, her finger tensing on the trigger. ‘I know you do.’

  Gallan

  The door lock clicked, and slowly, ever so slowly, I pushed it open.

  Peeking my head round, I saw a naked man in the hallway about three yards away, bruised and bleeding, and apparently suffering from a bullet wound to the shoulder. He looked a mess, and he was shaking badly. Next to him lay another man in casual clothes, not moving, his head turned away. The naked man was staring into a room right in front of him, from which emerged a slender hand and forearm holding a long gun with a silencer attached, aimed at the naked man’s head. I couldn’t see the actual person holding the gun but I was pretty confident it was Elaine Toms, company secretary of Dagmar Holdings, who owned the flat in which I was now standing.

  The naked man whispered something I couldn’t quite make out but which sounded a lot like ‘Elaine, I love you’, and his face suggested he meant what he was saying, which was a bit unfortunate. And I thought I had problems with my love life.

  I took a step forward, then another one.

  ‘I know you do, darling,’ said Elaine Toms in her slightly grating north London accent. ‘I know you do.’

  Her finger was tensing on the trigger, I could see it. I took an
other step forward, frantically calculating what I could possibly do to prevent her from killing him. The naked man’s eyes were widening and his mouth was opening, though no words were coming out. He knows, I thought. He knows he’s about to die.

  ‘Armed police!’ I yelled suddenly. ‘Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up. You’re surrounded. I repeat, you are surrounded!’ My voice was loud and authoritative, probably the most it had ever been. I hoped Elaine Toms didn’t recognize it from our earlier meeting.

  It seemed she didn’t.

  ‘Get back!’ she called out, still not showing herself and making no effort to drop the weapon. ‘Get back or I’ll shoot him! Don’t think I’m bullshitting either. If you don’t get out of this flat now I’m going to kill him. Do you understand? And you’ll be the one who’s fucking responsible.’

  The naked man, his face covered in blood, turned his head and looked at me quizzically, presumably wondering where my gun was.

  ‘Drop your weapon, Miss Toms,’ I demanded, desperately trying to keep the fear out of my voice. ‘You are in enough trouble as it is without adding murder to your crimes. If you drop your weapon, then this will end peacefully. If you don’t, then you risk being shot.’

  ‘Retreat now or I kill him. I mean it!’

  ‘Don’t do it, Miss Toms. You are surrounded. It won’t do any good.’

  And then my heart sank as, still pointing the gun at the naked man’s head, she stepped out of the room and into the hallway.

  For a second she looked confused, then the confusion turned to annoyance. Slowly, the barrel of the gun moved round so it was facing me.

  There is no feeling in the world more hopeless, more desperate, more frightening, than when you are standing looking at the end of a gun that’s held steadily and calmly by someone you know is going to kill you. And impotent, too. It’s an impotent feeling realizing that nothing you do or say, no pleading, no begging, nothing, is going to change the dead angle of that weapon, or prevent the bullet from leaving it and entering your body, ripping up your insides, and ending every experience, every thought, every dream you’ve ever had. You think about people you care about, places you’ve been to that you liked, and you know you’re never going to see any of them again. Your guts churn, the nerves in your lower back jangle so wildly that you think you’re going to soil yourself, your legs feel like they’re going to go from under you like those newborn calves you sometimes see on the telly. And your eyes. You know that your eyes betray your sense of complete and utter defeat.