The Hanged Man

by Simon Kernick

  ‘I did,’ said Dan. ‘And Ray’s not feeling too good.’

  ‘I think I banged my head during the struggle,’ I said, rubbing the back of my scalp, and trying to look suitably dazed.

  Olaf didn’t appear sympathetic. ‘What did I tell you about interfering, Ray?’

  ‘If we hadn’t, they’d have got away,’ I said, my voice an exaggerated croak.

  ‘You need to get checked out. Then I want you both down the station to make statements. I heard Ugo was armed and he fired two shots at you. Is that right?’

  We both nodded. Even the most cursory glance at Ugo’s gun would show that it had been fired and the two rounds would have been audible.

  ‘There was a struggle for his gun,’ I said, trying to sound noncommittal. ‘He pulled the trigger.’

  Olaf gave me a disdainful look. ‘Another of your nine lives eh, Ray? You know how much shit I’d have been in if you’d got killed? Heaps. But at least we can do him for attempted murder now as well as everything else.’

  ‘What else have you got on him?’ asked Dan.

  ‘Well, aside from possession of class A with intent to supply and possession of a firearm, he’s on film smacking one of the UCs on the back of the head with a baseball bat. So GBH at least. Plus we’ve probably got a case for armed robbery.’

  ‘How’s the UC?’

  ‘He’s awake and en route to hospital. He’s a big bugger so if anyone’s going to survive a crack on the nut, it’s him. That prick Ugo could be looking at twenty years. Obviously you two can’t speak to him any more. Are you going to send anyone else across from the NCA to interview him?’

  Dan nodded. ‘Yeah, we’ll sort it out. How did the rest of the op go? We heard shots.’

  ‘The shots were Ralvin Lambden. He decided to go down fighting. Obviously the death of any human being diminishes me, even an utter lump of shit like him, but he fired first so not even the IPCC can pin that one on us. And at least we’ve made two arrests, so it wasn’t a total disaster. Now, take Action Man here to get his head looked at. Then get back down the station. We need those statements.’

  ‘Oh, and one other thing,’ added Olaf as we walked towards our car. ‘If either of you even thinks of trying to interview Ugo off the record, I’ll have your arses, you understand? I know what you’re like, Ray.’ He stared me down. He was a long-serving cop. Back in the days when the prospect of retiring on a decent pension wasn’t looming quite so large he was the type of guy who’d bend the rules if the circumstances required it. Now, though, he was as much a prisoner of them as everyone else.

  I was about to reply when I saw a small guy with thinning sandy hair and a very purposeful expression approaching Olaf from behind.

  The guy called out Olaf’s name.

  Olaf turned round. ‘Hello Stegs, good work in there,’ he said. ‘I owe you a drink.’

  ‘No problem,’ said the man called Stegs with a big smile. ‘And this is for almost getting me killed.’ He launched a knee into Olaf’s balls before Olaf had time to react and then, as he went down on both knees making a noise like a rapidly deflating balloon, Stegs carried on walking, giving Dan and me a wink as he passed. ‘Well done on getting Ugo,’ he said.

  ‘A pleasure,’ I said in return. I looked down at Olaf, doubled up in pain, then back at Dan. ‘And on that note, I think it’s time to go.’

  Twenty-nine

  We followed the ambulance and escort car taking Ugo to hospital, and as they turned into the A&E entrance, Dan pulled up at the kerb.

  ‘Have you got your reading glasses on you?’ I asked him.

  He gave me an odd look. ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘I need to borrow them.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Just give me them.’

  He reached inside his jacket pocket and handed them over, and I put them on. They were a tight fit but thankfully the lenses were weak enough that my vision wasn’t blurred too much.

  ‘Is that the extent of your disguise, Ray? Because I’ve got to tell you, it’s not going to fool many people.’

  I took off the glasses and slipped them into my suit pocket. ‘They’re just a prop,’ I said, getting out of the car.

  ‘Seriously, Ray, this has got disaster written all over it.’

  ‘Look, if it fails, I’ll take the fall. Stay here. I’ll be back soon.’

  I shut the door before Dan could say anything else and walked towards where they were unloading Ugo from the ambulance, brushing myself down and straightening my tie so it didn’t look like I’d just been in a fight. Ugo already had a bandage on his head and he was accompanied by two paramedics and three armed CO19 officers I didn’t recognize, who were gathered tightly around him as they led him through a rear door into the hospital. So far there wasn’t anyone here from Ealing, but it wouldn’t be long before someone was, and if they saw me there was going to be trouble.

  I’m reckless. I always have been. Perhaps it’s because I was orphaned so young. After what happened that terrible night it’s been deeply ingrained in me that life could end suddenly at any time. Ultimately I could have gone one of two ways: retreated into my shell to escape the terrors of the world, or gone out there and tried to defeat them. I chose the second route. I like to think there’s a method to my madness – that I only take risks when I’m sure the return’s going to be worth it. But my weakness is that I don’t consider the downsides enough. And there was a big downside to this. Dan was right. If it came out that I was interfering with a suspect it would be the end of my career, and potentially the end of the case against Ugo. I’ve had some good results in my time, and that’s what’s kept me in the job, but I knew that this time round I was definitely in the last chance saloon.

  Still, you know what they say. Who dares wins.

  The door Ugo and his escort had gone through locked automatically so I gave it a minute, then pressed the buzzer. When it was answered, I told the person on the other end that I was here to see the prisoner who’d just been brought in, and was promptly told to go through the main A&E entrance next door and I’d be met there.

  Given it was past eleven at night, A&E was the usual bedlam, with the drunks, the walking wounded, the mentally ill and the hypochondriacs all packed together in one place. Tonight the main entertainment was a full-on wrestling match featuring a very large screaming drunk in a T-shirt that was way too tight for him and jeans that hung down over his arse, and three security guards and a police officer. The drunk was on the floor with the rest of them on top of him but, even so, he was still refusing to give up.

  I went round them and was met at a side door by a harassed-looking nurse who let me inside. She gave my ID a cursory check and told me that the prisoner was in a treatment room at the end of the next corridor.

  As I walked in the direction she’d pointed me, I saw that the treatment bays on both sides were full of people waiting for attention. One man was fast asleep in a chair. A woman in one of the bays up ahead was screaming while other people tried to calm her down. The whole place seemed to be operating at breaking point, and I had nothing but admiration for the staff who had to work here and administer treatment night after night. But at the moment the chaos suited me fine.

  As I passed one of the bays I saw that a patient lying on a bed was being treated by a doctor behind a curtain. On a metal tray table next to the bed were a number of bits and pieces of paraphernalia, including a stethoscope. I stepped inside the bay, picked up the stethoscope and carried on going, putting it round my neck and shoving on Dan’s reading glasses.

  As I rounded the corner, I saw two of the CO19 officers outside a door. I didn’t know where the third was. If he was inside the room I was in trouble, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

  As you’ve probably gathered by now, I’m one of the most recognizable police officers in the Met, but one thing I’ve learned is it’s amazing how easy it is to dupe people if you act confidently enough, especially if they’ve already made assumptions, and I
was hoping the stethoscope round my neck would help with that. So I walked straight up to the officers, looked them both in the eye, and said that I was here to examine the prisoner, and could I have some privacy.

  And, amazingly, they said yes, and moved out of my way to let me inside.

  I don’t know where the third CO19 was, but he wasn’t in the room. Only Ugo was there, sitting in one corner, looking pissed off.

  He looked up when I shut the door.

  ‘Hey, what the fuck’s going on?’ he demanded as I took off my glasses. ‘You’re a Fed. I ain’t talking to you. You’re not meant to be here. I’m calling my lawyer.’

  I leaned in close and flat-palmed him on his injured nose.

  He gasped in pain and pushed a bloodied handkerchief to his face, eyes watering, clearly shocked that he’d just been so casually assaulted by a police officer, and one posing as a doctor as well.

  ‘Make any more noise and I’ll kill you,’ I hissed, pulling up a chair opposite him. ‘Now, let’s start again, shall we? I’m here to make you an offer, and it’s one I think you’d better listen to. We haven’t got much time so if you want to avoid two attempted murder charges, you’re going to have to start talking fast. Take a look at this.’

  I took out my phone, found Dan’s camera footage and pressed play, thrusting it in his face.

  Ugo stopped groaning and looked.

  ‘See this,’ I said, leaning in close and keeping my voice quiet. ‘That’s you shooting straight at a police officer. I’d say that’s twenty years in itself. Luckily this footage hasn’t been shown to the senior investigating officer yet, and it doesn’t have to be. But you’ve got to help me. Now.’

  ‘How?’ he said suspiciously.

  ‘Kristo Fisha. You remember him, don’t you?’

  He blinked. ‘He’s dead, bruv.’

  ‘I know that, Ugo. I want to know why he died, and where he got the DVD of a woman being gang-raped and murdered from. And I know you know the answers to all those questions.’

  ‘No way,’ he said, moving away from me. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go on, get out. I ain’t talking.’

  I smiled at him. ‘Ugo, if you’re done for the drug and gun possession and GBH on an undercover police officer, even with your record, you’ll probably only get fifteen years and serve half of it. That’s a bit of a stretch, but it’s manageable. If you help me, my colleague and I will say your gun went off during your struggle with me, and we weren’t sure if you were trying to hurt us or not. That means there won’t be two attempted murder charges. But if I walk out of here now, this footage goes on record, we back it up with witness statements, and you’ll serve twenty minimum.’

  He shook his head. ‘Nah, forget it. I’ll take my chances.’

  ‘Really? OK.’ I got up. ‘Let me tell you something else. I’m going to spread the word to the Kalamans that you’re a snitch, and that you did help us. Let’s see how long you last behind bars then.’

  That got his attention. He stared at me, trying to gauge if I was serious about this. My expression told him I was. I would have done too. I’d have made this piece of shit pay with his life without it even flagging up on my conscience.

  ‘You’ve got ten seconds to make up your mind, Ugo.’

  ‘You promise you won’t fuck me?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I promise.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘This is off the record, right? Because I’m not testifying in court.’

  ‘It’s definitely off the record.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Why was Fisha murdered? And if you tell me you don’t know, I walk and you’d better start counting the days till your sixtieth birthday because that’s when you’ll be coming out of prison.’

  Ugo was silent for a moment. And that confirmed everything for me. He knew why Fisha had died.

  ‘He pissed off the wrong people,’ Ugo muttered.

  ‘How?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Make it a short one.’

  ‘You know he was a people smuggler, right? He used to sell me bitches. I’d put them to work with clients I had. But there was one girl he brought in who he really fell for. He didn’t want her to do any work. He wanted to set her up in a flat somewhere, spoil her. Problem was he never had any money, so he couldn’t afford to. And anyway she was up for earning some cash. So I got her earning, you know, although I didn’t tell Fisha. He was well dodgy, not someone you want to get in a beef with.’ He paused. ‘I had a client, right. He lived in a nice pad in Mayfair and he paid well because, you know, he liked to be a little rough with them. I paid the bitches extra to go see him, otherwise they complained. Anyway, one time I take Fisha’s girl to see him in this big pad he’s got out in the country, because she doesn’t drive, you know, and I arrange to pick her up from there the following morning. But then I get a call later that night – two, three o’clock, something like that – from the client, and he says they’ve got a problem. When I get to the house, the client’s there with a friend of his – you know, they’re both rich suits, and they’re both looking shit scared. But there’s also another couple of people there, and I recognize one of them as being connected to the Kalamans.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘No, but he was wearing a hat, so I knew straight away he was the old guy they call Mr Bone. He was cold, man. Real cold. And I don’t ever want to see him again. Anyway, this guy puts a gun to my head and asks me who else knew the girl was there. I say no one, and he says that’s good. He’s very calm. He tells me to forget I ever saw her and if the Feds ever come asking about her, I tell them I haven’t seen her. Then he gives me a number to call if anyone else comes asking questions.’

  ‘So you reckon they killed the girl?’

  ‘Yeah. I think the client, and the friend who was with him, got a bit rough with her and went too far. Obviously they must have had some seriously good connections so they call this guy Mr Bone to get rid of the evidence. That’s what I think. Cos I never saw the girl again.’

  ‘And I don’t suppose you remember her name?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nah, bruv. Come on, it was a long time ago.’

  ‘But you still remember the client’s name, don’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘His name was Alastair something.’

  ‘Sheridan.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. But that ain’t all.’ Ugo suddenly looked pleased with himself. ‘This Sheridan man’s friend, the one who was there with him that night, I know who he is too.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘He’s the one you people are looking for. The one whose face is all over the news for that double murder.’

  It must have been a long day because it took me a couple of seconds to work out who he was talking about. I frowned. ‘Hugh Manning?’

  ‘Yeah, bruv, that’s him. I remember his face from that night.’

  It was strange. In all the evening’s drama I’d forgotten about Manning and the sighting of him in Scotland, although I’d have heard if he’d been arrested. Now it was even more important that we talked to him.

  ‘So what’s all this got to do with Kristo Fisha?’

  ‘I told you, Fisha was obsessed with this girl. When he hadn’t heard from her for a few days he started asking questions. He must have found out that she’d ended up at the client’s house – you know, Sheridan – because the next thing I hear from one of my bitches is that Fisha and his business partner had broken into his house looking for her, and when they didn’t find her they robbed the place and got away with some real sick shit. Snuff movies, you know. Where people get killed on film.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  He looked away.

  ‘Did you tell Mr Bone about it?’ I asked.

  Ugo looked back at me, deflated. ‘Yeah, I told him. Then I got on a plane and left the country.’

  I had a lot more questions but I knew I was running out of time. ‘Thank you, U
go. You’ve been a great help.’

  He grabbed my arm. ‘And you’re not going to use that film you took of me?’

  ‘Get your hand off me.’

  Seeing my face, he did what he was told.

  ‘No,’ I told him. ‘We won’t.’

  I put Dan’s glasses back on and walked out of there, thanking the officers and telling them I’d be right back.

  My timing was lucky. A man looking much more like a doctor than I did was walking towards me, a puzzled expression on his face. He raised an eyebrow as we passed each other and looked like he was about to say something, but I just kept going.

  I had what I needed. And now more than ever, we needed to get hold of Hugh Manning.

  Thirty

  Hugh Manning was a light sleeper. He always had been, and these days, thanks either to his expanding prostate or his shrinking bladder, he had to get up at least once a night to take a leak.

  As his eyes opened in the darkness, he yawned and turned over, checking the time on the phone. 11.56 p.m.

  He was surprised. He’d only gone to bed an hour ago and there were no telltale pangs telling him it was time to piss. He’d drunk a bottle of Pomerol earlier that he’d pinched from Harry’s steadily diminishing collection of reds. Maybe that was what was disturbing his sleep.

  He closed his eyes, felt sleep begin to envelop him again.

  And then he heard it, standing out in the heavy silence of the night. The low rumble of a car engine close by. As he listened, the engine cut out.

  Manning felt his heart start to beat faster as the fear took hold. He’d been getting better at controlling it, and drinking always helped, but freshly woken and groggy, he was unable to stop its advance.

  ‘I can’t go on like this,’ he whispered to himself, reaching down beside the bed and picking up the shotgun.

  And then he heard slow, gentle footfalls on the gravel outside, as if someone was trying to be quiet.

  Had the police located him? Worse, had the Kalamans?

  He propped himself up on the pillows, pointing the shotgun towards the open door, wondering what he’d do if someone actually came in. Did he have the balls to pull the trigger? And what would happen then? He’d have to go on the run again, but where? He’d seen on the news websites that they’d set up roadblocks around the area so there really was no escape.