The Disciple didb-2

by Steven Dunne

‘I didn’t just hear it, Mike. I was there. He took it well. When I told your father you’d sent me, I think he wanted to die. He knew he didn’t deserve to live.’

  ‘People do change, Ed. My father had.’

  ‘No, he hadn’t. The first thing he did when I took out the blade was drop to his knees and start praying. That sound like he’d changed?’

  ‘You’ve changed, Ed. You’re crazy.’

  McQuarry laughed. ‘That’s the thanks I get.’

  ‘Drop the gun, Ed. It’s not too late.’

  McQuarry laughed again. ‘Or what? You’ll shoot me?’

  ‘Before I let you kill a brother officer, yes.’

  She shook her head. ‘Like I said, people don’t change.’ She grinned. ‘This is the second time you’ve put your faith in Sorenson’s gun. Know how easy it is to disable the firing pin, Mike? I could do it with the gun in my pocket in the back of a dark car.’

  Drexler glanced at the weapon then fired the M9 just above McQuarry’s head. The trigger clicked but no bullet was discharged. Drexler nodded and wrenched out a resigned smile.

  ‘See, Mike, you can’t grift a grifter.’

  ‘People do change,’ said Drexler. ‘The Edie McQuarry I knew wouldn’t forget to check my ankle holster.’

  McQuarry’s grin froze on her face as Drexler raised his other hand a fraction before she could raise her own. Deafening explosions and a spray of orange were exchanged and both fell.

  Nicole jumped out from behind the car and ran over to McQuarry. She was dead, her fish eyes glaring up at Pisces in the heavens. Drexler moaned and Nicole turned to him. Brook was on his feet by now, but kneeled again when he saw Drexler. He gestured with his hands to Nicole and she ran back to the car and returned with a scalpel. She severed his bonds and they both pulled Drexler up by the shoulders. He screamed in pain. The bullet had struck him just above the heart. The blood was flowing but he made to speak.

  ‘The good guys too,’ he whispered, then fell back.

  ‘I’ll get your phone,’ sobbed Nicole.

  ‘No, he won’t last. Grab his legs.’

  They grabbed each end of Drexler as delicately as they could manage and stretched him onto the back seat. Brook jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Nicole opened a door.

  ‘Wait!’ said Brook, looking over at McQuarry’s twisted corpse. ‘Empty her pockets.’ Nicole looked at him. ‘Hurry.’

  She bolted over to the body. ‘What about the guns?’

  ‘Leave them.’

  Nicole hurried back to the car and got in the back with Drexler. ‘Hang on, Mike,’ shouted Brook, spinning the wheels out of the field.

  ‘Can you remember the way, Damen?’ Nicole asked. Brook caught her eyes in the driver’s mirror. ‘Every bloody inch.’ She couldn’t hold his look.

  ‘Sal, Sal. It’s okay. It’s okay.’

  Brook looked at his watch. It was 4.30 in the morning. He couldn’t listen to the mumbled panic any more so he reached across to Nicole’s chair and shook her awake. She shuddered, raised her sweat-flecked head from her arms and lifted a bleary eye to Brook.

  ‘Any news?’

  Brook shook his head. ‘Still in surgery.’

  She buried her head in her hands and screwed her face up. ‘What have I done?’

  Brook looked at her. ‘What have you done?’

  She looked at him and then at the floor. ‘Tony was my first, the only one. It wasn’t easy but it wasn’t hard. He raped your daughter when she was only fifteen.’

  Now it was Brook’s turn to look at the floor. ‘And the Inghams?’

  Nicole looked at him and shook her head. ‘If there’s blood, Ed always…’ she couldn’t finish.

  ‘The law won’t make a distinction.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And the boy?’

  After a pause, ‘I held his legs.’ She started to cry. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘And you emptied McQuarry’s pockets?’

  ‘Completely,’ she said. ‘If you’re worried about what I’ll say about you and Sorenson…’

  ‘I never worry about me. I have weaknesses. That’s my strength.’

  ‘Yes but-’

  ‘You never lost that accent. Why?’

  ‘What has that-?’

  ‘Why?’

  Nicole hesitated until her confusion gave way to resignation. ‘Uncle Vic hired a private tutor. She was English.’ Brook smiled.

  ‘Why is that funny? Why is it even significant?’

  ‘And whose idea was it to become a police officer?’

  ‘Uncle Vic thought…’

  ‘Let me guess. He thought it would help his work.’ Nicole looked away. ‘It would give you access to deserving cases. To men like Caleb. Like Harvey-Ellis. Like me.’

  After suitable reflection, Nicole answered with a barely audible, ‘Yes.’

  Brook threw her the car keys, then the keys to the flat in Magnet House. ‘It’s a gunshot. They have to inform the police. I showed them my warrant card so that buys you some time. We’re in a different division so that buys you some more.’

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Queens Medical Centre in Nottingham — it was nearer.’ She nodded.

  ‘On your way out clean yourself up and keep that cap down low. Hospitals have cameras. Take the car back to Magnet House and put everything from McQuarry’s pockets: the luggage, passports, everything, back in the flat.’ He gave her the security card for the car park. ‘Leave the car in the darkest bay and cover Mike’s blood with a blanket, then get back to your room at the Midland. You’re ill. You tell Joshua you have to go home. I assume you still have a home?’ She nodded. ‘No dramatic notes telling the world everything?’ This time she shook her head. ‘When you leave tomorrow put all the keys and the card in a padded envelope and leave it at the front desk for me. You’re all over that flat so we can’t risk it being discovered. When things die down, I’ll sort things out.’

  She looked at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You have to hurry.’

  Nicole put a hand on his and sought his eyes. ‘You don’t have to risk everything for me.’

  ‘Sorenson did.’

  ‘But now I know what I’ve done. I have to pay for that.’

  Brook looked up at her. ‘You have paid. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll keep paying. That’s why I have to help you.’ Nicole was still perplexed. ‘When you were asleep you kept mumbling your sister’s name. You suffered a trauma no child should have to go through. And you were fifteen when Sorenson got hold of you. You were easy meat. Don’t you see? The private tutor, the career choice — Sorenson controlled you, groomed you.’ Now it was Brook’s turn to look away. ‘I should know. He did the same to me. And no matter what he’d done to save you, you had a right to a normal life or at least a shot at one. Sorenson denied you that.’

  Nicole stared at her hands unable to speak.

  ‘You’ve lost half your life, Nicole. Some killers get out in ten years. You know what you’ve done? Well, that’s the point. And you have a chance that most killers never get. You have another life to step into and a job that will allow you to spend the rest of that life making amends. What I can do, you can do. Now go.’

  Finally she looked at him. ‘What will you say?’

  ‘I’ll think of something. I’ve had a lot of practice.’

  ‘But if Agent Drexler makes it-’

  ‘He’s been shot. If he makes it, he won’t remember anything for a while.’

  ‘I still don’t-’

  Brook got her to her feet. ‘Call it a leap of faith.’ Nicole moved into him and kissed him softly on the lips. He pulled her away. ‘Goodbye, Nicole. Next time we meet you can tell me all about the Golden Nugget.’

  ‘Call me Laura.’ Her eyes lingered over his, then she hurried out, grabbing a white coat from a hook as she went.

  Brook looked after her. ‘Laura — beautiful name.’

  Epilogue

  Den
ise Ottoman had blinked in disbelief at the crowds outside the police station. There were journalists screaming questions at her, including that pushy one from the Telegraph with the yellow teeth. Then photographers and cameramen pointed bright lights in her face and shouted ‘This way, Denise’ or ‘Over here, Mrs O’. She hadn’t given a comment, not from choice but from sheer befuddlement. Even more bewildering were the dozens of people gathered outside the gates cheering, some carrying hastily produced placards with various slogans: ‘Go Jo Den. You got the X Factor.’ ‘Scum in fear, the Reaper’s near’ and the cryptic ‘Sugar and spice, all throats sliced’.

  Even at home there were well-wishers and back-clappers, though the two uniformed officers managed to get her inside unmolested. Hours later, she was sitting up in bed with a mug of cocoa, pulling her legs into her chest as hard as she could. It was nearing midnight — the telephone was off the hook and the freshening wind had dispersed the crowd who had gone to their own beds. Denise took a sip of lukewarm cocoa. No sleep without John.

  She put her cup on the floor and just lay in the dark with her eyes closed. A creaking noise above opened them. A prolonged scrape followed a second later. She switched on the bedside lamp. It didn’t come on. She peered at it in the gloom. The bulb was missing so she jumped out of bed and reached for the bedroom curtain, yanking it brusquely to let the moonlight in. A small column of dust falling from the ceiling sparkled in the lunar radiance and Denise followed it to its source. The trapdoor to the loft was shifting as though being lifted from above, and Denise Ottoman wondered if the wind had dislodged more roof tiles.

  Then a foot in a black shoe dropped down, followed by a second. Denise shrank to the ground, wrapping the curtain around her, daring neither to look nor look away. Her scream of shock emerged as a mouse-like whimper and her heart skipped as black-clad legs, torso and head fell to the floor.

  From the black ball a figure began to unravel like a newborn foal slowly clambering to its feet. Once upright, new lungs inflated with oxygen and new hands mimicked the sensation of first touch. Inch by tiny inch, the figure rotated the half circle to lay eyes on the squirming Denise, her bare feet pushing at the carpet, trying to force herself through the wall behind her.

  A black-gloved palm was crossed with flashing steel and Jason’s grinning teeth followed suit.

  ‘I’m ready, bitch. Are you?’

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  Steven Dunne

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