Lucy? I located them by the tracker we put on the four-by-four and sprayed them with knock-out gas before they got far from the house in Kent.” She laughed harshly. “And you fell hook, line and very heavy sinker for my supposed abduction on the phone, you egotistical fool.”
I stared at the Devil. “How long have you been planning this?”
“A long, long time,” he replied. “I started writing my death list after my mother died. I knew from the start that wasn’t going to satisfy me.” He smiled. “Deep down, I’m a generous soul. I wanted to write a death list for somebody else, as well.”
“You’re insane,” Pete said.
“Clinically?” the Devil said. “I doubt it.” He frowned and glanced at Sara. “So, what are we to do with them?”
She gave him a look that was full of lust. I realized that the Webster quotation left in the old schoolteacher’s body had more than one meaning-she had been in an incestuous relationship with her brother. Was Sara with the Devil in that way, too?
“You haven’t told him the best bit yet, darling,” she said. “His father?”
“Oh, yes, his father. Or rather, his adoptive father-Paul Wells.” He gave me a sick, malicious grin. “I was the one who ran him down on the street in Muswell Hill.”
I felt what remained of my world crumble. Before I could control myself, I was climbing over the tabletop. I heard sirens in the distance, then realized that Bonehead was coming with me.
There followed a cataclysm of noise-gunfire, shouts, screams, some of the latter coming from me. I saw that Andy had crawled round the table and grabbed the Devil’s ankles. Sara turned and ran, her head down. I hit the Devil with a crushing tackle in his midriff before he could bring the machine pistol to bear on Andy.
The three of us lay in a heap. It was then that I became aware of footsteps drawing close.
“Well…done…Matt,” my tormentor said, gulping for breath. He attempted a smile, and then scrabbled at the front of his overalls.
“The explosives have been deactivated,” I said, taking in the remote control pad on his chest and the blood that was flowing freely from several bullet wounds.
“Drop your weapons! All of you!”
I looked round and saw three men approaching fast. They were dressed in black, balaclavas over their faces and automatic pistols in two-handed grips pointing at us. “Who the-”
The man in the lead shook a finger at me to shut me up. “You,” he said, directing his aim at the White Devil. “You. Jimmy Tanner. Tell me what happened to him.”
The Devil gave a choked laugh. “So you finally got here. Who are you? Brothers-in-arms of the old piss- head?”
The man in black stepped forward and grabbed the Devil by the throat. “Where’s Jimmy Tanner?” He looked at the weapons on the ground. “He taught you how to use those, didn’t he?”
The White Devil nodded slowly. “And I put what I learned to good use.”
“You’re the fucker who’s been slaughtering people, aren’t you?” said one of the other men.
“Shut it, Rommel,” said the first man. He bent low over the Devil. “Where’s Jimmy? Did you kill him?”
“Among many others.” He squealed as his assailant took his nose between thumb and forefinger and twisted it hard to one side. Then he moved his head slowly toward me. “Remember what Webster said, Matt?” he asked. “‘If the Devil Did ever take good shape, behold his picture.’ This will make a great ending for your book.”
The other men in black stepped close, grabbing the Devil by his armpits. That made him yelp.
“Execution time,” the first man said.
I averted my eyes as a fusillade of shots rang out. Then I saw the men turn away. But before they made off, the one called Rommel leaned over Dave.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Patton?” he asked, and then headed quickly away with the other two.
I took in my tormentor’s head. It was a broken mass of crimson and grey, his white overalls splashed liberally.
“Jesus,” Andy said, his hand clamped over his wounded arm.
“Christ,” completed Pete. “Who were those guys?”
“Armed police!” came a yell from the door. “Move away from the weapons!”
We did as we were told.
I cast one last look at the monster who’d ensnared me. The White Devil’s soul had left his body.
I hoped it had gone straight back to hell.
34
Karen Oaten stood watching as Matt Wells’s family and friends were loaded into ambulances. As soon as she and Turner heard the report of gunfire in Bethnal Green, they’d driven over at high speed. The fact that Leslie Dunn had grown up in the area was too much of a coincidence to pass up. But, by the time they got there, Pavlou having confirmed that the property was in the name of Leslie Dunn’s mother, the action was over.
She’d talked to Matt briefly before he was allowed to accompany his daughter and ex-wife to hospital. There would be plenty of time to question him in detail over the following days. She found the fact that his girlfriend, Sara Robbins, had been the Devil’s partner and sister almost as astonishing as he did. The problem was, she had disappeared. A general alert had been issued, but if she’d learned her trade from her brother, there wouldn’t be much chance of catching her. As for the men who’d killed the Devil, there was no trace of them whatsoever.
“I guess you were right, guv,” the inspector said with a rueful smile. “Sorry I doubted you.”
“I’ll let you off, Taff,” she said, returning the smile, “if you buy me several very large drinks. To be honest, I don’t think even Matt Wells could have dreamed up a plot like this in one of his books.”
He nodded. “Wonder if he’ll be using it in his next one.”
“More crap odds,” Oaten said, moving to the car. “Come on, the commissioner’s waiting to shake our hands.” She sniffed. “Not that we did much to solve this bloody case.”
“Who cares?” the Welshman said. “It goes down in the book as one of ours, and the press will plaster your picture all over the front pages.”
“Wonderful,” she said, pushing a loose strand of hair back. “Who do you think the assassins were? Hit men put on to the killer by some gangland scum he’d offended?”
“As likely as not,” Turner said with a shrug.
Karen Oaten headed outside to face the cameras, her hand on her hair again. Now that the White Devil had gone, maybe she’d finally get the chance to tart herself up. But what was the point? Who would fancy a hard-faced detective with blood on her hands?
Then again, she’d noticed Matt Wells giving her a look that made her entertain some hopes.
Peter Satterthwaite and I went to visit the guys in hospital. They’d managed to talk the doctors into putting them into a room together. It probably hadn’t been too difficult. That way the myriad reporters could be kept at bay.
“How much have you been offered by the vultures, then?” I asked, after I’d established that the three of them were on the mend.
“Twenty-five thousand and counting,” Andy said, grinning.
“Ditto,” Rog said. His head was covered in a bandage.
“Thirty-five,” Dave said. “I was the military mastermind, after all. Problem is, Ginny wants half of it. Says she’s traumatized, but I know she’s harder than that. Shit, I’m the one with shell shock.”
There was a flare-up of laughter and abuse, then they all looked at me seriously.
“What about you, man?” Andy asked. “Lucy’s okay, isn’t she?”
I nodded. “Fortunately she slept through almost everything and there have been no serious ill effects of the gas my lunatic ex-girlfriend sprayed them all with.”
“How about Caroline?” Rog asked.
