He says, ‘Keep it pressed down.’ He runs to the kitchen drawers. Opens and shuts them.
Henry looks at him from the floor, an artful little grin on his face.
Luther wants to kick it.
In the lowest kitchen drawer, Luther comes across a roll of cling film.
He grabs it, runs to Howie. Kneels. He says, ‘Come on. Sit. Just for a moment.’
He tries to help her into a sitting position. But she can’t do it. She panics. She can’t breathe. Her breath comes in ugly, sucking gasps.
Okay.
Luther lays her on the floor. Rips off a square of cling film. Presses that to the wound. Howie’s next breath sucks it in a little, sealing the hole.
Luther wraps cling film round and round Howie’s body. The cellophane is blood-smeared and slippy.
He kneels there, concentrating, telling her she’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay.
When Luther has done what he can for Howie, he returns to Madsen.
‘Henry, where’s Mia?’
Madsen gives him a defeated and bitter grin.
The life goes out of Luther.
He looks around, at the blood and the chaos. The agony of Howie’s breathing. Jan Madsen, killed by her own child.
At this kitchen in which ten thousand marital meals were cooked, ten thousand cups of tea were brewed. An entire marriage, zeroing in on this evening. Converging like ship and iceberg.
Luther sits on the bloody floor, next to Henry. He leans his back on the kitchen drawers.
The approaching sirens grow frantic.
Luther says, ‘You’re not going to tell me, are you?’
Madsen shrugs.
Luther looks at the kitchen clock. It’s above the door. It’s been ticking there since Margaret Thatcher was prime minister, promising to bring hope where there had been despair.
It’s 11.19 p.m.
‘How long has she got?’
‘Until about midnight.’
Luther laughs.
‘So we arrest you. And you sit there in silence, loving every minute of it. The power it gives you, eh? The control. To know this little girl is dying somewhere in the dark. And you’ll be surrounded by all these coppers who can’t do a thing about it. That must be quite a buzz. For a man like you. To know how much better you are than everyone else.’
Madsen just sits there.
Luther’s skull bursts open like an egg sac. Spiders crawl out.
He scuttles to Howie. He kisses her cheek.
He says, ‘Hang on. They’re nearly here. Can you hear them?’
She makes a noise. He’s not sure if it’s an answer or not.
He takes the car keys from her pocket and returns to Madsen. He uncuffs him.
He drags Madsen to his feet. Marches him to the door in an armlock.
Madsen struggles. ‘Where are we going??’
The sirens are closer.
Luther has to hurry.
He marches Madsen down the pavement.
He opens the car door and shoves Madsen into the front passenger footwell.
As he does so, an ambulance arrives at the end of the street.
In a few seconds, they’re going to see him.
As the ambulance pulls up, Luther gets in the Volvo and starts the engine.
In the rear-view mirror, he watches paramedics rush into the Madsen house.
Behind them, the first marked police vehicles pull up. Officers spill out.
Luther starts the engine and pulls away. He pulls out his radio. ‘This is DCI Luther,’ he says. ‘I’m on foot, in pursuit of suspect believed to be Henry Madsen…’
When he’s finished, Madsen blinks at him.
It’s pleasing to see the first signs of real fear in his eyes.
He says, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Somewhere private.’
‘What for?’
Luther drives.
He leaves the police lights far behind, flashing blue and silent in the darkness.
CHAPTER 30
Teller and Reed arrive as Howie is being loaded into the back of the ambulance.
The body of Jan Madsen is still in the kitchen. Jeremy Madsen sits in the back seat of an area car, surveying the blue flashing street as if none of this were real.
Teller takes Reed’s elbow and leads him away from the tape. ‘Off the record,’ she says.
Reed nods. His neck spasms. He grabs it, massages it. ‘Off the record,’ he says.
‘Where the fuck did Luther go?’
‘Rose, I don’t know. I swear to God. I don’t know.’
‘Has he lost it?’
‘Do you mean, is he going to do something stupid?’
‘Yes. I mean, is he going to do something stupid?’
‘It depends what you mean by stupid.’
She gets up close, into Reed’s face. ‘Now’s not the time,’ she says through her teeth. ‘I’ve got an officer down, I’m up to my elbows in dead people. I’ve got a missing girl, a missing suspect and a missing officer. So my sense of humour is pretty frayed round the edges.’
Reed breaks the moment by reaching into his pocket. He pops the lid on a plastic container and dry-swallows a fistful of codeine.
‘Fuck me,’ says Teller. She runs hands through her hair.
Reed swallows and scowls. Codeine feels good, but doesn’t taste it. He says, ‘You honestly want my opinion?’
‘Yes, Ian. I honestly do.’
‘This is my opinion, Rose. It’s not based on fact.’
‘Go on.’
‘Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it for a reason.’
‘I know that, for fuck’s sake. But what’s the reason?’
She dismisses him with a cold eye. He stalks off, hands in pockets.
Teller calls Zoe.
The phone rings for a long time before Zoe answers.
‘Rose? What’s wrong?’
‘What I’m going to tell you,’ Teller says, having to speak up above the noise, ‘I shouldn’t be telling you. Because we’re in a shit situation here and if anyone gets wind of it-’
‘Has this got anything to do with Schenk?’
‘What about Schenk?’
‘He came to see me this morning-’
‘I’m going to stop you there, Zoe. Right there. There’s stuff it’s best I don’t hear.’
