fifty-five in the inside lane, when his phone rang.
‘You sound weird.’
‘I’m in the car.’
‘Hands-free, I hope.’
‘What is it, Phil?’
‘I know how they did it,’ Hendricks said.
Thorne’s hands tightened on the wheel, just for a second, as he followed McCarthy’s car across the roundabout, up on to the slip road, then southbound on the M25.
‘We’d already established there was no way the killer could have got that many pills into Amin’s stomach,’ Hendricks said. ‘Right? Those few pills in his mouth, on the bedclothes, they were just for show. They were the suicide indicator.’
‘But there was enough Tramadol in his system to kill him?’
‘Plenty, so there’s only one other way it can have got there. It was liquid Tramadol and it was injected.’
‘But Bridges did this.’
‘It’s just an injection, Tom, it’s not rocket science. He takes the cap off the cannula on the back of Amin’s hand and in it goes. Anyone could have shown the kid how to do it.’
Thorne told Hendricks exactly who had shown him.
‘Right,’ Hendricks said. ‘So McCarthy gives Bridges a quick lesson on cannulas and needles, slips him the pills and the syringe-’
‘We’ve still got a problem with these pills though,’ Thorne said. ‘How did he get as many as he did into Amin’s mouth? How did he do it that fast? That quietly?’
‘Because it wasn’t just Tramadol in the syringe,’ Hendricks said. ‘This is what I’ve been trying to figure out. What the extra drug was.’
‘You’ve figured it out?’
‘Remember that Hamas agent? The one the Israelis killed in that hotel in Dubai a couple of years ago? This is the same drug they used on him. It stops the victim struggling, eliminates noise.’
‘Go on then.’
‘You might need to write this down.’
‘Tricky,’ Thorne said.
‘Suxamethonium chloride.’
‘I can’t even say it.’
‘You don’t need the chloride bit.’ Hendricks said it again, slowly. ‘It’s a neuromuscular blocker, OK? Basically a muscle relaxant, but incredibly powerful, incredibly quick. It’s used in anaesthesia and intensive care, to make intubation easier. They used to use it in the US to paralyse prisoners before they got the lethal injection.’
‘Jesus.’
‘They stopped because of the side-effects.’
‘I’m listening… ’
‘As soon as it’s administered, all the nerves start to fire and every muscle in the body begins to spasm like mad. The patient starts fitting basically, then a minute or so later he’s completely paralysed and pretty soon the drug makes it impossible to breathe. But he’s awake the whole time this is happening, so these days it’s never given to patients who are conscious, not unless there’s no other option. It’s too dangerous.’ There was a pause. ‘Too disturbing.’
‘Amin would have known what was happening to him?’
‘Sorry, Tom.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘It was the perfect drug,’ Hendricks said. ‘Sodding perfect. The fits were consistent with a Tramadol overdose… the tongue bitten off, all that. Then as soon as the paralysis kicked in, Bridges could put the pills into Amin’s mouth, set up the overdose scenario and the beauty part is he’s in and out of there in a couple of minutes. Job done.’
‘Why didn’t they find it at the PM?’ Thorne asked.
‘That’s why it’s so perfect. Unless you take a blood specimen within thirty minutes, the enzymes in the body start to break the drug down and eventually it becomes so degraded it’s almost undetectable.’
Ahead of Thorne, the silver Astra was indicating, pulling across to the inside lane.
‘So how the hell do I prove any of this, Phil?’
‘ Almost undetectable,’ Hendricks said. ‘And only when you’re not specifically looking for it. Amin wasn’t cremated, was he?’
‘Buried.’
‘No problem then. If we can exhume Amin’s body, I’ll find it.’
Thorne watched as the Astra began to indicate again, just shy of the first motorway junction. He followed the car as it came off at the exit then turned right at the roundabout following the sign for Maple Cross. Holland had already texted through McCarthy’s address and Thorne recognised the name.
It looked as though the doctor was heading home.
Thorne pulled out to overtake a lorry and ratcheted up his wipers to handle the spray. He put his foot down. Now, he was happy enough to follow McCarthy all the way to his front door and he no longer cared whether he was seen or not.
FIFTY-SEVEN
The sound had gone back up on the television now, and as Helen watched, she imagined Pascoe and the others outside, huddled in their van, their eyes narrowed in concentration, with their headphones pressed to their ears, enjoying Emmerdale.
We’re listening.
If anything, she was surprised that it had taken them this long. Perhaps it had been her presence inside that had delayed the decision to bring in technical support until now. The notion that, as one of the hostages was a police officer, they had ‘ears’ on the inside anyway.
We’re listening.
The implication was obvious enough.
We’re listening… if there’s anything you want to tell us. Anything you think might help. Something to give us the advantage out here, put us ahead of the game.
She leaned back against the radiator, took her eyes from the screen and looked across at Akhtar. He had no interest in the television. He was sitting with his back to the wall opposite her, his head lowered, staring down at the gun. He had been doing this a lot more since the previous evening. Picking the gun up, carrying it around for a while, putting a hand on it. He was not pointing it, or even waving it around, and it seemed to Helen that it was simply a question of reminding himself that he had it, and why he had it.
That he was the one ahead of the game.
Helen felt something tighten in her chest each time he reached for it.
However much she thought she understood Javed Akhtar, she could no longer be sure what he was or was not capable of, and she did not need to be reminded what a loaded gun could do. She hoped to God that she was imagining it, but several times in the last few hours she had thought she could catch her first whiff of the body in the next room. A sharp stab of something sweet. Only for a moment, but enough to make her stomach turn over and her eyes begin to water.
We’re listening.
She felt as though she should say something to Akhtar, to warn him before he said the wrong thing, but she had no idea how. She could write something down perhaps – DON’T MENTION MITCHELL – but even asking for a pen and paper would probably sound suspicious to anyone listening in.
Inevitable in the end, she knew that. Same as the smell.
Now it was only a matter of time until they were found out. Until she was found out. A matter of time before
