continue with her attempts to ease the bed to which she was handcuffed away from the wall and closer to Orr. After a long, suppressed struggle that left her sweating and aching, she discovered that it would budge no further, and when she looked under it to see what the problem was she discovered that one of its legs at the head was chained to a bolt in the wall. She had been wasting her time. In desperation she tried stretching out on the floor, reaching out as far as possible towards Orr. Straining on her handcuffed wrist, she was just able to get a foot to within a couple of inches of the top of his motionless head, but no closer.
She was sitting crouched on the end of the bed, shivering with frustration and chill, when North yawned, stretched, jabbed the TV off and turned to stare at her.
‘Like The Bill, do you, Greg?’ she asked as he came towards her, not liking the look in his eyes one bit.
‘Yeah, always used to watch it. Didn’t think it would still be on when I came back, but there they were, the same old characters. Well, some had changed. June, for instance. I understand she had a spot of bother. I was sorry to hear that. I always had a soft spot for June. Being a blonde, maybe, like you.’
He contemplated her with a slightly dreamy look, then squeezed his nose and sniffed noisily. He seemed suddenly voluble, and she guessed he’d been snorting something.
‘I should have let you watch it, darling,’ he went on. ‘Special Christmas Eve episode. Reg played Santa at the children’s hospital with a raving paedophile on the loose. You’d have enjoyed it, the way they all back each other up, and the villains always get caught in the end. Would you say that’s realistic, darling? From your perspective, as a serving officer, in the flesh, like?’ He stared down at her legs. ‘How did you get your jeans on again?’
‘Harry-’
‘Oh, good old Harry.’
‘I don’t know about good, but he’s certainly smart.’
‘Oh yeah?’ he said vaguely.
‘Smarter than you, anyway, if you haven’t figured out what he’s going to do tonight.’
North grinned at her tolerantly. ‘Don’t try it again, darling. I thought I taught you about your lip.’
Kathy shrugged and looked away. ‘Suit yourself.’
There was a short pause.
‘Go on then, I could do with a laugh. What’s he going to do?’
‘When he’s finished, there’s going to be three dead in here.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yes. The old man and me shot with your gun, and you dead of an overdose, same as Speedy.’
‘Is that right?’ North sniggered. ‘You amaze me, you really do. Now why would he do that?’
‘Because he has no choice. My coming here doesn’t make much difference to you-you’re going to be on the run anyway. But for him it’s a disaster. He doesn’t want to go on the run. His new girlfriend won’t stand for it. His whole plan was to retire in respectable comfort with her, a free man. Hasn’t he told you about the villa overlooking the Mediterranean?’
North nodded, more cautious now, looking as if he resented having to get his nicely mellowed brain to work.
‘We already had our suspicions about Harry, and if you two kill me Brock won’t rest until he’s put him away. That’s not Harry’s plan at all. That’s what he and I were talking about while you were watching Bart Simpson. So now he only has one option. He has to make you responsible for everything, and he has to have you and me both dead so we can’t tell the truth. It worked with Speedy, maybe it’ll work again. My guess is that at this moment he’s desperately trying to figure out a way to do it that won’t look too suspiciously much like the way Speedy died. That’s really his only problem. Then, when he’s done it, he’ll help Brock to find this place, and clear up the case. After a decent interval he’ll go off with his half share, confident that Greg North will never come crawling out of the woodwork one day to give him away.’
North stared down at her, silent, and with a sense of dread Kathy watched his doped smile fade and black fury flare in his eyes.
He bent down and grabbed her left arm and leg, lifted her up and threw her bodily across the bed. Her right arm jerked taut and twisted on the handcuff, and Kathy screamed as she felt the muscles in her shoulder tear. He was on top of her, on her back, spitting as he shouted into her ear.
‘Nice try, bitch! You’re a fucking comedian, know that? Now I’ll tell you my fantasy. You’re a copper, see? Let’s call you June, eh?’ He began pulling at her clothes. ‘Yeah! And June is going to die, right? Just like on The Bill. Only this time, when you’re dead’-he was gasping with effort and rage, tearing at Kathy’s clothing-‘and they open you up on the stainless-steel table… inside of you.. . they’ll find a message… a personal message, from me… to Brock.’
Beyond his hoarse shouting in her ear and the pain screaming in her shoulder, Kathy heard another voice calling out, telling him to stop. Jackson, she decided. Finally North heard it too, and he paused long enough in his struggle with her jeans to tell him to fuck off.
Then he went abruptly still.
Kathy twisted her head up and saw his face inches away, saliva dribbling from his mouth, and the barrel of Orr’s gun pressing up under his chin.
‘I said’-Jackson’s voice came from somewhere beyond-‘get off her, Greg.’
‘What are you doing?’ North was genuinely astonished. ‘What are you fucking doing?’
‘She’ll have to come with us to the airport, in case we run into trouble. We’ll need her to be able to walk. Just leave her alone.’
‘Okay. Sure, Harry. Take it easy.’
North’s voice had become steady, calm, but Kathy could see the look in his eye, which Jackson couldn’t. He slowly got to his feet, still with Jackson at his back. Harry began to lower the heavy gun, and in that moment North uncoiled like an eel, the flick-knife blade opening in his hand and slamming into Jackson’s side.
‘Too old, Harry,’ he hissed. ‘Too slow.’
Jackson staggered back against the wall, and as his knees buckled he lifted the heavy revolver and pulled the trigger. There was a loud clunk as the hammer struck. He sank onto his knees, face screwed in pain, and lifted the gun again, struggling to thumb back the hammer.
Another clunk. This time North gave a wild whoop of mocking laughter. A jet of scarlet spurted from Harry Jackson’s mouth and he began to topple forward, and as the gun hit the floor a great explosion shattered the air.
It was a moment before Kathy realised what had happened. She took in Jackson spreadeagled on the floor, face down, and North slumped back against the end of the bed, facing him. His knife had dropped to the floor, there was a puzzled look on his face, and the top of his head, above the eyebrows, was gone.
The barking dog roused her. Far away at first, she gradually allowed herself to believe that it was coming closer. Not much time had passed, she thought, for her ears were still ringing from the explosion. She tried to shout, but her throat was dry and she could barely raise a cough. Then the door opened and the German shepherd bounced in, dragging a dog-handler behind it, closely followed by Lowry and Brock.
They all stopped dead, even the dog, at the shock of the scene in the room: four corpses, blood splashed everywhere, on the walls, the floors…
Kathy realised that one of the corpses was her. She lifted a pale face and muttered hoarsely, ‘About bloody time.’
Brock stared at her. ‘Oh, Kathy,’ he whispered. ‘You don’t do things by halves, do you?’
23
O n the way to hospital Brock confirmed that Sharon hadn’t phoned him, and explained that Lowry had been the one to raise the alarm. He had spent Christmas Eve drinking alone, until he reached the point of deciding to beat the hell out of his old mate Harry Jackson. He had driven to Silvermeadow, arriving after the centre had closed, and gone down to the service road. The security grille was pulled down for the night, but through it he had been able to make out both Jackson’s car and Kathy’s parked near the security centre window, in which a light was showing, but no sign of any staff on duty.
