and, when he coughed, blood spilled over his lips and ran down his chin, mingling with that which was already forming a pool around him.
Nevertheless, fighting back the waves of agony which tore through him, he managed to claw his way across the set and he was on his knees when the third bullet hit him. It smashed his left shoulder and spun him round, fragments of bone spraying from the exit wound, propelled by the eruption of blood which accompanied the blast.
He sagged forward across the chair, hardly feeling any pain as^nother round practically took his head off. It caught him at the base of the throat, the
massive force throwing him onto his back where he lay motionless, a crimson fountain spurting from the large hole.
Kelly stood at the back of the studio, the gun hot in her hand, her palms stinging from the constant recoil. The smell of cordite stung her nostrils but she seemed not to notice it and, as the security man approached her, one eye on that yawning barrel, she merely dropped the Magnum and looked blankly at him.
He slowed his pace as he drew closer and she saw his lips moving as he spoke but she heard nothing. Only gradually did the sounds begin to filter back into her consciousness.
The screams. The shouts.
She shook her head then looked in bewilderment at the security man, her eyes wide and uncomprehending. She looked down at the gun which lay at her feet then back at the set.
Kelly saw two or three people gathered around a body and it took her a moment or two to realize it was the body of Blake.
She saw the blood. Smelled the cordite. Her ears were still ringing from the explosive sound of the gunshots.
First aid men scurried on to the set to tend to Blake but she saw one of them shake his head as he felt for a pulse and heartbeat. Another man removed his jacket and laid it over Blake’s face.
She realized that David Blake was dead.
The security guard took her by the arm and she looked at him, her eyes wide and questing. She shook her head, glancing down once more at the gun.
In that instant, as she was being led away, Kelly felt as if her entire body had been wrapped in freezing rags.
The room inside Albany Street police station was small. Despite the dearth of furniture it still appeared miniscule. Less than twelve feet square, it contained two chairs, one on each side of a wooden table. A cracked washbasin was jammed into one corner near the door and there was a plastic bucket beneath it to catch the drips which dribbled through the chipped porcelain.
The room smelt of perspiration and cigarette smoke, but the windows remained firmly closed. Powerful banks of fluorescents, quite disproportionately bright for the size of the room, blazed in the ceiling.
Inspector Malcolm Barton lit up another cigarette and tossed the empty packet onto the table in front of Kelly.
‘How well did you know David Blake?’ he asked.
‘I’ve already told you,’ Kelly protested.
‘So tell me again.’
‘We were lovers. I was living at his house. I had been for about a fortnight.’
‘Then why did you kill him?’
‘I’ve told you that too.’
Barton blew out a stream of smoke and shook his head.
‘You can do better than that, Miss Hunt,’ he said. ‘First you told me you intended to kill Blake then you said you didn’t remember pulling the trigger.
Now, I’m just a thick copper. I like things plain and simple. Te!l me why you shot him.’
Kelly cradled her head in her hands and tried to keep her voice calm. She had been at the police station for over an hour, taken directly there from the Euston Road studios.
‘He was dangerous,’ she said.
‘He never seemed like a nut-case to me the odd times I saw him on the box.
What gave you this special insight?’ The policeman’s voice was heavy with scorn.
‘He told me about his powers,’ said Kelly, wearily.
‘Of course, his powers, I’d forgotten about them.’
if you won’t believe me then at least let someone else back up what I’ve told you. Blake had the ability to control people’s minds, to make them act out their worst desires. That was his power.’
‘And you know of someone who’ll verify that do you?’ Barton chided. ‘I’d be
interested to meet him.’
‘Then let me make a bloody phone call,’ Kelly snapped. ‘Like you should have done when you first brought me here.’
Barton pointed an accusatory finger at her.
‘Don’t start giving me orders, Miss Hunt, you’re not in a bargaining position,’ he hissed. ‘Jesus Christ you were seen by dozens of people. You told me yourself that you had to kill Blake.’
‘Have I ever denied I shot him?’ she said, challengingly.
‘You said you didn’t remember pulling the trigger.’
‘I didn’t. I wasn’t even sure what had happened until I saw him lying there.’
There was a moment’s silence then Barton crossed to the glass panelled door behind him.
‘Tony, bring the phone in here will you,’ he called, then turned back to face Kelly. ‘AH right, you make your phone call.’
A tall, slim man in a sergeant’s uniform entered the room carrying a trimphone which he plugged into a socket in the wall near Kelly. He hesitated a moment then walked out.
‘Go on,’ urged the Inspector, nodding towards the phone.
Kelly picked up the receiver and dialled the number of the hotel where Joubert was staying. She wiped perspiration from her face with her free hand, looking up occasionally at Barton who was rummaging through his pockets in search of another packet of cigarettes. He found one and lit up.
On the other end of the line, Kelly heard the sound of Joubert’s voice.
‘Blake made the broadcast,’ she told him. ‘I couldn’t stop him in time.’
He asked where she was.
‘I killed Blake. The police are holding me here now. Please Joubert, you must come to London. It might already be too late.’ She gave him instructions on how to reach the police station then hung up.
‘Too late for what?’ Barton wanted to know.
‘Everyone who watched that programme,’ she said.
‘He might have been bluffing,’ said Barton, disinterestedly.
i wish to God he had been,’ Kelly said, quietly.
There was a knock on the door and the tall, slim sergeant entered, carrying a piece of paper. He passed it to Barton. The Inspector read it, glancing occasionally at Kelly as he did so. He sucked hard on his cigarette.
‘What do you make of it, guv?’ said the sergeant.
‘When did these reports come in?’ Barton wanted to know.
‘These were the first three, they came in less than an hour ago.’
Barton looked puzzled.
‘What do you mean, the first three?’ he asked.
‘We’ve had five more reports since,’ the sergeant told him.
i suppose you’d take this as proof of your little story would you, Miss Hunt?’
the Inspector said, tapping the piece of paper.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘At 8.07 a pet shop owner in Kilburn slaughtered every single animal in his shop with a knife. One of our constables found him in the street outside the shop. He’d just gutted a couple of kittens. At 8.16 a woman in Bermondsey held her eight-week-old child against the bars of an electric fire until it died.
At 8.29 a man in Hammersmith killed his wife and daughter with a chisel.’
