Scott was lifted, as if by some invisible hand, and sent sprawling over the sofa, blood spraying out behind him.
He crashed into a coffee table, the impact almost making him black out. Then he rolled onto his stomach, his mouth open, his eyelids flickering.
He heard Carol call his name, heard Plummer tell her to shut up.
Footsteps came close.
Through pain-misted eyes he saw Plummer looking down at him, the 10mm levelled.
Scott was lying on his right hand, his fingers within reach of the.357. He felt his shaking digits touch the wood of the stock.
'You should have stayed away,' sneered Plummer. 'Stayed in prison. You came a long fucking way to die.' He aimed the pistol at Scott's head.
Scott rolled onto his back, the.357 now in his hand. He fired upwards, twice.
The first bullet blasted Plummer's nose off, obliterating the fleshy appendage, which dissolved in an explosion of blood.
He screamed in agony but the sound was cut short as the second hollow tip bullet hit him below the chin, tearing upwards into his head, through his brain and finally bursting from the top of his skull, lifting him off his feet.
His head looked as if someone had place an explosive charge inside it. The entire cranial cavity seemed to detonate, blood and brain spattering the ceiling, spraying everything within a foot or so.
His wig was blown clear, flying off to one side like a flattened cat.
Plummer tottered for interminable seconds, his bald dome open to the air, portions of his brain hanging from the riven cavity, blood jetting madly into the air. Then he fell forward across the sofa, his body sliding to the floor, crimson spreading in a pool around him.
***
Carol could only stand mesmerised. Her body shook, her nostrils were filled with the smell of cordite and death, her eyes had been blinded by the muzzle flashes, her ears rang from the thunderous discharges.
She looked at Scott, then at Plummer.
Scott. Plummer.
Scott.
She moved towards him, noticed that his chest was rising and falling slowly. She could hear a soft, wet sound. It was Scott's breath wheezing through the hole in his lung. The place was drenched with blood - floor, ceiling, walls.
She felt the warmth beneath her bare feet, felt a jellied lump of matter between her toes and almost vomited when she saw it was part of Plummer's brain. She stepped back and looked down at Scott once again.
He was lying on his back, his eyes half-open.
Carol swallowed hard as she saw the wounds, the one in his chest gaping, a portion of bone shining through the pulped flesh and the bright blood.
She knelt beside him, ignoring the blood that had soaked into the carpet around him.
'Jim,' she whispered, touching his cheek with the back of her hand.
He could see the tears in her eyes.
'Oh God, Jim, I'm sorry,' she breathed, 'I'm so sorry.'
He tried to breathe but couldn't.
Tried to speak. Couldn't.
Blood ran over his lips and down his chin.
'Jim,' she repeated, touching his face once more, stroking it as a lover might touch a partner.
His eyes narrowed too.
'I'm sorry,' she said again.
His own eyes were moist now, both from pain and emotion.
And fear?
He could almost feel death touching him.
'I didn't want this to happen,' she told him, still stroking his face. 'I'm so sorry.'
Tears were coursing down her cheeks.
She lowered her head, as if in prayer, her hands resting on her thighs.
Scott raised the.357 and pointed it at her head. Carol had her eyes closed now.
He thumbed back the hammer.
It was then that she looked up.
The roar of the single shot was deafening.
ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT
The sound of the discharge reverberated inside the apartment for what seemed like an eternity.
It mingled with Carol's scream.
She had seen Scott lift the gun and point it at her, their eyes locked for precious seconds, then she had seen his head burst as the 9mm bullet had hit it, pulverising his forehead.
Frank Gregson stood in the doorway, the Taurus automatic still aimed at Scott, as if he feared the man would move again.
Carol looked at Scott, then at the policeman.
Tears were still coursing down her cheeks.
'He would have killed you,' Gregson said, walking into the room, glancing at Plummer's body. 'Just like he killed the others.' He looked at Plummer once more. 'He was a madman. He wanted revenge.' Gregson nudged Plummer's body with the toe of his shoe. 'He did me a favour, though. Getting rid of Plummer.' The DI smiled. 'I just didn't want you to get hurt.'
'What difference would it have made to you?' she wanted to know.
'A lot of difference,' he said, his smile fading. 'I care what happens to you very much. I have done ever since I first arrested you.' He sat down on the edge of the chair, looking down at her. 'That's why I called you.'
Carol looked vague.
'What are you talking about?' she wanted to know. 'The phone calls,' he said. 'I called you at your home, at work, even here.'
'Oh God,' she murmured.
'I hated to think of you with men like Plummer and Scott,' he said. 'You deserved better than that. I wanted you to know I was watching you. I wouldn't have let anything happen to you.'
'You were the anonymous caller,' she blurted, everything now beginning to drop into place with appalling clarity.
'I didn't just ring you,' he said. 'Who do you think tipped Plummer off about that cocaine shipment?'
'But why?' she wanted to know.
'Plummer was too powerful. The gang's in London had taken over,' Gregson said angrily. 'They were running things. Men like Plummer and Connelly. Scum. Criminals and fucking murderers.' He spat out the words vehemently. 'I wanted a gang war, I wanted them to wipe each other out. To save us the trouble of trying to arrest them. Getting them to court on charges we knew would never stick. That's what we've been doing for years. The police are fighting a losing battle against men like Plummer and Connelly. I knew the only way was to use force but
