Maddy's voice wedged, immovable, in her throat.
'Police!' Draper shouted. 'Put your weapon on the ground now.'
She would wonder afterwards if Grant had truly smiled as he raised his gun and fired.
Draper collapsed back through the doorway, clutching his neck. Instinctively, Maddy turned towards him and, as she did so, Grant ran forward, jumping through a gap in the boards to the floor below. With barely a moment's hesitation she raced after him; when she braced herself, legs hanging through a gap a metre wide, the boards on either side gave way and she was down.
Grant had landed badly, twisting his ankle, and was scrabbling, crab-like, across the floor, seeking the pistol that had been jarred from his grasp. A 9mm Beretta, hard up against the wall. As he pushed himself up and hopped towards it, Maddy launched herself at him, one hand seizing his ankle and bringing him down. Flailing, his hand struck the squared-off butt of the pistol and sent it spinning beyond reach.
'Bitch!'
He kicked out at her and she stumbled back.
'Fucking bitch!'
Grant was on his feet and moving towards her. No smiling now.
Maddy heard movement behind and then the sound of a weapon being discharged close to her ear. Once and then once again. As she watched, Grant skidded backwards, then crumpled to his knees, his face all but disappeared in a welter of blood.
'Textbook,' Mallory said softly. 'Head and heart.'
Maddy's skin was cold; her body shook.
'You or him, of course. Didn't give me any choice.'
Vomit caught in the back of Maddy's throat. Her eyes fastened on Grant's pistol, still some metres away across the floor.
The superintendent bent low towards the body. Ambulance, I dare say. Not that it'll do a scrap of good. He's bleeding out.'
When he stood up, a second weapon, a. 22 Derringer, was close by Grant's inturned leg, small enough to hide inside a fist. Now you see it, now you don't. No matter how many times Maddy would run it through in her mind, she would never be sure.
'Trouser pocket,' Mallory was saying conversationally. 'Small of the back.' He shrugged. 'There'll be an inquiry, routine.' His hand on her shoulder was light, almost no pressure at all. 'You'll be a good witness, I know.'
Armed officers were standing at both doors, weapons angled towards the ground.
2
Maddy stood on the cobbled stones outside, drivers slowing down to gawk through misted windows as they passed. The rain fell in thin, seamless lines, giving the road a dull sheen. She didn't smoke, never really had, but there seemed to be a cigarette in her hand.
Without her hearing him approach, Mallory was at her side.
'You okay?'
'Yes, I think so.'
'Holding up, that's good, that's good.'
Maddy opened her fingers and watched the cigarette fall to the ground.
'You'll be coming with us for a drink. Later. A wee celebration.'
'I don't know.'
'It's expected.' His fingers grazed her arm. 'No need to stay long. Show your face. That's all.'
She stared at him, not knowing what to say. The hair on his head was iron grey, matted down by the rain.
'That's settled then.' With a brief smile, he turned and walked away.
Behind them, the business of recording and cleaning up went on. Grant's girlfriend was sitting in the back seat of a police car with one of the officers, someone's topcoat round her shoulders, tea from a thermos in both hands. An ambulance stood waiting to take Grant's body to the mortuary, once the preliminary examinations had been carried out. Paul Draper was in one of the intensive care wards at UCH, fighting for his life. A celebration, Maddy thought…
The club was on Gray's Inn Road, the far side of King's Cross, the function room on the first floor. A shield bearing the coat of arms of St David was on the wall above the long bar, Van Morrison and Rod Stewart rasping alternately through the speakers at either end, barely holding their own against the noise. Forty or fifty people and, for the next hour or so, free booze.
Two of the snooker tables had been covered over and were already crowded with discarded glasses, large and small. At the third table Maurice Repton stood repetitiously chalking his cue, watching as the young Asian DC he was playing potted the last red and lined up the pink. He saw Maddy glance in his direction and acknowledged her with a nod.
'Buy you a drink?' The SO19 officer from the Transit, ginger moustache, was alongside her, smiling hopefully.
'I thought the boss had put his card behind the bar.'
'So he has. Stupid really, something to say.'
Maddy said nothing and hoped he'd go away.
'Graeme Loftus,' he said, holding out his hand.
'Maddy Birch.'
Loftus made a signal towards the barman and pushed an empty pint glass in his direction.
'You?'
Maddy shook her head.
'In the thick of it, what I hear.'
'You could say that.'
'Lucky bastard.'
'You think so?'
Loftus lifted his fresh pint, spilling beer down the back of his hand. 'Never got a look-in where we were.'
'Ask Paul Draper where he'd rather've been,' Maddy said. 'Ask his wife.'
'Paul…? Oh, yes, him. Poor sod. Still hanging on, isn't he?'
'Last I heard.'
'Look,' Loftus said, 'when we're through here, you wouldn't fancy…'
'No,' Maddy said.
'Okay, suit yourself.' There was an edge to Loftus's voice as he turned and shouldered his way back into the fray.
Standing a little apart, George Mallory seemed to be warming up to make a speech, his voice, now and again, sawing through the general cacophony of sound.
Whenever Maddy closed her eyes, she saw Grant's head imploding like a bloodied rose. She drained her glass and headed for the stairs.
Repton was just exiting the Gents, still zipping up his fly.
'Not going?'
'No,' she lied.
'Good. Come and have a drink with me.' Taking her by the elbow, he steered her back towards the bar.' What'll it be?'
'Tonic water'll be fine.'
