Four Below (35 page)

‘Two of them. Boy and a girl, I think, couldn’t be sure. Teenagers, by the looks of them; I only saw them for a couple of seconds. One of them had a sort of shoulder bag.’

‘Who lives there?’

‘Single chap, young, trendy. Must have a few bob, drives a BMW. We haven’t seen him for a while.’

‘Okay, thanks. We’ll take a look. Please stay indoors.’

They left by the front entrance and walked casually next door. Blinds were drawn on both floors. A narrow passage led past wheelie bins to the back of the property, where their way was barred by
an old but substantial wooden door. Sorbie stuck his torch into his back pocket and easily pulled himself up and over. Fairfield followed with little more difficulty and landed noisily in the wet
snow on the other side. Sorbie pointed his torch: footprints were clearly visible, leading on to the lawn.

Fairfield was wide awake now. She hadn’t done this kind of thing since her apprentice days in uniform, and the prospect of catching someone red-handed gave her a thrill, until she realized with a start that neither of them were wearing their vests – both their bulletproofs were in the back of the car. Sorbie was stealthily following the footprints towards the
back of the house. She laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’re not wearing our vests,’ she murmured into his ear.

‘I know.’

‘I think we should go back and kit up.’

‘They’ll be gone by the time we get back. Got to do it now. I got my spray.’

‘I haven’t.’

Wordlessly Sorbie handed her his pepper spray and moved forward again. They could both now see torch beams dancing behind upstairs curtains. In front of them the kitchen door had its half-glazed
window broken and stood ajar. Sorbie’s shoes crunched on broken glass as he entered the kitchen. It was large, contemporary and cold. They crept forward, keeping the pools of their torchlight
small and close to their feet. They could hear the creak of movement on the upper floor.

‘We’ll go up in torchlight, then hit the light switches,’ Fairfield murmured to Sorbie. ‘If they jump out of the windows, please don’t go after them.’

‘No fear.’ Sorbie led the way, making sure of the Speedcuffs on his belt. The house was heavily carpeted throughout, muffling the sound of their stealthy climb to the top of the
stairs. They could both now faintly hear a hissed exchange in the second room across the landing, where two torch beams danced. Sorbie tiptoed forward, keeping to the left wall, out of sight. He
snapped his torch off. From what he could see by the intruders’ light, they were in the master bedroom. He was nearly at the door, Fairfield close behind him. Door opened right to left; the
switch for the ceiling lights had to be on the right. He’d have to reach across the open doorway, but it would be quick. Surprise them, rush them. He could see one of them, standing on the
far side of the double bed, zipping up a holdall.
Now
.

Sorbie slammed a hand across the wall switch and the ceiling lights came on, dazzling after the darkness. ‘Police, stay where you are!’ Behind him Fairfield rushed into the room.
Both the scrawny boy with the bag and the hard-faced girl swore in a continuous stream. Everybody’s eyes went to the gun on the bedspread, but the boy got there first. He grabbed it with his
left hand and pointed it at Sorbie, then waved it from him to Fairfield and back. ‘Fuck you, f-fuck you. I got a gun. I know how to use it!’

Sorbie froze. Here it was, then. He had always known it was waiting for him somewhere along the line, the strungout junkie with half a brain, and a gun, and a screaming, rattling bitch behind
him. ‘Calm down, there’s no need for that; you don’t want to use that.’

‘I will if you make me.’

Sorbie tried to keep his eyes on the boy’s face, but they repeatedly strayed to the gun. A Beretta. Was the safety off? He couldn’t see it; the boy was shaking, terrified, waving the
gun. ‘Get behind me, Kat.’ He wasn’t being chivalrous. Kat had the pepper spray and her airwave; out of direct sight, she might be able to hit the panic button and get the spray
out.

The girl was dancing on the balls of her feet, clearly as strung out as the boy, and shouting continuously. ‘Col, they’re trying something, don’t let them fucking come near us,
we got to get out of here now, fucking do something, shoot them, why don’t you fucking shoot?’

‘Col, you don’t need the gun; put the gun away,’ Sorbie heard himself say, while his mind raced and his insides knotted into a hard ball of fear. ‘Just keep calm and no
one needs to get hurt.’

‘Go over there, get to the side,’ the boy shouted, waving the gun towards the wall.

Fairfield and Sorbie did as they were told, slowly. Why hadn’t Kat got behind him like he’d asked?
Is the safety on or not? Hold the gun still, you stupid jerk, just show me the
button’s on safe and I’ll come and shove the thing up your arse
. ‘Okay, Col, no problem, take it easy.’

‘What’s she doing?’ Col said. The gun swept aside, pointed straight at Fairfield now. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Relax, it’s just a cigar. I feel like a smoke, keeps me calm. Just everyone keep calm, okay.’ Fairfield’s hands were shaking as she touched the flame to the cigar and
sent a few fragrant puffs towards the ceiling. ‘Want one, Jack?’

‘They’re up to something,’ the girl squealed.

‘Maybe later,’ Sorbie said. ‘I was going to watch
Strictly Come Dancing
tonight. But I’m not sure if it’s on.’

‘I think it’s on. Actually yes, it’s definitely on.’

‘Shut up, you two. Take the bag, Tam. We’re getting out.’ The boy moved around the bed, coming forward, his gun hand shaking. ‘You two are weird, fucking
weird.’

‘We need to lock them up somewhere,’ the girl said.

‘We just go. Go now, I got them covered.’ As the girl squeezed past him out of the room, the boy shook the gun like a wagging finger. ‘Don’t you come after us. If I see
you come outside, I’ll fucking shoot both of you.’

Fairfield nodded, took the cigar from her mouth and stabbed it on to the boy’s gun hand. He pulled his hand back; Sorbie lunged forward, grabbed his arm and jerked it upwards. The trigger
finger tensed, but the safety was on. Sorbie crashed his forehead against the boy’s nose, which split in a spray of blood, then yanked the Beretta from his hand. ‘Go, go, it’s
sorted!’ he shouted at Fairfield, and threw the gun on the bed. It was premature. The boy was wiry and furious and struggled in his grip, lashing out at his face, then kicking his leg. Sorbie
managed at last to twist the boy’s arm to the point of no return and forced him to his knees. He got one cuff on, paused to get his breath back, then finished the job. The boy stopped
threatening and started whining. When Sorbie had his prisoner securely cuffed on the floor, he cautioned him, told him to
shut the fuck up
, then kicked him hard in the back.

Fairfield came up the stairs, out of breath, carrying the shoulder bag. ‘I grabbed the bag as she climbed the fence, but she got away. You’ve got blood all over your face,
Jack.’

‘It’s his. Where’s the fucking bathroom?’ Sorbie stepped over the now quiet prisoner into the hall in search of a washbasin.

‘
Strictly Come Dancing
?’ Fairfield called after him.

‘Yeah, sorry. It was all I could think of.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

At his desk, Dearlove bit into his sandwich, sending a small squirt of salad cream into his lap. It was a home-made sandwich, an economy measure he now regretted, since his
mouth was bored with it almost instantly. With his free hand he clicked his mouse until the
Bristol Herald
website appeared. ‘Shit, it’s true,’ he informed the CID room in
general.

‘Whatever it is, I doubt it,’ Austin said to the kettle as he waited for it to boil.

‘No, it’s here in black and white: they had a fire at the
Bristol Herald
. Early hours of the morning. In the newsroom. Says here the fire service thinks it could be arson. No
paper edition for a few days; damn, I was waiting for the next instalment of the mystery photo competition.’

‘Haven’t you got any work to do?’ Austin asked as he carried his mug of tea past him.

‘This is lunch.’ Dearlove lifted his tattered sandwich as evidence for the defence.

At his own desk, Austin clicked the print button and sat back while the large printer across the room started churning out preliminary reports by scene of crime and forensics. His phone rang. It
was social services returning his call.

‘Wonders never cease.’

‘Pardon?’ said the female voice at the other end.

‘Sorry, talking to a colleague there. Did you get a result?’

‘I don’t know what you call a result. I am now in a position to confirm that Mr Justin Hedges has had dealings with all three of the names you enquired about. I must stress that I
think very highly of Mr Hedges and his work. That three of his clients have met with a violent death just shows that we are dealing with very vulnerable people.’

‘I’m sure you’re right; we simply have to follow every lead. I must stress again, though, that this enquiry has to remain confidential while our investigation is in
progress.’

Austin hung up and, carrying his mug of tea, went to see McLusky.

McLusky’s tiny office was still in chaos. The other day, he had managed to lose his telephone in the mess; today it was the wireless computer mouse that was missing. He
remembered the way the office had looked when he first set eyes on it: small but bright and functional. Now it looked like a skip and smelled like an ashtray. How had that happened? ‘Sit
down, tell me something cheerful,’ he told Austin while he rummaged through the drawers of his desk.

‘Social services called back: Hedges dealt with all three of our unburied victims. Ugh.’ Austin shot up again off the chair and picked up the computer mouse he had sat on. ‘Not
looking for this, by any chance?’

‘Genius. Give it here.’

‘Are we bringing him in?’

‘No, I want him relaxed. I’m meeting him at Darren Rutts’s flat. He’s been there recently, so no chance of contamination; his DNA will be all over the place anyway and
SOCO are done.’

‘Then you don’t really think he’s involved?’

‘Who knows? He doesn’t have a van registered to him, I know that much, but then that doesn’t mean a thing. He isn’t known to us and none of the three had any drug
involvement, yet they were killed by the same bastards who killed the two in Leigh Woods. And both of those are connected to heroin. There’s only one explanation. They were in the way
somehow. They were witnesses. They knew something. They saw something they shouldn’t have. They heard something, they read something. And from what we know so far, Fairfield’s body fits
in perfectly. Let me rephrase that: even without an autopsy, I’m sure the amateur dealer she found was killed by the same bunch.’

‘And five minutes later, she and Sorbie stumble straight into the BMW driver’s house.’

‘They did what?’

‘You haven’t heard? Didn’t Kat tell you?’

As far as McLusky was concerned, Fairfield seemed to have turned invisible. ‘I’ve not seen her. Tell me what?’

‘They got roped into a burglary-in-progress in Montrose Avenue. Caught two junkies doing the place over. One threatened them with a Beretta he’d found on the premises. The place was
rented by our late BMW driver. The junkies didn’t just find the gun, though; they also found a wad of notes and an armful of heroin wraps all ready to go.’

‘They must have thought they’d gone to heaven. Fairfield and Sorbie tackled them despite the gun? Good on them. Shots fired?’

‘Nearly. Kid didn’t know his way round the Beretta, though, and they took it off him. And neither were wearing their vests.’

‘Bravery award in the post, surely. Well I’m glad somebody got a result.’

‘I can’t believe you didn’t hear it earlier.’

The phone started ringing while McLusky was still wrestling with a tottering pile of files on the floor. ‘I’ve been buried in here. Get the phone and tell them I left without a
forwarding address. I’m due to meet Hedges in a few minutes.’

‘DI McLusky’s office,’ the DS said as he picked up. ‘No, it’s Austin. No, he’s just left. Yes, I’ll tell him. No, I won’t.’ He hung up.

‘No you won’t what?’

‘Forget to tell you Denkhaus wants to see you for a progress repor

‘Marvellous. Leave me a note, then, since I’m out,’ McLusky said. ‘I’m off to see a man about some murders.’

Twenty minutes later, he buzzed Justin Hedges into the building from Darren Rutts’s flat. He watched him come up the stairs from the door. Hedges looked harassed, but
when he spotted McLusky, he managed a serviceable smile. ‘I hope I’m not late, Inspector. I have a very full day. And a peripatetic one. I’m sometimes hard to get hold of,
apparently, but I did get your message.’

‘Good of you to come.’

‘Terrible business, this. Vulnerable people. Brutal murders. The violence in this town is definitely getting worse.’

‘Violent crime is down. It doesn’t seem like it at the moment, I admit.’

‘So how can I be of help?’ Hedges said, looking at his mobile for a time-check.

‘Are you in a hurry?’

‘I have time for this.’

‘To start with, have a look around the flat. Tell me what’s amiss here.’

SOCO and forensics had added to the confusion in the place. Fingerprint powder was in evidence on the surfaces; many things had been moved, papers taken away for examination.

‘Well, it was so neat before, everything in its place. Darren was struggling to come to terms with his disability; he had a lot of anger in him, and quite a bit of self-pity, too. But he
knew that with a wheelchair it was important to be organized. And he had started finding new interests rather than hanker after the ones he could no longer fulfil.’

‘New interests like …?’

‘Photography mainly. I got him interested in that to get him out of the house. He went for a course at the Hope Community Centre up the road.’

‘Photography.’ McLusky tapped his walking stick against the side of his shoe in a nervous gesture. Something was about to click, he could feel it. ‘At the centre that just had
a fire?’