The Murder Exchange (42 page)

My head was spinning and my eyes stinging
with blood, so much so that I could hardly see.
Regaining my balance, I wiped at my face with my
forearm, clearing the worst of the obstruction, and
tried to focus again.

390

Which was the moment when the silencer hissed
and a searing pain that eclipsed anything I'd yet felt
surged through my shoulder, the force of it sending
me reeling into the wall.

Gallan

I was just about to knock on the door when I heard
a loud commotion from inside and the sound of
shouting. I put my head against the wood and
listened. It sounded like a fight between two men,
and I wondered for a moment if I'd got the wrong
place. One of the men howled in pain, and there
was a crash as if they'd both just charged into a
wall. They were big blokes, I could tell that from the
force of the impact, and I decided that discretion
was the better part of valour and that it was best
just to call for reinforcement.

Then there was a pause in proceedings for a
couple of seconds, followed by a faint popping
sound, then a cry of pain and a dull thud.

I'd seen enough Hollywood films to know immediately
that it was a gunshot from a silencer, and
the damage it had done was obvious, even if I
couldn't see it. I stepped back from the door and
dialled the station on my mobile. The controller
answered after four rings. I gave my location and
called for backup.

The need firearms units as well as an ambulance,' I
hissed into the phone. 'Someone in there is
definitely armed, and it's the address of a person
we need to question with reference to a murder,

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although I must emphasize that at the moment the
person is not, I repeat not, a suspect.'

I switched off the mobile and went back to the
door and listened. There were voices coming from
inside, one sounding in pain, the other dominant,
firm. Ruthless. I knew I should wait for reinforcements.
All my training told me there was no point
confronting armed suspects in an enclosed space
when unarmed, particularly when it was obvious
that the suspect had just shot someone. All my
instincts agreed. It was a united stand. But at the
same time I also knew I couldn't stand there and do
nothing while someone was murdered, and from
the tone of the conversation in there it sounded like
that was exactly what was about to happen.
Sometimes, like it or not, you simply have to stick
your neck out. The alternative is the eternal knowledge
that you could have done something to save a
life but chose not to.

I pulled a credit card out of my pocket and, using
the method a convicted burglar had once taught me,
went to unlock the door.

Iversson

I was sitting back against the wall, shaking as my
body went into shock. To my left lay the unconscious
gunman. In front of me stood the woman
I was in love with, half naked, very beautiful, and
pointing a long-barrelled Browning at me, the end
of the silencer only a few feet from my face. After
everything else, it was a sight my mind really

392

couldn't fathom. It felt like I'd finally cracked and
this was the beginning of my short and probably
one-way route to the loony-bin.

'Elaine/ I managed to say through teeth that
were chattering manically. 'What are you doing?'

She managed a sympathetic smile. Tm sorry,
Max, I really am. If it's any consolation, it's just
business. Nothing else. You're actually not a bad
bloke, even if Joe Riggs does say you murdered his
missus a few years back; you were just in the wrong
place at the wrong time. Now, I didn't want to do
this - that was his job.' She motioned towards the
unconscious gunman. 'In fact, it was Joe's job, but
the thing is, you don't seem to want to die. And
now it's left to little old me to do the dirty deed. You
'now something, Max, I've never shot anyone
before, and I've never really wanted to either, particularly
someone who was such a good lay, and in my
fucking flat as well, but you know what they say,
never let emotions stop you from doing your job.'

Still I couldn't get a grip on what was going on. I
heard her words, delivered in a slightly weary
matter-of-fact tone, saw her standing there pointing
a gun at me, but none of it seemed to register. It
seemed like maybe I'd fallen asleep, and that any
second now I'd wake up in her arms with her
stroking my head, telling me it was OK, it was just
a bad dream, like my mum used to do when I
was a kid.

'Elaine,' I whispered. 'I love you.' And I know it
sounds stupid, but I really meant it.

'I know you do, darling,' she said, her finger
tensing on the trigger. 'I know you do.'

393

Gallan

The door lock clicked, and slowly, ever so slowly, I
pushed it open.

Peeking my head round, I saw a naked man in
the hallway about three yards away, bruised and
bleeding, and apparently suffering from a bullet
wound to the shoulder. He looked a mess, and he
was shaking badly. Next to him lay another man in
casual clothes, not moving, his head turned away.
The naked man was staring into a room right in
front of him, from which emerged a slender hand
and forearm holding a long gun with a silencer
attached, aimed at the naked man's head. I couldn't
see the actual person holding the gun but I was
pretty confident it was Elaine Toms, company
secretary of Dagmar Holdings, who owned the flat
in which I was now standing.

The naked man whispered something I couldn't
quite make out but which sounded a lot like
'Elaine, I love you', and his face suggested he
meant what he was saying, which was a bit unfortunate.
And I thought I had problems with my
love life.

I took a step forward, then another one.

'I know you do, darling/ said Elaine Toms in her
slightly grating north London accent. 'I know you
do/

Her finger was tensing on the trigger, I could
see it. I took another step forward, frantically calculating
what I could possibly do to prevent her from
killing him. The naked man's eyes were widening
and his mouth was opening, though no words were

394

coming out. He knows, I thought. He knows he's
about to die.

'Armed police!' I yelled suddenly. 'Drop your
weapon and come out with your hands up. You're
surrounded. I repeat, you are surrounded!' My
voice was loud and authoritative, probably the
most it had ever been. I hoped Elaine Toms didn't
recognize it from our earlier meeting.

It seemed she didn't.

'Get back!' she called out, still not showing herself
and making no effort to drop the weapon. 'Get
back or I'll shoot him! Don't think I'm bullshitting
either. If you don't get out of this flat now I'm going
to kill him. Do you understand? And you'll be the
one who's fucking responsible.'

The naked man, his face covered in blood, turned
his head and looked at me quizzically, presumably
wondering where my gun was.

'Drop your weapon, Miss Toms,' I demanded,
desperately trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
'You are in enough trouble as it is without adding
murder to your crimes. If you drop your weapon,
then this will end peacefully. If you don't, then you
risk being shot.'

'Retreat now or I kill him. I mean it!'

'Don't do it, Miss Toms. You are surrounded. It
won't do any good.'

And then my heart sank as, still pointing the gun
at the naked man's head, she stepped out of the
room and into the hallway.

For a second she looked confused, then the confusion
turned to annoyance. Slowly, the barrel of
the gun moved round so it was facing me.

395

There is no feeling in the world more hopeless,
more desperate, more frightening, than when you
are standing looking at the end of a gun that's held
steadily and calmly by someone you know is going
to kill you. And impotent, too. It's an impotent feeling
realizing that nothing you do or say, no
pleading, no begging, nothing, is going to change
the dead angle of that weapon, or prevent the
bullet from leaving it and entering your body, ripping
up your insides, and ending every experience,
every thought, every dream you've ever had. You
think about people you care about, places you've
been to that you liked, and you know you're never
going to see any of them again. Your guts churn, the
nerves in your lower back jangle so wildly that you
think you're going to soil yourself, your legs feel
like they're going to go from under you like those
newborn calves you sometimes see on the telly.
And your eyes. You know that your eyes betray
your sense of complete and utter defeat.

You are a dead man, and you know it.

And then two things happened.

First, Jack Merriweather sat up, rubbing his head
and uttering the immortal words, 'What the fuck's
going on?'

Second, the naked man kicked out with his right
leg and struck Elaine Toms in the calf of her left one,
knocking her off balance. She slipped, then fell forward,
and the gun went off, the bullet ricocheting
off the carpet before flying harmlessly into the
ceiling. She landed on her front, gun arm outstretched,
but still holding it. As she tried to right
herself, I took my chance, running forward and

396

stamping as hard as I could on her wrist. She
yelped in pain, but didn't release the gun, so I
stamped again, and this time she did. I pulled it up
by the barrel, stepped back, resisting the urge to
kick her in the face for scaring me senseless, and
turned the gun round. Toms massaged her wrist,
wailing in pain and accusing me of breaking it,
while Merriweather continued to rub at his head
and face, smearing the blood over it, still unsure, it
seemed, about what was happening. The naked
man simply sat where he was, shivering and silent.

'All right,' I said, holding the weapon gingerly,
and praying that no-one chose this moment to
make a break for it, 'everyone stay where they are.'

The need a cloth for my face/ said the naked man,
and slowly got to his feet. 'Please.'

He stood where he was for a moment, wiping the
blood from his eyes. Something about him looked
familiar. Very familiar, though the beard made it
difficult to tell for sure.

In the distance, I could hear the sirens. 'Just stay
where you are for a moment, sir.'

'Please, I need water.' He stumbled forward into
the room from which Elaine Toms had just
emerged. At the same time, she started edging
along the floor in my direction, eyes watching me
like a hawk in search of a weakness.

I pointed the gun directly at her head. 'Do not
move,' I told her.

The man with no clothes', she said, motioning
over her shoulder, 'is Max Iversson. He's wanted
for murder.'

Iversson. Shit!

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I heard a window opening in the other room, and
the sound of someone clambering out. A second
later, a noise like a crash came from outside. I
stayed put, hoping he wouldn't get far without any
clothes, knowing that I had to make sure Toms
didn't escape. I cursed myself for not clocking
Iversson immediately. It's amazing what some
blood and the Grizzly Adams look'll do to a
person's face.

Toms looked like she was going to make a break
for it. 'You're letting him get away,' she said
mockingly.

I smiled at her, holding the gun steady. "Then I'd
better make sure I don't make the same mistake
with you.'

She gave me a very unladylike sneer but didn't
make any move. At the same time, the sirens seemed
to close in from all sides, cars screeching to a halt in
front of the building. There was a loud bang as the
front door to the building was forced, followed by
the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs.

The cavalry had arrived.

398

Wednesday, three days later

Gallan

'So, Jack, tell me. Why were you in Elaine Toms's
apartment armed with an illegal handgun and
jilencer?'

Merriweather looked at his solicitor, who gave a
slight nod, then back at me. 'No comment/ he said,
scratching absentmindedly at the plaster on his
broken nose.

'How do you know Elaine Toms?'

There was a pause. 'No comment.'

'Is it through Dagmar Holdings?' Again, he
looked at the solicitor, a bald, pinch-faced individual
with outsize glasses and an officious air.
This was the infamous Melvyn Carroll. Again, he
gave that little nod.

'No comment.'

'What do you know about Dagmar Holdings?'

'No comment.'

I sighed. 'You're not helping us much here, Jack.'

'Or yourself,' added Knox, who was sitting
beside me. 'You're facing very serious charges.

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Charges that carry a substantial prison sentence.
We're talking years, Jack, not months. Years. I
suggest you think about that next time you get
asked a question.'

Merriweather yawned ostentatiously. 'Are you
lot going to charge me with anything or are you just
going to sit here wasting my time?'

Melvyn Carroll leant forward. He smelt strongly
of eau de cologne. 'My client insists he has done
nothing wrong, and, as he has informed you
repeatedly, has nothing further to say on the matter.
I would therefore strongly request that you let him

go-'

Knox and I looked at each other, then back at
Merriweather. Jackie Slap stared straight ahead
at me, his eyes cold. His expression was a simple
one. It said: You can't touch me. I held his gaze,
looking back at him expressionlessly. The room was
silent for several seconds as the two of us stared
each other down. Carroll opened his mouth to say
something, but it was me who spoke first.

'What do you know about the murder of Robert
Jones?' I asked, and something in Merriweather's
expression cracked. The composure was restored
within the space of a second, but it was too late. I'd
caught it. I knew I was on the right track.