The Reviver (37 page)

Let it stay like that,
Ray thought. ‘That’s him.’

‘You sure?’ said Detective Lloyd.

Ray understood his doubt. Lloyd was going from the fuller-faced police photograph. ‘I’m sure.’

They pulled up by the police cruiser and waited, keeping an eye on things. Unarmed and unofficial, Ray would be out of the take-down, of course, but he’d still get satisfaction from the night’s work.

Hannerman stood for a few minutes, taking deep drags until the cigarette was finished. Then he stood on the butt.
Have another,
thought Ray. Backup would be with them very soon.

But Hannerman got back in his car.

‘Damn,’ said Ellen Pierce. She started the engine, ready to follow.

The black car began to move, but it simply manoeuvred from the space at the edge of the parking lot to beside a pump. Hannerman got out and lifted the fuel nozzle. Inside the gas station, Ray could just about see the attendant glance up, then away again. A car passed their position – a station wagon, mom and dad up front, sleeping kids in the back. As they passed, Ray saw the mother motion to something ahead, and he had a sinking feeling.

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Tell me they’re not stopping.’

The car slowed and pulled in to the other pump. The mother got out and started to fill up. Hannerman opened the rear door of his car. He took the fuel nozzle out of his tank, then into the car through the open door.

Ray’s eyes widened as he saw gas splashing from the interior onto the surface of the parking lot.

‘Jesus,’ he said.

‘He’s going to burn the evidence,’ said Dom Lloyd.

‘He’ll burn the goddamn
street,
’ said Ellen Pierce.

Indecision, weighing up the knowledge of the man’s gun and the expectation that backup would appear at any time. But the attendant had seen it now, and the woman from the other vehicle shrieked and jumped back in her car, the husband driving off before her door had even shut again. Along the street the shouts were heard by a group of youths, drawing them closer.

‘Hell with it,’ said Ellen. ‘We have to.’

They drove fast and stopped well back from the parking lot, then Pierce and Lloyd got out, guns drawn, using their car doors for cover.

Ray stepped out too, waving to the onlookers. ‘For Christ’s sake, back off!’ he yelled at them. ‘
Police! Get back!
’ Those at the front had been able to see what had happened, and they were willing enough to step away. ‘
Get back NOW!
’

Still holding the nozzle, fuel pouring around his feet, Hannerman pulled the gun from his pocket. Ray stared as the gun came up. He froze for an instant, realizing he was more exposed than Pierce and Lloyd and wondering what Hannerman had in mind. But the gun kept rising, until it was straight up in the air. Hannerman fired twice, then the gun clicked empty. The onlookers ran back down the street to a safer viewpoint. In the 7-Eleven station, Ray saw the attendant dash for a back exit.

Hannerman raised the gas nozzle to his chest, dowsing himself, then dropped it on the pavement. He walked to the driver-side door. Ray saw the fuel splash under Hannerman’s shoes, a dark pool spreading out from the vehicle. Hannerman tossed his gun to the ground, almost with disdain. He opened the car door, sat down in the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut.

‘What the hell is he doing?’ said Dom Lloyd, but it was clear enough. It wasn’t about destroying evidence.

‘Wherever he planned on going, he’s reconsidered,’ said Ray. ‘The man’s reached his end.’

Dom Lloyd turned to his rear and saw another group of onlookers straining to see. ‘
Get back!
’ he shouted. Pierce turned to look as well. By the time they turned back again, Ray was already halfway across to the other car, hands high to show he was unarmed.

‘
Johnson! What the hell?
’ barked Pierce.

Ray was wondering the same thing. When it came down to it, he wanted Hannerman to talk. He wanted to know why Harker had died. ‘Call in, buy me time,’ he yelled over his shoulder. ‘I’d rather flashing lights didn’t show and spook this guy.’

Ray approached the car. The driver-side window was open, and he saw Hannerman raise an unlit cigarette to his lips.

‘Give yourself up,’ Ray said, gentle and calm. ‘There’s no need for this.’

Hannerman looked at him. Ray had known Hannerman’s picture so well, had thought he could take that full face and imagine the thin version that Daniel Harker had described, but up this close the difference was shocking. It wasn’t just thin – the man looked like he had wasted away. Hannerman brought the back of one hand to his mouth and coughed, leaving a smear of fresh blood, and Ray made the connection. The bullet hole in the driver’s door. Hannerman had been hit, and it had taken him this long to accept that he was going nowhere.

‘There’s a need,’ Hannerman said. ‘Too many questions. And I don’t feel like talking.’

Ray was finding the gas fumes unbearable. He noticed the passenger seat. On it were half a dozen plastic boxes, semitransparent, contents obscure but wiring visible through the plastic. Maybe Hannerman’s plans for the conference had been more elaborate after all. ‘Don’t do this.’

Hannerman paused, then let out a sigh that gave Ray the creeps. As much as anything, it sounded like a death rattle. He raised a cigarette lighter and placed his thumb on the spark wheel, looking Ray in the eye. Ray saw cold commitment there, and a horrible sense of purpose.

Then he felt a hand grab his shoulder and drag him away. He heard air rushing, and a man screaming behind him. He ran, glancing back as he reached the road, the car an inferno, a burning arm flailing through the fire. Ray kept running. Halfway across the road, there was a sudden change in the sound behind him, an undertone, high-pitched and rising.

Something punched him in the back, and he felt great hands close around his ears and take away all the noise. He tumbled, uncontrolled, his sight filled with glass and flame and road.

28

It rained during the funeral, a persistent, soaking rain that made a change from the run of hot sunshine. Jonah welcomed it. With his face already wet, the tears that came were hidden in plain sight.

As Daniel Harker’s body was finally put beneath the ground, Jonah sensed that some of the tears he was crying were Harker’s own: tears for his daughter, tears for Harker himself. Tears for such a vicious end.

Most, though, were Jonah’s. Tears for Sam. He had been left in an induced coma after the surgery. Nine days now, and there was still real uncertainty whether he would pull through. Even if he did, there were complications arising from internal bleeding that would make a full recovery slow.

Jonah had allowed himself to visit just once. Robert, Sam’s son, had by then brought his wife and child up to Richmond for the vigil. Seeing the close family bond was difficult for Jonah. It reminded him of what he didn’t have. He may have thought of Sam as a father, but it was sentiment and nothing more.

Jason Shepperton, meanwhile, had made good progress, released after only two days. His right arm had taken the brunt of the attack and movement was restricted and painful, but his hands were almost uninjured. Jonah hadn’t seen him since he’d been released, but Never had, reporting that Shepperton had been anxious to get out of the hospital. He had been due to leave on vacation in the next few days, and he still intended to take it. Given what had happened, wanting to do nothing but lie in the sun and be pampered by his girlfriend was understandable.

Now at Daniel’s funeral, the rain began to subside. Jonah stood at the back, as out of the way as he felt he could get without becoming conspicuous. He felt out of place, but Annabel hadn’t allowed him to bow out of attending.

She had emailed him the night before, the only way they’d communicated since Sam’s revelations; she’d called him after the attack at the symposium, but Jonah had let it go to voicemail, emailing her back instead to tell her what had happened. He’d kept Sam’s documents intact for now, but it wasn’t a subject he wanted raised. Annabel seemed to understand enough to give him space.

She stood at the head of the grave and asked if anyone wished to speak about her father. Once they had finished, she took her turn, talking of her love for him and of her memories of the man they were burying. She kept it short, visibly struggling to hold herself together as she thanked everyone around her. She nodded to Jonah, then began to walk from the grave where both her parents now lay.

Unlike the other mourners, Jonah didn’t follow. He’d already made it clear that if he came, it would be to the funeral only, not the wake. One of the black suits broke from the stream and approached.

‘Jonah,’ said Bob Crenner, taking a position beside him, facing Harker’s grave. He was silent for an awkward few seconds. ‘I was sorry to hear about Sam.’

Jonah nodded. ‘How’s Ray?’

‘He was lucky. Cuts and bruises. Claims there’s not an inch of him doesn’t hurt like hell, and he’s half deaf. Will be for a few weeks yet. Worst part for him is being off work. I hear you’re the same.’

Jonah smiled at him. ‘Insufferable.’ He’d been to see Stephanie Graves only the day before. She had found no remnant traces, although Jonah didn’t believe that Daniel had completely left him yet. Even so, he was officially in the clear. Graves had given him a tweaked meds regimen to trial for ten days. He had to take small doses five times a day to assess whether the combination suited him. It meant carrying his meds around wherever he went, and he was lousy at remembering to take each dose, but if the new regimen did suit him, he’d be back on revival duties within three weeks.

‘Keep in touch,’ said Crenner, tagging onto the tail end of the few remaining mourners.

Jonah watched them all leave, then stood alone in the fading rain, hunting in his mind for signs of Daniel Harker. Just as he was about to go, the thirst came. Weak, but unmistakable. He turned his head. In the shadow of a great rhododendron fifty feet from where he stood, he saw a figure watching him. Grey shade on black, hints of form like the strokes of an oil painting magnified; a smear
here
suggesting a smile, and
there
suggesting an arm raised, perhaps in farewell. As the form merged back into deep shadow, it occurred to him that Annabel, speaking of her father by the graveside, had not stirred the borrowed memories that had been with him for what seemed like years, yet had only been weeks.

Maybe he had gone now. The answers that had come, the only answers they could ever get, gave Jonah no satisfaction, no sense of justice. He didn’t imagine Harker felt any different.

‘I’m sorry, Daniel,’ Jonah said, before walking from the grave.

*   *   *

Jonah reached the FRS office by two o’clock, having changed out of his sodden suit in his apartment.

‘Hey,’ greeted Never as Jonah passed his desk. ‘Have fun?’

Jonah frowned with his eyes, but Never’s words earned a slow smile. ‘Great, thanks. Saw Bob Crenner. He says Ray Johnson’s doing OK.’

‘And Annabel Harker?’

‘Not my place. I left her to it. You been to the hospital today?’

‘Yeah. Everyone’s looking shattered and there’s no change, but as I understand it, that’s the best we can expect. They’re going to let Sam come out of the induced coma in five days, and that’ll be the critical time. Robert said he’ll keep us informed.’

The weekend came and went, the rain hanging on. Jonah stayed in his apartment, reading.

Annabel emailed him, to thank him for being at the funeral and to let him know she was sending him a package, copies of more documents she thought he’d be interested in.

On Monday morning, Never waved as soon as Jonah came in through the office door. ‘Mail for you.’

It was the package from Annabel, a small padded envelope. There was nothing inside except a memory stick – the contents too large or too sensitive for email, he presumed. He put it in his pocket. It took a moment before he realized Never was still watching him. Jonah looked up. ‘What?’

‘I saw who it was from, Jonah. It had her return address. Aren’t you going to look at what’s on it?’

‘It’ll keep until I get home,’ said Jonah, Never’s disappointment palpable.

‘Back to yours later for a beer, then?’

Jonah sighed. He wasn’t sure if Never was simply interested or if he’d switched into baby-sitting mode. Either way, the option of keeping him out of it was long gone.

*   *   *

Once Never arrived that evening, Jonah sent him on to feed Marmite and grab some beers as he booted his PC and started to look through the files Annabel had sent. From his desk he could see through to the kitchen, Never in the act of pouring dry cat food in the vague area of Marmite’s bowl, then running to the fridge and grabbing two cans.

Breathless, Never sat beside him, hungry eyes watching the monitor. ‘Come on then.’

They read.

Most of it was about Felix Hannerman, details from the police investigation into the attack on Jason and Sam. Annabel’s documents showed how well Hannerman had accomplished his own death, making sure there was no possibility of a revival. That was part of Hannerman’s style, not leaving anything to chance. Multiple redundancy.

His car had contained five incendiary devices. An inferno had been guaranteed. The explosion that followed made doubly sure – its cause was still under investigation. Whether Hannerman had brought the devices solely for that purpose, or if he’d hoped to somehow use them at the symposium, was impossible to know. Certainly, the increased security would have stopped him from getting any weapon into the building, hence the improvised knife.

The biggest issue was the premature declaration of Hannerman’s death three weeks earlier, the reasons for which had not yet been made clear. With everyone involved believed dead, the investigation had lost most of its urgency. If the investigators had known Hannerman was still alive, things could have been very different.

And there it was, in one of the last files Annabel had sent. Jonah swore as he read.

Only four of the remains had been identified with certainty; Yarrow and Ginger had been the easy ones, but DNA samples from relatives had been used to establish two others. An FBI statement to be released soon would clarify that in the absence of suitable DNA for comparison, personal effects were used for the final two. Confidence in the identifications had been overstated, and they would apologize. The body they had thought was Hannerman was still an unknown.