Two-Way Split (24 page)

The policeman stayed still. Apart from his mouth. It moved when he said, "Oh, God, oh, shit."

His colleague turned and stared. A shaving rash stretched across his throat like a thick, pink chinstrap. His mouth fell open and his hand moved to his belt.

Don shook his head at him. Shaving Rash's hand retreated. "Now lose the walkie-talkies," Don said. "Both of you."

Then he invited them to remove their truncheons and CS spray canisters, and lay them on the floor. Policemen were great at following orders. They were trained for it. And these two looked straight out of training college.

"Take your handcuffs out of your belt," he said to Shaving Rash. "Turn round. Hands behind your back." He gave the shorter one a slap on the shoulder. The blow made him grunt. "Fasten his cuffs." Don eased the pressure on Grunt's throat. A smear of Carol Wren's blood glistened on the policeman's neck. Once the cuffs were clipped in place, Don reapplied the point of his knife to Grunt's throat. "Any sudden movement," Don said, "and you'll get a nasty puncture wound. Jugular. Very messy. Now, your turn." Trembling, Grunt slowly eased his handcuffs out of his belt and stuck his hands behind his back. With his left hand, Don fastened the cuffs.

"Inside," he said. Shaving Rash turned his head to look at his colleague. Grunt pursed his lips and nodded and Shaving Rash led the way. Don followed, the point of the knife hidden in the indented, blood-smeared skin of the shorter policeman's throat. Don closed the door behind him with the sole of his foot. "Straight ahead."

Grunt came to a halt when he saw the body in the sitting room. He said, "Oh, God. Oh, shit." Grunt's voice was recognisable as the one telling the SO10 story.

Don spoke to Shaving Rash. "Not so funny now, is he?"

Shaving Rash didn't reply. He couldn't take his eyes off Carol Wren. He bent backwards, as if he'd been punched in the face and was trying to avoid a second blow. Grunt said, "Oh, shit. Oh, God."

"Yeah, yeah," Don said.

Shaving Rash's voice was thin. It sounded like an old man's. "Did you do that?"

Don lowered the knife. "Why don't you both take a seat?" Neither moved. "On the settee," he suggested.

Shaving Rash said, "Did you do that?"

Don said, loudly, "Sit."

Shaving Rash rushed over to the settee. Grunt's face was a shade darker than chalk and he looked like he was about to throw up. Probably never seen a dead body. Most policemen never did. Almost certainly, he'd never seen one with "LOVE" carved in its stomach. His lips were quivering. He looked even younger than Shaving Rash.

Don said, "Sit."

Grunt staggered towards the settee, sat down next to Shaving Rash and said, "I have to warn you," – he caught Don's gaze and shut up.

Switching the knife to his left hand, Don strode up to Grunt and slapped him on the cheek with his open right. "What's your name?"

Slippery hazel eyes stared back at Don. Grunt said, "PC Hood."

"And you?" Don asked Shaving Rash.

"PC Fairchild."

Don said, "I assume you pair aren't the rapid response team? Why are you here?"

Hood said, "Somebody reported a domestic disturbance."

"Ah," Don said. "That's disappointing. Who?"

"Didn't give his name."

Don said, "I wonder why he didn't report a murder?"

Hood said, "How would he know?" He looked away, dropped his head and stared at the floor.

"Good point." Don understood. It was Robin, not Eddie. These two cops were here because of Robin. Part of his half-cocked plan to eliminate Don. Robin's problem was that he couldn't report Carol's murder without incriminating himself. Not even the police were stupid enough to believe Don would have made the phone call. Which asked all sorts of questions about the caller. If the caller had witnessed the murder, he was either an accomplice or the killer himself. Unless he was an innocent bystander. In which case, why place the call anonymously? So Robin had reported hearing a scuffle instead. The little bastard.

Come to think of it, Eddie didn't have much room to manoeuvre either. Exactly what could he tell the police? Only that a man he hardly knew might be in the process of killing his lover. And that when he left him, this man was unconscious as the result of being pistol-whipped. It was unlikely Eddie would be bringing reinforcements, but Don couldn't be certain. He didn't know what Eddie had found that made him suspicious.

Why was the whole world out to get him?

Fairchild asked, "Are you going to kill us?"

Don looked at him. "That's up to you."

Fairchild squirmed on the settee. "You can't." His voice cracked. "You can't kill us. We're policemen."

 "Be quiet, Lew." Hood lifted his head to look at Don.

Don studied the three red finger marks slicing across the policeman's cheek. "Listen to your colleague, Lew."

PC Lewis Fairchild stood. "You won't kill us." He leaned forward.

Hood said, "Sit down, Lew." Saliva gathered at the edges of his mouth. "Sit the fuck down."

"He won't kill us, Hoodie." Fairchild stepped towards Don.

Don sighed.

PC Hood said, "What did you mean, it's up to us?"

Don ignored him. "How old are you, Lew?"

Lew said, "Nineteen."

"If you want to be twenty, then slam your arse back down on the seat."

Fairchild glanced at Hoodie. Then he took a step back and sat down.

"If you get up again without my authorisation it'll be for the last time." Don twirled the knife in his fingers. "Is that understood?"

Fairchild ran his tongue over his lower lip and nodded. His left leg was shaking.

Don said, "Any brothers or sisters, Lew?"

He nodded again.

"How many?"

"Two brothers."

"How about you, Hoodie?"

"Three sisters and a brother."

"You got a first name?"

Hoodie grunted. "Kevin," he said.

"I'll call you Hoodie," Don said. He knew their names and he knew how many siblings they had. They knew nothing about him. They were handcuffed. He wasn't. He was in control. He said, "I don't have much time. I have to escape and I don't want to be followed. What do you think I should do?"

Neither policeman replied.

Don continued, "Lew obviously doesn't think I should kill you. That's understandable. Self-preservation is a keen instinct. Logically, though, it seems to me that killing you would solve my problem nicely. I can stab the pair of you and walk out the front door as if nothing's happened." Don caught Hoodie's eyes and Hoodie fidgetted under his gaze. "You want to say something?"

PC Kevin Hood said, "You don't need to do that. You could just walk out anyway. We're handcuffed." He turned sideways and wriggled his fingers. "We couldn't stop you."

"You're underestimating your own resourcefulness, Hoodie." Don smiled. "I can't imagine a pair of fine police officers like yourselves would be incapacitated by a minor inconvenience like wearing handcuffs. Think about it." He stared at the knife for a moment. "This isn't my flat. I don't have a key. I can't lock the door." He looked at Lew. "Handcuffs won't stop you reaching the Yale. You might need a stool, or something to stand on, but that won't be hard to find."

"Tie us up, then. We can't get very far if we're trussed up like—"

"Pigs," Don finished off for him. "Apt phrase, Hoodie. But you could still shout. Make a racket." He smiled. "Squeal."

"Gag us."

Don said, "Excellent, Hoodie. You're doing very well. What do you think, Lew?" PC Lew Fairchild did not look well. "You want to be bound and gagged? Hoodie thinks it's a good idea."

PC Fairchild said, "I don't know."

"Neither do I," Don said. "Problem with binding and gagging, fun though it might be, is that it takes time. Of which, as it happens, I'm rapidly running out." The painkillers were taking effect. His headache had dulled considerably and now he could think more clearly. He'd have to leave before Eddie turned up. "I'm expecting company any minute. More of your lot, maybe." He scanned their faces, but they were both so scared their expressions revealed nothing but fear. "Unfortunately, I don't have time to look for rope or ligatures or strong tape or whatever. And even if I did, tying you up would take too long."

The silence lasted seconds. Then Hoodie said, "What's that mean?"

"Tying you up is not an option."

This time the silence lasted a little longer. Hoodie said, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to have to kill you."

Lew said, "You can't."

"You're policemen, right?" Don turned and walked towards the bay window. "Tell you what." He slid the window open and looked down at the grass twenty-five, maybe thirty, feet below. "I'll give you a choice, but we need to be quick. Either you jump out the window or I stab you in the chest.  Repeatedly. You have fifteen seconds to decide. Starting" – he looked at his watch – "now."

Hoodie stood. "Take the handcuffs off."

Don said, "Fourteen, thirteen."

Hoodie said, "We're on the second floor. If we can't use our hands to break our fall we'll probably kill ourselves."

Don carried on counting. "Eleven, ten, nine."

Hoodie walked towards the window.

"Seven, six."

Hoodie said, "There's nothing to hold onto."

Don said, "Five. Cry out on the way down and I'll cut Lew's throat. Four."

Hoodie slung one leg over the windowsill and sat down.

"Three."

Hoodie shuffled forward, pulled his other leg over and turned to face the drop.

Don said, "Two."

Hoodie said, "Push me."

Don said, "One."

Hoodie said, "Come on. Push me."

Don said, "Zero," and shoved Hoodie in the back. Hoodie yelled on the way down. He hit the grass on his left side and yelled much louder. Don listened to the policeman's cries. Couple of broken ribs? Broken arm, maybe? One thing was certain. Hoodie wouldn't be chasing him down the street.

And neither, for that matter, would his partner. PC Lew Fairchild had keeled over on the arm of the settee and was out cold. When Don pulled up his sleeve and stabbed him in the elbow, he didn't flinch.

Kill him, don't kill him. Kill him, don't kill him. Don couldn't make up his mind. He lowered Lew's sleeve and covered up the stab wound. Killing him would be pointless. It would waste precious time. On the other hand, Don had never killed a policeman and the prospect wasn't altogether unattractive.

Hoodie's howls drifted in through the open window.

Shit, I have to go
.

It was Lew Fairchild's lucky day.

Don knew there would be no return to normality now. The dynamics between him and Robin had changed. Okay, he might spend the rest of his life trying to evade capture, but from now on he was free to impose his will on anything he desired, including his little brother. He hadn't heard a peep out of him for ages. He dropped the knife and started to run.