A single flat syllable. ‘No.’
‘I didn’t think so, and I can’t make you, I know that too, so there’s nothing I can do here.’ McLusky spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Obviously, I’ll have to take him with me.’ Three steps brought him into the middle of the room. Keeping his eyes entirely on Dearlove as though Cooke couldn’t possibly have any more objections, he took hold of the back of the chair and dragged it around until Dearlove was facing the man with the petrol can. With one swift movement he ripped the gag off his mouth. Dearlove gasped, coughed, spat. McLusky tilted the chair back and began dragging the groaning constable through the door. As soon as there was room Austin took over and pulled him away. McLusky remained standing in the hall, facing Cooke. Several sirens could now be heard approaching. Cooke’s head appeared to shake with tiny nods as he let the petrol flow from the can to the uneven vinyl floor where it pooled by his feet before creeping towards McLusky and the door.
‘Why don’t you come outside with me, Mr Cooke. It doesn’t have to end in here. Not like that.’ He searched the man’s face for anything worth saving. Still holding the empty petrol can Cooke stood very still now, a leather statuette. He no longer appeared to be seeing him. One thin stream of petrol had reached the tip of his own shoes. McLusky nodded. ‘But perhaps it’s for the best. Goodbye, Mr Cooke.’
He stepped over the creeping stream of petrol and crossed the hall just as Constable Pym entered the kitchen. McLusky shouted at him: ‘Get out!’ The flash of igniting petrol reflected in Austin’s eyes as it snatched the oxygen from the air. They tumbled out into the rain together. McLusky swung the outer chipboard door shut. It was a symbolic gesture rather than any attempt to deprive the fire of oxygen. Out here the close was busy with police and paramedics, many converging on the prefab. Just as he filled his lungs to shout a warning a window blew out in a vicious blast, making his warning superfluous. There had obviously been some gunpowder left.
An ambulance was leaving with DC Dearlove on board, its siren wailing as it neared the main road. McLusky found Austin standing by a defunct lamp-post. He lit a cigarette, offering one to the sergeant, who barely hesitated before accepting it. Both greedily inhaled while watching the black smoke and flames pouring from number thirty-five. ‘Deedee all right, you think?’
Austin scratched the tip of his nose. ‘I guess. He was cursing coherently.’
‘Oh, good.’
‘So we’ve no way of knowing how many devices are still out there?’
‘No way at all. Could be one or two, could be dozens.’
‘Isn’t there some way we can stop people from picking the things up?’
McLusky shook his head and began walking towards his car. ‘I shouldn’t think so. Shouldn’t think so for one minute.’
It was raining harder now. The remaining residents of Nelson Close saw the bungalow burn, though most stayed indoors to watch from their windows.