Guy and I ran out of the front entrance. Ingrid arrived panting.
‘Which way?’ I said.
‘God knows,’ said Guy. ‘She could have gone anywhere.’
‘I thought I saw two figures back that way,’ said Ingrid, pointing towards the alley from which we had come. ‘It’s not far.’
‘OK. Show us.’
Ingrid set off again and we followed her. She dived through a passageway under an office block and into a tiny square paved with flagstones. The red-brick lawyers’ buildings that surrounded it were still. No traffic. No people. Just Mel and Clare, illuminated under a yellow streetlamp.
‘Mel!’ Guy shouted.
At the sound of his voice, she stopped and turned. Clare was right next to her, looking very frightened. In Mel’s hand was a gun.
Ingrid and I stopped. Guy slowed to a walk. He approached the two women.
‘Now, Mel. Let her go,’ he said calmly.
‘No,’ Mel said. ‘I warned her that if she didn’t turn down the Champion Starsat offer she would die. Derek Silverman faxed through the acceptance ten minutes ago.’
‘I’m asking you to let her go,’ Guy said, taking a further step towards her.
‘Stop where you are!’ Mel shouted. Her eyes were bright. She was wired. On the edge.
Guy stopped.
‘I’m doing this for you, you know that, don’t you?’ Mel said.
Guy nodded. ‘I know.’
‘I’ve done so much for you.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you? I don’t think you do. I got rid of your father. Did you know that? Do you remember that night when you came round to see me after you’d had a fight with him? After he had insisted that Ninetyminutes become a porn site. Do you remember that, Guy?’
‘I remember.’
‘I was so angry for you. I wanted to help you. So I decided to force him to keep you on, to keep doing things at Ninetyminutes your way. I waited for him in my car outside his flat. I was going to tell him that if he didn’t do what I wanted, I’d accuse him of raping me in France.
‘Then I saw him. Coming out of his flat into the narrow street. I thought it would be so easy just to put my foot down on the accelerator and finish him off. I remembered what he’d done to me in France, how he’d ruined my life. I couldn’t let him ruin your life as well. So I put my foot down.’
I remembered what Anne Glazier had said: Mel had arrived back at her flat that evening after Guy. She had driven home straight from running Tony down. No wonder she had seemed so agitated.
I couldn’t see Guy’s face, but Mel could. ‘Don’t look so shocked. Owen killed Dominique, didn’t he? And you stood by him. Well, I killed Tony. For you.’
‘There’s no need to kill anyone else,’ Guy said. ‘Let Clare go. For me.’
Mel grabbed hold of Clare and lifted the gun to her head. ‘No. She destroyed Ninetyminutes.’
Clare whimpered. She was terrified.
‘Did Owen know?’ Guy asked.
‘He worked it out. He’s clever, your brother. And I knew he was trying to help you too. We both did our best.’
‘Is that where you got the gun?’
‘Yes. He came up to me a few days ago and said he’d got one for you and did I want one? I think he knew what I’d use it for.’
A siren sounded. Mel looked round the square in panic. The police. If she was going to press the trigger, she might do it now.
Guy took a step further forward.
‘I’m going to shoot her! I mean it.’
More sirens, louder. Guy took another step. ‘Let her go.’
‘I said, I’ll shoot her.’
Another step.
The gun moved away from Clare’s head towards Guy. Clare bucked and yanked herself away from Mel’s grasp. Guy lunged forward. There was a shot and a cry from Guy. He slid to the ground as Mel jumped backwards. Clare ran off somewhere to the side. I dashed towards Mel and Guy. Mel turned and ran down an alleyway.
I ran after her. I knew she had a gun, but I was angry and I was determined to stop her. I rounded a corner. She turned and fired. She was only a few yards ahead of me, but she was holding the gun unsteadily and the bullet whined harmlessly over my head. I ducked back out of sight.
Mel ran on and I followed. She was not a good shot and at that moment I didn’t care too much for my own safety. But I would have to figure out how to get close enough to disarm her. How many bullets did she have in her magazine? I had no idea.
Another corner, another alleyway. This time at the far end was Fleet Street, with its traffic, busy even at this time of night. Mel stopped and turned towards me. I was closer to her now. She raised her gun towards me. She was so near it would be hard to miss.
I thought about trying to run back to the corner. But she would fire then for sure. And she might hit me.
So I walked on.
‘I’ll shoot!’ she said, her voice catching with hysteria.
‘Don’t, Mel. Put the gun down.’
‘No!’ She was grasping the gun so tightly in front of her that it was shaking. But at least part of the time it was pointing straight at me.
‘There’s no point, Mel. You’ve shot Guy. He’s back there lying on the pavement in his own blood. He’s not coming with you.’
Mel bit her lip. Her shoulders hunched as she tried to control herself, tried to keep the gun pointed at me. ‘Is he dead?’ she said, in little more than a whisper.
‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘I don’t know. Give me the gun.’
I took another step forward.
Mel braced herself and stared along the barrel of the gun straight at me. Then she slumped backwards into the wall. The gun dropped to her side.
I walked swiftly up to her and prised the weapon out of her fingers. The barrel was warm. She slid down to the ground, put her head in her hands and sobbed.
A policeman arrived breathing heavily. I left Mel and the gun with him and ran back to the small square.
Guy was lying where he had fallen. Ingrid was with him, as were three or four armed policemen.
I pushed my way through to him.
He had a single wound to the chest. Blood was pumping out. He was finding it very difficult to breathe, but his eyes were open. His skin was pale under his stubble, so pale.
He saw me.
‘Davo.’
I knelt down beside him.
‘Is Clare OK?’ he asked.
I looked up. She was standing a few yards away, her face white, her hand to her mouth.
‘Yeah. You saved her.’
‘And Owen? How’s Owen?’
‘I don’t know.’
He tried to speak, but could only cough. Blood dribbled out of the side of his mouth.
‘Easy,’ I said. ‘The ambulance will be here soon.’
‘Can you find out? About Owen?’ It was little more than a whisper.
I looked up. Spedding was standing over us, catching his breath, splashes of Owen’s blood still on his clothes. I raised my eyebrows. He stepped back and spoke into his radio. After a few seconds he caught my eye and shook his head.
I looked down at Guy. He hadn’t seen Spedding.
‘He’s fine,’ I said. ‘He’s going to make it.’
Guy smiled. Or tried to smile. He coughed. More blood. He coughed once more, and then he was still.
Ingrid wept quietly. I put my arm around her and squeezed her tight. As I watched the paramedics cover his body and load it on to a stretcher, I realized that in the end I had trusted Guy.
And he hadn’t let me down.
41
November 2000, six months later, Mayfair, London
The twenty-six-year-old ex-investment banker finished his PowerPoint presentation with a flourish and sat down expectantly. I glanced at Clare. This was the third Wireless Application Protocol deal we had seen in a month, and easily the worst. By a slight twitching of an eyebrow, Clare signalled that she agreed with my assessment. We asked the two-man team some questions for the sake of politeness, and then kicked them out.