‘You’ve figured it out?’
‘Remember that Hamas agent? The one the Israelis killed in that hotel in Dubai a couple of years ago? This is the same drug they used on him. It stops the victim struggling, eliminates noise.’
‘Go on then.’
‘You might need to write this down.’
‘Tricky,’ Thorne said.
‘Suxamethonium chloride.’
‘I can’t even say it.’
‘You don’t need the chloride bit.’ Hendricks said it again, slowly. ‘It’s a neuromuscular blocker, OK? Basically a muscle relaxant, but incredibly powerful, incredibly quick. It’s used in anaesthesia and intensive care, to make intubation easier. They used to use it in the US to paralyse prisoners before they got the lethal injection.’
‘Jesus.’
‘They stopped because of the side-effects.’
‘I’m listening… ’
‘As soon as it’s administered, all the nerves start to fire and every muscle in the body begins to spasm like mad. The patient starts fitting basically, then a minute or so later he’s completely paralysed and pretty soon the drug makes it impossible to breathe. But he’s awake the whole time this is happening, so these days it’s never given to patients who are conscious, not unless there’s no other option. It’s too dangerous.’ There was a pause. ‘Too disturbing.’
‘Amin would have known what was happening to him?’
‘Sorry, Tom.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘It was the perfect drug,’ Hendricks said. ‘Sodding perfect. The fits were consistent with a Tramadol overdose… the tongue bitten off, all that. Then as soon as the paralysis kicked in, Bridges could put the pills into Amin’s mouth, set up the overdose scenario and the beauty part is he’s in and out of there in a couple of minutes. Job done.’
‘Why didn’t they find it at the PM?’ Thorne asked.
‘That’s why it’s so perfect. Unless you take a blood specimen within thirty minutes, the enzymes in the body start to break the drug down and eventually it becomes so degraded it’s almost undetectable.’
Ahead of Thorne, the silver Astra was indicating, pulling across to the inside lane.
‘So how the hell do I prove any of this, Phil?’
‘ Almost undetectable,’ Hendricks said. ‘And only when you’re not specifically looking for it. Amin wasn’t cremated, was he?’
‘Buried.’
‘No problem then. If we can exhume Amin’s body, I’ll find it.’
Thorne watched as the Astra began to indicate again, just shy of the first motorway junction. He followed the car as it came off at the exit then turned right at the roundabout following the sign for Maple Cross. Holland had already texted through McCarthy’s address and Thorne recognised the name.
It looked as though the doctor was heading home.
Thorne pulled out to overtake a lorry and ratcheted up his wipers to handle the spray. He put his foot down. Now, he was happy enough to follow McCarthy all the way to his front door and he no longer cared whether he was seen or not.
FIFTY-SEVEN
The sound had gone back up on the television now, and as Helen watched, she imagined Pascoe and the others outside, huddled in their van, their eyes narrowed in concentration, with their headphones pressed to their ears, enjoying Emmerdale.
We’re listening.
If anything, she was surprised that it had taken them this long. Perhaps it had been her presence inside that had delayed the decision to bring in technical support until now. The notion that, as one of the hostages was a police officer, they had ‘ears’ on the inside anyway.
We’re listening.
The implication was obvious enough.
We’re listening… if there’s anything you want to tell us. Anything you think might help. Something to give us the advantage out here, put us ahead of the game.
She leaned back against the radiator, took her eyes from the screen and looked across at Akhtar. He had no interest in the television. He was sitting with his back to the wall opposite her, his head lowered, staring down at the gun. He had been doing this a lot more since the previous evening. Picking the gun up, carrying it around for a while, putting a hand on it. He was not pointing it, or even waving it around, and it seemed to Helen that it was simply a question of reminding himself that he had it, and why he had it.
That he was the one ahead of the game.
Helen felt something tighten in her chest each time he reached for it.
However much she thought she understood Javed Akhtar, she could no longer be sure what he was or was not capable of, and she did not need to be reminded what a loaded gun could do. She hoped to God that she was imagining it, but several times in the last few hours she had thought she could catch her first whiff of the body in the next room. A sharp stab of something sweet. Only for a moment, but enough to make her stomach turn over and her eyes begin to water.
We’re listening.
She felt as though she should say something to Akhtar, to warn him before he said the wrong thing, but she had no idea how. She could write something down perhaps – DON’T MENTION MITCHELL – but even asking for a pen and paper would probably sound suspicious to anyone listening in.
Inevitable in the end, she knew that. Same as the smell.
Now it was only a matter of time until they were found out. Until she was found out. A matter of time before the people on the outside stopped listening and took a rather more proactive approach.
Because of something they hadn’t heard.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Thorne slowed and watched the silver Astra fifty yards ahead of him turn into the driveway of a modern, semi-detached house. He watched Ian McCarthy get out of the car and drag his briefcase from the back seat. He watched him walk quickly through the rain along a path paved in red brick, past nicely trimmed shrubs and well-tended flower beds, and step through his front door without looking back.
He gave him five minutes. Just enough time for someone to get their feet under the table, put the kettle on or open a bottle of something. Start getting comfortable.
When McCarthy opened the door he was still wearing his coat.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘No.’
‘There’s a third option,’ Thorne said. ‘You stop pretending you’re big and brave and tell me everything you know.’
McCarthy moved quickly to close the door, but found Thorne’s foot in the way, then his shoulder. A dog began to bark somewhere behind him and a few seconds later a Golden Retriever that looked anything but fierce forced its head through the gap. McCarthy tried to pull the dog back while keeping his weight against the door.
‘It’s finished,’ Thorne said. His face was only a few inches from McCarthy’s. ‘We’re going to get Bridges eventually and he’ll give you all up in a second as soon as he starts to need a fix badly enough. Let’s not forget we’re talking about two murders here, counting Peter Allen, oh… and when we re-examine Amin Akhtar’s body we’ll find the Suxamethonium.’
McCarthy blinked.
‘So, can I come in?’
The dog had retreated back into the hall, barking with less enthusiasm now, and as McCarthy opened the door Thorne saw a woman come through a doorway behind him, grab the dog by the collar and tell it to be quiet. She looked up at McCarthy as Thorne stepped past him.
‘Everything all right?’
McCarthy closed the front door. ‘Fine, love. There’s a problem back at the prison, that’s all.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing very serious,’ Thorne said. ‘I shouldn’t keep him too long.’
McCarthy moved to a closed door and nudged it open. ‘Let’s go in here.’
‘Wherever.’
‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ the woman asked.
‘I’ll have coffee,’ Thorne said, smiling. ‘Only if you’re making some.’
McCarthy switched on a light and disappeared through the door. Thorne watched the woman and the dog head off towards the kitchen, then followed him.