What made it even worse was the appearance of the man who was brandishing the weapon. His face was horribly disfigured, burned and melted, and Flynn knew this was the man who had been caught up in the explosion caused by Boone’s bullet exploding a fuel barrel that the man had been seeking cover behind. He had been blown into the creek where Flynn assumed he had perished. Clearly he had survived, obviously to be deformed for the rest of his life.
The panga was held high and was slicing down at Flynn. Had it caught him before he’d turned, his head would have been sliced cleanly open.
But Flynn had caught Aleef’s look, turned, leapt backwards as the panga came down and just missed him, leaving the burned man wide open for a millisecond, an opportunity that Flynn did not miss.
He shot him in the chest. The shot was hurried, and Flynn shot slightly high, the bullet breaking the man’s collar bone and spinning him away like a top. The second shot was even higher and removed most of the left side of his face.
Flynn stood there for a moment, controlling his breathing, then he looked at Aleef, who emitted a little squeak.
Flynn stepped over the dead men at his feet and gestured for Aleef to go ahead of him out of the door. Flynn came up behind him, slammed him up against the wall and frisked him quickly, expertly, getting close to the man, inhaling the cheap aftershave of which he stank.
‘You’re a very bad man,’ Flynn breathed into Aleef’s ear.
‘I’m just a businessman. Who are you, what is this?’
‘Who else is here?’ Flynn demanded, ignoring Aleef.
‘No one.’
Flynn jammed the barrel of the Glock hard into Aleef’s spine at the small of his back. ‘Truth?’
‘Honestly.’
Flynn gripped Aleef’s jacket collar and steered him out of the room into the hallway. He checked the room to the left, found a basic kitchen and a bathroom/toilet beyond. Then he manhandled Aleef into the next room, directly opposite the living room.
It was empty.
Flynn switched on the light with the butt of the Glock, a low wattage bulb dangling from a frayed length of wire in the middle of the ceiling.
A thin single size mattress was on the floor in one corner of the room with a grimy, bloodstained sheet covering it. Flynn glanced around quickly and saw a small pile of bloody bandages and dressings discarded in another corner, flies buzzing around them. In another corner was clothing, a rolled up shirt and trousers and a pair of sandals. Next to the mattress was a plastic tray containing some crockery and cutlery, and next to that was a metal frame on wheels that held up an empty saline drip bag. Two other empty drip bags were in a bin, together with syringes and their packages. There was also a hessian prayer mat on the floor.
Flynn computed all this, putting together everything he knew and had witnessed, everything he’d read.
‘Where is he?’ Flynn asked Aleef.
‘Who?’ Aleef responded innocently.
Flynn buried the muzzle of the Glock into Aleef’s spine.
‘You know who.’
‘I… don’t know… I don’t know what you’re talking about
… look, please allow me to go… I don’t know what this is about. I haven’t done anything.’
Flynn backed off a step then brutally side-footed the back of Aleef’s right knee, causing the leg to fold and the man to drop on to his knees with a cry. Flynn pressed the gun into the back of Aleef’s head.
‘I said where is he?’
‘Gone… he’s gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘I don’t know, sir, I don’t know,’ Aleef wailed.
Flynn forced him down to the floor, so the side of his head was crushed against the rough surface of the prayer mat.
‘Where is he?’ Flynn asked again, his instinct telling him that this mission of revenge for the death of a friend might have become something much more serious on a much larger scale.
‘Gone, gone,’ Aleef said, tears welling up in his eyes.
‘Who is gone? What is his name?’
‘Akram… Jamil Akram,’ Aleef confirmed.
‘And where has he gone?’
‘To finish what he started.’
SIXTEEN
‘ Suited and booted and now he’s in the traps with a gaoler watching over him. He’s asked for the duty solicitor, so we’ll just wait for him to land.’
Henry nodded as Rik explained this and they walked down the dingy corridor towards the exit that would take them to the underground police garage.
‘Did he say anything?’
‘No, just blubbered a lot.’
Henry pushed the door and the detectives walked out into the chilly garage. They made their way across to the plain Astra that had been used by PC Driver. Henry now had the key and clicked the remote to unlock it. As they approached the car they were pulling on latex gloves. Henry lifted the hatchback under which they had found the trussed up girl and looked at the items remaining. The girl was now in hospital being looked after by a policewoman, her parents on the way to the station. She was a mess.
In the hatchback was a Nike sports bag that had not been looked at yet. Other items in the boot, untouched as yet by the detectives, included a full face ski mask with eye holes, a pair of overalls, a pair of trainers and a roll of duct tape.
Henry’s mouth turned down distastefully. ‘What do we know about Driver?’
‘Not that much yet,’ Rik answered. ‘Just recently transferred up from Wiltshire, apparently, posted straight to Poulton… apart from that, I don’t know him. I suppose it’ll be a morning job for accessing his HR file.’
‘Not unless we knock up the HR manager.’
‘True,’ Rik concurred, liking the thought. ‘How did the chief take the news?’
Whilst Rik had been booking the prisoner into custody, Henry had done his duty by informing the people who needed to know about things like a police constable being arrested on suspicion of rape and abduction. He’d phoned the divisional commanders of Blackpool and Northern divisions, the on-call ACC and the chief himself, all of whom had been tucked up in nice warm beds.
‘Grumpy old man at being woken up. Like prodding a hibernating grizzly. But more irate at being told one of his finest had been arrested for such serious offences — but also pleased it might take us somewhere with the rape investigation. A real conflict of emotion.’
The two men looked from item to item in the hatchback, then Henry carefully unzipped the sports bag.
‘He must have been getting out of these overalls when he was at the back of the car, when we couldn’t see what he was doing,’ Rik said.
‘Which is why he only had half his uniform on. Caught in the act.’ Henry hooked his forefinger on to the zip and gently pulled the sports bag open, peered in and shone his mini Maglite torch into it. ‘Shit,’ he said. He reached in and slowly extracted a long, fine silk scarf, held it up and then looked at Rik, who even in the crap garage lighting went noticeably pale.
‘Trophy bag,’ Rik gulped.
Henry nodded slowly. ‘This looks incredibly like the scarf that Natalie Philips had around her neck on the photo her mum provided for us.’
‘I know,’ Rik whispered. Both men could have been sick there and then.
Henry’s mobile rang. He slowly replaced the scarf back into the bag and answered it.
‘Henry — you awake?’ It was Karl Donaldson.
‘I am now.’
‘Good, can you speak, or are you… y’know?’
‘I am just a bit busy, actually. Police work busy.’
‘Henry — do you know what time it is?’
‘Yeah, well as they say on TV, crime won’t crack itself.’
‘But you’re a superintendent! Aren’t you supposed to be tucked up, beddy-byes? You’re not setting a good example.’