Hanlon felt the rage flare up inside her like phosphorous burning, a white-hot flame. She welcomed it. It burnt away her pain and transmuted it into fuel for her anger. She looked at the clock on the wall above Conquest. It was nearly ten o’clock. Soon Enver would phone for backup and the police would arrive. All she had to do was stay alive for another maybe quarter of an hour. The police helicopter would be first on the scene from the Air Support Unit; they’d be happy. It cost about seven hundred pounds an hour to use the thing; the rescue of Peter Reynolds would go a long way to justifying its budget. There was a Marine Unit with a fast RIB vessel that could be here within half an hour based somewhere along the Essex coast, which would bring more police. She closed her eyes and felt relief wash over her. No matter what irregularities she had committed, Conquest wasn’t going to wriggle out of this.
There was a peal on an old-fashioned doorbell, which rang through the house. It was literally a bell on a chain, it wasn’t electric. It jangled almost cheerily. Hanlon thought for a moment that Enver must have pre-empted the agreed time and called in earlier than he should have done. Well, she wouldn’t complain. Conquest jerked his head and Clarissa disappeared. She heard a bolt being drawn on the front door. It echoed loudly in the hall, followed by voices, and Clarissa re-entered the room. It was then that all hope ended for Hanlon.
Clarissa was followed by Enver with Ludgate bringing up the rear, a shotgun pressed into the sergeant’s back. There would be no rescue. The cavalry would not be coming.
38
Enver was now sitting on a chair as well as Hanlon. It was a very sturdy, wooden chair with a high back. It was like a simplistic version of a throne. Its broad arms had leather straps and these secured Enver’s wrists, so he was tied to it. He was naked apart from his baggy blue boxer shorts and, free of restrictive clothing, you could make out the body of the athlete he once was. There was a lot of flesh there but you could see the solid frame beneath. Hanlon had watched him testing his restraints, his biceps swollen with muscle, writhing like snakes with the effort. His chest was carpeted with black hair and his jowly face dark with stubble. He was bear-like. Ursine, thought Hanlon, that was the word. If I get out of this alive, by some miracle, I’ll teach it to Corrigan. He can add it to his list.
Conquest sat near him, the rifle still unrelentingly trained on Hanlon. Ludgate and Clarissa sat on a sofa. Ludgate’s shotgun was broken open and lying on Conquest’s desk.
Ludgate said sourly, ‘Well, isn’t this cosy.’ He was beginning to feel highly vulnerable, more than slightly edgy. Although he knew that Hanlon had not so far confided in anyone other than Sergeant Demirel, he felt there could well be fallbacks that she’d set up. He would have done that. He could imagine her arranging with one of her small but devoted fan base something along the lines of ‘In the event of my not contacting you before, whenever, please inform Assistant Commissioner Corrigan, etc., etc.’ Like Hanlon earlier, he had an ear cocked for the telltale sound of a helicopter or the roaring of powerful outboards.
He would have liked to see a lot more action on Conquest’s part, certainly more of a sense of urgency. At least to get rid of Hanlon and Demirel, for a start. Then there was Robbo’s body upstairs and the judge lying up there unconscious. God knows what Hanlon had done to him. And somewhere, out on the island, was the boy. It was a mess. He glared at Conquest and Clarissa. They’d make a lovely couple splashed all over the papers. He could see the headline now, ‘Monsters’, something along those lines. He’d be a footnote, but he’d end up doing a full-life tariff all the same.
His thoughts were broken by a harsh laugh from Enver. Such was Hanlon’s magnetism, that the three of them hadn’t been able to take their eyes off her, and they’d almost forgotten the sergeant was there.
Enver had been looking around Conquest’s study, at the five of them together. Ludgate looked at him angrily.
‘Something funny, Sergeant?’ he said.
Enver replied, ‘I was looking for the sign.’ Frowns appeared on puzzled faces. ‘The one that says, “You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps”. That one,’ he explained. ‘You’ve got two bodies upstairs, a kid on this island that just about everyone in Britain is looking for, two police missing, one a senior officer, do you really think you’re going to get away with this?’
Hanlon nodded her head in agreeement. She could visualize Forrest and his SOCO team carefully going over Conquest’s house searching for traces of her presence. Then she thought, the only person who knows of its existence is Anderson. Would he tell anyone? Probably not. Conquest could well get away with it. Ludgate might even end up heading the investigation for her and Enver’s disappearance. Conquest smiled bleakly as if reading her thoughts and he allowed the barrel of the.22 rifle to point towards the floor. There was a sharp crack as he pulled the trigger. The bullet drilled a neat half-centimetre hole through Enver’s naked right foot. Enver gasped, then grimaced in pain and clamped his jaw shut. Blood trickled from the hole in his foot. Conquest slid the bolt back and ejected the spent cartridge case. The polished copper casing tumbled to the floor.
‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. But in answer to your question, yes,’ he said simply. ‘Yes, I think I will get away with it. Why not?’ A thin wisp of smoke drifted upwards from the chamber and Conquest inhaled it appreciatively, like a man sniffing perfume. He took another full cartridge from a box by his side and reloaded the rifle. He slid the bolt back and pointed it at Hanlon.
‘Of course,’ he added thoughtfully, carrying on his train of thought and looking at Enver whose eyes were moist with tears of pain, ‘even if I don’t, I’m afraid neither of you two will be around to see it.’ He turned his eyes to the figure of Hanlon. The rifle barrel followed his gaze. So it ends here, she thought to herself. Her only regret was that she had brought Enver into it. He was paying for her arrogance, her hubris. Another word she’d never get to teach Corrigan.
‘Stand up, DI Hanlon,’ said Conquest. Slowly she complied, and drew her aching body straight, with pride, as if she were on parade. She braced herself for the impact of the shot.
‘Jim, could you hold her wrists behind her back.’
Ludgate stood up and warily did as he was told. Hanlon with a broken arm was still Hanlon. He heard her hiss with pain as he took a very firm hold of her. Her wrists were slim and hard with muscle. He could smell her damp hair. He was careful not to put his face too close to her head in case she drove it backwards in a reverse headbutt. Similarly, he was very conscious of her feet. He didn’t want her stamping on his instep. He was nervously wondering too about the penetrative powers of Conquest’s rifle. He guessed the bullet that had gone through Demirel’s foot was embedded in a floorboard. He wondered if Hanlon’s body would stop a shell or if it would keep on going through her into him. Can’t we just kill them now, he thought, without all this faffing around?
‘Where’s the boy, Hanlon?’ Conquest asked. She shook her head. He turned his head to the woman. ‘You ask her, Clarissa,’ he said.
Clarissa nodded and stood up. She walked over to Hanlon and pulled on a pair of black, leather gloves that Conquest handed her. She smiled at Hanlon and then slapped her across the face with the palm of her hand and then again with her back hand. Her leather gloved hands made dull thuds on Hanlon’s skin. ‘Where is he, bitch?’ she hissed. Hanlon said nothing. Her face was marked crimson from the blows. Clarissa started again, grunting with effort.
Enver watched in misery as Clarissa slowly, viciously, venomously, beat Hanlon senseless. She made more noise, grunting with effort, than Hanlon, who endured the assault silently. Hanlon didn’t say a word. Clarissa varied the attack on her face with blows to the body. It seemed to go on for a very long time. Clarissa was badly out of breath when eventually Hanlon’s legs gave way as she collapsed from either unconsciousness or pain. Enver saw her knees go and her body slump. Ludgate’s face tightened as he took the strain of her dead weight. He let her fall to the floor and she lay there, face down, on her left side on top of the broken arm. Her eyes were closed.