Part 27 (1/2)

Michael Hill stiffened, holding the gun against the pet.i.te nurse's head.

'I'll kill her.'

Delaney looked at the man's curly brown wig. Could see the madness dancing in his dark eyes. He had no doubt at all that he meant what he said.

'You pull that trigger and you're a dead man.'

'Maybe I'm a dead man anyway. But we're not finished here yet. I'm a force of nature, Delaney.'

Delaney looked at him and wondered at his own hesitation. Earlier that day he had been unable to kill a man responsible for the death of his wife and the death of his unborn baby. Something in him had changed, that much was clear. A couple of months ago he wouldn't have hesitated. He'd have put a bullet in each of Mickey Ryan's kneecaps first and then put one in his head. He looked at the frail woman who had tried so hard to help him all those years ago. He was powerless. He looked at the expression in the man's eyes facing him. He took a step closer, saw the pupils grow wider as though the man had come to some kind of decision. He moved slowly towards the man, positioning the barrel of the gun in the centre of his forehead.

'Drop the gun, Michael.'

'Look into my eyes, Delaney. You know I'll do it.'

Delaney looked in his eyes and then pulled the trigger. Michael Hill's head snapped back in a way the spine wasn't designed for. His dark brown wig fell off and as he crashed to the floor with his arms held out, his head landed with a wet, slapping thud, jolting one of the brown contact lenses he was wearing loose. He now had one brown eye and one blue and looked, Delaney thought, with his blond hair and white face exactly as David Bowie might have looked if he had carried on with the heroin.

The nurse, Jessica Tam, had fallen from his lifeless arms and was now laid across his body in an unnaturally intimate manner.

Delaney barely registered the sound of car tyres as Kate pulled back into the driveway. He picked the nurse up in his arms and carried her over to the car. Kate opened the door for him to lay her on the back seat and then leaned over her to check her vital signs. She put a finger on her carotid artery and then bent over to listen to her breathing.

'She's got a strong, steady rhythm, Jack. She's going to be fine. Just drugged, that's all.' She looked over at dead figure of Michael Hill and shuddered. 'Are you okay?'

Delaney looked down at his hand, which was trembling now and nodded. 'I'm fine.'

He pulled out his phone, and turned his back to s.h.i.+eld himself from the wind as he made a call.

'Jimmy, it's Jack. I've got Michael Hill. He's dead. He had a gun. We struggled. He lost.'

'Glad to hear it.'

'Don't be too glad. He didn't tell me where Sally Cartwright is.'

'I've got another address, Jack. One from his original application. His aunt's. She died recently.'

'Where is it?'

'About a quarter of a mile from where you are. Priory Road. Number thirty-two.'

'Put it out. I'll make my way there. And get an ambulance sent over here.'

'You reckon he needs it?'

'It's for the nurse. At least we saved one of them.'

Delaney walked over to the Michael Hill's supine body. He took the tranquilliser gun off him and put it in his pocket. Then wiped his own gun and put the dead man's hand over the grip of the gun, fitting his finger in the trigger guard. He squeezed the dead man's hand a couple of times and then used it to throw the gun on the floor about three feet away.

He walked back to Kate. 'You didn't see any of that. We struggled. His gun went off.' He ran his fingers through his hair, realising his hands were still trembling and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Kate stepped forward and hugged him. 'You can't save everyone, Jack.'

Delaney kissed the top of her head. 'I can try.'

Kate looked up at him and ran her hand over his unshaven face. 'What am I going to do with you?'

'I've got to go. The ambulance and the others won't be long. Will you be all right waiting here?'

'Just find Sally, Jack.' She kissed him. 'And be careful.'

Delaney nodded at the body. 'He's dead, Kate.'

They're both dead, he thought, as he walked off into the wind and rain not daring to let himself believe that Sally Cartwright was still alive.

Michael Hill's aunt may have only been dead a short while but her house had already been stripped of furniture; a painted dresser in the kitchen, a bed in one of the upstairs bedrooms, some old clothes hanging in a musty wardrobe. But nothing apart from that. Just dust and damp.

Delaney toured the rooms once again to see if he had missed anything. But he hadn't. The house was empty.

He pushed the front door shut and leaned against the porch wall; using his body to s.h.i.+eld against the wind, he lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag and played back in his mind what Michael Hill had said before he shot him. He was a force of nature, he'd said. And before that he said he wasn't finished. No. He hadn't. His exact words were 'We're not finished'. The women being mutilated, the man not. The whole Jack the Ripper nonsense. 'We.' He cursed as he fumbled for his phone.

We. There were two of them.

's.h.i.+t!'

Detective Inspector Robert Duncton of the serious crimes unit thundered up the stairs, the men behind running to keep up. Half of them were in flak jackets and armed. He got to the top of the stairs and walked along the external corridor. He was not in a good mood. White City had been p.i.s.sing all over his investigation again. Little men trying to play with the big boys. One of them, Jack Delaney, had just shot dead the prime suspect and was now claiming that Michael Hill was acting with a partner. That there were two of them. If they had made a mistake in letting the first one go it was the sort of thing that could wreck a promising career. And Robert Duncton's career was very promising indeed. At least it had been up until today.

He waited for two of the armed officers to position themselves either side of the door and hammered on it with a fist as heavy as his heart.

Ashley Bradley's grandmother peered out. 'Can I help you?'

Duncton took her by the arms and moved her outside. 'Is he here?'

'Ashley?'

'Yes, Mrs Bradley. Is your son here?'

'No, he's not in right now. And he's my grandson.'

Duncton gestured and the armed men piled into the house. A few seconds later they emerged shaking their heads.

'I told you,' said Mrs Bradley.

Duncton sighed. 'Where is he, then?'

'He's gone to the cinema. Some film he wanted to see. He loves romantic films.'

Delaney jogged painfully back the way he had come and had to stop by a bus shelter to catch his breath. He leaned against it as he pulled out his packet of cigarettes, cursing at the awkwardness of only having one arm to use as he fumbled one into his mouth. A handsomely dressed middle-aged couple walked past, putting as much room between him and them as possible. Delaney didn't blame them. He used the flat of his hand to brush some of the dust from his trousers. He sneezed. He lit his cigarette and sneezed again. And then he realised, the cigarette almost falling from his mouth, but not quite. 'Idiot!' He almost shouted it.

The middle-aged couple ahead looked back, but Delaney didn't even register them. He began running back towards the house he had left just five minutes previously. Running in real earnest now.

Ashley did like romantic films. Quite often in the early screenings it meant there was a fair scattering of women in the audience. Single women who didn't want to come later and feel jealous of the happy couples sitting all around them. Ashley could relate to that. He settled back and enjoyed the trailers. His overcoat was pulled lightly together, his jeans were unb.u.t.toned beneath it and with a hole already cut in his right-hand pocket he was good to go.