Tuesday 1 July 2014

11.28 p.m.

The last Wolf had heard from the Protected Persons team, they were still stuck on the M25. One of the custody officers had propped his phone up on the counter so that they could all watch the BBC News report on the incident causing the delay. Apparently a lorry had jackknifed across the carriageway. Two air ambulances had landed on the motorway and at least one person had been confirmed dead.

The lights had come back on in the custody suite, which was feeling progressively cosier as the storm outside worsened. Finlay was, yet again, asleep in a plastic chair. One officer was guarding Rana’s cell, and the other two were exchanging exasperated looks behind Walker’s back. Now into the fifteenth hour of a twelve-hour shift, they felt as imprisoned as the people occupying the holding cells.

Wolf was hovering beside the back door, waiting for Elizabeth who had also been severely delayed by the unprecedented weather. The last text he had received from her advised that she was less than five minutes away and instructed him to put the kettle on.

Wolf peered out through the porthole window at the flooded car park, the drowning drains spluttering up filthy water while the building storm gathered strength. Two headlight beams carefully negotiated the corner and a taxi loitered, for over a minute, outside the entrance. A hooded figure holding a briefcase emerged from the back seat, dashed up the steps, and knocked urgently on the metal door.

‘Who is it?’ called Wolf, unable to make out the face beneath the hood.

‘Who do you think?’ Elizabeth’s raspy voice yelled back.

Wolf pulled the door open and was sprayed with horizontal rain as the gale-force winds, predicted by the Met Office, blew papers and posters across the room. It took all of his strength to force the heavy door closed again.

Elizabeth removed her dripping coat. She was fifty-eight years old and always tied her grey hair back in a tight ponytail. Wolf had only ever seen her wear three outfits. Each looked as though it had been extravagantly expensive when she had purchased it two decades ago, but now appeared worn and outdated. Whenever they met, she had quit smoking again, yet always smelled of fresh smoke, and her garish pink lipstick unfailingly looked to have been applied in the dark. A fond, yellow-toothed smile formed when she looked up at Wolf.

‘Liz,’ he said in greeting.

‘Hello, sweetie,’ she said, tossing her coat onto the nearest chair before embracing him and planting two exaggerated kisses on either cheek. She held onto him for a fraction longer than felt normal. Wolf presumed that this was intended to convey her motherly concern over his well-being.

‘It is foul out there,’ she told the room, in case they had not yet realised.

‘Drink?’ offered Wolf.

‘I would die for a tea,’ she told him with enough theatre to warrant a far larger audience.

Wolf left to prepare the tactical drink, leaving Walker and his officers to conduct the security searches. He felt uncomfortable about subjecting a colleague who he had known for so many years, a friend, to a pat-down. At least this way it would appear as though he had no hand in it. He procrastinated for as long as he possibly could before returning to the custody suite to find Elizabeth joking with Finlay, who was sorting through the contents of her briefcase. He had removed an engraved lighter (which she only kept for sentimental reasons) and two expensive ballpoint pens.

‘Approved!’ smiled Finlay.

He closed up the briefcase and slid it back over to Elizabeth, who drank her tepid tea in a few gulps.

‘So, where is my client?’

‘I’ll take you down to him,’ said Wolf.

‘We shall need some privacy.’

‘There’ll be someone on the door.’

‘It is a confidential conversation darling.’

‘Then you’d better talk quietly,’ shrugged Wolf.

That made Elizabeth smile.

‘Same old smart-arse, aren’t we, Will?’

They had just reached the door to Rana’s cell when Wolf’s mobile phone went off. The officer on guard let Elizabeth inside and then relocked the door. Wolf was satisfied and walked back down the corridor before answering. It was Simmons calling with two pieces of news. He had just been informed that Protected Persons were mobile, at last, and would be with them within half an hour. He then moved on to the rather more controversial second point: Wolf and Finlay would not be permitted to accompany Rana.

‘I’m going with them,’ said Wolf firmly.

‘They have strict protocols to follow,’ argued Simmons.

‘I don’t give a— We can’t just hand him over and let them drive him off to god knows where.’

‘We can and we will.’

‘You’ve agreed to this?’ Wolf was clearly disappointed in his chief.

‘I have.’

‘Let me speak to them.’

‘Not happening.’

‘I’ll be polite, I promise. Just let me explain the situation. What’s the number?’

Wolf’s cheap digital watch beeped midnight while he argued with the man leading the team currently en route to them. He was growing increasingly irate with the pig-headed man, who mindlessly refused to break protocol under any circumstances. Feeling he might have more joy face to face, Wolf called him a ‘tosser’ and hung up.

‘It’s a wonder you’ve got any friends at all,’ said Finlay. He was watching a tiny weather forecast with Walker and another officer.

‘Winds of up to ninety miles per hour,’ a distorted voice warned them.

‘They’re well trained, those lads,’ continued Finlay. ‘You need to stop being such a control freak.’

Wolf was about to say something to jeopardise one of his few remaining friendships when he heard the officer unlocking Rana’s cell. Elizabeth stepped back out into the corridor. She was still saying her curt farewells to her client as the door was closed and locked behind her. Her bare feet slapped against the beige floor (Walker had confiscated her ludicrously high heels) as she made her way up the corridor. She strode past Wolf without saying a word and collected her possessions from the desk.

‘Liz?’ he said, confused by her drastic change in mood. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Fine,’ she replied as she wrapped her coat around her. As she fumbled with the buttons, her hands started to tremble. Then, to Wolf’s astonishment, she wiped her tearful eyes. ‘I’d like to go please.’

She walked over to the door.

‘Did he say something to upset you?’ Wolf asked. He could feel himself getting angry. He felt protective over this woman who had to deal with the very worst of humanity on a daily basis. He knew that it would have taken an undeservedly vicious jibe to get under Elizabeth’s thick skin.

‘I’m a big girl, William,’ she snapped. ‘The door – now, please.’

Wolf walked over and slid the heavy bar across. Another blast of wind and rain accompanied the distant rumble of thunder as Elizabeth stepped outside.

‘Your briefcase!’ said Wolf, realising that she must have left it in with Rana.

Elizabeth looked terrified.

‘I can get it for you. You don’t have to see him again,’ he said.

‘I’ll pick it up in the morning.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Jesus, Will, just leave it!’ she shouted and then she tottered away down the steps.

‘What was all that about?’ asked Finlay without taking his eyes off the tiny screen.

Wolf watched Elizabeth turn the corner onto the high street. Slowly, an unsettled feeling began to tighten in his chest. He looked down at his watch: 12.07 a.m.

‘Open the door!’ he screamed as he sprinted back down the corridor.

The alarmed officer dropped the keys, allowing Walker time to catch up. The lock clunked firmly, and Wolf shoved the weighty door open to reveal Rana sitting upright on the mattress. He heard Walker exhale in relief behind him …

… and then gasp as he looked again at the seated prisoner.

Rana’s head was slumped forward, his face painted the bruised blues and purples of the dead, his bloodshot eyes protruding unnaturally from their sockets. What looked to be piano wire had been coiled several times around his neck, cutting deep lines into the dark skin. More wire sprouted from the inner edge of the open briefcase, obvious now that it was no longer hidden in plain sight.

‘Call an ambulance!’ Wolf yelled as he tore back along the corridor and out into the night.

He leapt down the slippery steps, splashed through the flooded car park and rounded the corner onto the high street as the torrential rain lashed across his face. Less than thirty seconds had elapsed, yet Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen along the deserted pavement. He ran past dark shop windows, aware that he was disadvantaged by the noise of the storm. Every car that passed sounded more like an aircraft taking off as the spray of surface water built and subsided as they sped by. The millions of raindrops were being amplified as they collided with the metal roofs of parked cars.

‘Elizabeth!’ he shouted, but the sound was carried away in the wind.

He sprinted past an alleyway between two shops and paused. Retracing his steps, he stood in the dark mouth of the thin passageway, squinting into the blackness. He edged a little further in, listening to the rain strike the glass bottles, discarded packaging and whatever other litter carpeted the invisible alley floor.

‘Elizabeth?’ he called softly. He edged further in. He could feel the floor cracking beneath his feet. ‘Elizabeth?’

He heard a sudden movement and then felt himself being shoved against the cold brick wall. He reached out and almost grabbed a handful of clothing as Elizabeth ran back out onto the street.

Wolf was only a few seconds behind as he emerged into the grainy glow of an orange streetlight. Elizabeth panicked and recklessly darted into the road. An estate car skidded to a stop just inches from her and added the furious blare of its horn to the already deafening night. Elizabeth was now several metres ahead of him. Bizarrely, she took out her mobile phone as her pace began to slow and held it to her ear. Wolf was catching up quickly and could see the blood and dirt covering the soles of her feet from where she had run barefoot through the oily puddles and muddy verges. Finally within earshot, he could hear her panting into the phone:

‘It’s done! It’s done!’

He reached out to grab hold of her, when she suddenly veered back into the road. Instinctively, he followed, unsure whether there was a break in the traffic or not. Elizabeth stumbled across the pedestrian island in the middle of the wide road and tripped onto the tarmac. She climbed back onto her hands and knees to find that Wolf had paused in the centre of the road. She saw the look of horror on his face and turned to follow his gaze just as the double-decker bus bore down on her.

She never screamed.

Wolf moved slowly towards the crumpled shape, which was lying against a kerb over ten metres back down the street. He heard more cars skidding to a halt behind him, throwing headlight beams over the broken body. He could feel tears welling up, too traumatised and exhausted to even attempt to fathom why his friend had done this.

The dazed bus driver staggered over to him while his handful of passengers gawped out at the scene from the comfort of their seats. He wore an expression of hope on his face, hope that the woman might still get up, hope that perhaps she had not even been injured, hope that his life had not just changed forever. Wolf had no inclination to console or even acknowledge the man. He could not be blamed for failing to spot a woman lying in the road in such treacherous conditions, but he had been the one to end Elizabeth’s life and Wolf did not trust his temper at that moment.

As another car joined the growing queue of traffic, a fresh section of the dark road was illuminated, and Wolf noticed Elizabeth’s cracked phone sitting in the exact spot where the bus had hit her. He slowly crawled over to it and flipped it over to discover that the call was still connected. Holding it tightly to his ear, he could make out rustling and quiet breathing on the other end of the line.

‘Who is this?’ Wolf’s voice cracked as he asked the question.

There was no answer, only the steady breathing of somebody listening in and the sound of industrial machinery operating somewhere in the background.

‘This is Detective Sergeant Fawkes with the Metropolitan Police. Who is this?’ he asked again; although, he had a feeling that he already knew the answer.

Blue lights were approaching in the distance, but Wolf sat motionless, listening to the killer listening to him. Wolf wanted to threaten him, to scare him, to somehow provoke a reaction out of him but knew that he would never be able to articulate the pure anger and hatred that he was experiencing. Instead, he continued to listen, ignoring the buzz of activity that surrounded him. He did not know why he slowed his breathing to match the killer’s, but shortly after there was a loud crackle from the other end of the phone and the line abruptly went dead.

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