Death Message

She saw no sign of Parsons; could hear the music bleeding through the walls, and the rain on the other side of the door ahead of her. She leaned on the metal bar, pushed and stepped outside.

It was a narrow back alley, ru

In one of those doorways halfway down, Porter could see two figures.

She edged slowly along the wall; could hear feet on the floor as someone adjusted their position. She heard something bang against a door. Something like a groan.

‘Phil?’

She took three or four more steps along, then away from the wall, and saw the head that turned towards her, the features in shadow.

Hendricks being pressed back hard against the door.

Hands raised around his neck…

Porter was ru

‘Fuck… Louise…’

She drove her knee down beneath the man’s shoulder blades, grunting with the effort as she gripped the baton at either end and pressed it down on to the back of his neck… as other hands clawed at her own neck and grabbed at her hair.

Then she could hear Phil Hendricks screaming and swearing, his voice jagged, above the drumming of the rain and the roar of her own blood.

TWENTY-NINE

Thorne and Holland were on their way back to the car when the call came.

‘It’s Ke

Whatever Parsons said next was lost beneath the shouting in the background. Thorne recognised Hendricks’ voice; felt relief scald through him. Then another male voice; threatening.

‘What the fuck’s happening?’ Thorne shouted.

There was a pause before he heard the phone being handed over: Louise clearing her throat.

‘I got it wrong. He’s fine.’ She was buzzing, breathless. ‘I fucked up.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I thought it was Brooks, OK? That Phil was being attacked. I saw it and just thought-’

‘Slow down.’ Thorne could hear Parsons now, telling people to be quiet, raising his voice over theirs.

‘He was getting his end away, for Christ’s sake. Some kid he met.’

‘You sure?’

Louise started to describe how Hendricks had dragged her off the man on the ground; then hesitated, like she didn’t want to say too much else. What else she’d seen. ‘It looked like this bloke was… on him, you know?’

Thorne was walking faster now. ‘Is anybody hurt?’ he asked.

The phone was snatched again, before Louise could answer.

‘Right now, all I want to do is fuck you up,’ Hendricks said. ‘Go straight to Brigstocke and drop you as deep in the shit as I can.’

Thorne knew he had every right to be as angry as Hendricks, and he was. But he fought the urge to sound it. ‘You’d best shut up and listen,’ he said.

Hendricks got the message.

‘It wasn’t a wind-up, OK? You’re a legitimate target, because you gave evidence at Marcus Brooks’ trial six years ago.’

‘Fuck off,’ Hendricks said. ‘I’d barely finished training six years ago. I hadn’t set foot in a fucking courtroom.’

‘The senior pathologist was Allan Macdonald.’

‘So?’

‘Ring any bells?’

‘I assisted him for six months or something…’ Hendricks trailed off, and in the pause Thorne could hear the confidence evaporate. ‘He died a couple of years ago, I think.’

‘Right. Which puts you next in line. Very fucking handy.’

‘I still don’t know what you’re on about. I had nothing to do with that trial. Don’t you think I’d remember?’

‘The prosecution submitted a written statement confirming that Simon Tipper could have been killed during the time that Brooks was in his house. Time of death was the key element of Brooks’ defence. The only element, more or less. Once that medical evidence was put in front of a jury, along with the prints on the glass and everything else, the verdict was only ever going to go one way.’

‘I was just laying equipment out back then. Cleaning out the sluices, doing the paperwork…’

‘You countersigned that statement, Phil.’

Just rain for a few seconds, and muffled voices. ‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah. Fuck.’

Thorne jumped slightly at the touch of the hand on his arm. He followed Holland’s gaze towards the car, still parked outside the Spice of Life. Saw the sticker on the windscreen, then the dirty orange clamp wrapped around the front wheel.

‘Wait there,’ Thorne told Hendricks. ‘I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’

The drink Thorne had promised Holland for his help that night had turned into something more substantial by the time he’d persuaded him to stay with the car and wait for the clamping truck. He stepped into the road, telling Holland to keep an eye on the BMW’s dodgy clutch. Shouted back that he’d pick up the car some time tomorrow as he waved down a passing taxi.

The cab was halfway through a U-turn, and Thorne was watching Holland climb into his car, muttering, when the mobile went again.

‘I would have let him have some fun,’ Brooks said. ‘Before the kid delivered him.’

It took Thorne a few seconds to understand. Whoever Louise had found Hendricks with in the alley had been bait. Had been working with Brooks. A quick fumble to get Hendricks interested, then back to the kid’s place, where Brooks would have been waiting.

‘The poor little fucker came back with his tail between his legs. Some woman had beaten the shit out of him.’

Thorne fell back in his seat as the taxi accelerated away down Charing Cross Road. ‘Hendricks is off limits,’ he said.

‘Because he’s your friend?’

‘He had nothing to do with what happened to you.’ Thorne could feel his chest leaping against the seat belt. Water was ru

‘Angie and Robbie weren’t off limits.’

Thorne quickly wiped the phone against his shirt. He thought about saying that he was sorry. Instead said: ‘I know about loss.’

There were brown smears across the window between Thorne and the cabbie, but he could still make out the spots on the back of the man’s neck.

Brooks grunted. ‘Nicklin said.’

Thorne’s hand tightened around the phone. He wondered if there was anything Nicklin didn’t know about him.

‘So?’

‘It’s not the same.’

There wasn’t time for Thorne to argue, though Christ knew he’d been over it in his head enough times. ‘Why put other people through it?’

‘It isn’t-’

‘Other families?’

The meter ticked over twice, and when Brooks finally came back there was still no answer. ‘Look, I’m sorry that he’s your friend, the bloke in the club. It’s weird how things turn out, isn’t it?’

Thorne knew there was nothing weird about it. He knew exactly how the co

He’d sort that one out himself later on.

‘Listen to what I’m saying, OK? Things will go very badly for you unless you forget about Phil Hendricks. You need to know that.’

Ten seconds passed before Brooks spoke again. ‘There’s other people I’m more interested in,’ he said.

It sounded close enough to an understanding for Thorne. ‘So, where does it end, Marcus?’

‘Fuck knows.’

‘You going after the judge next? The people on the jury?’ The taxi drove fast around the western edge of Trafalgar Square. Swung left through amber on to the Strand. ‘Don’t forget the shorthand typist and the bloke who drove the prison van.’