Doors Open

‘One last thing,’ he said, gaining the murderous giant’s irritated attention. ‘I’ve told Calloway and now I’m telling you – Robert Gissing is the man who co

Hate thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Thanks for the tip,’ he said. ‘And to return the favour, I’ll make this quick – not painless, maybe, but quick…’

He placed himself in front of Laura, leaned down a little towards her, and drew back the knife. Laura’s scream drilled into Mike’s ears. He squeezed shut his eyes, straining one last time at his bonds. But then there was another sound, that of a door being kicked in. He opened his eyes to the sight of figures streaming through the doorway, dressed in black stab vests and some of them wearing visored helmets. On each chest, the word POLICE was picked out in white lettering. The officer at the front had dropped to one knee, and Mike realised he was pointing a pistol at Hate. Hate froze for a moment, the knife poised. Laura’s mouth was still gaping, though her screams had been silenced by the arrival of the cops. Hate turned his head so his eyes met Mike’s. The look was worth a thousand words. The officers were barking out a repeated order and eventually the giant complied. The knife fell to the floor with a clatter and he raised his arms above his head, kneeling down as instructed, sliding his hands slowly around to the back of his head, awaiting the restraints.

The officers fell on him. The pistol was reholstered only after the handcuffs had been securely fastened.

‘We were told there are firearms,’ one of the faces behind a visor stated.

‘I’ve not seen any,’ Mike told him.

‘Get me out of this bloody chair!’ Alice yelped.

Mike was looking towards the doorway. Gle

‘Anybody hurt?’ he asked. For some reason, the question made Laura laugh.

‘Use your eyes, Ransome,’ she said. ‘The guy at the end is barely breathing!’

Ransome ordered two officers to get the curator into an ambulance, then stopped to pick up Hate’s knife, checking it for blood. When he saw it hadn’t been used, he sliced through the tape with it, so that Laura’s hands were free. Despite Alice’s pleas, Mike was next. Ransome handed the knife to laura and asked her to do the honours. She looked towards Hate and then at the knife, but Ransome tutted.

‘Enough drama for one day,’ he chided her. ‘Leave Mr Bodrum to us.’

‘He might be Bodrum to you,’ Mike commented, ‘but he’ll always be Hate to me.’

As Laura began cutting Alice and Westie free – the latter complaining that he’d broken his arm when he fell – Ransome helped Mike rid himself of the ties around his ankles, then had to help him to his feet.

‘Better?’ the detective asked.

Mike nodded his agreement. He felt light-headed and his headache was intensifying. ‘How did you find us?’ he managed to ask.

‘Gle

‘Christ, Mike,’ he said, wrapping his arms around him. Mike whispered into his ear.

‘How much have you told him?’

When the embrace was finished, the look in Allan’s eyes was clear.

Everything.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘Don’t be,’ Mike answered.

‘I hope it was all worth it,’ Ransome mused.

‘Ports and airports,’ Mike said, grabbing the detective by the arm. ‘You’ve got to stop Robert Gissing leaving the country.’

‘Might be a bit late for that, Mr Mackenzie. Besides, it’s not your little Ladykillers gang that concerns me – a DI called Hendricks will be wanting to speak to you about all that.’ Ransome nodded in Calloway’s direction. ‘There’s the prize I was after… so I suppose really I should be thanking you for delivering it.’ With a smile, he moved off, just as the paramedics arrived. Hate was on his feet and, flanked by policemen, about to be escorted outside.

‘Looks like you won’t be going home just yet,’ Mike called out to him.

‘I’m not the only one,’ the giant spat back.

‘There’s something in that,’ Laura conceded.

36

‘You will testify against Calloway?’ Ransome asked.

Mike was being led towards a waiting police van, Allan next to him. Handcuffs had not been thought necessary. The DI called Hendricks had turned up, looking grumpy. Mike had watched Ransome explain the situation to him, which had done little to lighten his colleague’s mood but had given an extra spring to Ransome’s own step afterwards.

Mike shrugged now. It was a good question, after all. ‘Should really be the other way round,’ he told Ransome. ‘After all, I’m the one who dragged him into it.’

‘But you will testify.’ It sounded like a statement of fact rather than any kind of question. ‘If you do, it’ll go easier for you.’

‘Meaning what?’

Ransome shrugged. ‘Six years instead of eight. You’d be out of jail inside three. I’m sure you can afford the best lawyers in the land, Mr Mackenzie, and it shouldn’t be too hard for them to paint a picture of you in court as a naïve playboy who got in with the wrong crowd. Maybe a friendly psychoanalyst can plead diminished responsibility.’

‘Meaning I’m not in my right mind?’

‘Not at the time, no.’

‘How about me?’ Allan asked. ‘Where do I figure in this?’

‘Same goes, but with the added factor that you did the right thing and turned yourself in, and in the process helped save five people from being tortured and killed.’

‘Seven, actually,’ Mike corrected the detective. ‘Hate wasn’t about to leave Chib and Joh

‘See?’ Ransome told Allan. ‘You’re practically a hero.’

An ambulance was parked next to the police van, and Jimmy Allison was being stretchered into it, an oxygen mask tied to his face. Another stretcher would be needed for Joh

The other needed a new spine.

Mike wondered again at the sheer nerve of Robert Gissing: stealing paintings for years, never detected but about to be undone by something as straightforward as an inventory. Gissing, railing against the storing from view of so many important and beautiful works, making the same argument to practically everyone he met… in order to seek out a few gullible souls who might be duped into doing something about it. Then seeing to it that Allison was attacked so that he himself would be on hand to verify a series of fakes.

It was sublime, but so much could have gone wrong. Nevertheless, it was the only roll of the dice left to Gissing. And against all the odds, it had worked. And now Mike would go to jail and Allan would go to jail and Westie would go to jail. Allan looked devastated, but Westie didn’t seem too bothered. Mike had heard him inside the snooker hall, explaining to Alice that prisoners got to do art classes and everything.

‘Might well make the Westie brand even more valuable when I come out. Notoriety is something you can’t just buy off the shelf…’

Maybe he had a point at that, but it hadn’t stopped Alice from giving him a solid punch to his damaged arm, so that he’d howled and doubled over while she turned and walked away.