DI Sean Corrigan Crime Series: 6-Book Collection: Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network, The Toy Taker and The Jackdaw. Luke Delaney

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      ‘Pardon?’ Donnelly asked.

      ‘Nothing,’ said Sean. ‘It’s not important. Anything else?’ he asked Sally.

      ‘Not really,’ she replied. ‘He was probably just trying to find out what we knew.’

      ‘So long as he paid for lunch,’ Donnelly said.

      ‘As a matter of fact, he did,’ Sally told him. ‘Which is more than you’ve ever done,’ she added.

      ‘Harsh, but fair,’ said Donnelly.

      ‘What did you do with the rest of the afternoon?’ Sean asked, not meaning to sound as though he was checking on her.

      ‘Lunch took longer than I’d expected.’ She blushed, recalling her time with Gibran and how she’d been in no rush to end their meeting. ‘After that I chased up some inquiries at the Public Records Office, but they didn’t have my results yet. I hear Hellier’s been bailed.’

      ‘We can’t hold him until the DNA results are confirmed,’ Sean explained. ‘Takes too long.’

      ‘And if the DNA isn’t Hellier’s?’ she asked.

      ‘Then I’ll be in the shit,’ Sean said bluntly. ‘So don’t be standing too close.’

      Hellier had been in the toilet for less than a minute. He could hear people coming and going outside the cubicle. He moved quickly now. Unconcerned about noise. He stood in only his underpants and socks.

      He lifted the lid of the toilet cistern and placed it on the toilet seat. He pulled the plastic bag from the cistern and untied it. Carefully he undid the parcel and laid out the gun and spare magazine. He checked his watch. Six forty-five. Fifteen minutes to spare. He clicked the battery back into the mobile phone. He would turn it on once he’d left the bar.

      He dressed in the tracksuit, T-shirt and trainers. He stuffed the gun in the back of his waistband and tied the trouser cord tight. He put the phone in one of the top’s pockets and the spare magazine in the other.

      Finally he unwrapped the remaining cloth. He twisted the lid off the tube of theatrical glue and rubbed a little on the back of the fake moustache. He stuck it under his lip, using touch to ensure it was placed perfectly. Next he did the same with the matching eyebrows. The wig he donned last. He didn’t need a mirror to know his appearance had been transformed. He smiled to himself.

      He neatly folded his discarded clothes and placed them along with his shoes into the plastic bag. He replaced it in the cistern. He might need it later. You could never tell. He delicately replaced the cistern’s lid. One last deep breath to compose himself and he left the cubicle. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he left. He smiled. He walked out of the toilet and then he walked out of the bar.

      DS Colville checked her watch. Ten minutes had passed and still the only updates she was hearing on her team’s covert body-set radios were ‘No change.’ Sean’s words rang loudly in her head. She spoke into the radio.

      ‘I don’t like this. Tango Four, check inside the toilet.’

      Her radio made a double-click sound. The officer code named Tango Four had received and understood her transmission. She waited for an update. Two minutes passed. They seemed like two hours. Her radio hissed into life.

      ‘Control. Control. Tango Four.’

      ‘Go. Go,’ she instructed.

      ‘We have a problem, Control.’

      DS Colville gritted her teeth. ‘Expand, over.’

      ‘Target One isn’t in the toilet, over.’

      ‘Does any unit have eyeball on Target One?’ she called into her radio. Silence was her only answer. ‘Look for him, people. Does anyone have eyeball on Target One?’ Silence.

      She turned to the detective driving their unmarked car. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she muttered. ‘Okay. Target is a loss. Repeat target is a loss. All units bomb burst. Foot units search the bar. Everyone else swamp the surrounding area. Find him.’

      Throwing the radio on to the dashboard in disgust, she reached for her mobile phone. She searched the phone’s menu for Sean’s number.

      Sean listened as DS Colville told him what he most dreaded hearing. Hellier was on the loose once more. ‘How?’ he said into the phone.

      ‘We don’t know,’ DS Colville replied. ‘We had him cornered in the toilet one minute, then, he disappears. No one sees him leave. We didn’t miss anything. He just disappeared. We’ll keep searching the area until we pick him up.’

      ‘Save yourselves the bother,’ Sean said wearily. ‘You won’t find him until he wants to be found. Cover his house and office. Call me when he turns up.’ He hung up.

      ‘Please tell me that wasn’t what I think it was?’ Sally said.

      ‘I wish I could.’

      ‘How?’ Sally asked.

      ‘It doesn’t matter how.’

      ‘What now?’ Donnelly asked.

      ‘We keep our heads,’ Sean told them. ‘Hope he resurfaces. In the meantime, contact Special Branch and get a photograph of Hellier to them. Make sure they circulate it to all ports of exit, planes, trains, everywhere.’

      ‘You think he’ll try and skip the country?’ Sally asked.

      ‘DNA evidence is difficult to argue against. Hellier knows that. Perhaps he’s decided he has no choice but to run.’

      ‘Is that his style, to run?’ Sally didn’t look convinced.

      ‘He’s a survivor,’ said Sean. ‘He’ll do whatever it takes to survive. If that means running, then he’ll run.’

      Hellier sat on a bench in Regent’s Park waiting for the friend to call. He had said he would call at seven. It was now almost half past.

      What was this damn game? Hellier had no friends. No real friends. Most likely it was a journalist, trying to set him up. He stared at the phone in the palm of his hand, willing it to ring. He had to know who the friend was. His overpowering need to control everything meant he simply had to know. Once he knew, once he decided whether they were a threat or not, he would deal with them accordingly. After that, home. The children he would leave alone, but his wife; she would be his parting gift to DI Corrigan.

      The police would be watching his home though. He would have to be careful. He would let his wife take the children to school in the morning. He would fake illness. When she returned, he would be waiting for her. After he’d finished with her he’d spend the rest of the day running the police around town. He would lead them a merry song and dance for hours. They could never stay with him for that long. Not him. He knew their tactics too well. And once he was certain he had lost them, he would disappear.

      By the time they became suspicious and broke into his house, it would be too late. He would be thirty thousand feet above their heads. A false passport was already waiting for him in a Hampstead СКАЧАТЬ