Unfinished Business...
“HELLO, MARK.”
He was lounged in my armchair, smiling Romano-like at my discomposure. Around us, the room was screaming at the violations inflicted upon it by a very vigorous search. The similarity to Jodie Aston’s flat was chilling.
“I thought it was time we...ah, re-negotiated your little proposition.” He pointed his pistol at my right hip. “I’ll have your weapon, if you don’t mind. Carefully. Thumb and two fingers.”
I handed over my re-issued Smith & Wesson as instructed.
He emptied the cylinder, then put the weapon on my coffee table. At no stage did the muzzle of his .32 deviate.
“And,” he added, “can we lose the nostalgia shit?”
I yanked the Walkman from my belt and switched Tommy Dorsey off. I took the headphones from around my neck and put the whole shebang on the nearest armchair, at the same time taking a closer look at the mess in my bookshelves. Smith noticed.
“Sorry, but I found your little spycam.” He brought a miniature video device out of a pocket. “Elliott had it inside a fake book - ‘Your Garden’. Stood out like a country dunny.” He gave me a nod. “Clever of you, working out that Elliott was one of us.”
“Putty in my hands.”
“Whatever. Let’s see the colour of that videotape.”
I tried stalling. “What’s in it for me?”
Smith grinned, as if doing me a favour. “You’ll stay alive is what. Pretty good deal, if you ask me.”
I summoned the Mason bravado and grinned back. “What you’re saying is; if I don’t hand over the tape, you’ll kill me. But you still won’t have the tape. Not a good deal, if you ask me.”
His grin faded. “I knew you’d be difficult about it.” He took out his mobile and speed-dialled. “Smith,” he snapped into it. “Put her on.” He underarmed the phone to me. “Listen,” he said.
I did, and heard an anxious voice.
“Mark?” Sandra said.
My belly went cold. “Yes. Where are you?”
“Mark. I don’t know. I...”
Her words were cut off, replaced by a cry of agony. Then the phone went dead.
I have to admit I’d underestimated Smith and the extent of his ambition. I’d expected he’d try some leverage on me, some unsavoury aspect of my police career, perhaps, or even have his cronies work me over. But I never dreamt he was low enough to harm a woman. I knew then, for a stone cold certainty, who had killed Connie. I was equally certain that Smith couldn’t afford to let me live.
I threw the mobile back, resisting the temptation to chuck it into his smirking face. I rolled down my left sock and began to unwind the videotape. His eyebrows rose.
“Very good.”
I wasn’t interested in compliments. “You killed Connie, didn’t you, you bastard?”
“Just between these four walls – yes. I hadn’t intended to, but well...” He shrugged. “...she was too bog-Irish stubborn for her own good. What are you doing?”
I’d picked up my tape-player and was rewinding it.
“Listen,” I ordered. I stopped the tape and hit ‘Play’. He heard his own voice admitting the killing of Connie. “I had the radio on when I came in,” I explained. “Turned if off like you said. Turned on the recorder.”
His expression went from alarm to contempt. “Which I’ll erase, you stupid bastard.”
“I don’t think so,” said a voice behind him.
Smith spun around. His expression went back to alarm with the sight of Elliott standing in my kitchen doorway. Elliott with his .38 pointed. But give Smith credit, he didn’t run up the white flag. He kept his own gun trained on yours truly while he did some quick thinking.
“I still have your girlfriend,” he warned. “If my blokes don’t hear from me...”
I reckoned he was bluffing. I hoped he was bluffing.
“They’ll what? Kill her? Then you’ll be facing two murder charges. Wake up to yourself, Smith. You’re finished. End of story.”
Smith’s face contorted into a mask of rage. Whether because he’d been tricked or because his megalomania had been thwarted, I don’t know. All I know is, his thinking went off the rails. He fired two shots at me.
It was like being clobbered with two sledgehammers. I clutched the middle of my chest, where I had the most god-awful pain. Simultaneously, I saw Smith face Elliott, his hands going skywards in surrender. Elliott hesitated, then shot him anyway.
I wasn’t concerned about that. All that worried me was the pain. I could feel my heart throbbing, slowly and violently. Then it began to flutter, strongly at first but then diminishing. Like a pigeon flying away.
Then everything went black.