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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but slowed as he approached the top. He wouldn’t be caught again. He warned Donnelly to slow down. From below came the sound of the Islington detectives beginning to climb the steps.
Sean moved on to the second-floor landing. Hellier was there somewhere. He found the light switch on the wall and flicked it on. There were five rooms.
Someone appeared at the door closest to him. Instinctively he almost lashed out, but realized in time it was Hellier’s wife. He leaned forward and grabbed her, dragging her to the floor where he pinned her before she could speak.
‘Stay there and don’t move,’ he shouted. She was too scared to move or argue. Too scared to speak.
He moved carefully along the landing. His back pressed against the wall. Donnelly and the other detectives followed. The element of surprise was lost. Now they needed stealth.
He flicked the light on in the room Hellier’s wife had come from, pushing the door wide open so that he could peer inside before entering. A glance over his shoulder told him Donnelly was close. The Islington detectives had begun to search the rooms across the landing. They moved cautiously.
He slipped into the room, back to the wall. Donnelly followed. Sean dropped into a press-up position and checked under the bed. Nothing. He moved across to the wardrobe, stretching to grasp the handle without exposing himself to a full-frontal attack. He yanked the doors open. Clothes still wrapped in plastic dry-cleaning bags swooshed into the room. Nothing.
He’d had enough. His heart needed a rest. He nodded for Donnelly to check behind the curtains. Donnelly did so. Nothing. He nodded towards the door and led the way out. They moved to the next room.
A child’s voice called from the landing below. It sounded stressed. The mother looked at him, appealing. He put his finger to his lips. The last thing he wanted was a crying child walking into the middle of this.
The distraction had been enough. Hellier seized the opportunity. Sean felt an incredible pressure close around his right wrist. He tried to hold on to the telescopic truncheon, but the grip forced his fingers open. His weapon fell to the floor. He was pulled into the room and spun around by one powerful jolt. He felt his right arm twist up his back. Cold metal pressed into his throat. Some instinct told him not to move. Told him he was teetering on the edge of a cliff.
He felt Hellier’s bristles rub against his ear. He could smell his sweet breath. It made him want to vomit, to pull away. Hellier pressed the blade harder into his throat.
‘Ah, ah, Inspector.’ He recognized Hellier’s voice.
Someone flicked the light on in the room. It was Donnelly, who froze when he saw them. Hellier smiled. Donnelly re-gathered himself.
‘Put the knife down, man.’ It sounded like a request, not a demand. Hellier gave a shallow laugh. He turned his face to Sean, but kept his eyes on Donnelly. His tongue curled from his mouth. Slowly, deliberately he licked the side of Sean’s face, his body quivering with the thrill of tasting Sean’s fear. He gripped the ear lobe in his teeth and closed his eyes in ecstasy. He released his grip and stopped smiling. He looked deadly serious. He whispered in Sean’s ear.
‘Remember who let you live.’
Hellier threw the knife on the floor and stepped away, placing his hands behind his head. Sean spun around and caught him full in the mouth with a left hook. His amateur boxing days made the move effortless.
Hellier fell backwards into a dressing cabinet. He fell hard. Framed pictures smashed under his weight. The mirror shattered. He rolled on to the floor, landing on all fours and looked at Sean, smiling through bloody teeth. Sean stared back, only he didn’t see Hellier’s face, he saw his father’s. His torturer’s.
Sean delivered a powerful kick to the rib cage that lifted Hellier off the floor. He landed on his back, but still he smiled. Sean kneeled next to him and began to pile punches into Hellier’s face. He didn’t know how many he landed before Donnelly pulled him off, or that he had been screaming ‘Bastard!’ as each punch found its target. Nor had he realized he’d broken a bone in his right hand and that his knuckles had been sliced open on Hellier’s teeth.
It took him a while to come back to the world. When he did, he shrugged himself loose from Donnelly’s hold and stared at the bloody mess that was Hellier’s face. Hellier was lying on his back, only partly conscious, spitting blood from his mouth. His nose was broken.
The two Islington detectives ran into the room. They saw Hellier lying in his own blood. The knife on the floor. Sean breathing like a mad man. His hands bloody and swollen. They didn’t ask questions.
Saturday, ten a.m., and news had spread of the night’s events. The office buzzed. Hellier had come after one of them.
Sean pressed an ice pack wrapped in an old T-shirt to the swelling Hellier’s kick had left on the side of his face. The other hand was badly swollen. His little and ring fingers were taped together, as were his index and middle fingers. He refused to go to hospital and have it put in a cast. The police surgeon had done her best. He used the broken hand to press the phone to his ear. The hospital updated him on Sally’s condition.
She had survived her operation, the first of several. Still in intensive care. She hadn’t regained consciousness. Drugs would ensure she didn’t. For the time being at least.
A familiar silhouette appeared at his door. Featherstone had come to see and be seen. He entered Sean’s office without ceremony.
‘You look like shit.’ He sounded unconcerned.
‘Thanks,’ Sean replied.
Featherstone’s expression turned serious. ‘How is she?’
‘Too early to say. She’s in intensive care.’
‘Well, if there’s anything I can do.’ He let the offer hang. Sean said nothing. ‘And you – should you be at work?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘If you want someone to steer the ship for a couple of hours while you get some rest, let me know.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Sean repeated.
‘Of course you will.’ He paused before continuing. ‘Do we have enough evidence to charge Hellier?’
‘I have a team searching Sally’s flat and another going over Hellier’s.’
‘What about his office?’ Featherstone asked.
‘No need.’ Sean was blunt. ‘Surveillance confirms he didn’t return to his office. We’re concentrating on his house and Sally’s.’
They were interrupted by Donnelly banging on the door. ‘Lab’s on the phone, guv’nor.’ Sean could tell Donnelly was excited, an excitement that leapt across the office and into Sean’s chest. His heart rate accelerated, becoming irregular. ‘They’ve got a match to the hairs found in Linda Kotler’s flat.’ Donnelly paused, enjoying the drama. ‘They’re Hellier’s.’
Sean slumped back into his chair. Featherstone slapped his thighs and smiled. It was over. Sean had his critical evidence. The few seconds of pulse-racing excitement were replaced by an overwhelming relief. Finally it was over. He’d been proved right. Hellier was finished.
A female detective appeared in the doorway: ‘Someone on the phone for DS Jones, guv.’
‘Transfer them to my phone,’ he instructed. She nodded and left. He waited for the ringing and answered. ‘DI Corrigan speaking. I’m afraid DS Jones isn’t available. Is there something I can help you with?’
‘This is the Public Records Office at Richmond calling,’ the male voice explained. ‘DS Jones had me run a couple of inquiries. I have the results for her.’
‘I’ll take them,’ said Sean. He grabbed a pen. ‘I’ll see DS Jones gets them.’
‘She wanted birth and death certificates for two individuals: a Stefan Korsakov and a James