Lifting the Lid(94)

‘Jesus!’ said Jarvis, once again throwing down the headphones and clutching at his ears.

The cry of pain from the next-door apartment was even louder than the previous one, and Jarvis was certain he’d heard a gunshot this time.

‘Gunshot?’ said the sergeant with an anxious glance at his partner, who had just ended yet another call and was clipping his radio back onto the shoulder of his sweater.

‘Seems like they really are MI5, sarge,’ said the constable.

‘Never mind that now. If there’s people shooting in there, we need to investigate.’

The sergeant was almost at the door when Patterson whipped out his gun. ‘One more step and there’ll be shooting in here too.’

‘Now listen here…’ The sergeant’s words tailed away as he turned to see the pistol aimed at his head.

‘The pair of you. Over by the window.’ Patterson waved his gun towards the far end of the room and rather enjoyed the look of shock on the sergeant’s face and his spluttering protestations as the two uniforms did as they were told.

‘I think someone’s leaving, guv,’ said Jarvis, his headphones back in position.

‘Coleman, keep an eye on these two. Colin, you come with me.’ Patterson led the way to the door, still without any particular plan in mind but instinctively aware that he should at least check out the situation.

When Jarvis informed him that all he could hear was someone groaning, he decided that any risk was now minimal, and he opened the door as silently as possible. Craning his neck forward, he peered into the corridor. At the far end, a man with a ponytail was hurriedly limping towards the top of the stairs, and even from behind, he was fairly sure it was the Scottish guy that Statham had chased after at the festival the day before.

The second he’d disappeared down the stairs, Patterson edged his way out into the hallway. The door of Number 12 was closed, so he motioned to Statham to open it. He took a deep breath and stretched his gun out in front of him, the butt clasped between both hands.





CHAPTER FIFTY



DS Logan marched along the hallway with Sandra at his side. Trevor followed a couple of paces behind with Milly on a lead, and DC Swann brought up the rear. The door of Flat 12 was already open and so was the door of the apartment just beyond it. Sandra hung back as Logan swept inside with such apparent nonchalance that Trevor could only assume he still didn’t believe their story about the dead MP and had chosen to ignore their warnings about the potential danger.

‘Who the bloody hell are you?’

Trevor recognised the voice. He joined Sandra in the doorway and saw that Patterson was pointing a gun at Logan’s chest.

‘Well, well,’ said Patterson, swinging his pistol in Sandra and Trevor’s direction. ‘And if it isn’t our little friends from Baader-Meinhof. Decided not to blow his brains out after all, eh?’

‘DS Logan, Metropolitan Police,’ Logan said in answer to Patterson’s original question. ‘And you are?’

There was a pause as Patterson appeared to compose himself, but the anger in his voice was plain to hear when he finally spoke. ‘Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but I thought you were told to keep out from under my feet.’

Trevor watched the light dawn on Logan’s face. ‘Ah, so you’d be MI5 then,’ said the detective and nodded towards the overturned armchair. ‘And this would be the dead MP, would it?’

‘What do you know about—’

‘Are one of you useless twats gonna get me a fucking ambulance or what?’

The words which interrupted Patterson were uttered through gritted teeth from behind the armchair, and Trevor edged sideways to see if his suspicions were correct. They were. It was Harry, sitting in a puddle of blood with his knees drawn up under his chin and clutching his shins.

‘And who’s this then?’ said Logan, who had also shifted his position to see who had spoken.

‘None of your business,’ said Patterson.

‘None of my business? I’m stood here in a flat with a gun pointed at me, a dead Member of Parliament and some bloke who’s been shot in the foot…’ Logan leaned forward to take a closer look. ‘…Feet. And you tell me it’s none of my business?’

Trevor began to feel like he was watching a tennis match as he looked from Logan to Patterson and back again while the two men spent the next few minutes trading threats and insults. So intent were they on their argument, he even wondered if he might be able to slip away unnoticed. He quickly dismissed the idea, however, when a glance over his shoulder told him that DC Swann was still in the doorway, and he was also aware that Patterson’s pal in the denim jacket was keeping half an eye on him from his position by the window at the far end of the apartment. At that particular moment, he appeared to be talking into his sleeve, although he was too far away for Trevor to make out anything intelligible. He transferred his attention back to Patterson and Logan, both of whom looked as if they were about to throw down their racquets and storm off the court.