Stepping past one of the forensics crew, he took in the rodent footprints in the congealing blood, the chains and the smell of piss. Then he looked at the victim’s face. It came to him almost immediately. Without a doubt, he had seen this guy before. Even the where and when popped into his head without a moment’s further thought. He closed his eyes and saw the same guy sitting in that bar, sipping his beer, playing with his mobile phone. It was just like watching a video.
Why had he been there?
Why was he here?
And why had he been executed?
Warren Shen moved out of the way and let the ambulance crew lift the corpse onto the stretcher. Adopting the air of a curious onlooker, he watched the forensics team packing up before they headed back to the West Hampstead station. One of the bullets had been recovered, lodged in the wall by the door. The other, as far as anyone could tell, was still in Merrett’s brain. Shen had a pretty good idea who had put it there. Wandering over to the window, he gazed down on the ambulance waiting by the kerb.
‘That’s him.’
Shen turned to see the victim’s colleague, Rose Scripps, identify the body with a nod. Standing with arms crossed, she watched as Merrett was quickly covered with a sheet and carried off. Shen waited for her to notice him and come over. She looked deathly tired, and had clearly been crying, but now she was all business. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, her voice cracking round the edges.
‘I’m very sorry,’ he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ve never lost a colleague like this, and I can’t imagine how terrible it must be.’
She took a step back from his touch, her eyes dropping to the floor. ‘It will be a lot worse for his wife. . and for the kids.’
Shen stared at his trainers. ‘Yes, quite.’
‘At least I was able to identify the body, so I could spare her that.’
‘I heard it on the radio,’ Shen said, finally addressing her original question. ‘I recognised his name. I told them to call you.’
‘How did they know it was Simon?’ she asked.
‘He still had his wallet on him. They identified him from his credit cards.’
‘No evidence of robbery?’
‘I don’t know,’ Shen said vaguely. ‘His CEOP ID is missing apparently, but you’d have to speak to the investigating officer.’ He gestured to a portly, middle-aged man talking quietly into a mobile on the far side of the floor. ‘Kevin Ellington, over there. I know him a little. He’s a decent bloke.’
Rose nodded silently.
Shen glanced out of the window as the ambulance pulled away. ‘What was Simon working on?’ he asked, as casually as he could manage.
Rose thought about that for a second. Turning to face her, he could see that she was torn about what to reply. ‘I don’t know,’ she said finally.
You don’t want to play then? Fair enough, Shen thought. In that case, we won’t play. But you sought me out, remember? He felt a stab of resentment towards this woman who had asked for his help but who clearly didn’t trust him.
‘I don’t actually know what he was doing when he went missing.’
I do, thought Shen, up to a point. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m sure Ellington will get to the bottom of it. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’ Without waiting for a reply, he headed for the door, his mind already focused on what he had to do next.
Slowing to walking pace, Alice started looking around her. She had no idea where she was. The streets were empty of people, but there was still a steady stream of traffic on the road. Standing on the kerbside, she counted one, two, three cars go past. Waiting until a fourth was almost upon her, she walked out into the road, her eyes closed against the glare of the headlights.
Shit!
Carlyle woke with a start. Rolling on to his back he blinked once, twice. He had been drooling on to his pillow and felt the damp coldness of his saliva behind his ear. Helen, her back to him, snored quietly beside him. The pale green numbers of the alarm clock by the bed read 3.23. He knew that further sleep was unlikely and he needed to piss. Even so, he was reluctant to get up for fear of waking his wife.
He was not the kind of man to dream. In the grainy, orange darkness, he stared at the ceiling and thought about his nightmare. From some nearby street, Kingsway perhaps, or Shaftesbury Avenue, he heard the rise and fall of a siren — maybe an ambulance, maybe a police car — on its way to try and clean up someone’s late-night mess. Whatever it was, he was glad that it did not involve him.