Head Shot

77

The big superintendent's smile gleamed. 'Since you put it that way, I'd welcome your help.'

Neil nodded and headed off, out into the night. He looked at the key and saw that it was for a Ford. A Mondeo and a Focus were parked close to each other, less than fifty yards away. Squinting in the street light, he found the button which operated the remote central locking. He pressed the unlock sign as he approached the two vehicles, heard a 'clunk' and saw the courtesy light come on inside the Focus. He slid in behind the wheel, adjusting the driver's seat to give himself more leg-room, then started the car and reversed quietly up his friends' drive, positioning the front passenger seat less than six feet from the side door of the house. He glanced around as he stepped out. Mario and Maggie lived in the sort of neighbourhood where people kept conventional hours; all the curtains were drawn in both of the houses that overlooked the drive.

McGuire was back in the living room, waiting for him. He winced as he took his first close look at the body. 'Ouch! What did she shoot him with? A cannon?'

'More or less. Here, help me get him into this.' He held up an old parka he had unearthed from the depths of his wardrobe; it was a winter garment with a big hood. 'Come on,' he said. 'Kevin O'Mal ey the consultant shrink's on his way here and I don't want him to see any of this.'

'Where are we taking him?'

'Home.'

Together they heaved the dead weight of George Rosewell into a sitting position, forced his arms into the jacket, which was, fortunately, two or three sizes too large for him, and zipped it up. Then, pul ing the hood as far over the ravaged face as they could, they pul ed him upright, and hauled him out to the car, looking to any distant observer, had there been one, as if they were seeing off the last drunk to leave the party.

They wedged him into the passenger seat, where Mario fastened the safety belt as tightly as he could across his chest and round his waist.

'Last bloke I saw looking like that,' said Mcl henney, as they finished, 'was Dan Pringle after a CID dance.'

'This bastard's luckier than Clan; at least he won't feel like shit in the morning.' McGuire went back into the house and returned with the rol ed-up, bloodstained rug, which he shoved behind the front seats. 'On you go now; you head off to Bonnington. Don't park, just drive around till you see me there. I'll be as quick as I can.'

Neil nodded. 'How's Mags?' he asked.

'In a trance; lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.'

'What have you told Kevin?'

'That she's had a breakdown, and that I want it kept quiet. He's going to take her to his clinic and keep her sedated and under observation for a couple of days. He's used to working with us; he'll keep it under wraps al right.'

'Wouldn't she be better here? I mean, shouldn't you be with her when she comes out of it?'

'She may not want to see me when she comes out of it. And to tel you the truth, old pal; I don't know if I want to see her.'

The bathroom was lit only by the strip-light above the mirror, in which he had shaved less than a day before. He lay back in the great oval tub, in the middle of the night, more exhausted than he had ever been in his life.

Paula sat beside him on the lid of a laundry basket, nursing a mug of coffee; with her hair tied in a ponytail and wearing only the long tee shirt in which she had been sleeping when he had leaned relentlessly on the entry-phone buzzer, after Mcl henney had dropped him off.