The Thing Itself

FORTY-FOUR

‘DI Gilchrist, come in.’

Sarah Gilchrist noted the formality as she stepped into the chief constable’s office. Karen Hewitt usually addressed her as ‘Sarah’.

‘Ma’am.’

Hewitt looked at her over her glasses.

‘We have a problem.’

Gilchrist said nothing.

‘The weapon Miss Simpson used to defend herself is illegal in this country.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘And I gather you have admitted that the weapon is yours.’

‘I have, ma’am.’

Hewitt shook her head, her long blonde hair swaying as she did so. Her skin was pale and tired.

‘You understand that when you lost your right to carry arms after the Milldean incident, those arms included the taser legally issued to British police officers.’

Gilchrist shuffled her legs.

‘I do.’

‘So the fact that a serving police officer in such a situation has an illegal volt gun, illegally imported. .’ Hewitt shook her head. ‘For God’s sake, Sarah — what were you thinking?’

Gilchrist bit back what she wanted to say. That at the time she was thinking someone had just burned down her flat and she felt her life to be in danger.

‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’

‘So am I, Sarah, so am I.’ Hewitt looked weary. ‘I think this might cost you your job.’

‘It was used in self-defence-’

‘I know that,’ Hewitt said fiercely. Her sour breath wafted across Gilchrist. Last night’s garlic and too much coffee today. ‘But I need to distinguish between that fact and the fact that you, not Miss Simpson, had illegally imported this weapon.’

Gilchrist bowed her head.

‘You are under immediate suspension-’

‘But, ma’am, DI Williamson and I-’

‘-pending a tribunal to consider your dismissal.’

Gilchrist left the office red-faced. She considered going back to tell Williamson but decided simply to go home.

Back at her flat, Kate was fast asleep on top of her bed. Gilchrist stood by the balcony looking over the square, her mobile phone in her hand. She got through to Reg Williamson on the first ring. She told him what had happened.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Sarah. Damned sorry. But, listen, we can turn this to our advantage.’

‘I don’t see how.’

‘Take a holiday. Take a friend with you. I’d go myself but I wouldn’t get the leave now you’re not in the office.’

‘Reg-’

‘I hear Homps is very nice at this time of year.’

Tingley reached mechanically for his beer. Kadire emerged from the cafe carrying a coffee cup, looked around for somewhere to sit. Tingley turned his head away and watched out of the corner of his eye. Kadire found an empty table between Tingley and the cable railway and sat down, facing the platform. Tingley noted he had dispensed with his cane.

Renaldo di Bocci had told Tingley where Kadire was going to be just before he died. Tingley didn’t kill Di Bocci — well, unless the shock he’d given him hustling him into the stairwell had brought upon the old criminal’s heart attack.

Tingley put his glass back heavily on the table. Just do it and get out, he advised himself. Just walk over and put the silenced gun in his ear, pull the trigger and walk away. Except that there was nowhere to walk. There was no way off this mountain except by the cable car.

Then leave. Tingley got to his feet. His chair scraped loudly on the concrete floor. Kadire was sitting quite still about fifteen yards away.

Tingley didn’t hurry, choosing a route as much out of Kadire’s line of vision as possible. He itched to look back but resisted the temptation. He felt sure he could feel cold eyes boring into his back.

In the cafe he made a pretence of looking at postcards whilst watching Kadire. He was sitting as before, except that now he was reading a newspaper, ankles crossed. According to Di Bocci, he was waiting to meet an important drug dealer.

Tingley went out of the side door of the cafe, skirted the edge of the terrace and watched the queue of people waiting to take the cable car back down the mountain. A basket arrived every forty-five seconds so a queue of six groups cleared in about six minutes. A fuck of a long time to be standing on the top of a mountain with a dead man slumped at a table twenty yards away.

Tingley was hidden from Kadire, but even if he abandoned his assassination of the sniper, once he stepped forward on to the platform he would be directly in front of his intended victim. Kadire had only to glance up to see him. Then all hell would break loose.

Fuck it.

Tingley had always moved deceptively fast. Liquid. Probably nobody at the tables he slid between even noticed him as he came alongside Kadire.

Kadire noticed. Tingley doubted the sniper knew who it was but he saw him jerk to see who was suddenly beside him.

Tingley had been thinking about a pay-off line but hadn’t come up with anything. So he leaned down, stuffed the silenced gun in Kadire’s left ear, clapped the folded newspaper to the other ear and pulled the trigger.