Two-Way Cut

chapter 21

It was 4 p.m., and the roads were choked: 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. shift workers heading for home, schoolchildren in cars and buses, couriers and delivery drivers making the final run of the day. Leah could see that she stood little chance of catching a taxi. She hurried from the school gates to the nearest shops, where she waited in agitation at the kerb, punching a number into her mobile phone.

Jill, its Leah again.

Hey, thanks, we caught those two bozos in the Range Rover. It was just like you said, shotties, speed, ecstasy, cash…

Jill, this is urgent.

Pause. Yeah? What?

Leah explained. Her ex-colleague listened, and at the end of it said, So you’re saying the half-brother hired a hitman?

Yes.

I don’t know, it all sounds a bit far-fetched. Whats this got to do with those characters in the Range Rover?

Look, Jill, Ill explain later. Meanwhile Tess is with her half-brother right now and

Jill was all business. Address?

Leah gave it. Hes probably got more sense than to try anything so soon but

Well sort it, Jill said, breaking the connection.

Leah waited in a swirl of grit and exhaust fumes and, twenty minutes later, was in a taxi. Progress was slow, jerky, with short, speedy runs followed by long periods of idling in traffic or at lights. She tried to keep still, but felt her body urging the traffic to move.

To distract herself she tried to work it out. Ian’s mother died when he was little and his father married again. He found himself with an indifferent and unloving stepmother and later a little sister. Then his beloved father dies and his stepmother remarries. Hes a damaged kid, like Tess. As he sees it, he has no one. Tess means little to him. But Tess also inherited a trust fund from their father, money that would come to him if she were to die.

But why wasn’t his own half a million dollars enough?

Hed moved back to the family home. Had he been forced to sell his apartment? Was he hiding from creditors? Leah saw a young man who liked to gamble, who might make and lose fortunes and owe money to the wrong people.

Or maybe he was simply greedy. Maybe he didn’t think that Tess was entitled to any of their fathers money.

It was 5.05 when she reached Tess’s home. She paid off the driver at the kerb and hurried in, running swiftly over the lawn to avoid the noisy gravelled drive. The Saab was no longer parked outside.

She paused at the front door. It was ajar. She pushed it gently, then stood with her back hard against the adjacent wall. The door swung open; no one yelled or charged or shot at her. She darted inside and crouched behind a hallstand and listened. The house was silent.

She ventured further into the house and came to the study doorway. She could hear the soft whirring of the computer. Otherwise the room was dark. Someone had closed the curtains, she noticed, as she poked her head around the edge of the door. The only illumination came from the computer monitor. She could smell stale cigarette smoke, stale perspiration, the odours of a man who might spend all of his waking hours cooped up in a cave. Why hadn’t she noticed them before?

And then something sharper, cleaner, fresher. She entered the room, trying to put a name to it. Aftershave, that was it. Something tangy. And just as her mind was processing that information, the door was slammed behind her and the main light was switched on.

Hello, bitch.

Leah swung around. He must have been in one of the other rooms along the hallway, and followed her in. Allynson, Sergeant Allynson, ringleader of the men who’d made her run the gauntlet. Friend of the man who’d committed suicide.

Sergeant, Leah said, automatically and obediently acknowledging his rank.

Allynson laughed harshly. Not any more, he said. Its plain John Allynson now, 7-Eleven proprietor, thanks to you.

Leah reached for the .38 in her jacket but heard a sound to her left, and began to swivel around to meet the new danger. Too late. A strong arm clamped around her windpipe, another around her waist. She struggled to get at the .38 but Allynson, laughing, reached in and snatched it away.

The other man let her go. She turned around. Senior Constable Summers. Or maybe it was plain Rob Summers now, taxi driver or cleaner or… Hed been in the room all along, concealed behind the sofa. Both men wore jeans, trainers and T-shirts—and latex gloves. Both had put on weight. They had the vicious, puffy faces of disappointed men who’d turned to drink.

Leah said, Did Jill set this up?

Allynson laughed. Jill? Nah. Shes on your side, stupid cow. But she did let slip to someone, and that someone rang us, and here we are.

Leah watched him. Clearly he knew that the police had been called to this address, but equally clearly he didn’t seem concerned. He’d probably made a few calls and Jills request for police attendance had been countermanded or passed off as a false alarm.

He seemed to read her mind, and gave her a sneering grin. Thats right, sweetheart, no ones coming to this little party, only you and me and Rob. Cosy, eh?

Leah said, The young woman who lives here, Tess, her life’s in danger.

I wouldn’t know about that, Allynson said.

Was she here when you arrived?

He shrugged. We saw a sheila drive off with some bloke in a Saab.

Her half-brother, Leah said. Hes been trying to kill her.

So?

So forget about your beef with me for the moment and call it in: descriptions, make of car, time, direction, everything. There could be something about the car in one of these filing cabinets, like the rego number. Call your mates, or call it in anonymously, I don’t care, but theres no reason she should die just because you two heroes hate my guts.

Shed said it heatedly and could see that Allynson believed her. He began to bite his lower lip as he thought the issues through, now and then glancing at Summers for support.

All right.

He watched while Leah searched the filing cabinets. Eventually she found a folder labelled CAR, which contained registration papers for the Saab. She passed it to Allynson, who took out a mobile phone and a moment later turned away to mutter into it, careful not to give his name or the name of his contact.

He completed the call and pocketed the phone. All sorted. Now were going to sort you out.

Leah tensed. Allynson began to crowd her with his body, Summers flanking him as if to grab her if she gave Allynson the slip. She backed toward the bookcase, half hoping that she could bring it down on the two men. She reached out a hand, tugged on a shelf. It was rock solid.

They grinned, still advancing on her. She said, Are you going to kill me?

Allynson gave her a look of mock surprise. Why? Do you deserve to die? What do you think, Rob? Does she deserve to die?

Well, Summers replied, a mate of ours offed himself because of the filthy stuff she spread about him, ruining his name and his career, so an eye for an eye sounds fair enough to me.

Fair enough to me, too, Allynson said, and he lunged.

At first Allynson and Summers played with Leah, shoving her between them to keep her off balance. One man would slap her face, the other punch her in the stomach—not with any force, but with contempt. Then Summers fondled her painfully and Allynson ripped her shirt at the neck. She fought back, kicking, punching, scratching, ducking and weaving, but they were too big, too solid, too close to her.

When the shot came, Leah expected pain, a punching impact, a sensation of the bullet tearing through her flesh, tendons, bones. Instead, Allynsons neck erupted and his heavy frame was propelled against her. He must have moved into the line of fire at the last moment, his hands reaching for her. He tried to turn, spraying her with blood. He toppled, some of the light leaking from his eyes, then fell to his knees, taking her with him.

She didn’t know why Summers had shot him. She crawled out from under Allynsons massive weight, intending to shelter under the desk, but heard him whisper, Help me. He was bleeding profusely. She tore off her ruined shirt, packed his wound with it, then used her belt to bind it in place. She was splashed with blood now, sticky with it, her hands and knees sliding on the polished floorboards.

Meanwhile she was dimly aware of shouts and movement above her head and all around the room. She tried to map the movements with her ears, not daring to look up and invite eye contact and another shot. She could hear several people. Suddenly Summers was on the floor with her, frightened, bewildered. No gun. Dimly she realised that it wasn’t Summers who’d shot Allynson.

Then some of the shouts resolved themselves, became coherent, orderly. Police! voices said. On the floor! Now! Hands behind your heads!

Leah couldn’t get up. Somehow shed got Allynsons head in her lap. She put pressure on the bandage, wiped his ashen face, and tried to transmit something essentially human and compassionate to his frightened eyes. And she stayed there until other hands prized hers away from Allynson and ambulance officers took him away. Kind arms helped her to her feet and Jill was saying gently, Leah, everythings okay, everythings okay.