Die Twice (38 page)

‘Details about kidnapping young kids—'

I heard movement on the gravel behind me. Immediately I knew I'd made a mistake by addressing Raymond and Luke with my back to the front door. I started to turn round, but before I could fully react my head seemed to explode with pain as something hard struck it with a lot of force. I felt my legs buckle beneath me and I sank to my knees as I was hit again. I tried to hold onto the MAC 10, knowing that it was probably my only chance of survival, but it seemed to slip effortlessly from my grasp. My head spun and the whole world felt like it was floating away from me. All the time I cursed myself for being so stupid.

I fell forwards onto the gravel but managed to roll onto my side. Above me stood Luke's younger brother, Matthew, an iron bar in his hand and a less than Christian look on his face.

Raymond came into view and gave me a nasty little kick in the ribs. ‘Fucking hell, Dennis, you're beginning to really annoy me now. You keep popping up like a fucking unwanted jack-in-the-box. Why can't you just get out of my face?' I wanted to tell him that I would have done if only he'd left me alone, but the act of speaking seemed one effort too far, and it would have been futile anyway. ‘Get him inside, Matthew. Out of the fucking way.'

‘What do you want me to do with him, Mr Keen?'

‘Lock him in the cellar. I'll phone Illan. His boys can come and deal with him. It's their fucking fault he's still here in the first place. And make sure they don't do anything to him here. I don't want any mess in my house.'

‘No problem, Mr Keen.' He leaned down and pulled me up roughly by the shoulders. Although conscious, I wasn't in much of a position to resist.

Raymond put his face up close to mine. ‘Goodbye, Dennis. I'd say it's been a pleasure knowing you, but it hasn't been. Not at all. You were always a miserable cunt. You strike me as the sort of bloke who'd be a lot happier dead, so maybe I'm doing you a favour.' He gave me a patronizing slap on the cheek, enjoying my helplessness. ‘Ta ta.'

He stood up and turned away. ‘Have we got everything then, Luke?'

‘Seems so, Mr Keen,' Luke mumbled in reply, slamming the boot shut.

‘Then let's get out of here. I can't stand another fucking day of this rain.'

They both clambered into the car while Matthew picked up the MAC 10 and, with his free hand, dragged me backwards along the gravel and into the house. He hauled me through the porch and set me down in the large inner hallway by the rather grand-looking staircase that led up like some Hollywood film set to the main balcony. For some reason, I couldn't help thinking what a sumptuous place it was that Raymond owned.

He turned and went to open the door under the stairs, but it was locked. He fiddled in his pocket for a key and ended up producing a whole bunch of them. As he searched for the one he wanted, still holding both the gun and the iron bar, I felt my strength slowly coming back.

‘Don't you fucking try anything, son,' said Matthew, seeing a flicker of movement in my legs.

‘I wouldn't do this if I were you,' I told him in a strained voice. ‘Getting involved in the murder of a police officer. You could go down for twenty years for this.'

‘Shut up and don't fucking speak!' he snarled, but I could hear the nervousness in his voice.

‘And what's your boss doing while you're organizing my murder? Running away, like he always does—'

‘I told you to shut up!' he snapped, and turned back to his task, this time leaning the MAC 10 against the wall in front of him so that he could hunt through the keys more easily.

I remembered the gun in my other pocket. It struck me that in his hurry to get away, Raymond had been very slipshod, and Matthew was obviously no pro. Slowly, I started to reach down into the pocket. At the same time, Matthew found the key he wanted and placed it in the door. He turned round quickly to check what I was doing, and I think he saw that my hand had moved. He started to say something, but suddenly the angry crackle of gunfire came from somewhere outside. Another burst followed, then several individual shots, then through the open front door came the sound of a car reversing rapidly. It seemed Illan had taken my advice. And quickly, too.

Matthew turned and ran towards the door, shouting at me to stay where I was in tones laced with panic. Inexplicably, he left the MAC 10 where it was but continued to clutch the iron bar for dear life, as if the one offered him more protection than the other. I heard him curse as he reached the front entrance. More shots followed, and there was the sound of glass shattering.

Slowly, I forced myself to my feet, shaking my head to try to rid it of the grogginess I felt. I stumbled slightly but kept my balance. The back of my head felt as though it was on fire, but at least I was alive. For now.

I took the gun from my pocket. I'd already released the safety and it was cocked and ready to fire. The car screeched to a halt right outside the front door, kicking up gravel, then there was the sound of another car stopping right behind it. I heard Raymond's voice, panic-stricken now, then Matthew disappeared from view, screaming his brother's name. Raymond yelled at him to get back inside and there was the sound of running feet. There were more shots, and from somewhere a scream of pain.

I stopped and took aim at the hall door. A split second later, Matthew came running through it, followed immediately by Raymond. Raymond's face was covered in tiny cuts. There was no sign of Luke. I didn't hesitate but opened fire in rapid succession. My first bullet hit Matthew in the face and he flailed backwards, temporarily blocking Raymond as a target. I hit him again in the stomach and upper body, and he and Raymond fell to the floor together.

Almost immediately, a hooded gunman came charging through the doorway, holding a pistol. He turned and swung it in my direction so I kept firing, not knowing what else to do. I hit him in the shoulder, and I think the chest. He whirled round in a ferocious pirouette before banging into the doorframe then momentarily disappearing from view.

The gun was empty. On the floor, neither Raymond nor Matthew moved. I took a step backwards and suddenly a second gunman burst in. Knowing where my shots had come from, he crouched down and unloaded a volley of fire in my direction. Dropping the gun, I dived for cover and rolled round the other side of the staircase and temporarily out of range. I heard him running towards me and with every last bit of strength I had left I wriggled over to the MAC 10, grabbed it, and rolled round.

He was coming round the side of the staircase, gun outstretched in front of him. He fired as soon as he saw me, the first bullet ricocheting off the expensive cream carpet, not far from my head. Two more bullets flew past me, equally close, and I pulled the trigger of the MAC 10.

The whole world seemed to explode in noise. A hail of bullets ripped through my attacker, sending him dancing in a ferociously manic jig as his body seemed to burst open. Ornaments, furnishings, glass … everything seemed to shatter as the bullets tore apart their target and flew off in all directions, stitching an angry blood-splattered pattern right across the wall. A dozen small wounds blended together and became a gaping hole in his midriff, exposing pale lumps of fat and the first writhing coils of intestine.

The magazine emptied in the space of a couple of seconds, the spent shells forming a pile on the carpet. For a moment, the gunman kept his feet, stumbling awkwardly about like a blind man, both hands clasping his guts and trying to put them back where they belonged. But I think it must have dawned on him that it was a futile exercise, and he fell to the floor and lay there moaning weakly.

For a couple of seconds, I didn't move. My head was pounding and I felt an intense tiredness. But I knew it was nearly over. All I had to do now was make sure Raymond was beyond help and make my getaway. Then I would have done what I'd set out to do, and I could sleep for as long as I wanted.

I got to my feet and looked over at Raymond and Matthew. Both were lying motionless in a heap by the door, their faces red with blood. Out in the porch I could hear the sound of someone moaning, presumably the other gunman. At the same time, the other car – the one that had been carrying Illan's assassins – reversed and turned round in the drive, before pulling away.

I approached the door and gingerly put my head round it. The gunman was lying on his front and a pool of blood had spread out below him. He still had hold of the gun, but his grip looked weak. He was trying to crawl towards the front door but didn't seem to have the strength to make it. I stepped towards him, leaning down to pick up the gun.

And then, for the second time that night, I heard a noise behind me. I swung round, eager not to get caught out again, just as Raymond, bellowing like an angry bull, charged me. He threw a punch, but I managed to read his intentions and dodged it, although I was unable to get out of his way as he ran into me head on, and I toppled over backwards under his weight.

I landed heavily on the back of the gunman, who let out a weird high-pitched squeal as the air was forced out of him. The gun fell from his fingers with a clatter. Winded myself, I desperately tried to parry the blows Raymond rained down on me. I managed to catch him on the chin with a punch of my own, but it wasn't enough to cause any real damage. He hit me back in the the spot where Kover had caught me the previous night, my already tender right cheek, and I felt something break.

Sensing that I was fading, he reached across me and went for the gun. And that was when I thought of Molly Hagger and the anonymous, gruesome death she must have suffered. Only thirteen years old. Still a fucking kid. And I knew I couldn't die without making Raymond Keen pay for his crimes. With a strength born of pure rage, I shot upwards, knocking him off balance, and headbutted him bang on the bridge of the nose. I heard the bone snap with a hideous crack and he screamed in agony. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him bring up the gun, but his grip had loosened with the shock of my blow and I ripped it out of his hand, smacking him on the side of the head with the butt at just the moment he punched me again, knocking me backwards.

But this time I kept hold of the gun, and swung it round so it was pointed straight at him. His eyes widened and he froze. I sat back up, and this time he made no effort to resist. With one hand, I grabbed him by his thick mane of hair; with the other, I pushed the barrel against his eye.

‘Now, now, Raymond. Easy does it.'

I pushed him backwards and got to my feet, still holding the gun tight against him. When we were both standing up, I gave him a shove and walked back into the inner hallway with him retreating in front of me. Blood poured liberally out of his damaged nose.

‘Look, Dennis, I've got money. Plenty of it. We can come to some arrangement.' This time there was no mistaking the fear in his voice.

I stopped in front of him, keeping the gun trained on his face. Five feet separated us. ‘I know everything that's been happening with Kover and Roberts and those kids.'

Raymond shook his head, then looked at me. ‘Shit, Dennis, I never meant to get involved in it all, I really didn't.'

‘That's what Kover said. I didn't believe him, and I don't believe you. Now, while you're here, there are a few questions I need answering.'

‘OK.' He was playing for time.

‘Every time you give me a wrong answer, or one I don't believe, I'm going to shoot you in either a foot or a kneecap.'

‘Easy, Dennis. Come on.'

‘How the hell did you and Roberts ever get involved together?'

‘I've known him for years.'

‘How?'

‘I met him at a charity function once.' I snorted at the irony, but didn't say anything. ‘We got friendly. I found out he had something of a coke habit so I started supplying him with the stuff – for a nice low cost, of course, which he appreciated. I liked him, you know, even though it didn't take me too long to find out about his little perversions.'

‘Go on.'

‘He had money troubles. Big money troubles. And not a lot in the way of scruples. Like most of them kiddy fiddlers.' He sighed. ‘You know how it is, Dennis. Sometimes you can just see the evil in people. I saw it in him.'

I wondered then if he'd ever seen it in me.

‘And what happened to the kids? Where are they now?'

‘Dead. All dead.'

‘Why? What did you do with them?'

‘If it's any consolation, Dennis, I didn't kill them. I had a client, a bloke who was very, very sick. He got off on torturing children. Liked to suffocate them while he was, you know, doing his thing.'

‘Jesus.'

‘I wouldn't have got involved, I really wouldn't have done, but he was – is – an important man. We needed him for the business. If there was any other way–'

‘Raymond, there's always another way. And what the fuck did you get out of letting him do that sort of—' I couldn't say it. ‘What did you get out of it anyway?'

‘We filmed him. He used to do the deed in this house I rent up near Ipswich, and we put a hidden camera in there to record him at it. We kept the tapes to make sure he told us everything that was going on.'

‘And who is this sick bastard?'

‘His name's Nigel Grayley.'

‘And what's his use?'

‘He's third in command at Customs and Excise.'

In the far distance, through the sound of the rain, I could hear the first sirens. It felt like a long time had passed since the first shots had been fired, but in reality I doubted if it was much over three minutes.

‘So that's how you found out about where they were taking the accountant?'

He nodded, and I thought I detected shame in his manner. His shoulders were stooped and it looked like a lot of the
joie de vivre
had disappeared, probably forever.

‘What was the accountant going to expose about you and your associates?'