“There,” he said, stretching out his right arm and gesturing with the gun.
I took half a step forward and grabbed his right arm, just below the wrist. I held it immobile, the gun pointing safely at the wall, and jabbed him below the rib cage with my right hand, knocking the wind of him. Then I brought my hand up, smashing into his jaw from below. I stepped in towards him, ducked slightly and spun round so that my right shoulder slotted in place below his armpit. Then I straightened my legs and pulled down with my left hand, lifting him off his feet. I was still turning, so I pushed back hard with my left leg, building the momentum and smashing his body into the guy who was covering Jones.
The two intruders went down in a tangle of limbs, rolling sideways away from us. Neither of them kept hold of their weapons. Jones’s guy ended up on his front, and for a moment he was still. The other one scuttled sideways and started to scramble back to his feet.
“Take him,” Jones said, kneeling up. “I’m on mine.”
“I’m not a control freak like you,” I said, stepping towards the first guy, who was fully upright again. “I don’t need you to kneel with your hands behind your head. You can stay standing, if you like. Or sit. Or lie down. You can even contort your body into some weird fairground sideshow position, if it makes you happy. As long as you do one thing.”
“What?” the guy said.
“Co-operate. Tell me: Where is the woman who owns this apartment?”
The guy sprang forward, feinting to hit me in the face but really aiming a heavy blow at my stomach. I ignored the first, blocked the second, then snaked my right leg behind his knees and hooked his feet out from under him. He landed flat on his back, and as he hit the floor I heard a gunshot behind me. I spun round, fearing the worst, and saw Jones five feet away from me. He was on his feet. His Sig was in his hand. The smell of cordite reached my nose, and I followed his gaze down to the floor. The guy who’d been on top of him was lying there, on his back, twitching slightly, with a gaping hole where his right cheek had been.
“Watch out,” Jones said, raising his gun and aiming it in my direction.
The first guy had rolled over and was scrambling for the spot where his battered old Browning had come to rest in the earlier struggle. I stepped towards him, ready to kick the gun away again, when Jones fired. The shot was uncomfortably loud in such a small space, but it did its job. The bullet hit the guy at the base of his skull. He slumped forward, face down. His body gave one long, last, violent shiver. Then he was still.
“Wow,” Jones said.
I walked across and examined the guy I’d tangled with first.
“Wow, indeed,” I said. “What a great job. We started with three people who could have helped us. And we’ve ended up with none.”
“What about that one?” Jones said, nodding towards the guy I’d just been looking at.
I shook my head.
“Damn,” he said. “I thought we’d be able to talk him, to at least. I wouldn’t have pulled the trigger, otherwise. What should we do now?”
“Search the bodies,” I said. “I want their phones. And I want to see everything in their pockets. We might be able to piece something together. But first, I want you to call your office. Tell your control to find out if the police have been called, following those gunshots. If they’re on their way, get them turned around. Then tell them to get their best cleaner out here. These bodies need to disappear. Quickly. And Tim?”
“Yes?”
“Do not say anything that could link what’s happened, or this address, to Melissa. And make absolutely certain not to tell anyone she’s disappeared. Anyone at all. Do you understand?”
“Yes. But why?”
I gave him a moment to think that one through.
“Oh,” he said. “I get it. You think there’s a leak in the department. So if Melissa’s clean, we don’t want them reporting that she’s hiding, or they’ll go looking for her. And if she’s dirty, we don’t want them to know we’re on to her or she’ll go deeper underground.”
“Right,” I said. “And for now, remember something else. As far as you and I are concerned, she’s innocent until proven guilty.”
I figured that since experience was on my side I’d search two of the intruders and just leave one for Jones, but I was still finished first. The guy whose throat I’d crushed had a spare clip for the huge Desert Eagle he’d been carrying, and that was all. I left it behind. The guy who’d done the talking had a spare clip, pictures of Melissa and me, and an old battered switchblade with a wooden handle. I took the knife and photos, and moved across to where Jones was standing. He was next to the final body, his phone still in his hand, apparently transfixed.
“Come on, son,” I said. “What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know,” he said, with a shudder. “It’s just - look at him.”
“Not pretty, I know. Do you want me to do it?”
“No. It’s OK. It’s just - I’ve never done this before.”
“Well, ordinarily I’d tell you to take your time. Only right now, Melissa’s missing, which means time is the one thing we don’t have. So either get on with it, or step aside.”
Jones crouched down and reached out his hand like a reluctant, bony spider. He didn’t exactly work fast, but in the end he at least did a nice thorough job.
“Sorry,” he said. “No phone. Just a spare magazine.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “That’s the same as the others. You didn’t miss anything.”
“Then what are we going to do? Can we trace them through the ammo, perhaps?”
“You could try. Your people will have the resources, I guess. But there’s one other thing.”
“What?”
“Have you ever done a photo fit picture?”
“I’ve seen them. And we learned about them, in training. I’ve never done one, though. Why?”
“Something about this guy is familiar, and I’ve just figured out what it is. I was looking at his face, trying to remember how he looked before you shot half of it off. And then it struck me. Take away the fatal injury. Add hair. Change the clothes. And I’ve seen him before.”
“You have?”
“Yes.”
“Where? When?”
“At St Joseph’s. He was working as a security guard.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m certain. I watched him sorting out of a bunch of yobs who were messing around in the hospital garden.”
“The guy didn’t look like he knew you.”
“He didn’t know I’d seen him. I wasn’t there, in the garden. I was watching through a window, waiting to see if he needed any help. I saw a guard try to chase some kids out of there once before, and he got nowhere.”
“But this guy managed on his own?”
“You could say that. If you’re a fan of understatement.”
“Everything’s leading back to the hospital. Well, if he works - or worked - at St Joseph’s, at least that gives us a place to start. We should head over there right away.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve seen the hospital security office before. And without an army of forensic guys we’re not likely to turn anything up in there. We should start with Leckie, himself.”
“The person? Not the place?”