Wendy’s car squealed round the corner into Mark Street, and she immediately saw the familiar sight of Debbie Weston’s battered old Cavalier parked right outside Suzanne Corrigan’s house.
‘Fuck! What’s Debbie doing here?’ she yelled, yanking the handbrake and flinging open her door.
‘Shit, Wendy, look,’ Luke said, pointing at Suzanne’s front door. ‘I don’t like the look of that.’
‘Get onto the DCI. Tell him what’s going on,’ Wendy said, making for the house.
‘No! Like hell am I letting you go in there. You call him. And stay outside the house. I need you to keep an eye out.’
Before Wendy could argue, Luke had skipped up the front step and was in the house.
The light was on downstairs, which was odd as it seemed like no-one was in the house. The half-drunk glass of wine said otherwise, though.
Luke was careful to keep quiet, treading gently as he stalked through the house, careful not to make himself heard.
As he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced into the spare bedroom and saw Debbie Weston sitting on the bed, with a man in a police uniform knelt behind her, his arm around her neck with a gun pressed to her temple.
‘Your friend here just did something very silly,’ the man said, through gritted teeth. ‘I have a plan and I need to stick to it. I don’t get very happy when people change my plans for me.’
‘Put the gun down,’ Luke said, holding one hand out at arm’s length, trying to placate the man. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want my number five back. I want my Mary Jane.’
‘Suzanne? You can’t. She’s gone,’ Luke said, not knowing where Suzanne was.
‘What a shame. Because I’m going to get my number five, whichever way,’ the man replied, pressing the gun harder against Debbie’s head. ‘And if it’s not going to be the one I wanted, it’s going to be your friend here.’
Culverhouse was on his way to Mark Street as quickly as he could, driving at fifty miles an hour down Mildenheath High Street whilst talking to Wendy on his mobile. Not something he would have condoned at any other time, but this was different.
‘Uniform just radioed in to say that Suzanne Corrigan got away,’ he said. ‘She’s with them now, by the old grammar school. What’s going on down there?’
‘I don’t know. Luke’s gone inside, but I’ve not heard anything yet,’ Wendy replied.
‘He’s done what? The fucking idiot. Whatever you do, don’t follow him. I’ll be there in two minutes.’
‘Why don’t you take me instead?’ Luke said, his voice quivering as he spoke. ‘Leave Debbie alone. She’s not done anything.’
‘She lost me my number five!’ Paul yelled, his eyes mad and bloodshot.
‘It’s over. Why put yourself through even more? Why take more lives? You’re young. If you give yourself up now, you might get back out again. If you kill a copper, you’ll never get out. Not these days.’
‘You’re assuming they’re going to catch me,’ Paul said quietly and calmly.
‘They will. Believe me, they will. They already have.’
Paul snorted and guffawed as Luke watched the snot drip from his nose. ‘If that was the case, I’d be in the back of your car in handcuffs, not sitting here watching you snivel as I hold your friend’s life in my hands.’
‘Listen, you don’t need to do this,’ Luke said, holding his hands out. ‘Just let her go. It’s over now.’
Before Paul could respond, the figure of Jack Culverhouse bundled in through the bedroom door. ‘Right, pack it in, knobhead.’
Startled, Luke tried to speak. ‘Guv, I—’
‘Save it, Baxter. I know a real gun when I see one. What’s that, Paul? Another little toy from your shop? What is it, theatrical replica? Starting pistol?’
Paul broke into a smile, showing his glistening white teeth as he loosened his grip on Debbie’s neck and turned to point the gun at Culverhouse. ‘Well, why don’t we find out?’
Without a moment’s hesitation, seeing Paul’s finger begin to squeeze the trigger, Luke threw himself towards Culverhouse, pulling him to the floor as the deafening shot rang out, the sound echoing and reverberating around the room.
Debbie took her chance. She braced her leg against the wall and shoulder-barged Paul as hard as she could, knocking him off balance.
As she pulled away and turned to aim a kick at his head, she noticed he had already recovered and was cowering in the corner, pointing the gun at her once again.
Before he could speak, the sound of the armed response officers thundering up the stairs momentarily stunned Paul.
‘Bit late, lads,’ he said, cocking the gun. ‘I’m afraid the damage is done.’
With a swift movement, he placed the barrel of the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
‘Suspect down!’ the first armed officer yelled into his radio. ‘I repeat, suspect down!’
Wendy rushed into the room and went straight to Debbie, checking she was alright and comforting her immediately.
Culverhouse, however, was less than happy. ‘Will you fucking get off me, you great lump?’ he barked in Luke’s ear from his face-down position on the floor, not seeing the deep crimson liquid that was soaking into his shirt.
Wendy took a moment to process what was happening as she looked over at her fellow officers. ‘Luke? Luke, can you hear me?’
‘Fucking get him off me!’ Culverhouse yelled, wriggling like a beached whale.
From Luke, there was no response.
‘Fuck. Luke? Luke, can you hear me?’ Wendy shouted into his face, pressing her two fingers into the side of his neck to check for a pulse. She felt the panic rise up in her chest. ‘Guv, call an ambulance. Now.’