SIXTY-EIGHT

In the back of the paddy wagon, de Bruin stared at Anton’s handgun more in disbelief than in fear or horror. Its muzzle looked impossibly big. It seemed to occupy the whole world. His wrists were still bound behind him but he’d have been frozen anyway, his limbs drained of strength. It was impossible, but he was about to die. He, León Alessandro de Bruin, was about to die. And, just like that, the protective shell of the persona he’d spent years building shattered and fell away, leaving him as little Len Brown once more, blubbing with fear and self-pity on the changing room floor.

A sudden ugly wailing noise outside, so unexpected that it made them all jump. It took de Bruin a moment to recognise it as a siren. Two sirens, rather, slightly out of kilter with each other. The paddy wagon braked and pulled off the road, bumping to a halt across rutted mud. Wharton looked questioningly at Anton. Anton shook his head. Wharton gestured for him to put away his gun then turned to de Bruin. ‘Not a word,’ he warned him. ‘No one would believe it anyway, so why even try?’ He left the cage and locked it behind him then slid open the panel door to find out what was going on.

A pair of squad cars had pulled up ahead and behind, their blue lights fluttering. Car doors opened and then slammed shut again. A number of police officers in plain clothes and uniform appeared, Elias among them.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ demanded Wharton, in his most imperious voice.

‘You’re under arrest,’ Elias told him.

‘Me under arrest? Me? Have you lost your mind?’

A plain clothes officer stepped up into the paddy wagon. He had on a pair of latex gloves, de Bruin noticed, and he took the keys to the cage from Wharton’s shocked grip even as he pushed by him. He unlocked the door then walked straight up to de Bruin. ‘Breast pocket, yes?’ he asked, glancing around.

‘Beneath his handkerchief,’ said Elias.

The officer carefully pulled out de Bruin’s silk handkerchief then dipped his fingers back in for a small black electronic device. De Bruin stared sickly at it. Elias must have planted it there when replacing his handkerchief earlier after mopping the blood from his face. The bastard had set him up. The bastard had saved his life.

The plain clothes officer left the cage. Still standing outside, Elias held up his phone for all to see. He tapped its screen and at once Anton’s voice rang out. ‘The prisoner managed to free his hands without us realising,’ he said. ‘He threw himself at you while you were conducting an interview. I had no choice but to shoot.’

‘Do it,’ said Wharton.

Elias stopped the recording then gazed up at Trevor Wharton with a savage grin. ‘My friend is in jail because of you, you treacherous piece of shit. My god, I’m going to enjoy testifying at your trial.’