Hanlon took a last look at the pictures of Aurora. Even in the state she was in, she was still beautiful, but these pictures, unlike the ones of her on Luke’s wall, or hanging in her father’s study, were private, personal, not for public consumption. She picked up the paintings, put them back inside the cupboard and closed the door. She heard Wemyss give a bark as Luke let the police in. Glancing at herself in the mirror that hung on the studio wall, she grimaced at her reflection. With her black eye, she looked nearly as bad as Aurora after a night out.
Luke opened the front door and ushered the policemen in. He looked at them with a painterly eye. They were unlikely-looking police to his way of thinking, but then again, he reflected, he hadn’t met many. Perhaps this was how things were nowadays.
The one who was obviously in charge was good-looking in a silver fox kind of way. He had grey hair that was cut close to the scalp. He was powerfully built and wearing good quality jeans with a really fly pair of trainers. Silver fox was also wearing some kind of expensive cologne and his shapely eyebrows were dark. Luke reflected that you knew male grooming had become a thing when the police started using male beauty products like scent and eyebrow pencil.
His colleague could have done with taking a tip from him. His eyes were badly bruised – he could have done with some foundation to cover that up. He had obviously been roughed up fairly recently in a fight.
Luke looked at them wonderingly, suspiciously. There was something about them that didn’t quite ring true to him, but what could he do? The younger one was holding out his warrant card. He was much bigger than the older guy – straw-coloured hair, blue eyes, big-boned. Luke glanced at his ID. It was meaningless to him – who even knew what a warrant card should look like?
The blond guy’s phone rang and he glanced at it. Wemyss sniffed him suspiciously.
‘Sorry,’ Luke said apologetically. ‘He’s not my dog, he belongs to my friend.’
‘Ms Hanlon?’ said Silver Fox. He’d given their names, but Luke hadn’t been listening.
‘Yes, but how did you know?’
Silver Fox smiled reassuringly.
‘I’ll explain in a minute…’
Luke shrugged. ‘Come through. Stay, Wemyss…’
Blond guy said, ‘I’ll be through in a minute, just got to take this.’
Silver Fox sighed in irritation at his colleague and followed Luke into the studio, closing the door behind him as he did so.
Hanlon was standing with her back to them looking out of the huge picture window over Dean Village. She turned and looked at them. Ever observant, Luke noticed her nose wrinkled slightly as if there were a bad smell in the room and she frowned. Then she smiled at Silver Fox. She looked hard at his trainers. So she’s noticed them too, thought Luke, they are pretty cool. It suddenly occurred to Luke that her smile looked slightly strained. She walked over to them, her right hand outstretched as if to shake.
‘Oh, hello, you must be…’ she started to say, then suddenly—
What the hell?
Luke’s mouth fell open; he gaped in shock. He had never seen anyone move quite so quickly. Her fist slammed into the policeman’s head and Silver Fox staggered back, then a combination of punches, he could barely follow them they were so fast, stomach, face, side of the head, Hanlon’s body twisting as she put the explosive power of her hips into her fists. He had never seen anyone being hit in real life, only on TV or in films, and he was amazed at how brutal it was and the unexpected noise, the sound of fist hitting flesh and the explosive grunts of effort.
What the hell was she doing? What was going on?
It was all over in a couple of seconds. The policeman was totally unprepared and went down. There was a hell of a crash and an ominous thud as his head hit the floor.
What the fuck, Hanlon? he thought to himself, but no sound came out of his mouth. What the actual fuck?
Now Hanlon was down beside the fallen man, her hands frantically going through pockets and as the other cop flung the door open she had a knife in her hand that she must have found in Silver Fox’s pockets. She dragged him in front of her; she was crouched on the floor using him like a shield. She pressed a knife to his throat as Blondie pointed the gun in his hand at her.
He’s got a gun, thought Luke, increasingly panic-stricken. He’s not a policeman – what’s going on?
‘Drop it or I’ll kill him…’ she shouted.
‘Fuck you!’ said Blondie, the gun in his hand unwavering.
Luke stood there silently, motionless, not knowing what to do. He was terrified.
He obviously wasn’t the only one. Luke, naturally highly observant despite his terror, noticed that Dougie, staring at the unexpected scene in front of him was looking far from calm. Shit, Luke thought. Shit, shit, shit. Hanlon, crouched on the floor, looking up at Dougie, from behind the shelter of the semi-conscious Ray. This was like a scene from a nightmare, thought Luke.
He stared at the figures motionless as waxworks in front of him,
He had never used a gun; but he had heard that hand-guns were inaccurate. The blond guy might miss her; he might shoot his accomplice by mistake. If he did miss, Hanlon could well cut his throat – God knows she looked capable of it.
For a couple of heartbeats they stood there staring at each other. Stand-off. Now, Hanlon pressed the tip of the knife she’d found in the guy’s pocket into the skin under his chin and twisted it. Hard. No pussyfooting around. His eyes fluttered and opened; he craned his head back to try and avoid the blade and Hanlon dug the knife tip in. A very red stream of blood ran out, down the metal and over her fingers. Her eyes didn’t leave those of the man with the gun.
Ray was now fully conscious. His head was tilted back as far as he could make it go in an obvious but futile attempt to escape the knife. His eyes bulged with the effort. Luke stared at him, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He didn’t speak; he probably didn’t want to provoke her. The knife in the flesh under his chin must have been agonisingly painful. Hanlon’s left hand was hooked into his hair, pulling his head back.
‘Drop the gun, throw it in the corner over there!’ She jerked her head in the direction of the far corner. The blond guy didn’t move. She pushed the knife upwards; blood was now flowing freely.
‘If you don’t do it… I’ll just keep pushing up until this goes into his brain,’ Hanlon snarled.
Jesus, she means it, thought Luke, who was standing stock-still.
‘Do it, Dougie,’ gasped the guy from between his teeth. It sounded to Luke as if he were auditioning for a ventriloquist act; he obviously didn’t want to move his jaw when he spoke.
The other guy’s hand didn’t waver; he didn’t trust her.
Luke noticed the door to the studio open and Hanlon’s dog, Wemyss, appeared. He surveyed the room, puzzled and then went over to the blond guy, moving slowly, slightly crouched, his hackles up. Luke glanced over at Hanlon, she must have been aware of Wemyss but equally he guessed she didn’t want to take her eyes off the guy with the gun – Dougie, that was his name.
‘Wemyss!’ called Hanlon, desperately.
Dougie looked down. Hanlon’s dog was by his side, growling at him.
‘Wemyss!’ called Hanlon again. There was no mistaking the urgency in her voice. She wasn’t the only one in the room who could think or move fast. Dougie’s hand shot out and grabbed the dog’s collar.
‘Throw me the knife—’ he pressed the muzzle of the gun against the collie’s head ‘—or I’ll kill the dog!’
Luke saw the anguish in Hanlon’s face, then he saw her let go of Ray’s hair and she tossed the knife to Dougie. Both she and Ray stood up. Ray walked over to Dougie, the front of his shirt soaked in his blood, Hanlon over to Luke.
Ray picked his knife up with his right hand and found some tissues in his pocket, which he wadded up and pressed to the wound under his jaw. Although the cut was bleeding heavily, it wasn’t a serious injury.
‘Take the dog next door,’ he said to Dougie quietly. No drama, no shouting, just quietly taking charge. He stood there looking at Hanlon. His eyes flickered to the unmoving Luke. No threat there.
‘Sure,’ Dougie said. He tugged on the dog’s collar and he went with him, surprisingly docile.
He led Wemyss into the entrance room. The door closed behind him.
‘We just want some information,’ said Ray, reassuringly. ‘We’re not going to hurt you.’
Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, there was the unmistakeable sound of a shot from next door. A single shot. They all heard it. Luke flinched, terrified. Hanlon didn’t move. Then a single tear rolled out of the corner of her eye and Luke saw her body sag.
Wemyss was dead.