Luke Delaney - Cold Killing

“Is this it?” Sean asked. He had hoped the local station, Islington, would have provided more assistance.

“We’ve already got a couple of uniform lads hiding round the back,” one of the DCs informed him.

Donnelly looked at Sean. “Your call, boss. We could wait for backup. We could have a firearms team within an hour.”

Sean would have preferred to take Hellier by himself, have some time alone with him. Clearly Hellier didn’t have the guts to come after him or Donnelly, so he went for Sally. Well, now they’d come after him.

“Let’s do it,” Sean said. “No more waiting.”

The younger Islington detective opened the boot of their car and pulled out a heavy metal battering ram. It was known as an Enforcer. “We brought this,” he announced. “Just in case.”

“Shame to waste it,” Sean said grimly. “Listen, he may not look like much, but he’s killed at least three people already. And now he’s gone after one of ours. Don’t drop your guard.”

They all nodded their understanding and walked silently but rapidly toward the house. Carefully they opened the black wrought-iron gate and moved to the front door. There were three stone steps. The older detective spoke to the officers at the rear of the house on the radio, his voice just above a whisper.

“Units at the rear. Units at the rear. We’re going in through the front.”

The radio crackled but they all heard the reply. “Understood and standing by, over.”

The young detective holding the Enforcer nodded to Sean. Sean counted him down with his fingers. Three. Two. One. The detective smashed the Enforcer into the center door lock. It exploded, but the door held. It had top and bottom dead bolts. He stood and hit the top lock hard. The door began to flap open. He crouched and took out the final lock. The door imploded.

They poured in through the door holding extendible metal truncheons and screaming, “Police! Police! Police!”

Sean and Donnelly ran to the staircase. The Islington detectives ran through the ground floor. As Sean neared the top of the stairs, Hellier appeared. Sean saw him just in time. He partially avoided the kick aimed at his head. It stung his cheekbone as it made impact. He slumped against the staircase wall for a second, shaking off the effects of the kick, but was after Hellier before Donnelly could overtake him.

Hellier climbed the next flight of stairs and disappeared. Sean followed, but slowed as he approached the top. He wouldn’t be caught again. He warned Donnelly to slow down. From below came the sound of the Islington detectives beginning to climb the steps.

Sean moved on to the second-floor landing. Hellier was there somewhere. He found the light switch on the wall and flicked it on. There were five rooms.

Someone appeared at the door closest to him. Instinctively he almost lashed out, but realized in time it was Hellier’s wife. He leaned forward and grabbed her, dragging her to the floor where he pinned her before she could speak.

“Stay there and don’t move,” he shouted. She was too scared to move or argue. Too scared to speak.

He moved carefully along the landing, his back pressed against the wall. Donnelly and the other detectives followed. The element of surprise was lost. Now they needed stealth.

He flicked the light on in the room Hellier’s wife had come from, pushing the door wide open so that he could peer inside before entering. A glance over his shoulder told him Donnelly was close. The Islington detectives had begun to search the rooms across the landing. They moved cautiously.

He slipped into the room, back to the wall. Donnelly followed. Sean dropped into a push-up position and checked under the bed. Nothing. He moved across to the closet, stretching to grasp the handle without exposing himself to a full-frontal attack. He yanked the doors open. Clothes still wrapped in plastic dry-cleaning bags swooshed into the room. Nothing.

He’d had enough. His heart needed a rest. He nodded for Donnelly to check behind the curtains. Donnelly did so. Nothing. He nodded toward the door and led the way out. They moved to the next room.

A child’s voice called from the landing below. It sounded stressed. The mother looked at him, appealing. He put his finger to his lips. The last thing he wanted was a crying child walking into the middle of this.

The distraction had been enough. Hellier seized the opportunity. Sean felt an incredible pressure close around his right wrist. He tried to hold on to the telescopic truncheon, but the grip forced his fingers open. His weapon fell to the floor. He was pulled into the room and spun around by one powerful jolt. He felt his right arm twist up his back. Cold metal pressed into his throat. Some instinct told him not to move. Told him he was teetering on the edge of a cliff.

He felt Hellier’s bristles rub against his ear. He could smell his sweet breath. It made him want to vomit, to pull away. Hellier pressed the blade harder into his throat.

“Ah, ah, Inspector.” He recognized Hellier’s voice.

Someone flicked the light on in the room. It was Donnelly, who froze when he saw them. Hellier smiled. Donnelly regathered himself. “Put the knife down, man.”

It sounded like a request, not a demand. Hellier gave a shallow laugh. He turned his face to Sean, but kept his eyes on Donnelly. His tongue curled from his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, he licked the side of Sean’s face, his body quivering with the thrill of tasting Sean’s fear. He gripped the earlobe in his teeth and closed his eyes in ecstasy. He released his grip and stopped smiling. He looked deadly serious. He whispered in Sean’s ear.

“Remember who let you live.”

Hellier threw the knife on the floor and stepped away, placing his hands behind his head. Sean spun around and caught him full in the mouth with a left hook. His amateur boxing days made the move effortless.

Hellier fell backward into a dressing cabinet. He fell hard. Framed pictures smashed under his weight. The mirror shattered. He rolled onto the floor, landing on all fours, and looked at Sean, smiling through bloody teeth. Sean stared back, only he didn’t see Hellier’s face, he saw his father’s. His torturer’s.

Sean delivered a powerful kick to the rib cage that lifted Hellier off the floor. He landed on his back, but still he smiled. Sean knelt next to him and began to pile punches into Hellier’s face. He didn’t know how many he landed before Donnelly pulled him off, or that he had been screaming “ Bastard! ” as each punch found its target. Nor had he realized he’d broken a bone in his right hand and that his knuckles had been sliced open on Hellier’s teeth.

It took him a while to come back to the world. When he did, he shrugged himself loose from Donnelly’s hold and stared at the bloody mess that was Hellier’s face. Hellier was lying on his back, only partly conscious, spitting blood from his mouth. His nose was broken.

The two Islington detectives ran into the room. They saw Hellier lying in his own blood. The knife on the floor. Sean breathing like a madman. His hands bloody and swollen. They didn’t ask questions.

Saturday, 10 A.M., and news had spread of the night’s events. The office buzzed. Hellier had come after one of them.

Sean pressed an ice pack wrapped in an old T-shirt to the swelling Hellier’s kick had left on the side of his face. The other hand was badly swollen. His little and ring fingers were taped together, as were his index and middle fingers. He refused to go to a hospital and have it put in a cast. The police surgeon had done her best. He used the broken hand to press the phone to his ear. The hospital updated him on Sally’s condition.