Sean Black - Lockdown

Carrie bristled. ‘No, I’m going after the story. How can we not mention that he worked for a company outside whose headquarters several people were just killed? It’ll make us look like idiots.’

‘OK, ref it when you come back, but move straight on.’

‘To what?’

‘You’ll think of something.’

And with that Gail was gone, in a swish of black cashmere and a trail of Chanel No. 5. Carrie had to speed-walk across the floor to make it back to her position in time.

The eyes of the nation back on her, Carrie didn’t miss a beat. ‘Richard, until a few weeks ago you used to work for the Meditech Corporation.’

‘Yes, yes I did.’

‘And how long did you work for them?’

‘In total, approximately six years.’

‘And what did your work involve?’

‘I was involved in a number of areas.’

‘Which involved testing on animals?’

Richard didn’t hesitate. ‘That’s correct. I believed that the benefits to mankind outweighed any suffering caused to the animals.’

‘But recently you left Meditech’s employ?’

‘A few weeks before Josh went missing, yes.’

She could hear Gail, out of breath from having run all the way back to the booth, in her earpiece: ‘OK, now back to the kid.’

‘What was the nature of the work you did for Meditech?’

‘That I can’t discuss in any detail. There are confidentiality issues.’

Gail again: ‘Back the hell off, Carrie.’

Carrie smiled evenly across at Richard, her next comments directed right back at Gail, and whatever asshole in a suit had decided to try to do her job for her. ‘I understand, and your loyalty is commendable, particularly in light of the fact that your previous employer won’t assist you in finding your son — isn’t that correct?’

Richard hesitated this time. ‘Yes. . that’s correct.’

As they went to the next break, Gail was back by Carrie’s side. Carrie braced herself for the onslaught. Gail Reindl in attack mode was a sight to behold.

Instead she studied the studio floor and said, ‘Wrap it up with Hulme.’

‘But we still have ten minutes.’

‘I do realize that, but we have a call. I want you to take it live on air.’

Carrie’s heart quickened. ‘We have a lead already?’

‘We have every crank from Long Island to Long Beach jamming the switchboards, but this one’s a bit different. The CEO of Meditech wants to clarify a few points.’

Carrie did her best to suppress a smile. Not at the thought of more ratings dynamite, more at the last thing Lock had said to her when he called to set up the interview with Richard Hulme.

Let’s see if we can’t rattle a few cages.

From the very corner of her vision, Carrie could see Richard being led out by a production assistant. As the floor manager counted her back in with a silent folding of three fingers, she stared straight down the lens.

‘On the line now we have Nicholas Van Straten, majority shareholder and chief executive officer of Richard Hulme’s former employer Meditech. Mr Van Straten, thank you for getting in touch. Our viewers will certainly appreciate your perspective.’

There was no need for masks. There were no cameras inside the apartment, and the only witness was the person they’d come to kill. The taller man knocked first, while the smaller of the two men stood off to one side of the door.

No one answered at first. The men traded worried glances, but said nothing. The taller man knocked again. Maybe the TV was up too loud. Or she’d gone out. They were just about to leave when the door cracked open and the side of the woman’s face pressed between door and frame. It was that kind of neighbourhood.

The taller man smiled. ‘Mrs Parker?’ he asked.

‘I told you people already, I don’t know where they’re hiding.’

‘It’s not about that, Mrs Parker.’

‘Did someone complain about my cats?’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but may I come in?’

He could see her thinking about this, taking in that he was polite, well dressed and, most important of all, white. She closed the door so she could slide back the chain, then opened it again and let him in. He stepped inside.

‘Let me get that for you,’ he said, closing the door, but not all the way.

The smell was overwhelming. He didn’t know how anyone could live like this. A cat vibratoed a miaow and rubbed itself against his legs. He stepped over it and followed the woman into the living room. Sure enough, the TV was on, Cesar Milan lecturing an anorexic woman about how to talk to her Rhodesian Ridgeback. So much for people looking like their animals.

‘Now, let me tell you something about these people next door to me. They don’t like my cats, y’see.’

‘And they’re such lovely creatures,’ he said, moving so that if she was to stay facing him her back would be to the door.

‘You think so?’

‘Absolutely. My favourite domestic animal. By some way.’

‘Do you have one?’

She was side on to the door now. Almost in position.

‘No, afraid I live in a co-op with a no-pets rule.’

‘That’s a shame.’

The smaller man appeared in the doorway now, the woman oblivious to his presence. But the half-dozen cats dotted around the room weren’t. With some kind of feline sixth sense they began to yowl. First one, then another.

The smaller man moved fast, taking the last few steps in under a second, flicking off the plastic cap of the syringe as he did. As she turned, he plunged the tip of the syringe into her left buttock and pushed down on the barrel.

As she started to scream, the taller man wrapped his arms around her. The smaller man clamped his free hand over her mouth. A cat hissed and jumped on to the TV set where it stared, unblinking, as its owner slumped to the floor. Her mouth was open. So were her eyes. The expression on her face was one of complete bewilderment.

‘OK, let’s get her into the chair.’

Together, they hauled her into the solitary armchair, hands resting in her lap. The smaller man folded down her eyelids with thumb and index finger, then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

‘She looks too posed,’ said the taller man.

‘You’re right.’ The smaller man bent down and pulled at her right foot so that one leg was splayed at an angle. A final check. ‘Perfect,’ he said, bending down to retrieve the plastic cap of the syringe.

‘What about the cats?’

‘What about them?’

‘Well, won’t they starve?’

The smaller man took one final look at the dead old lady in the armchair.

‘They got a good three weeks’ supply right there.’

Stafford Van Straten appeared to be on the edge of an aneurysm. He combed his mane of blond hair with one hand while his mouth opened and closed with all the articulacy of a goldfish. ‘You’re putting Lock in charge of this?’

His father pulled him to one side, out of earshot of his entourage. ‘I know you and he don’t get on, for whatever reason, but we can use him right now,’ he said, ignoring the fact that they both knew the reason Stafford and Lock didn’t see eye to eye. As reasons went it wasn’t one Nicholas Van Straten was likely to forget either. It was a reason that had cost him no end of sleepless nights, and a quarter of a million dollars.

‘But Richard Hulme’s not our problem.’

‘Listen to me. Whatever our problems with Richard Hulme, or whatever our lawyers are saying-’ Nicholas Van Straten stopped, lowering his voice to an urgent hiss. ‘A child is missing. What if it were you?’

Stafford smirked. ‘I’m hardly a child.’

‘Precisely, so stop behaving like one.’