Stephen Leather: The Bombmaker

Wong took a couple of steps towards Deng, then smacked the bat hard against his left knee. The knee-cap cracked like dry wood and his leg felt as if it had been thrust into a fire. Deng bit down on his lower lip, fighting not to scream as tears stung his eyes. For a few seconds he thought he was going to pass out, but then the pain subsided a fraction and his mind cleared.

'Then, Deng, you thieving bastard, I'm going to beat your wife to a pulp with this bat. Every bone in her body. From her toes up. Then, when her brains are all over the carpet, I'm going to do the same to you.'

Wong grinned, waiting for a reaction, but Deng said nothing. Then Wong slapped his forehead theatrically. 'But how stupid of me,' he said, taking a mobile phone from his jacket pocket. 'There's someone who wants to talk to you first.' He tapped out a number and listened until it was answered. 'Yeah? You can start now,' he said. He held it against Deng's ear. 'Your brother,' said Wong. 'And his family.'

The screaming was terrible, more than Deng could bear, and he tried to twist his head away, but Wong kept the phone pressed to his ear. There were three gunshots in quick succession. Then another two. Then two more. Then silence. Wong took the phone away from Deng's head. 'Your brother. His wife. Their daughter.' He put the phone away, then made his hand into a gun and pointed it at his own head, mimicking the hammer with his thumb. He grinned. 'They raped your sister-in-law, and your niece. While your brother watched.'

Deng's left leg had gone numb from the knee down. Totally numb. He couldn't feel his toes, or move them. Wong slapped the baseball bat into the palm of his hand. 'Right,' he said, nodding at the Red Poles. 'Let's get started.'

One of the Red Poles began ripping the shirt off Deng's wife, while another unzipped his trousers. Deng's sons began to scream at the men to leave their mother alone. Cheung stepped forward and slapped the elder boy across the face, hard, and blood streamed from his nose. Deng looked away. There was no point in watching. He closed his eyes and tried to blot out the screams and cries of pain. His wife called out his name, but he kept his eyes firmly shut. There was nothing he could do to stop what was happening. All that lay ahead over the next few minutes, hours maybe, was acceptance. Then death.

The doorbell rang and Martin Hayes put down his copy of the Irish Times and went to answer it. It was Saturday morning and he wasn't expecting visitors. It was James FitzGerald, the Garda detective inspector. Behind him stood Sergeant John Power. It had been raining all morning and both policemen were wearing dark blue raincoats,,

'Mr Hayes,' said FitzGerald, nodding. 'Sorry to bother you.'

'What's happened?' Martin asked.

'It's about Katie,' said FitzGerald. Before he could continue, Andy appeared at her husband's shoulder.

'What's wrong?' she said.

'It's about Katie,' said Martin.

'We think we've got one of the men who kidnapped her,' said FitzGerald.

Andy reached out to hold her husband's hand. 'You're sure?' she asked.

'Well, he's denying it, but his fingerprints match some prints we found in the cottage.' He gestured at the car parked at the end of the drive. 'We'd like Katie to come to the station with us, to see if she can identify him. If that's okay with you.'

'She won't have to face him, will she?' asked Andy.

FitzGerald shook his head. 'She'll be able to see him, but he won't be able to see her.'

'I'll go and get her,' said Martin. He went down the hall and through to the kitchen, where Katie was kneeling on a stool and stirring a bowl of cake mixture with a wooden spoon.

She grinned up at him and held out the spoon, which was dripping with chocolate. 'Do you want some?' she asked.

'I'll wait until it's cooked,' he said. 'Katie, the police think they've found the man. The man who kept you in the basement.'

Katie put down the spoon and wiped a stray lock of blond hair away from her eyes with her forearm. 'Are they sure? Are they sure it's him?'

'They want you to look at him. To check they've got the right person.'

Katie frowned. 'I don't want to, Dad.'

Martin ruffled her hair. 'It'll be okay. I promise.'

He helped her climb down from the stool and held her hand as they walked to the front door, where Andy was already putting on her coat. 'I'll lock up,' she said.

She went through to the kitchen while Martin and Andy got their coats. FitzGerald smiled at the little girl. 'How are you, Katie?'

'I'm fine, thank you,' she said, buttoning up her coat.

'Thank you for helping us,' he said.

Andy came back into the hall. 'Right,' she said. 'Let's go.'

Power drove the blue Orion, with Martin and Andy sitting either side of Katie in the back. FitzGerald kept twisting around in the front passenger seat and smiling reassuringly at Katie.

Power dropped them at the front of Pearse Street Garda station and FitzGerald took them inside. Martin grimaced as they followed FitzGerald down the corridor past the interview room where he'd been grilled by the detectives the last time he'd been in the Garda station. He put his hand on Katie's shoulder and gave her a small squeeze, as much to reassure himself as to comfort her.

FitzGerald showed them into a room. Martin was relieved that it wasn't the room where he'd been held before. It was slightly larger, with no recording equipment. FitzGerald asked them to wait, and they sat down while he went back down the corridor, returning a few minutes later with a young uniformed policewoman. She introduced herself by her first name. Teresa. She was in her mid-twenties, blonde with a pretty smile. She knelt down by Katie's side and asked her if she wanted a drink. Katie shook her head.

'What about a Coke?' asked Teresa.

'Okay,' said Katie. Teresa asked FitzGerald to get the little girl a Coke, then pulled a chair up close to her and sat down.

'Do you know why you're here, Katie?' she asked.

Katie looked down at the floor and nodded.

'Good. Now, I don't want you to worry. Everything's going to be all right. We think we've got the man who took you away from your mummy and daddy, but we have to be sure. Do you understand that?'

Katie nodded again. She began swinging her legs backwards and forwards.

'What we want you to do is to look at some men and see if you can recognise the one who took you away from your mummy and daddy. There'll be eight men. We want you to look at them, all eight of them, and then tell us which one is the man who took you. Do you think you can do that for us?'

Katie scowled. 'I don't want to.'

Teresa leaned forward and put her face close to Katie's. 'Why, Katie?'

'I just don't want to.'

'There's no need to be scared, Katie. The man can't hurt you. Look at me, Katie.'

Katie slowly raised her eyes and looked at the policewoman.

'Let me tell you how it works,' said Teresa. 'There'll be a line of men, and they'll be on the other side of a window. You look through the window at them, but they can't see you. It's a special glass. You can see through it, but they can't. They just see themselves.'

'Like a mirror?'

'That's right. Just like a mirror.' FitzGerald reappeared with a can of Coke and a plastic beaker. He put them down on the table and Teresa poured some of the soft drink and handed it to Katie. 'So they won't even know you're there. Each of the men will be holding a number. All you have to do is to look at all the men very carefully. Look at them twice. Then tell me which number the man you recognise is holding. You can do that, can't you?'

'I guess so,' said Katie quietly. She took a sip of her Coke.

'If you can tell us which one it is, we can make sure he'll go to prison for a long, long time. He won't be able to do anything to you again, Katie. You'll be safe with your mummy and daddy. You do understand, don't you?'