69

The sound of heavy boots slapping the tiled floor jerked the Traveller from his doze. His body ached from lying on the thin mattress. He sat upright in the dark, sniffed, and wiped his one uncovered eye. He listened.

Running men and hard voices. Not panic, but some sort of emergency. One voice called for a doctor. Another called for a knife. The Traveller stood and walked to the metal door. He pressed his ear against it.

He heard, ‘Stupid fucker.’

He heard, ‘His trousers.’

He heard, ‘Hanged himself.’

The Traveller smiled. He walked to the toilet, unzipped, and emptied his bladder. He tucked himself away and zipped up. He breathed deep, steadied himself, faced the door, and waited.

Perhaps ten minutes passed as more footsteps hammered along the corridor beyond the door. They all seemed to be travelling the same direction, past his cell, deeper into the custody suite. The footsteps died away, leaving only urgent voices in another part of the building.

The Traveller imagined the pale cop on the other side of the door, waiting for his moment. When Hewitt told him the plan, the Traveller didn’t think he’d go through with it. But, by the sounds of things, he had.

The door clanked and creaked as a bolt moved aside. The Traveller smiled. He squinted as light from the corridor flooded the cell. Hewitt stood in the doorway. The Traveller struggled to make out his features in silhouette, but he could see the cop was sweating, his eyes dull.

‘You did it, then,’ the Traveller said.

‘Yes,’ Hewitt said.

‘Didn’t think you had it in you.’

‘Neither did I.’

The Traveller smiled. ‘First one’s the hardest.’

‘There’ll never be a second,’ the cop said.

‘You sure of that?’

Hewitt stood silent for a moment before stepping into the cell and closing the door behind him. It sealed them together in the dull glow from the nightlight. ‘We haven’t much time,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s with the kid. The CCTV is down for the whole custody suite. You’ve got four, five minutes at most.’

The cop took a roll of cash from his pocket and handed it to the Traveller, along with a set of car keys. ‘It’s an old Volkswagen Passat, parked on the far side of the playing fields. Once you’re out the gates, turn right then cut straight across the rugby pitch, it’ll be at the other side. Keep out of sight till you’re there.’

‘Don’t worry, I will,’ he said.

‘And here,’ Hewitt said. He undid the catch on his holster, drew the Glock 17, and held it out butt-first.

The Traveller reached for the gun and tucked it into his jacket pocket. They’d taken his belt, so his jeans hung loose from his hips. ‘I’ll be off, then,’ he said.

‘Wait.’ The cop gripped his sleeve.

The Traveller turned to see him in the dimness.

‘It needs to look right,’ Hewitt said, his voice wavering and cracking.

‘All right,’ the Traveller said. He slammed his forearm into Hewitt’s face.

The cop stumbled back silently, blood spurting from his flattened nose. He slid down the wall, his jacket whispering on the painted concrete, his legs spreading out in front of him.

The Traveller patted Hewitt’s pockets until he found the can of CS spray. ‘Is he paying you well?’ he asked.

Hewitt stared back at him with clouded eyes. The Traveller gave him a sharp slap, sending a fresh spray of blood across the floor. The cop blinked at him.

‘Is the Bull paying you well for this?’

Hewitt coughed and moaned. ‘Well enough,’ he said, the words gurgling in his throat.

‘Don’t scream,’ the Traveller said. He shook the can.

‘No,’ the cop said.

‘You said it had to look real,’ the Traveller said. ‘You scream, and you’re more fucked than me.’

‘No.’

The Traveller covered his own mouth with his lapel, and aimed. He let Hewitt have it. The cop opened his mouth and leaked air. He inhaled, then convulsed as the CS attacked his chest and throat. He collapsed on his side, coughing.

‘Nice working with you,’ the Traveller said as he dropped the can and stood. He went to the door and listened. He heard nothing above Hewitt’s gasping and spluttering. His own throat stung, and his good eye watered. He ripped the dressing from the other and blinked as the cool air washed around it.

He opened the door and glanced up and down the corridor, his vision blurring and sharpening as it adjusted to the light. He shook his head and blinked, tried to clear it. Voices came from around the corner, where the kid’s cell was. They’d have cut him down, tried to resuscitate him. The Traveller hoped Hewitt had done a decent job of it. He drew the Glock, exited the cell and closed the door behind him. He slid the bar across and locked Hewitt’s whining behind the steel.

The Traveller moved quickly and quietly. Left took him to the booking desk, now deserted as all hands tried to save the kid. Left again took him to the corridor leading to the reception area. He froze as he turned the corner.

Gordon stood by the locked door. They stared at each other, ten feet between them.

Gordon mouthed some words.

‘What?’

Point the gun, Gordon’s lips said.

The Traveller did as he was told, and Gordon raised his arms. The cop stepped aside so the Traveller could see the keypad for the lock.

The door’s small window showed the exit beyond. A camera watched from its perch where the ceiling met the wall.

He understood. ‘Put your number in and open it,’ he said, crossing the distance between them.

Gordon did it without argument. The lock whirred and clunked.

‘There’s no one on the gate,’ Gordon whispered in a voice so quiet the Traveller could barely hear him. ‘You’ve got a clean run at it, so long as you’re quick.’

The Traveller nodded, kept the Glock trained on Gordon.

‘Hewitt said I’d be looked after,’ Gordon whispered. ‘He said your people would take care of me.’

‘That’s right,’ the Traveller said.

He put the pistol to Gordon’s temple, waited long enough to see the realisation in the cop’s eyes, and pulled the trigger.

The Traveller stepped over Gordon’s twitching legs, and went for the outer door. Beyond it, the gates stood open and unattended. The night air cooled his face as he ran.

He didn’t stop running until he found the Volkswagen.