Page 18

T HE KNOCK AT THE DOOR came in the middle of the afternoon. Aaron didn’t open it. Perhaps that was an excess of caution, but he hadn’t been making friends recently. He called, “Who is it?”

A high-pitched adolescent squawk from the other side. “Telegram.”

That was surely from Joel. Perhaps it was urgent. Perhaps Joel needed him. They’d agreed to keep apart until this was over, however long that might be, but if Joel had reason to get in touch, Aaron had to respond. Not to mention that Aaron had had an appalling day and he wanted Joel, even at the remove of a telegram, with a longing that hurt.

“Can you leave it on the mat?” he called

“Telegram!” the voice squeaked again, uncomprehending.

Damn it. He wasn’t going to risk the boy taking it away. “One moment.”

He opened the door. DDI Colthorne smirked at him.

Aaron went to slam it, but the DDI’s foot was in the way, and as Aaron tried to kick it, Colthorne raised his hand. He held a revolver.

The DDI gestured. Aaron moved numbly backwards; Colthorne kicked the door shut behind him. “Hands on your head. This is loaded; don’t imagine otherwise, and don’t think I won’t shoot. You are going to do as I say.”

“Sir—”

“Shut up. You’ll write a letter, to my dictation. Play the fool and I’ll blow out your brains. Sit down and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Aaron sat at the bureau, hands on his head. Colthorne rested the muzzle of the revolver against his skull, cold and heavy, while he had a look for the gun Aaron didn’t own, then pulled out pen and paper. “Write as I say. ‘Joel. Please come to my flat—”

“No.”

The metal ground viciously into his scalp. “If you refuse, I will pull the trigger. If you speak one word more, I will pull the trigger. And then I will leave you lying in your own blood and brains while I send a telegram to your boy friend, and he’ll come running just the same. Do you understand me, Fowler? Now write .”

***

T HREE HOURS LATER, Aaron was lying on the carpet full length, face down.

It wasn’t comfortable, but he wasn’t doing it by choice. Colthorne had ordered him to the floor once he’d written the Judas letter to Joel, and they’d both been here in silence ever since.

Aaron hadn’t asked about what he was doing here, or his plans, or anything else. Colthorne had made it clear he didn’t want to talk, and Aaron wasn’t inclined to push him. The DDI presumably needed him alive, at least for the moment, but you could hurt people a lot before they died and Aaron didn’t want to offer the provocation.

He was, he knew, probably going to die tonight. It was the only available conclusion. Perhaps Colthorne was seeking vengeance, or perhaps he was having another go at pinning his crimes on others, and wanted Joel and Aaron to—what? Write out confessions of something or other, assert they’d lied or forged the documents, set up a joint suicide afterwards to avoid awkward questions?

It didn’t stand a chance of working to Aaron’s mind, but he didn’t suppose Colthorne thought in the same way he did. And after all, why not take the chance, even if it meant racking up two more bodies? They could only hang you once.

Because Colthorne was surely going to hang. A witness to Marks’s death had popped up, and another to Colthorne’s visit to Marks’s office, thanks to the barrage of publicity. There would be enough evidence to mount a prosecution for the detective’s death, if not Thaddeus Knight’s killing or Sammy Beech’s judicial murder. Public feeling would demand it.

Did Colthorne really believe he could get away with his crimes even at this late stage? Perhaps he simply wanted vengeance on Joel and Aaron first. It was hard to say.

Either way, Aaron had helped him. He’d written what Colthorne had told him, the words that would summon his lover, his absurd, brilliant Joel who had lit up the last few weeks in a way that Aaron had never experienced, for the convenience of the man who intended to murder them both. And now Aaron was lying on the floor, waiting for it to happen.

He was uncomfortably aware of his bladder, but didn’t want to risk asking to get up. He rather hoped Colthorne was getting sleepy, though even if he was, it wouldn’t do much good. Aaron had been lying still for the best part of three hours; he’d be stiff as a board when he tried to rise, and there was very little to be done against a man with a gun.

At last, the electric bell went. It was the doorbell, not the one for the front door of the building. Apparently Joel had got someone to let him in. Aaron felt a wave of fear so intense it left him nauseous.

“Is that the downstairs?” Colthorne demanded, rising.

“No. He’s at the door.”

“Get up. Open it. And keep your mouth shut or I’ll kill you both,” Colthorne said, very low, stepping to one side.

Aaron hauled himself off the floor. His knees hurt from the enforced stillness. The buzzer went again; Colthorne gestured angrily.

Aaron limped to the door, trying to loosen his muscles. Colthorne could see his face, he’d be able to see his mouth move if he tried to mime a warning.

So he’d shoot Aaron first, that was all. Joel would not set foot in here if Aaron could stop him.

He took a deep breath, pulled the door open, and saw DC Helen Challice.

“Good evening, sir,” she said merrily, stepping in without invitation, so that Aaron automatically recoiled. “I thought I’d come to say hello. And the DDI! Marvellous! We’re all here for a lovely chat. Oh goodness.” She cocked her head like a bird, looking at the revolver in Colthorne’s hand. “Why have you got a gun in your hand, sir?”

“Why are you here?” Colthorne gritted.

“I wanted to see the DS,” Challice said calmly. “So I came. With my friends.”

She walked all the way into the sitting room, followed by Sergeant Hollis and a uniformed constable whose name Aaron couldn’t recall. They both stared at Colthorne, at the revolver he held.

“Get out,” Colthorne said, but it didn’t have nearly enough force.

“You should put that away, sir,” Hollis told him, voice very level. “Not safe in a domestic environment.”

Colthorne’s face was trying for rigid, but his throat worked spasmodically; Aaron could see the muscles twitch and jump. He was running calculations in his head, trying to find a way forward, but there was none at all, not any more, except self-destruction. His eyes flicked to Aaron, and Aaron could see the thought, the At least I’ll take him with me , filling his mind—

“Please give me the gun, sir,” Challice said and stepped forward, directly in front of the revolver.

There was an endless, horrible moment in which nobody breathed, then Colthorne lowered his weapon. “I am your Divisional Detective Inspector,” he said thickly. “Mind your damned business, girl. There will be a reprimand.”

He turned on his heel and strode out. Nobody moved for twenty seconds or more, and then Challice said, “Are you all right, Mr. Fowler?”

“He’s been holding me hostage for three hours,” Aaron said through a cracking throat. “I don’t think he’s a danger to the public, but if anyone forces a confrontation—”

“We’ll get after him,” Hollis said. “Challice, call it in to the Yard and the nick. Come on, Farrell. And—I’m sorry, mate,” he told Aaron. “Colthorne said things about you that I oughtn’t have listened to.”

“That’s all right. Thank you.”

The two uniformed men left at a jog. Aaron told Challice, “Use my telephone. Warn people. Put a man outside Joel’s lodging house, he might go there. Where is Joel?”

“At the Italian restaurant on the corner; we thought Colthorne oughtn’t see him. He wasn’t awfully happy about it. Shall I get him?”

“Call the Yard first,” Aaron said, and sat down hard.

Challice made the calls, speaking urgently, while Aaron drank a lot of water and had a few private moments to recover his composure. She went out after that, and Aaron waited for what seemed like hours, although it was barely long enough for the kettle to boil before she returned with Joel in tow.

Aaron wanted nothing more than to grab him, to grapple him close and kiss everything he could reach and never let go. He said, “Hello.”

“Evening,” Joel said. “Is that tea? Oh thank God. So I was right?”

“Joel got your letter and telephoned me, saying he thought you were in grave danger,” Challice told Aaron. “It seemed obvious what that was likely to be, so I found some help. It was a bit touch and go, because all I had to show was a perfectly ordinary letter, but luckily Sergeant Hollis remembered Joel, and Malcolm was happy to help. Constable Farrell, you know. He’s very sweet. Really, they both were.”

“And you didn’t twist their arms at all ,” Joel added helpfully.

Aaron would have liked to know more, but not at this moment. “Thank you. Thank you so much for coming, and thank you for seeing that, Joel.” He couldn’t help a shudder. “He had a gun to my head when I wrote it.”

“Yes,” Joel said, with an air of polite interest. “It did rather feel that way.”

“I must say, I’d quite like to see this gift of yours in action, rather than just take everyone’s word for it,” Challice remarked.

“You get free readings for life,” Joel assured her.

She gave him a beaming smile. “So I should hope. What now?”

“I’ll make a complaint of wrongful imprisonment if it’s required. Tomorrow.” Aaron was absolutely exhausted, he realised. “Today has been rather wearing. You may know, I resigned earlier.”

“Yes. I’m very sorry.”

“It was unavoidable. You’ve been a joy to work with, Challice—Helen—and I’m grateful. I look forward to watching your rise; I expect we’ll see you in Scotland Yard soon enough.”

She glowed at him. “That’s very kind. Do you want me to stay or send for anyone, in case he comes back?”

“No. No, I think I’ll just lock the door,” Aaron said, with a weak smile. “Thank you again.”

“I’ll just finish my tea,” Joel said. “See you, Helen.”

Aaron waited for her to leave with what felt like glaringly obvious awkwardness. He went to lock and bolt the door. Then he turned, found Joel right behind him with open arms, and walked into them.

“Jesus,” he said into the mop of copper hair. “Jesus Christ. Thank you, thank you.”

“I have never been more frightened in my fucking life,” Joel said into his shirt. “Your writing .”

“I didn’t know whether to write it and risk you coming here, or refuse and have him put a bullet in my head there and then. I thought you’d realise, but I was so afraid you wouldn’t.”

“Course I saw it. Not a sodding idiot,” Joel mumbled. “Did he hurt you?”

“He was waiting for you to arrive before he did that.”

“Shit. Shit. And what now?”

“He’s finished,” Aaron said. “He wouldn’t have come here like this otherwise. It’s only a question of how much damage he does on the way down, but that’s not my problem any more.”

“No. What happened?”

Aaron sighed. “A bloody awful couple of hours with a variety of increasingly senior people wanting to know why I hadn’t handled it all better and how I let you give the evidence to the press. Apparently I should have reported all my suspicions from the beginning. I asked, ‘Like Sergeant Josling did in Soho?’, which went down poorly.”

Joel cackled. “Nice.”

“Your pernicious influence. This whole thing is going to be a frantic flurry of finding someone to blame. The high-ups will say I should have spoken out earlier, while the rank and file will call me a snout even if Colthorne is found guilty in court. I didn’t feel inclined to stick around for punishment.”

“I don’t blame you.” Joel’s arms were warm and tight around Aaron’s waist. “But I’m sorry.”

“No, it was time. My work was feeling increasingly like an exercise in compromise and hypocrisy. Too many things I wasn’t letting myself see in order to keep the faith. I believe in what I was doing, trying to do, but that’s not enough.”

“No,” Joel said. “I wondered if you’d want to stay and change things.”

“I wish I could, but that ship has sailed. I’ve brought down a copper, and no matter how he deserved it, that won’t be forgotten by the men on the ground, still less the ones in charge. Six years of my life, my father—well. It’s over, and that’s all there is to it.”

“I’m sorry. Or, I’m not sorry you’ve left, but I wish it had been on your terms.”

Aaron held on for a moment longer, then loosened his grip and stepped back a little so he could see Joel’s face. “We got Colthorne, though, and, as a philosopher once told me, you should take your wins where you can. So here we are, and now I need to reconsider a lot of things about my life.”

“Such as what?”

“Such as how you can stay in it,” Aaron said. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, how you were tired of living with things. I’ve been doing that too, and only barely at that. I haven’t felt like a person for so long, and then you came along with your ridiculous talent and your appalling attitude and your hair. And—Christ, Joel. I spent three hours lying on the floor thinking I was going to die tonight, and I realised that you were what I’d miss. I was terrified at the evenings I wouldn’t have with you, the meals we wouldn’t eat together, the things we wouldn’t see. It was unbearable. I want those things. Can we have them?”

“Excuse me ,” Joel said. “I had to whistle up a lot of coppers and get from King’s Cross to Lisson Grove with your bloody letter screaming at me, not knowing if we’d be in time, and you think you were terrified? And I had a breakdown in Angelo’s while I waited, but he was very nice about it. So yes, let’s have meals and evenings, and also nights and breakfasts and everything else. Because I’m sodding sick of losing things, and I’m not losing you if I can help it.”

“No, you’re not,” Aaron said hoarsely, and kissed him.

A short but intense period later, they ended up on the sofa, Aaron finger-combing Joel’s hair, barely believing that they were together, touching. It felt like relief from a pain that had lasted so long, he didn’t know what it was like not to feel it.

“You did all this,” he said softly. “You changed everything. I’m so damned lucky I met you.”

“You should thank your cousin Paul,” Joel said. “Or maybe not. I don’t know if you saw the papers?”

“You throwing him to the wolves? I did. Good work.”

“I’d say it was an unfortunate necessity, but actually I enjoyed every minute of it.”

“God bless you. Will you stay tonight?”

Joel looked up, ochre eyes wide. “Can I?”

“Yes. Nobody could expect you to return home alone, and to hell with it anyway. Stay with me, Joel. I want to go to sleep with you next to me, and find out what it’s like to wake up with you. I’m quite sure you’re foul-tempered.”

“Find out,” Joel said and leaned into him.

They were still on the sofa some time later, although definitely planning to get up at any moment, when the telephone rang. Aaron shoved Joel off and hauled himself up. “Hello? ... Ah. Yes. Yes, I see. Well, that will cause comment. Thank you, Helen. Good night.”

Joel looked up. “News?”

“Colthorne just shot himself on the doorstep of Scotland Yard.”

“God, I can’t stand bad losers,” Joel said, which felt like all the epitaph Aaron cared to hear. “Shall we go to bed?”

It was such a simple sentence, with its domesticity, its casual plural, and it brought up every hair on Aaron’s neck with pleasure. “Yes,” he said. “Or, in a moment. I wanted to say, I have a proposal for you.”

“Aren’t we still reeling from the last one?” Joel remarked. “Go on.”

“I told you my grandmother left me a legacy. I bought this flat, and the rest has been sitting in the bank doing nothing because I’ve had nothing to do with it.” He took a breath. “How would you feel about a trip to Germany?”

Joel stilled. “Are you serious?”

“I need a break, time to think. You’re going to have a lot of people bothering you that you don’t want to be bothered by—”

“Happening already. You should see my postbag.”

“And we deserve some time. I speak adequate German. We could take a holiday, and see about that prosthetic you want. Visit the man so you can see for yourself what he can do.”

Joel’s mouth moved soundlessly. Aaron took a moment to appreciate that rare occurrence. “But— Really? But—”

“No?”

“No, yes, but— I mean, I’ve thought about it as a dream for a long time, but what if the real thing isn’t what I want? If we go all that way and it doesn’t seem worth it—”

“Then we’ll have learned something. We’ll have tried.”

“Right,” Joel said. “Taking me to Germany is quite a lot of trying.”

Aaron took his hand, curling their fingers together. “It’s not gratitude, in case you’re wondering. Still less obligation.”

“What is it, then?”

Aaron considered his answer. He’d have liked to come up with a witty remark, or a playful jab of the kind Joel was so good at, but the only thing coming to mind was the truth.

“That I love you,” he said. “I love you, I want us to live, and from now on, if you find yourself living with anything, I want it to be me.”

The smile that broke across Joel’s face was bright dawn. “That sounds pretty good,” he said. “Same. All right. Let’s.”