Jokerman (John Purkiss 3) by Stevens Tim

Author:Stevens, Tim [Stevens, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2013-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

Twenty-nine

The teargas had largely dissipated, but a lightly stinging haze remained, like a lingering, spiteful spirit. Purkiss picked his way across the yard between the bodies. He identified the three sons, all unstirring in death.

Near the door of the cottage, Dennis Arkwright lay on his back, Hannah crouched beside him, something in her hand. Arkwright’s chest was black with gore, and cavernous. His face was still, not twisted in agony.

Hannah glanced up, surveyed Purkiss, studying his head. Her eyes remained inflamed. ‘What happened?’

Purkiss touched the side of his head and face, felt stickiness. ‘He got away. I’m okay.’ He tipped his head at Arkwright. Hannah shook hers.

‘Died a few minutes ago.’

Purkiss squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

‘There might be something, though.’ Hannah held up the object in her hand. It was her mobile phone. ‘Listen.’

She touched a key and a rough, ragged recording began to play. At first Purkiss thought it was obscured by static, until he realised he was listening to a dying man’s laboured breathing.

‘Shot… me…’

Hannah’s voice, low and urgent. ‘Tell me again. What you said in there. Who did you see when you were interrogating – torturing – those prisoners? Who was there?’

More rasping, then an explosion of a cough that seemed to go on for an entire minute.

‘Ah, God, that hurts.’

‘Talk to me, Arkwright.’ Hannah. ‘That name.’

‘Something…’

‘Yes?’

‘Tell you… something else.’

A wheeze, then his voice came back, a whisper now: ‘Hospital.’

‘I’ll get you to hospital. Just –’

‘Hospital.’

A melange of scratchy, unidentifiable noises took over then. Hannah put the phone away.

‘That was all.’

‘Okay. Good thinking.’ Purkiss took out his own phone. He couldn’t hear sirens. ‘A place like this won’t have its own police station, but someone’s bound to have heard the shooting and phoned it in. They’ll be coming from Cambridge or somewhere.’

Vale answered. Purkiss said: ‘I’m at Arkwright’s address. He’s dead, and so are his three sons. I need you, Kasabian or whoever, to pull strings immediately and lock this place down. Keep the local police out, and send in only people Kasabian knows well and can trust.’

‘Understood.’

‘Also, I need a face to face debrief with you and Kasabian at the earliest opportunity.’

‘Done,’ said Vale. ‘Are you intact, John?’

‘Bit jittery, but otherwise fine,’ said Purkiss. ‘One gunman. He killed Arkwright and his sons, and got away. He was the one who attacked me at my house. Who shot Kendrick.’

‘Interesting,’ said Vale.

‘Get a move on, if you could,’ said Purkiss. ‘I can hear sirens.’

He rang off. Hannah, who had risen from Arkwright’s side, said, ‘How do you know it was the same man as the one at your house? You said he was wearing a balaclava.’

‘And this one had a gas mask on,’ Purkiss said. ‘But it was his build, and the way he moved. The same man. I’m almost certain of it.’

Hannah looked around, blinking, rubbing at her eyes. ‘Water helps,’ she said.

They found a tap near the barn and used it to sluice their eyes. As the irritation eased, Purkiss became more aware of his other discomforts: the bite in his upper arm, the head wounds.

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