Relentless (29 page)

hands pointing skyward and their guns nowhere to be seen, he
could probably handle them until the cavalry got here.
He moved away from the door, ready to give the first man out
a helpful slap if he saw the extent of Bolt's lack of resources and
proved troublesome, but a second later he heard the sound of a
window being smashed. After a further, longer pause, a male
voice called out to say that he was unarmed and that the man
they wanted was getting away. It might have been a trick, but the
voice sounded genuine, so Bolt opened the door and ran inside,
turning in the direction from where the shots had been coming.
There were two bodies lying on the kitchen floor, partly
obscured by the kitchen table, arms entwined in a position that
looked both unnatural and uncomfortable. They were staring up
at him, and though their faces were grimy and drawn, like
startled scarecrows, he recognized them immediately as Tom
and Kathy Meron. They appeared unhurt, and there was a pistol
- a Browning or similar - with a four-inch silencer attached,
lying a few feet from Tom Meron's hand. On the floor in front of
Bolt was a silver Walther PPK that was still producing a thin line
of smoke, and next to it a pair of discarded gloves and a knife.
'He's getting away,' yelled Meron, extricating himself from his
wife's embrace, his eyes wide and desperate. 'He's got our kids.
You've got to do something.'
Bolt looked at the window from where the man in the balaclava
had fired at him only a minute or two earlier. There was a huge
hole in it, easily enough for a man to get through. He ran over and
saw his attacker limping towards the end of the garden where a
waist-high fence led to a fallow field and woodland beyond. He
was obviously hurt but moving fast, and with reinforcements
still realistically at least five, more likely ten, minutes away, there
was every chance that he would indeed get away.

'Where are the rest of you?' demanded Tom Meron, coming
up beside Bolt and following his gaze out of the window.
'It was a bluff,' Bolt told him. 'I'm on my own.'
'You've got to stop him!' shouted Kathy Meron, getting to
her feet. 'If he escapes, our children die. That's how he got us
here.'
'I'm going after the bastard,' said Meron, and he turned away.
Bolt pulled him back. 'Stay here, I'll go,' he said. 'I'll be able
to stop him.'
He hurriedly pulled on a pair of scene-of-crime gloves and
grabbed hold of the Walther and the Browning, pushing them
both into the pockets of his suede jacket, not wanting them to
stay in the hands of the Merons in case they did something
stupid. Then he ran out of the front door, round the back of the
house, and started after the man in black.
By now, Bolt's target was negotiating the fence and was trying
to drag his bad leg over it. He was having some difficulty.
Twenty-five yards separated them. Bolt had given up smoking
five years earlier, visited the gym two, sometimes three, times a
week, and at school had been a champion sprinter. He knew he
was going to catch his quarry, but behind him he could hear the
sound of footfalls and heavy breathing. Tom Meron was coming.
Maybe Kathy too. If he wasn't careful, they could fuck this
arrest up royally.
The man in black got his leg up and eased himself down the
other side of the fence before stumbling away. He had seen his
pursuer but was still trying to get away, even though he must
have known he didn't have a chance.
Bolt accelerated, reached the fence, took it in an athletic
one-handed bound that impressed even him, and charged down
his target, now only feet away. The target was a big man. So was

Bolt, but this guy had a couple of stone on him, and most of it
looked to be muscle. The man in black started to turn, but his
bad leg went from under him and he fell onto his good knee.
Bolt had spent more than ten years in the Flying Squad chasing
down armed robbers and was well used to dramatic and violent
arrests, so he kept coming, jumping up and using his momentum
to kick the man full in his balaclava-clad face. He shot over
backwards and Bolt rolled him over, drove a knee into his
kidneys and twisted a muscular arm up behind his back, encountering
little resistance.
He leaned forward so his mouth was next to the target's ear.
'You're nicked, son,' he hissed.
'Sure,' came the reply. The word was delivered with deliberate
casualness, even though it was obvious the man was in pain. 'No
problem.'
'I'm arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder and
kidnap,' he continued, reeling out the standard police caution.
Bolt then heard Tom Meron coming over the fence and
running up to them. 'Keep back!' he shouted at him. A few yards
further on he could see Kathy approaching too, her progress
slower. She looked like she might collapse with exhaustion at
any minute.
Meron ignored him. 'Where are my kids?' he screamed,
kneeling down beside the man in black's head and trying to
wrestle off his balaclava. 'Where are my fucking kids? Tell me or
I'll kill you!'
'Please get him off me,' said the other man calmly.
'Leave him, Mr Meron. Let me handle this.'
Their faces were only inches apart and Bolt could see the
anguish carved deep into Meron's every pore. He seemed to
radiate pure animal fear, like electricity. Even his hair was

standing upright. Bolt knew that he was beyond reasoning, and
who could blame him?
'His name's Lench and he's got my kids. We've got to find
them. Please!' As he spoke, Meron finally tore free the balaclava
and scratched ferociously at the other man's face. 'Tell me
where my fucking kids are! Tell me!'
Lench tried to pull free but was unable to. For a moment, Bolt
made no effort to stop Meron as he gouged chunks out of the
pale, pockmarked face beneath him.
'I don't know what the hell he's talking about,' said Lench,
trying to look at Bolt.
His eyes were dead onyx, utterly emotionless. Bolt had seen
similar before, in various cells and interview rooms. Killer's
eyes.
'He's assaulting me while I'm in your custody. Stop him or I'll
be on to the IPCC
Bolt was in no mood to help this arrogant bastard, who clearly
knew the law and its limitations inside out, but as Kathy Meron
arrived and aimed a kick into Lench's ribs, shrieking that she'd
kill him unless he talked, he knew things were getting out of
hand.
He made a decision.
'Tom, get Kathy away now,' he ordered. Their eyes met and a
message passed between them. The message said that, one way
or another, Bolt would get them the information they needed so
badly. 'Back to the house. Right away.'
'I don't know anything about their kids,' said Lench.
'Help me, please,' pleaded Tom Meron.
Bolt nodded, and watched as Meron got to his feet and threw
his arms around Kathy before she could land another kick.
'What the hell are you doing?' she called out as he dragged

her away. 'He's the only one who knows! We can't let him
go!' Meron whispered something in her ear, and her resistance
seemed to disappear. Bolt watched as they climbed over the
fence together.
Bolt's mobile rang. He let it go to message. He couldn't hear
any sirens yet. Only three or so minutes had passed since
he'd made that initial call but the cavalry would be here soon.
Especially as he was no longer answering his mobile phone.
'Tell me where the kids are, Lench,' he said evenly, using both
hands to push the other man's arm high up his back.
Lench grunted in pain, and tried without success to resist.
'This is a case of mistaken identity,' he repeated. 'I don't know
what they're talking about. Now, let me go. You're assaulting a
prisoner.'
'If anything happens to them, you'll never see the outside of a
prison again. Do you understand that? Every day for the rest of
your life you'll be looking at the world through a set of bars,
knowing that the view is never going to change.' Bolt continued
to apply the pressure on the arm, positioning it at an ever more
precarious angle. Much more force and it would break.
'I'm definitely going to have you for assault now,' hissed
Lench, through gritted teeth. 'My lawyers are fucking Rottweilers.
They'll have your arse in a sling for this. You know
you've got nothing on me.'
In the distance, Bolt heard the first sounds of sirens across the
valley. They'd be here soon. Two or three minutes at most.
'Where are the kids?' he asked once again. 'Tell me or I'll bust
it.'
'Bust it and you can kiss goodbye to your pension. You'll
never be able to explain away a broken arm.' Even though he
was in obvious pain, Lench somehow managed a small laugh. He

knew damn well that Bolt's threat was impotent, and that every
second he didn't talk brought him closer to his lawyers.
The DI had met plenty of men like him before. Hardened
career criminals. Men with a degree of intelligence and street
cunning who knew the weaknesses of the system back to
front. Who knew that the greatest mistake they could make was
to admit to anything. Who knew that even the best evidence
could be torn apart in court by clever, well-educated defence
barristers. Who knew that plenty of trials collapsed on legal
technicalities because judges, in their wigs and gowns, followed
the law to the letter, even if it clashed with common sense. Who
knew that juries could be bribed and intimidated if the person
doing the bribing and intimidating was determined enough. Who
knew, ultimately, that the law was weighted in their favour.
What, then, was the point in admitting to anything?
Bolt released the pressure and stood up. Lench rolled over so
that he was facing the man arresting him. His face was small and
round, the features cruel and unhealthy. His pale, dead-looking
skin was lined and cratered with acne scars and stretched tight
over uneven and prominent cheekbones that served to obscure
the cold, slit-thin eyes. As they faced each other, and Lench
rubbed his arm, his bloodless lips spread in a knowing sneer.
'You'll pay for doing that,' he said, more confident now.
'Maybe when all this is over, I'll come and do something to your
kids.'
'I haven't got any.'
'Pity. One day, eh?' Lench sat up, still rubbing his arm, and
looked down at his injured foot. 'Get me an ambulance. I need
this foot looked at.'
Bolt had learned to be patient in the face of the abuse of
those he'd nicked. Every copper had to be. To react, especially

in an age when there were cameras everywhere, was potentially
disastrous. Most of the time the abuse was just bluster, and he
was able to brush it off, knowing that the guy was likely to be
going down; but with this man, Lench, it was different. The
bastard knew the odds were stacked in his favour. He also knew
that any mention of the kids and their whereabouts would
incriminate him hugely. Bolt thought about what might happen
to the Meron children. The people who held them were ruthless.
It would probably be easier to get rid of the children rather than
let them go. Murder them and make their bodies disappear.
Bolt thought of Mikaela, pictured her as she was. Wondered
what she'd advise him to do.
'One of these sirens better be an ambulance. This foot needs
looking at.'
Bolt turned around. He could no longer see Kathy and Tom
Meron. He guessed that they were back at the house, waiting for
him to get the information out of Lench, trusting that he could
deliver. The emergency services sounded like they were coming
into the village now. Time was running out.
His mobile started ringing again.
The kids could die. They might already be dead. Or they
might already have been released. He just didn't know, and the
man in front of him, sitting there with the cocky look on his face,
was the only one with the information.
Bolt pulled the pistol with the silencer out of his pocket, and
released the safety. He pointed it at Lench's lower abdomen.
A flicker of doubt crossed Lench's face but disappeared so
fast it could almost have been something Bolt imagined.
'Tell me the location of the kids now or I put a bullet in you.'
Bolt's arm was steady and his face impassive, but inside he
was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions and desires, knowing

that what he was about to do would put his whole career and
even his freedom at risk. He was threatening to shoot a prisoner.
He'd never done anything remotely like this before. He'd killed
a man once during his Flying Squad days, but that had been an
ambush and his victim had been armed, resisting arrest, and
pointing a sawn-off Remington automatic at Bolt's head. In
other words, what he'd done was justified. But this .. . this was
different. But still he kept his arm steady.
Lench sighed in the manner of a primary school teacher
showing exasperation at a particularly irritating pupil. 'So now
I've got you on threats to kill as well as assault. You're in a lot of
trouble.'
Bolt pulled the trigger and shot him in the gut. Lench's upper
body was knocked backwards by the momentum of the bullet
but he remained upright. He gasped frantically and his eyes flew
wide open, then he clutched at the wound, trying to do something
to ease the pain. Finally, he rolled over onto his side,
moaning loudly.
Bolt leaned down and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck,
pulling him round so they were facing each other. 'Tell me
where they are or the next shot's into your bollocks.'
'Fuck you,' Lench spat, blood dribbling out of the corner of
his mouth.
Bolt shoved the silencer against his crotch. 'Last chance not to
talk like a two-year-old girl for the rest of your life.' He pushed
down on the gun. 'I'm already flicked. Nothing's going to stop
me fucking you too.'
Their eyes met. It was easy to tell that Bolt wasn't lying.
'Twenty-four Limestone Street in Hendon. The ground-floor
flat. That's where they are.' More blood leaked out of Lench's
mouth, running down his chin. He started coughing, and said

something about an ambulance, but Bolt couldn't make it out
amid the choking sounds.
Bolt stood back up. The emergency services were coming
up the hill now, only a matter of yards away. As many as
four different sirens shrieking. Enough to have the ramblers
dispersing for miles.
'Armed police!' he shouted without warning. 'Drop your
weapon, now! Now!'
Lench rolled over so he was lying on his back, staring up at
Bolt, his expression suddenly calm. He knew what was happening.
That this was the end of the road. If anything, it was a relief.