We Are the Hanged Man (50 page)

He fell back, crashing into the hanged bodies behind him, and then through them, so that he was engulfed by thirty-year-old dead flesh and rotten clothes.

Light followed him, but also became entangled in the mass of bodies as she tried to swing the knife again. Her next thrust was caught up in the tangle of hanging bones, and then as she drew the knife back ready to plunge it down once more towards Jericho, he grabbed her wrist and swung it back towards her face, catching her on the side of the chin.

With the movement the pain in his shoulder was unbearable, and he quickly released her arm, but for the briefest moment he had her on the defensive and, leveraging himself off the back wall, he propelled his head forward, butting her in the middle of the face, so that they crashed back, Jericho on top of Light, back through the swinging haunted bodies.

As he fell on top of her, a tangle of limbs, completely out of control, he felt the knife stab into his back, although she hadn't been able to get enough purchase to penetrate too far. Yet the pain was still excruciating and he cried out and once more lashed out at her.

As she fell back, her head and back arching away from him, her neck was exposed, and he caught her flush in the windpipe just at the point when her head banged into the table. Her body crashed clumsily onto the floor, Jericho landing heavily on top of her.

He was pressed against her naked body, stabbing pains in his back and shoulder and in his jaw. Immediately he was aware of the looming threat of Durrant, and how vulnerable he was to an attack.

Putting one hand on her right wrist to prevent any further swing of the knife, he then put all his weight on his other hand as he leaned on her throat to push himself up.

He looked around the room, expecting Durrant to be on top of him.

Durrant was standing at the door. A last look. Jericho might have thought that Durrant would not run, and previously Durrant might have thought the same thing. But he knew there would be another time, and the next time Jericho would not have had the opportunity to call for backup beforehand.

Durrant turned away. Jericho tried to struggle to his feet, but the pain scythed through his torso with the movement. He stayed on his knees, gasping for breath, watching him go.

Something touched his back and he swung round, falling over Light's prone body as he did so, banging into the edge of the table. It had just been a movement from one of the hanging corpses, the four of them still disturbed and swinging. He regained his balance, heart still banging, but now he was on all fours, pain jagging through him.

He looked up at Durrant, who had suddenly stopped, halfway to the front room, in amongst the detritus of his earlier killing spree.

Over Durrant's shoulder, Jericho could see Haynes standing in the doorway. His hardened heart dropped into his stomach; for a moment he realised that perhaps he did care about someone more than he'd thought. Haynes was no match for Durrant.

*

Durrant had never been a man to hesitate for long. Haynes was still taking in the carnage that lay dead and bloody before him, still taking in the absurdity of the Hanged Men, the outrageousness of the scene, when Durrant approached, two steps through blood, arm drawn back and then his fist pummelled towards Haynes. Haynes dived low to avoid the blow, drove himself forward into Durrant's pelvis pushing him back. Hadn't played rugby for nearly ten years, but the move was still there.

Durrant struggled for grip, bare feet on a damp, red floor. He fell back under the weight of Haynes' push, and the two men tumbled together on top of three dead bodies. Crowthorne, Webb and Ando.

Haynes almost found himself breathing dead air from Ando's gaping mouth, as blood covered his cheek, and everywhere that his hands touched oozed with the cooling red slime of death.

Durrant had not a moment of hesitation, falling in amongst the butchered bodies of his victims. He quickly pushed himself up, his hand squeezing air from Crowthorne's chest, and in the same movement swung his fist at Haynes, sending him reeling backwards, falling in amongst more of the dead.

Durrant was up and propelling himself forwards and this time Haynes managed to react as quickly, jumping up and scrambling away over dead flesh into the corner.

Durrant stood in front of him, and for a moment they both paused. Haynes was trapped in the corner, backed up, nowhere to go. His eyes dropped and he looked at the gun on the floor. Two feet away. Durrant did not allow his gaze to be distracted, but knew what Haynes was looking at. Now both men realised that the gun meant Durrant had to deal with Haynes before he left. Couldn't turn his back on him.

Durrant gave Haynes a second to see if he was going to go for the gun, then made his move when Haynes stood still. One step, fist drawn back again, this time aiming for a low blow and no mistake.

Suddenly Durrant's face twisted, his back arched and a peculiar gasp stuttered from his throat. He fell forwards, trapping Haynes against the wall. But there was no fight in him.

Jericho, himself straining and grimacing and panting with the effort, withdrew the knife and once more jabbed it down into Durrant's back. Once more, knife up and back in, as the body juddered for one last time.

Then Haynes pushed Durrant off him, and the backwards movement of the dead killer's body knocked Jericho off his feet and he also fell, in amongst the heaps of the dead.

Haynes leaned back against the wall, blood on his suit and on his face, staining his white shirt. He was short of breath, his heart still thumping in frantic panic. Jericho lay back, engulfed by pain and the effort of finishing off Durrant, his head resting next to that of Cherie Mansfield, the would-be winner of
Britain's Got Justice
.

He did not care; he could not move. The pain of his knife wounds and in his jaw enveloped him. He felt the room swirling.

Beyond the front door, sea stretched into the distance, irritable and grey and sullen. In the back room the four bodies, disturbed after thirty years of lifeless slumber, continued to swing silently in the cold, pungent air.

Hoagy Carmichael was singing
Lazy Bones
.

When Jericho woke up Hoagy Carmichael still seemed to be playing, although he couldn't make out the tune. Maybe it was
Baltimore Oriole
. He could hear that absurd phrase
it's a woman like, now and then, could happen to thing…
but when he started to be aware of his surroundings he realised that the music was only playing in his head, that the room he was in was quiet. He remembered another sound, a rough, harsh snort, then realised that he'd woken himself up with a loud snore.

He wondered who'd be lying next to him. The moment he turned his head the pain shot through his jaw, and then his shoulder. He lay back, his breath suddenly a little louder and more uneasy.

He was aware of a face over him, but he couldn't make it out properly, and then he closed his eyes, and by the time there was someone else leaning over him again he was asleep.

*

The next time he woke up, Amanda was in the room sitting beside the bed.

He tried to smile, but for some reason he couldn't. He didn't understand why. The pain in his shoulder didn't seem so bad.

'Someone tried to kill me,' he said.

'I know,' she replied.

She was holding his hand.

'Have you been here a while?' he asked.

'Four days now,' she said. 'Haven't moved a muscle.'

She smiled at him. He wished he could smile back.

'Someone tried to kill me,' he said, seemingly unaware that he'd already said the same words.

'She was in love with the man you were trying to arrest,' said Amanda. 'Women do all sorts of things when the men they love are threatened.'

Beneath the bandages his features contracted in curiosity. He didn't understand.

'Why did she love him? How did she love him?'

'Women do all sorts of things,' she said.

'No,' said Jericho. 'He kidnapped her, yet she still loved him. She still wanted to protect him. She must have seen what he did.'

'Women do all sorts of things,' said Amanda.

He looked at her, a curious smile on his face.

'You keep saying the same thing,' he said.

'No,' she replied, shaking her head. 'That's you. It's you who keeps saying the same thing. You're trying to understand her.'

'You're not helping me?' he asked.

'I can't.'

He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the pillow. He wasn't sure when he opened them again, but when he did she wasn't there, and he didn't even remember that she had been.

*

Jericho had a cup of tea. He hadn't eaten anything yet, and was having to drink lukewarm tea through a straw. His head was bandaged, keeping the lower jaw in place. He was expecting Haynes, and was trying to put himself in some sort of position to conduct a conversation. However, since Durrant had fractured his jaw with one punch, and Sergeant Light had stabbed him in the shoulder and in the left kidney, he was not going to be comfortable sitting anywhere for several weeks.

There was a police constable he didn't recognise sitting in his room, but he had not been told why. He had not been told anything.

The room was bright, but from where he sat in bed all he could see were the roofs of buildings, and had no idea where he was. He didn't want to think about where he had been or what had happened. There was no point, until he had more information. At the moment it was a brutal collection of images, a series of horrendous and bloody events. He didn't understand much of it, and he knew he wouldn't until he'd been given more of the facts. If there were more facts to give.

The door opened and Haynes entered, followed by Superintendent Dylan. Haynes looked at the constable and ushered her out with a nod.

The constable returned the nod and went outside. She closed the door behind her and then stood outside, waiting to put off anyone else who might try to enter.

At the sight of Dylan, Jericho automatically put the straw in his mouth. He didn't need to hide his face, however. It was bandaged enough that there was not a lot else showing.

'Fuck,' said Dylan, as an opening gambit.

Haynes had been in a couple of times previously, although had not managed to have a conversation. This was the first time Dylan had seen him.

'How do you feel?' she asked, words which sounded stupid even to her, but which required asking all the same.

Jericho winced as he moved in the bed, the pain jabbing once more in his shoulder and in his lower back. He raised the cup a little higher.

'What day is it?' he said.

His voice sounded strange.

'You've been here less than twenty-four hours,' said Dylan, unable to keep the slightly mocking tone from her voice, assuming there was some quality in the question to imply that he'd been here for a week.

Haynes, standing behind her, glanced at Jericho and then lowered his eyes.

'Sergeant Light is dead,' said Dylan. 'Was it Durrant or you who killed her?'

Jericho didn't speak. Haynes had a moment of wanting to grab Dylan by the lapel of her expensive Versace jacket and stick her head in a bowl of cold water.

'Durrant's dead. We've got camera footage of him killing the people in that room. Not all of them, but it's pretty clear what went on. You're off the hook for that, but we're going to need to talk about all the others. How you come to mysteriously be heir to a wine empire worth over twenty million euro.'