Chapter 19

Exits

Time dragged by slowly.

The cold had seeped into Harry's bones, the thin Cashmere sweater she wore being no guard against the freezing temperature of the room. She doubted very much Greg would notice the missing jug, he would, however, instantly notice if she had closed the window.

She tried to remain still, knowing that if she moved her legs, the loosely looped neckties would come away and highlight her deception.

As she lay listening to Dempsey's irregular breathing, she tried to channel her fears into anger but it was hard. Greg was slowly killing him and Toni because of some twisted notion of vengeance. He wasn't doing it for money or any other form of gain, he was doing it purely because in his sick mind he thought it was the right thing to do. And a person who saw himself as some kind of avenging angel was far more dangerous than any out and out criminal. Insanity was unpredictable and Harry wasn't convinced she was capable of fighting against it.

A thought occurred to her; what if because she was lying here doing nothing, they died?

Her stomach curdled.

Whilst she waited for help to come from outside, they could be slipping beyond reach of medical intervention.

Having just gathered up the courage to go back to the bedroom and check on the Richmonds and their policewoman friend, Greg was stopped by the sound of the doorbell.

The doctor.

Better to answer the door and tell him he'd got the wrong apartment number than have him hammering and hollering to be let in. And there was always the chance he'd call for the police to come break into the place.

Picking up the gun off the arm of the sofa where he had it beside him, he stood up and carefully tucked it into the waistband at the back of his jeans.

The doorbell sounded again.

They did it in the movies, didn't they – casually slid their gun into their waistband whilst they were occupied with other things. Cops and Robbers. But he wasn't either – he was a citizen seeking revenge.

Greg strode fearlessly to the door, feeling the gun pressing hard and comforting into his lower back.

Taking a few moments to centre himself, he stared straight ahead unflinching when the bell was rung for a third time.

As Greg made to open the door, he realised it had been left on the latch. So that clever little cop lady had known exactly where he was coming from. Not that it had done her any good.

"Hello Mister Roosa."

A sturdy, leather-gloved hand was thrust towards him.

"I'm Doctor Herman. I believe I'm here to see a Mister Dempsey and a Ms Lovász?"

Greg shook his head, displaying a puzzled expression. "I'm sorry?"

Doctor Herman hefted his bag in agitation. "I was given this address as being the residence of James Dempsey."

"Maybe you got the wrong floor," Greg suggested helpfully.

"Mm, well it's certainly looking that way," agreed the doctor. "I don't suppose I could trouble you to let me come in and use your telephone, could I? I really could do with locating these people."

The doctor rocked backwards and forwards on his heels expectantly.

Greg couldn't help but notice how ill-fitting his expensive looking camel coat appeared; the sleeves reaching to his knuckles and the shoulders hanging off him. Jeez, you'd have thought a guy like him would use a tailor! Didn't Londoners have that Savile Row place for their sharp suits?

Greg laughed. "Hey, you ain't gonna believe this Doc but my 'phone's dead right now. Fact is, I thought you were gonna be the repair guy."

"Don't move a muscle please Mister Levant because I would have no qualms whatsoever about shooting you in the spine."

It had been one swift movement; the removal of the gun from his waistband and the quick stabbing of the blunt muzzle into his back.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant Makepeace," said the doctor, smoothly.

"Very nice to see you, Sir," she replied tightly.

Chief Superintendent Spikings tipped his hat in acknowledgement.

Spikings beckoned forth Jarvis and Fry and the real Malcolm Herman with a tilt of his head, stepping forward and grabbing the stunned Andrew Levant by the shawl collar of his sweater.

"Now then, son. Supposing you tell me what you've been up to."

Harry now had her hand fastened to his shoulder, the gun pressed painfully hard into his spinal column.

"Doctor Herman, they're in the bedroom."

Greg grinned. "You're too late, Doc," he trilled. "They're dead."

Herman disappeared into the bedroom after taking his doctor's bag from Spikings in exchange for the chief's coat he had been holding onto. Spiking motioned for Fry to follow.

"May I borrow your handcuffs, Chas," Makepeace asked calmly.

They weren't dead. Of course they weren't dead.

He produced his set from his trouser pocket, holding them out just as she wrenched Greg's arm up his back and twisted viciously.

He cried out in pain and Harry used the momentum of her body weight to knock him to the floor.

"Thank you," she clipped, taking the cuffs and snapping them on Greg's wrists.

"They destroyed my family," Greg screamed, his voice pitched high with rage.

"Oh yeah?" she asked and dropped all here weight down into her left knee which she had pressed into his lower back. "And how many families did dear Uncle Leo destroy with drugs?"

He screamed again, this time with pain.

"Makepeace…" warned Spikings.

"You thought killing two police officers would even everything up did you?"

"They deserved to die!" he cried manically. "I'm glad they're dead."

Harry lost her cool at that point, smashing the gun against his skull.

"They're not dead, you stupid little prick…"

Spikings wrenched the gun from her hand as Jarvis pulled her off Greg, leaving him sobbing and laughing on the ground.

"Get a bloody grip, girl!" yelled Spikings.

Makepeace was breathless, her chest heaving as she faced him, Jarvis restraining her from behind with his right hand on her upper arm and his left arm fastened around her waist.

Fry suddenly reappeared in the little hallway. His face was ashen, like he'd seen a ghost and he was clearly only taking in part of the scene before him.

"Where's the 'phone?" he asked stiltedly. "The one in the bedroom is de… Need to call an ambulance."

Harry sagged forward with relief and Chas' constraining arms became her support.

"In the lounge – the little occasional table…"

Her words brought light relief to Spikings although he said nothing. Only Sergeant Makepeace, in the thick of a dire situation such as this would feel the need to refer to a piece of bloody furniture by its correct name.

Fry hesitated. "The doc says the hospital could do with knowing that it is they've been poisoned with – so they can be prepared when they arrive."

"Mister Levant?" Spikings asked. "Care to enlighten us?"

Greg turned his head to look up at Spikings, grinning from ear to ear. "Pure venom, sweetcakes, and that's all you're gettin' from me." He sniggered.

"That'll be a no then," said Spikings, unsurprised. "Fry, tell them we're working on it."

The young officer dashed off, still looking rather shaken.

Tensions were running high during the interminably long wait for the ambulance.

Whilst Fry stood guard over Levant, the others spent their time searching the flat for whatever it was he had been using to poison Dempsey and Toni.

It was Spikings who found the glass bottle of colourless liquid tucked away inside what was presumed to be Levant's wash bag. The cold, calculating little smile on his face when shown the evidence served to confirm their suspicions.

Just before Levant was frogmarched to the lift by Spiking and Fry to be taken away to the SI-10 cells, Makepeace moved up close to him and whispered into his ear, "You'd better pray they don't leave me alone with you Levant because I swear to God, if I get the chance, I'll pour the entire contents of that bottle down your throat."

It was apparent the ambulance was taking longer than it should to arrive because of the weather conditions and Harry crept back into the bedroom, feeling sick at the prospect of seeing them again yet needing to all the same.

She imagined them lying there slipping away and nobody being able to do a thing to save them.

The doctor looked up as she entered but didn't speak. He was listening to Toni's heart with a stethoscope.

With her own heart racing, Harry went and sat on the edge of the bed beside Dempsey. Automatically, she took his hand in both of hers.

"Hello, you." She spoke quietly, smiling so that he would hear it in her voice. "Still waiting for the ambulance I'm afraid."

Her palm cupped the side of his face, rubbing gently along the heavy stubble.

"Of course if this was New York, it would've arrived a quarter of an hour ago with a bloody police-plough escort, I daresay!"

If he died….

"Can he hear me?" she asked Herman.

The doctor shook his head. "Impossible to say but keep talking to him – it certainly won't do any harm."

She felt tongue-tied then, unsure about saying anything at all because whatever came out of her mouth would no doubt finish up sounding like some awful cliché.

"He'll be aware that you're with him," the doctor said kindly, fully aware of how awkward people could feel at these moments. "Contact is important. Physical contact will make him feel safe – more secure."

Makepeace nodded rapidly, accepting what he was telling her as instruction and moving in closer she slid her arms around his shoulder. He was propped up on pillows and so by pressing herself backwards she was able to manoeuvre her upper body in between them and Dempsey so that he was resting back on her.

The bloodied T-shirt had been scissored open. Doctor Herman had bathed and dressed the wound and she had to be careful to avoid the area.

"How bad is his shoulder?" she asked.

"Not as bad as it looks," he answered and she saw him glance at his watch. "Quite deep but not much damage."

"A knife wound?"

"Four small holes – I'd guess at a kitchen fork."

Makepeace didn't comment. There was no point. Instead she bowed her head to rest her chin on the top of Dempsey's head and cradled him to her.

It was a nightmare.

Up until this moment, she hadn't realised how much he meant to her. People always said, didn't they, that it took something like this, a life or death situation to make them see the bigger picture.

She was seeing it now.

She wasn't even aware of the fact that she was gently rocking him in her arms, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards as though comforting a child.

Last year, during a shoot-out, her mind had played tricks on her and upon hearing gunfire, she had envisaged Dempsey's bullet-riddled body lying dead before her. That work-related incident had been enough to cause her to resign because she couldn't stand the thought of losing her partner.

But this - this was on a personal level and she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so emotionally overwhelmed by anything.

She needed him. If she lost him, she knew a part of her would be lost too.

"Not long now, James," she crooned softly. "Just a few more minutes."

When Chas stuck his head around the door, she looked up expectantly.

"How are they doing, Doc?" he asked, his gaze then drawn to the victims with horrible fascination.

"They're alive," said Herman with optimism, "which is a darn sight better than the alternative."

"Is that…" Harry began, hearing what she hoped was the sound of an ambulance siren in the distance.

"I'll go down and meet them," said Chas, glad of the opportunity to make himself useful.

"If you would, please."

The brisk, anxious tone in the doctor's voice didn't go unnoticed and Chas raced off to give the ambulance men some guidance.

It seemed that within seconds the flat was teeming with medics. Two ambulances had been despatched to get the patients to hospital and they were stretchered out quickly and efficiently.

Less efficient was their route back down to the street – the lift was far too small to accommodate horizontal bodies which left the staircase as the only option. Makepeace lead the way, leaving Chas to lock up Dempsey's flat before following behind.

"You've had a knock on the head have you, Miss?" asked the ambulance man riding in the back with Harry and Dempsey.

"Sorry?" She looked up from Dempsey, dragged from her agonised musings.

He tapped the back of his own head. "Looks like you've had a bang on the head. Quite a bit of blood. Noticed it coming down the stairs."

Harry tentatively put her fingers to the wound, the blood still tacky at the scalp but dried rigid through the lengths of hair.

"I was hit from behind. It's fine."

"Did you lose consciousness at any point?"

She considered lying but then reasoned that she'd be at the hospital for some time anyway so if they insisted on looking her over, she would cope with it.

"Just for a few minutes."

The medic took the penlight he'd been using on Dempsey a moment before and moved across to Harry's side, leaning into the sway of the ambulance as it took a bend in the road.

"Any nausea or vomiting?" he asked, shining the light into her left eye. "Fainting or giddiness?"

"I felt a bit sick when I came to but that's all."

She kept her eyes on Dempsey as she spoke.

The medic lifted the lid of her right eye.

"Bet you've got a cracking headache though, aye? No pun intended," he smiled.

It really hadn't occurred to her before but yes, she had got a belter of a headache.

"Nothing that a couple of Aspirin wouldn't get rid of, I'm sure."

He nodded. "You're probably right but we may as well get you checked out too."

Harry was leaning slightly to her right, trying to see past him to keep Dempsey in view.

"He will be alright, won't he?" she asked thickly.

"Wish I could tell you, I really do but they'll give you a better idea of how he's doing once we get him to hospital. He looks like a strapping fella though," said the ambulance man encouragingly. "I'm sure he'll pull through."

Harry smiled vainly. "Oh yes, he's a real tough-guy."