He sat in the dark blue BMW with the engine on tick over and watched Mitael Khorta emerge from the front door of his house and stare all around. He never flashed his lights to let him know where he was, but just sat there and waited for the man to recognise his own car. On the phone earlier, he had heard the contempt that came into the Khorta's voice when he had given him his name; turn to anger and apprehension as the gist of what he was saying went home. He had repeated his message and then put the phone back down, sure that the other would have to show. Now the time was here. Khorta stood on top of the front steps to his building and looked all around as casually as he dared and then, having spotted his car, began to walk towards it. The Somalian slowed down as he approached the car and again looked all around. Then, apparently satisfied MacAllister was alone; he opened the near side door and slid into the passenger seat. His door was still closing when he started talking.
“What the fuck is this, MacAllister, another one of your fit ups? If you are trying to pin something else on me I shall have your job this time, copper.”
He made the last word sound like an oath and to some one of his calling MacAllister supposed it was. He turned his head to face the other and in the light subdued light from the instrument panel Khorta could see his teeth as he smiled.
“You are too late for that, Mitael, some one else beat you to it. That's one of the reasons we are having this little talk right now. Besides, I don't think you are in any position to threaten anyone at this moment. Do you?”
Khorta wasn't listening.
“Never mind the bullshit, MacAllister. What are you doing with my fucking car, or is this the way the police return stolen property these days?”
MacAllister pressed a button and the window hummed down. He flipped his cigarette out into the street and then raised the window again, enjoying the luxury of not having to use a winder. In the confines of the big leather seats he turned towards the other as far as the upholstery would allow while the air conditioning sucked the remnants of the smoke away and cleared the air. The engine continued to tick over in silence while he explained it all gently, enjoying the moment.
“The car was never really lost, Mitael, only left where you couldn't find it. It was my fault really for taking that tape out of your answering machine. It was the only way you could have ever found out where it was. Just bad luck for you, really.”
If he had hoped for a reaction to this he was disappointed. The other man's face was expressionless as he stared out through the windscreen, the hard lines and planes making it look for the entire world as if it had been carved from ebony. MacAllister remembered the dead policeman outside of the bank Khorta had shot down without mercy and he felt his anger rise. Time to show this callous bastard exactly where he stood and who was in charge. He turned off the cool man image and let his feelings show.
“I found your hand gun and the money you took from the bank in Swindon in the boot of this car. I also have your girlfriend on tape explaining exactly where she left this car and telling you that she had to leave without seeing you in order to make the morning plane to Addis Ababa. As we know she actually caught the Addis plane on the morning after the Swindon bank raid we now have that conversation dated exactly and the gun will prove conclusively that you shot dead in cold blood a police man outside the bank and left a fellow criminal dead inside the bank with a bullet through his head. Once you are tied to the bank raid that will then make you an accessory to the murder of Mrs Goldstein and you will also be tied securely to the deaths of two other men who's car was blown to pieces on the M5 by a couple of pounds of Semtex. Because in the remains of that wrecked vehicle, money taken from the Swindon bank was found and identified. Five deaths in all and I should think they will throw away the key after they send you to Parkhurst. You will never see the outside world again, you evil bastard.”
He sat and let the silence build, watching the muscle in Khorta's jaw tensing and relaxing while he stared out through the window. Half a minute went by before the black man answered him.
“What do you want, MacAllister. If you have all that neatly wrapped up, how come you come here on your own and in a car that should be down at Forensic? If you are looking for blackmail you are unlucky, Inspector. At this point in time I have nothing to give you except what you already took from the car.”
He finally looked around at MacAllister who gave him another crooked grin that was devoid of all humour and took out his cigarette packet. He pushed in the dashboard cigar lighter.
“You were not listening to me, Mitael. I am not a copper any more. Some one objected to my methods of policing and they gave me the bum's rush. I am in the same boat as you now, except I have a little more ready cash about.”
Khorta's right arm suddenly shot out across MacAllister's chest and pinned him to the seat while his left felt all over his chest and under his jacket. MacAllister didn't struggle and let him complete the search to his satisfaction; the other finally let him go.
“No recorder, Mitael and definitely no gun. Guns have a habit of going off when you are around.”
Khorta went back to staring out of the windscreen, his chest rising and falling deeply, but more from emotion than from the physical effort he had just made. Finally his shoulders relaxed and when he spoke again there was a slight note of resignation in his voice.
“OK, MacAllister. You have had your fun, now tell me what you want.”
The gloom hid MacAllister's smile of satisfaction.
“That's better, Mitael. Much Better.”
He threw in the punch line.
“I want to give you back your car, your gun and one hundred thousand pounds.”
Khorta's head came round as if it was on elastic. MacAllister gave him the grin again.
“Surprise, but I assure you that you heard me right. I want to give you back your property and one-hundred-thousand-pounds.”
He spelt out the last four words syllable by syllable and then held a hand up to stop Khorta's reply.
“Its all right, I know what you are about to ask me. What do you have to do in reply?”
He gave a theatrical shrug of his shoulders.
“Nothing too difficult for a man of your experience, Mitael. I just want you to kill, maim or hurt a few people.”
MacAllister was again sat in John Morton's study with a glass of whisky in his hand. Sitting forward with his forearms resting on his elbows he was talking earnestly to Morton, his voice persuasive.
“Khorta caved in when he found I had his gun and the money. I think he would as have soon as killed me, but he knew I wasn't stupid enough not to have made sure that the gun would go to the police if I turned up dead. Its all systems go John unless you have changed your mind.”
“What about Jenson?”
MacAllister sat back in the chair and ran his hand through his hair.
“That is one very angry and bitter man. I think a lot of it was because two of the men involved in the rape of his daughter were black and he is nothing if not a racist. Anyway, he will come in for up to twenty thousand pounds, but only if we can guarantee that the men who raped his daughter will all suffer the same fate.”
Morton was aghast.
“He wants all four of them killed?”
MacAllister shook his head at the others aghast expression.
“No, John. I mean the same fate as his daughter. He wants all four of them raped.”
Morton sat back in the chair in total disbelief and it was some time before he answered. When he did his expression had changed and he looked eager and excited.
“But that's a brilliant idea, John. Give the bastards exactly the same as they gave to other people. It is absolutely brilliant, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, brilliant and so Biblical.”
His expression changed.
“But Khorta's not Gay, is he?”
MacAllister shrugged.
“Not that I know of, but I would have thought he could find someone to do it for a few hu
ndred pounds. Christ knows there are enough perverts and killers around these days to get anything you like done if you can give them what they want. Just look at what we are doing with Khorta.”
Morton's head snapped around.
“We are using a criminal to get the justice that the legal system has denied us.”
“Bollocks, John. We are using blackmail to revenge ourselves and nothing more.”
He put his empty glass down.
“Jenson coming in leaves us with just over forty thousand to find between us. I make it fourteen thousand each. Is that all right by you?”
Morton was still smarting over MacAllister's previous remark, but he nodded his agreement. MacAllister stood.
“Better get it ready then, because tomorrow I am going to tell Khorta exactly what we want him to do. I shall give back ten thousand of the bank raid money straight away to cover his expenses and the rest with his gun when he has finished it all. I can see myself out. Ring me when you have the Money.”