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Jack Schitt cursed but said nothing more. Bowden was ordered out and the two SO-9 operatives stood either side of the door; Schitt and Hicks sat down at the table behind which Müller nonchalantly smoked a cigarette. I leaned against the wall and impassively watched the proceedings.
“He’ll get me out, you know,” Müller said slowly as he smiled a rare smile.
“I don’t think so,” remarked Schitt. “Swindon SpecOps is currently surrounded by more SO-9 operatives and SWAT men than you can count in a month. Not even that madman Hades would try and get in here.”
The smile dropped from Müller’s lips.
“SO-9 is the finest antiterrorist squad on the planet,” continued Schitt. “We’ll get him, you know. It’s only a question of when. And if you help us, things might not look so bad in court for you.”
Müller wasn’t impressed.
“If your SO-9 operatives are the best on the planet, how come it takes a seventy-five-year-old Litera Tec to arrest me?”
Jack Schitt couldn’t think of an answer to this. Müller turned to me.
“And if SO-9 are so shit hot, why does this young lady have the best luck cornering Hades?”
“I got lucky,” I replied, adding: “Why hasn’t Martin Chuzzlewit been killed? It’s not like Acheron to make idle threats.”
“No indeed,” replied Müller. “No indeed.”
“Answer the question, Müller,” said Schitt pointedly. “I can make things very uncomfortable for you.”
Müller smiled at him.
“Not half as uncomfortable as Acheron could. He lists slow murder, torture and flower arranging as his hobbies in Which Criminal.”
“So you want to do some serious time?” asked Hicks, who wasn’t going to be left out of the interview. “The way I see it you’re looking at quintuple life. Or you could walk free in a couple of minutes. What’s it to be?”
“Do as you will, officers. You’ll get nothing out of me. No matter what, Hades will get me out.”
Müller folded his arms and leaned back in the chair. There was a pause. Schitt bent forward and switched off the tape recorder. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and draped it across the video camera in the corner of the interview room. Hicks and I looked at one another nervously. Müller watched the proceedings but didn’t seem unduly alarmed.
“Let’s try it again,” said Schitt, pulling out his automatic and pointing it at Müller’s shoulder. “Where is Hades?”
Müller looked at him.
“You can kill me now or Hades kills me later when he finds I’ve talked. I’m dead either way and your death is probably a great deal less painful than Acheron’s. I’ve seen him at work. You wouldn’t believe what he is capable of.”
“I would,” I said slowly.
Schitt released the safety on his automatic. “I’ll count to three.”
“I can’t tell you!—”
“One.”
“He’d kill me.”
“Two.”
I took my cue. “We can offer you protective custody.”
“From him?” demanded Müller. “Are you completely nuts?”
“Three!”
Müller closed his eyes and started to shake. Schitt put the gun down. This wasn’t going to work. Suddenly, I had a thought.
