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“Have you completely lost your senses?” shouted Reilly, seething. “You might have killed my partner.”
“It wasn’t meant for your partner,” screamed Anthony. “It was meant for him. That fucking nutter over there has killed everyone. I’m telling you now I did not kill my friends. He did.”
Reilly glanced at Roger Hunter.
“He’s lying, Reilly. He’ll say anything to get out of the mess he’s in.”
“But he’s been out of the country. How could he have killed his colleagues when he wasn’t even here?”
“Don’t be fooled by his pathetic appearance, the man is a cold-hearted killer. You know how good he is with computers. How do you know he’s been out of the country? I’m telling you, he’s done them all. He starved James, poisoned Michael, killed Zoe. Now it looks like he’s tried to kill Gardener.
“Wake up and smell the coffee, Reilly.” Roger backed away. “He set up the whole thing, murdered his colleagues because he wanted to keep everything for himself.”
Reilly was going nowhere fast, and all the time his partner was in serious trouble.
“Enough,” shouted Reilly. “I’ve heard enough of this shit and backbiting.” He glanced at the operational support officers, and then toward Anthony Palmer.
Reilly removed his warrant card and waved it in Anthony’s face. “Anthony Palmer, I’m arresting you for the murder of David and Ann Marie Hunter. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
He glanced at the operational support officers. “Take him down the station. He can explain everything when we have a lot more time.”
The arrest was made swiftly and cleanly and the four officers dragged Anthony Palmer from the building.
“Well done,” said Roger, “you’ve arrested the right man.”
“For the murder of your brother, yes.”
“And the others.”
“Well that’s where I have a problem, Roger, old son.”
“Meaning what?”
“We know for a fact what killed Michael Foreman, a pretty lethal dose of nitrogen mustard. Now tell me, where would Anthony Palmer lay his hands on that stuff? We have your records, Roger, we know what you’re capable of, where you work, and the fact that you were one of the people who developed HN-3. Need I go on?”
Roger remained silent, as was his right to do so.
“So,” said Reilly, “easy way, or hard way?”
“No point doing things the hard way,” replied Roger. “I’ve achieved what I set out to do. I’m just sorry that your partner got in the way. I hope he’s okay, Reilly. I really do.”
“That makes two of us.” Reilly turned to Rawson and Anderson. “Another one for the station, boys.”
Epilogue
Reilly arrived at the hospital and was shown to a side room. Gardener was in bed, wired up to a bank of machinery that was recording his every movement. But he was still unconscious.
Reilly sat down with a coffee and a doughnut. “Guess you’d have something to say about this shit I’m eating. But you’ll have to let me off this time, I haven’t eaten much today.”
Reilly realised his partner was in the best place though he couldn’t stand to see all the electronic machinery beeping away, but at least it wasn’t a constant beep.
He was about to take a bite of the doughnut when a doctor entered the room, carrying a clipboard. He was thin, in his early twenties with short black hair, glasses, and a pock-marked complexion.
“Don’t eat too many of those,” he said to Reilly, “they’re not good for you.”
“I’ll take my chances,” said Reilly, glancing at his partner. “How’s the boss man?”
“Stable.”
