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‘Man, I thought you’d had it when I heard that gun go off,’ he said, grimacing.
‘I thought I’d had it, too,’ said Sean, getting up stiffly, rubbing his wrists where the twine had bitten deeply, leaving a red bracelet.
Tom walked over the tea-stained carpet to stare down at Annie, who was oblivious of him, still holding Johnny, rocking him against her like a sleeping child.
Tom had been going to make quite sure that Johnny was dead, but, observing the red stain spreading across Johnny’s shirt, he knew there was no need to check the pulse; no one could live with a hole like that in him.
It was clear to both Tom and Sean that Annie didn’t even remember they were there. All she could see was Johnny.
‘Bullseye,’ Tom said softly over his shoulder to Sean. ‘She shot him? Some shooting.’
‘Police trained,’ Sean said. ‘She’s good.’
He was staring at her and Johnny, frowning. Tom discreetly turned his back, went over to the phone. ‘I’d better ring Chorley. He isn’t going to be too pleased about this.’
Sean walked nearer to Annie and she looked up, her face wet with tears, her eyes dark with grief.
‘I had to stop him, it couldn’t go on – I couldn’t let him go on killing, I couldn’t let him kill you, but I couldn’t let them put him back in prison, he would never have got out again, he would have spent the rest of his life in a cell, and he had hated being in prison, he said it drove you mad … I couldn’t let that happen to him. You understand, don’t you, Sean?’
‘I understand,’ he gently said. ‘Let him go now, Annie. It’s over, let him go.’
She looked at Johnny, drew a long, harsh breath, and laid his head carefully down on the carpet again.
Sean lifted her to her feet, put his arms around her and held her shaking body until the police arrived.
