eventually nodded. ‘Thank you, boss.’ He couldn’t make eye contact with Phil but he held out his hand to shake.
Phil accepted it. Their hands dropped. They stood there in silence once more. Before either could speak, there was a knock at the door.
‘What does she want this time?’ said Sperring.
‘Come in,’ Phil said.
It was Elli, the team’s resident tech expert. She was small, Asian and she took full advantage of the licence to dress down that Phil had instigated. In fact, she had been doing it before he arrived there and knew, in her shy but certain way, that she was too valuable to the team to be told off for it.
Today’s T-shirt, worn with the usual jeans, boots and assortment of heavy-metal jewellery was a grid of primary-coloured TARDISes arranged in a faux-Andy Warhol style. At least Phil understood this one.
‘Boss?’ Her voice was hesitant, fearful of interrupting something, but her eyes spoke of urgency.
‘Yes, Elli. What can I do for you?’
‘He’s… back.’
‘Who?’
‘The caller. The one from last night. He’s on the line now.’
Phil and Sperring both ran from the room.
20
T he Lawgiver. That was it. That felt right. The Lawgiver. Because that’s what he was. What he did.
He had needed a name. Nemesis had been his first choice. He’d even said that on the phone to the police. But it wasn’t right. Overly dramatic. And not quite representative of his calling.
And then he hit on it. As he had worked his way round to the middle finger of John Wright’s left hand. When that arrogant banker, a person who thought nothing of bankrupting someone, or a whole company, putting families out on the street if there was profit to be made, was reduced to a screaming, sobbing, pleading, snivelling wretch. He knew what he was. Who he was.
The Lawgiver. That’s who he would be from now on.
He had paused, looked down at his work. It was harder than he had expected, cutting off John Wright’s fingers and thumbs. Even with the heavy-duty bolt cutter he had brought along. He had built up quite a sweat underneath his gas mask. The bone had proved to be surprisingly resilient.
But he had persevered. He had given Wright his word. Justice not only had to be done but had to be seen to be done. And despite the heat and the exertion, he had enjoyed it. No, more than enjoyed. Filled with an exultant joy, a righteous delight. He had felt all-powerful, a god among mortals. It had confirmed in his mind that this was the right thing to be doing. Making a stand. Fighting back. A champion of the oppressed, the underdog.
He grunted, bringing the bolt cutters together for one final assault.
The little finger snapped right off, fell to the floor.
The Lawgiver stood back, took a deep breath.
‘Wow,’ he said, looking at his work. ‘Hungry now.’
The carpet around the chair was sticky and black with blood. Fingers and thumbs were scattered around like grisly ketchup and tomato relish-covered chips. Wright had long since passed out.
The Lawgiver took out a length of rope and tied it round Wright’s wrist. It matched the one he had placed on the other wrist earlier.
‘Don’t want you bleeding to death now, do we? Fair’s fair.’
The Lawgiver checked the laptop, hit a key. The numbers on the screen stopped moving. He peered in closer for a better look.
‘Oh dear,’ he said to the unconscious figure, ‘you don’t seem to have much left, I’m afraid. Harder than I thought it would be. Still, you can always start again, can’t you? That’s what your sort are always telling the rest of us. Get on your bike, and all that. Obviously not in your case. Not now, anyway.’
The Lawgiver began replacing his tools in his bag and saw the woman. Almost did a double take. He had been so involved, absorbed, in his work that he had forgotten she was there. She was curled up in the chair, moaning slightly, eyes tight shut as if she couldn’t see him and what he was doing, he wouldn’t be able to see
Phil accepted it. Their hands dropped. They stood there in silence once more. Before either could speak, there was a knock at the door.
‘What does she want this time?’ said Sperring.
‘Come in,’ Phil said.
It was Elli, the team’s resident tech expert. She was small, Asian and she took full advantage of the licence to dress down that Phil had instigated. In fact, she had been doing it before he arrived there and knew, in her shy but certain way, that she was too valuable to the team to be told off for it.
Today’s T-shirt, worn with the usual jeans, boots and assortment of heavy-metal jewellery was a grid of primary-coloured TARDISes arranged in a faux-Andy Warhol style. At least Phil understood this one.
‘Boss?’ Her voice was hesitant, fearful of interrupting something, but her eyes spoke of urgency.
‘Yes, Elli. What can I do for you?’
‘He’s… back.’
‘Who?’
‘The caller. The one from last night. He’s on the line now.’
Phil and Sperring both ran from the room.
20
T he Lawgiver. That was it. That felt right. The Lawgiver. Because that’s what he was. What he did.
He had needed a name. Nemesis had been his first choice. He’d even said that on the phone to the police. But it wasn’t right. Overly dramatic. And not quite representative of his calling.
And then he hit on it. As he had worked his way round to the middle finger of John Wright’s left hand. When that arrogant banker, a person who thought nothing of bankrupting someone, or a whole company, putting families out on the street if there was profit to be made, was reduced to a screaming, sobbing, pleading, snivelling wretch. He knew what he was. Who he was.
The Lawgiver. That’s who he would be from now on.
He had paused, looked down at his work. It was harder than he had expected, cutting off John Wright’s fingers and thumbs. Even with the heavy-duty bolt cutter he had brought along. He had built up quite a sweat underneath his gas mask. The bone had proved to be surprisingly resilient.
But he had persevered. He had given Wright his word. Justice not only had to be done but had to be seen to be done. And despite the heat and the exertion, he had enjoyed it. No, more than enjoyed. Filled with an exultant joy, a righteous delight. He had felt all-powerful, a god among mortals. It had confirmed in his mind that this was the right thing to be doing. Making a stand. Fighting back. A champion of the oppressed, the underdog.
He grunted, bringing the bolt cutters together for one final assault.
The little finger snapped right off, fell to the floor.
The Lawgiver stood back, took a deep breath.
‘Wow,’ he said, looking at his work. ‘Hungry now.’
The carpet around the chair was sticky and black with blood. Fingers and thumbs were scattered around like grisly ketchup and tomato relish-covered chips. Wright had long since passed out.
The Lawgiver took out a length of rope and tied it round Wright’s wrist. It matched the one he had placed on the other wrist earlier.
‘Don’t want you bleeding to death now, do we? Fair’s fair.’
The Lawgiver checked the laptop, hit a key. The numbers on the screen stopped moving. He peered in closer for a better look.
‘Oh dear,’ he said to the unconscious figure, ‘you don’t seem to have much left, I’m afraid. Harder than I thought it would be. Still, you can always start again, can’t you? That’s what your sort are always telling the rest of us. Get on your bike, and all that. Obviously not in your case. Not now, anyway.’
The Lawgiver began replacing his tools in his bag and saw the woman. Almost did a double take. He had been so involved, absorbed, in his work that he had forgotten she was there. She was curled up in the chair, moaning slightly, eyes tight shut as if she couldn’t see him and what he was doing, he wouldn’t be able to see
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