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“I don’t understand,” Charlie said. “You came halfway round the world to study with Dr Vitruvious. You told me you admired him.”
Kaylan laughed. A forced, bitter laugh. The gun didn’t move.
“He’s not fucking Doctor Vitruvious. His PhD is another lie. Along with his concern for refugees, and his authenticity. Everything about him is a lie. Rico died for it and now he’s going to die too.”
“You killed Rico, you mad bastard. Don’t try and pin that on me.” Vitruvious strained against the cable ties, rocking to and fro on the chair, his eyes bulging, blood drying on his face. “Listen to me policeman, Kaylan here killed Rico, killed the only decent painter I’ve taught for years. Starved him to death. He’s mad, completely mad. Why don’t the police come?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Kaylan said. “The police are here, and they are going to watch me kill you and then they are going to help me leave.” Kaylan never took his eyes from Charlie, but Charlie saw the tiniest tremor in Kaylan’s right arm. Keep him talking.
“Kaylan, we can stop this. Put the gun down. Tell me what happened to Rico. Let’s get some justice for him. He didn’t deserve to die.”
“Maybe he did.” Kaylan said. “Some rich white kid from a nice first world home. Everyone turns out to get justice for Rico. No one cares about the thousands dying in the Texas desert, or drowning in the Mediterranean, or locked up in concentration camps, What about those people, Mr British Policeman?”
And now Charlie could definitely see a tremor in Kaylan’s arms, and he could also see the madness in his eyes. Kaylan’s mother’s words came back to him. He’s always obsessed about something.
26
From tiny acorns
Wednesday 11.30am
“I still don’t understand,” Charlie said, although he was beginning to have an inkling. “Mr Vitruvious is on the record as being very concerned about refugees. I’ve seen some of his paintings.”
There was a grunt from Vitruvious.
“You might have seen them, Mr Policeman, but no one else has. I gave him the chance to show everyone what it means to suffer and die in the hope of a better life.”
“Like Géricault? You wanted Vitruvious to paint actual dying people?”
“Ooh, an educated cop.”
“But isn’t that what you wanted him to do?”
“I gave him the chance of a lifetime. A painting that would shock the world. But he didn’t care. All talk and no balls. Ask him about the money, go on ask him!”
“What money?” Charlie said. He wasn’t taking his eyes off Kaylan. The gun was beginning to droop. Charlie could no longer see straight down the barrel.
“What money? The money Comrade Inigo has been siphoning out of college funds and spending on fast cars and hard drugs. That money. But he hasn’t got it anymore, have you Comrade?”
And the final piece fell into place. The other thing Mrs Sully had said in her endless torrent of randomly mixed word salad. Kaylan’s father ran the biggest cyber security consultancy in the mid-west and Kaylan was good with computers. Kaylan was the hacker. Kaylan had made the files disappear, and by the sound of it he’d been disappearing Vitruvious’s money as well.
At the second Comrade, Vitruvious started shouting incoherently, rocking his chair and jerking his arms and legs. The louder he got, the wilder Kaylan’s expression grew, until the air was charged with Kaylan’s need to act, to fire his gun, to hurt and maim and kill. In Kaylan’s version of reality, he had done what Vitruvious wanted and Vitruvious had thrown it back in his face. In Kaylan’s distorted mind, Vitruvious deserved to die.
Charlie needed to act. He hoped Patsy and Eddy, and perhaps others, would know where he was. But he couldn’t chance anyone trying to break down the door. Kaylan’s arms might be drooping, but he could still shoot, and at this range he wouldn’t miss. Charlie was desperate to look at Tom and Vitruvious, but he daren’t take his eyes away from Kaylan. He needed a distraction.
By a miracle, he got one.
There was a crash and Tom’s chair fell onto its side. At the same time the air filled with the scream of a personal alarm, deafening in the enclosed space. Charlie leapt for Kaylan, smacking the gun with his left hand and Kaylan’s face with his right, as hard as he could. The two of them crashed into the table and fell on top of Tom as the alarm continued to shriek. Vitruvious screamed in competition. The noise was a physical entity, hammering at Charlie’s ears, making it hard to move. He could smell Kaylan’s sweat, Tom’s Old Spice and something sulphurous that must be the gun. His face was pressed against a table leg, and underneath him, Kaylan was a man possessed, lifting the gun as Charlie pressed it down with every ounce of his strength. It wasn’t enough.
Kaylan fired.
Charlie felt the heat of the bullet, tearing his clothes, filling the air with the smell of burned cloth and skin, as a red-hot poker seared across his ribs and the underside of his left arm. He lifted his right fist and thumped Kaylan again in the face, feeling the crunch of a broken bone, and the spurt of blood from Kaylan’s nose. But Kaylan still had the gun, and Charlie felt him move, his hand tightening to fire again. And underneath them both, Tom, tied to a chair, helpless.
Charlie saw the scene as if he were floating by the ceiling. Vitruvious thrashing and screaming, the back of his chair hitting the conference table, gouging and scratching the polished surface. Himself, blood seeping from under his left arm, trying desperately to contain Kaylan, and Tom, bigger than them both, unable to help, his shirt spotted with blood from Kaylan’s battered face.
The alarm stopped, shocking Vitruvious into silence. In the quiet they heard voices outside the door, and the door itself rattling against the lock.
“Don’t come in--armed man,” shouted Charlie, and the rattling stopped. All he could hear was his own panting, as he tried to contain Kaylan, and Kaylan’s grunts as he tried to escape. Vitruvious began to shout again, screaming obscenities until Charlie doubted his sanity. He could feel himself weakening, pain rippling out from his ribs, draining his strength. And then a crack, as loud as the gun, and another, and Charlie realised he wasn’t fighting alone. A strong arm gripped Kaylan by the neck and pulled. Tom had broken the arms from the chair, and had his hand across Kaylan’s windpipe, pressing down, hard.
