‘And you were always a smart-arse,’ replied Finlay with a shrug.
‘Why are you bringing him up any—’
‘Hugh Cotrill,’ interrupted Finlay.
‘Tosser,’ spat Wolf, almost waking Ford. ‘My first arrest for theft and he was the system-playing prick that got him off.’
‘He was doing his job,’ said Finlay with a smile. He was clearly antagonising Wolf intentionally.
‘He got his watch nicked by his own client, the prick. What’s your point?’
‘My point is: you are a lot of things Will but forgiving is not one of them. You hold grudges. You probably hate me for something I said or did to you once upon a time.’
‘Said,’ clarified Wolf with a smirk.
‘That mess over there isn’t particularly likeable on a good day, but you must really hate him. He broke your wrist in three …?’
Wolf nodded.
‘… places and probably saved Khalid’s life.’
‘Again,’ said Wolf, ‘what’s your point?’
‘Nothing in particular. It’s just funny how things work out, isn’t it? You in charge of protecting a man that I don’t believe for a second you give a damn about saving.’
‘You’re right about one thing,’ whispered Wolf after they were both distracted by the television for a moment. ‘It is funny how things work out. Somehow I’ve ended up in a position where I want to save this piece of shi—’
Wolf stopped himself from swearing, and Finlay nodded in approval of his self-restraint.
‘… this man’s life more than anything else I have ever done, because if we can save him then maybe, just maybe, we can save me.’
Finlay nodded in understanding and gave Wolf a painfully sincere slap on the back before returning to his show.
CHAPTER 23
Tuesday 8 July 2014
6.54 a.m.
‘Let me go!’ screamed Ford as Wolf, Finlay and the diplomatic protection officer struggled to drag the frenetic man back into the room. ‘You’re killing me! You’re killing me!’
The gaunt and jaundiced man had been surprisingly strong, and the three of them had barely managed to heave him back over the threshold during the three-minute panic. He still had a firm grip on the thick door frame, and his legs were kicking out at them violently. In the background, Andrea addressed the world through the television, the Death Clock hovering above her head counting down Ford’s final hours. She cut back to a reporter out in the field, and Wolf was horrified when he and his colleagues suddenly appeared on screen battling with Ford.
He almost lost his grip on the crazed man when he turned to locate the camera, wielded by a lunatic hanging precariously out of a window in the building opposite. Thankfully, the DPG officer had called for backup, and at that moment two more armed men came rushing to their aid.
‘Get the blinds!’ Wolf shouted desperately.
Both officers glanced at the television and understood the situation immediately. One of them ran to the windows while the other took hold of Ford’s thrashing legs. Hopelessly outnumbered, Ford went limp and started to weep.
‘You’re killing me,’ he sobbed repeatedly.
‘We need to get those reporters out of that building,’ Wolf told the newcomers, who nodded and hurried back out of the room.
‘You’re killing me!’
‘Shut up!’ snapped Wolf.
He needed to speak to Simmons. He had no idea where they stood legally in detaining Ford against his will, and thanks to one, admittedly, resourceful cameraman they could all technically be charged with assault. He was aware that he should approach Vanita with issues such as this, but knew that her answer would be biased by the PR team and in ensuring that she was covering her own arse. Simmons, on the other hand, knew how the real world worked.
Half an hour later, Wolf had discussed the situation with Simmons, who had fortunately arrived admirably early for work. They were agreed that, unlike Garland’s threat to decline their input, Ford could not confidently be classed as ‘of sound mind’. It was, therefore, in his best interests for the police to temporarily revoke his right to freedom.
It was a grey area at the best of times and they were, frankly, grasping at straws. Protocol would dictate that a qualified medical practitioner thoroughly assess the patient and sign off on it; however, after the Elizabeth Tate incident, there was no way on earth that Wolf was permitting anybody access to Ford.
The ambassador had returned to the embassy after seeing the news report. Wolf felt a little guilty about how insolently he had acted towards the influential man, who had bent over backwards to accommodate them. Wolf had accused his staff of selling information to the press and demanded (not that he had any right) that he conduct a full inquiry into the source of the leak. He would have to apologise later.
He was overly tired and irritable after a difficult night with Ford and had vented his anger at the wrong person. Yet again his frustrations should have been directed at Andrea, who had heedlessly jeopardised another life in her selfish pursuit of ratings. This time he was not going to let her simply shrug off the impact of her continued interference. He would ensure that she was held accountable should anything happen to this man.
Simmons had suggested that they find somewhere else for Ford to go, but Wolf disagreed. Half of the city’s press had gathered on the street below. He could hear the frenzied buzz of activity seeping through the draughty windows even as they spoke on the phone. They would never have been able to move Ford without exposing him to the ever-growing crowds or being followed. They were in a secure building and would be able to protect him best from there.
When Wolf returned to the room, Ford was speaking calmly to Finlay. He seemed resigned and surprisingly dignified considering the scene thirty minutes earlier.
‘You were doing your job,’ said Finlay. ‘What possible reason would you have had to let someone, who had just been declared innocent, be beaten to death in front of you?’
‘You can’t seriously be trying to tell me you think I did the right thing?’ laughed Ford bitterly.
‘No. I’m telling you that you did the only thing you could do.’
Wolf closed the door quietly, so as not to disturb the intriguing conversation.
‘If you hadn’t stepped in and Khalid had died, there’s a very good chance he’d never have been exposed as the Cremation Killer and Will here,’ Finlay gestured towards him standing in the doorway, ‘would’ve spent the next twenty-five years of his life in prison.’
‘A little girl died,’ said Ford with tears in his eyes.
‘Aye. And a good man was spared,’ said Finlay. ‘I’m not saying it was a good thing that Khalid survived. I’m just saying … things happen.’