Free People Die by Kevin Wignall

answers, about how far it all went, whether he could stop it by getting to Berg, maybe even where Berg was hiding out.
    He didn’t know enough about the guy to know whether it would be easy to get that information, but he was in the mood now to get it whatever it took, angered, feeling full of poison. And he seemed to remember Pearson had kids too; so as long as he got him at home it was just a matter of finding his threshold, JJ free to operate without restraint, answerable to no one but himself, to a conscience which had long been reduced to the role of passive observer.

7
    Pearson lived in a redbrick Victorian terrace that in any other city would have been home to students but in London was undoubtedly worth a fortune. JJ was thinking about it as he stepped from the cab, how people could live in places which had nothing attractive about them except the financial value of the property itself.
    People worked hard, long hours, fighting their way across the city and back each day, worrying about crime and their kids, paying vast amounts to live in houses which would have been shunned by their own class at the time they’d been built. His place in Geneva wasn’t perfect but he was in no doubt as to who had the better deal.
    It was only as the cab eased away and he started up the steps to the door that it occurred to him Pearson might still be at work. Even worse, if he had kids maybe his wife had given up work and JJ would have to spend time with her before Pearson got back.
    He rang the bell and listened. He could hear children inside, and a woman who sounded foreign, a nanny probably. Then much louder and closer he heard another voice, Pearson’s he assumed, calling to the nanny that he’d get the door.
    JJ drew his gun quickly and as the door opened stepped immediately into the gap, denying Pearson the obvious defense of slamming it again. So by the time Pearson’s thoughts had caught up JJ was already in the hallway with the gun easily visible.
    “You people,” JJ said then, shocked by the way both Esther and Pearson had flung their doors open unchecked, “doesn’t security mean anything to you?”
    Caught off guard Pearson reacted with a look of scorn and said, “What are you doing here?” The tone was wrong, like JJ was some social outcast gate-crashing a party, making him wonder whether, despite his visit to Esther, Pearson fully appreciated what was going on. More likely though, he simply hadn’t seen the gun, so JJ closed the door behind him and pointed it casually at Pearson’s stomach.
    It seemed to answer the question, and for a few seconds the two of them stood saying nothing, Pearson still dressed as he had been in Randal’s photographs, minus the pale gray suit jacket now and the tie, the collar of his blue shirt open.
    From the corner of his eye JJ could see the nanny fussing around children at the distant kitchen table. It was only a glance but Pearson caught it and said quickly, his tone suddenly conciliatory, “My study’s upstairs. Perhaps we can talk in there.”
    “Lead the way,” JJ replied, confident he wouldn’t have any problems, and followed him up the stairs, keeping a couple of paces behind, letting the gun fall to his side rather than walk like a movie villain with it pointing at Pearson’s back.
    The house was better inside, modern, simple, like it had been decorated by someone with an eye for design. Even the study avoided the traditional walnut and leather JJ had expected from the look of Pearson himself. Instead it was all light, brightly colored furnishings, a beech desk, a wooden seagull hanging from the ceiling.
    JJ pointed at a small yellow sofa and waited till Pearson was sitting before perching on the edge of the desk. He was still looking around, noticing the children’s books among the others on the shelves, a teddy bear half out of sight behind the yellow sofa. Finally he made eye contact and said, “Why does Berg want me dead?”
    “What are you talking about?