by Angus McLean
Dan cranked the ignition and slapped it into Drive. ‘Better drop in behind mate. We’ll 3T them when they get to us.’
He glanced at Ace, hearing Ace saying to the Comms operator, ‘Change that Comms, we’ll be doing an armed 3T of that vehicle on Raglan, copy?’
Dan tuned out to the response, fast dialling Joe instead. He could see the white Forester approaching now, moving at a normal speed.
‘Joe they’re on the move, we’re going to 3T them on Raglan-come up.’
He didn’t give Joe a chance to respond, just dropped the phone back into the centre console as the Subaru went past them. He saw four heads in it, two each in the front and back. The front seat passenger was Chuckles with his crazy hair. He didn’t recognise the others.
As soon as the Subaru had gone past the church, Dan accelerated hard across the car park and threw a tight turn out onto the road. The Commodore gave a fishtail and Ace dropped the radio mic, grabbing at the dashboard for support.
Dan pulled the Commodore back on line and gave it gas, racing after the Subaru. He hit the lights and siren and saw the driver’s head jerk up. The woolly head of Chuckles moved as he checked the left wing mirror.
‘They’re gunna go,’ Ace reckoned. ‘Here we go, here we go.’
The T intersection with Buckland Road was coming up. Buckland was a main drag with escape routes in all directions. It was also still a residential area, and people were coming and going constantly.
If the Subaru got onto Buckland Rd, it could be all on for young and old.
Dan had his hands firmly on the wheel, sitting twenty metres or so back from the Subaru.
‘As soon as it’s turning,’ he said, ‘I’m gunna take it.’
He slowed, the Subaru’s brake lights also coming on. The Subaru was sitting near the centre line, not indicating either way. It slowed further and stopped. The engine was still rumbling.
The occupants of the Subaru were watching the cops behind them. The cops were watching the heads in the Subaru.
Dan reached for the PA mic. ‘I’ll give him a voice appeal and tell him to turn it off.’
On the radio they could hear units heading their way. It wouldn’t be long before the place was swarming with cops. If the Subaru waited that long.
Dan keyed the mic and was about to speak when some idiot in a green Mazda people mover rolled up his outside, indicating a right turn.
‘What the hell...’ Ace said in amazement.
The MPV moved past them, nice and easy, not in any rush, and came equal with the white Subaru. It moved forward slightly, still indicating right.
‘Oh my God,’ Ace muttered.
The Subaru revved and they could see the woolly head of Chuckles turned towards the driver, presumably giving him instructions. The Subaru moved ever so slightly to the left, about to go for it.
‘Go!’ Dan shouted, flinging off his seatbelt and throwing the gear stick into Park.
The green MPV suddenly leaped forward and swung hard left, cutting off the Subaru as it began to move. There was a crunch of metal and plastic as the two cars collided.
The doors of the silver Commodore burst open and the two detectives bounded forward, their guns up and pointing at the Subaru.
Dan reached the driver’s door and yanked it open, levelling his pistol at the driver and bellowing ‘Armed Police, don’t move!’ Joe was right, it was the kid from the stolen car the other day. His eyes went wide when he recognised Dan, and made a perfect target.
With his left hand Dan gave him a burst of OC spray straight in the eyes and mouth.
The kid squealed and grabbed at his face. Dan jammed the spray canister back into its pouch, moving the aim of his Glock to the next closest guy, the right rear passenger. He was an angry looking dude with a wispy goatee, maybe nineteen, in a plain black baseball cap and white T shirt.
He was eyeballing Dan and his hands were out of sight.
‘Get your hands up! Now!’
The guy didn’t even blink, and made no effort to move. Dan could see he had a grey jacket across his lap, and his hands were hidden beneath it.
On the other side of the car, Ace was staring down the barrel of his M4 at Chuckles. The apparent leader of the pack was mouthing off through the open window and letting Ace know his pedigree. He had a black balaclava in his hands and a daypack at his feet. Ace could see the butt of a gun poking out the top of the bag.
‘You touch that gun and I’ll shoot you,’ Ace said calmly. ‘Get your hands on the dashboard.’
Chuckles gave him another verbal burst, but did as he was told. The passenger behind him was another hard-looking younger guy, early twenties, with a crewcut and the banged up face of a fighter. He was staying silent, staring straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of him.
‘You too,’ Ace told him, ‘get your hands up on your head.’
The guy ignored him. This wasn’t quite going according to script.
Dan sensed movement behind him and heard Joe’s voice.
‘Get the driver out,’ Dan said, not turning his head from the rear passenger. ‘He’s been sprayed.’
He stepped to the left to give Joe access to the driver. As he moved, he saw the rear passenger’s eyes flick towards Joe momentarily.
Dan seized the opportunity to snatch the back door open and point the Glock at the guy’s face. If the guy was startled, he didn’t show it. He had the cold, dead eyes of a violent thug.
‘Get your hands up,’ Dan snarled, ‘or I will shoot you right now.’
The guy locked eyes with him, and in that moment, Dan knew it was on.
His finger was already on the trigger, and he began to curl it now, ever so slightly, taking up the first pressure. There was no doubt in his mind that the guy had a gun under his jacket and was going to use it.
At this range there would be no time to react. He’d be dead before he even knew it. He had to act first. He knew he would be justified in shooting the guy right now.
The decision was made. The slightest bad move by the guy and Dan would drop him. He would keep shooting until the threat was gone. The guy’s jaw was set. Dan knew he’d made his decision too. His finger squeezed tighter, a millimetre more. A twitch further and a bullet would be punching into the guy’s forehead.
There was a blur of movement from Dan’s left as Buck moved in, reaching into the open doorway and snatching the jacket from the guy’s lap, ripping it free. The guy looked startled now, completely taken by surprise.
The jacket went flying, exposing a sawn off shotgun beneath it, the stubby twin barrels pointing towards the door where Dan stood. The guy’s hands had obviously been on it, and now he was grabbing at it among the flurry of loose jacket.
Game on.
‘Gun!’ Buck bellowed, getting a hand to the barrel of the sawn off and yanking at it.
The guy nearly lost it, and suddenly there was a tug of war going on. Dan’s view was blocked by Buck. If he fired now, he would kill his friend.
He grabbed Buck by the back of his hoody instead and jerked him backwards. The guy was still hanging onto the tangle of jacket and gun and came with it, half falling out of the car. Dan saw his opportunity and took it.
As the guy landed on one knee, both hands still on the gun, Dan belted him with a downward left hook. It took the guy directly on the left eyebrow and opened it, blood spraying everywhere.
The shotgun fired with a deafening boom.
Dan fell backwards, his hand still on Buck’s hoody, his friend falling with him. The stench of cordite filled the air. His ears rang.
He hit the deck on his butt, rolled, came up into a sitting position, still holding onto Buck who was trying to roll away.
The bad guy was down, and he was screaming. Clutching at his leg. The sawn off shotgun was on the roadway a metre away, still tangled in the jacket. Dan could see a hole in the fabric, and it was smoking.
The guy’s hands were covered in blood and he was screaming blue murder.
&nb
sp; Buck got to his feet and look at Dan with wide eyes.
‘You alright?’ he gasped.
Dan nodded. ‘Yep. You?’
Buck looked down, checking himself. ‘Yep.’
Dan looked back to the bad guy, and could see his injury now. He’d blasted himself in the lower leg.
‘He’s not,’ he said, feeling surprisingly calm.
Sirens were screaming close by and a patrol car skidded to a stop beside the green MPV. Chaos was descending.
The two remaining bad guys decided to seize the moment.
Ace stepped back as the driver’s door was flung open and the woolly head of Chuckles filled the space, moving with surprising speed. The passenger’s door also burst open and the younger guy from the back seat dived out. Both of them were coming at him.
With the M4 in his hands, stock in the shoulder and ready to rock’n’roll, Ace had limited options. A quick look showed that neither man had a weapon in his hands. He knew in the back of his mind that he would still be justified in shooting either of them, but it just didn’t feel right, shooting an unarmed man.
In the split second it took him to make his decision, the two thugs had covered half the ground to get to him. He knew the kerb was somewhere behind him, the grass verge beyond that and the footpath.
Cars were stopped at the intersection, people were watching, and he had no doubt someone would be filming the action on their phone.
Ace flicked the safety catch on with his thumb, swept the rifle back under his arm on its sling, and side stepped as he brought his fists up. The younger guy was there first, head down and arms out, going for a tackle round the waist.
If Ace went down, his weapon would be fair game.
He stepped again, getting outside the young guy and giving him a hard shove on the shoulder as he went past. The young guy went down, stumbling then sprawling to the ground. Ace turned, Chuckles nearly on him now, his big arms swinging, head up and looking for a fight.
He was roaring like a bull, something unintelligible, but probably something to do with Ace’s mother.
Ace stepped again, weaving under a swinging fist and slapping the hand away, using Chuckles’ momentum to turn him. As soon as the big man’s back was exposed to him, Ace went to town.
Left-right, left-right, straight jabs to the kidneys, as hard as he could throw them. The big man yowled like a dog stung by a bee and flung his arms out, trying to swat at his attacker. Ace dodged the arms and moved further round behind him, landing another combo to the same place.
As Chuckles started to turn, his right arm flailing round wildly, Ace ducked again, letting it pass over his head. Chuckles had left his ribs exposed, and Ace went in from a crouch with a left-right-left combo of hooks, each punch slamming into the big man’s floating ribs.
He heard a distinctive crack amidst Chuckles’ grunts of pain, and a second later the thug leader went down on his knees, grabbing at his rib cage and gasping. It didn’t take a doctor to see he was out of the game.
Ace looked up to see the young guy up on his feet and charging at him, trying again for an enveloping tackle.
He readied himself, but there was no need.
Joe Malone came flying in from the side, smashing into the young guy in a brutal, no-arms tackle. His shoulder drove into the guy’s ribs, lifting him and throwing him aside like a rag doll. Joe was on him as soon as he hit the deck, a pair of uniformed cops joining him, and in seconds the guy was handcuffed.
Dan looked around, holstering his pistol.
The driver was on the ground, handcuffed and swearing, his face screwed up in pain and his eyes tightly shut. The guy with the gunshot wound was writhing on the ground, being attended to by a uniformed cop and Buck. He wasn’t going anywhere fast.
Dan walked around the back of the white Subaru.
Joe was dusting himself off as two cops hustled the other rear passenger towards a patrol car. Ace was standing over the leader, who was now lying on the ground, holding his ribs and moaning. Ace looked up and gave Dan a thumbs up, then pointed inside the car.
Dan glanced inside. In the rear foot well was a small revolver. In the front passenger’s foot well was a day pack which had been knocked over by Chuckles. A sawn off shotgun had fallen free from it.
He looked back to Ace and nodded. They had been lucky.
He saw a uniformed Senior Sergeant approaching him, hat on and looking official. He had a Sergeant and a pair of Constables with him.
Dan took a breath and composed himself. The fun was over; it was time to get things sorted.
Chapter Eighteen
The office was deserted when they finally got back.
Buck dropped his vest and flopped into his chair, tossing his notebook onto the desk. He rubbed his eyes. It was only five, but it seemed like they’d had a massive day.
In a way, they had. The four prisoners had all lawyered up and refused to speak. That was fine-there was plenty to charge them all with. A composite team had been thrown together-Major Crime decided to get on board, finally-and the Mayflower house had been crunched.
Trey had been home with his girlfriend, who was not best pleased when a bunch of cops with guns came storming in. Trey had stayed staunch for all of ten minutes before rolling over on his mates. He hadn’t played an active part in most of the robberies himself, but he had driven the second getaway car for one and had sourced all the cars for them, using the kids down the road.
That made him a secondary party to one job and an accessory to the others. It meant some decent jail time, and he knew it. His best option was to cooperate. He did so by pointing out the house they’d been using down the road from Trey’s place, and that had been seized as well.
He also dropped his mates in it for three more robberies they had done up north, where the other boys all came from. They hadn’t got much from robbing cash vans in Kaitaia and Kaikohe, so headed down to the big smoke where cousin Trey reckoned the pickings were better.
It didn’t matter that their takings had been small in the first series of robberies. The fact remained they were all robberies with firearms, which meant a minimum of five years inside. With the records those guys had, and the fact they’d done several, they were looking at double figures.
According to Dan, anyway. That was before he’d ducked away, muttering something about a medical appointment and he’d be back soon. Joe had also been waylaid, after running into Inspector Newlands on the stairs. Julie was down at the Hub with the Major Crime guys, sorting out the interviews and planning follow-up enquiries.
Buck rubbed his eyes again and looked across to Ace, who was engrossed in his phone.
‘Hey what’d they say about smashing your source, Ace?’
Ace glanced up. ‘Trey denied any involvement, but said he saw them do it. All three of them. Reckoned they figured he must be either a fizz or at least a weak link.’ His face darkened. ‘He reckoned that my guy was staunch as with the cops, gave them nothing at all, but these guys had him pegged just from the fact they even approached him.’
Buck nodded. He could sense the anger in Ace’s voice.
‘They weren’t a hundy, but smashed him anyway. Bloody lucky they didn’t kill him.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘Just savages, mate. No decency at all.’
‘I saw you talking to Trey’s missus,’ Buck said, ‘she have much to say?’
Ace glanced back at him from his phone. ‘I’m meeting with her later. See what she’s got. See if she’ll roll on anything more than he has.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘A pissed off girlfriend can be a great source, Bucko, remember that.’
Buck grinned to himself. He said nothing, but watched his colleague with admiration. The man was a machine. With mentors like Dan and Ace to show him the way, even though they gave him a hard time, he knew his future as a detective would be an exciting one.
He glanced over to Julie Carter’s desk, buddied up to an unoccupied workspace. He could see a pile of files on the blotter, pushed to the side. He had see
n Dan put it in the middle of her desk that morning before they left, knowing that Julie wouldn’t be in until 8am or later, right in front of the keyboard where she couldn’t miss them.
Buck had helped him select a few from the unassigned file tray. Not too many, just a couple of street robberies, a rape and a serious family violence file. He had even left a brief note on each of them, letting her know that the rape and the FV file were the priorities.
Somehow, Buck wasn’t surprised to see the pile still perfectly intact but pushed to the side of Julie’s desk. It was a fair bet they hadn’t even been looked at.
He mentally shrugged. Not his problem to worry about, so best to keep his nose out of it.
Dan was nearly a Detective Sergeant now; he’d sort it out.
***
The rooms of Fertility Specialists were well-decorated in subtle, calming colours. At a time of high anxiety, it paid dividends to be in a soothing environment.
Matthew Nelson was much like his working environment-quiet, calm and totally professional.
The Crowleys’ involvement with him had been a smooth process so far, and he had been nothing but accommodating. That consideration extended today to staying back late to see them as soon as Dan could get to the Greenlane premises.
He collected them from the waiting room and took them through to his surgery, where they took seats on the comfortable two-seater beside his desk. It was a barely-noticeable beige in a room of similar tones.
‘Thanks for waiting, Matthew,’ Dan said sincerely, ‘it was a bit of a hectic day today.’
‘No problem at all,’ the doctor smiled. He was bespectacled and greying, with the appearance of a kindly uncle. ‘Now, let’s not beat about the bush, because you want your results.’
He gave a gentle smile. They both nodded, both of them anxious to get on with it.
‘Now, I got the results back today and I guess the bottom line is that Dan’s sperm count is very low.’ He gave that gentle smile again, knowing that his words were crushing hopes. ‘Generally we want at least forty million per millilitre, and a figure of less than twenty million is considered to be low. Not impossible to conceive, you understand, but of course it makes that much more difficult.’