Chapter Sixteen
Bridger walked straight past the front counter at the prison, ignoring the protesting instructions of the officer behind him about signing out. If they have no record of me signing in I am not likely to waste my time signing out, he thought. He heard the officer mumble something under his breath about Police and attitudes and was about to turn around and have it out with him about attitudes and his fellow officers but the sliding door opened in front of him letting a welcome gust of fresh air into his lungs. The fresh air calmed him slightly but he wanted to be outside as quickly as possible, to shake off the feeling of helpless claustrophobia that he had developed while stuck in that concrete capsule with Joseph Kingi.
Three hours was not a very long time, he knew he needed to move fast, as Joseph’s last words were running through his mind. He hoped her had made the right decision. Pulling out his phone, standing in the fresh air he felt his breathing returning to normal, at least he was now in some sort of control of what happened next. If he was honest with himself, he had actually felt a little scared. He was not scared for himself, but for fact that he was unable to do anything about his predicament. He was scared because he had let himself get in that situation to easily. What happened in the prison bought home the fact that he was not in control, he could not predict the actions of other people and that made them dangerous, and what was worse, he had inadvertently involved friends and family.
He dialled a number into the phone and it answered straight away.
“Mike? Where the hell have you been, it’s all turned to custard here, John and Jo have gone missing, their car has turned up burnt out at Blackhead and we can’t find them anywhere.”
Not quite the response he expected from Brian, but it did not surprise him. “I know, I can’t tell you much at the moment but have you tried the pad?”
“Of course we bloody have, they’re not there Mike, the place was empty except for Baz Ropata and he’s not saying anything. I saw the picture you sent Laura, Mike, was that them? And if it was, what do you know about this?”
Bridger was starting to get an uneasy feeling; he had been counting on the fact that the gang were holding John and Jo at the pad. It made sense that they would be there, it was where the gang held all the power, it was where Joseph Kingi junior would feel safe, safe enough to do as he pleased. Where in the hell else could they be?
“Tell me what you know Mike, things have got out of hand here, John and Jo could be in real danger” Brian’s tone was professional but there was a slight undertone of fear and confusion.
“The photo was them Brian, don’t ask me how I know, you’re just going to have to trust me on this…” Brian’s words registered in his brain “What do you mean I sent it to Laura?” It was not something he wanted to share with his wife; she should not have to be involved in this dirty business. He had always tried to protect her from his work, trying not to discuss it in too much detail if she had ever asked. He felt sickened that she would have had to see it. At least she had the sense to bring it to Brian, he thought. “Never mind Brian, I’m on my way into town now, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Another thought crossed his mind “Also do you know the whereabouts of Tama Wilson’s friend, Martin McLaren?”
There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone. “Funny you should ask that Mike, we are on our way to his house right now. What do you know about it…?” He paused again as if waiting for an answer Bridger was not about to give. Brian continued, “There has been a report of gunshots from inside. It is too much of a coincidence, he has to be involved somehow, and he may even have Jo and John. The AOS are just setting up their cordons now.”
“Don’t do anything until I get there Brian. I need to speak with Martin,” Bridger pleaded, angry at the fact he could not tell Brian why.
“I can’t control what the AOS do in this situation Mike; you know that, it’s their show when there are firearms involved.”
Bridger’s mind was working overtime; if Martin was involved and he did something stupid then his wife would be in danger. “Brian, where is Laura now?”
“After she left the station I don’t know where she went, Gillian Holler has gone to track her down.”
“I’ll see you as quick as I can.” He cut the connection before Brian could say anything more and started running for his car.
‘Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings – always darker, emptier and simpler’ Bridger didn’t want to let feelings get in the way of his actions but it was feelings that had guided his choice for Laura and his colleagues and it was his actions that would determine the outcome.
Driving his car at speed out through the large gates and back onto the main road, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach started getting deeper.
“Throw that one in the back room…, the one without the roof” Joseph directed, indicating to the two skinny gang prospects who were manhandling the still unconscious John Mouller. “Put the other one in there as well, they can keep each other company.”
“Maybe the Vultures will fly in and peck their eyes out” one of them joked.
“There’s no Vultures in Dunedin you thick bastard, it’s not warm enough, they only live in deserts… like Waiouru, up in the North Island” the other one said, rolling his eyes at Joseph to include him in the ridicule.
Joseph just shook his head. He was sure there were no bloody Vultures in New Zealand at all. Idiots surround me, he thought. However, he was starting to feel slightly on edge himself. Things were not going quite to plan, thanks to Star, and it made him feel inferior. He hated the fact that he had shown fear in front of him, he felt stupid and weak. Star was a killer; he had killed his best friend and that made him dangerous and unpredictable so maybe he was right to feel fear. Joseph liked to think he would kill to if he had to, but the truth was he had never crossed that line.
Martin’s father was a killer as well, that is why he was in jail; he knew that from what his own father had told him. He wondered if Martin knew. He had never heard him speak about his father before. He certainly was not going to tell him what he knew, that would do too much for Stars reputation and he could not have that.
“What do you want to do with this one J man?”
The question pulled Joseph back from inside his head. He looked at the semi naked figure of the policewoman, she was standing of her own accord but two of his dogs were supporting her, her eyes were glazed over and makeup was running down her cheeks in dark stains. She looked like a used sex doll.
He found himself getting slightly aroused at the sight. She was such a picture of perfection; he had thought that the first time he had set eyes on her when she had stopped him in that car. That sexy uniform, the way she had shown fear, and then acquiesced without saying anything, letting him off with his behaviour, letting him leave without a word. He knew she wanted him to do that to her, she wanted him to dominate and control her. Actions always speak louder than words; it was always the way with woman.
He had tried to play out those fantasies in every sexual encounter he had had since that day, always picturing her face, but it was never enough, none of them looked at him just as she had that day, the girls he had all had dead eyes with no fear. It was always just going to be a matter of time, he knew he would come across her again, but she had given herself willingly today and for that, he was extremely grateful. Soon he would have her and he would give her what she wanted, and he would enjoy every bloody thrust.
“Put her in there,” he said, indicating the least of the stinking bare concrete rooms.
He knew he owed it to his father to carry out his wishes, but if he ended up having to let them go then he would not have her, and he would most probably go to jail. His father had not thought this through to its conclusion; he was stupid like that, which is why he was in jail.
He had come to his decision, once his father got what he wanted and the confession he wanted lodged with the courts. Then he would be free to do as he
pleased with these two, and he could not let them leave, not now he had come this far.
He looked at his watch, three hours to go.
Martin opened his eyes, had he heard something? Had he been sleeping? He was not sure, but the ringing in his ears had subsided. There it was again- someone was calling his name - someone far away.
Looking at the remains of his stepfather, slumped in the chair, he saw blood pooling around his buttocks and onto the floor. Strangely, he had the feeling that it was his stepfather calling, from whichever purgatory into which he had fallen. He imagined him meeting up with his real father in the afterlife, what his father would say to him. He could imagine what he would have to do, as penance for his worldly sins. However, the remains of Bill Patterson looked just like Tama had, all busted bones and tissue leaking his bodies secrets all over the floor. He was not saying anything, he was not here anymore, and there was no afterlife and no way for redemption. He would be damned in the soul of a sinner for eternity.
We all look the same on the inside, he thought sadly. There is no difference, it is just a pity we cannot see that while we are still alive. Maybe his mother should have seen something different though; he wondered what view she had of his dead stepfather, whether she had any suspicions of his sick needs. He shook the thought from his mind; he could not tarnish her like that. She was his only stability.
‘Martin McLaren, if you or anybody else are in there please come to the door with your hands empty and your arms above your head’
That voice again, it sounded tinny, mechanical even, he was not really listening, but it wanted something.
Martin looked at the shotgun, still clutched in his stepfather’s lifeless hands, his body refusing to relinquish it even in death.
‘This is the Police; you need to follow our instructions. Come to the door with your hands empty and your arms in the air… Do it now.’
The mention of the word police did not alarm him even slightly. He was past caring. He felt lighter inside than he had ever felt before, he was almost happy. Watching his stepfather blow his own head off right in front of him was almost cleansing, putting a final full stop on a lifetime of shame.
He had survived it, Bill Patterson had not. It was a bittersweet victory of sorts, he liked what he was feeling but it was a feeling he knew would not last.
He looked at the gun. It once again offered a way out, a way to keep the feeling he had now, forever. It would be a final finger to the world and he would go out on a high. He had nothing else so what did it really matter.
He stood up in the small room, not caring where he put his feet. There was a slight squelch as he walked towards the window. Looking outside, through the lace curtains, he knew he would be invisible to anyone out there. He saw a beautiful blue sky interspersed with wispy white clouds, the small trees outside the house were not even moving in the minimal breeze. He could hear cicadas chirruping and snippets of birdsong. He saw black clad figures crouched across the street, the eyes the only thing visible, guns pointed in his direction. He saw hatred radiated from within each of those black figures. He saw death.
Moving further back from the window, he lent across the still warm body. Ignoring the coppery smell of the blood and brain matter, he took the shotgun from its cold hands. Something purged from within the lifeless corpse as he inadvertently shifted its position. The noise and smell gurgled out of the hole in its head, where the mouth used to be. He gagged and stumbled backwards.
“That stinks, you dirty bastard,” he said to the faceless corpse, barely managing to hold onto his stomach contents. He screwed up his face in distaste, and then holding the shotgun in one hand, he kicked out at his stepfather “Fuck you Bill Patterson, the pleasure was all yours.”
Without looking back, he turned and walked out into the hallway and towards the front door.
Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 17