by Rob Ashman
Kray pushed open the door and inhaled the sickly smell of rotting chicken and formaldehyde. The mortuary was shiny and new, courtesy of an injection of funds into the Victoria Teaching Hospital. The place was bright and clinical with three stainless steel tables lined down the centre of the room. Each table had a drain at one end and metal scales hung from the ceiling. Hoses and nozzles were connected to the frames and a set of gleaming steel work surfaces and sinks ran around the walls.
Doctor Ding-dong was huddled over a dish containing what looked like chopped liver. He looked up, his eyes flashed a warm ‘Hello’ long before his mouth uttered a word.
‘Hey, Roz, how are you doing?’
‘I’m fine thanks,’ she replied, trying hard not to respond too eagerly. ‘How about you?’
‘Good.’ He gave her his winning smile again, she chose instead to look at the liver in the silver container. The air between them crackled with unsaid conversation.
‘What have we got?’ She broke the silence, conscious that her cheeks were beginning to flush pink.
Millican snapped into work mode. ‘James Arthur Cadwell, twenty-eight years of age, was admitted around half past midnight.’ He tugged at the blue sheet covering the corpse and rolled it down to waist level. The signature Y-shaped scar stood proud on his chest.
‘Shit,’ Kray blurted out.
‘Yeah, shit, exactly. Multiple blunt force trauma to the head, crushed rib cage, fractured pelvis, a collapsed lung, ruptured spleen, broken radius and ulnar, broken scapular … the list goes on. He died in ICU from massive internal haemorrhaging. His chances of survival when he was admitted were slim. The file says suspected hit and run?’
‘Yes, that’s the original line of inquiry, but I think this is a murder investigation.’ Kray cast her eyes over the broken body lying on the slab.
‘His injuries are more consistent with being run over by a fleet of lorries rather than a single vehicle.’
‘That’s what I thought. The blood spatter at the scene was extensive, much more than you would expect from a car and pedestrian collision. My view is the driver hit the victim, then reversed over him and finished off by running him over a third time.’
‘That would do it. Under normal circumstances the victim would have primary impact wounds where the vehicle strikes them, usually the lower body and head. In the case of James Cadwell there are so many impact areas it’s impossible to give you a sequence of his injuries.’
‘Anything else that I should know about?’
‘He had a high level of alcohol in his blood. It will all be in the report.’
‘How much alcohol?’
‘His blood alcohol concentration was point one-five percent.’
‘What’s that in old money?’
‘He was well tanked up. Given his age and weight I would say he’d had seven or eight pints?’
‘Thank you for rushing this through, I needed to get an early confirmation on our thoughts.’
‘That’s what we’re here for.’
Krays phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Tavener.
‘Yes I can be there in twenty minutes.’ She hung up. ‘Sorry, I have to run.’
‘Okay, let me know if you need anything else.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Roz, before you go—’
‘Sorry I have to dash.’ She cut him off knowing full well what was coming next.
Chapter 5
I’m standing by the coffee machine when I overhear the news about Jimmy Cadwell.
‘Hit and run, they reckon. He died in hospital from his injuries.’
I try to keep my emotions in check and not allow my elation to shine through.
‘CID are carrying out an investigation.’
I keep my eyes glued to the floor.
In the absence of being able to race around the office with my arms stretched out and my jumper pulled over my head, I decide to celebrate with a Mochaccino instead of my usual Americano with milk.
I sip the coffee as I walk back to my desk. It tastes extra good.
I have been in work since seven-thirty this morning. We have a regular start time of eight-thirty but the first hour of my day is the most productive. Not because the phone is silent, or that we don’t have meetings, not even because I’m the only one in the office at that time; it is the most productive hour of the day because at seven-thirty the case files get delivered.
You would think in this day and age the documentation would be processed electronically, but not when you’re dealing with the courts system. It’s paper, paper, paper all the way. Some old habits take generations to die off.
An early morning start provides the opportunity to sift through the incoming cases and pull out the ones that interest me the most.
I’ve been working here now for little over a year and it suits me down to the ground. It gives structure to my life and keeps me out of the pubs during the day. It also pays me a salary, that I can live on, which means I don’t have to draw on my army pension. But the most important facet of the job is it makes me feel alive. I return to my desk with my coffee.
It’s almost lunchtime and I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my body. At twelve-noon exactly the office empties and I am left alone. To everyone else working here I am the guy who keeps himself to himself, the one who chooses not to go to lunch with his co-workers and the man who comes in early when he knows he doesn’t get paid for it. Oh, and he fought in Afghanistan or somewhere. The man who’s a little odd.
I pull the buff coloured file from the pile and open it up. My heart is thumping with giddy expectation. I flick through the paperwork.
Boom! I knew it. I fucking knew it.
This case had all the hallmarks of the perfect storm. My pulse rate spikes as I consume the transcripts and file documents. The more I read the more a knot of anger builds in my stomach. I feel beads of cold sweat on the back of my neck.
I fought for my country but I never fought for this. The thought ricochets around my head.
I put my life on the line to protect the people of our country from the tyranny of rogue states that wanted to harm our way of life. I was injured in the pursuit of delivering that aim. I lost brothers in the pursuit of delivering that aim. And while I was being shot at, blown up and having my head screwed, the powers that be in this country were putting those very same people at risk by their own dereliction of duty. Through their own liberal incompetence, they were putting those very same people who I swore to protect in harm’s way.
I read on.
‘The victim has an above average interest in sex for a child of his age.’ What the fuck! The key word of that sentence is child.
My pulse hits the roof when I read: ‘So it has to be said that in this case the child contributed to his own abuse.’ My fists are balled tight under the desk.
I close the file and cast my eyes to the ceiling. What was the point?
The words jump off the page. My breathing becomes erratic.
‘The defendant is of below average intelligence for someone of her age.’
What was the point of all that suffering if those in power don’t play their part to protect people? We were over there busting a gut and having bits blown off us when all the while the bad guys in our towns and cities are being allowed to run riot.
I bang my fists into the underside of the desk and stand up.
This one is perfect.
She’s on the list!
Chapter 6
It was the day I looked a man in the eye, smiled, then blew his brains out.
The mortar shell left a three-feet wide crater where the end of the wall used to be. The explosion spewed stone and dirt in all directions, throwing us sideways in the blast.
‘Get the fuck out of here!’ Jono levered himself up on his good leg and began firing over the top. ‘Go! Go!’ he screamed. ‘I’ll lay down cover while you get the truck.’
I flashed a look at Pat.
‘I’m staying with you,’ Bo
otleg said checking his weapon.
‘No, we all have to get out of here,’ I yelled. ‘They have the range with that mortar and the next one will be right on top of us. We all go, now!’
Jono thought for a second. ‘You go. I’ll slow you down.’
I hooked his arm across my shoulder and heaved him to a crouching position.
‘Yeah right.’ I plunged a vial of morphine into his leg. ‘On three.’
Pat counted down with his fingers and sprinted from behind the wall, crabbing across the dustbowl to the nearest house, firing as he went. A torrent of rounds slammed into the dirt around him. Me and Bootleg bolted into the open with Jono slung between us.
It was the longest fifty feet of my life.
Jono tried to hop but we were moving too fast. He put his weight onto his shattered leg and yelped in pain. By the half-way point we were half dragging, half carrying him. The sand around us seemed to come alive with shells bursting against the ground.
Pat reached the corner of the first house just as there was an almighty bang behind us. The wall disintegrated, sending rubble spewing into the air. A heavy stone caught Bootleg in the middle of his back and all three of us crashed to the floor. We scrabbled around trying to right ourselves.
Out of nowhere Pat appeared, gripped Jono by the back of his collar and hauled him along the floor. I struggled to my feet, picked up the guns and threw myself behind the cover of the house, Bootleg landing on top of me. How the hell they missed us I will never know.
‘We gotta get one of those vehicles,’ Pat said adjusting the tourniquet around Jono’s leg.
I could see the pearl white, jagged edge of his shin bone protruding through his trousers. He was bleeding out. His blood soaking into the earth.
‘They’ll hit these buildings next, we need to move fast.’
We took a moment to catch our breath. The vehicles were parked about thirty yards away.
‘Let’s go.’
Bootleg and Pat heaved Jono to his feet and manhandled him to the far corner. I held up my hand for them to stop.
‘It’s too far. They will pick us off, we won’t make it. I’ll go get the vehicle and bring it here. It’s the best way.’
Before they had a chance to protest I darted from behind the house, keeping low, zig-zagging my way over the open space. My heart was in my mouth. I was blowing hard and could feel dust choking my throat. There was a second of glorious silence which seemed to last forever, I was covering the ground fast, closing the distance to the trucks. Then there was a terrifying cacophony of gunfire. The ground around me erupted, rounds kicking up the sand. My legs pumped as I hurtled towards the Jackal. I glanced up to see Donk slumped over the big gun.
I skidded feet first under the vehicle like a baseball player sliding to first base. My breath was ragged and I was hyperventilating, my blood thumped a deafening rhythm in my temples. I tried to calm down and take stock.
Then I heard a different noise, it was the sound of people shouting. I swivelled around on my belly trying to locate the voices. I peered out from under the truck to see five insurgents racing down the hillside toward the village.
‘Shit!’
I turned and clawed myself out, climbing up the side of the Jackal. I grabbed Donk with both hands and heaved his bloodied body to one side. The Taliban fighters were two hundred yards away and closing fast. I crouched behind the gun, took hold of the grips and swung the long barrel towards them. The rapid bang-bang-bang of the M2 ensured they got no further. The belt fed smoothly through the chamber and with a few short bursts they were cut down. I checked the mountainous terrain for others – all clear. But I knew more would be coming soon.
I heard the ping of a mortar shell being launched and saw two men silhouetted on a ridge. A schoolboy error.
I held my breath. Where the fuck was it going to land?
I crouched down expecting the worse.
The shell overshot the houses and exploded ten yards away from where the other three were hunkered down. A near miss. They wouldn’t make that mistake a second time. I took aim and began emptying the magazine box. At six hundred rounds a minute, the ridge exploded as the bullets tore up the ground, shredding everything in its path. I paused to get my bearings and squeezed again. Another ten second salvo and I stopped. The top of the ridge was empty.
I dropped down into the driver’s seat and cranked over the engine. It wouldn’t start. I tried again. The big diesel chugged but refused to fire. I slammed my hands into the wheel and leapt from the cab.
I’m not sure who was more surprised – me or the middle-aged man who was crouched at the side of the Jackal. He jumped to his feet as my boots hit the dirt, he was so close I could smell the stink of his body odour. He was dressed in dark coloured robes and his heavily weathered face stared at me, wide eyed, from beneath his Peshawari cap. But more importantly he was carrying a battered AK-47.
I reckon I was still suffering from the bang to the head because he reacted first, lifting his weapon and yanking the trigger.
Click
That’s twice today.
The gun jammed. He looked down at his rifle and then at me.
In that split second our eyes locked. He wasn’t scared, his face told a story of being angry and confused. Why the hell doesn’t this thing work? I half expected him to hand me the gun to see if I could fix it.
I smiled back at him, with a sympathetic grin that said that’s gotta be tough.
The muzzle of my rifle kicked up as I fired from the hip. The bullet entered under his jaw bone and blew out the back of his head.
Chapter 7
‘This is good work, Duncan,’ Kray said negotiating a sharp bend that took them into a new housing estate.
‘It wasn’t difficult, I followed the motive. Cadwell has a list of associates as long as my arm who would gladly run him over in a car.’
‘And back again.’
‘Yeah, but this one stuck out from the pack.’
They drove past a large sign that read ‘Woodland View, an up-and-coming estate for the upwardly mobile.’ Nice, Kray thought as she looked at the show homes at the entrance to the development.
‘How do you want to play this?’ Tavener asked looking at the well-kept front lawns of the houses as they passed.
‘I don’t want to bring anyone into the station if we can help it. Let’s try to keep this low key, you know, sound them out first.’
‘Got it.’
Kray pulled up in a cul-de-sac and pointed to the three-bed detached property straight ahead of them.
‘It’s the one with the red door.’
They both got out of the car and made their way up the driveway. A Ford Kuga sat on the drive, Kray pressed the doorbell.
Moments later a thirty-something-year-old man stood before them dressed in his pyjamas and carpet slippers. He seemed to stare right through them and had the complexion of someone who had spent ten years in a darkened room. He said nothing.
‘Mr Jack Stapleton?’ Kray asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m acting DCI Kray and this is DC Tavener. I wonder if you would help us by answering a few questions.’ She held her badge up for him to read. He ignored it.
‘Fuck off, I’m not interested.’
‘Mr Stapleton, we believe you may have information relevant to an on-going investigation—’
‘Are you deaf?’ He went to close the door, Kray put her hand up to stop him.
‘Mr Stapleton, we would like to conduct this with as little fuss as possible but if you refuse to cooperate I will be forced to arrest you and we can do this down the station.’
Stapleton looked over Kray’s shoulder at the towering figure of Tavener and back to her.
‘If this is about fucking Cadwell, I don’t want to know.’
‘Mr Stapleton can we come in please?’
Stapleton walked into his lounge leaving the door open. Kray nodded to Tavener and they followed him inside.
The house sm
elled of fresh flowers. In the lounge two huge bouquets flanked the fireplace and cards cluttered the mantelpiece and window sill.
‘Someone’s birthday?’ asked Tavener.
‘Fuck me, you’re sharp.’ Stapleton slumped down into an armchair and switched off the TV.
Kray picked up one of the cards. To Liz, happy birthday, thinking of you always. All our love Kirsty and Pete x
‘Is your wife at home?’ asked Kray, replacing the card and taking a seat on the sofa.
‘No, she went back to work a few weeks ago. She reckoned the routine would do her good.’
‘And what about you?’
‘I went back for a while but had a big bust up with a kid, and was signed off with stress.’
Kray nodded her head and looked at the carpet.
‘When was the last time you saw Jimmy Cadwell?’ asked Tavener.
‘So, this is about him! I knew it. When will you people leave us alone?’ Stapleton was on his feet, glowering down at the two of them.
‘Jack, can I call you Jack? Where were you last night at around half eleven?’
‘I’ve said all I have to say about that bastard.’ Stapleton sat down hard in the chair.
‘Please answer the question, Jack,’ Kray said. ‘Where were you at around half past eleven last night?’
‘In bed.’
‘And your wife would be able to verify that?’
Stapleton stared out of the bay window.
‘Jack, would your wife be able to verify that you were home in bed at that time?’ Tavener asked the question again.
‘No,’ he replied.
‘You were here alone?’
‘Yeah, I was.’
‘Your wife is a teacher as well isn’t she? Is she away on a course or something?’
‘No, Liz was at her sister’s place!’ He got up and began stomping about the room. ‘She’s staying there for a few nights while we …’ He failed to complete the sentence.
‘Has your wife moved out, Jack?’