Soft Target (Major Crimes Unit Book 2)

by Wright, Iain Rob

  “It’s a nice little village,” Bradley said, glancing out his window. “The kind of place where they still keep budgies as pets.”

  Sarah frowned as something occurred to her. “Knutsford was a nice little village, too.”

  Bradley’s expression slowly turned sour. “So were Studley, Arborfield, and Dartmouth.”

  Sarah didn’t like the feeling in her gut, like toxic spores erupting. “You don’t think Botley could be a target, do you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a bit of a long shot. Ashley could have gone anywhere. All you know is the direction she started in. Even if she was in Botley, it doesn’t mean the village is a target.”

  “Get Palu on the radio.”

  Bradley obliged and thumbed a button on the steering wheel. The audible sound of dialling took over the car, and then silence as Palu answered.

  “Palu, it’s Sarah.”

  “Sarah. Are you with Bradley?”

  “Yes, we’re together. We think we might have a lead on Shab Bekhier’s next target. The village of Botley on the outskirts of Oxford.”

  Silence.

  Bradley glanced at Sarah, then tapped the dashboard with his finger. “Sir?”

  Palu came back. “Dr Bennett has found something, a reason the Fosters might have a grudge.”

  “Go on,” Sarah said.

  “The HS2 link.”

  Sarah and Bradley exchanged confused looks. Sarah said, “The train line the Government is building? What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

  “Paul Foster and his family were forced to sell their home to make way for the proposed route. Paul built the home himself twenty-five years ago and raised his family there for two decades. He had a son who died of Leukaemia last year, who was buried on the property.”

  “That’s weird,” said Bradley.

  “But not illegal. When the Government forced the sale of the land, they also relocated the boy’s body.”

  “Kicked them out of their own home,” said Bradley, tutting.

  “They were compensated, of course,” Palu added, “but that might be why the family has a grudge against the country.

  There was a short pause before Palu said, “There’s also another link. Paul Foster runs a construction company, and part of his services include demolition. We believe he may have been the one supplying the explosives for the attacks; maybe even designed the suicide vests. He has a license to obtain high explosives.”

  Sarah punched the dashboard. “All this because he was forced to sell his mansion? There has to be more to it than that.”

  “Perhaps,” said Palu, “but we’re still working on it.”

  “What does this have to do with Botley?” Bradley asked.

  “Paul Fosters’s construction company is based there.”

  Sarah eye’s narrowed. “What’s the address?” Palu gave it to them. “You need to send Mattock there right now.”

  “Negative. Mattock is taking care of Agent Dobbs. You and Bradley are our only available assets.”

  Sarah swallowed. “Palu, I’m not the right woman for this job. I can barely stand up and every time something happens, I end up on my knees with a gun in my face.”

  “You don’t have a choice. You’re all we have.”

  Sarah said nothing. For the first time since she lost Thomas and their baby, she felt fear. Hesbani had been the man responsible for destroying her entire life. Did she really have it in her to face him down if it came to it? She couldn’t even close her eyes at night without seeing his snarling face and whimpering.

  “We’re on it,” Bradley said. “Re-brief when we arrive at destination.”

  “Roger that,” Palu said.

  The line went dead.

  Sarah felt her heart pound in her chest. Her body was agony. The only place that didn’t hurt was her face; for once, her scars were numb.

  Bradley started back towards Botley. He noticed Sarah staring vacantly out the window. “Hey, come back to me.”

  “I’m here,” she said.

  “We can deal with this,” he told her. “Ashley Foster is alone and desperate. We can take her in, but I need you with me.” When Sarah hesitated, Bradley said, “You’re the one always telling me not to freeze up, so now I need you to follow your own advice and man up.”

  Sarah glared at him. “Man up? Does it look like I have a dick?”

  Bradley shrugged. “Sometimes it does. You’re kind of intimidating.”

  “Intimidating?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know if you know, but you’re kind of snarly. You remind me of an abused Jack Russell Terrier my nan adopted. It bit anyone who tried to pet it. The only reason it was like that, though, was because it was mistreated and abandoned. It loved my nan, though and as soon as it realised it could trust her, it became the most loyal pet in the world. That’s kind of like you, Captain. You’ve had some bad experiences, but I know that there’s a good, loyal person underneath all that snarling. I just want you to know that you can trust me.”

  Sarah bristled, softened, then bristled again. “I can only trust you if you pull the trigger when you’re supposed to.”

  “I promise to pull the trigger when it’s needed, but only if you get your head back in the game.”

  The past was pulling Sarah down, dragging her into a vacuous pit of despair, but there was a chance hanging in front of her; a chance to change things. She couldn’t live with all the anger inside her anymore; she had to let it out. She needed to take back her life and her self-respect. Afghanistan had taken more than just her face, it had taken part of her soul, too. Perhaps there was still time to get that back.

  “Okay, Bradley,” she said. “Step on it. We’re not going to let that psychopath get away again. This time, she’s mine.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were back in Botley. They entered onto a high street, passing by a Roman-style Market Hall nestled between Tudor houses and other mid-century buildings. They found Foster Homes & Construction at the far end of the village centre, hidden down a side-street beside a small builder’s yard. The lights were off, but there were men at work in the adjacent business.

  Bradley parked the Jaguar up on the curb. “You ready?”

  Sarah breathed. She felt like shit. “I’m ready.”

  They headed to the unlit offices of Foster’s construction company. Sarah crept up to the window and peered inside. There was nothing except the flashing LED of an answering phone.

  Bradley gave the front entrance a little shove, and they were both surprised when it opened. Both of them took out their guns, clicking the safeties off.

  Bradley slid inside first, Sarah close behind. Instinctively, they moved to opposite sides of the room. Sarah’s old training came back to her like it was yesterday.

  “I don’t think anyone’s here,” whispered Bradley. “We must’ve missed her.”

  Sarah didn’t respond. Her focus was on the answering machine. It was blinking. She stepped over to the machine and pressed ‘PLAY.’

  Bradley lowered his weapon and came to listen. They were both disappointed when they heard an automated message for PPI insurance claims. Sarah used the barrel of her SIG to press another button on the machine.

  “What are you doing?” Bradley asked her.

  “Checking the saved messages.”

  Another voicemail played. Sarah knew the voice very well, from her nightmares, and from the previous two tapes she’d viewed at MCU.

  “Two Syrian freedom fighters killed by British Peacekeepers. Balance the scales.”

  “That was Hesbani,” Sarah said.

  Bradley frowned. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know. Come on, we need to comb this place, see if we can —”

  A noise caught their attention. Bradley and Sarah drew their guns towards the back of the room.

  Ashley Foster was standing in the doorway of one of the offices, looking surprised. She didn’t draw a weapon, which let Sarah know that she no longer had a gun.


  “Don’t fucking move,” Sarah growled. “I’m just dying to take your head off.”

  Ashley snickered. “With that poxy thing? I’d be surprised if the bullet even reaches me.”

  Sarah pointed the gun at Ashley’s face. “Let’s test that theory.”

  Some of the defiance left Ashley’s eyes and she looked like an unsure teenager for the first time. Bradley slowly took a step towards her while Sarah kept her talking. “What’s this all about, Ashley? Your mum and dad are both dead. For what?”

  The news of her father’s death struck Ashley and she recoiled. Sarah wondered what it was like to care so much about a parent that it physically hurt to hear they were dead. When she one day got the news that her own father was dead, Sarah imagined feeling only relief.

  There were tears in Ashley’s eyes, but a growl on her lips. “I’ll kill you.”

  “Not if I kill you first.”

  “Give it up, Ashley,” Bradley said. “Nobody else has to get hurt. Just let us take you in and we can hear your story. We’ll listen.”

  “Yeah,” said Sarah, deciding to try the soft approach. “You look like shit, Ashley. Let us take care of you.” It was true. The girl was pale, sweating, and seemed like she was in pain.

  Ashley wavered. She could bolt, but seemed to gravitate towards Bradley, ready to give herself up. She looked like a screwed-up teenager, in over her head. Bradley obviously recognised that and was managing to keep her calm by playing the caring friend. Sarah was ready to pull the trigger the moment it didn’t look like it was working.

  Bradley took another step towards Ashley, holding his hand out to her. “Let us help you.”

  Ashley held up her bandaged hand. Blood was leaking down her wrist from where Bradley had shot her. “You’ve already helped enough.”

  Bradley lowered his gun, pointing it at the floor, and took another step forward. “You gave me no choice. Don’t force me to do it again. Nobody has to get hurt.”

  Sarah kept her own gun steadfastly trained on Ashley. “Bradley, stay where you are. Ashley, put your hands behind your head and get down on your knees.”

  Ashley’s lower lip began to quiver. “Please. I just want to see my dad.”

  It’s okay,” said Bradley. “It’s over now.”

  “Bradley, step back.” Sarah didn’t like how close he was getting to Ashley.

  Ashley broke down in tears. She turned away and hugged herself, shaking as she wept. Bradley kept on moving towards her, his hand out in front of him, his gun pointed at the floor.

  Sarah raised her voice. “For fuck sake, Bradley, keep away from her! Ashley, get on your knees now, before I blow your goddamn brains all over the wall.”

  Ashley spun around, a flash of metal gliding through the air towards Bradley’s throat.

  Sarah cried out, unable to let a shot off as the risk of hitting her partner was too high. The bitch was going to slice his throat.

  Bradley ducked under the blade, narrowly avoiding it. Crouching down, he threw a left hook at Ashley’s ribcage and sent her stumbling backwards. Then he pulled the trigger.

  The dark room flashed white as the gunshot echoed off the walls. Ashley screamed, hopping on one leg as blood gushed out of her mangled foot.

  Sarah closed the distance between them and was just in time to catch Ashley in her arms. The girl stared at her, a mixture of agony and rage on her face. “The bastard shot me in the foot.”

  Sarah smiled. “Lucky you. I’d have shot you in the face.” She headbutted Ashley, who flopped to the floor unconscious. Then Sarah grinned at Bradley. “God,” she said to him, “I’ve been dying to do that.”

  RUIN

  Getting Ashley back to MCU had been an ordeal. She woke up from the headbutt not five minutes later, screaming because of the pain in her foot. Sarah was already weak, without having to wrestle an adrenaline-filled girl, ten years younger. Bradley had done most of the lifting, but seemed guilty about shooting Ashley. Sarah made sure he knew he had done the right thing. Bradley could have killed her and it would have been the right thing.

  The worst part of trying to get Ashley to their car was the workers next door. They obviously heard the gunshot and the whole lot of them came looking. When they saw Ashley bleeding and being dragged into the back of a Jaguar, they raised all kinds of hell. When they threatened to call the police, Sarah remembered Mattock’s warning not to get apprehended. She pulled out her gun and fired a shot into the air. The men ran off.

  Bradley took the wheel while Sarah tried to restrain Ashley in the back. When the girl finally became too much of a handful, Sarah smashed the butt of her SIG against her temple, knocking her out again. The rest of the drive was blessedly peaceful.

  Palu met them at the abandoned farm, ready with handcuffs. When Ashley finally came to again, she was sullen and silent. Sarah assumed this was because of the headbutt, but when they led Ashley from the car to the Earthworm’s concealed entrance, she keeled over and vomited. The girl suddenly looked very unwell. Sarah wondered if she’d given Ashley a concussion.

  They carried Ashley down to MCU, straight to Dr Bennett’s infirmary. “Once she’s been treated, she’ll be taken to the holding cells in the middle section of the Earthworm,” Bradley explained en route.

  They were all standing now outside the infirmary while Dr Bennett worked inside. A little over an hour later, she finally came out to talk to them.

  “Are you done, doctor? I need to talk to her,” Sarah said, tapping her foot.

  Bennett sniffed. “The girl’s a mess; wounds all over. I’m not sure how much she’ll be able to give you. Why don’t you let her rest for a while?”

  Sarah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You do know that Ashley Foster and her family might be responsible for four suicide attacks?”

  “She’s just a girl. We don’t know what she’s guilty of yet.”

  Sarah hissed. “For one thing, she shot me. You should know, you patched me up.”

  “If you need to talk to her, fine, but I think we should let Director Palu decide. He’s the one in charge here, not you.”

  “Let her in,” Palu ordered, appearing from one of the adjacent hallways and walking towards them.

  Dr Bennett folded her arms irritably. “Very well. I have the patient on painkillers, so she’s a little drowsy. Go easy on her.”

  “The girl is a psychopath,” Sarah said. “She tried to slice Bradley’s throat.”

  “Until I pulled the trigger,” Bradley commented, grinning proudly.

  Sarah smiled back. “Yeah, that’s a hand and a foot you have on your resume now.”

  Dr Bennett opened the door to the infirmary and let them all through. Ashley immediately scowled at them like a foul smell descending on her.

  Sarah was surprised to see that Howard was there, too, with his left arm in a cast. “You look like you’ve been in a car accident,” Sarah said.

  Howard smirked. “I should have been strapped in.” His expression sombred. “Any of you heard about Mandy?”

  Sarah shook her head.

  “Mandy was in surgery the last time I spoke with Mattock,” Palu told them.

  Everybody was silent for a moment.

  Ashley grabbed their attention. “Big fucking deal. My parents are dead because of you lot. I’m glad your man is suffering, I’m just sorry I didn’t kill him. Where the hell am I anyway? You people aren’t police. The guy I shot is probably dead by now, so why don’t you hurry up and charge me, because you’re not getting anything out of me.”

  Sarah clenched her fists. Mandy had taken a bullet meant for her. “Keep talking and you’ll wish you were dead.”

  Ashley laughed and shook her head. Despite her attitude, she looked sick. Her breathing was irregular and her skin was moist and translucent.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Bradley asked, referring to Ashley. “She looks bad.”

  Dr Bennett shrugged. “She should be fine. She’s missing a couple of toes and her hand is sli
ghtly infected, but her injuries aren’t life-threatening.”

  “So why does she look like a bag of shit warmed up in an oven?” Sarah asked.

  “Fever from the infection, probably.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Poor thing.”

  “We’ll have to get her a card,” Howard said.

  “Screw you,” Ashley spat at them.

  Palu walked to the foot of Ashley’s bed and looked her over casually.

  Ashley pulled the blanket aside. “Want to climb in with me, big boy? I’ve never gone mocha before.”

  Palu tilted his head curiously. “What on earth happened to you, child? Has this world chewed you up and spat you out so badly? If so, I want you to know that I understand. Life can be so terribly cruel. It can turn our hearts to stone before we even reach puberty. I know.”

  Ashley rolled her eyes. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You work for the Government. You make me sick.”

  “Perhaps you and I are not so different,” Palu continued. “I’d like to tell you a story, Ashley. Would that be okay?”

  Ashley rolled her eyes again. “Knock yourself out.”

  Palu sat on the bed. “When I was a young boy, twelve years old, I lived in the region of the Punjab. My family were Jat, a proud people of Sikh heritage. During British rule we were considered a ‘martial’ race, born warriors, but my father was just a farmer. He tended the fields and kept goats. Some would say he was a man of peace, yet deep in his blood was a fighting spirit like all Jat.

  “The year was 1984, and a woman I hadn’t even heard of had just been assassinated in New Delhi by her Sikh bodyguards. The woman’s name was Indira Gandhi and she was Prime Minister of India. I was just a boy. I knew nothing of events outside my home or the small school I attended in the village.”

  Ashley feigned boredom. “When are you going to get to the good part?”

  “After Indira Gandhi was murdered, there were many troubles in India. Because the perpetrators were Sikh, the Hindus of India felt the assassination had been a conspiracy by our people. In the towns and cities, Sikh men and women were attacked in the streets, beaten to death by angry mobs. I could see the anxiety on my father’s face growing each day as he continued to work the fields, but he assured us that the violence would not reach our quiet, little farm. He was wrong. My father’s farm was large, and one of only few in the region. Some of our Hindu neighbours found opportunity in crisis. They stirred up hatred in the village, blamed Sikhs for the death of their beloved Prime Minister, and pointed fingers at our family. Soon, there was a mob at our door.