Fifty Two Weeks of Murder

by Owen Nichols

  “We could do with more men,” she said. “It’s all very well giving us power to employ local officers to our needs, but we need more in the Hub. Helen and Ben have more evidence than they can handle and if you have Anders working with them, it’s one less working with us.”

  “You’re right,” agreed Mal. “We do need more people.” Jesse’s phone rang loudly, puncturing the solemn atmosphere. He answered it, scribbling notes on a sheet of paper as he talked and abruptly hanging up.

  “Got a tip folks. Buckland’s been seen entering a building near Soho. Five minutes ago.” Mal shot forward and grabbed the paper.

  “Barry, get a van. Anders, firearms. Let’s move!” Spurred to action, Barry sprinted to the car depot, Mal and Lucy following. Anders ran to the firearms cabinet and tapped in a code, unlocking the cage and taking two Glock’s and two Heckler & Koch’s with spare magazines.

  As she sprinted past Jesse, Abi came from her office, the sudden noise piquing her interest.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Buckland’s been sighted,” shouted Anders as she ran past, following Lucy and Mal to the car depot. She reckoned they could be at the building in ten minutes and prayed that Buckland would be there so they could put a stop to his madness. She should have known better than to hope that Fifty Two Weeks of Murder would finish after only two.

  Chapter 9

  Barry sped through the streets, siren blaring from the police van as he covered the short distance to Soho in minutes. Slowing down, he switched off the siren and Lucy put Jesse on loudspeaker.

  “Ok folks,” he said. “Shop keeper on Greek Street just off Soho Square called this in. Claims he saw Buckland making his way into the building next to the Prince Edward Theatre. Barry, stop by Soho Square at the other end of the street and make your way down.”

  “Who owns the building?” asked Mal. There was a pause and the sound of tapping as Jesse searched the borough records. He muttered under his breath and Mal gave an impatient sigh. Anders shot him a calming look as she fitted a Kevlar vest round her waist and holstered her Glock, checking the Heckler & Koch for Barry once she was done. Eventually Jesse spoke.

  “I can’t find any records of the building actually existing.”

  “What the Hell does that mean?” asked Mal.

  “It means I can find every building on Greek Street but there’s a gap where number three should be. It’s like it’s been wiped.” Lucy spoke, clearly nervous in the tense atmosphere.

  “This why we can’t find Buckland? He’s hiding in a building that doesn’t exist?” Mal gave a thoughtful look.

  “Could be. He’s shown enough skill with a computer so far. Jesse, you’ll need to start matching up physical records with IT ones, find out where the gaps are. Could be there’s more than one.”

  Barry parked the van, Mal sliding the door open before it had stopped and leaping out. Lucy called after him, struggling to get her vest on as Duncan tried to put one over his bandaged arm.

  “Wait,” she said. Mal pulled up impatiently, turning to her aggressively. “We’re not equipped for this. We need to wait for the tactical response unit.” Mal gestured to Barry who was wrapping the strap of the Heckler & Koch round his forearm and extending the stock to fit his large frame.

  “That’s why we have Barry and Anders. They’re our tactical unit.”

  “There’s two of them.”

  “And one of him,” cut in Duncan, clearly nervous as well.

  “That we know of. He’s forming a cult pretty quick. We’ve no idea if it’s even him and if he’s alone. I’m not trained for this and neither are you two.” Mal turned to Barry, expecting his support. He responded with an easy shrug.

  “You’re the boss Mal, but she’s right. This isn’t America. We’re not the FBI. You, Lucy, Duncan, you’re detectives by training and practise, not soldiers. I’ll take Anders in and we’ll sweep the building. Call the tactical response unit and they can back us up when they get here. You guys can cordon off the street in the meantime.”

  They stood on the road by Soho Gardens where people lazily watched them as they enjoyed the midday sun on the grass. A few had taken out their phones to film the Police Officers arguing in a semi-circle as Anders helped Lucy to put her vest on properly. A cold breeze tousled her hair and she pulled it back in a tight pony tail to stop it getting in her face. She lifted her wrist slightly to check the time. Fifteen minutes since the call. Mal stared down the street, frustration twisting his features.

  “I’ll call back up, but we’re going in now. Lucy, Duncan you stay here.” Lucy glanced at Anders, seeing how calm and collected she was. She remembered the conversation in the bathroom they’d had and knew that she needed to do this.

  “I’m in, but it’s a bad idea.” Mal nodded, clearly pleased. He looked at Duncan who sighed heavily then gave a begrudging nod. Mal clapped a hand on Duncan’s shoulder.

  “Stay behind us,” he said. “Theatre is at the very end of the street on the right, about eight hundred yards. We’ll stick to the sides, try and remain out of sight.” Barry spoke then, his voice low and firm.

  “You three listen to Anders and me. We’re in charge now. We clear?” Mal nodded and bade them lead the way.

  Keeping their weapons holstered, they scrambled quickly down the street. The sun shone brightly on the opposite side, but they were in the shade as they passed a bank of cash machines and a few trendy clothes stores. The theatre was a large brick affair that stretched higher than the other buildings on the street, dominating the view. When people stepped out onto the street, they quickly rushed back into the shops at the sight of the five police officers storming towards an old, nondescript building that seemed to grow out of the theatre, almost as if it had been tacked on as an afterthought.

  There were few windows on the building and one entrance, an old wooden door, painted a dull grey that now flaked to show a bright red undercoat.

  Anders nodded to Barry and she drew her gun in one smooth movement as he knelt down by the door and picked the lock. Mal waited behind impatiently, Duncan gesturing to passers-by to clear the area. Eventually Barry had the lock picked and he turned to Anders. She stepped forward as he opened the door, sliding to the side to let her through. The interior was dark and Anders was lost from sight as the gloom engulfed her. Barry followed without hesitation and Lucy felt a ripple of fear tremor through her. Not only at what she may encounter inside, but at the way Anders and Barry moved. Sinuous and with a grace that reminded her of a lion stalking its prey. In that moment, they both scared her.

  Mal, impatience making him jittery, gave them seconds before following in himself. Duncan gave Lucy a supportive look and slunk through the doorway, leaving her alone on the street with her fears. She’d entered countless buildings, been at the front line when doors were smashed in, but this was something different. She’d entered a new world and felt out of her depth, not realising that Duncan and Mal both had the same fears. They were just better at hiding it. Steeling herself, she glanced nervously around the street and scurried into the building.

  She found herself in a decrepit old shop, long abandoned. A thick layer of dust carpeted both the floor and rows of tatty shelves. Footprints could be seen tracing a path from the door to the staircase and then to a room off to one side, both sets smudged by the team ahead of her. Mal and Duncan were immediately ahead, waiting on Anders and Barry, the atmosphere tense, the light dim and foreboding. Barry was at the foot of the staircase and nodded to her as she entered the building. Anders came from the side room and skirted the shop floor to Barry, her footsteps a whisper on the old wooden floor. They conversed with hand signals that she couldn’t decipher, so Lucy, assuming the side room was clear, made her way into what looked like an old storage room.

  She saw a battered table and matching chair in the centre, a laptop nestled on the surface. Scratch marks on the floor showed where the furniture had been dragged from; a cluttered pile of shelving, stools and tables
in the corner. The room looked empty apart from that. The laptop glowered at her and she moved towards it, hoping that Jesse would be able to access it remotely and shut down the website. As she reached out to the laptop, she heard a creaking noise above them.

  Looking through the doorway, she saw Mal sprint across the shop floor, his footsteps suddenly loud in the confined space. Anders looked to him, raising her hand to stop Mal, when she saw Lucy from the corner of her eye. Her eyes widened in sudden realisation, but it was too late. She knew the pile of junk was too staged and called her warning, surprised to see Lucy in the storage room and reaching for the laptop. She gave the computer the faintest of touches but it was enough.

  Her touch cut a razor thin wire that held in place a chair in the pile of junk. It slipped a fraction of an inch and hit the charge on an M18A1 mine. The claymore detonated, ravaging the pile of junk and sending out hundreds of steel balls and splintered wood in a sixty degree arc. Lucy knew none of this. Her world was filled with sudden, agonising and tormenting pain that lasted seconds, but felt like hours, as her body bore the brunt of the explosion. She didn’t hear the concussive noise as she gratefully embraced oblivion.

  The detonation knocked Anders from her feet, sending her skidding across the foyer as a broiling wave of heat erupted from the side room. She dimly registered Mal and Duncan being tossed across the space with her before they were enveloped in dust, heat and a deafening noise. Air was forced from her lungs and she struggled for breath in the dust and rubble. Glass shattered with a shrieking wail, blasting onto the street. Getting to her knees, Anders forced herself to her feet, gagging and choking, the world ringing and stars fugging her vision.

  “Report!” she yelled, her throat hoarse and acrid. Barry was the first to respond, followed by Mal.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Me too.” Anders tried to see through the dust to where she’d last seen Lucy but could only see shadow. A hand reached to her and she pulled it towards herself, gun raising to the target. It was Mal. His face was covered in grime, eyes streaked with tears and red raw. She passed her gun to him.

  “Upstairs now. Barry?”

  “On it,” he called and stormed up the stairs, all pretence at quiet gone. Mal, coughing wildly, followed, holding the gun as if for the first time.

  “Duncan?” called Anders. She was greeted with a groan as he stumbled from the smoke, clutching his wounded arm that had started to bleed again. She dragged him into the side room and was greeted with a horrific sight. Lucy lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. The mine that had been hidden in the pile of junk had sent needles of wood, metal and plastic flying towards Lucy and her arm was a ragged stump from just above the elbow. Shards of debris and steel balls had peppered her vest and it had borne the brunt of the battering stoically, with only a few jagged pieces piercing the Kevlar. The explosion had still caused terrible damage and she was bleeding profusely.

  Anders rushed to Lucy, quickly assessing the carnage. Blood was pouring from her severed brachial artery and she knew that Lucy had moments to live. Mercifully, she was unconscious, which would make her task easier.

  “Duncan,” she called, trying not to cough as she knelt beside Lucy, her own body bruised and sore. Getting no reply, she tried again, her voice cracking with the effort.

  “Yes?” he replied, still dazed. Anders took a knife from her belt and lifted Lucy’s ruined arm onto her lap. A sickening shard of bone stuck out from a loose flap of skin and shredded muscle stuck to her trousers.

  “I need water and get Jesse on the phone. Get me the first aid kit from the van and some tubing. Fast. You hear me?” She didn’t turn to him, focused on what she was about to do. The brachial artery, once severed had sunk back into the flesh, the elastic tissue springing back with the sudden release of tension. Using her knife, Anders sliced upwards, quickly exposing more flesh. Digging her fingers in, Lucy rushed back to consciousness with an ear splitting scream.

  She struggled as Anders burrowed her fingers further into the muscle, trying to find the severed artery.

  “It’s ok,” she called soothingly, laying one hand on Lucy’s chest. She could feel her heart beating rapidly, the action pumping more blood from the artery. Anders had seconds to find the vessel and she could feel Lucy weakening as she bled out.

  “I’ve got you, you’re gonna be ok, keep listening to my voice,” she said reassuringly, finally grabbing the artery and squeezing the end tightly, her fist still embedded within Lucy’s arm. With her other hand, she took Lucy’s remaining hand and gripped it, talking softly, not really saying much as she tried to stem the flow of blood.

  Chapter 10

  Barrelling up the stairs, feet pounding loudly, Barry registered the sound of glass smashing ahead. The stairwell led to a long corridor that skirted the side of the theatre. It was bare, with wooden floors and a couple of rooms off to the side. At the end, a large window had been broken and Barry made for that, gun raised, quickly checking each room as he stormed by.

  Mal followed closely behind, blood pumping through his head in a pulsating rhythm as he focused on staying upright and keeping up with Barry. As he passed the first room, he didn’t notice a cupboard door open and a figure step out. He was tall and wore a hoodie jumper with the hood up. Grabbing a wooden stool as he entered the corridor, the figure swung it at Mal, knocking him into the wall with a meaty thump.

  Barry, hearing the noise behind him, turned just as the stool was swung towards his skull. Cursing himself at falling for such an old trick, he punched outwards with his forearms, the old stool shattering against them. At this range, his gun was more likely to kill his opponent, so he used it as a club instead. His training kicked in and he smothered the figure with heavy blows, not giving him a chance to defend himself. The assailant gave several satisfying cries of pain and Barry put all of his power into a thump across the temple, sending the hooded figure crashing into the wall.

  Without pause, Barry slammed into him, his full weight driving the air from the man’s lungs. Pulling his arms backwards, Barry used his speedcuffs to immobilise the attacker. Using the plastic bar across the cuffs, Barry swung the figure round to face him as Mal groggily got to his feet, using the walls to help him stand.

  “You ok?” asked Barry. Mal shook his head.

  “No,” he replied and staggered forwards, pulling the hood off the figure. His addled brain took some time to work out who he was. The figure looked like Buckland, but much younger, the cheeks not as sharp and the jaw slightly wider, but the Buckland genes were prominent in his features.

  “Buckland junior,” he said, his voice rasping from the explosion. “And here’s us thinking you were still in America.”

  Chapter 11

  Duncan looked like he was going to vomit as he lay his findings on the floor. He’d had the foresight to take some vodka from the shop opposite and followed Anders’ directions. She had one hand dug inside Lucy, the other pressed against a seeping wound above her waist, just below where the vest reached. Lucy had slipped into a coma and Anders could see she was dying. Duncan had borrowed a phone as well and propped it on the floor of the shop, rubble and debris everywhere. Jesse’s voice came through the speaker.

  “Blood group Jesse,” Anders said as she instructed Duncan to sterilise the tubing and open the first aid kit.

  “Ambulance will be there in ten,” Jesse was saying.

  “She’s got minutes Jesse, get me her blood group.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Duncan. “I’m type O.” Anders shook her head.

  “You’ve lost too much blood recently. You’ll be in danger too.” Duncan gave her a forceful stare.

  “Do it,” he said. Anders reassessed him. He was far braver than she’d given him credit for.

  “See that syringe there? Pull the needle off. Use the lighter, melt that end. Stick it in the vodka, let it cool. Take the plunger from that syringe.” She directed him with a firm touch, and, even though his hands were shaking, he cobbled togethe
r a way to get some blood into Lucy, cutting the plunger and tube and using a lighter to melt the rubber to the sides. It was the same method developed by a Canadian in the First World War and Duncan hoped it would work.

  “You’ll need to find a vein in her right arm.” Duncan scrabbled to find a vein. Lucy’s vital signs had receded and Anders was unable to help. Eventually, he found it and plunged the needle in.

  “Artery in your left hand. See the one I’m holding? Imagine that running down your own arm.” Anders took her hand from Lucy’s stomach wound and, still holding her brachial artery tightly, showed Duncan how to put the needle in and lift the plunger to start blood flowing into her. Duncan waited with baited breath, feeling faint as his blood was directed into Lucy. He wasn’t sure what to expect and was disappointed when nothing seemed to change in her. Leaning back against a wall, he slurred his words as he spoke.

  “Will she be ok?” Anders looked at the ruined stump of her arm and the side of her body that had been shredded and shook her head.

  “I don’t know.” In the distance, they could hear the sirens of an ambulance and a tactical support unit. The very same one Lucy had insisted go with them. “Where did you get the tubing from?” she asked. More to keep Duncan awake and focused than anything.

  “Bikes,” he replied. “There’s a few bikes outside missing some tyres. How did you learn how to do this?” he asked.

  “History channel,” she said as red and blue lights bathed the area. She found them comforting and breathed a sigh of relief as Mal and Barry came downstairs pushing their prisoner in front of them. Lord Buckland’s son. They’d paid a heavy price for him. She hoped it was worth it.