False Witness (John Steel series Book 3)

by syron-jones, p s

  She had waited in line for only a few minutes but it was enough time for her to check up on her missed text messages. McCall looked up as the woman in front had gotten her order and had finished drenching the onions with ketchup and mustard. The small Indian man behind the stall greeted her with the kind of smile that could cheer you up on a cloudy day.

  “Sam, it has been too long. What’s happened, have you have found another stand?” he joked as she put the cell phone into her jacket pocket.

  “You know I would never do that, Sid,” she replied with a smile. “Besides, your stall is closer than the other guy’s one.”

  He gave her a hurt look before handing over her usual order of a loaded hot dog.

  “If that’s a healthy snack, McCall, I’d hate to see what you do for dinner.”

  McCall almost jumped out of her skin at the sudden sound of the softly spoken British-accented voice that came from behind her.

  She spun round to see a tall black-haired man wearing a pair of face-hugging sunglasses. He was close enough to be her shadow, but not close enough to make her tremble.

  Sid smiled as the man passed him a ten-dollar note and waved off the change.

  “Damn it, Steel, you could have given me a heart attack,” Sam told the British man angrily.

  John Steel looked at her in amazement at the comment as she plastered the hot dog with ketchup. “Wow, and you’re worried about me giving you a heart attack!”

  She looked up at him scornfully and walked off. Steel smiled at Sid and the two men shrugged.

  Steel turned up the collar of his long wool and leather trench coat as he followed her. The leather on the arms and shoulders glistened like the skin of a bat’s wing and the length of the coat flapped behind him like a mythical bird in flight as it caught the wind.

  He was over six foot and had broad shoulders, and his black suit and long coat hid his muscular frame. Some would say he was handsome with his high cheekbones and square jaw, while others would say he could give the summer months calendar fire-fighter boys a run for their money. Some would say it, but not him.

  “Where’ve you been, we missed you at the scene,” Sam lied.

  Steel looked down at her and smiled as he saw through the hidden bitter words. “I had a case a friend asked me to look into. Sorry, I should have said.”

  McCall didn’t immediately respond, she just kept walking towards the precinct building.

  “So you done with the case?” she said eventually, her words biting into the oncoming air.

  He smiled to himself at her question, knowing that she was trying to conceal her interest. “I hit a... dead end, for now.”

  She stopped suddenly and turned to face him, her mind conjuring up all sorts of images of what he meant. As Sam faced him she saw the smirk on his face and slapped him on the shoulder as he carried on past her towards the station house. She finished eating the hot dog, still wearing an unamused look on her face, tossed the paper ball into the trash can and followed him into the place where they both worked.

  *

  Inside the recreation room, McCall brought Steel up to speed on the case as he handed her a cup of coffee he had just poured from the glass jugs on the machine.

  John Steel had explained how he had heard of the crash involving the prisoners from the precinct, but he had been tied up with the other case at the time.

  “So all we have is some dead bodies, three in the hospital and three on the loose,” Steel said, as he blew on his coffee before risking a sip. He looked over at the murder board by Sam’s desk through the gaps in the cream slatted blinds.

  “Do CSU have any theories about what happened?” he asked.

  McCall shook her head, making her brown hair flow past her shoulders. They both knew that the CSU report would take time, time they didn’t have. “They are backed up at the minute, could take a day maybe two.”

  Steel turned to let her move away towards her desk. He followed her then found a perch on the end of the area covered with neat piles of her papers and files.

  McCall held the coffee mug with both hands, her long fingers wrapped around the sides as if she were strangling it. Steel rested his cup down on one of the coasters she insisted he used. Her desktop was immaculately laid out, everything had a place and purpose.

  He could see that something was bothering her, hell, a blind man could see that. There was something that didn’t sit right and he knew enough to realise that she would stare at that board until the conundrum became clear.

  She wasn’t just a detective, she was a hunter. And she was tenacious, which was one of the things that he liked about her.

  “So how did the three guys get away?” he asked. “I thought that they were locked down to the floor during transit?”

  McCall turned and shot him a look, and then he realised he had asked the very question she was pondering. “Apparently the lock disengaged when the bus hit the wall, I don’t know, must have been a malfunction or something.”

  The male detective heard her words and he could tell that she didn’t believe the explanation any more than he did.

  His eyes scanned the photographs of the crash, where everything was and the general conditions. Neither of them spoke, they just stared at the puzzle before them.

  “How did the three men survive it anyway?” he mused. “I mean seven of them were killed instantly and in a crash like that I am not surprised.”

  McCall shook her head and looked back at him. “What’s your point? The thing is amour-plated.”

  Steel looked at the photograph that was taken from the rooftop of one of the nearby buildings, and he checked every detail on the eight-by-ten. “Do we know where everyone was seated?”

  The woman sat back in her chair and took a sip from the coffee. She just stared at him, watching as the adrenaline rush inspired by investigating the case seemed to make him as hyper as a kid on a sugar rush. “Not yet. Tony and Tooms are off to the prison in the morning to see if they can get any information and hopefully they can also explain why the floor lock broke.”

  Steel finished off his coffee and looked at his watch. It was now seven o’clock and he had plans. “Well, we can’t do anything until tomorrow so I will say good night.”

  McCall looked up at him curiously. She could tell something was bothering him and that normally meant that someone was about to end up in a hospital. “See you tomorrow then. Oh and, Steel, stay out of trouble—we have enough bodies.”

  He smiled and gave a quick salute before turning and heading for the elevator. He had that stony look on his face that made him look cold and companionless.

  She pitied the person he was going to see.

  SIX

  The next morning the sun had not quite broken the horizon as the city began to come alive. The cold blue sky seemed to colour the buildings and streets, and a chill wind brought in fresh unspoiled air through the maze of stone and steel.

  Joggers and dog walkers set out on their daily routines and garbage men went about cleaning the streets before the chaos ensued.

  Samantha McCall lay motionless underneath her sky-blue bed sheets, her body contorted into the kind of shape that a yoga instructor would have been proud of.

  Slowly she opened one eye as if the other was glued shut. She turned her head and flattened the pillow beneath her so she could get a better look at the alarm clock. It was four in the morning.

  McCall didn’t move at first, merely lay still, hoping that if she didn’t move she would eventually fall back to sleep, but her hopes shattered as she felt her brain starting to click into her morning routine. With a grumble, she crawled from beneath the sheets and headed for the bathroom.

  The wooden floor had a disagreeable chill to it as she entered the large space that combined her sitting room, kitchen and bathroom and was adjacent to the bedroom.

  Quickly she scuttled into the bathroom and shut the door. Seconds later the door slowly opened and a very awake McCall looked out towards the kitchen.

/>   She felt a cold chill run down her spine as the sound of the coffee machine and soft music from the radio filled the apartment.

  At first the sounds had not been apparent as she was half asleep, but the walk from her room had blown away some of the morning cobwebs.

  Someone was in her kitchen—her apartment.

  The detective looked over to the large dresser by the front door were she kept her Glock 17. It was a good twenty feet from where she was and she would have to go past the kitchen to get the weapon.

  Then her thoughts moved to the backup Smith and Wesson M&P.40 that was in a compartment in the headboard of her bed. McCall moved slowly, her gaze fixed on the kitchen door. She could probably take whoever it was but if they were armed then they would have the advantage, and she was about to change that situation.

  Sam walked backwards into the dimly lit room. She knew where everything was, how many feet to this or that. However, she hadn’t reckoned on backing into something—something that should not have been there.

  She turned to see Steel standing there, the light that crept through the door reflecting off his naked body. She gasped as he pulled her close and looked into her eyes before he pressed his lips against hers. Her body become limp in his muscular arms as he picked her up effortlessly and carried her to the bed. She felt the warmth of his body against hers as he drew closer to her until they became one. She threw her head back as her passion built up, her fingers clawing at his back. She was in ecstasy and she didn’t want it to stop. As she grew near a faint sound filled her ears, almost like a watch alarm was going off, a distant beep, beep, beep.

  McCall woke suddenly to the noise of her alarm as it grew louder. With an angry swipe she knocked the digital clock flying across the room. With an almost animalistic growl McCall slammed her head back into her pillow and banged her fists against the mattress. Sam got out of bed and headed for the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. As she got into the floor space between the kitchen and the bedroom she stopped and listened.

  She smiled at the silence and made for the bathroom. The water was cool and refreshing against her now sweaty skin. McCall looked up into the mirror and shook her head. “Damn it, not again, this dreaming has got to stop.”

  SEVEN

  Becky Carlson stood in front of her father’s door. One hand was laden with groceries in large brown paper bags as she struggled to find her keys with the other.

  She would stop by every other day before work to see how her old man was doing. Her mom had kicked him to the curb and now he lived here—if you could call what he was doing living.

  Becky remembered him as a fit man, tall and handsome. In fact, he used to teach gym at the local school, until something happened and then it all changed. He had changed.

  Now he stayed indoors and never came out, never had visitors. His logic was: “If you don’t have a key you shouldn’t be there.”

  With a sigh of relief she found the large bunch of keys in her bag that hung on her shoulder, locating it by way of the special tag that she had put onto the keyring so it could be found using touch. As Becky’s fingers found the high recesses of the tag, she smiled. Becky lifted the key and scraped it along the door where she thought the lock was, until it jammed on something. Carefully, she pushed and it sank home and the key clicked into place.

  As she began to turn it a voice from behind made her jump with fright.

  “Morning, Becky,” were the words.

  Her bags of groceries crashed to the floor, and her back slammed against the door as she held her chest, trying to calm herself from the shock.

  “Mr Edwards, God, you scared the shit out of me,” she said in relief, laughing and shaking her head as she bent down to pick up the food items. The aging black man strained to kneel down to assist in retrieving the spilled shopping.

  “Sorry kid, didn’t mean to scare you, hell, I breathe like a locomotive, would have thought you would have heard that.”

  They laughed as they started to refill one of the bags.

  “Becky, your dad has had that TV on loud all night,” Mr Edwards told her. “I guess his hearing has probably gone, but can you have a word?”

  Becky nodded with an apologetic smile. “Oh, yeah, sure I’ll have a chat with him, sorry, Mr Edwards.” She stood up, slid the key into the lock, and turned it. She felt resistance, a stiffness which she found odd at first, but finally it opened.

  As the door swung inwards she was greeted by the loud blare from the television set in the sitting room. Becky left the groceries on the floor and rushed in, realising that there was a problem.

  The apartment was in darkness apart from a blue flickering glow from the television set that illuminated a path past the kitchen

  Confused and worried, Becky and her friend ventured along the small corridor and turned past the kitchen, taking in a full view of the sitting room.

  All appeared normal at first, so Becky headed for the heavy looking armchair to try to find the remote. Suddenly she stopped. Becky had caught a glimpse past the armchair, where she saw the shape of her father on the ground—his body was been lit up by the glare of the TV.

  Panicked, they both rushed over to him, only to find the man motionless on the thin stained carpet. His cold lifeless eyes were staring up to the ceiling, with its aging flaky paint job. Those eyes held an expression of utter horror. Mr Edwards turned and ran out before emptying his stomach on the building’s walkway.

  Becky moved slowly closer to the body. The sound of the TV set was now an irrelevance. The room was spinning as shock took hold, and tears poured down her face as she felt unable to do anything. After all these years of caring for him and now, she could do nothing except stare.

  Stare at his cloudy eyes and the bloodied stitching that held his nose and mouth shut.

  EIGHT

  The morning traffic had built up to its usual madness. People were either rushing to work by cab or using their own vehicles. The sun had risen but had not yet brought its warmth, commuters huddled themselves in coats that they knew they wouldn’t need later, but they helped with the chill of the morning.

  Sam McCall reflected that Tony had sent her a text informing her of the fresh body at one of the tower blocks on Water Street.

  Parking on Water Street was a nightmare, its narrowness exacerbated by the badly parked vehicles, meaning that she had to park down the bottom, far away from the murder scene.

  However, she didn’t mind the walk. Finding a spot between an old Golf and a new Ford she parked then sat for a moment, taking in the surrounding view of large buildings of red and brown brick.

  As she got out the fresh morning breeze swept over her face, leaving a tingle in her cheeks. She closed her eyes and breathed in a lungful of the fresh air.

  The walk took her around five minutes. She could have done it in two, but she wanted to take in the whole layout of the land. The brown brick building itself was large with white window frames. She looked over at the entrance to find Tony waiting for her.

  “Hey, Tony, so what we got?” she asked her colleague.

  Tony smiled and took out his notebook from the inside jacket pocket of his smart grey suit, then held the door open for her as she approached.

  He read from the book: “We have a Caucasian male name of Andy Carlson, he was in his mid-fifties according to his driver’s license. There were signs of forced entry, the locks had been picked and the chain had been cut.”

  McCall took a mental note as they entered the elevator, Tony stood next to the control and pressed the button for the fifth floor. As the doors closed Tony flipped his pad closed and placed it back in his pocket.

  “Tooms is in the apartment with CSU,” he explained.

  Sam McCall nodded as she watched the round buttons on the control pad light up at the arrival of each floor.

  “Have you been in yet?” she asked.

  Tony nodded as he pulled out a pair of purple surgical gloves and proceeded to stretch them over his hands. “We g
ot the call not long ago. ME arrived just before you, so she might still be working on him.”

  The steel box shuddered as it stopped with an unnerving noise from the brakes.

  The doors slid open to reveal the circus. Passers-by were struggling to get a glimpse of what was going on as they stood behind yellow police tape.

  As the two detectives approached the taped-off barricade, a tall black uniformed officer nodded a greeting to McCall and raised the tape, allowing them entry.

  “Morning, Detective,” the officer greeted her. “Not quite the way to start the morning.”

  “Never is, TJ, it never is, "She said, shooting him a quick smile before ducking under the tape.

  McCall stopped just outside the doorway and took in the surroundings. She liked to map things out in her mind, to get the feel of a place before proceeding. Tony was standing behind her.

  The doorway led to a small entranceway between two rooms before branching off to the left and right. To the front was what she believed to be the bedroom. Inside she could see the large bulk of Tooms, who was kneeling on one knee talking to a black-haired woman.

  “That’s the victim’s daughter, Becky Carlson,” Sam’s colleague told her. “She found him early this morning. Apparently, she visits him every other day before work to make sure he is okay.”

  Sam looked over in the girl’s direction and she sensed her pain.

  “However, today when she arrived the guy next door met her. He was complaining that the TV was blasting all night. After she went in that’s when she found him and called it in.”

  McCall reached inside her jacket, pulling out a small camera, and switching it on.

  “So how long had the TV been on?” A sudden voice from behind Tony made him curse loudly.

  “Jesus! Damn it, Steel, where the hell did you come from?” Tony demanded angrily of the newcomer who’d surprised him.

  Steel smiled childishly at making Tony jump.