Exit Wounds

by Aaron Fisher

  Craig was different. He turned away from the images on the screen, one hand nervously scratching his temple. But then it was little wonder. Craig was as much a fixture in the department as the desks and shelving. He had already hit thirty and showed no prospects of reaching any higher than the lower-mid level position he had been in for the last seven years. He lacked the drive that had accelerated Tony to where he was in half the time it took Craig to get to where he was. Tony was already Craig’s superior and he wasn’t going to stop there.

  It seemed to Tony, that he and Craig were different in absolutely every way. Whereas he was focused and determined, Craig seemed distracted and content. Craig was shorter too, with dark hair which waved and fell out of place at every given opportunity. He wasn’t overweight, but in comparison to someone like himself, Tony could see that he cared little for the maintenance of his own body and had probably never even seen the inside of a gymnasium since school.

  It was strange then, that Tony couldn’t help but feel a certain fondness for this reverse parallel of himself. Craig was the only person that Tony would trust in any way. Perhaps it was because Tony believed Craig too incompetent for betrayal? Or perhaps it was because Craig looked up to him unquestioningly? Whatever the reason, Tony saw Craig as the closest thing he had to a friend in this place and whilst it might be going against the rules he set himself when he was appointed to the Cardiff M.I.T. Branch, it was one exception that he was willing to excuse.

  “Local authorities were called to the scene when she was discovered by an elderly gentleman walking his dog around five o’clock.”

  Craig leant in quietly, “Why is it always old men with their dogs?”

  Tony gave a polite smile. He knew Craig’s humour was dealt out of uneasiness not malice, but he needed to concentrate.

  “The coroner’s carrying out more precise examinations as we speak, but clearly from these images, there can be little doubt that this is the nineteenth victim”, Colgan studied everyone’s face carefully before he continued. “There is indication that she was raped and her wrists were slashed, as with the other victims, until she was bled dry. The heart was also torn out.” Colgan knew this speech off by his own heart now. He wished he had never said it once, let alone twice. Yet here he was saying it for the nineteenth time. “Again, as with the other victims, her eyes were, stolen.”

  Colgan hit the enter button on his laptop, one last time, and signalled for Craig to turn the lights around the table back on. “Questions?”

  “Are we any closer to identifying the tool used to extract the heart and eyes from the bodies?” Tony asked straight away.

  Colgan shook his head, “Again as with the other victims, the heart had been taken out with precision, there were no pieces left, but we’re still no closer to identifying what the killer uses. The eyes again have been torn out. It’s unclear if the killer uses any tool at all for removing them. As I said, the complete autopsy on the latest victim is still being carried out, but I think it’s safe to say we shouldn’t expect much.”

  Tony scribbled down his own notes, already his mouth opening for another question, “Is there any connection between Green and any of the other victims?”

  Colgan nodded, as if he had anticipated Tony question. “Again, as with the others, it appears completely unrelated besides the obvious: the victim being young, female and the nature of the murder itself. I want you and Craig, to run a full background check. Start stacking up her life right away. If Lucy and any of the other victims ever bought matches at the same corner shop once, I want to know about it.”

  Colgan turned to another officer sat at the table. A young woman, with blonde hair tied back in a pony tail. She wore a white blouse and a black skirt. She looked up from her own laptop and met Colgan’s glance with her wide, green eyes.

  “Michelle, I want you to run a bag and tag at her home, local uniform is already there with the family.”

  Michelle nodded quickly, “Understood.”

  Colgan addressed the mass once more. “I want the rest of you to keep doing what you’re doing, only do it better. Harder. Press down on any leads we have and tie up those loose ends. I’ll have the full forensic report to you all within the next hour.”

  The group disbanded. Amid the others, Tony and Craig were starting towards their desks and the task at hand, when Colgan called. “Tony, can I have a word?”

  Craig and Tony exchanged a glance. Craig reluctantly continued to his workstation. Tony knew Craig didn’t like it being just Tony that the boss wanted to see. He felt left out and whilst he had no real ambition, it didn’t exactly make him happy being kept out of the loop.

  It’s something he’ll just have to accept, Tony thought to himself. He was his superior, and Craig had gotten as far as he was going to get.

  Tony joined Colgan’s side as he packed away the wires from his laptop. Craig had commented once that there was more than just a passing resemblance between the two of them. Minus the twenty-six years of hard work, stress and experience. Both had the same yellow hair, height and even shared the same tailor. The last point, Tony had neglected to tell Craig, was not by accident. “Sir?”

  Colgan didn’t even bother looking up, his own sharp, blue eyes remained fixed on packing away his computer as he spoke. “I’ve got something I want your input on. Get Craig started on the background checks, and then meet me in my office in fifteen minutes.”

  Tony nodded once with compliance, “Sir.”

  Somewhere in Cardiff Bay

  It was light outside now. Paul could see the bright daylight over the seats and through the front windscreen. He wondered why they hadn’t been blindfolded. Surely if they were being taken to Giacometti, and this being their first meeting with him, then he wouldn’t want him and his brother knowing the location of where they were being taken?

  Richard was thinking the same thing. He contemplated for a few moments that perhaps the meet point was going to be somewhere public, and then of course, there would be little point in covering their eyes. Once they got there, they would know where they were anyway. The thought left Richard’s mind as quickly as it had entered. No way would Giacometti risk meeting them in public. That would leave him vulnerable and he’d have no control over them. In fact, now thinking about it, Richard almost felt silly that he hadn’t seen this coming earlier. Of course, Giacometti would want the pair of them taken to him. From what they knew of him by reputation, Giacometti was a man who liked to have complete control over everything, and right now he had both Richard and his brother right where he wanted them.

  Paul had been trying to keep a mental track of the direction they were heading, noting each change of direction in his head. He was now almost entirely convinced they were going in a circle, or a square, or any other shape that eventually closed in on itself for that matter. This driver just seemed to be turning left at every junction. They’d be back where they started soon surely.

  Dean climbed over the front seats into the back of the van with them. He picked up a discarded plastic crate off the van floor and sat down opposite them, facing Richard.

  “I gotta frisk you,” he announced.

  “Don’t bother,” Richard nodded his head towards his brother. “We’re carrying.”

  Dean looked from Richard to Paul. On cue, Paul pulled back his leather jacket to reveal the uncomfortable piece of metal, stuffed down the front of his trousers that was now digging its way into his stomach, under his ribs. Richard smiled and pulled back his shirt, revealing his own weapon.

  Dean was clearly stunned. Probably more by their blatancy than the pieces themselves, Paul thought to himself with a smile that he couldn’t completely hide. Dean looked back to Richard, and then again at Paul. He opened his hand and held it out towards him. “Hand them over.”

  Neither twin moved.

  “Hand it over,” Dean persisted. “You’re not meeting Giacometti with that!”

  “Are you carrying?” Richard asked, calmly.

  Dean
looked at him like he didn’t understand the question, “What?”

  “He’s armed,” Paul nodded. “It’s pushing out the back of his trousers.”

  “And I’m betting our designated driver there is suited up too,” Richard added. “No doubt, when we get to wherever it is that you’re taking us, Giacometti will be having a few more buddies with pieces. So I don’t see why it’s unreasonable for us to have a couple friends of our own.”

  “You want a friend? How about I put a bullet between your eyes right now to keep you fucking company!”

  Paul’s fingers flickered, his shoulder turned slightly. Richard quickly placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

  Dean turned to the driver. “Pull over!”

  The van quickly came to a stop. Dean looked back to the twin brothers. “You got two choices. Either I let you out here and you’re lucky if I don’t shoot the pair of you in the back. Or you hand over those pieces and this party keeps on moving?”

  Paul had no intention of handing over his weapon. He studied Dean’s face carefully. He was an aggressive man, that was obvious by his voice, but all too many men had plenty of bark and little bite. He wondered if perhaps he should take Dean out now, get to the driver before he has a chance to react, and take his chances on extracting Giacometti’s location from him. He could be pretty persuasive if he wanted.

  But Richard wasn’t going to let his brother take that chance. He nodded slowly and retrieved his weapon from his waist, holding it out.

  Dean quickly snatched it out of Richard’s hand and tossed it to the driver.

  Paul turned, for the first time, to stare at his brother. He couldn’t believe Richard was making a stupid decision like this. This was fast becoming a new habit of Richard’s and he didn’t like it.

  Dean clicked his fingers quickly. “And you!”

  “What the hell are you doing?!” Paul ignored Dean.

  “Hand it over, Paul,” Richard told him.

  “You can’t be serious?” Paul asked through clenched teeth.

  Richard, avoided eye contact. “Just do it.”

  “No.”

  “Paul.”

  “I can’t protect you if you don’t let me.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me,” Richard said, only finally looking at his brother after his words had rung out.

  His eyes still on Richard, Paul yanked the Beretta from his belt and slapped it into Dean’s open palm.

  Richard looked back to Dean, “Happy?”

  Dean smiled at Paul, pointing at him with the butt end of the gun, “There’s a good boy.”

  Paul’s blood began to boil. He was going to jump over there and snap Dean’s bloody neck if he didn’t stop smirking at him soon.

  Dean nodded to the driver, who started the engine up again, and pulled away. He examined the Beretta in his hand and smiled again at Paul, “I like this gun.”

  Heol Cefn Onn, Lisvane

  Gary Ashcroft wondered how his life had ever come to this. He was no saint, he admitted that. As a teenager he had often shoplifted, stolen cars and beaten people. Crime wasn’t something he had particularly enjoyed. It had just been the easiest way to get money. He lacked the flair of a scholar, but he wasn’t mentally inept, which meant he was always going to be ignored by his teachers. That hadn’t bothered Gary, if they ignored him, they didn’t miss him when he didn’t bother to turn up anymore.

  At age eighteen, with no job, no qualifications and a juvenile record, Gary thought it was a good idea to sign up to the British Army. His lack of ambition saw him never climb higher than a Corporal in the light infantry, and that was only in the last stretch of his twenty-two years of service. He spent the vast majority of it as a Private, watching other soldiers progress beyond him, until he was taking orders off men he had helped through their first days of deployment. It never worried Gary much. For the most part, his superiors remembered his kindness and remained loyal to him. There was an honour there. But there was no honour here. Not in this.

  Sitting in an old Ford Escort, parked on the side of a nice suburban road in Lisvane, Gary wished he was still in the army. His surrounding were pleasant enough. It sure beat a lot of the places he had found himself in during his service. Lisvane was one of Cardiff’s most affluent areas. Most of the houses were at least twice the size of what he was used to living in, and Gary hadn’t spotted one in the area yet that wasn’t detached. Like most of Cardiff’s wealthier residential areas, foliage was in abundance. But here, Gary noted, it seemed mandatory for every house to have at least one tree in their front garden. Where he had grown up, it was a luxury to even have a front garden, or a back garden, or even a window box for that matter.

  Gary was forty-three years old now. After his time in the army he had spent the last three years returning to petty crime. Old habits die hard, and outside the regiment he knew no other life. Gary exhaled loudly. He couldn’t pretend there was anything petty about what he was about to do now.

  Glancing in his rear-view mirror, Gary caught a glimpse of himself and did his best to ignore the look of disgust in his own eyes. His hair was almost all gone now and he had shaved what remained short to his scalp. His face looked tired, like an old, battered leather jacket that had been worn for far too long and was started to wear thin and fray at the edges.

  Gary rubbed his hands together on the steering wheel. Even they had their own scars to bear. He was desperate for a hit. Maybe he could have a smoke instead?

  Just one. To take the edge off.

  Gary thought about it. He could make sure that he took the used cigarette and even the ash with him after he had wiped down the car for prints. He didn’t pretend to understand forensics but he knew they couldn’t get DNA off what wasn’t there. He shook his head quickly to himself. No, he had the car window open just half an inch at the top. It let in the cold, early morning air and stopped the windows steaming up with his breath. This helped to avoid unwanted attention, but if he lit up, it would also let out a steady flow of smoke like a chimney and that would defeat the whole object.

  The front door to a house a little further up the road on the right opened. A young girl, in her mid to late teens came out, carefully shutting the door behind her, as if to make as little noise as possible. She raised her left foot up onto the small wall that lined the pathway to the pavement and began to stretch. She wore a tight, pink tank top and a pair of blue jogging trousers with plain, white trainers. Her long, brown hair was tied back in a pony, and as she turned with her next set of stretches, Gary found that he had to look away.

  She was so young. She could be his own daughter. She’d be about this girl’s age now. Not that Gary would recognise her if he saw her in the street.

  Gary waved these thoughts away from his head. It was pointless even thinking about such things. It wasn’t like he had a choice in this. Not really. He had to go through with it. Forcing himself to look back, Gary tried to complete the task he had started in his mind three days earlier. He tried to get used to the idea of what he was going to do to this girl. In silent, rhetorical conversation he had told himself that it would get easier. Yet sat here now, staring at what would become his twentieth, he felt the same sickening lack of weight in his stomach that he had felt that very first time.

  The girl in pink walked to the end of her garden and began her morning jog. Gary watched her for a few moments, and then reluctantly started the engine of his car and took a deep breath.

  Bute Place, Cardiff Bay

  Richard and Paul’s van pulled up at traffic lights opposite the large, quarry slate-covered Wales Millennium Centre building, its engraved words still illuminated from within.

  The van turned left onto Bute Street and then curved round to the right as it became pedestrianised, and finally pulled into a single story car park just opposite the science museum Richard had often taken his two children to during the summer holidays. The van pulled over in the far right corner and Dean hopped out of the passenger side door. A moment later h
e pulled the sliding door open and signalled to Richard and Paul to get out.

  As he stepped down onto the concrete Paul saw that the area was deserted. He looked up at the walls and realised that all the CCTV cameras had been pointed toward the wall in advance. Obviously the person monitoring them was grossly incompetent, or simply didn’t care.

  Probably some fat bastard, high on chip fat and cheap whiskey, Paul thought to himself as Dean slammed the van door shut behind them.

  Paul turned round, scanning his surroundings, his eyes eventually falling on Dean. He smiled at Paul, with his big, teethy grin and reached out behind him with his right arm to tap twice on the side of the van. The van reversed back and drove out of the car park.

  “So, where’s Giacometti?” Richard asked.

  Dean ignored him. He reached behind but then had second thoughts and instead retrieved Paul’s weapon, tucked into the front of his belt. He checked chamber and loaded a round into the pipe.

  Richard raised his hands, “Hey, you contacted us. We’re here for business. You don’t want our help, fine. We’ll walk.”

  Dean waved the Beretta, signalling that they should move.

  “Relax,” Paul replied, not bothering to dampen his own volume. “He’s just fucking with us. If he wanted to shoot us, he would have done it back in the van. Easier to move the bodies. We’re just being transferred to another vehicle. Make sure we’re not being followed.”

  “Look at the big brain on you!” Dean cooed, mockingly.

  Richard glanced at Dean, and then back to Paul. “How do you know?”

  Dean walked past them and held out a set of car keys in his left hand and pressed the button on the key ring. Right on cue the signal lights to a new, silver Audi A4 in front of them flashed twice, accompanied by the sound of the doors unlocking.

  Paul smiled at his brother, “Told you so.”