Exit Wounds

by Aaron Fisher

  There hadn’t been enough room on the transports for Paul so he had offered to stay behind and wait for the second patrol on the route whilst the rest of his squad went ahead.

  They’d been travelling near the village of Jucaylay in Viking Armoured Vehicles when an RPG (rocket-propelled grenade) had hit the fuel tank on the Viking in front of the one Paul had been travelling in.

  The fuel spilt down into the cab and as it ignited with the explosion, set fire to the men inside. Some had managed to jump out, running as they burnt alive. The smart ones had dropped to the ground and rolled back and forth smothering the flames. But then that hadn’t saved them for long. A rain of gunfire came down, accompanied by several more RPGs.

  Paul saw a RPG flying towards his Viking and shouted for everyone to bail out before it hit, seconds later. Most had made it out in time.

  The attacking force had pushed the British soldiers back into a nearby abandoned compound. Snipers had been waiting patiently.

  So much for the rest and relaxation, Paul had thought to himself as he returned fire.

  Adrenalin filled his veins and he quickly took cover behind a house twenty metres or so from one of the snipers’ position. He swung round with the barrel of his SA-80 assault rifle round first and followed through with and three short bursts, before flattening his back against the wall again. After a moment, Paul moved again but this time he hesitated before squeezing the trigger. Just for the briefest of moments. He didn’t know why. But it felt like something had hit him. And the something did. A sniper’s bullet.

  Flat on the ground, Paul was moving now. He felt something tugging at his back and realised someone was dragging him away until they were back behind the relative safety of the sand covered wall.

  Paul’s rescuer rushed round to the front. The young soldier pushed Paul’s hands out of the way. He checked the breast plate and looked up, “It’s okay!” he shouted over the hailstorm of gunshots and explosions. “The armour took it! You alright!?”

  Paul nodded, “Yeah. Yeah! Just winded!” He started pushed himself up.

  The young soldier held out a hand and Paul took it, hauling himself to his feet. “I’m not fucking surprised!” he laughed.

  Paul smiled back, and leant down to pick up his rifle. Blood and brain matter sprayed across his face. He looked up to see the young soldier’s body drop limply to the ground, a crater where his face used to be.

  Before he could even move, several armed men rushed forward, shouting at him in Afgahni. His assault rifle was still on the ground and didn’t bother reaching for it. He knew when he was surrounded. He raised his open palms in surrender, turning round to show them all that he posed no threat.

  One of the Taliban moved forward, yanking the scarf from his face. He spat in Paul’s face and shouted something else Paul didn’t understand. When Paul didn’t move the man nodded to one of the others behind him. He raised the butt of his AK and smashed it over the back of Paul’s head.

  131

  09.47 BST (British Summer Time)

  Six Months Ago

  Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

  M.I.T. (Murder Investigation Taskforce), Cardiff Branch

  It had only been five weeks since he had last walked down the corridors of M.I.T., but still there was the uneasy sense of being somewhere foreign. It was like the feeling you got when you came back to a place after being away and found that it has changed.

  Richard ran his eyes along the walls and floor around him. Everything seemed the same. The horde of official propaganda - blu-tacked and safety-pinned to the left wall - hadn’t changed in the last year let alone the last month. Richard never understood their purpose here. Civilians were rarely, if ever, allowed this far into the building but still the powers that be insisted on plastering up their paraphernalia. The various messages called out for people to hand in their knives or to post code their bicycles to combat theft. None of the posters seemed new or unfamiliar to him. Richard could recall seeing them all before on the numerous times he had walked past the notice board every day at work.

  It didn’t make sense. He felt like he didn’t know this place anymore, but he’d only be gone a few weeks. Nothing here had changed.

  He rubbed his hand against his chest. The wounds had healed fully. The scars they had left were prominent but didn’t hurt, and yet Richard could still feel them there, even before he touched them with his fingers.

  Jade wanted him to quit the Taskforce. Truth be told, she wanted him out of the service altogether. That wasn’t going to happen. This was the only work he knew how to do. As a final compromise she had asked him to at least opt out of field work.

  “Sit behind a desk, nine till five. Like normal people,” she had said.

  Like normal people.

  Jade didn’t understand. As far as he remembered the saying was, “Live to fight another day.” Not, “Live to go and hide away.”

  Richard pushed through the double doors to his team’s room. Under Andrew Colgan, he was the officer second in command of the department and usually when he entered the room, everyone would assemble round in silence to listen to the information and instructions he had to relay. This time though the crowd were noisy. They quickly gathered round to welcome him back on his first day at M.I.T. since he was shot.

  Richard did his best to respond to every comment spoken to him but most were lost in an indistinct medley. The group disbanded back to their desks just as quickly as they had converged, and finally Richard remembered to breathe.

  He looked up to see Michelle Williams standing a few feet in front of him. Her hands were behind her back and she smiled with her head slightly bowed. He moved forward to speak to her but suddenly an excited voice shouted out his name.

  “Hi Craig,” Richard said, turning. He opened his hand.

  Craig stepped forward, took Richard’s hand but brought it up to his chest in the same movement as he embraced him with his other arm in a big hug.

  Richard laughed. He patted Craig on the back with his free hand.

  “Great to have you back, boss,” Craig said, releasing him at last.

  “Thanks, Craig.”

  Richard looked up again. Michelle had returned to her desk and busied herself with her work. Tony looked up from his monitor and nodded once. Richard nodded back. That was about as much welcome as he was going to get from him. Richard didn’t care. He didn’t look like a good hugger.

  “Craig,” Richard called, stopping Hughes on his way back to his desk.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  Richard closed the space between them, “Where’s Andrew to?”

  Craig grimaced, “They found another body. Victim number five it looks like.”

  “Jesus Christ. This guy’s not letting up is he?”

  Craig shook his head, “Nope. And we’re still no closer to catching him. Here’s hoping this one gives us something to go on.”

  Richard nodded, absently. He lowered his voice, “Listen, Craig, the guys who shot me, I want to know what it was all about. Who’s covering the case?”

  “Nobody here,” Craig said. “That’s fallen under S.O.C.A. mandate.”

  “S.O.C.A.?”

  “Yeah. Apparently uniform thought they were just gonna be busting some potheads with a bit of a stash,” Hughes let out a dry laugh. “Last time I checked, potheads don’t guard their green with AK-47s!” Richard didn’t laugh and Craig realised he had made a mistake in joking about the situation. “Sorry. Anyway ever since then SOCA took over the whole thing.”

  “We’ve got access to their case files though, right?”

  Craig pushed his bottom lip out and nodded, “Yeah, should do. I mean, if it’s on the joint server we’ll have access to everything they’ve got on it.”

  Richard placed a hand on Craig’s shoulder, “Do me a favour, will you? Open up a secure socket and transfer everything you can find to my screen.”

  Craig nodded, “Yeah, no problem.”

  Richard started towards his des
k.

  “Hey, boss?”

  Richard turned back.

  Craig paused. “I was sorry to hear about your brother.”

  Richard smiled politely, “Thanks, Craig. Send that stuff over to my screen when you get it.”

  Richard turned away and settled himself at his desk. He hadn’t realised anybody at work knew he had a brother yet alone know that he was missing.

  Paul had been listed as Missing In Action five weeks ago. Around the same time Richard had been shot. Jade had hid the letter from him at first, not wanting to upset him whilst he was recovering in hospital. Eventually she had decided it was wrong to keep it from him and held his hand whilst he lay in a hospital bed and she explained to him that his twin brother was M.I.A. in Afghanistan, presumed dead.

  Presumed. How could anyone just presume something like that? This was his brother’s life they were talking about. They didn’t have the right to just presume whether he was alive or dead.

  Craig had done the same thing, presumed. Presuming that Richard was already grieving over a death that might not have even happened. Richard knew Craig had spoken with the best of attentions but it still angered him. The way he talked, like Paul was already dead and buried. Richard knew his brother better than anyone else ever could, and he knew that he was still alive. Some might call it faith, others might describe it as wishful thinking. Richard didn’t know how he knew. He just did.

  A window popped up on Richard’s monitor, followed quickly by several more. He waved a hand up in the air, “Cheers, Craig.”

  Richard pulled up the uniform officers’ incident reports first. The original officer, Sergeant Jones said he had received an anonymous tip off that a group of students living in a house on Richmond Crescent were pushing a lot of cannabis. Enough to get noticed. He decided to check it out himself taking another three constables with him in case any of them or their customers decided to be uncooperative.

  He had only been reading for a few paragraphs and already Richard didn’t like this Sergeant Jones. He imagined him being the kind of man who only cared about climbing the career ladder, taking unnecessary risks and shitting on everyone else around him just so he could climb up another few inches.

  Tony Horton caught his eye. Not unlike someone else I know, Richard thought to himself.

  The shit had hit the fan almost as soon as they had turned up. Jones had walked boldly up to the door and had shouted that they were police officers and had a few questions for them. Clearly Jones was expecting the stoner students to shit themselves and come out begging for leniency. He was wrong.

  Constable Green, who was stood halfway down the path, told him he had seen the downstairs curtains twitch. Suddenly the glass erupted and Green had been thrown out onto the pavement his chest a shredded mass of red.

  Jones said that he jumped over to the next garden and ordered the other two officers to block off the road with their vehicles as the gunman continued to fire.

  Yeah right.

  More likely was that Jones had dived behind the wall for cover, screaming like a baby for back-up whilst the other two officers had the good sense to block off the road as best as they could, even with bullets raining down around them.

  The rest of the report only told Richard what he already knew for himself. Jones was an excellent kiss-arse and the paragraphs were punctuated by several comments to how brave and valiant Jones thought Richard was and how every officer should inspire to carry out their duties with the same courage as him.

  Fuck off.

  Richard only skimmed over the other two officers’ reports. There was not much new information and he had already anticipated the various discrepancies of bias and perspective.

  A quick check over the rest of the records told him that the two students who lived there had been found dead. Their throats cut whilst they were held from behind. The coroner believed that the weapon was some sort of curved blade. One of the suspects that Richard had shot had been found with a linoleum cutter on him. The traces of blood on the blade matched those of the two victims.

  Richard traced his right index finger around his eye socket. He remembered hearing something like this before. Linoleum cutters were the weapon of choice for Russian Mafia in London. Drug pushers who didn’t turn up with the right amount come collection day had their throats cut from ear to ear with the tool.

  The Russian Mafia were spreading across the country, thick and fast. Their primary source of income now was in illegal drugs and there was no shortage of demand for that these days.

  So far Cardiff had managed to escape most of the drug, gang and gun crime that had engulfed most of Britain’s major cities over the last couple of decades, but Richard knew that was already changing. Knife crime was on a record high and the days when an armed robbery would make the local headlines for three days running were long in the past. Now it would be unlikely if it made the front page at all.

  Richard thought about Adam and Simon, and his new, unborn child. What kind of world would they live in when they grew up? Didn’t Jade see? If everybody stood by and did nothing it wouldn’t be long before sending your children to school in stab vests would just be part of the everyday routine, like handing them their lunchbox. That was what Richard was trying to stop. They had to crack down on it. Hard. Now. Before it got any further out of hand.

  The Scenes of Crime Officers’ (S.O.C.O.) report told him that they hadn’t found any large cannabis at the property besides what they believed the students had for their own use, but they had recovered a large quantity of a substance that they were initially unable to identify. The labs had identified it as a new designer drug that they have seen popping up and down across the country and was linked to more than one suspected teenage death involving drug overdose. On the streets the new drug was known only as Plug.

  Cefn Onn Country Park, Lisvane

  Andrew Colgan ran his fingers through his hair. They were only now pulling the body out of the large, moss-covered pond but he already knew what to expect.

  There would be cuts and abrasions of the tissue in and around her vagina. Evident signs of rape. There would be a deep yet smooth and precise cut on each of her wrists where she had been bled dry. A large rupture in her breast place would cover most of her chest after having her heart ripped out, and her face would be punctuated by two empty cavities where her eyes should have been.

  Colgan wished he could at least offer her the parents the small comfort that their daughter had sustained the injuries in the order he had listed them.

  He looked around him. Officers busied themselves with their various tasks. Police tape had cordoned off the area around the pond but uniform were stopping people from entering the park at the entrance anyway. Normally this place would be full of people walking their dogs or just out for a morning stroll by themselves or with their children.

  Colgan had often taken his own daughter here when she was little. They’d walk up the long driveway, under the bridge and through the trees up to the big pond. They would stay for a while, watching the goldfish and try to spot the one people used to say was a big as a small dog.

  Then they’d have to climb the slope up into the big open field where everyone went to relax and have fun in those long, summer days. Colgan and his daughter would sit down on an old blanket and eat the sandwiches he had made that morning. After they had finished they’d kick a ball around for a bit. Most girls never wanted to play football but Colgan’s little girl had always been the sporty type. Even now she was athletic.

  The morning was still relatively fresh and the birds in the trees around him carried on singing regardless of the sombre scene below. That was people did. Carried on. Well, Andrew Colgan wouldn’t just carry on. He was going to catch this bastard. No matter what it took and he was going to catch him before he could hurt one more poor girl.

  141

  23.14 BST (British Summer Time)

  Five Months Ago

  Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

  Univers
ity Hospital of Wales, Heath Park

  Over the past few weeks Richard had pumped and squeezed every informant he had for information about this new drug, Plug, but he was still no closer to finding its origin. He could follow it back as far as its Russian distributors but then the trail went cold. None of his sources were high enough on the food chain to be given that kind of information and S.O.C.A. were proving less than accommodating to his enquiries. Drugs were their territory and they didn’t like M.I.T. officers butting their noses in their business. The drug epidemic across the country that Plug had helped fuel was already enough of an embarrassment to them as it was.

  There was one last lead that until now Richard hadn’t followed up on.

  Richard parked his car in the hospital’s visiting area and fed the machine a handful of coins. It spat out a printed square with a sticky peel-off section which he stuck to the inside of his windscreen.

  Colgan had made it very clear he didn’t want Richard going anywhere near the suspect that had shot him.

  Suspect. The thought of the word almost made Richard laugh aloud. The man had shot one police officer dead and then put five more holes into Richard’s chest, in broad daylight. Another three officers had witnessed the shooting, not to mention the various civilians living in the nearby houses. If they wanted more proof they could take a look at the scars embedded in Richard’s skin!

  Heath hospital was where Richard was taken after he had been shot. It was where was supposed to have gone to see Jade’s first scan. It was where the man who had shot him now lay in his sleep.

  Richard flashed his warrant card at the uniformed officer sat outside Mr. Confidence’s room, not breaking his stride. The uniform nodded once, not bothering to get up. Either he didn’t understand the difference between M.I.T. and S.O.C.A. jurisdiction, or he simply didn’t care.