Exit Wounds

by Aaron Fisher

  . . . .

  “So where’d you go this morning?” Richard had asked his brother once they were alone in the car.

  Paul shrugged, “Just went for a run round the estate.”

  “Bit early ain’t it?”

  Paul shook his head, “I just woke up early. Old habits you know.”

  Richard nodded as though agreeing but asked, “So where’d you really go?”

  Paul looked up from his hands at his brother who in turn glanced away from the road. Paul smiled and shook his head, looking back out the window. “I went to see mum.”

  “How’d you get in? The crematorium doesn’t open till nine.”

  “Just vaulted the gate.”

  Silence filled the next few minutes as Richard busied himself with driving and Paul found stuff to look at through the passenger side window.

  “Have you seen him recently?” Paul asked, finally breaking the silence. He didn’t bother to look at his brother.

  “Adam got sent a birthday card this year. It had the wrong age and it wasn’t written in. I don’t have much to do with him to be honest.”

  Paul nodded, “Yeah.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yeah.”

  Richard focused on the road and decided not to push the subject any further.

  The rest of the journey was silent, and it was only when they pulled into the M.I.T. underground car park that Richard spoke again. “Here we are. This is where I work.”

  Paul climbed out of the car and looked round before turning back to Richard, “You work in a car park?”

  “Very funny, bitch. I work upstairs. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  Paul followed Richard across the parking area to a lift with a blank metal plate with no buttons below a small rectangle with a black film over it. Richard pulled out a plastic card from his wallet and held it up to the black area. There was a small beep and then the doors slid open and they stepped inside.

  Walking down the corridors of M.I.T. with his brother, it was clear to Paul that Richard wasn’t comfortable with him being there. Paul couldn’t say he was overjoyed either. He didn’t really have any desire to see the inside of another police station. He had seen his fare share back when he had stolen cars as a teenager.

  “I need to get my prescription changed, I’m seeing double.”

  Paul was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t even noticed the man walk up to Richard and him. He was tall, with blonde hair, and something about him commanded authority.

  The man extended his hand, “You must be Paul. I’m Andrew Colgan.”

  Paul shook his hand. “How you doing?”

  “He’s the boss round here,” Richard told him, confirming Paul’s initial impression.

  Colgan laughed. “Richard’s one of our best men, even if he does keep ignoring my request for him to take some leave every once in awhile. Honestly though, we could do with a few more like him. Say, you’re not looking for a job now are you? We’ve still got a lot of spaces to fill in our Armed Response Units, and with your training-”

  “Hey, give my brother a break,” Richard cut in. He gave a little laugh, but it held no warmth. “I mean he just got back. He’s gonna want to enjoy being a lady of leisure for a bit before he thinks about doing anything.”

  Paul looked at his brother. He didn’t know how much his brother had told his colleagues about him but it was clear that he had left Paul’s reasons for living the service out of any conversations. If Colgan had known he would know that Paul could never work in a combat situation again.

  Paul’s line of thought was broken by the sound of ringing.

  Colgan reached inside his pocket and retrieved his mobile phone. After a few seconds, every feature on his face fell. “I’m on my way.”

  “What is it?” Richard asked once Colgan had finished the call.

  Colgan let out a long sigh, “They’ve found another body. Victim number eleven.”

  19.47 BST (British Summer Time)

  Three Months Ago

  Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

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

  Colgan was just shutting down his computer and clearing his desk before heading home when the door to his office opened.

  He shook his head. “John, it’s a bit a late in the day to be making house calls isn’t it?”

  Zeddemore shrugged, his arms folded. “The department never sleeps. Even if you do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Colgan straightened up. Zeddemore’s games of verbal sparring often grew tedious. Colgan was old school. He wasn’t scared of confrontation and he preferred to get straight to the point rather than spend hours dancing with another man.

  Zeddemore stepped forward, “Fourteen, Andrew. That’s fourteen young girls this monster has killed in the last five months. Do you know of any of killer in British history having such a large body count in such a short space of time? I think you’d be hard pushed to find any killer in the world who slaughters with such recurrence and relentlessness! And you’ve still yet to come up with any strong leads!”

  “We’ve pulled in more than fifty suspects! We’ve interviewed half of the city! We’re even retaining all the girls’ bodies for repeated examinations!”

  “That’s another thing. I want the bodies released back to their families, immediately!”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “Do I look like I’m here to make jokes, Andrew? If there was anything there to find you would have found it by now. Its time these poor families were allowed to put their children to rest.”

  Colgan nodded. He couldn’t argue with that. “We are doing everything we can, John,” he said.

  “Do you have any idea, what these murders are doing to this city? To this country?! The embarrassment leads all the way to Downing Street on this one!”

  Colgan shook his head in disbelief. “Embarrassment?”

  “Yes, Andrew. Embarrassment. This killer isn’t the only one thirsty for blood. The public demands justice, and you’re not giving it to them! They want somebody to pay and they don’t care who.”

  Colgan’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, John?”

  “This department has been a wishing well since it started. No matter how much money you throw at it, it’s only gonna give you sweet F.A. in return!” Zeddemore rubbed his clean shaven jaw and sighed. “M.I.T. is being merged with S.O.C.A.”

  “What? You can’t do that! We’re barely off the ground and already you’re-”

  Zeddemore raised his voice louder as he continued to talk over him. “The details are still to be finalised. It’s going to take months to merge the two departments completely. At this point it’s yet to be decided who will be heading the merged agency but I’ll tell you this for free.” He leaned in closer. “Andrew, if you want any shred of hope of hanging onto your job, you’ll find this killer. And you’ll find him now.”

  21.52 BST (British Summer Time)

  Two Months Ago

  Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

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

  Richard Russell was hunched over his desk, head cradled in his arms. Andrew Colgan had known from the moment he had entered the bullpen that Richard was fast asleep. The rest of the team had long since left for the day. One floor down a minimal staff of other M.I.T officers would have already began covering the graveyard shift.

  Colgan moved round to see Richard’s monitor. The screensaver was active so he pressed a random button on the keyboard and the montage of pictures of Russell’s family faded away to reveal what he had been looking at prior to his slip into slumber.

  Various reports on a drug called Plug littered the screen. At a glance Colgan noticed that the Russian mafia popped up a lot in the reports. It had been a Russian that had shot Richard. Colgan checked the source of the files. This was a S.O.C.A investigation. Another window in the background was running an active application. Colgan did his be
st to move the mouse from underneath Richard’s arm without waking him up but he awoke at the movement, instantly alert.

  Richard sat up straight and looked at Colgan. He glanced quickly round the room and stifled a yawn with his fist and stretched out his other arm.

  “Nice nap?” Colgan asked.

  Richard rubbed his jaw, his stubble was already into its third day.

  “Jesus, Richard, you look like shit.”

  Richard shrugged, stretched out his shoulders. “No rest for the wicked.”

  “Or the obsessed.”

  Richard met Colgan’s gaze but didn’t speak.

  “What’s going on with you, Rich?” Colgan asked. “You won’t take leave, but your presence in the rape/murder investigation is virtually nonexistent! You’re supposed to be heading the team. I know I let Tony run with this but whole point of me doing that was so that you could take time off to recover after the shooting. Now I keep hearing that you spend hours after your shift staying behind working on something. I find myself wondering, Richard, if you’re not on leave and you’re not working on catching this bastard, what exactly are you up to?”

  Richard growled, “If you don’t trust me, Andrew, then just fire me, ok?”

  “Hey, trust goes both ways, Richard! Now you’re actually the only person in this department that I do trust. How about you start returning the favour?”

  Richard sighed. Colgan was right. Andrew had been like a father to him for years. It was wrong to keep him in the dark.

  “I’ve been working on my own case. Trying to discover the source of the drugs that were seized from when I was shot,” Richard told him.

  Colgan shook his head, “I knew it! This has got to stop, Richard. I know you’re hurting, but you’re a professional for god’s sake. What are you hoping to achieve?”

  “Andrew I’m on to something. I’ve-”

  Colgan raised a hand, “I don’t want to hear it! This doesn’t have anything to do with us. We deal with murders. Drugs fall under S.O.C.A. mandate. You wouldn’t have even known about this if you haven’t answered that urgent assistance call!”

  Richard jumped up from his seat. “In less than six months I have managed to dig deeper than anyone in S.O.C.A. in a year! I’m close, so close!”

  “No, you’re not. You’re suspended from active duty, effective immediately. You don’t want to take leave? Fine. Now you don’t have a choice. It’s for your own good, Richard.”

  “Damn it, Andrew! I can break this case!”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Well do you care that I think these drugs are linked to the man that been raping these young girls for the last six months?”

  Colgan’s anger and automatic defensiveness dissolved into confused curiosity. He re-adjusted his posture and studied Richard’s face, “What are you talking about?”

  Richard picked up a paper folder from his desk and handed it to Colgan. “The substance found at the scene of the crime from when I was shot was identified as a new designer drug. A compound that’s known on the streets as Plug.”

  Colgan flicked through the pages given to him. They were print outs of the S.O.C.O.’s findings, confirming what Richard had just told him.

  “It’s been popping up all over the country in the past year but no one can seem to get a lead on its source. The main bulk of it can only be traced back to ties with the Russian mafia. We don’t know much other than that, but S.O.C.A. believes they are just the distributors. Not the manufacturers. My own sources confirm that theory.”

  Colgan looked up from the file. “Your own sources?”

  Richard pretended not to hear him and rummaged through an assortment of other printouts on his desk as he continued, “It took me a long time and a lot of hard digging but I found out that this is not the first time this compound had been found before.” He pulled up a new file and passed it to Colgan. “In Italy, twenty-eight years ago, they found the drug in the body of a fourteen year old girl who had been raped and murdered.”

  Colgan stared at Richard. Despite the topic of conversation he thought he detected a hint of smugness in Richard’s expression.

  “Check the coroner’s report. She was found missing both her eyes.”

  23.52 BST (British Summer Time)

  One Month Ago

  Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

  Cheriton Drive, Thornhill

  Jade Russell struggled to manoeuvre the basket filled with dirty clothes on top of the washing machine. At nearly eight months into her pregnancy, the swell of her stomach was proving to be a big hindrance to her agility. Jade had been pregnant twice before of course, but as she had learnt the second time, knowing what to expect doesn’t make it any more bearable.

  Frustrated with herself, she pushed hard against the basket. But she hadn’t lifted it high enough. It hit the front of the washing machine and slipped from her hands, spilling its contents onto the floor.

  Jade cursed and bent over to pick the clothes back up. A sharp pain shot through her back and she doubled over with pain. She dropped herself into the chair behind her and shouted again at herself.

  Her husband, hearing the shout, quickly rushed into the utility room. “Are you okay?” he asked, concerned, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just...” she waved at the heap on the floor. “Dropped the bloody washing that’s all.”

  He turned round and crouched down. He turned over the basket and started dropping the clothes back in.

  “Thanks, Richie.”

  “Um...It’s Paul.”

  Jade looked down. Seeing his face, she instantly recognised the difference between the two of them. “Oh, I’m sorry, Paul.”

  Paul laughed, “Hey, no worries.”

  “You two look so much alike, especially with your hair longer. I’m used to seeing photos of you in uniform with your head shaven short.”

  Paul kept his head down, working as he talked, “Well I guess they didn’t much care about the length of my hair where they were keeping me.” He trailed off, not knowing where to take the sentence. Jade went to say something but Paul disguised the silence with a small laugh and continued quickly before she could speak. “And now that I’m out of the regiment I guess I can have any hairstyle I want. I just don’t know what I want.” He chuckled again, “What’s Richard’s excuse?”

  Jade let out a long breath and shook her head, “God only knows. He’s so busy these days it doesn’t surprise me that he doesn’t even have time to have his hair cut. If he did it would probably be the most time we spend together in months!”

  Paul didn’t laugh. Jade felt his heavy, unsettling eyes burrow into her and she turned away.

  Paul finished putting the clothes in the basket, raised both his eyebrows and smiled, “Anyways.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  Paul looked back up.

  “The army I mean,” Jade asked.

  Paul nodded slowly, “Yeah, I do.” He run a hand through his hair and sighed. “I mean it’s like, Okay, I’m out of the regiment, now what do I do?”

  Jade smiled, “Now you do stuff that revolves around you. Whatever you want to do. Do it. No more taking orders. It’s your life.”

  Paul stood up, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why isn’t it?”

  “I’ve been a soldier since I was sixteen. I spent most of my leave at barracks. I applied for every advanced training course that came up. Everything I’ve done for the past ten years has revolved around the army. I can’t just switch it off like that, Jade.” He looked back up at her. “It’s like everyone else in the world was given a manual on how to live life and they missed me out. Being a soldier was the only thing I was ever good at. The only time I ever felt like I was at home, was in the regiment. Now that’s all gone, and nothing I can do is going to change that.”

  Jade wanted to say something to Paul. This was the first time she had ever had a real conversation with her brother-in-law. For what
ever reason he had opened up to her and she felt that wasn’t something he often did.

  Before she could bring her lips to speak, Jade saw that whatever guard Paul had let down was clearly back up again. His face had become armoured with the cold indifference that had unnerved her from the moment she had met him all those years ago at her and Richard’s wedding.

  “I’m going to run down the newsagents, grab a lottery ticket for tonight’s draw,” he said.

  Jade watched Paul turn and leave without saying a word. She silently prayed that her husband would not continue to drift away from her as he had done this past few months. She feared that if he continued to cut everyone off Richard would inevitably become just like his brother.

  There was a shadow around Paul. It was as if some veil of darkness kept him on a different level to everyone else, and whilst you could see him and talk to him if he let you, he simply wasn’t there.

  . . . .

  Excelsior Industrial Estate, Galbafa

  Richard loaded a fresh magazine into his Glock22 9mm and checked chamber. He turned to his superior, who was busy tightening the straps on his Kevlar vest.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Richard said.

  “I’ll be damned if I’m letting you go in on your own.” Colgan rested a foot up on the front bumper of their car, and pulled back his trouser leg. He slid a small Walther, his secondary weapon, into his ankle holster. “Since we’re dabbling into S.O.C.A. mandate this has to stay off the books, for now. So you’re stuck with just me.”

  Richard smiled. It did actually feel good to have his old friend watching his back. He had be running this case on his own for so long he had forgotten what it was like to have backup.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small touch screen PDA. With two taps of his finger a map of the industrial site they were in appeared. Richard tapped again to zoom in and traced his finger over to a point in a narrow passage between two of the buildings.