by T S O'Rourke
Chapter 28
The security guard showed Carroll and Grant the fire escape at the rear of the building. Someone had cut through the barbed-wire, leaving it as an entrance or escape route.
Carroll climbed up the iron ladders to the fire escape proper, followed by his partner.
‘You might want to take care going up there – some of the floors are a little unsafe,’ the security guard said.
‘Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind. I’d appreciate it if you could go back around to the front of the building and wait for our back-up, so you can show them were to go,’ Carroll said, hoping the man was going to be helpful.
‘You’re expecting more policemen?’ the guard asked.
‘Yeah, so if you could direct them up this way we’d appreciate it.’
The fire escape was rusty and gave off a reddish sort of dust that covered the two detectives’ hands, and their raincoats.
On the first floor level there was an open window. Carroll approached it slowly and looked inside. The room was empty. Grant followed Carroll into the building.
Plaster from the ceiling lay scattered on the floor, with holes appearing at intervals. Opening the door, Carroll stepped slowly into a great corridor, similar to the one on the ground floor. He guessed that the layout was similar for every floor.
‘Jaysus! Do you get that smell?’ Carroll asked his partner, who was three steps behind.
‘Pigeon droppings. The building will be full of them. It’s always the same in deserted buildings. All it takes is one broken window and...’ Grant went quiet on hearing some movement from above. Carroll motioned for his partner to follow him up the corridor in silence. He had heard footsteps and was intent on finding out who had made them.
On the second floor, directly above Carroll and Grant, Wheeler and Thompson were systematically opening doors and cautiously peering into empty rooms. The noise that Carroll and Grant had heard was unusually loud, due to the fact that Wheeler had been startled by around twenty pigeons when he entered a room and had made a run for the door in an effort to escape the rising dust and the horrible smell of feathers and pigeon shit. Wheeler closed the door behind him, feathers in his hair. Thompson chuckled lightly to himself.
‘We’d best get a move on. I wonder what’s holding up those other two idiots?’ Wheeler said, trying to bring his heart rate back to normal and hide his embarrassment.
‘Ah, they’ll be along soon enough. We’d best start moving on to the third floor. There has to be some sign of life in the bloody place....’ Thompson replied.
The sound of police sirens filled the air. Carroll and Grant, who were now climbing the stairs to the second floor heard them, as did Wheeler and Thompson, who had just reached the third floor. It was the Special Operations boys, Carroll concluded, happy in the knowledge that there was some armed support on the way.
‘Maybe I’d best give Wheeler a ring,’ Carroll said, reaching into his raincoat pocket for his mobile.
‘Do you think it’s wise? They could be on the verge of finding something....’ Grant replied, thinking that they may alert Nash to their presence with a ringing mobile phone.
‘He keeps it on the vibrator mode, so it doesn’t make any sound,’ Carroll said, dialling Wheeler’s number. Only Carroll was wrong. It was Thompson who kept his mobile on the vibrator mode.
Wheeler’s phone rang loud and clear as they began searching the third floor corridor.
From the other end of the corridor, a figure emerged, gun in hand. It was Nash. There could be no mistake, Wheeler thought, hearing a bullet whizzing past his head, followed by the crack of gunfire .
‘Get down, it’s Nash!’ Wheeler, exclaimed as a second shot rang out, hitting him in the stomach.
Wheeler fell through an open door on to the floor of an empty room. He looked behind him to see where his partner was. Thompson lay in a pool of blood in the corridor, a gaping hole in his forehead.
Carroll and Grant heard the shots and began running toward the stairwell in an effort to get to their colleagues and give chase to Nash. But Nash had already made for the upper floors by the time they arrived on the scene.
Thompson lay awkwardly in the corridor, half propped up against a door frame. Wheeler was moaning in agony and covered in blood.
‘Which way did he go, Richie?’ Carroll asked Wheeler.
‘I think he’s gone upstairs....’ Wheeler moaned, clutching his stomach.
‘We’ll have an ambulance for you in no time, just hang on,’ Carroll said, as Grant made his way to a front facing window.
Grant opened the window and shouted down to the assembled Special Operations Squad, who were talking with the security guard. They may not have heard the shots, Grant thought, on hearing the noise of the morning traffic on Euston Road.
‘Get an ambulance! We’re on the third floor. Two officers down. Get a stretcher up here!’ Grant screamed.
A flurry of activity told him that they had heard him, and would soon be on the scene. Grant returned to the room where Wheeler lay soaked in blood.
‘An ambulance and stretcher are on the way, Richie, just hang on, okay?’ Grant said softly.
‘I’m going after the fucker,’ Carroll announced, drawing his service pistol.
‘But Specials Operations are on the way....’ Grant replied.
‘He could be trying to get out of the building. By the time the Specials get their act in gear he could be gone. I’m going up after him,’ Carroll continued.
‘Well, then I’m coming with you,’ Grant said.
‘I’ll be fine here,’ Wheeler said. ‘Get the bastard for me and Thompson, won’t you?’ Wheeler groaned.
‘You’ll be okay?’ Grant asked.
‘I’ll be fine. Just get the bastard....’ Wheeler replied, clutching his belly in obvious agony.
Carroll looked at his partner and then at Thompson’s lifeless body in the doorway before making his way to the stairwell, followed closely by Grant.
The silence was deafening as they reached the fourth floor. Carroll took the doors on the left, Grant the doors to the right, opening each one with extreme caution.
Unsettled pigeons fluttered around as Carroll and Grant came to the end of the corridor and the stairwell leading to the fifth floor. There were feathers everywhere and the stairs were more that a little unsafe. Keeping to the inside of the steps, the two detectives made their way up to the fifth floor and cautiously moved to the corner of the corridor.
Carroll peered carefully around and began moving forward at a snail’s pace. Again, Carroll took the doors to the left, and Grant the doors to the right.
By now the Specials had gained access to the building and were running up the stairs as fast as they could. Ambulance personnel were already tending to Wheeler. Nothing could be done for Thompson.
Grant saw a slight movement at a door up ahead. It was only a flicker of light, a passing of a shadow, but he knew that someone or something was up ahead. He motioned to Carroll, who fell in behind. They began making their way to the door in silence.
Just as Grant turned to his partner in an effort to slow him down a door opened and Nash took aim. One shot, two shots, three shots rang out. One exploded into Grant’s shoulder, throwing him back against the wall. Carroll held him steady as Nash’s gun jammed. Carroll unholstered and raised his gun.
The sight of Nash struggling with his weapon sent a wave of anger over Grant, who, before he knew what he was doing, had launched himself at the killer.
The two men fell hard on the floor, which gave way beneath them, sending both crashing through to the fourth floor in a pile of plaster and wood. Grant rolled off to one side as Carroll jumped down through the hole in the floor, landing on top of Nash.
Dan’s mind flew through the gruesome scenes he’d had to witness because of the twisted killer before him. Taking Nash by the throat, Carroll began punching him in the face with all of his strength until the killer’s face was a bloody mess and he lay unconscious beneath
him. He was surprised he could stop punching Nash, given what he had done.
Carroll disarmed Nash and cuffed him. Grant looked over approvingly. God only knows how, Grant thought, but we did it. His eyes told Carroll all he needed to know.
By the time Carroll had cuffed Nash the Specials were on the scene, armed to the teeth.
‘What kept you?’ Carroll asked, remembering the lifeless form of Thompson slumped against the doorway.
There was no reply. They were here now, and that was all that mattered.
‘Get him out of here before I kill him,’ Carroll shouted at the four armed men who stood before him.
Two approached Nash, who was coming around and made to pick him up by the elbows. Nash pulled a knife from an ankle sheath and lunged at Carroll. Dan side-stepped the killer and turned his weight on him, throwing him forward. A crash of glass and Colin Nash, call girl killer, was on a direct route to the ground floor, head first. Carroll smiled at his partner.
‘Looks like he’s escaped on us again, eh Sam?’
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Grant replied, slowly getting to his feet.
‘Yeah, let’s get out of here....’
The End.
Also by T.S. O’Rourke in eBook format:
Damned Nation (A Carroll & Grant Mystery)
The Republican: An Irish Civil War Story
Mirror, Mirror (a short story)
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