the café shopfronts on one side of the road, over the six lanes and one tram line to the café shopfronts on the other. Dawn’s Coffee & Muffins had zigzag bullet holes through its lettering. Rounds were buried in the trees on the footpath and were being dug out by forensics while the car alarm of a Mercedes screamed from a peppering of machine gun fire it had taken while parked on the side of the road. The sound bounced off the buildings and rang in everybody’s ears.
Shell casings littered the street, and body bags lined the footpath. Ambos wheeled another to the side of the road, pulled it from the gurney and laid it on the concrete, where it became the ninth in a row. It sat disjointed and folded over itself.
Bishop had sat on the gutter and watched as the number of body bags that lined the road grew.
The detectives huddled around the wreck of the armoured truck. It was bashed and bruised with the left side sunken on the road from two blown tyres. Water pissed out of the radiator: the result of hitting a divider in the road. The rear doors hung open, warped from the force of the explosion.
Bishop circled. The three guards were dead. The driver lay slumped across the bonnet. Halfway between the passenger door and the rear lay the second guard, facedown in a pool of his own blood. Judging by the amount his heart had pumped out, he hadn’t died straight away. The third lay at the rear. Cut in half with automatic weapons when the doors exploded.
Lieutenant Rayburn was in charge of the scene. He had a small face with big features and at some stage in his teenage years had had bad skin that left scars on his chin and cheeks. Shorter than most men, he had hunched shoulders that gave him a silhouette not far off that of a bulldog. He’d spent half his career in Major Crimes working under Cliff Moore and when Moore retired, Rayburn was bumped up. He had gotten lazy and fat since he was made CO and all his clothes were half a size too small. He ran his thumb between his waistband and gut so he could draw a breath as he made his way through the crime scene.
He called for his detectives. They assembled around him. Cooper was a beast of a man. Six foot five, size fourteen boots and hands the size of dinner plates. He and Rayburn had been partners since they were both in uniform. Warren was smaller but in better shape. He didn’t smoke, drink or curse. He had transferred in from Special Operations three years earlier after he busted his ankles when a rope snapped abseiling down the side of a building. Russell had worked undercover before Rayburn had recruited him. He was unassuming and plain faced. He used it to his advantage and people opened up and told him all their secrets without realising they had.
After he was made CO, Rayburn put together a tight crew and the bosses had high hopes, although they never understood the inclusion of Con Taylor. As a man he was a pig and as a police officer he was barely effective. The VPD had been trying to bounce him for years and at the time Rayburn recruited him he was just coming off suspension. Taylor followed him around like a sick dog and most people believed that Rayburn didn’t have the heart to put him down.
Ellison had been called in from Sex Crimes and stood shoulder to shoulder with the detectives.
Rayburn paced and ran his thumb under the waistband of his trousers again. He shouted over the howl of the car alarm. ‘We’ve got innocent people dead. Bystanders, witnesses, security guards. We’ve got fifteen million dollars missing. Call your families, cancel your plans. Nobody goes home until we’ve got these dogs in cuffs. At 5:27 AM,’ he, nodded back at the wreck, ‘truck 177 left Crown Casino and headed out to deposit the night’s earnings. Somewhere between 6:07 and 6:20, some wannabe gangsters ran them off the road. They then proceeded to blow out the rear doors and execute the guards, as well as any passing bystanders. That’s three guards and nine dead
Shell casings littered the street, and body bags lined the footpath. Ambos wheeled another to the side of the road, pulled it from the gurney and laid it on the concrete, where it became the ninth in a row. It sat disjointed and folded over itself.
Bishop had sat on the gutter and watched as the number of body bags that lined the road grew.
The detectives huddled around the wreck of the armoured truck. It was bashed and bruised with the left side sunken on the road from two blown tyres. Water pissed out of the radiator: the result of hitting a divider in the road. The rear doors hung open, warped from the force of the explosion.
Bishop circled. The three guards were dead. The driver lay slumped across the bonnet. Halfway between the passenger door and the rear lay the second guard, facedown in a pool of his own blood. Judging by the amount his heart had pumped out, he hadn’t died straight away. The third lay at the rear. Cut in half with automatic weapons when the doors exploded.
Lieutenant Rayburn was in charge of the scene. He had a small face with big features and at some stage in his teenage years had had bad skin that left scars on his chin and cheeks. Shorter than most men, he had hunched shoulders that gave him a silhouette not far off that of a bulldog. He’d spent half his career in Major Crimes working under Cliff Moore and when Moore retired, Rayburn was bumped up. He had gotten lazy and fat since he was made CO and all his clothes were half a size too small. He ran his thumb between his waistband and gut so he could draw a breath as he made his way through the crime scene.
He called for his detectives. They assembled around him. Cooper was a beast of a man. Six foot five, size fourteen boots and hands the size of dinner plates. He and Rayburn had been partners since they were both in uniform. Warren was smaller but in better shape. He didn’t smoke, drink or curse. He had transferred in from Special Operations three years earlier after he busted his ankles when a rope snapped abseiling down the side of a building. Russell had worked undercover before Rayburn had recruited him. He was unassuming and plain faced. He used it to his advantage and people opened up and told him all their secrets without realising they had.
After he was made CO, Rayburn put together a tight crew and the bosses had high hopes, although they never understood the inclusion of Con Taylor. As a man he was a pig and as a police officer he was barely effective. The VPD had been trying to bounce him for years and at the time Rayburn recruited him he was just coming off suspension. Taylor followed him around like a sick dog and most people believed that Rayburn didn’t have the heart to put him down.
Ellison had been called in from Sex Crimes and stood shoulder to shoulder with the detectives.
Rayburn paced and ran his thumb under the waistband of his trousers again. He shouted over the howl of the car alarm. ‘We’ve got innocent people dead. Bystanders, witnesses, security guards. We’ve got fifteen million dollars missing. Call your families, cancel your plans. Nobody goes home until we’ve got these dogs in cuffs. At 5:27 AM,’ he, nodded back at the wreck, ‘truck 177 left Crown Casino and headed out to deposit the night’s earnings. Somewhere between 6:07 and 6:20, some wannabe gangsters ran them off the road. They then proceeded to blow out the rear doors and execute the guards, as well as any passing bystanders. That’s three guards and nine dead
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