backs. Their feet were tied too. They both had blood on their hair and faces. James wasn’t moving nor responding to a paramedic. It didn’t look good. A stretcher appeared. Mason was semi-conscious and incoherent. He spat and blood sprayed down his front.
North tried to get Mason’s attention but found himself being pushed further and further back until a firm grip attached to his arm and he was steered outside. He stood in the bright, artificial light, neon bouncing off the brickwork as he watched the unmoving James, an oxygen mask strapped to her face, being wheeled out to a waiting ambulance.
Then came Mason.
He didn’t even seem to recognise North as he was rolled past. A small piece of chain dangled from a metal ring attached to each wrist. They had been restrained with their own handcuffs. One of the response team must have cut them free for the medics. Someone appeared with keys and removed them in the ambulances. The doors closed and they were whisked away.
‘And just what, exactly, do we think is going on here, North?’
North turned to face Chief Superintendant Gerald Harrington, Commander of CID. He was also in a tux. North was glad he’d missed him at the do. He gave him the gist.
‘So, let me get this straight. During the course of this evening you have managed to insult almost anyone who is anyone in this city, you persisted in meddling in someone else’s case resulting in the mobilisation of the entire force, the abduction and subsequent hospitalisation of two fellow officers - whose case it actually was - and you lost your prime suspect. Would you say that that would be an accurate reflection of this evenings events, Detective Inspector?’
The Chief wasn’t one to use one word where you could squeeze a dozen in instead. And North wasn’t sure what the hell had happened. If in doubt say nowt.
‘Nice work, Detective.’ Sarcy fucker. ‘I want you in my office at six a.m. sharp with a full, up to the minute report and you had better be making progress and have a very good explanation for all this.’
The Chief disappeared.
It started raining again.
Up in the scrub on the hill Terry Rawlins watched the scene diminish as vehicles departed. He planned on doing likewise at the earliest opportunity. He watched the helicopter fade into the blackness overhead and breathed a little easier, but not much. He’d seen enough cop reality shows to know that they had cameras that could pick up body heat no matter how fucking freezing you were. He’d wait until he was sure it wasn’t coming back this time before making his move.
He’d been bricking it since it had first showed. It had kept its distance and then moved away but Rawlins wasn’t fooled. Neither were the others. They had scarpered. They had wheels and would have tried to melt into the urban landscape before the chopper came back into view or any sirens kicked in. When they did it wasn’t long before the helicopter was right on top of Rawlins with a search beam that could cut you in half.
He’d legged it down the embankment, away from the motorway now busy with sirens, clambered over a fence and almost cracked his skull open falling headlong into a pile of concrete. It saved him. He had slithered over the slabs and fallen into a gap where he managed to wedge himself underneath it all, safe from the electronic surveillance above and concealed from sight no matter how much they lit it up out there. The helicopter had initially done a quick sweep over the units then the barren scrub beyond. Bright white passed over him, unseeing, then it was probing the embankment he had just run from. Then the filth had come piling in on the ground too.
The day was ending as it had started.
Shit.
His brief, the lousy state appointed fuck, had told him to prepare for the worst, that he’d be getting at least another year inside and then he had to sit through an hour of bullshit in the courtroom as he waited to be sent back down only to be told that he
North tried to get Mason’s attention but found himself being pushed further and further back until a firm grip attached to his arm and he was steered outside. He stood in the bright, artificial light, neon bouncing off the brickwork as he watched the unmoving James, an oxygen mask strapped to her face, being wheeled out to a waiting ambulance.
Then came Mason.
He didn’t even seem to recognise North as he was rolled past. A small piece of chain dangled from a metal ring attached to each wrist. They had been restrained with their own handcuffs. One of the response team must have cut them free for the medics. Someone appeared with keys and removed them in the ambulances. The doors closed and they were whisked away.
‘And just what, exactly, do we think is going on here, North?’
North turned to face Chief Superintendant Gerald Harrington, Commander of CID. He was also in a tux. North was glad he’d missed him at the do. He gave him the gist.
‘So, let me get this straight. During the course of this evening you have managed to insult almost anyone who is anyone in this city, you persisted in meddling in someone else’s case resulting in the mobilisation of the entire force, the abduction and subsequent hospitalisation of two fellow officers - whose case it actually was - and you lost your prime suspect. Would you say that that would be an accurate reflection of this evenings events, Detective Inspector?’
The Chief wasn’t one to use one word where you could squeeze a dozen in instead. And North wasn’t sure what the hell had happened. If in doubt say nowt.
‘Nice work, Detective.’ Sarcy fucker. ‘I want you in my office at six a.m. sharp with a full, up to the minute report and you had better be making progress and have a very good explanation for all this.’
The Chief disappeared.
It started raining again.
Up in the scrub on the hill Terry Rawlins watched the scene diminish as vehicles departed. He planned on doing likewise at the earliest opportunity. He watched the helicopter fade into the blackness overhead and breathed a little easier, but not much. He’d seen enough cop reality shows to know that they had cameras that could pick up body heat no matter how fucking freezing you were. He’d wait until he was sure it wasn’t coming back this time before making his move.
He’d been bricking it since it had first showed. It had kept its distance and then moved away but Rawlins wasn’t fooled. Neither were the others. They had scarpered. They had wheels and would have tried to melt into the urban landscape before the chopper came back into view or any sirens kicked in. When they did it wasn’t long before the helicopter was right on top of Rawlins with a search beam that could cut you in half.
He’d legged it down the embankment, away from the motorway now busy with sirens, clambered over a fence and almost cracked his skull open falling headlong into a pile of concrete. It saved him. He had slithered over the slabs and fallen into a gap where he managed to wedge himself underneath it all, safe from the electronic surveillance above and concealed from sight no matter how much they lit it up out there. The helicopter had initially done a quick sweep over the units then the barren scrub beyond. Bright white passed over him, unseeing, then it was probing the embankment he had just run from. Then the filth had come piling in on the ground too.
The day was ending as it had started.
Shit.
His brief, the lousy state appointed fuck, had told him to prepare for the worst, that he’d be getting at least another year inside and then he had to sit through an hour of bullshit in the courtroom as he waited to be sent back down only to be told that he
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