Exit Wounds (27 page)

“How high would it have to be?” Richard asked.

Paul pushed his tongue down against his teeth as he considered this. “I’d say around two hundred and fifty feet.”

Tony scoffed, “There’s not a building that high in Cardiff.”

“Actually there are two,” Craig corrected, rattling out the facts like a local history textbook. “Capital Tower is two hundred and sixty two foot to the roof and Stadium House is three hundred and ninety four with mast, but only two hundred and fifty six to the actual roof.”

Paul pointed out a finger at Craig, “I like this guy.”

Craig smiled and raised his head slightly, visibly pleased with the praise.

Richard had already headed back to the boot of their Mondeo. He pulled out a black duffel bag and began filling it with the contents of the weapons drawer as he talked. “Okay, Tony and Craig, you take Capital Tower. Paul and I will take Stadium House!”

“Are we gonna let M.I.T. know what we’re doing?” Craig asked.

Richard nodded as he slammed down the boot, “I’ll call them en route. See if they can get a photo of Dean off the system for identification for you. Now get going!”

“Come on!” Tony shouted, already revving the TT. Craig had to run to get back in before the car pulled away.

Richard went over to one of the Russian’s cars and flung the bag on the backseat.

“What about Comrade?” Paul asked, nodding his head toward the Russian.

“Leave him here. I’ll get someone from the office to pick him up later. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Hey!” Kuzenetsov yelled. “You can’t do that! I need medical attention! I need hospital!”

“For a couple of broken fingers?”

“It’s fucking raining!”

Paul shrugged, “Welcome to Wales, my friend.”

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

Zeddemore had respectively left Colgan alone in his office when asked. Michelle had come in twice. The first time to say how sorry she was and to see if he needed anything or wanted her to call anyone, and then again to bring him a hot mug of tea.

Colgan hadn’t taken one sip, his hands were trembling too much, but he could smell the full fat milk and the shovels of sugar she must have spooned in whilst brewing it.

Sugar. To help with the shock.
How could sugar help him come to terms with the sight of seeing his daughter mutilated like that?

Becky should have been at school. No, college, or sixth form. His job was time-consuming and she was growing up faster than he could keep up with.

Colgan slumped forward, his head in toward his chest, his elbows resting on his knees as he pushed his hands up over his face and through his hair. He closed his eyes tight but still the image wouldn’t go away.

This was a nightmare. This was his nightmare. Ever since these murders started, the inevitable thought of his own daughter meeting such a horrific end had played heavy on his mind.

He had lectured her to be careful. Not to take any risks. There was a serial killer on the loose. Cardiff was not as safe as it once was.
Why didn’t she listen to me?

The image of her on that bed started to animate in his head. He knew what Giacometti did to the girls he stole. Becky would have been alive when her eyes were removed. She would have been alive when he...

It was strange. But the thought of her being raped was more unbearable to think about than her being murdered.

How could I let this happen? I should have protected her. I’m her father. I’m a police officer for Christ’s sake! I’m the head of the bastard Murder Investigation Taskforce and I can’t even save my own daughter from being raped and murdered!

Colgan opened his eyes suddenly, unable to watch the vision projected onto the insides of his eyelids anymore. On his desk in front of him was a framed photograph of his family. It had been taken the night of one of Becky’s dance performances. One of the few that Colgan had actually managed to attend. She stood centre, her parents behind on either side of her. Colgan smiled proudly, a protective hand on her shoulder.

He cradled the frame in his arms before hugging it close to him.

As he buried his head into his chest and sobbed, Colgan heard the door to his office open again. “Please, Michelle, just leave me alone,” he said quietly.

“It’s me,” Zeddemore corrected gently.

Colgan put the photograph down and tried his eyes before looking up.

Zeddemore shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. “You should go home, Andrew,” he said eventually.

“I know, “Colgan nodded. “I know. Just... I just don’t know what I’m supposed to tell Audrey.” His eyes lost their focus. “What do I even say to her?”

Zeddemore didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say.

Colgan nodded again anyway. He slowly rose from the chair and ran his hands down his shirt, patting out the creases. “I’m standing down as head of the department, effective immediately.”

Zeddemore nodded once.

Colgan forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. He moved quietly round the desk.

“Andrew,” Zeddemore said. “I am, really very sorry.”

Colgan hesitated for a moment and then left the room without saying another word.

North Road, Galbalfa

The clamp-on siren blared out nosily as the Audi TT weaved in and out of traffic towards Central Cardiff. Tony had to shout to b
e heard over its piercing tone.

“Get on the phone to Zeddemore,” he told Craig as he spun the car round an oncoming van. “Let him know what’s happening.”

Craig was gripping onto his seat with both hands, his feet stamping in the foot well every few moments. “I thought Richard said he was gonna call M.I.T.?”

Tony glanced sidelong at his counterpart. “Do you honestly believe that?”

Craig shrugged and reluctantly pulled out his mobile. “Alright, but shouldn’t I phone Colgan first?”

“No point,” Tony said. “Phone direct to Zeddemore.”

Craig shook his head as he dialled the number.

“If you’ve got something to say, Craig?”

“Well it’s just...” Craig sighed, waving a hand in the air. “Tony, up until this morning you’d probably shine Colgan’s shoes if he asked you to! Now all of a sudden you’re doing your very best to cut him out of all this whilst keeping yourself busy brown-nosing Zeddemore instead!”

Tony was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He swerved round a slow-moving car and had to turn quickly again to avoid missing a motorcyclist. The rain was coming down heavy again and visibility was poor, even with the wipers on full blast. Finally he asked, “You ever gamble, Craig?”

Craig pulled a face, confused by the sudden change in topic. “I like the odd flutter now and then, but what’s-.”

“Then let me give you some advice. Never back a horse on its last legs.”

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

Zeddemore watched Colgan leave the building. Partly to show empathy for what the poor man was going to, but also to make sure he actually left. Andrew had handed in his resignation voluntarily, but had he not, he would have realised Zeddemore was there not to offer his sympathies but to relieve him of his command.

This left Zeddemore with the problematic choice of who to assign Colgan’s duties to. He was giving the orders for now, but as a district director he had more than just M.I.T. to oversee.

Second in command was Richard Russell. He was a more than competent officer who had demonstrated his ability to lead more than once. But he also had an unpredictable side. A reckless edge that Zeddemore wasn’t sure he could control. This whole rogue undercover operation and recruiting his brother through the back door was a prime example of that.

Which brought him to his second candidate, Tony Horton. He reminded Zeddemore much of himself. He was young, intelligent and very ambitious.

Perhaps too ambitious?

It had been his ambition that had first brought Tony to Zeddemore’s attention. Tony had stumbled across the recruitment of a field agent that hadn’t even officially started work and whose file had personally been overseen by Colgan. Did he go to Colgan with this? Give the man he had looked up to and aspired to be like for years a chance to explain himself? No. He went over his head and told Zeddemore, knowing full well that
whilst it would put him in the District D
irector’s good books it would most certainly spell the end of Colgan’s career and maybe even face him with jail time.

Zeddemore had to admit he had a respect for that level of ambition. But he also knew that it could be dangerous. With Russell, as reckless and as headstrong as he was, he would always know where he was with him. With Tony, on the other hand, he wondered how long it would be before he felt him climbing over his head to tie a noose for him too?

As he made his way back to Colgan’s office Zeddemore felt his mobile vibrate against his chest. He quickly retrieved it from inside his jacket and flipped it open. He didn’t recognise the incoming number but accepted the call anyway and answered, “John Zeddemore.”

“Hello sir, this is Craig Hughes.”

“Hughes, where the hell are you? I got word you left the prison nearly an hour ago! Why aren’t you back yet?”

Craig, forever the diplomat, managed to calm the district director enough to actually explain to him that they had met up with Richard Russell, before the mere mention of his name set him off on an angry rant.

Craig didn’t have time for him to get it out of his system so he quickly interrupted. “They’re going to shoot down the Pope!”

There was a significant silence before Zeddemore spoke again, “What?”

Craig quickly explained about the anti-aircraft missile and how they had deducted that Dean Reynolds would be firing on Sheppard One from one of the two tallest buildings in Cardiff. He told Zeddemore that they had split into two teams to cover both buildings but he needed to alert warn the pilot.

“Hughes, you have to stop that missile! That plane’s going to be passing over any minute. I’ll never get through all the channels to the pilot to get him to change course in time!”

Craig took a deep breath, “We’ll do our best sir.”

“I’ll get someone on sending you a photo of this Reynolds for identification, but you are authorised to shoot anyone who tries to attack that plane! Understood?”

The thought of shooting someone made Craig’s stomach turn in knots but he answered quickly, “Yes sir, understood.”

Capital Tower, Greyfriars Road

Tony’s Audi hurtled like a silver arrow past the white stone City Hall and cut into the top of Greyfriars Road. The TT hadn’t even fully stopped as Horton slid out from the driver’s seat and rushed up the steps to the large automatic door at the front of Capital Tower.

Craig was close on Tony’s heels but stopped at the sight of two dead security guards. One bent over the top of the desk, the other limb in his seat, both with stained red shirts.

“Guess we’re in the right place then?” Craig’s humour was rooted in anxiety. He had never been in a real fire fight before and had secretly been hoping that the missile was at the other building.

Tony didn’t hear him anyway. Having discovered the lift had been disabled on the top floor he had already taken to the stairs. He sprinted upwards, striding two or three steps at a time.

Craig didn’t have as long legs as Tony, and he wasn’t as fit. The air rattled in his chest and after the fifth floor the backs of his legs had already started to stiffen. It was twenty five levels to the top.

Fifteen floors up, Tony too was feeling the pressure on the backs of his legs and the tightness across his chest. He knew he had it in him to go further.

Nineteen floors up and Tony could no longer hear Craig behind him. He welcomed his colleague’s absence and pushed himself to move faster, to keep the gap between them.

Finally, on the last step of the twenty fifth floor Tony drew his sidearm and fell flat against the wall next to the door to the roof. He took several deep breaths and kicked his way out.

In front of him was the missile launcher. It had been bolted down into the floor and a there was a keypad to the left of it that Tony assumed controlled the missile launch. The missile itself was already loaded and angled upwards just short of ninety degrees.

Tony fired immediately at the man nearest the keypad before he could react and fire the missile. He still had his back to Tony and fell forwards onto his knees as the bullet pierced through his abdomen.

Stepping forward without hesitation, Tony turned his attention to a second man who was quickly reaching inside his jacket and under his arm. He put two holes in his face before he could even pull out his gun.

Suddenly Tony felt a sharp pain tug at his side a split second before the gunshot even registered in his head. He span quickly as he fell, firing off two rounds before he actually had the man in his sights. The third shot struck him in the left side of his chest and he dropped to the ground abruptly.