False Witness (John Steel series Book 3) (3 page)

“Okay, where are you?” She picked up a pen that sat next to a large jotter pad and got ready to write. “Give me fifteen minutes,” she told him as she stopped writing. “I’ll meet you there.”

*

The address was at the junction of Kenmare Street and Lafayette Street. It was a massive built-up area with a large bend onto Lafayette.

McCall had to park near Petrosino Square, which was a large concrete park where people could just relax from the day to day. Police tape and barriers closed off the road, meaning traffic had to be diverted to Broadway, and the two lanes were full of debris.

Detective Samantha McCall stopped for a moment and just looked at the scene from a distance as she stood at the junction, and her head moved slowly as she took in the scene through her own perspective.

The rain had stopped but the lakes on the road and sidewalks remained, as droplets of water fell from overhangs and store signs, causing ripples in the otherwise motionless water.

McCall took out her small digital camera and began to take photographs of the scene, starting at the junction. Satisfied she had enough, she moved slowly towards the police tape, where a tall uniformed officer stood ready to steer off any members of the press or of the over-interested public.

“Hey, Tom, how’s things?” she asked the large uniformed officer, who smiled as he lifted the tape for her to pass under.

“Hey, McCall. Things ain’t too bad, at least it’s stopped raining.”

She smiled back at him as she stood up straight and headed for a group of men who were standing around a police unmarked black Dodge Charger.

The three men were Captain Alan Brant, Detective Joshua Tooms and Edgar Marks—who was the CSU (Crime Scene Unit) tech in charge of this scene. McCall didn’t move up straight away, she stopped and looked at the surroundings, taking in impressions of what she considered to be important.

The police bus lay on its side. There was a large slash mark embedded in the rear of the vehicle, which went from left to right, and the back door lay on the ground a couple of feet away.

Detective Tooms nodded to the others as McCall walked up towards the men. Captain Brant, their boss, and Marks, turned to greet her.

“Captain.” Her eyes locked with those of her captain as she tried to ascertain his mood. She could always judge his mood by his eyes: if they were crazy then she would avoid conversation or find a way of steering clear of him.

“McCall.” Brant nodded a greeting as he pulled up the collar on the heavy wool trench coat that covered his blue suit. He was a big black man in his mid-fifties, and he had the build of a quarterback and the temperament of a pit bull. She looked round at the carnage that lay before them.

“So what happened?” Detective McCall turned back to face them.

“As far as we can tell the transport was taking ten prisoners to the Supreme Court for their meeting with the review board when it lost control and skidded into that delivery truck,” Edgar Marks told her, using an outstretched index finger to point out the route the bus must have taken.

“After which it found itself on its side and heading towards that building. Three of them managed to get an early release via the door,” Tooms added as he pointed out the damaged back door.

McCall looked over towards the bus, noting that long skid marks torn into the tarmac showed the distance it had travelled before it hit the building. Pieces of white metal lay strewn across the ground and the remains of the loading ramp lay next to the back door of the bus; the large metal ramp looked as though some wild beast had chewed it up and spat it out.

“How many survived?” she asked, shocked that anyone had actually come out alive.

“Three got away and four were injured. Five of them didn’t make it, along with the driver and another guard.”

McCall looked back at Tooms with a puzzled look. “I thought they were all locked down by the floor lock?” she said.

Tooms gave her an awkward look. “Apparently the device unlocked due to the impact.”

McCall shook her head and laughed at the absurdity of that possibility.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered to the captain. “So do we know who got away, sir?”

Tooms flicked open his notebook and read the list of names: “Darius Smith. This guy is a real peach, been in and out of prison most of his life, for burglary, attempted murder, murder, carjacking. The list goes on.” Tooms looked down at his notepad for confirmation.

“Then we have Tyrell Williams. Now this guy has a good résumé: armed robbery, attempted murder and murder. He shot a guard, a clerk and two cops.”

McCall stopped looking at the bus and turned slowly towards the men. “You said there were three, so who’s the third guy?” She saw the look on the captain’s face and she froze.

“Some guy called Armstrong, Brian Armstrong. Some schoolteacher who was sent away for killing his wife.”

The men could see the anger in her face.

“McCall, I know how you feel, but it’s our job to take care of the dead—we are investigating the crash not the breakout.”

Sam McCall could feel herself become dizzy with rage. There were two violent men and a killer schoolteacher on the run, she calculated. Two of them would be up to their old tricks and would probably disappear into the crowd, but she knew that they would be killing more people, and they would have to pick up the pieces.

The other man, the schoolteacher, they would no doubt pick him up wandering the streets, looking lost and scared. She had seen it all before: a one-time criminal finds an opening and goes for it, with no plan apart from breaking out. Next thing you know they are trying to hold up a 7-Eleven store, or a gas station for quick cash.

All the cops had to do was wait for either their capture or for the bodies to start mounting up. She didn’t want to chase after these desperate men—that was a job for the Feds.

She wanted to know how the men got free in the first place.

Andy Carlson sat alone
in his small two-roomed apartment, a can of cheap beer in one hand and a large bowl of chips resting on the armrest of the armchair on the other side.

He had lived alone since his old lady kicked him to the curb nine years ago, but he liked the quiet of his new life. The apartment had a seventies thing going with the outdated wallpaper and imitation furniture.

Carlson had once been a respected member of the community and a gym teacher at the local school but now he was nearly two hundred pounds of disappointment and shame.

The large ancient-looking television set was showing an old cop movie with Steve McQueen. Carlson just sat there and watched while he downed half the can of beer robotically.

He hadn’t chosen the programme, it merely happened to be on and he wasn’t really even watching it. With a large hand of bloated fingers, he reached into the bowl, pulled out a mass of fries, and shoved them into his large maw just as a newsflash came on.

As the report came up about the escaped prisoners and the accident, Carlson watched with little interest, but it made a change from the usual game shows and old movies.

He took another handful of fries, shoved them into his thin-lipped mouth, and began to crush them rather than chew. The screen changed as the reporter named the escaped men and showed recent photographs of them so that the public were aware who to be on the lookout for.

Andy stopped chewing and sat with his eyes wide in fear. His mouth fell open in a state of shock, and half-eaten chips fell onto his stained grey sweat suit pants, and as fear set in he crushed the flimsy can, sending the rest of the beer flowing over his left hand.

The newsflash finished and the movie came back on. Half dazed by the news, Carlson stood up and looked round for a second as though he didn’t know what to do next.

His eyes shot towards the front door.

As quickly as his large bulk could carry him, he headed towards it, to check that the locks were fastened and the chain was safely in place.

Andy Carlson breathed a sigh of relief and headed back slowly towards the kitchen, shaking his beer-soaked hand to kick off the traces of spilt liquid. He was still trembling with the shock of the news as he opened the refrigerator door and reached for a fresh beer.

Carlson took a knife from a sink full of dirty plates and bowls and used it to pop the ring-pull on his can of cold beer, as his fingers were too thick to get under the tab. After a quick sound of escaping gases and a small spray of foam, he brought the can to his lips and drank half the can before heading back to the sitting room.

Andy smiled comfortably: he was safe and he had everything he needed. As he went to sit down again, he stopped. The grin he’d been wearing turned sour as he noticed the upturned bowl and the fries that were spread out across the floor.

He just shrugged and, with a groan of effort, got down on his knees and started to retrieve his snack.

There was a noise behind him. A clicking sound, as if something metal was being cut. Then there was a sudden breeze.

Turning, he looked into the dark corner past the kitchen, towards the front door.

His face was red with panic and his heart was beating, straining the arteries as he waited to see who was coming for him. His eyes looked up full of sorrow and tears began to form, clouding his view.

“You! I knew you would come!” Carlson was about to scream but the bite of a taser rendered him unconscious.

The room fell silent as the dark figure got to work on the victim.

McCall stood at the
hotdog vendor that was located just down the street from the precinct. The evening sun was fading and most of the rainwater had disappeared, leaving dark grey patches on the sidewalks.

She had waited in line for only a few minutes but it was enough time for her to check up on her missed text messages. McCall looked up as the woman in front had gotten her order and had finished drenching the onions with ketchup and mustard. The small Indian man behind the stall greeted her with the kind of smile that could cheer you up on a cloudy day.

“Sam, it has been too long. What’s happened, have you have found another stand?” he joked as she put the cell phone into her jacket pocket.

“You know I would never do that, Sid,” she replied with a smile. “Besides, your stall is closer than the other guy’s one.”

He gave her a hurt look before handing over her usual order of a loaded hot dog.

“If that’s a healthy snack, McCall, I’d hate to see what you do for dinner.”

McCall almost jumped out of her skin at the sudden sound of the softly spoken British-accented voice that came from behind her.

She spun round to see a tall black-haired man wearing a pair of face-hugging sunglasses. He was close enough to be her shadow, but not close enough to make her tremble.

Sid smiled as the man passed him a ten-dollar note and waved off the change.

“Damn it, Steel, you could have given me a heart attack,” Sam told the British man angrily.

John Steel looked at her in amazement at the comment as she plastered the hot dog with ketchup. “Wow, and you’re worried about
me
giving you a heart attack!”

She looked up at him scornfully and walked off. Steel smiled at Sid and the two men shrugged.

Steel turned up the collar of his long wool and leather trench coat as he followed her. The leather on the arms and shoulders glistened like the skin of a bat’s wing and the length of the coat flapped behind him like a mythical bird in flight as it caught the wind.

He was over six foot and had broad shoulders, and his black suit and long coat hid his muscular frame. Some would say he was handsome with his high cheekbones and square jaw, while others would say he could give the summer months calendar fire-fighter boys a run for their money. Some would say it, but not him.

“Where’ve you been, we missed you at the scene,” Sam lied.

Steel looked down at her and smiled as he saw through the hidden bitter words. “I had a case a friend asked me to look into. Sorry, I should have said.”

McCall didn’t immediately respond, she just kept walking towards the precinct building.

“So you done with the case?” she said eventually, her words biting into the oncoming air.

He smiled to himself at her question, knowing that she was trying to conceal her interest. “I hit a... dead end, for now.”

She stopped suddenly and turned to face him, her mind conjuring up all sorts of images of what he meant. As Sam faced him she saw the smirk on his face and slapped him on the shoulder as he carried on past her towards the station house. She finished eating the hot dog, still wearing an unamused look on her face, tossed the paper ball into the trash can and followed him into the place where they both worked.

*

Inside the recreation room, McCall brought Steel up to speed on the case as he handed her a cup of coffee he had just poured from the glass jugs on the machine.

John Steel had explained how he had heard of the crash involving the prisoners from the precinct, but he had been tied up with the other case at the time.

“So all we have is some dead bodies, three in the hospital and three on the loose,” Steel said, as he blew on his coffee before risking a sip. He looked over at the murder board by Sam’s desk through the gaps in the cream slatted blinds.

“Do CSU have any theories about what happened?” he asked.

McCall shook her head, making her brown hair flow past her shoulders. They both knew that the CSU report would take time, time they didn’t have. “They are backed up at the minute, could take a day maybe two.”

Steel turned to let her move away towards her desk. He followed her then found a perch on the end of the area covered with neat piles of her papers and files.

McCall held the coffee mug with both hands, her long fingers wrapped around the sides as if she were strangling it. Steel rested his cup down on one of the coasters she insisted he used. Her desktop was immaculately laid out, everything had a place and purpose.