Luke Delaney - Cold Killing

“George?” she asked. The worry was loud in her tone.

“Call the police,” he shouted, loudly enough to make Susie hug herself. “And get a fucking ambulance.” He was back in Afghanistan, shouting orders at teenage soldiers.

His wife was staring at Sally, lying on her floor. She started to cry with fear. “What’s happening, George? What was it?”

George looked at his own bloody hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” His voice grew calmer. “I saw something out there. A dog, or a fucking big cat or something. It escaped through her window.”

He examined Sally more closely. His battlefield medical trauma training came back to him as he rolled her onto her side and checked for the wounds. He saw the knife, making him recoil. It had been a man he saw.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered quietly. “Get me some tape and plastic bags.” He was shouting again. “Come on. Come on,” he spoke to Sally. “Hold on, girl. Help’s on the way. Just a little longer. Just a little longer.”

The mobile rang loudly. Kate woke first. Sean slept deeply, sedated by alcohol. He’d hit the bourbon pretty hard after Kate had left him. It was the only way he could chase their argument and Hellier from his mind long enough to get to sleep. She turned the bedside lamp on and looked at her husband sleeping. She wished she could leave him be, but a phone call at 2 A.M. would have to be important. She shook him as gently as she could while still waking him.

“Sean.” She spoke softly. She wanted to wake him, not the children. “Sean.”

He moaned and rolled over to look at her, his eyes vacant, wandering between the real and dream worlds. He didn’t hear the phone yet.

“Your phone,” Kate whispered.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“About two. And keep your voice down.”

Sean moaned again then grabbed the phone. “Hello.”

“Sorry to call at this hour.” He didn’t recognize the voice. “I’m Inspector Deiry, the night duty inspector for Chelsea and Fulham. I’m trying to trace a Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan.”

“You’ve found him,” Sean said. His head thumped mercilessly. The nausea spread from his stomach to his throat. He remembered why he rarely drank more than a glass or two of beer.

“I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this. .” The inspector sounded grim. “Do you work with a DS Sally Jones?”

Sean’s mouth was as dry as his heart was frantic. He managed to answer. “Yes. She’s on my team. What’s happened to her?”

“She was attacked, earlier tonight. In her flat. She’s very badly hurt.”

The blood rushed from his head, then just as quickly flooded back. He’d never felt so cold. “But she’s alive?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sean said. “Where is she?”

“Charing Cross Hospital. She’s still in surgery.”

Sean checked his watch. “I’ll be there in less than an hour.”

He hung up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, staggering a little as he stood. Kate noticed it.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“Sally’s been attacked. In her own flat. She sounds bad. I’ve got to get to Charing Cross Hospital.”

“Oh my God. Who would want to hurt Sally?” Sean looked at her without speaking. “Not the man you’re after?” Kate asked. “You told me they never came after police.”

“This one’s different.”

“Different how?”

“In every way imaginable,” Sean said. “I’ve got to go.”

“Get a shower,” she insisted. “Then I’ll drive you.”

“No. I’m fine.”

Kate was already out of bed. “I’m phoning Kirsty. She can watch the kids till morning.”

“Don’t bother,” he argued. “I can drive myself.”

She grabbed the sides of his face in her hands and locked eyes with him. “The last thing Sally needs is for you to drive under a bus drunk. I’ll drive you. After you’ve had a shower to sort yourself out.”

Sean knew she would have her way. He headed for the shower, reeling under the effects of the shock. He had to call Donnelly. The team needed to know what had happened. Any one of them could be next.

By the time Kate had driven them to Charing Cross Hospital, the last effects of the alcohol had almost faded. Kate and he met the uniformed inspector in the Casualty Department waiting room. He was with a female uniformed sergeant. Sean introduced himself to the inspector. He didn’t introduce Kate and the inspector didn’t introduce the sergeant.

“Where is she?” Sean sounded harsh. “Can I see her?”

“No. She’s still in surgery,” the inspector told him. “It’ll be a few hours before anyone can see her.”

“What happened to her?”

“She hasn’t spoken since the neighbor found her. All we know is she was attacked in her own flat. And she has two very serious stab wounds to her chest, both on the right side. It’s a life-threatening situation, but she’s holding on.”

“Who’s the neighbor?”

The sergeant referred to her notebook: “George Fuller. Ex-paratrooper captain. Now works for the local council. Found her at about eleven, slumped in the communal area against his door. Two chest wounds. The knife was still in her.” She glanced up from her notes in time to see Sean wince. “Mr. Fuller was a medic in his army days. He used cellophane tape and plastic shopping bags to seal the wounds and keep her chest cavity airtight. The admitting casualty doctor said he had undoubtedly saved her life.”

“Where is he now?” Sean wanted to see the man who had saved Sally.

“He went home,” the inspector answered. “He insisted on coming with DS Jones in the ambulance, but I sent him home a little while ago.”

“What’s happened to her flat?” Sean asked.

“Nothing,” said the inspector. “We’ve sealed it off for the time being.”

“Good. Post a guard on the flat. No one is allowed in without my say-so.”

The inspector looked quizzical. “I’m sorry, but this is a local matter. Our CID will be in charge of the investigation. The scene’s secure. There’s no need to guard it.”

“Wrong.” Sean was feeling angry and tired. He didn’t want his instructions to be questioned. “I’m the officer in charge of this investigation. Any problems with that, phone Detective Superintendent Featherstone, Serious Crime Group South.” He gambled the inspector wouldn’t. Not at this hour. “I’ll liaise with your CID and put them in the picture.”

Sean could see the inspector needed more. “This attack is linked to a series of murders I’m investigating. DS Jones was part of that inquiry team. Whoever committed those murders is the same man who attacked her. So get me the guard on the flat,” Sean demanded. “What security have you put in place here?”

“I’ve posted a uniformed officer to stay with her,” the inspector explained.

“I want at least two officers watching her,” Sean insisted.

“I’ll do what I can.” The inspector looked shaken.

Sean spied Donnelly thundering along the corridor. He charged up to them.

“That bastard’s dead” were his first words. “I’ll tell you that for nothing. He’s going straight out the fifth-floor window. Aye, I fucking promise you that.” His Scots accent had suddenly grown stronger.

Sean held a hand up and was on the verge of telling him to calm down when he was distracted by his mobile ringing.

“Sean Corrigan.”

“It’s DS Colville, sir. Sorry about the time, but I thought you’d want to know, Hellier’s just arrived home.”

Sean and Donnelly approached Hellier’s house. The local night-duty CID had arrived to assist them. That made four of them in total. They met in the street, fifty meters short of the house. They swapped names and shook hands.