Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

McKie turned and stared at the train, a movement up the platform had caught his eye. The dog handler emerged from a door on the next carriage up. The dog was excited, barking wildly and it seemed to be leading him down the slope of the platform and away down the track, south.

For a second the handler looked up and his and David’s eyes met. David registered dark blue, almost black eyes, black hair under the cap and a wiry goatee beard and moustache, then the man was gone at a run up the track the dog barking wildly, seemingly distraught. David thought he the saw a gun small chunky, almost invisible in the large hand.

David stared, his senses suddenly alert. Custom gave you pure focus when it came to body language. The shoulder’s were stooped, the cap down, too much shadow. Something from the Inverness ticket footage of Spencer was struggling to make itself known; he frowned and squinted as the figure seemed to disappear up the darkened track. What else bothered him? Yes! There had been a handgun, but it wasn’t a regulation police model. David began striding as quickly as he could along the train up the platform, he heard the dog barking, then there was a pained canine shriek and then there was silence. He stood at the end of the platform staring. Back down the platform there was a shout for help from inside the train.

A voice called “Someone’s killed Mickey and his dog’s gone.”

McKie pulled his hand gun from the holster and faced out into the dark. He called out.

“Up here!”

Seeing him at the end of the platform the detective and two armed men ran to his side.

“A man dressed as a dog handler went up the track… there was a howl and the dog stopped barking.”

They all stared into the darkness.

“I thought we got your man. Who was that?”

“I don’t know, but he’s killed you dog handler right?”

“How did he get the dog to go after he killed his handler” was all the detective could say “they live together. They’re practically psychically linked.”

The detective looked back to the train. A body in white underwear was being lifted off the train.” An officer joined him running to his side.

“Mickey’s dead, shot through the heart and we found this.” He held up a needle.

“He gave the dog a shot of something, LSD or some such. It’s a historically documented way of dealing with watch dogs, not just drugging to sleep, but sending crazy, making them a nuisance not a help, buggering up their senses.” McKie spoke quietly not taking his eyes of the darkness in front of him.

“What kind of psycho would do that?”

“A well trained one and one who came equipped for just such an eventuality.”

“My god and there are three more out there.”

“We’d better get some lights and search that track. You better get a helicopter or two searching this area.”

Beaumont was suddenly by his side.

“What’s going on?”

“It could just be a coincidence, but I don’t believe in them. There was a second one on the train.”

Beaumont looked down the track and back at the train.

“Let’s leave the police to sort this out. The press will be here soon, TV included and we don’t want to be seen. There’s a guy called John McFarlane, he’s DIC Perth for the area round here. Jack gave me his number. I called. He’s just four streets from here. Let’s get our bags and go.”

David stared down the track.

“David!”

“Sorry. There’s a dead dog on that track down there.”

“Okay. Put the gun away.”

“Artillery and ships have guns, this is a pistol.”

“What?”

“It’s what you’re told by an army dad when you were playing soldiers.”

“I see. I need a drink.”

Overhead two helicopters chattered onto the scene, hovering, one with a spotlight, the other using thermal imaging. Armed police moved forward, more dogs arrived and torches slashed at the darkness.

Back up the platform McKie and Beaumont passed the two covered corpses.

Half a mile away, having crossed South Inch Park at a sprint, Stanton squatted by the river, his pistol wrapped in a plastic bag, he waded in and swam down river towards the motorway, a map of the town in his head. His target was the M90 motorway to hitch lift.

TV crews and journalists flooded the town centre as Beaumont knocked on a black door on Wilson Street. It had been a short walk for the two DIC men, but David, couldn’t keep his hand from dipping into his jacket; every shadow and recess held the unnerving spectre of the second assassin.

When John McFarlane finally shuffled to the door, his Scottie dog barking shrilly, McKie couldn’t help but imagine the door being answered by the escaped hired killer. Beaumont showed his badge. John let them in. He bolted the door and put the chain on.

He looked into their tired faces and David’s ‘jungle ready’ eyes.

“You two look like you need a whisky. Have a seat.” He waved them into the lounge. BBC 24 was on the screen and straight away they saw the scene they had just left.

London

Hampstead

Midnight

A tangle of bed ruffled long blonde hair spilled out across the top of a thick plush purple duvet cover. As the phone rang Sternway’s head surfaced from the undulating silk waves and the blonde hair sank beneath them with a groan.

“Yes.”

Stella curled up foetal dreading the not unknown night phone calls. Sternway listened to the voice on the line, put the phone down, unfolded himself from the bed and donning dressing gown and slippers descended first to his kitchen, putting the kettle on, and second to his lounge, flicking the television on with the remote. He flipped through the sky guide with practised ease and found his way to BBC News 24.

Having made a cup of tea he sat down on the mahogany brown leather sofa, put his feet up on the pouf and took reflective sip of tea. It was just after midnight.

On the screen he watched the unfolding drama of the post shooting scene at Perth.

“What exactly are the authorities saying Tom.”

The journalist, outside the station, flashing blue lights behind him, drizzle sparkling in the haze, paused to hear the satellite delayed question.

“It seems that there was an organised trap for as yet unknown assailants on the train. The train was stopped and armed police were waiting. The train was being emptied when it seems one of the wanted men got onto the track and there was a shoot out with police. He was killed by the police. His partner it seems was hidden on the train and killed a dog handler; the dog was drugged and the second man, disguised as the dog handler, fled up the platform, shooting the dog just out of sight of the station. Police helicopters have been searching over head and the police are checking the river, which is just over that way the other side of South Inch Park.”

“Was anyone else hurt Tom.”

“It seems not. The passengers have been taken on in coaches and Scotrail staff members are now at a nearby hotel waiting to be interviewed.”

“Is there any indication of who these men were?”

“Not yet, but we are expecting a statement from the chief constable sometime soon.”

The view returned to the studio with the insert of the scene top right.

“Tom Harris there at the scene of a police shooting Perth Railway Station and other breaking news tonight is that of a double murder at the Mersey marina. Police called there apparently by security services found two bodies, one of them is thought to be the night watchman.”

Sternway turned off the TV. He picked up the phone. Thirty metres away in the next door garden an uncomfortable DIC operative listened carefully, glancing around nervously, the gun mike signal coming and going. They couldn’t tap Sternway’s phone for sure.