Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

“A long way.” The inspector replied ruefully.

“Let’s set up and see what local DIC have on the CCTV for roads out of here and service stations in the last eight hours. Can we have your office?” Shadz turned to the manager.

“Yes of course. Follow me. Can I get you some coffee?”

“Please and thank you.”

As they made their way to the office the head of armed police called out to them “All rooms are clear, he’s not here.”

The chief Inspector wound up the operation and cleared away his staff within fifteen minutes. He popped his head into the manager’s office.

“We’re all done here is there anything else I can do?” There was a note of angry tension in his voice. They’d be alerted and called out early and all for nothing. He wasn’t a happy man.

“Yes come in. Have a coffee.” Jaz looked up from her laptop and gave the police man her warmest smile. “You must be exhausted.”

“Thank you.”

He sat and Jaz poured him a coffee.

“Sugar?”

“Two please.”

“We’re checking all CCTV. It looks like he headed up the M62 around midnight any ideas where he could have gone?”

“Well assuming he wanted somewhere isolated the Daisy Nook Country Park would have been the best spot.”

“Good thinking. I’ll just get a map up, can you show me?” Jaz smiled sweetly again.

Shadz caught the tone of her voice and looked up. Jaz leaned into the Chief Inspector. Shadz suppressed his smile and looked down at his laptop. She was a sly one. She knew how to play men that was for sure. With the thought that if she’d found men attractive she’d be lethal he began scouring into city routes CCTV from eight am onwards realising that Cobb had to be back on his way into the city. Luckily for him local DIC were already on the case and with a shout of triumph Shadz declared the car was on a street near the city centre. They grabbed their equipment and ran for the car park. The chief inspector called a quick armed response team to meet them on Gun Street.

Just before the DIC team had arrived at the hotel Cobb had turned off the A62 onto Great Ancoats Street and having parked half way up Gun Street he threw the car key away. He then made his way onto Pickford Street and walked through the car park. He was approaching his target building, the wig suppliers, Wigs Up North, from the back. It was eight thirty-five and he had to hope that the workers didn’t arrive until gone nine. As it was he was wrong. The manager and deputy were at the front of the store as Cobb arrived at the back. In a way Cobb was lucky for that as the alarm system would have tripped when he picked the back door lock and entered the storage rooms, but for the fact that it had been switched off at the front two minutes before his consummate lock picking skills gave him access.

Cobb had no way of knowing where to look for the kind of wig he was seeking. He walked the large back room storage staring at piles of boxes, on the side of each one, clearly visible in black marker, was a stock number. He was about to start looking box by box when he heard the voices in the corridor outside. Looking to the door he saw a clipboard with listings hanging on a hook. These weren’t the made to measure specialist work that the firm made its real money from.

Cobb froze and stepped to one side of the door. He eased his silenced pistol from inside his jacket. He heard a kettle boiling in the next room and some muffled words. One set of footsteps passed the door. Some moments after the sound of the kettle another set of footsteps passed. Cobb looked at his watch. It was a quarter to nine.

He waited by the door, still, expectant and listening. There were no sounds. He pulled the manifest from the wall and looked at the listings. There were order numbers on the left and descriptions to the right. He scanned the list and caught sight of the word he was looking for, ‘blonde’. The product number fixed in his head, he scanned the boxes. It was quickly found, though there were two unwanted boxes on top. He quietly lifted the light boxes and placed them in front of the door by way of a warning hazard. He slipped out a lock knife and opened the box. Inside there were a number of blonde wigs. Cobb pulled out Wally’s pass and looked each one over. In the end, not able to try them on he chose four with curls and packed them into his rucksack.

Just as quietly as he had removed them he put the two boxes back and made his way to the back door. He flipped the Yale catch and left as he had come, unseen.

Down stairs in the shop the manager and his deputy had no idea how close to death they had been. Sipping coffee they waited for their day’s custom.

The DIC team were on Gun Street by ten past nine, the Vectra and the armed response car were backed up by a police car at each end of the street. Tony and Jaz got out with the Inspector. They approached the car and looked around, trying the doors.

Back in the Vectra Shadz sat with his cell phone linked to his laptop waiting on messages and tapped into the city CCTV.

Still one step ahead and more by luck than planning Cobb had pulled the black coat on at the back of the wig shop building, pulled up the hood and wound the scarf around his face ‘hoody’ style. He was heading into the city centre and there was CCTV there, lots of it. On his way in, close to High Street, two police cars flew past him, blue lights flashing, no sirens, heading, he knew, for Gun Street.

He quickened his pace and made it to the Arndale Centre around ten past nine and rapidly found the Vision Express. Outside he checked Wally’s Pass again to get a picture of the glasses. Before he went in he took off the hood, undid the coat and loosened the scarf. CCTV camera ten metres away caught his image and as he walked into the shop DIC alerts in the city flagged up on Shadz’s laptop.

Cobb knew he didn’t have long, but played it cool nonetheless. He walked around the shop looking at the racks of glasses frames, each with clear plastic lenses firmly fixed in. He was asked if he needed help and politely explained he was browsing. A rack containing the frames that looked most like those in Wally’s pass was his third stop in the store. He selected the frames, then four others and tried each different frame twice putting them, not back on the rack, but on the shelf in front of him. In the shuffle of hand to eyes, down to shelf and hand to eyes he palmed the wanted frames into his sleeve.

Casually he glanced at his watch and made the look of a man who is late. Leaving the unwanted frames on the shelf in a pile he left the store. It was ten minutes before the tutting assistant went to replace the frames on the rack and noticed the stolen item, by that time Cobb was away.

The Vectra came skidding at high speed into the Arndale Centre pick up point and the three DIC team members jumped out slamming doors. Armed response vehicles pulled up and plain clothes and uniformed armed police scurried to every exit and entrance.

Each door team was given a picture of Cobb and were told he was wearing a black coat.

Tony, Jaz and Shadz sprinted the short distance to the Vision Express and once outside the door only Jaz went in whilst the other two scoured the crowds.

A very short distance away Cobb was in River Island, buying clothes in as similar a style to Wally as he could remember, duffle coat included, and he added a shoulder bag to replace his recognisable rucksack.

The girl with dark hair took his card and smiled.

“Wow a completely new look for you and well chosen too. You ought to grow your hair.”

“Good idea.” Cobb said. “Do you think long blonde curls would suit m?.”

“Yeah better than a pony tail if you don’t mind me saying. A lot of older men do that to look cool and it doesn’t work.”