Impeding Justice

IMPEDING JUSTICE

By Mel Comley

Published by
Mel Comley at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Mel Comley

Smashwords
Edition,
License Notes

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is dedicated to my mum, Jean, whose
support and faith

in my work has been invaluable.

Chapter One.

At the sound of helicopter blades whirling in
the distance, Detective Inspector Lorne Simpkins leaned over the
steering wheel and peered at the sky. She couldn't see the chopper,
but judged it to be hovering beyond the towering buildings which
bordered the Thames to her left. She imagined the armed response
team crouched inside it, guns locked and loaded, waiting for her
call.

If this tip-off turned out to be good,
precious minutes would be lost getting the team to her. For the
millionth time she rued the fact that she and Pete couldn’t carry
guns on these missions. Fucking politics!

They drove past the alley for the second
time, still quiet, nothing suspicious. She eased the car to a
standstill. Pete shifted uncomfortably in the seat next to her; she
turned to him and asked, ‘Nervous?’

‘
No. As usual the dry
cleaners sent these trousers back to me a size smaller than when
they went in…’

‘
Yeah, right, Pete. The fact
you scoff junk food all day, wouldn't have anything to do with them
shrinking, I suppose?’

‘
Hey, it takes a lot of
calories to keep my shape, you know. Besides, I eat more when I’m
stressed and these wild goose chases don’t help.’

‘
Let’s hope this one’s for
real and we finally nail the bastard.’

‘
Twenty quid says it’s
another Brixton?’

‘
No thanks. Take the far
side of the alley, get into position and stay put until I give the
all clear… Christ, Pete, fasten up your bullet-proof, and start
taking this seriously, will you? If it turns out to be another dud
lead, so be it, but…’

‘
The bloody thing gives me
indigestion, squashes me in like a fat thigh in a stocking, I’ve
had a bigger one on order for yonks. One of the vest-type that
fastens at the side, but...’

‘
Look, zip up and shut up,
‘cos if this is for real, we’ll be sussed before we get out of the
car!’

Lorne took up her position, leant forward and
surveyed the long, narrow alley. The stench of urine and the
rotting, fly-infested waste, spewing from overturned bins tinged
her nostrils. She motioned the all clear to Pete and waited for him
to dash across to the other side before checking the alley again
and giving the thumbs-up.

They picked their way along the
graffiti-stained walls. A skinny dog, hunting for its next meal
growled at them, but hunger won over conflict and he grabbed a
chicken carcass and made off with it. Lorne released the breath
she’d been holding and mouthed to Pete, ‘Anything?’

‘
Not a fucking dickie bird,
if you’d taken up the bet, I’d be twenty….’

A
crack split the air. Pete slumped to the ground. Horror, held Lorne
rigid, as she saw his bullet-proof fly in all directions,
Oh no, Pete, no. You didn’t do the
bloody thing up!

His body jerked as he took another hit. Lorne
bent over, making herself as small as she could, and made to cross
over to him, but a sting vibrated off her face spinning her to the
ground.

She swallowed back the rising panic and
delved into her inner resources: Everything by the book, Lorne –
make the call. Grabbing her radio she gave her code, heard an
affirmative answer, ‘Go ahead, Inspector Simpkins.’

‘
Back-up needed…OFFICER
DOWN!’

The sound of the helicopter changed from a
distant hum to an urgent drumming and its blades chopped the air
faster as it sped towards them.

Pete groaned.
Thank
God, he’s still alive
… But, he
needed her help. Another spray of bullets echoed down the alley.
Dust and rubble jumped into the air. Lorne looked around, desperate
to find a way of getting to Pete.

Behind her, a large, steel, rubbish bin stood
just inside the backyard of one of the shops. Its contents bulged
out of the top, but its wheels looked in good condition. She could
get behind it without being in the line of fire and push it between
them and the gunman. As she did so, bullets ricocheted off the
walls and the ground. Some hit the bin. Splinters of plastic
bottles, tin cans and debris showered her, but her shield held good
and she made it across to Pete.

His throat rasped as she tore his shirt open. A ragged hole
in his stomach and a wound near his heart put the fear of God into
her.
Shit...this is
bad!

After whipping off her jacket, she removed
her blouse and tore it in half then used it to plug the holes. She
pressed down hard with her trembling hands.

Bullets rained down around them. A tyre blew on a nearby
delivery van. Sweat poured from her,
Jesus, where’s the fucking response team?

‘
Lorne…’ A cough stopped
Pete’s croaky voice. Blood trickled from his mouth.

No…Oh, please, God…Let us both get out of
here alive…

‘
It’s too late,
Lorne…I’m….’

The tears she’d held back trailed down her
nose and dripped onto his chest.

‘
Don’t try to talk.
Everything’s okay. The team is on its way…’

‘
It’s… It’s not…’

‘
Look, you idiot! I’m the
boss around here. If I say…’

‘
I…I’ve got…I…must
tell…you…’

The helicopter swooped into the air space
overhead and hovered above the building where the shots had come
from. Two officers slid down ropes and landed on the roof. A voice
hailed through a megaphone: ‘Stay where you are, don’t move.’

‘
Like we’re…planning
on…going anywhere…’

Pete’s dry, cracked lips stretched into a
half smile. She smiled back at him appreciating his attempted
humour. ‘How’s the pain, Pete, is it bad?’

‘
It’s nothing…Listen,
I…’

The whine of the ambulance siren joined the
racket of the helicopter. The gunfire had ceased. Had the Unicorn
escaped again or had they finally caught him? She hoped to God it
was the latter.

She sat back on her legs. An officer on the roof gave her
the thumbs-up and the helicopter moved away. For a moment the chaos
descended into an eerie silence then a bin crashed behind her. She
turned and saw two officers kicking at rubbish and throwing bins to
one side. The ambulance crew followed just behind them laden with
equipment and a stretcher.
Thank God…

A smile of hope froze on her lips as she
looked down at him. Pete’s head rolled to one side. A throaty
breath gurgled from his lungs. Through half closed lids he looked
up at her. Staring but not seeing her. Everything that had been
Pete fell into an expressionless waxy mask.

The cold lining of her jacket encircled her
shoulders and strong hands helped her to her feet. She didn’t
resist as her stubborn, independent streak wanted her to. Pete
deserved more from her in the hour of his death. Instead she stood
to one side, kept her eyes on the paramedics, willing them to
revive him, but a cold acceptance settled in her as she heard them
agree: ‘Dead on arrival at the scene.’

With an officer on each side supporting her,
she stepped into the ambulance. She sat up and watched them load
Pete's covered body into a second ambulance.

The ambulance pulled away not bothering to
use its siren. A paramedic tended the wound on her face, cleaned
her bloodied hands and injected a phial of something into her
arm.

She didn’t know or care if the tears running
down her cheeks were fresh ones or if they had flowed from the time
the truth had hit her. She did nothing to stop them. She thought of
the information relayed to her as she left the scene. The Unicorn
had escaped. The bastard had been a thorn in her side for too long
and now he’d taken from her, her dearest colleague and friend.
Every nerve and sinew of her body screamed its hate and her need to
take her revenge.

As
she drifted off into a drug-induced sleep she repeated the same
words over and over again...
I’ll take care of things Pete. I’ll get him, I
promise…’

Chapter Two.

'He’s here, Pete; I’ve finally caught the
bastard…'

'Oh God! What...?' A loud bang catapulted Lorne from the
terrifying dream. The unfamiliar sterile white walls reflected her
fear.
Where am I?
A fog clouded her brain, obscuring
any answers. She turned her head as a waft of cool air brushed her
face.
Tom!
The door swished closed behind him. Her fear
eased as her husband walked towards her.

'Awake at last. How are you feeling?'

Tom’s face showed his concern.

'I’m okay, how long have I been asleep?'
Memories she'd rather forget flooded her fuzzy mind.

He didn't answer.

'God, Tom. How bloody long?'

She threw back the covers and swung her slim
legs over the side, the protruding iron bedstead dug into the back
of them.

'What are you doing? Darling, you have to
stay in bed...'

He pounced before she had time to think and
tucked her legs back under the covers. Words failed her. She glared
at him. He held her gaze, his stubborn look matched hers.

'Tom for God's sake, tell me how long?'

'Twenty-four hours...'

'What!'

'They thought you were suffering from shock.
Sean and I agreed with the doctor to knock you out for a while to
let your body recover from the ordeal. After all, you were
injured...'

'Injured! It's a bloody scratch... You and
Sean? Since when did you become bosom buddies with my boss?'

He thwarted her second attempt to leave the
bed.

'I must get out of here. You and Sean have
already cost me valuable time...'

She pushed the heels of her hands against his
chest, he refused to budge.

'Look, I know Sean and I have never really
seen eye to eye, but in this instance... after what happened to
Pete…'

'Oh right, so you do
know
about Pete, then?
Well, I must say, you hide your bloody grief well. Didn't it occur
to either of you that Pete's murder is exactly
why
I didn’t
need drugging up to the eyeballs? Pete’s
killer
is out
there somewhere. How the hell am I supposed to catch the bastard
when confined to a hospital bed? Jesus Christ, the shit has a head
start on me. One hour is enough for him. What in the hell is Sean
thinking of, am I the only one around here with any
brains?'

'No, you just think you are. It's always the
same cry, Lorne against the rest of the world. I've heard the same
bloody argument more than a thousand times over the years.'

As his words sunk in, regret swept through
her. Yes, she had put him through the mill at times. He never
understood her dedication to her job and why there were occasions
when it had to have priority over his needs.

His look changed to one of angry resignation.
Not exactly a truce, but at least he’d given in. He fetched her
clothes from the locker. Sometime during her imposed sleep, he'd
had the foresight to replace her blood-stained suit with a fresh
outfit.

She pulled her skirt up over her rounded hips. Her legs
wobbled. She reached out to steady herself on the hospital bed. As
she zipped her skirt at the back of her slim waist, Tom's growing
annoyance filled the room with sighs.
Bloody childish!

'I need to get to HQ. Will you drive me or
would you rather I get a taxi?'

'Cut the crap. You’ll probably find this hard to believe
right now, but
I’m
not one of your many enemies. Don't
take your frustrations out on me. I’m as gutted about Pete as you
are. He was a good mate of mine, too remember.'