Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (33 page)

“
I have
John in here,” Bridger yelled, stumbling back out into the main
room. “He’s in a bad way, we need an ambulance.” He did not say
anything about his other discovery lying destroyed on the cold
floor.

One of the
Patches sniggered from within the pack in the middle of the room
“He fucking deserved it piggy…” More nervous sniggering came from
within, a couple of barks sounded. Bridger’s blood started to boil
and he moved towards the nearest Patch he could see…

“
You’re
no better than fucking animals” he spat, before kicking out at the
patch on the floor “There is a police officer lying seriously
injured inside that room, and I have no doubt you probably would
have killed him if we hadn’t found you”

More barks… he
kicked out a second time, not caring where his shoe connected.

“
One of
your mates lies dead next to him; he has been cut to ribbons. What
the hell is that about…?”

He could see
that his revelation had an immediate effect on the pack; it was as
if it was news to them.

“
What
the fuck are you talking about…?” One of the Patches spoke up “We
ain’t done nothing to him…”

“
Except
beat him a little,” another said, causing a few more barks and
sniggers from the pack.

“
Yeah,
so if he’s cut up, then it’s you’s that have done it… fucking pigs”
The barking erupted into frenzy, the rabid faces of the Patches
blurred into one. The noise was fever pitch and banging into the
back of his brain. They really were animals. Bridger had had
enough; he put his pistol in the air and fired one round into the
ceiling above them. The sharp retort silenced the pack
immediately.

“
I don’t
give a shit what you lot think.” He could hear himself yelling the
words “One of you will tell me where you are holding the two women
or I will shoot the nearest one of you I see.” Realising he was now
pointing the gun directly at the group; he knew he did not really
care. He could not stop himself.

The Patches
stared back at him defiantly but no one spoke… he was going to pull
the trigger.

The sound of a
siren approaching somewhere out on the road broke the standoff; the
sound of Gillian’s voice was trying to make itself heard inside his
head.

“
Mike…
Mike take it easy…, Brian and Inspector Matthews have found Jo in
another room… Steve has Joseph Kingi in custody.”

He lowered his
pistol, looking at Gillian “My wife Gill, where’s my wife, she
should be here…”

“
She’s
not here, Mike.”

Looking around
the room, he felt helpless; the collective intelligence of the
patches sitting in the middle did not amount to much. They would
not know anything…, they were followers not leaders, one of them
would have said something if they knew, just to rub it in his face.
She had to be here, somewhere…

Two more
uniformed police officers came through the door at the front
followed by two ambulance medics, he heard Gillian direct them into
the room where John was lying. Things were happening… He needed to
find her… Where was Laura, it made no sense…?

“
Have
you checked upstairs…?” The sight of Joseph Kingi, shirtless and in
handcuffs, emerging from the room on the other side cut his
question off. He closed the gap between them in four large bounds
ending with his face inches from Joseph’s ugly tattoos.

“
Where
the fuck is my wife you piece of shit.” He had the pistol barrel
jammed into Joseph’s temple, his knuckle white on his trigger
finger.

Joseph smiled
“I don’t know what you’re on about piggy… I ain’t seen your wife.
That tasty piece of arse back there was enough for me” There was a
sickness in his eyes and he looked completely lost in a haze of
drugs and violence. It was plain to see he did not care who he
hurt

Matthews spoke
up, his voice commanding “Bridger… Enough… let me take care of
this. You go and check the upstairs area for Laura; I will take our
friend here out back and see what he has to say… We will get her
back”

Lowering the
pistol he backed away slightly, he could see something in
Matthews’s eyes that told him he meant what he said. He looked at
the pistol in his hands, this was not the way, he was not this
person, and if he was to get Laura back, he needed to be in
control. “Okay Sir… if he says anything though, I need to know
straight away.”

“
It goes
without saying Mike…”

The use of his
first name by Matthews was a first; there was something different
in his voice that he had not heard before… indifference…?
Acceptance, maybe? He could not quite place what it was. He watched
as Matthews pulled an old t-shirt over Kingi’s head and tied it at
the bottom, rendering him blind. Then he wrenched his arm behind
his back, almost to the point of breaking, and physically
manhandled him out of the door. The large bulk of Matthews frame,
made bigger by the ill-fitting stab vest, dwarfed Joseph Kingi’s
own large stature making him seem almost childlike. Then he guessed
that is what he was really. He was a child who had not matured in
the right way. A child in a man’s body, capable of horrendous
murder… his hand tightened around the pistol grip of the Glock… he
had to holster it before he did something stupid. Laura was here
somewhere… that was his priority.

He scanned the
room, everything was under control, they had their colleagues back,
and all he wanted now was Laura. He saw a doorway which opened to a
passage and then onto some old stairs. Without thinking he took the
stairs two at a time, not bothering about danger or even caring if
he encountered any.

“
Laura,
Laura…” He was not even aware that he was calling her
name.

Reaching the
top of the stairs, he did not have many options to choose from, it
was not an overly large area. Looking around he found that he could
see into two of the small anterooms in front, but they were empty.
No one had come out to see what the noise was yet, but that was not
surprising, anyone up here would have heard the commotion
downstairs and would know the police were here for them. They had
better be scared… he thought, and they better not have touched
her…

There were two
doorways left, one wide open and one with a door. He pulled the
Glock from its holster once more, moving towards the closed door he
glanced into the open room to his right, pistol up and ready. He
could see the room was empty… you must be behind door number one
then…

Kicking at the
door as hard as he could, the old wood splintered and gave way, the
door burst inwards and he moved inside, swinging his pistol back
and forth, eyes in line with the sight… scanning an empty room.

She is not
here… dropping to his knees, the adrenaline in his system caused
him to shake uncontrollably, he felt like crying. His hopes had
been pinned on Laura being here, he had no idea where else she
would be.

Somewhere
outside he could hear a loud voice, it was demanding, it was not
getting any response. Standing, he went to the window and looked
down, the glass had long since disappeared and the warm breeze
tickled his face.

He could
see Matthews on the grass, he had Kingi by the neck and the blue of
the ocean below them framed them both. Standing next to the cliffs
edge it was clear to him what Matthews was doing… and he did not
care.
‘Fear is the mother of
morality’
according to Nietzsche and Matthews was
delivering that lesson.

He watched
quietly as Matthews edged the blinded Kingi closer to the cliff
face. From his vantage point it seemed surreal, almost
Shakespearian… old school policing at its worst but for a very good
reason. He already knew what the outcome would be; dogs did not
talk to the police…

A minute or so
passed and he had not heard anything of the conversation the two
players were engaging in below him, but he could guess what
Matthews was whispering in Kingi’s ear. Kingi just stood there with
his back to the cliff face, defiant in his stance, head covered
with his t-shirt. Then it happened…

Matthews put
his hands on Joseph Kingi’s chest and pushed, it did not take much
effort. Kingi lost his footing and stumbled backwards. He did not
hear anything from him as he disappeared out if view below the
cliff edge.

Bridger felt
nothing; he did not even question the decision Matthews had made.
Kingi would not talk, he made his own decision, and it was what it
was… another life wasted.

He
turned back into the room just as the message tone chirped on his
phone. Taking it out of his pocket, he looked at the message
details.
One message received from Laura
Bridger.
His heart lurched in his chest… opening the
message he read,
‘Mike, I need to see you
after work. We need to talk.’
He looked between the
phone and the window… Laura was fine… Joseph Kingi would not have
known the answer to an issue that was not a problem in the first
place. Shit…

He took the
stairs two at a time and rushed through the middle of the ruin to
the back door, ignoring the looks of everybody around him. He came
out on the old stone terrace and saw Matthews at the other end of
the lawn, still standing at the cliffs edge. He was looking down at
where Kingi had gone over the edge and appeared to be smiling.

Moving towards
him, slowly now, slightly fearful of what he would see, he got
nearer to the edge. He could hear what sounded like a baby animal.
Standing next to Matthews and looking down himself, he saw Joseph
Kingi less than a few feet below the edge, lying in a foetal
position on a large rocky outcrop, and he was crying like a
baby.

Bridger was
sitting in the empty office, he looked at the clock on the wall,
eight o’clock and the sun was just starting to set, casting shadows
on the city skyline outside his window. The days were stretching
out. The summer was edging closer. It was normally a time he would
have looked forward to, long summer days, plenty of time after work
to enjoy oneself. He just could not bring himself to get excited
and the last couple of days had really taken a toll on him.

John Mouller
would not be enjoying himself this summer either, he would be in
the hospital for a couple more weeks at least and then he faced a
long and arduous recovery from his many injuries. When he had
popped in to the hospital earlier this afternoon to offer support,
the nurse had told him that John was still in the induced coma. It
was supposed to help his brain recover. He did not want to see him
in that state again so had not gone into the high dependency unit.
The way he looked in the ruins that day would stay with him
forever.

Jo Williamson
was a little luckier; she had no serious injuries and could not
recall a lot due to the cocktail of drugs the gang had injected
into her system. She knew how they had found her though and she had
said that was what scared her the most. When she was asked, she had
only been able to say she had no idea what Joseph Kingi or anyone
else may have done to her while she was in that state. On Becky’s
advice, she had voluntarily submitted to a medical examination in
relation to rape, unfortunately that had come back inconclusive.
She had seemed on the outside like she was dealing with her ordeal
okay, but when Bridger had spoken to her he could see something in
her eyes that told him otherwise.

The troops had
rallied around them both and were giving as much support to their
young colleagues as they could, which was all they could do.

He had been
racking his brain over the last few days to see if there was
anything he could have done to prevent what had happened, or if his
actions had caused it. He had not been able to come up with any
viable answer, but he hated the thought of his colleagues torment
and blamed himself anyway.

Brian, Grant
and Becky had all gone home for the night leaving him alone in the
now quiet office. He was going over the report that he had prepared
for the court file in relation to all that had happened. It had
taken the team almost a week to untangle the events that had
unfolded over a period of only three days. After that, it was a
relatively straightforward process to attribute blame to the right
people. In all they would be laying sixty charges between thirteen
people. All of them were members of the ‘Gang’, all of them calling
themselves ‘Dogs for life’. None of them had said anything in
relation to what happened… except one.

Joseph Kingi
junior had laid it all bare for them; he had given them chapter and
verse, but only after a visited in the cells by Inspector Matthews.
Matthews did not tell him what he had said to Kingi on the cliff
edge or what he had discussed in the cells. Some things did not
need saying. Needless to say Kingi was now getting reacquainted
with his father, and it would not be long before he heard that his
son had broken the golden rule of the gang, he would not want be at
that family dinner.

Matthews
himself had taken leave, while the investigation into Baz’s death
in custody was finalised. It was only a formality; it looked like
he had cut his own wrists with the plastic he had smuggled in,
probably secreted in his back passage for just such an occasion.
There was not a lot the police could do with such a determined
person.

Martin McLaren
was going to live, he had lost a lot of blood but they had said he
had stopped the worst of it. His name never came up in their
enquiries for any offence. Kingi had told them that he had robbed
the store along with Baz and Tama. He revealed tama was the
shooter. The scene of crime officers had determined that Martin’s
stepfather had indeed committed suicide and a subsequent note found
in his possession admitted his guilt in shooting Tama. A nice neat
little package all wrapped up and ready for judgement on those
remaining.