Hunter Hunted by Jack Gatland (best value ebook reader .TXT) 📗

six prongs, set in a three and three circular pattern. It was probably one of those stun torches you can buy on eBay, and she most likely fell the moment it hit, as those buggers packs a punch. I couldn’t see any signs of a heart attack, but it wouldn’t have helped.’

‘And the cut on the head?’

‘Now that’s an interesting one,’ Davey leaned forwards. ‘We know she was brought there, placed by the grave, but the cut had small fragments of some kind of ceramic in it. Like she broke a vase when she struck it with her skull.’

‘The graves nearby?’ Doctor Marcos rubbed at her eyes. ‘She fell, maybe hit something holding flowers?’

‘Possibly, but this feels like it was higher. If it was on the floor, we’d have found a different impact shape. And, we found contaminates in the wound, like stone dust from where it hit the floor.’

Doctor Marcos considered this for a moment.

‘Some mausoleums have shelves, and all of them have stone floors.’

DC Davey thought about this for a moment. ‘So she was killed in the cemetery, just not where she was found?’

Doctor Marcos nodded as she flicked through a series of images on her phone. ‘I think we’re narrowing this down,’ she replied. ‘And the moment we do, we’ll nail the bastards for this and Monroe’s attack.’ She stopped at an image.

’You got something?’ DC Davey asked. Doctor Marcos turned the phone to show her assistant.

‘Google search Ruthenium Blade and you get a few hits,’ she said. ‘Seventh one is this. A Montblanc Letter Opener in metal Ruthenium, plated with inlay in black soft calfskin leather.’ She carried on scrolling. ‘This letter opener has been crafted out of metal with a Ruthenium-coated finish.’

‘Montblanc is expensive,’ DC Davey replied. ‘There are easier and cheaper options to use when killing someone.’

‘Unless they picked it for a reason,’ Doctor Marcos rose from the table, taking the folders as she did so. ‘A two to three hundred pound letter opener isn’t something you buy if you’re worried about the rent. Get hold of one. See if it matches the entry wound, and whether the composition matches.’

She paused before leaving.

‘And find out if there’s a way to see who owns one of the bloody things.’

The Globe Town Boxing Club wasn’t usually open around ten pm on a weekday, but when all was said and done, the Globe Town Boxing Club wasn’t a normal club, neither.

The two men who climbed out of the black SUV didn’t know any different. To them, it was simply another location to enter and extract from. Their last extraction had gone badly; the taller of the two, an older, stockier man with grey temples and dark, thinning hair now had a vicious-looking scar, stitched together and covered with a dressing on his right temple, from an unfortunate impact with an SLR camera, swung at speed by a terrorist earlier that day.

The other man, a younger yet bald man, with a slighter frame than his friend, checked that the pistol that he had under his bomber jacket was still hidden.

‘I don’t see why I can’t have my gun,’ the stockier man moaned.

‘Mate, you shot a guy in the head,’ the bald man replied. ‘They don’t just let you carry guns after that.’

‘They did in Afghanistan,’ the stockier man muttered sullenly as they entered the club.

There were two painters, currently priming one wall when the two men walked through the boxing club.

‘Anyone here?’ the stockier man shouted. ‘Wakey wakey!’

There was movement from the back of the club and Johnny Lucas emerged, wiping his hands with a towel.

‘We’re closed, lads,’ he said, relaxed and with an air of calm. Both men reached into their pockets and pulled out warrant cards. Waving them momentarily in Johnny’s direction, they placed them away.

‘We understand you might have a fugitive staying here,’ the bald man said.

‘And which fugitive is that?’ Johnny asked causally. ‘I have so many pass through.’

‘Alex Monroe and Rosanna Marcos.’

‘I thought that DCI Monroe was a victim?’ Johnny asked, slowly moving towards the two men. ‘Can I see your IDs again?’

‘Why?’ the stockier man asked.

‘Because you didn’t tell me your names,’ Johnny replied. ‘And coppers always give their names and ranks when meeting for the first time. I think it’s taught in copper school.’ He stopped only a couple of feet from the two men.

‘And that makes me think you didn’t go to copper school.’

The stockier man pulled out his card, showing it to Johnny before placing it away again. Johnny nodded, walking back to the door that he’d emerged from.

‘They’re excellent forgeries,’ he said. ‘But I’ve seen better. Hell, I’ve made better. I’m guessing you’re part of Rattlestone then?’

Sick of this, the bald man pulled out his gun, aiming it at Johnny.

‘Listen, you little shit,’ he hissed. ‘It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I want to find Alex Monroe and take him into custody. And if you won’t help me, I’ll drop you here and find him myself.’

‘I’m more than happy to help you,’ Johnny smiled. ‘I’m guessing you have a warrant or something?’

‘I have this,’ the gun was aimed at Johnny’s head as the bald man started walking towards him. ‘And no scrawny bastard like you is gonna stop me passing.’

‘Look,’ Johnny held his hands up one last time. ‘You’re not coppers, you’re trying to kidnap someone by force and you’re threatening my life. And I’m sick of you. Turn around, jog on, and piss off out of my club.’

The bald man cocked his gun and then stopped. From the shadows emerged two trainers, both with shotguns. And, glancing to the side where the painters were, he saw that they too had removed guns from underneath their overalls.

‘Nobody points a gun at me,’ Johnny hissed. ‘Last chance.’

Laurie Hooper knew nothing.

This was the line that had been repeatedly told to her over the last couple of weeks; that she didn’t see what she thought she saw, that she was in shock over Donna’s death