A Silent Death by Peter May (top books to read .txt) 📗

the police of any gunshot wounds, but that could wait until he’d made an assessment of the damage.

Mackenzie winced as the medic peeled away the shirt from his chest, and the ruined remains of his iPhone fell to the floor. It had left an almost perfect reddish-purple bruised impression of itself on his chest.

‘Jesus,’ the medic whispered. ‘Man, have you any idea how lucky you are to be alive?’

‘I don’t feel so lucky right now.’ Mackenzie’s voice was hoarse.

The medic grabbed a pair of tweezers from his kit of sterilized tools and started picking tiny pieces of glass and circuit board and phone body from the deepest area of abrasion right behind where the bullet had struck the phone. ‘Not seen anything like this since I was with medical staff in Herat.’ He glanced up at Mackenzie and clarified. ‘Afghanistan. Part of Operation Resolute Support. Saw quite a few injuries like this. Behind body armour injury. Backface deformation they call it.’ He chuckled. ‘Never saw a bullet stopped by an iPhone before, though.’

Mackenzie didn’t see what was amusing about it. ‘Has it busted any ribs?’

‘I doubt it,’ the medic said. And he pressed gently around the area of bruising, causing Mackenzie to gasp. ‘A young guy like you. The cartilaginous portions of your ribs there are still soft. Another fifteen or twenty years and it’ll all have turned to bone, and that would almost certainly have shattered.’ He smiled. ‘The good news is you’ll live. The bad news is, once I’ve dressed up the wound I‘m going to have to report you to the police.’

Mackenzie gasped his frustration. ‘I am the bloody police.’

*

It was a full forty-five minutes before Mackenzie was back on the road, bandaged and strapped up and feeling like death. The medic had been reluctant to let him go, but couldn’t stop him, and Mackenzie had left him phoning to report the incident to the authorities.

He had tried calling the Jefe’s number several times from Helicopteros. Without success. He debated going straight to the police station. But that would entail lengthy and complex explanations to junior officers on night shift. God only knew how long it would take to get a more senior-ranking officer involved. He needed to talk to the chief, and decided to go directly to his house.

The moon was well up in the sky now, washing its bloodless light across the hillside. The dust that rose around him as he powered the Seat up the dry forest track drifted in ghostly illumination like mist. At the top of the hill he turned his car down the steep incline to the Jefe’s finca only to find the house itself swaddled in darkness. There was no sign of the Audi.

Mackenzie banged the heels of his hands against the steering wheel, then let his head fall forward to rest on it. He closed his eyes and let despair wash over him. Where in God’s name was the Jefe?

He sat back, then, in the driver’s seat and forced himself to breathe at a measured rate. He needed to think clearly. It seemed to him he had two choices. Go straight to the police station and raise the alarm. Or get Cristina out of her bed. At least he had some kind of traction with her.

But he had no idea where Cleland was going, and he had Ana with him. What could any of them do? They would have no idea which way to turn. He knew he was going to have to report the shooting and the death of Paco, but all that was only going to throw up flak and serve as a distraction.

With reluctance he decided that Cristina was his best option. She had a vested interest in cutting through the red tape. He glanced down at the shirt that hung off his shoulders in bloody tatters and realized he would need to stop at the Totana on the way to her apartment for a quick change of clothing.

He swung the Seat through a three-point turn and accelerated back up the hill. The moon seemed to sit on the rise directly above him, shining straight into his eyes. He snapped down the sun visor and tutted his annoyance at the irony.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Cristina opened her eyes, startled. Something had wakened her, and in that foggy transition from sleep to consciousness she could not identify what it was.

She sat up and realized there was a light in the room. Going to bed the previous night had been one of the most difficult things she had ever forced herself to do. Climbing into the space she had shared in intimacy with Antonio these last ten years. Lying between sheets that still smelled of him, making it harder to accept that he was gone. The shape of his head pressed into the pillow where last he had laid it.

For a time she had debated whether or not to leave the light on. Something about the dark frightened her. Superstitions from childhood. Tales of ghosts. But she had told herself she was being foolish and turned it off. Only to lie sleepless in the dark for what had seemed like all night long, wondering how she would ever sleep again and willing the dawn to come.

But somehow, at some time, she had drifted off, only to be startled awake now, blinking in the unexpected light. It was only when the light vanished that she realized what it was. The illuminated screen of her phone. That’s what had wakened her. The alert of an incoming message.

She reached across the bed to lift the phone from its charger and saw that it was a text. It was 5.43 am. She sat up, sweeping the hair from her face and tapped the message preview to open up the window. And suddenly she was wide awake, heart hammering in the silence of the bedroom.

GIBRALTAR SKYWALK FIRST LIGHT. TELL NO ONE – WE WILL KNOW. MACKENZIE DEAD.

In the dark, the light of