Death Trap (10 page)

‘We’re OK,’ she offered quickly. ‘The door.’

Foster finally did what he was told.

‘Both you men sit down and face the wall near the bathroom. Hands flat on the floor behind you.’

As Foster and Drake faced the white wall Nikki let out a tiny moan. The paleness of her face worried Rio.

‘Why don’t you let the girl go?’

But he wouldn’t play her game; the only game he wanted to play was his own. ‘If you stay rational, we can avoid any bloodshed.’

‘Why are you after the girl? Are you a member of the gang? If you—’

‘Come here.’

Rio held her ground for a few seconds. Then approached him. As soon as she reached him, in one swift move, he pressed the gun to her forehead. Nikki slumped even further into the softness of the bed. He put the syringe in his pocket and then ran his spare hand up and down her suit like a nightclub bouncer. Satisfied that she was clean his next words chilled her.

‘Down on your knees facing the other way.’

Nikki’s soft sobs tore through the air.

Maybe Rio was the one who needed bitch slapping now because she refused to move. He increased the pressure of the barrel firmly against her skin.

‘I mean it and you know that.’

Yes she did, so she started to move.

‘What the hell’s going on? Where are the police? Where’s my daughter?’ Patsy Bell hysterically yelled outside.

That’s when he made his mistake. His eyes jumped to the closed door. Rio grabbed his gun arm the same time Nikki scrambled off and under the bed. He fought back just as Officer Drake leapt to his feet. The gunman kneed Rio in the stomach as he slammed his arm back down. Rio swallowed the pain as she drew every ounce of strength she had to try to bring his arm up. Taking Rio by surprise he abruptly relaxed his arm. What the heck . . .? No, Rio’s mind screamed when she realised what he was doing – lining the aim of the gun directly with Drake.

Pop. A bullet slammed into the other officer’s shoulder toppling him backwards. Rio took advantage of the gunman’s diverted attention – bent her knees and yanked him across her shoulders before throwing him to the other side. The gun clattered and skidded along the floor. Rio flung herself on top of the gunman’s body, letting loose a one-two combination of punches to his head.

She twisted her head to Foster, who still remained on the floor, but was now crouched by the groaning, fallen policeman. ‘Get help,’ she yelled.

A powerful jab smashed into the side of Rio’s head. Stunned, she hit the ground. Dazed, pumping oxygen madly to her lungs, she saw the gunman heave himself to his feet. Something fell from his pocket as he rushed for the gun. Rio tried to get up, but the heaviness in her head kept her pinned down.

Get up. Get up. Get the fuck up.

But she couldn’t. Her position on the floor gave her an excellent view of Nikki, lying in a protective ball under the bed and what had tumbled out of his pocket – an odd shaped, lethal looking knife. Her gaze jacked back up when she realised that the man was back. This time standing over her with the gun pointed at her head.

3:14 p.m.

‘Help! Help!’ Foster finally shouted.

The gunman looked over at the lawyer, then twisted around and headed for the open window. As Rio finally managed to sit up, two things happened at the same time: the gunman disappeared through the window and the door slammed open. Detective Jack Strong rushed over to Rio. His hands touched her, but furiously she shook him off.

‘He’s escaped out of the window. Get to your car and see if you can head him off from the ground. I’m going after him on foot.’

Rio stood up, gave herself a few seconds to control the spinning in her head. As she belted for the window she heard sobs coming from Nikki’s bed; at least the girl was still alive. Outside of the window Rio saw the gunman about a metre below, fleeing from the rooftop he’d obviously dropped onto. Without hesitation Rio scrambled out of the window and made the drop.

The roof was flat but scattered with gravel like stones that were evenly spread. Where the stones had been disturbed it was possible to see where her gunman had fled. She ran to the edge and placed her hands on the waist-level rail that skirted the edge of the roof. Rio instinctively tilted backwards when she saw how far down it was – four or five floors. No, he hadn’t escaped that way. She heard squealing wheels below and saw Strong come round a corner on a service road in an unmarked saloon. He slowed and leaned out of the window, looking upwards. Rio shouted, ‘Cover all the exits . . .’

Strong cupped his hand over his ear indicating he couldn’t hear her, so Rio pointed down the roof in the direction the assassin had fled. Far below, Strong raised his thumb to show he understood and set off slowly, scanning the roof.

Rio followed the marks in the stones, but the roof was complicated. Blocks of hospital rooms seemed to have been added on top, along with chimneys and small brick buildings. All served as access routes, which meant plenty of cover and a variety of escape routes.

Rio twisted around when she heard a swishing of stones and footsteps. She moved close to the blind side of a chimney. With teeth gritted and clenched fists, she took some deep breaths and then swung round the chimney to confront the would-be killer. He was gripping a pole and looked up in alarm as Rio raced forwards. She landed a solid right full in his face. Only as he fell backwards did she realise that he was wearing overalls and the pole in his hand was in fact a rake and he’d been running it over the stones. Not her target.

Shit.

She leaned over the prone man and shouted, ‘I’m a police officer, have you seen a man up here, running?’

Only when the bewildered workman began refocusing his eyes did Rio realise what a hopeless question it was to ask. She set off in pursuit again. But then she stopped, doubled back and picked up the man’s rake, ‘I need to borrow this . . .’

Rio began to prowl the roof, unclear where she was going. There were too many windows and doors butting onto the roof to plug. She went over to the edge again and looked down. Strong’s car was crawling on the service road below in a low gear. That’s when she heard it: a knock, like a blunted hammer. A second knock, then a third. Gripping the rake Rio rushed off in the direction of the noise.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

She turned a corner. The gunman was in plain sight.

He was using the butt of his pistol to try to knock off a padlock on an access door.

She raised her rake like an axe at the same time the padlock hit the roof floor. Rio charged as he wrenched the heavy door open. The sound of her feet on the gravel alerted him; he swung around in her direction. The rake swung towards him and caught him a glancing blow on his arm. He toppled backwards, banging his back against the open door, slamming it shut again. His gun spun a few yards away. Rio flung down the rake and raced over to where the gun lay, bent over to swipe it up.

The sound of a gun’s hammer made her freeze.

‘Leave it . . .’

Slowly Rio straightened up and turned around. The man had a second gun – a smaller one, but no less deadly. Rio knew she had made a mistake by not beating him unconscious when she’d had the chance.

‘Back off,’ he growled.

Rio eased back as he moved forwards. She watched as he picked up the fallen gun. He waved it, indicating that she was to back off. He picked up the other weapon, did the same to the rake. Rio quickly swung her body into a defensive position, but he was already on her. The wooden pole struck her head. The force and pain made her fall to her knees. She tumbled sideways.

Another blow had her crying out as she instinctively folded her body into the foetal position. Then she was moving and realised that the man was dragging her by the collar. Blackness started to swallow her vision.

Don’t black out.

Don’t black out.

She fought it, head swimming, body bursting with pain. But the blackness wouldn’t go away.

DON’T BLACK OUT.

Rio forced her eyes wide.

The rail at the edge of the roof was above her and a pair of light brown eyes that seemed to be floating in a sea of material that obscured the rest of the man’s features.

In a demonic whisper he said, ‘You’re not afraid of flying are you?’

What? Only when he grasped Rio under the shoulders did she understand; he was going to push her under the rail and over the edge, five floors down to her death.

Desperately she tried to fight back, but her muscles refused to work. Her body was sliding closer. Closer . . .

‘Help!’

A man’s screeching voice lit up the air.

‘Murder! Help!’

Strong? No.

Rio almost blacked out again.

Her vision came back and Rio’s gut clenched wildly as all she saw above her was endless grey sky. The world was the wrong way around. Her neck hurt. Her breathing collapsed inside her as she realised that her head was hanging over the edge. All he’d have to do was one more push.

‘Murder! Murder! Murder!’

No, it wasn’t Strong, but the workman. Rio never knew where she got the strength from but she raised a foot and kicked the gun in the shin. It pushed him back. She heard feet crunching in the gravel.

‘DI Wray? Rio?’

Strong. Jack bloody Strong.

‘Looks like your flight has been cancelled,’ the gunman said somewhere above her.

Then Rio heard a crunch on the stones, and the rusty hinges of a door being opened.

She tried to move, but couldn’t. Her head started throbbing; her vision blurred.

‘DI?’ Hands were pulling her back.

Don’t black out.

Don’t black out.

If he gets away he’ll come back for Nikki.

Rio blacked out.

thirteen

4:06 p.m.

The first person Rio saw when she regained consciousness was Jack Strong. He stood looking down at her and that’s when she realised she was lying on a bed. The right side of her face and head hurt like someone had tried to stamp her to death. Images flashed through her mind:

Nikki’s head slumped to one side.

Man with a raincoat.

Gunman . . .

That pushed Rio up. Her fingers gripping the bed for support, the pain increasing with a crazy intensity.

‘Take it easy,’ Strong said.

Rio swung her legs over the side, her breathing pulling in and out of her body in rapid spurts. ‘No time for taking it easy.’ Finally she stood on shaky legs. ‘How long have I been out?’

‘About forty minutes.’

‘Shit.’ Wrong word; its intensity doubled her pain, forcing a long groan from her lips.

‘Shall I get Doctor Green?’

Rio waved Strong’s question to the side as she rode the wave of pain until it eased back. ‘We need to check the hospital’s security cam—’

‘Already done. No joy there. As a cost-cutting exercise the hospital alternates each day on having its cameras on different sides of the hospital—’

‘Don’t tell me,’ Rio cut in. ‘No cams this side today.’ Rio almost let rip with more swearing, but thought about the pain and let the cursing alone. ‘But he couldn’t have turned up pretending to be from Foster’s firm wearing a raincoat zipped to his mouth. Someone must have seen his face, especially Officer Drake.’

Strong nodded. ‘I’ve already got someone onto checking CCTV and traffic cams. We might get an ID for him if we catch him getting into a vehicle and trace it.’

Rio nodded back, deep breathing at the same time to get some stability. Then she looked at Strong. ‘But he did leave a knife behind. It ended up somewhere near Nikki’s bed. We can use it to pull off prints and maybe DNA.’

‘We checked the room.’ Strong shook his head. ‘No knife.’

Rio frowned. ‘I saw the blade fall out of his pocket. Find it. Ask the medical staff, one of them might’ve picked it up by accident mistaking it for one of their surgical ones because it had a slim shape, with a curve at the end.’ Rio rubbed her head. ‘I don’t get what’s going on here. Do you think he’s a member of the gang? And if he is, how the fuck did he know she was here?’ Rio uttered the last as if talking to herself.

Rio slowly moved towards the door. ‘Well, at least we have Nikki safe . . .’ Her voice dribbled away as she saw the look on Strong’s face. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Mr and Mrs Bell took their daughter home.’

‘What?’ Rio couldn’t help the roar the word became.

‘Said that on the advice of their legal counsel, they did not feel that their daughter was protected in the hospital.’

‘Foster.’ Rio swore, no longer caring about any possible pain. ‘If the gunman found her here he could find her at her home. Get a protection unit—’

‘They refused to have one.’

‘Let me guess: on the advice of their legal counsel.’ Rio paced, trying to think her way through this one. Her mobile rang. Annoyed at the interruption Rio pulled it out of her jacket.

‘What?’

‘I hear they’ve been a few problems at your end.’