Nails In A Coffin (Demi Reynolds Book 1) (16 page)

Hamish was still pinned down. He wasn’t able to get off any of his shots. He had the shotgun close to his chest, as if he was cradling it, shielding it from danger. But Demi wasn’t scared. She’d been in far worse situations than this in her life. She wasn’t going to allow a group of goons to take her life. Not after surviving the perils of her boss. Escaping captivity, just to get shot at by a bunch of muscle for hire. She wasn’t going to allow that.

“Shoot back!” she screamed at Hamish. He looked at her and blinked. She was back behind the wooden pillar. It was peeling. The shrapnel from the shotgun shells had torn the pillar to pieces. She was surprised that it was still standing. But she didn’t have time to be surprised. She decided to make her move.

“Hamish!” she yelled, crawling up toward him. They were still receiving heavy fire. Clumps of dirt were kicking up off the ground. Her nose was bunged up with dust, and her hands were covered in mud. She was determined to get to Hamish. She continued to crawl. He continued to freeze. She tilted her head a little to catch a glimpse of the barn’s entrance. She saw two men rushing in. The third was positioned next to Hamish’s car. He was using the door as cover.

“You need to shoot back!” she whispered under her breath as she reached him. When she looked at him more closely, she could see that he was sweating heavily. He looked terrified and had gone white.

“Hamish, honey,” she said, grabbing his left arm, “please shoot back!”

He turned his head and looked blankly at her. He opened his mouth, and blood trickled out.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his once white teeth glistening crimson.

Demi looked shocked. All her senses were firing off at the same time. Her hearing was on overdrive. She could hear approaching footsteps from behind them. Maybe twenty or so meters. Her eyes were darting from left to right. From Hamish to the entrance. Hamish to the entrance. Back to the entrance. More footsteps. Back to Hamish. His face ghost white. His lips turning purple. She grabbed him by the arm again, trying to steady him. Then she saw the hole in his stomach. It was nearly clean through. Blood was gushing out of his abdomen, pooling onto the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said before toppling over onto his back. He started to wheeze loudly. Demi began to tear up. She could feel a few tears trickling down her cheeks.

“Hamish!” she yelled. But it was no use. He was dead. And she was left to fight by herself.

Several things happened in a few seconds. The first of those things was her grieving process. She didn’t have a mirror on her, nor did she have makeup. She couldn’t go out to a bar and hook up with a stranger. She had to get the grieving process out of the way as quickly as possible. She couldn’t let it cloud her mind. So she closed her eyes for two seconds, made peace with the fact that Hamish was dead, and opened them back up. As she did so, her vision was different. It had changed. It was as if it had grown feral. Her eyesight was better. The tears had cleaned away the smudges in her vision, and now she was ready to put Hamish’s murderers in the ground.

Her hearing kicked in. And then the adrenaline hit her like a stack of bricks. They came crashing down in the form of somebody touching her shoulder. She quickly turned around and saw a man pointing a gun at her. He was alone. Now was her chance. He was about to call out to his men, telling them that he had found her. His mouth was moving slowly, as if in slow motion. Demi saw the angle the gun was held at. It was just off center. He had it held a little skewwhiff. It was just enough for her to capitalize on. She dug her knees into the ground, planting herself. She was kneeling, and he was standing over her. He had a slight bend in his gate. She decided to take advantage of his poor posture, and before anything audible left his lips, she grabbed his gun by the muzzle, putting her hand over it, twisting it slightly, making his wrist bend to the right. He was just about to scream when she unplanted one knee and kicked his legs out, making him crumple onto the ground. The fact that she was holding his gun-toting hand as he fell made his arm snap. The force of both impacts dislocated his hand, and the firearm released from his grips into hers. By then he was screaming, but only for a millisecond. She had the gun pressed against his temple. She squeezed the trigger, and the screaming stopped, along with his breathing. The point-blank gunshot had imploded half of his head like a caved-in watermelon. The graphic nature of the kill didn’t bother her; even though she never used guns, she was used to the destruction they caused.

She didn’t have time to relax. By her count, she still had two gunmen to deal with, one remaining in the barn and the other outside. She couldn’t see the one in the barn. The shooting had stopped, and silence was all that remained. She tried to listen for any footsteps, but everything was silent. She looked to her right and saw Hamish’s corpse on the ground. His stomach wound was covering the area around her in blood. It was now mixing in with the dead gunman’s wound to her left. She decided to move back toward the splintered pillar. From where she was hidden, she could see the exterior of the barn. The man using Hamish’s car for cover was still there. He was an easy kill. He hid behind the door as if it was bulletproof. She decided that she would take him out next, but in doing so she risked giving away her position to the other gunman. She didn’t know exactly where that gunman was, but she knew he was in the barn. Demi decided that two dead gunmen were better than one. So she leant against the pillar and took aim. The man using the car door for cover didn’t see it coming. He was too busy ducking up and down every few seconds, like you see in the movies. But Demi knew that was bad procedure. In a gunfight, you either find higher ground to catch them off guard, or you wait it out until they become brave and decide to charge on you. Nine times out of ten, they charge. But Demi wasn’t looking to become a statistic. She was there to make them history.

She waited a few seconds, and, sure enough, the man behind the car door stuck his head out once again. Like clockwork he peeked, and, like a pro, she shot him in the head. The shot traveled around thirty to forty yards. It dipped a little because of the wind. She had been aiming for his forehead right at the top, near the hairline. When the bullet reached him, though, it hit him in the middle of the face, just below the bridge of the nose. It made a messy sight as his face formed a bloody crack in the middle, which turned into a faucet of blood and brain matter. He hit the ground with a thud, and Demi exhaled. She was just about to turn around when she heard something whiz past her head. She blinked, and the pillar in front of her erupted into more splinters as a knife embedded in its surface. She quickly estimated the trajectory from which it was thrown, using the angle at which it hit the pillar. She quickly darted her head forty-five degrees left and saw the final gunman standing behind an identical pillar opposite her. He was holding another knife. He threw it. The knife just missed her. She ducked and rolled to the left. She now had the advantage. He wouldn’t have seen her rolling to the left. The pillar was in the way, and the darkness was acting as good cover. When she peeked her head up a little, she could see her guess was right. The man was aiming his gun at her last position. He was stone-cold in his composure. Nothing could sway his nerve. She could see that he was about to fire upon her last position. She decided to let him do so. It would cause him to be distracted. The loud gunshot would impair his hearing for a split second. The flash from the muzzle would distort his vision. It would give her an opportunity. An opportunity to kill.

She waited, and, sure enough, seconds later he opened fire on the pillar. She raised her firearm and pressed the trigger six times. Four shots to the sternum, one to the neck, and another to the head, all before he had a chance to blink.

She heard him hit the ground hard. The sound of silence followed. The smell of gunpowder rode up her nose. The feeling of her heart racing in her chest made her breathe hard. She wiped the sweat off her brow. Her hair was sticking to her forehead. She slid the handgun above her back pocket, between her belt and her panties. The muzzle was still hot and burned slightly against her skin. But she was feeling numb and didn’t have the inclination to feel pain. All she felt was hollowness.

Demi turned on her heels and surveyed the damage surrounding her, both the cosmetic damage to the barn and the human damage that was leaking onto the floor. She thought about approaching Hamish’s body and paying her respects. But it was all too much for her. She couldn’t stand to see him with that hole in his stomach. He had been a good friend to her and had come to her aid when nobody else would. She would always be grateful to that man for what he did for her. No amount of words could sum up the feelings of absolute love she had for him. And she would never forget him until the day she died.

But she wasn’t looking to die that day. She had unfinished business to attend to. Donny might be dead, but there were still plenty of people who would want her dead for what she’d done. She wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

Demi quickly ran toward the barn’s entrance, stepping over the man she had just shot. The fresh air hit her lungs and made her feel refreshed as the cold air made her skin prickle. She ran toward Hamish’s car and was just about to get in when she spotted the massive blood spatter on the passenger side of the door. She wouldn’t be driving that car if she wanted to remain inconspicuous. So she decided to take the gunmen’s vehicle, a nice big Land Rover. It would do just fine. She got into the hulking vehicle and hit the ignition. She did a 180-degree turn in the mud and hit the accelerator.

She was ready to put some wrongs right. No matter what happened going forward, she was ready to take a few of them down with her.

Both detectives were still at the CCTV centre. They were watching the operator get to work. He had been sifting through the screens for the majority of the afternoon. Neither DCI Francis nor DI Craig had any idea how much progress the operator was having. He was a quiet man and didn’t like to be disturbed, so all they could do was watch. Wait and watch.

They’d already found out that Demi Reynolds had been kidnapped by two large men. She had been taken from her flat and shoved into a car. The car had then driven off, leaving the scene of the crime in a hurry. Unfortunately for both detectives, there wasn’t any working CCTV in Demi’s building. But they did catch the two men on tape, and that was enough for them to feel at least a little happy.

They had been silent for a while. DCI Francis had run out of things to say. Usually, she would be the first to object, but since starting on the case, that was all she had been doing, and she was quite tired of the whole thing. All she wanted to do was find out what had happened to Demi and why. She didn’t really care about the original crime, the murder of Donny the Hat’s brother, Nathan Richards. Most people down at the station didn’t care too much for organized crime, so a dead gangster wasn’t anything to get choked up about.

“What do you think they wanted with Demi?” her partner, Lionel Craig butted in, destroying her train of thought. They were still sitting next to each other, side by side on comfy chairs. The operator in front of them was hammering away at his keyboard, going through screens at lightning speed. He was ignoring the two of them, which was fine by her as long as he got them some results.

“I don’t know what they want with her, but whatever she did to piss them off, I wouldn’t be surprised if this turned into a murder case,” she said, watching the back of the CCTV operator’s shoulders move up and down like a maddened pianist.

“But it’s already a murder case, remember? Nathan Richards? Ring any bells?”

Amy smiled and said, “We haven’t been assigned to that case. Billy Basset and his guys are investigating that one.”

Lionel shook his head. “You might see it that way, but the force doesn’t, hence why they’re giving us a hard time. The way they see it, we could be figuring this out, but no, we’re trailing the last footsteps of a woman who is allegedly a worker bee for the London underworld. Surely that in itself is a link to Donny the Hat?”

She nodded. “That may be so, but I think we’re looking at two different cases. One self-defense, and one a missing victim.”

Lionel was careful not to let his jaw drop too far, but Amy’s comment caught him off guard.

“Self-defense? I don’t know what case you’re working on, but I don’t recall any self-defense going on.”

“So you’re telling me that a London underworld’s boss’s brother wound up dead outside a council estate, and it wasn’t an accident? Firms don’t kill high-ranking gangsters or their brothers by accident. Usually they plan it out and execute it in a certain way. They don’t burn out an eighty-grand car and take the body away, do they?”

“So who does such a thing?” Lionel asked.

“Somebody trying to cover up a revenge killing. You can’t be blamed for the murder of your brother’s killer if the body of your brother goes missing.”

“I don’t get it. How the hell did you work that out? He’s either guilty or not guilty.”

Amy smiled. “Yes, exactly, but if you’re missing two bodies, one of them your brother’s and the other the person who killed your brother, then surely the police — that’s us, by the way, Lionel — will find it mighty difficult to put any sort of case together. So in the end, we won’t be asking questions because there aren’t any to ask.”

Lionel nodded. He was coming around to the theory. “Still doesn’t explain why the Met doesn’t want to touch this case with a mile-long pole,” he said.

“That’s a mystery, but who knows, maybe it’s nothing.”

The operator stopped typing on his keyboard and turned his chair. He looked at them and smiled. “Looks like your mystery is unfolding piece by piece.”

“You found something?” Amy asked.

“Yeah. You could say that.”

Lionel shook his head and said, “Well, don’t you think we’ve been here long enough? Spit it out, then.”

“I’ve got CCTV footage of your man riding shotgun in a hearse. Two different time stamps. One where he goes into some sort of warehouse and comes back out with a coffin in the back of the hearse. No flowers. No reefs. Just a plain wooden coffin. He then drives around for a while. He stops off at a parking lot, where he leaves the hearse under guard and returns with shovels.”

Amy’s eyes lit up. This was good news. The best news, even.

“And then what happens?” she asked.

“And then we lose him. But don’t fret. I’ll track him down. I’ve found him — now all I have to do is track him.”

Lionel rolled his eyes. “Track him? But won’t that take up more time? Every second that passes is another second we lose on this damn case, and I don’t think either Amy or I are prepared to lose much more.”

The operator nodded and said, “I’m going as fast as I can. You can’t just rush things like this. It takes time and dedication.”

“What? We aren’t dedicated enough for you?” Amy asked.

“I’m not saying that. I just think that maybe you two should relax a little. Go home. Run a bath. Maybe have a shag. I don’t know. Whatever it is that narcissistic murder detectives do to wind down, just do that!”

Amy stood up abruptly and paced toward the CCTV operator. The darkness around the room made her eyes glow. It also made the operator a tad defensive. He saw her coming and thought she was about to strike him, so he cowered in his chair with his hands up, ready to block any blows.

“Listen here, buddy,” she said, grabbing him by the collar. He was still flinching. But she didn’t back down. “You’re a CCTV operator. You don’t tell me how to unwind. I don’t tell you how to do your job, so don’t tell me how to do mine. All I want you to do is shut your damn mouth and get us a fucking lead. Is that too much to ask for? Or am I being too narcissistic?”

The operator shook his head adamantly.

“Good. Now I’m off to get a coffee, and when I come back, I want one new piece of information.”

“You can’t honestly expect me to just magic up a lead while you’re gone?” he asked, putting his hands down and straightening up in his chair, as if he’d found some backbone.

“I don’t expect a damn lead in the time it takes me to get a coffee. I just want something new. A fresh angle. A new frame. Maybe a different approach. I’m fed up with all of this. We need to spread the search out. Maybe some motorway cameras. Catch him leaving London. I don’t know why you’re insistent on sticking to the CCTV feeds from his area. Spread out!”

“You don’t think that I wasn’t going to check the motorway feeds? Of course I was, but first I had to check every other possibility. This isn’t some damn puzzle game. There aren’t a hundred pieces lying about. There are a million. And we’re missing the box. We don’t know what the big picture looks like. We don’t even know if we have all the pieces. And until we do, we need to cover all our bases. So calm your fucking tits and wind your neck in. Let me do my job and find this bastard.”

Lionel was watching on from his chair and couldn’t help laughing a little. “Nice one, operator. She loves it when you mention her breasts. I mean, what woman doesn’t!”

Amy turned on her heels and gave Lionel a dagger stare. He quickly slumped his shoulders and looked at the floor. She turned back around to face the operator. He was looking less cowardly and more confident. But when she gave him the same look that she’d just given Lionel, his confidence flushed out of him and he was a quivering baby once again.

“Just get back to work!” she shouted.

Amy turned back around and sat on her chair. She swivelled her head and looked at Lionel, who was smiling from ear to ear.

“I wouldn’t want to see you bury your anger, Amy. I’m glad you’re more vocal these days. Supressing your emotions eats away at your insides,” he said.

She looked at him blankly for a second or two, and then her facial expression changed. It was as if the carpet had been pulled out from under her.

“What did you say?” she asked.

Lionel’s eyes bulged open and he quickly tried to deviate. “Nothing. Please, don’t hurt me.”

“No,” she said, half a smile coming across her face. “What did you say?”

“Um, I don’t know. Not to keep your emotions bottled up. It’s bad for you.”

“Not that. You used a different phrase.”

“I said that you shouldn’t bury your emotions. Bury, bottle up, it’s the same thing, really.”

“No, it’s not!” she said, turning her attention from Lionel back to the operator. He was hard at work. “Stop what you’re doing,” she said. The operator didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly turned in his swivel chair to face her. He looked a little scared. She tried to reassure him with a smile.

“We’re missing something here,” she said out loud. She was now standing and stretching.

“I’ll tell you what we’re missing, a quiet work environment,” the operator said.

“No, we are missing the obvious,” she replied.

Both Lionel and the operator looked at her blankly.

“What sort of car is Donny the Hat being driven around in?”

“A hearse,” the operator answered.

“What are those types of vehicles used for?”

DI Craig shook his head and said, “Putting people into the ground.”

“Exactly!” she said, smiling rather hard, her teeth were showing. Lionel wasn’t used to seeing her smile. It was an odd sight.

“But we already know all of this. It’s nothing new. We’re just going around in circles.”

“Yeah, you’re right about us going around in circles. We are missing one thing,” she said.

“Like what? We’ve explored every damn possible scenario.”

“Except the one staring us straight in the face. He’s driving a hearse, meaning that he is planning to do something with that coffin he’s ferrying around.”

“Like bury it? We know this. It isn’t rocket science,” DI Craig said.

“It may not be rocket science, but it’s what we’ve been overlooking. Why are we trying to track him down when we should be able to guess where he may be going?”

“Newsflash, Amy, we don’t know where he’s going, hence why we are down here,” DI Craig said.

“But we should have an idea. I mean, come on — do I have to spell it out for you two?”

The operator smiled. “Graveyards,” he said.

Amy nodded. “Graveyards. We need to be checking feeds to the nearest graveyards. We need to be checking these locations for any sign of him or his crew.”

“There are hundreds of graveyards around the city, if not thousands in the east. How the hell do we track him down?” Lionel asked.

“Where was he last spotted on tape?”

The operator brought up a window on his screen. “Heading west,” he said, and then repeated it under his breath. There was a few seconds of silence, and then everyone seemed to say the same thing at once.

“Ashford!”