The Half Truth(3)

John didn’t waste any time. He sprinted up the remainder of the stairs and into the banking hall, his gun sweeping the room. Staff and customers were huddled together in one corner. Someone gave a small scream of alarm. Another whimpered.

Standing in the middle of the hall, the third gunman held a young woman in front of him, a gun at her head.

‘I’ll shoot her!’ The gunman yelled through his ski mask.

‘No you won’t,’ said John, steadying the Glock. ‘Put the gun down.’

‘You’re not going to shoot me.’ It was a jeer.

John weighed up the situation. The hostage was a good three inches shorter than the robber. It gave him just enough clearance above her shoulder.

‘Are you going to do what I think you are?’ It was Martin’s voice behind him.

‘Yep,’ said John, his eyes fixed firmly ahead. ‘You going to do your bit?’

‘Yep. Already clocked her name badge.’

‘Well, do you want to get on with it?’

‘Alisha,’ said Martin, his voice calm and low. ‘Listen very carefully. You are going to be okay. I promise. All you have to do is stay very still. Do you understand?’

Alisha gave a small sob and eked out a sound of acknowledgement.

‘Shut the fuck up!’ said the gunman. ‘Don’t talk to her.’ He cocked his gun. ‘I’m not messing.’ John could see his opponent’s forefinger begin to squeeze the trigger. John’s training now automatic, he zoned out his surroundings, focusing only on the man in front of him. He breathed for the count of three and as he exhaled he fired off one clean shot.

The gunman cried out and spun backwards. Alisha screamed and fell to the other side.

John fired off another shot.

The first had hit the gunman in the shoulder, the second in the arm as he had tried to reach for the gun he had dropped. John raced over, kicking the gun away. Alisha was scrambling across the carpet, sobbing in relief, frightened but unharmed. John stood over the groaning gunman and placed a boot on his chest.

‘To coin a phrase,’ he said, pointing his gun at the robber’s chest. ‘You’re nicked.’





Chapter 2


It was a couple of hours later that John and his team regrouped back at HQ. The statements and paperwork could wait until the next day. The one surviving robber was under armed guard at the local hospital for the night. Interviewing would also wait until the next day.

‘Well done this evening, everybody,’ said DI Brogan, John’s boss, coming into the open- plan office. ‘No civilian casualties, despite that stunt you pulled, John.’

John gave a slight nod of apology. ‘How’s Jackie, Sir?’

‘Flesh wound. They’ve removed the bullet, fortunately no long-term damage. You’re obviously going to be a man down for a while.’

‘Don’t let Jackie hear you say that,’ said John. ‘Person down. We’re going to be a person down for a while.’ He stood up. ‘We’re going for a drink, Sir. Are you coming?’

‘Before you go,’ said Brogan. ‘CID sent over some photos. Wondered if you could translate them, given your expertise on gang tattoos.’ He dropped the brown envelope he had been carrying onto John’s desk.

John picked up the envelope and pulled the half a dozen or so black-and-white photos out. He gave them a cursory glance and slid them back inside. ‘What’s the history?’

‘Unidentified. Found dead, at the docks, yesterday. No ID, only the body art.’

‘Okay, I’ll take them home and have a look at them tonight,’ said John, pocketing the envelope.

‘Right, well, I’ll leave you all to it,’ said Brogan, turning and walking out of the office. ‘Well done again, everyone.’

‘It doesn’t look very nice out there now,’ said Tina as she began clearing the last of the tables at the café. She looked out of the window at the slate-grey clouds hovering overhead.

‘Looks like it’s about to rain,’ said Fay, following Tina’s gaze. ‘And I haven’t got my umbrella with me.’

‘Why don’t you get off early? I can finish up here.’ Tina carried the tray of dirty cups and saucers out to the kitchen. She came back out a moment later for the remaining crockery. ‘We’re not exactly going to have a big rush on in the last half an hour. And Old Grumpy has gone.’ She grinned at her colleague. Old Grumpy was their nickname for their boss; one he had earned with ease.

Fay was already untying her apron. ‘Only if you’re sure.’

‘Of course I’m sure. Now go on, otherwise you’ll get soaked.’