Kill Who You Want

Chapter Thirty-Four

Plot reminder: Wye's Renault Clio has just pulled through the gates of her residential complex. A figure (no spoilers) lurks in yhe darkness, knife in hand....
Author's note: This is a shorter chapter than usual, but is probably the most important of the entire novel.

~~~~~

Sergeant Blackwell breathed deep and slow, watched from his rooftop perch as the Renault crackled into the driveway. "Vehicle's through the gate," he whispered into the transreceiver, his hands squeezing just a little tighter around the sniper rifle in readiness. Not the M200 he'd used during two recent stints in Afghanistan, capable of precision strikes from up to two miles distance, but the much lighter and shorter-range HK417. The basic concept was still the same though: point, keep a steady hand, blow the guy's brains out.

The suspect had arrived around an hour earlier, was crouched down amongst the clutter of parked cars beneath the oak tree. Even through high-grade night vision goggles, it had been difficult to get a clear facial. Blackwell had been limited to communicating his opinion that the guy didn't much look like either of the two sketches he'd been shown from earlier in the investigation. Given the CID's belief that they were dealing with someone skilled in the self application of theatrical make up, this perhaps made sense. The tall, thin physique meanwhile most certainly matched expectations. If indeed the same individual who'd shot the young girl at her bedroom window, there was no rifle in evidence this time. The hand which periodically disappeared inside coat pocket strongly suggested the presence of a weapon however, perhaps some small-scale type of firearm.

The driveway gravel, this was the problem. Though a rear approach through the church graveyard and over the wall would take a manned approach within several metres of the target, boots would then be landing on a layer of loose clicky stones, thus alerting the suspect to their presence before any neutralising manouevre could be made. Far too risky.

"Now parking..." Blackwell whispered. He could see the suspect creeping closer around the back of the line of vehicles. For a fleeting moment he had a clear headshot... "Driver's door opening..." Despite his experience and training, it was difficult at a moment like this not to feel that heart thud of released adrenalin.

The detective sergeant was now visible, her blonde hair a concentrated blob of ghostly, night-vision green. From a metre behind there was a blurred lunge...

A movement which shuddered to a sudden halt, trooper Connick exploding from the rear door like a triggered human bullet. There was a metallic rattle of what looked like a large knife falling to the ground, skidding safely away with the swipe of a service boot. Within the blink of an eye the suspect was meanwhile trapped in an inescapable rear standing hold.

"Threat neutralised," Blackwell announced into the transreceiver. Grounding his rifle, he allowed himself a long exhale of relief.

No-one was getting their brains blown out tonight.

*

"That wasn't easy," Yardley began, easing himself back down into his chair across the interrogation room from Kubič following an impromptu press call at the station entrance. "Telling them what I had to tell them. Not easy at all."

Along with the fine tenor voice which graced his local church choir whenever professional commitments allowed, duplicity was probably his greatest talent. The truth was, he'd enjoyed every moment. Enjoyed it like he enjoyed extra-marital sex. Like a cold-blooded killer twisting the knife.

Kubič appeared not to be listening, was studying something above and behing Yardley's head. A ceiling crack, a leftover wisp of a cobweb the cleaning lady hadn't quite managed to swipe away. Or maybe there was nothing. Maybe he was just asking God for forgiveness.

"Remember the first time we met Joe? That senior officers' ball a while back?" There was no sign of an affirmative, but then no sign of a negative either. He pressed on regardless. Of course the sod remembered. Who wouldn't forget their first meeting with Nigel Yardley?

"I was already a chief inpector, but was jealous of you nevertheless. The hometown copper who'd made his way up through the ranks." As a postgraduate in criminology and man-management, Yardley himself had never spent a single day in uniform, entering the force directly at DS level. "A man of the people, a shining example of what community policing should all be about. Both the Chief Super and Chief Constable had enormous faith in you." The right corner of his lips crooked into a devious smirk. "And to boot, yours was the prettiest of all the officers' wives there that night."

At this Kubič lowered his gaze, fixed him for several moments with a glare as unwavering as it was unambiguous.

"She told me about that. How you came on to her."

Yardley's smirk lingered. "Can't blame a guy for trying. I'm pretty sure she was tempted." He gave a toss of the shoulders. "A woman's loyalty. It can be misplaced sometimes."

There was a loud scrape of a pushed back chair, Kubič's orsine figure looming threateningly over him.

"Assault of a fellow officer. We're going to add that one to your ever growing rap sheet too now Joe?"

Still glowering, Kubič reseated himself.

"How the mighty fall eh," Yardley continued. "Had it all, didn't you pal? Had it all but then bl-"

He was interrupted by the sudden whack of the door being thrown open as Larkinson burst unannounced into the room.

"A subordinate officer," Yardley thundered, rotating shoulders, "must request permission before entering an interrogation room."

The constable didn't even glance at him, instead directed a wide beam at Kubič.

"The plan worked sir! We've got him!"

Yardley was on his feet, gaze flashing from Kubič to Larkinson then back again.

"I demand to know what the hell's going on here."