S.O.S by Will James

Author:Will James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wordebite
Published: 2012-04-07T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11 - London

Whilst Father Tom had engaged the policemen on duty in conversation, Molly and Dev had catalogued what they had found on the wall, with photos on Molly’s phone. They were all done and as Tom wound up his conversation with the police, Molly and Dev circumnavigated the red tape and began heading out of the estate.

They appeared to have judged their exit well. Just as they turned the corner to wait for Father Tom, two police cars and a van pulled up and out spilled the SOCCO team, men and women in white coats and masks accompanied by a detective inspector. It was a close call Dev thought, but so was everything recently. As Tom caught them up and they all left the scene, Dev glanced sidelong at Molly who looked odd, shaking her head from side to side as she walked.

“What’s up?” he asked her. Their relationship had improved significantly in the time spent working together; the common goal working wonders on Molly’s bad humour. “You OK?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She looked puzzled for a moment and stood still. “It’s just that...”

“That what?” Dev said, looking at her and smiling.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, blushing at his gaze. “I’ll tell you later.”

*

As the trio strolled out of sight a black taxi cab pulled up at the estate. A dark haired young man climbed out, paid the driver with a note, not waiting for the change and walked towards the crime scene. He was stopped by an officer.

“I’m afraid that this area is closed sir, unless you’re a resident here.”

The young man met the officer’s eye. He lifted his hand and held his fake identity pass in the air. He was an expert forger. The officer looked at it, leaned a little closer to make sure it was what he thought it was and then said,

“Sorry Sir. Here, let me let you through.” He lifted the tape and the young man passed into the crime scene.

The forensic examination of the scene was well and truly underway, but the young man remained unimpressed; it was the usual haphazard affair. Sometimes he returned to his own crime scenes, more out of curiosity than anything else and he was always disappointed. Much of the time, just as it was here, the detectives seemed hapless, with no explanations or leads, plodding through the physical evidence without thinking further than their noses.

The assassin tried not to betray his irritation as he recognised the familiar baffled expressions on the faces of the supposed experts. Opening his briefcase he set to work, his task easier than theirs as he knew what he was looking for.

*

The knock on the door distracted Mrs Pathmajaren out of her afternoon daze. My husband will get the door she thought dozily, allowing her eyelids to droop once more as she resettled down. The knock sounded again, this time more insistent. Hearing no answering footsteps from upstairs she realised it was mid-week and her husband was at work. Resentfully she got out of her chair, smoothing a little life and colour back into her face.

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