The Charlie Cobb Series

Chapter 8

8

The squad car had barely hit the curb before Detective Price had bailed out onto the pavement. He pushed his way through a crowd of passers-by to get through to reception. The soles of his shoes squeaked across the marble floor as he scanned his immediate area. Left, right. Almost running straight into a blind hotel guest waving a stick and pulling a large suitcase.

Gibbons, the undercover officer he’d stationed in the lobby, met the detective in front of the reception desk. She tried to explain, but it seemed like she couldn’t breathe. Detective Price pulled her along. A lanky uniformed officer in a high-vis jacket held an elevator door open for them.

The ride up was silent and tense. Price caught his breath. Officer Gibbons fought back the tears. The faintest tinge of dry vomit in the corners of her mouth.

The elevator doors opened. Price led the way, jogging down the corridor and pushing through into the stairwell. A couple of flights up, he jabbed in the code on the door and yanked it open. A hurried walk along the corridor brought them to the hotel suite. The door was wedged open with a suitcase.

The scene inside was a mess. And only Briggs and Sanders remained alive.

They sat on the sofa with their hands tied. A phone on a side table with the receiver off the hook. Had they dialled it in with their noses? Their heads? Their chins?

Price cast his eyes over Foster and Jennings, dead on the floor. Holes blown in the backs of their skulls. Bloody brain tissue exposed. The beige carpet around them soaked a sickening red.

He turned to Gibbons. “Go and find something to cut those ties.”

“Yes, sir,” she said in a shaky voice, spinning on her heels and out of the suite.

Price strode into the master bedroom. No sign of the witness. The bed covers roughed up and the football game on pause, but that was it.

He headed back into the living area. “What the f**k happened?” he said to the men.

“One of them shot Foster and Jennings.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Price said. “One of how many?"

"Two, sir."

"And my bloody witness?"

Briggs and Sanders looked at each other. Lost for words. White as the hotel bedsheets.

“Well?”

Both men tried to explain.

“They were gonna shoot us, sir."

“One minute we had a gun to our heads. The next, we woke up and it was just us.”

“How the hell did they get in?” Price asked.

Both men seemed clueless. Distant. Price knew concussion when he saw it. Knowing he wasn’t going to get much out of either officer, he headed into the second bedroom. It was dim. One of the linen drapes ruffled at the far end. He followed the chill breeze, pulled back the drape and found an open window.

Price leaned out and looked around him. The night was alive with city lights. Manchester Cathedral lit up in a pale white, off to the right of the hotel.

He heard wailing sirens bouncing off buildings. A world of cops and forensics descending on the scene. Ready to cordon off, dust down and bag up. He’d let another detective worry about his two dead men. His only concern was his witness. Had they taken him? Killed him? If they wanted him dead, why not just leave the body here?

And why kill a pair of cops? Were they total idiots?

Whatever had happened, this was on him. On his watch. And the consequences . . .Well, he didn’t want to think about those.

Detective Price lit a cigarette. He peered out of the window as he blew a plume of smoke. He glanced left, right and down towards street level. Directly below, he noticed a window-cleaning platform several floors down.

Price tossed the cigarette.

He leaned out of the window and counted the floors to the platform. He bolted from the bedroom out into the living area, where Gibbons had returned with a kitchen knife. Price skipped around the crime scene and out through the hotel door. He sprinted along the corridor only to run into the code locked door.

He jabbed the number in once. It didn’t work. “Come on!"

He jabbed again and pulled the handle to the right. He was through. Flying down stairs, one flight after another. He had to find the right room. The room next to that platform.

Price checked his watch as he ran. He was sure his phone would ring any minute, the boss demanding a report. So he flew down flight after flight, out of breath and out of time. He heard the scream of the sirens close in on the hotel.

Forget about the witness. Someone had killed two cops. The whole city was about to get locked down.