Just Another Day - Clark Steven - Страница 21
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That image, of the shotgun shell entering his lower jaw and exiting out the top of his skull; with blood, mucus, membrane and hair smashing their way out of the top of his head like a volcano erupting, would stay with him for many years. The later enquiry into the circumstances of the fatal shooting would conclude that the double murder and suicide could not have been prevented by John.
The evidence of the only other person to survive the carnage; the manager, who made particular mention of his negotiating skills and calm demeanour, was still not enough to prevent John’s feelings of failing his young colleague in her sudden and shocking death. That was one of the few occasions where John was thankful of the counselling procedures and it helped him to eventually come to terms with his own guilt. Mike Hogan knew that John’s actions were to do with that earlier bank job. He wasn’t about to see another colleague murdered and just maybe, his judgement was a little impaired.
‘Well, pick the fucking thing up then.’
Mike’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the voice from the wagon. He saw John slowly stoop to the ground and pick up the severed finger. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wrap the white cotton gently around the digit as the blood red stain began to spread through the linen. He turned to walk away when he was halted by the voice from the cab.
‘Hey, John boy. Don’t be in such a hurry, come over here a minute. We need to get to know each other a little better.’
John hadn’t expected this and he was sure that the gunman would soon have two hostages instead of one. He wondered; might he be able to persuade the gunman to let him swap places with his injured colleague? He stood with his back to the open drivers’ window for a second or two; he was looking at Mike who was slowly shaking his head. The signal was very clear, without doubt his workmate was saying, ‘don’t go anywhere near this madman.’ He tried to think ahead. He turned and walked toward the wagon and there was an obvious concern in the minds of the watching police officers at the scene and also, back at the Incident Command Centre, who were viewing the situation in real time as the force Helicopter beamed back pictures of the unfolding scenario. They could hear every word Johnson was uttering and could easily discern the hostility in his voice. John stood directly beneath the window of the cab. He could not see the gunman as he was still concealed by the bunk area.
‘Take it out.’ he said to John.
‘What do you mean,’ he replied, ‘take what out?’
‘Porky’s fucking finger. Take it out of the hankie.’
John looked down at his right hand holding the bloody handkerchief and started to unwrap it.
‘Let me have a look.’ came the voice from within and with that, John spread the cotton covering to reveal the two inch long finger remains inside the blood stained handkerchief.
‘Lift it up here, closer to the window.’ John did as he was told and lifted his hands up. The gunman reached down and picked up the finger with his right forefinger and thumb. He examined it closely for a few seconds observing the torn skin and sinew trailing out from the opposite end of the fingernail.
‘Can you take him Ged’ came the voice in the marksman’s earpiece.
‘No shot, repeat, no shot. I think he’s holding the gun in his left hand pointing at Dave Watkins head.’
‘Roger, just to confirm, you have the authority at any time you consider appropriate. Understood.’
‘Yes, message received and understood.
Come on you bastard, drop your guard and give me just one shot. Lean out of the cab just a bit, one shot is all I need,’ Ged Duggan was perched on a table in a ground floor office some one hundred yards away and at about the same height as the bunk bed but, with the curtain of the sleeping area of the cab slightly drawn, he couldn’t take the chance of missing his target. He knew that with this animal, he wouldn’t get a second chance to save his colleague’s life.
Ged, looking through the sight, could see that the gunman was holding the severed finger in front of his face and appeared to be looking at it in some detail. He wanted to take the shot, but was not prepared for the consequences if Dave was not safe. He had to know that his colleague wouldn’t die because of his actions. Take it easy Ged, he thought to himself, his time will come.
Johnson looked down at the injured officer on the floor of the cab and said menacingly.
‘Not much good to you now Dave,’ emphasising the word, ‘But it still might be of some use to me.’
Dave groaned in pain as he looked away from those dark eyes and unshaven face. The stubbly cheeks and chin, the result of a couple of days of beard growth, gave Johnson even more of an evil appearance. Dave covered his bloody and damaged left hand with his discarded tunic in an attempt to stem the blood loss. The gunman looked back at ‘his’ negotiator stood below him and he leaned slightly forward to make eye contact with his new acquaintance.
‘Now then Johnny me boy. What do we do next?’
‘That’s up to you. The ball’s in your court. Tell me what you want and we’ll see where we go from there.’
‘That’s right. You’re right Johnny me boy. It’s up to fuckin me. I’ll decide. Not you. Not that fuckin lot out there,’ as he gesticulated towards the police officers in the distance, still holding Dave’s mangled finger and pointing it in their direction, ‘but me. I’m in fuckin charge here. Not you. Understood?’
The hairs on the back of john’s neck were bristling and he took a step back to try and defuse the hostility and he placed his arms out forward, palms facing his aggressor, and said, ‘Okay, okay, we can resolve this, calm down and we can sort this out.’
‘Too true we can sort this out. On my fuckin terms; but don’t tell me to fuckin calm down. I’ll tell you what to do. Don’t you fuckin do it okay?’
‘Okay, okay,’ said John. ‘Tell me what you want.’ John could see, all and sundry could see, that the situation was rapidly deteriorating and the gunman was becoming more and more agitated. The siege had gone on for several hours now and john tried to lighten things up a bit.
‘Do you want something to eat? You and Dave, you must be hungry. Something to eat and drink eh?’
‘Good idea. Good fuckin idea eh Dave? What d’ya fancy Dave? Pizza, Chicken wings? Something, ‘finger lickin good eh?’ He raised the severed finger between his own thumb and forefinger and licked the fleshy bloodstained fingerprint. As Dave weakly groaned his agreement to his captor, the gunman turned back to look at John.
‘We’re agreed, old Davey and me, we’d like something finger lickin good’ and at that, there were gasps everywhere as the watching participants saw the gunman place Dave’s finger in his mouth and grip it between his teeth. He bit down hard and the magnetic listening device on the outside of the cab was able to pick up the tearing sound of bone and sinew as the deranged gunman bit down between the first and second knuckle joint and twisted and tore as the skin parted once more.
The tip of Dave’s finger containing the fingernail, remained in the gun mans mouth. The slightly larger part of the finger, he held between his own finger and thumb and, whilst not taking his eyes off john, he flicked it in the direction of the two shield officers and it sailed over their heads and landed on the grass bank behind them.
There was complete silence, apart from the muted groans of their colleague in the cab who was beginning to wretch again at this latest act of cruelty. Johnson still fixed his gaze on the negotiator and John stared back. He hoped his face would not give away his feelings of revulsion towards his adversary. A few seconds more went by. The gunman leant a little closer to John. He was still protected by the metal side of the cab. Ged knew that the bullet would have no problem penetrating the thin steel next to the drivers window.
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