In contrast, Grier looked expectantly at his partner, like a puppy waiting for its master to throw it a ball.
“Come on, Terry,” Bartholomew said, buttoning his shirt back up. “Let`s go.”
Grier propelled himself out of his chair like a sprinter leaving the blocks, his lanky legs jarring the underside of the table so hard that the three cups resting on its top were violently upended. There was no time to do anything about the puddle of dark liquid that quickly spread across the table’s Formica surface and began to drip down onto the canteen floor.
Nick glanced down at his wristwatch as they headed towards the lift.
06:23hrs.
And another day in the city begins, he thought, ruefully.
Speed followed close behind, his face taut. “I’d better come with you. Sounds like I’m going to be needed in my capacity as Duty Officer.”
The lift’s descent was painfully slow, and Grier used the time to bombard them with useless speculation about what they would find when they arrived on scene. Speed did his best to tune out the kid’s voice as he mentally recited the critical incident checklist to himself. Hopefully, if there was a body waiting for them out there, it had died from natural causes, but if something more sinister had gone down, he wanted everything to be done by the book so that it wouldn’t come back and bite him later on.
As they sped out of the rear yard, siren wailing and lights flashing, they were already receiving updates from the control room. The informant was waiting at the site entrance and had been told not to let anyone in until they got there. Their ETA was six-minutes, but traffic was light and Nick, tired or not, was a superb driver. They made it in just over three.
As the area car screeched to a halt by the site entrance an elderly man began waving frantically from just inside the gate.
Here we go again! Nick thought, removing the ignition key from the Golf VR6.
Grier and Speed were already out and running. As he brought up the rear, Nick Bartholomew noticed that the old timer was shaking violently. His skin was the colour of faded parchment and he was clutching at his chest with a gnarled hand. Selfishly, Nick found himself hoping their informant would be able to tell them what had happened before he keeled over from a heart attack.
...I’ve got a feeling in my water that today is going to be exciting.
Young Terry took hold of the old man’s arm to steady him. “It’s alright pops, I’ve got you,” he said gently.
Albert Grayson, Bert to everyone who knew him, was in charge of site security for the construction company. At sixty-nine years of age, he was still a remarkably active man who often bragged about being fitter than most men fifteen years his junior. Right then, he was feeling his age, and then some. He tried to describe the sight that had greeted him when he strolled through the gates a few minutes earlier, but the words just wouldn’t come out. Instead, he pointed towards the yard with a trembling hand.
Speed took control. They had to find out what was going on here, and quickly. “Terry, stay here and look after this man. He’s either in shock or suffering a heart attack, so you’d better call an ambulance for him. Nick, you come with me.” In the distance, he could hear the sound of sirens as other units made their way to the scene.
Together they moved into the yard, treading cautiously.
As Speed pushed the corrugated metal gates backwards, Bartholomew drew and racked open his gravity friction lock baton, or ASP as it was more commonly known. The baton’s metal shaft made a satisfyingly loud thwack as it extended to its full length, and Bartholomew griped the rubber coated handle tightly as he crept forward cautiously.
Inside the construction site, it seemed eerily quiet, as though the high perimeter fencing had magically cut off all noise from the outside world. Ray Speed branched left; Nick Bartholomew, baton held at the ready, moved off to the right.
As Bartholomew scanned the shadows for signs of a body, he couldn’t shake the sinister feeling that someone was there, watching his every move. He wondered if it might be better to wait for backup, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. If a seriously injured victim was in here, finding them quickly could mean the difference between life and death.
“Nick, over here, quickly!” Ray Speed’s voice shattered the silence and made Bartholomew jump. He spun around to see Speed standing beside a Portakabin to his far left. The Inspector was staring down at a shape on the floor.
Fearing the worst, Bartholomew sprinted over to join Speed as fast as he could. As he skidded to a halt, he saw that the dark shape was, in fact, the body of a young woman. She lay so deep in shadow he could barely make out her features, even up close like this. Nick fumbled for the torch at the rear of his utility belt with unsteady hands, and as he shone the light over the prone figure, he felt the colour drain from his face.
“Jesus Christ, gov’nor! Look at the state of her,” he said, breathing hard. Nick had dealt with plenty of dead bodies in his time, some still fresh, others badly decomposed, but he had never seen anything like this. No wonder the poor old watchman was so traumatised.
The open-eyed stare of the dead woman sent a shiver down his spine. The poor thing was lying flat on her back, with her shoulders tightly wedged between the side of the Portakabin and the perimeter wall. The one arm he could see was branched out to the side at an unnatural angle. There was a frightful gash across the woman’s throat, from which a river of arterial blood had shot up the wall during exsanguination. Her face was frozen in an expression of unmitigated
