“Of course he would,” Jack said. “And if he’s been looking for that someone but hasn’t found them yet?”
“He’ll keep on looking until he finds them, and the longer it takes the more desperate he’ll become,” Dillon said. “I take it you think he’s looking for Sandra Dawson?”
Jack nodded, thoughtfully. “I do. I think he was actively looking for her when we first saw him, but luckily Steve found her before Winston could get his grubby paws on her. He doesn’t know that, so he still out there looking for her.”
“Surely, she’s not stupid enough to go back out on the streets?” Dillon said. “Not after making a statement to us.” He turned to face Bull, seeking confirmation.
“I’ve warned her not to,” Steve said quickly. “She promised me she would lay low, but she was obviously very worried about losing her income.”
Dillon shook his head in frustration. What was wrong with these people? They had their priorities all wrong. “She should be more worried about losing her life,” he said, thinking that if anything happened to her it would be entirely her own fault.
CHAPTER 12
DC Franklin’s voice came over the speaker, interrupting their conversation. The disembodied voice was crystal clear as it gave its message.
“...Subject has just turned into Quaker Street…Stand by. He’s just pulling up behind a manky looking old Tom outside the used car lot…”
The three men inside the Omega stared at each other uneasily, each wondering the same thing.
Dillon quickly squeezed the Press-To-Talk button. “Describe her, please,” he demanded in a voice full of urgency.
“She’s really fat, and she’s ugly, and she’s got peroxide hair,” Franklin informed him, “All in all, she’s just your type, guv.”
“Shit! That’s got to be Sandra!” Bull exclaimed. None of the other working girls they had seen had hair like that.
“Take him out, now,” Tyler ordered.
“All units from control,” Dillon announced. “We think that Tom’s our star witness, and we think he’s out to knobble her. Move in now. Effect an immediate arrest.”
The team was startled by the unexpected order but they nonetheless reacted quickly. In accordance with their training, they moved as a cohesive unit. Three murder squad cars converged on Winston’s black BMW in a matter of seconds, blocking it in.
Franklin and Evans, who were already on scene, were already half out of their car as the others arrived.
As Bull threw the Omega, its tyres squealing, into Quaker Street, a frenzy of activity was unfolding in front of them. Squad cars were being abandoned in the middle of the road as officers sprinted towards Winston, each one eager to lay hands on him and claim the arrest. Shouts of “POLICE!” and “STAY STILL AND SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!” filled the air. Winston sat there in stunned silence inside the car as they rushed towards him.
In his peripheral position, Bull spotted a single prostate form beside the BMW. Slumped forward, it remained supine and unmoving. Although it was too dark to be positive, he instinctively knew it was Sandra Dawson. The burning question inside his mind was what condition would they find her in?
Had they moved too late?
At that moment, from deep within the heart of the chaos, there came a loud boom. As the explosion filled the air Franklin, a twenty-five-year-old detective who Tyler had recently encouraged to apply for the accelerated promotion scheme, went down hard. A strong sprinter, he had rapidly closed the gap on Winston and was still running as he fell, arms stretched out and flailing.
Tyler was still only half out of the Omega when the shot was fired, and the unfolding scene registered on his shocked mind in slow motion, a frame at a time. There was nothing he could do but watch on in horror. As Franklin lay on the floor, legs wide apart, Jack saw that he was terribly still. “Oh my God!” he breathed.
“GUN!” one of the officers nearest to Winston shouted, breaking the spell.
“GET DOWN, GET DOWN!” Someone else screamed.
Another shot rang out, but Jack couldn’t tell if anyone else had been hit in the pandemonium that ensued. At least one officer was down, the extent of his injuries unknown; the others were all unarmed and dangerously exposed.
As the detectives scattered – diving behind whatever meagre cover they could find – Winston seized the moment. He floored the accelerator, and his car surged forward to ram a Squad Vectra blocking his path.
DC Evans, in a cold rage and completely oblivious to the danger he was placing himself in, had drawn his extendable metal baton and was repeatedly striking the BMW’s windscreen. He ignored calls from the rest of the team to take cover. This low life had shot and possibly killed his friend and partner. Evans wasn’t letting him go without one hell of a fight.
Winston rammed the Vectra again. Another shunt and he would be able to squeeze the BMW through the gap he was creating. Seeing this, Tyler, Dillon, and Bull all dived back into the Omega, intent on giving chase when it happened.
“Don’t you dare let this asshole get away,” Jack thundered. “Do you hear me, Steve? I want this bastard,”
“Then you’d better get in line, guv,” Bull snapped back through gritted teeth. “Colin and his wife are expecting their first baby in a couple of weeks.”
This was personal now, for all three of them.
Dillon was already on the Main-Set to the Central Command Complex at New Scotland Yard, requesting urgent armed assistance and an ambulance for Colin Franklin.
The sound of metal scraping against metal was horrendous as Winston shunted the unmarked police car yet again, this time forcing it completely out of the way.
After being used as a battering ram, the front of the BMW was badly damaged. The grill, bonnet and one wing had all crumpled, and the nearside fender protruded at a dangerous angle, but the wheels still turned freely and smoke billowed from his tyres as he fled the scene, desperate to escape at any
