“Damn,” Jack said. Not knowing Colin’s fate was tearing him apart and, as cruel as it sounded, he would have almost preferred bad news to this.
“That might be a good sign,” Bull said, hopefully.
Jack’s face softened. “We can only hope,” he said. “Are you okay? I know you and Colin were close.”
“I’m fine,” Bull lied.
Tyler nodded his understanding. “It’s alright, Stevie,” he said, placing a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get over there on the hurry up. We can write this crap up later.”
◆◆◆
The Royal London Hospital is an austere building situated in the centre of Whitechapel High Street. Originally built in 1759, it was once the sanctuary of Joseph Carey Merrick, more commonly known by his cruel nom de guerre: the ‘elephant man’.
While its grim Victorian facade hadn’t changed much since Merrick’s time, the hospital now boasted the Helicopter Emergency Medical Service and an impressive array of specialist consultants and advanced technical facilities; it had an Intensive Care Unit second to none.
As Tyler passed through the main entrance, he spotted Kelly Flowers and George Copeland standing beside a drinks dispenser opposite the reception desk. Copeland was jabbing the selector buttons aggressively.
For a second, Tyler faltered. This was the moment of truth. What on earth would he say to them if Colin had died? Dillon noted the slight hesitation in Jack’s step but said nothing. He knew how badly his friend was taking this.
The detectives quickly crossed the hall to join their comrades, with Tyler taking the lead. Kelly Flowers was the first to notice their approach. A wave of relief swept over her pretty features as she nudged George and pointed in their direction. “Thank God you’re safe,” she said as Jack reached them. “We’ve all been so worried.”
Kelly took a step towards Jack, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm, but then she stopped short, afraid he would think she was being too familiar. She needn’t have worried. Jack wrapped his arm around the girl’s shoulders and gave her a big hug. Kelly blushed, but Tyler was too preoccupied to notice. “How’s Colin?” He asked, feeling his stomach constrict into a ball of ice. “Is he going to…I mean…How bad is it?”
“He’s going to be fine,” George said, not taking his eyes from the drink dispenser. “I’ll take you to see him as soon as I get my money back from this thieving bastard machine.” With that, he began rocking it.
“Why don’t I take you through,” Kelly offered quickly, conscious that the stern-faced lady sitting behind the reception counter was staring at Copeland disapprovingly. “George can join us after, assuming he doesn’t get himself thrown out first.” Without waiting for an answer, she set off along a white-walled corridor that led to the Accident and Emergency department. The triage area was packed with the walking wounded, some waiting patiently, others complaining about the long wait they had endured. The smell of Trigene was overwhelming, and it reminded Dillon of his recent trip to the mortuary.
When they reached a row of examination cubicles, all of which had their curtains drawn, Kelly stopped. “He’s in the last but one cubicle,” she explained.
Tyler nodded and set off towards it. As he reached for the curtain, it was drawn back from inside and Jack almost collided with a young nurse on her way out. She smiled and offered a polite apology.
Inside, Colin Franklin was propped up on a bed talking to Paul Evans. Apart from a large support bandage wrapped around his torso, and a whopper of a bump on his forehead, he appeared to be in remarkably good shape considering he had recently been shot.
On seeing Tyler, his face broke into an enormous grin. “Come in, guv. The boys told me that you and Mr Dillon went after the bastard that shot me. I only wish I’d able to go with you.”
“I don’t understand,” Tyler said, dumbfounded. “You were hit! I saw you go down.”
DC Evans leaned down and raised Franklin’s bulletproof vest. “Colin’s Met-vest saved his life.” The remains of the bullet could still be seen, embedded in the Kevlar plate, just below chest level.
Tyler shook his head in disbelief. As always, the R for risk assessment contained within the standard IIMARCH briefing – a convoluted acronym which stood for Information, Intention, Method, Administration, Risk assessment, Communications, Human rights issues – had stipulated that all officers involved in the deployment were to be in possession of their Met-vest and Personal Protection Equipment, but he doubted anyone else on the team had actually bothered to wear any of it. He certainly hadn’t. His equipment was sitting in the boot of the Omega, along with Dillon’s and Steve’s. “Get George,” he told Kelly. “I want that thing bagged and exhibited, pronto.”
Bull had been waiting patiently, but now he forced his way into the small treatment area, unceremoniously elbowing his way through his bigger team-mates until he reached Franklin’s side. He clasped the younger man’s hand affectionately. “I thought I was going to have to tell your wife you were dead,” he said, blinking moisture from his eyes.
Franklin smiled up at Bull. “You’re not gonna get rid of me that easy,” he promised.
“Oh, please! All this sentimental crap is making me sick,” Dillon told them.
Everyone in the cubicle laughed. They were all still alive, they had captured the bad guy, and even though there was still a lot of work to do, it looked as though the case was effectively solved. The mood quickly became jovial, and then boisterous as tension drained.
Tyler gave them a blow-by-blow account of what had happened after they left Commercial Street in pursuit of Winston’s BMW. There were a few cheers when he recanted how Dillon had subdued Winston. Dillon acknowledged this with a modest bow.
The BTP officer’s shooting was the low point of the story
