received from the flailing fist of the passenger on the first motorcycle.
At last the felons broke free of the crowd and escaped down a narrow byway. Officers Ferro and Bryant followed just seconds behind, unfazed by the mayhem, their steely professionalism maintained in pursuit of their prey.
Jennifer and Martin Tavares had chosen to walk home from the hotel stopping off at their favourite restaurant, Cafe Rojo, for a drink and some light supper. It had been a big night for Jennifer - the culmination of over a years’s charity fundraising. Getting the much needed cash for the children’s garden from local businesses had not been easy in difficult financial times. Martin looked at his handsome wife and felt the rush of pride and deep attraction he had always experienced in her company.
‘That was a fantastic speech, Jenny. Really.’
The woman stopped dead in her tracks as she turned to look at him.
‘Are you feeling all right, Martin?’
‘Uh... fine. Why?’
‘Well, I might be mistaken, but that sounded like a compliment!’
Her man seemed almost hurt, but put his pride to one side as he looked into her eyes.
‘I mean it. I’m very proud of you, Mrs Tavares.’
She smiled as her gaze moved to his lips, her body rising up on tiptoes as they kissed.
‘Glad to see you’re feeling charitable this evening,’ Martin said, his cheeks reddening. As he leant in for a second kiss, his wife turned her head - distracted by the shrill sound of a fast approaching police siren. The road rumbled underfoot as a speeding motorcycle hurtled round the corner and headed straight for them.
‘Jesus Christ!’
A second motorcycle with a police officer upon it, passed at equal speed as the couple panted in shock. Martin stepped away from his wife and out into the middle of the street.
‘Bloody idiots! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Then, to his horror, a third motorcycle appeared. The two-tone wailing of its siren deepened in pitch as the headlights doubled, tripled, quadrupled in size before the bike lurched heavily to its left, it’s plastic and metal scraping along the hard cobbled street. Martin dived to the ground to avoid being hit by the lethal machine. The police rider simultaneously fell from his seat a few yards further on. The now riderless motorcycle careered onwards across the street with huge velocity, hitting a grocery store shop front with a deadening thud.
In a daze, Martin pulled himself to his feet and moved slowly towards the mangled wreckage of plastic and metal.
‘Jennifer? Jennie!’ Martin shouted as he reached the shop front. The long blonde hair was clotted with red as it lay tangled in the gears of the motorbike. Jennifer Tavares’ body lay prostrate and lifeless, her neck bent at a most horrific angle. Martin looked down at his beloved wife. Momentarily paralysed with the enormity and shock of what lay before him, he could not move. For what seemed like an eternity, Martin stood motionless - the calm before the storm of emotions that would inevitably rip free with horrific force. At last, the sound of footsteps behind him. Police Officer Gavin Bryant’s dishevelled form appeared at his side. Martin’s voice betrayed no emotion as he turned his head to look at the blood spattered face of the man responsible for this living hell.
‘What have you done? What have you done to her?’
3
The floor of the A&E Department at Gibraltar’s centrally located hospital felt colder and harder underfoot than usual. The swing doors clattered open as the paramedics swept Jennifer’s stretcher down the corridor like an Olympic bob-sleigh team, Martin Tavares and the police officers followed closely behind.
‘The RTA from the town, Dr Budrani.’ The young paramedic spoke clearly, but with a tangible air of panic in his voice.
‘All right. Get her straight through to theatre,’ came the reply from the doctor- his voice grave with concern.
Martin Tavares was once again in a trance - like state. His anguish had exploded back at the scene of the accident. Seeing his wife’s limp body being lifted into the ambulance, Tavares had punched out at Bryant – the forlorn traffic cop. Only the combined efforts of the newly arrived police officers and several bystanders had prevented him from further adding to the night’s casualty list.
‘Martin?’ The porter’s voice pulled him out of his trance.
‘David.’
‘Are you okay? What’s happened?’ David asked, registering the anguish on Martin’s face.
‘It’s Jennie. She... she’s...’
The hospital porter stood silent for a moment, allowing the meaning of this to set in.
‘Oh God. Oh no.’
The swing-doors were once again pushed apart as the fleeing porter ran down the corridor and into the operating theatre.
‘Jennie? Jennie, it’s me. It’s David,’ he panted.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dr Budrani said sternly, ‘but you’ll have to leave. We’re operating.’
‘But I have to be here!’ he replied. ‘Save her! Please! She’s my sister!’
The old lady sat alone in the darkened room. The many ancestral faces that stared down at her from the ancient paintings upon its walls all seemed to share the same expression. It was one she recognized whenever she glimpsed her own face in the mirror. A slight aloofness that could not quite conceal an anxiety that played around the eyes and mouth. It was, she had persuaded herself, only imagination – her own fears transferred to the images caught in fading paint upon cracking canvas.
As much as the afternoon sun brought her happiness, so the deep swallowing darkness of night brought her fearful and tormented nightmares. The house, so old and so long a part of her family was not a home but a shell in which her last days would slowly be eked out. She tried again and again to remember the brighter times with husband and friends filling the rooms with life and laughter. But each image, each memory would fade as quickly as it had appeared. All those times. All that love and warmth was gone now. Long gone.
The old lady sat alone in the darkened room and waited - waited for the demon above to rise and engulf her in pain.
In a private room just off one of the main wards of the hospital, PC Gavin Bryant sat up in bed, his head pounding beneath a blood-stained gauze. The tap at the door signalled the arrival of his superior officer, Chief Superintendent Harriet Massetti.
‘How are you doing, Bryant?’ Massetti asked with as much warmth as she could muster.
‘Just a few bruises, ma’am. They’re keeping me in for observation.’
Massetti said nothing; just gave a small smile and a slight nod of the head.
‘I didn’t stand a chance. I was in pursuit, turned the corner and there he was... just standing in the middle of the road.’
‘I understand,’ replied Massetti. Whether or not she really did was not entirely clear.
‘I swear. I didn’t even see her standing there !’ The young man continued.
‘Understood, constable. You just, er.. just get yourself together. All right?’
Massetti backed towards the door, her head bowed far lower than usual. Although nothing had been said, Bryant knew something was troubling her.
‘She... they brought her here as well, didn’t they? The woman, I mean.’
‘Yes.’
Bryant hesitated for a moment, unsure as to whether he really wanted to hear the answer. ‘And?’
‘I’m afraid she didn’t make it, Bryant.’
Only two words escaped Bryant’s lips:
‘Oh God’
‘I’ve tried to speak to the husband downstairs, but... for obvious reasons... it’s not the appropriate time. Just
