Hunter Hunted, Jack Gatland [good story books to read .txt] 📗

the blame for the leaking of the itinerary directly at Malcolm Gladwell’s feet, giving four more deaths, British soldiers, that he could be charged with.

There was no briefcase in there.

Charles Baker was as good as his word, and by the end of the day had launched an investigation into Rattlestone’s practices, in the process effectively closing it down. There was no mention of the five million that he’d made in the other shell companies, or what files he’d recently gained that would assist him in other ways.

As for the detectives of The Last Chance Saloon, the fallout was heavier. DS Anjli Kapoor and DCs Billy Fitzwarren and Joanna Davey had been spared from the brunt of it, having all performed their duties under exceptional circumstances, but that DCI Monroe and Divisional Surgeon Doctor Rosanna Marcos had deliberately gone to a known crime lord for help had not sat well with the higher command, who felt that the team needed more than a DCI, a rogue DCI at that, looking after them and while Monroe was given administrational sick leave to recover from his injuries, they promised to completely audit the department, something that worried everyone involved. Even DCI Bullman, the first to be pulled in and questioned, didn’t comment to anyone what had happened in the meeting.

DI Declan Walsh had also been targeted; it was pointed out that his reckless antics over several cases had been part of the cause of these situations, and that he hadn’t revealed his relationship with Kendis Taylor while actively investigating her was a major strike against him. That said, that he had been framed for domestic terrorism and had not only proved his innocence but solved the case while uncovering a parliamentary conspiracy was a tick in his favour, as were the glowing recommendations he received, to his surprise, from both Charles Baker, MP and Chief Superintendent Bradbury. But no matter what happened, the fact of the matter was that Declan and his team had, again, embarrassed the Government. Declan knew that there would need to be a scapegoat. And, as they placed him on administrative sick leave to heal his shoulder wound, he wondered if he’d ever be allowed to return to duty again.

That he’d lost Kendis too almost broke him.

And the fallout didn’t stop there; Declan had learned that during this, Jessica had been cyberbullied; taunted and painted online as the daughter of a terrorist, and when he’d called, Liz had explained that now wasn’t the best time to speak to her, and that he should give her a few days.

Declan had met with Monroe a couple of days after that; he’d gone to ensure that the old man was still fighting fit, visiting him in the hospital ward that Monroe had been seconded to under threat of death by Doctor Marcos until he was officially well enough to return to duty.

‘She’ll forgive you,’ Monroe had said. Declan nodded, not really believing that.

‘Have they said when you can get out of here, Guv?’

‘Couple of days, no longer,’ Monroe leaned his head back against the pillows. ‘When you spoke to Trix, did she say anything about the night?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did she see what I was working on?’

Declan understood, now. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘She was uploading, so didn’t see the screen. Why?’

Monroe closed his eyes as he spoke. ‘I was writing my resignation letter,’ he explained.

There was a moment of silence as Declan took this in. ‘You’re quitting?’ he eventually asked. Monroe however shook his head.

‘It was right after Birmingham,’ he explained. ‘I felt that for most of my life I’ve skirted the edge of the line. Hell, half of my life is on a bloody wall in your house. And, after the case, my capture and all that, I worried that I’d lost my edge.’

‘And now?’ Declan leaned forwards on his chair.

‘But now, having literally fought for my life, I’m seeing things differently,’ Monroe opened his eyes again, looking directly at Declan. ‘But it might be too late. There’s a strong chance I’ll be pensioned off, and the doors of the Last Chance Saloon will close forever, laddie.’

‘They can’t pension you off,’ Declan forced a smile. ‘They’ll have me to deal with.’

Monroe smiled, thanked Declan for his friendship and closed his eyes. And Declan had returned to Hurley to recover, aware that every face that looked at him wondered whether the rumours were true; whether he was indeed some kind of sleeper terrorist, a danger to be watched or even stopped. And the house that had for the last couple of months felt like home, no longer did so.

It was a week after the arrest of Malcolm Gladwell that Kendis Taylor was buried.

Even though she’d spent more than half of her life away from the sleepy village, she’d asked in her will to be buried back in Hurley, in the family plot. And so her husband Peter had agreed, holding the ceremony in the graveyard of St Mary The Virgin, the same churchyard that, a couple of months earlier, they had buried Patrick Walsh in.

Declan didn’t attend; instead at a distance he stood by some trees, watching the service from afar. It was a minor affair, kept short, and Declan wiped a tear from his eye as he watched the coffin lowered into the ground. And with that he’d turned away, now walking over to Patrick Walsh’s grave, staring down at it. The ground had settled. It didn’t look or feel so out-of-place now.

Now it was Kendis’ grave’s turn to look like that.

Too many good people are dying, he thought to himself. Maybe being kicked out of the force is the best thing here.

There was a rustle of leaves behind him as someone approached, and Declan turned to see Peter walking over to him.

‘I’m sorry for your loss—‘ Declan began, but didn’t finish as Peter bunched his fist and, with a heavy right-handed swing, connected hard on Declan’s chin, sending him tumbling to the floor.

‘Get up, you bastard,’ Peter hissed.