Don't Stand Still

2: Welcome to Hell

2: Welcome to Hell

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WHILE THE EMT ATTENDED to his partner’s gunshot wound, White got on the phone to the Met to report what had happened. He asked for the police to be on the lookout for the carjacked ambulance. He knew that they wouldn’t be able to track the vehicle through its GPS; whoever had taken it would have already disabled it. That’s what anyone of them would have done.

The carjacker was a professional. The way he staged the ambush and how he got that shot was indicative of his expertise.

‘Upload abandoned buildings, warehouses, vacant lots, construction sites within two miles of my location to my phone,’ he instructed the police desk jockey. He sounded short and abrupt. He didn’t want to be, but he was pressed for time.

He ran back to his bedroom. Briefly, he stopped to look at the pool of blood that had slowly spread and seeped into the carpet.

‘Jesus,’ he muttered to himself.

His reverie was interrupted when his phone beeped; the locations he had requested had been uploaded to it.

*

THEY HAD MET WHILE he was with the Parachute Regiment and Ruby Iris Williams was in the U.S. 82nd Airborne Division. It came about when their units had a joint military exercise.

Ever since their first meeting, when she had captured him during their mock warfare, they had gotten on like a house on fire in more ways than one. Still, he had been surprised when she moved to London after she left her military unit.

She had joked it was because she missed him, although he liked to think it wasn’t a joke at all.

The last thing she told him was “I love you.”

He paused to reflect on that for a second, then sighed, wishing he had said it right back. He decided that he would if given a chance.

I hope I’m not too late.

*

IT WAS MASOCHISTIC, but he continued to be drawn to the spot where Ruby fell. It was a cliché, but she was truly special in every sense of the word. She could have been anything she wanted. Intelligent, highly educated, and stunning by anyone’s standard, but she had chosen to wear the uniform instead of joining academia or the business world.

What the hell happened? he thought grimly.

He studied the bloody outline on the carpet wondering who might have shot Ruby.

He soon came to his senses. There was one more thing he needed to do. Finally, he tore himself away from where Ruby had lain bleeding. He went to his wardrobe to remove a panel. Inside the cavity was his military canvas bag. Everything he needed for survival was in it. He lifted it out of its hiding place and carried it up and over his shoulder.

On his way out, he stepped on something metallic. He had missed it on the way in as it was covered in blood. He bent down to check it closer. His heart skipped a beat; it was Ruby’s dog tag. Dropping it before she lost consciousness may have been her last, desperate act.

He picked it up by the chain, at the only bit not covered in red liquid. The dog tag was wrapped in paper, which in turn was wrapped in Sellotape.

Ruby, he sensed, had left him a breadcrumb.

He rinsed it in the sink then gave it a quick shake. He wore it around his neck, not at all squeamish about the pinkish water still dripping from it that got onto his shirt.

He grabbed his wallet, keys, and badge on the way out.

The injured paramedic had been stabilised and was now being carried into an ambulance.

Uniformed police had also arrived with sirens blaring. Cones, signs, and tapes were being placed around the perimeter to secure the crime scene. Anyone unlucky to still be inside the complex of maisonettes would have to stay put, while those out would have to remain out until every inch of the site had been cleared.

White called the Met again; as he expected, it was confirmed there was no signal from the carnapped ambulance’s GPS. He put his detective cap on. No one worth his salt would drive around in a stolen vehicle, especially something as big and as conspicuous as an ambulance.

He would want to be out of sight as soon as possible.

He checked his phone and chose the location closest to his residence. He tossed his bag in his open-topped Jeep and hooned out before he could click-clack himself into the seat.

*

IT WAS AN ABANDONED warehouse.

He stopped at the gate and searched for his binoculars in his survival canvas bag. Then he zipped it up and hid it in the bushes, covering it expertly. If his vehicle was stolen, it wouldn’t matter. He could borrow or even jack one if necessary, but to lose his survival tools would be suicide.

He removed the Glock at the small of his back. He didn’t bother checking the clip. He was sure there were ten rounds in it and carried an eleventh in the chamber. He was as sure of this as the air he breathed. He walked stealthily, clinging to the side as much as possible. He was clad in black T, leather gloves, and grey-green pants. Some habits die hard.

He brought the binoculars to his eyes and saw the ambulance from a distance. He cautiously scanned the surroundings. There was no one around. He gave it another minute; to move hastily would be to get himself killed. He hadn’t come all this way just to earn a bullet in his forehead.

His G-shock read two-forty-p.m. He duck-paddled closer to the vehicle. He was certain it wasn’t being watched, but training prevailed upon him to be wary. He removed the safety of his Glock and speed-walked towards the ambulance, arms out and steady, his finger on the trigger.

He pressed his back against the metal side of the vehicle and listened for sounds of movements. There were none. He opened the ambulance doors wider and jumped in. Inside, Ruby’s naked body was left sprawled. The complete disregard for her angered him. Whoever had taken her clothing had wanted them for the secret she carried. He was sure, however, that Ruby kept the secret inside her. “Autopsy” kept ringing in his ears.

He checked for a pulse; this time there was none, not even a faint one.

Just to be sure, he put his ear next to her lips. She didn’t make any sound, nor did he feel the slightest air from her lungs. He respectfully put her now deceased body inside a body bag, then laid her on the stretcher.

He jumped out, looked around to double-check that he was still alone. Then, he climbed into the ambulance cabin and hot-wired it. He drove it to the gate; he then moved Ruby’s dead weight onto the back seat of his Jeep. He retrieved his survival kit and rummaged for a canvas blanket to cover the body bag.

He sat on the driver’s seat motionless for a while, consumed by remorse.

He had many opportunities in the past to tell her he loved her, but he never did. He had hoped for a chance—but now there would never be. He pushed the ache down. There was no point lamenting what might have been done or said.

For now, he had to do something for her.

But what, exactly?

He took a deep breath as he thought of the consequences of what he had just done.

He shouldn’t have done it.

He shouldn’t have messed with the crime scene, but his gut told him he had to. And, he wanted to do something that she had asked. For once, he wanted to do something for her.

Now, he must find someone to perform the autopsy—someone he could trust.

Deep within, he knew there was more to Ruby than being the American Cultural Attaché to Great Britain. He gritted his teeth and fired up the engine.

Welcome to Hell!