52
Woodington army barracks was a mess. A glorious mess of bodies, bullet holes and hard evidence. An entire Class A factory of it in the gym hall.
Not to mention a laptop full of schedules, stock reports and itineraries.
Cobb had not been exaggerating.
Detective Clarke stood with his back to the main building. He looked on as paramedics attended to the liberated refugees. Foil blankets wrapped around bodies. Steaming hot mugs in hands.
A white marquee had been set up away from the building. It served as both a temporary hospital and processing centre. The smell of smouldering ash filled the air. As fire crews and CSI criss-crossed in front of him, Clarke rested his behind against the warm bonnet of his Audi. He waited on the phone while Chief Superintendent Bridlington's PA put him t
