Read Online Exit Wounds by Aaron Fisher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Aaron Fisher
Tags: thriller, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Crime, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Thriller & Suspense
Ads: Link
for a man like that. Within seconds of meeting him, Paul had learnt all he needed to know about him.
Turning away, Paul looked around the warehouse again. He spotted the control panel for the shutter door and was pleased to see that it had no lock or door guarding the switch.
It would be an ambitious move and just a little bit cheeky to try and get out the front entrance, but Paul could see no other option. If push came to shove they’d have to take their chances. The only other option was to explore what was beyond the loading bay. If that many people were there all the time they’d be better off chancing it with the front way but still, Paul needed to find out what was behind those doors.
Curiosity killed the cat , his old sergeant had told him once, only half joking.
Good. I’m more of a dog person myself , Paul remembered answering.
As he moved out to start the task of evading capture and reaching the other side of the loading bay doors, Paul failed to see the resemblance between his own recklessness and that of his brother’s.
M.I.T. (Murder Investigation Taskforce), Cardiff Branch
Tony marched down the corridors to the archives of the evidence department, waving away the clerk’s protests as he let himself in without going through the correct procedures. Tony was all for protocol but that little man had a habit of wasting his time.
The evidence archives was essentially just a large room behind a caged desk with row upon row of metal shelving, filled with cardboard boxes that were each marked with black, felt ink. These murders had accumulated so many boxes that it had two rows all to itself.
Tony took less than a minute to find the box he was after: Denise Sanders – victim number twelve. He dragged it out and rested it on an empty shelve opposite and began pulling back the folded flaps. Rummaging through the various contents, he suddenly snatched out a brown envelope.
Ignoring the clerk who had now followed him to continue his rant, Tony shuffled through a stack of photos that had been taken the night of Denise Sander’s birthday party. Almost every picture had been centred on Denise but Tony was sure he remembered a handful with the bar in the background.
There. He pulled out three photographs of Denise dancing with a couple of friends. In the background he could just make out the dark figure of a man in a camouflage jacket. He could try and crank up the brightness digitally but the original quality was so low that it wouldn’t tell him any more than the CCTV already had. The second photograph from that angle taken only moments after the first was just as useless. This time, whilst the flash had caught him he had been quick enough to raise his hand to scratch his head, cleverly covering his face. Tony ran his finger behind to flick through to the next when he noticed a small dark area on the back of the man’s hand. At the cinema only his left hand had been in shot as he tapped the magazine against the side of his head. Yet here, it was his right hand that was raised. What was that mark? A bruise from a struggle with one of the victims?
Horton pushed the angry, little receptionist aside, accidentally knocking him to the ground. He practically ran out of the evidence archives, rushing through the corridors back to his desk as quickly as possible.
Hitting two hot keys at the same time brought his already booted up computer back to life. He flipped open the lid of his copier and scanned the photograph in at the highest possible resolution. Seeing it on his screen Tony realised that there was a slight motion blur to the image, so he played around with the sharpen tools until he was happy he could get the picture no clearer. He selected the area around the man’s hand and magnified it to full screen. Instantly the monitor was filled a messy mosaic of pixels, the little squares that make up any digital image.
Tony sighed. Television would have us believe that you could take any image no matter
Turning away, Paul looked around the warehouse again. He spotted the control panel for the shutter door and was pleased to see that it had no lock or door guarding the switch.
It would be an ambitious move and just a little bit cheeky to try and get out the front entrance, but Paul could see no other option. If push came to shove they’d have to take their chances. The only other option was to explore what was beyond the loading bay. If that many people were there all the time they’d be better off chancing it with the front way but still, Paul needed to find out what was behind those doors.
Curiosity killed the cat , his old sergeant had told him once, only half joking.
Good. I’m more of a dog person myself , Paul remembered answering.
As he moved out to start the task of evading capture and reaching the other side of the loading bay doors, Paul failed to see the resemblance between his own recklessness and that of his brother’s.
M.I.T. (Murder Investigation Taskforce), Cardiff Branch
Tony marched down the corridors to the archives of the evidence department, waving away the clerk’s protests as he let himself in without going through the correct procedures. Tony was all for protocol but that little man had a habit of wasting his time.
The evidence archives was essentially just a large room behind a caged desk with row upon row of metal shelving, filled with cardboard boxes that were each marked with black, felt ink. These murders had accumulated so many boxes that it had two rows all to itself.
Tony took less than a minute to find the box he was after: Denise Sanders – victim number twelve. He dragged it out and rested it on an empty shelve opposite and began pulling back the folded flaps. Rummaging through the various contents, he suddenly snatched out a brown envelope.
Ignoring the clerk who had now followed him to continue his rant, Tony shuffled through a stack of photos that had been taken the night of Denise Sander’s birthday party. Almost every picture had been centred on Denise but Tony was sure he remembered a handful with the bar in the background.
There. He pulled out three photographs of Denise dancing with a couple of friends. In the background he could just make out the dark figure of a man in a camouflage jacket. He could try and crank up the brightness digitally but the original quality was so low that it wouldn’t tell him any more than the CCTV already had. The second photograph from that angle taken only moments after the first was just as useless. This time, whilst the flash had caught him he had been quick enough to raise his hand to scratch his head, cleverly covering his face. Tony ran his finger behind to flick through to the next when he noticed a small dark area on the back of the man’s hand. At the cinema only his left hand had been in shot as he tapped the magazine against the side of his head. Yet here, it was his right hand that was raised. What was that mark? A bruise from a struggle with one of the victims?
Horton pushed the angry, little receptionist aside, accidentally knocking him to the ground. He practically ran out of the evidence archives, rushing through the corridors back to his desk as quickly as possible.
Hitting two hot keys at the same time brought his already booted up computer back to life. He flipped open the lid of his copier and scanned the photograph in at the highest possible resolution. Seeing it on his screen Tony realised that there was a slight motion blur to the image, so he played around with the sharpen tools until he was happy he could get the picture no clearer. He selected the area around the man’s hand and magnified it to full screen. Instantly the monitor was filled a messy mosaic of pixels, the little squares that make up any digital image.
Tony sighed. Television would have us believe that you could take any image no matter
Similar Books
