Read Online Hidden Witness by Nick Oldham - Free Book Online Page B

from the chippy to the alley,’ Bent was saying as the three of them stepped out of the light and walked towards the scene, heads tipped against the rain. ‘Chips everywhere, apparently. Haven’t seen myself, yet. Obviously met whoever killed him just short of the alley and was shot in the head . . . apparently.’
    Two marked police cars and a police van were parked at skew-whiff angles on the car park, as though they’d just been abandoned. Uniformed cops milled around. An ambulance was parked further away.
    Henry said, ‘Who was the first officer on the scene?’
    â€˜Her.’ Bent pointed to one of the constables. Henry stopped and beckoned to the lady, recognizing her but not really knowing her.
    â€˜You were first to arrive, I’m told. What happened?’
    The officer was as completely soaked as anyone. Even her hat had lost its shape, the brim now corrugated. ‘Er, comms got a call on the treble nine saying someone’d been shot here. Caller refused to give details. I took the job.’ She shrugged. ‘Found the lad there . . . that’s about it, really. Drew back, cordoned it off, called the jacks in.’
    Henry nodded. ‘Do we know the deceased?’
    The PC said, ‘I’m not a hundred per cent. I haven’t been through his pockets or anything, didn’t want to spoil any evidence.’
    â€˜When you say you’re not a hundred per cent, what do you mean?’
    â€˜Looks like one of the Costain’s.’
    The name hit Henry. ‘Let’s have a see.’
    The scene had been cordoned off with tape strung from two broken lampposts, really nothing more than jagged stumps, a stack of bricks and a wheelie bin. A crude but effective first barrier for the time being. Henry, Bent and O’Connell ducked under the tape. The police cars had actually been parked at an angle to each other so their headlights bathed the scene until the arrival of something actually designed for the job of lighting up a murder scene. The lighting wasn’t too effective, therefore, but it was better than nothing for the moment and would have to suffice until the circus rolled in.
    The boy was lying on his side, facing away from them as they approached him. He looked for the entire world as though he’d just got down on the ground for a sleep. Henry pulled out his mini-Maglite torch and screwed the lens to switch it on. Bent was holding a much sturdier version that he also turned on. O’Connell had stopped and taken a torch out of her bag, one of those wind-up ones.
    Despite all the lighting, it was only when they were much closer to the boy that they could see the horrific injury to the head.
    Bent whistled appreciatively.
    Henry bounced down on to his haunches, his ageing knees cracking loudly, and shone his torch into the boy’s twisted face.
    â€˜Two shootings on one night,’ he muttered. It might have been something everyone was thinking, but still had to be said out loud, although the additional question, ‘Are they connected?’ remained implicit.
    O’Connell was at his right shoulder, seeing the boy from his viewpoint. There was a gaping exit hole on the right side of his head that had removed his ear and upper jaw. The whole face was distorted.
    â€˜Do you know him?’ O’Connell asked.
    The thin beam of Henry’s torch worked slowly across the remaining features, open, staring but blank eyes, the mouth contorted horribly, blood oozing out of it.
    Henry nodded. ‘I know him.’ He stood up, knees cracking again, and spoke to Bent. ‘He wasn’t alone, either.’
    He flicked his torch beam around the ground, seeing the scattered and disintegrating chips and other food, and noting the two sets of wrapping paper.
    All the lights seemed to be burning in the house, in spite of the late hour. Henry looked up through the rain-streaked driver’s door window of the Mondeo, his heart