The Danger Within

Twenty-Three

Saslow swung off the main drag onto The Pill, an area of town close to the banks of the tidal River Torridge, just as a police patrol car arrived, all lights and sirens blazing. Two uniforms, one male, one female, emerged swiftly, looking suspiciously at Saslow’s unmarked car as she pulled to a halt. Vogel quickly jumped out of the car holding up his warrant card for the uniforms to see. He and Saslow were not yet known throughout the local force.

‘I’m SIO on the Quinn murder, and we think it possible there may be a connection as Thomas Quinn’s offices are in this building,’ he announced by way of explaining his presence.

‘Right, sir,’ said the male officer. ‘We’ve been asked to wait for Armed Response before we do anything. The man who called in saying he’d heard shots, wasn’t sure exactly where in the building they’d come from.’

Vogel nodded. He wasn’t good at being patient. He wondered if he dared knock on a few doors. Just as he was deciding that wouldn’t be a good idea because, if indeed gunshots had been fired, he could put others at risk as well as Saslow and himself, a second police vehicle roared up to the front of Tide Reach. It was a BMW X5, the high-powered four-wheel drive typically used by Armed Response. They’d been commendably fast. But then, the AR boys and girls were probably relishing the chance of some action. Vogel didn’t think North Devon was an area of the UK that was exactly overrun with incidents involving firearms.

It took AR only minutes to find the source of the disturbance, in a first-floor office, and to check out the rest of the building. They reported ‘man down’, and called in the paramedics, who had also just arrived.

Vogel and Saslow could now enter the building. Vogel dispatched Saslow to the top to see if she could locate the resident who’d made the emergency call. Vogel headed for the first-floor office which was clearly the location of the incident. An AR officer standing outside instructed him to remain on the landing for the time being. The first thing he noticed was the name embossed on the door. Quinn-Patel Associates. Then, moving forward very slightly and peering through the doorway, Vogel saw the fallen man, lying on his back, spreadeagled on the floor. He appeared to have been shot. At least twice. His head was towards the door and his legs pointed into the room. Blood was seeping from a wound to his right shoulder and from a second wound, probably more dangerous, a little lower. Two paramedics were at his side applying CPR.

Were they too late? Was the man already dead? Vogel couldn’t be sure. He certainly wasn’t conscious. Had he been shot as he tried to enter the offices? Vogel couldn’t be sure of that either.

The DCI took a careful look round. The room in which the fallen man lay was open-plan, very modern in design and containing several desks. It seemed to have been ransacked. One desk and a couple of chairs lay on their sides. Drawers had been pulled open, papers were scattered across the floor, a coffee machine had been knocked over, its glass broken, and sat in a murky pool of water and coffee grounds. One of a line of wooden panels on the far wall had been removed revealing a small internal steel safe. The safe remained intact, although Vogel noticed that there were scratches, and perhaps signs of attempted drilling on the metal framework, indicating that it may have been unsuccessfully tampered with.

He was still considering what that might mean, when a second paramedic team arrived, carrying a stretcher and more equipment, making it necessary for him to step to one side.

He knew he was in the way, and that in any case there wasn’t much more he could do at the scene for the time being. Not even the crime scene investigators would be allowed in until the paramedics had done all they could to save the shot man’s life. In any police operation the saving of life is the first priority.

Vogel took a last look at the man lying on the floor. He had never met Jason Patel, and could not even see his face properly because of the attentions of the medics, but he would bet his pension that the victim lying there was Patel.

Suddenly they stopped applying CRP. For a moment Vogel wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad. Then an oxygen mask was strapped on to the fallen man’s face, over his nose and mouth. Vogel thought that must be a good sign. Nonetheless, he realized it might still be a while before the paramedics attempted to move their patient. He decided he really should get out of the way, and set off back to the staircase where he met Saslow on her way down from the top of the building.

‘I’ve just been talking to our emergency caller, he’s still in his flat, one of the two penthouses at the top, if you want a further chat,’ she began. ‘He doesn’t really have much to add, though. He didn’t see anything at all, and heard nothing except the bangs he suspected were gunshots, followed by some heavy footsteps, like somebody running down the stairs. One thing though, apparently he was in the military, he’s done tours to Afghanistan and served in the Middle East. He says he knows the sound of gunfire when he hears it—’

‘He certainly does,’ interrupted Vogel. ‘At least two shots have been fired. And in the offices of Quinn-Patel Associates. Plus we have a critically injured casualty. I should think it’s still touch and go whether he will pull through or not.’

‘Is it who I think it might be?’ asked Saslow.

‘I expect so,’ said Vogel. ‘Almost certainly one Jason Patel, I reckon. And if I’m right, what we need to find out now is whether or not the shooting of Jason Patel is connected with the fatal stabbing of his business partner.’

‘Bit of a coincidence if it isn’t, wouldn’t you think, boss?’ Saslow remarked. ‘Don’t reckon there are too many stabbings and shootings round here, are there? And we’ve had one of each in twenty-four hours.’

‘It is possible this is merely a burglary gone wrong,’ responded Vogel. ‘It’s a Sunday. The perpetrators wouldn’t have expected there to be anybody in these offices.’

‘No, but they came prepared, didn’t they? Carrying firearms. Or, at least, one firearm.’

‘Yes, they did.’

‘And you don’t like coincidences, do you, boss?’

‘No, I most certainly don’t, Saslow. If only because almost always when I find myself confronted with a coincidence, it turns out to be anything but.’