The Jonah Read Free Page B

chest.
    The police driver was not armed, for it had not been his intention to take an active part in the arrests. He saw the hammers on both barrels had been drawn back.
    ‘Kelso, get the bastard!’ he screamed.
    Kelso, who had been scrambling across the bonnet of the Allegro, stopped halfway. Half-sitting, he raised the Smith and Wesson towards the gunman, reluctant to fire, but knowing he had to. He
pulled the trigger.
    Nothing happened.
    Both barrels of the shotgun exploded and Riley was thrown back, his feet leaving the ground, arms outstretched, body curved inwards as the blast ripped through his stomach. He hit the concrete
like a loosely filled sack and lay there, unmoving.
    For a brief second, Kelso and the gunman could only stare at the still form. Even Cook had stopped struggling with the semi-conscious villain on the ground. The chainsaw never stopped its
whirring.
    The masked man holding the smoking weapon quickly looked from the dead policeman to Kelso. Wild panic showed through the holes cut out for his eyes. Kelso slid from the bonnet off the Allegro
and ran towards him. The gunman turned to run and Kelso flinched as a shot rang out from behind. The shotgun clattered to the ground as the fleeing criminal cried out and his hands tried to reach
the bullet wound next to his spine.
    He hit the ground just as Kelso got to him, his body squirming with pain. The noise from the chainsaw stopped abruptly and the hooded figures around the security van were running, ducking
beneath the body of the lorry blocking the tunnel, making for the two cars waiting on the other side.
    Kelso heard pounding feet behind him and he turned ta see McDermott and three other detectives running towards them. McDermott’s gun was still aimed at the sprawled villain and Kelso knew
it was he who had fired the shot.
    ‘You bastard, Kelso! Why didn’t you get him before he shot Riley?’ The detective sergeant was panting hard as he kicked away the shotgun. The other policemen pushed their way
past, going after the escaping criminals.
    ‘My gun jammed!’ Kelso shouted, but McDermott had not stopped to listen. He was helping Cook to his feet.
    ‘What a fuck-up!’ McDermott said to the DI.
    ‘Shut up and get after those bastards!’
    With one venom-filled look back at Kelso, McDermott took off after the other three detectives.
    Cook brushed past Kelso, hardly giving him a glance. He knelt down beside the motionless policeman and touched two fingers beneath his jawline, feeling for the pulse. He thook his head and
muttered something under his breath. Then he stood up and stared at Kelso.
    ‘Stay here and keep an eye on those two,’ he pointed at the prone gunmen. That was all he said, but Kelso felt the disgust in the words. And he knew the disgust was directed at
him.
    Kelso could only gaze blankly at the gun he held, as Cook turned his back and walked away.

2
    It was rare, but only one person occupied the lift as it zoomed up to the fourth floor of Scotland Yard. Kelso leaned back against the rear wall, his head bowed as though
studying the light-coloured but grubby sneakers he wore. He drew in deeply on the last inch of cigarette, filling his lungs, then expelling the smoke in a blue haze. The anorak he wore over faded
denims was a size too big for him, making his shoulders seem slighter than they actually were. Dark hair, made flat and damp by the steady drizzle outside, hung limply over his forehead; he
shivered as droplets of water found their way inside his shirt collar and ran down his back. He ran a hand over his chin, glad that he had taken the time to shave that morning; even so, the skin
felt rough and made a scraping noise against his palm. The lift bumped to a gentle halt and he tucked his hands inside the anorak’s loose pockets, pushing himself away from the wall with his
buttocks.
    He almost collided with someone entering the lift, but managed to slide around, barely touching the tall, dark-suited