Chapter Thirty Two
Bridger was sitting in the empty office, he looked at the clock on the wall, eight o’clock and the sun was just starting to set, casting shadows on the city skyline outside his window. The days were stretching out. The summer was edging closer. It was normally a time he would have looked forward to, long summer days, plenty of time after work to enjoy oneself. He just could not bring himself to get excited and the last couple of days had really taken a toll on him.
John Mouller would not be enjoying himself this summer either, he would be in the hospital for a couple more weeks at least and then he faced a long and arduous recovery from his many injuries. When he had popped in to the hospital earlier this afternoon to offer support, the nurse had told him that John was still in the induced coma. It was supposed to help his brain recover. He did not want to see him in that state again so had not gone into the high dependency unit. The way he looked in the ruins that day would stay with him forever.
Jo Williamson was a little luckier; she had no serious injuries and could not recall a lot due to the cocktail of drugs the gang had injected into her system. She knew how they had found her though and she had said that was what scared her the most. When she was asked, she had only been able to say she had no idea what Joseph Kingi or anyone else may have done to her while she was in that state. On Becky’s advice, she had voluntarily submitted to a medical examination in relation to rape, unfortunately that had come back inconclusive. She had seemed on the outside like she was dealing with her ordeal okay, but when Bridger had spoken to her he could see something in her eyes that told him otherwise.
The troops had rallied around them both and were giving as much support to their young colleagues as they could, which was all they could do.
He had been racking his brain over the last few days to see if there was anything he could have done to prevent what had happened, or if his actions had caused it. He had not been able to come up with any viable answer, but he hated the thought of his colleagues torment and blamed himself anyway.
Brian, Grant and Becky had all gone home for the night leaving him alone in the now quiet office. He was going over the report that he had prepared for the court file in relation to all that had happened. It had taken the team almost a week to untangle the events that had unfolded over a period of only three days. After that, it was a relatively straightforward process to attribute blame to the right people. In all they would be laying sixty charges between thirteen people. All of them were members of the ‘Gang’, all of them calling themselves ‘Dogs for life’. None of them had said anything in relation to what happened… except one.
Joseph Kingi junior had laid it all bare for them; he had given them chapter and verse, but only after a visited in the cells by Inspector Matthews. Matthews did not tell him what he had said to Kingi on the cliff edge or what he had discussed in the cells. Some things did not need saying. Needless to say Kingi was now getting reacquainted with his father, and it would not be long before he heard that his son had broken the golden rule of the gang, he would not want be at that family dinner.
Matthews himself had taken leave, while the investigation into Baz’s death in custody was finalised. It was only a formality; it looked like he had cut his own wrists with the plastic he had smuggled in, probably secreted in his back passage for just such an occasion. There was not a lot the police could do with such a determined person.
Martin McLaren was going to live, he had lost a lot of blood but they had said he had stopped the worst of it. His name never came up in their enquiries for any offence. Kingi had told them that he had robbed the store along with Baz and Tama. He revealed tama was the shooter. The scene of crime officers had determined that Martin’s stepfather had indeed committed suicide and a subsequent note found in his possession admitted his guilt in shooting Tama. A nice neat little package all wrapped up and ready for judgement on those remaining.
Something bothered him though, he almost felt like someone had used him for their own gain and he had been unaware. He had spoken to Martin himself in the hospital; he had asked him about his father in jail. He had tried to get him to say whether he expected the things that had happened, and all he got in response was a smile. What was behind the smile he would never know, but Martin was now safe, so he guessed David McLaren had what he wanted all along. That was what bothered him, was this outcome what David wanted all along? From what he knew about the rest of the messed up gang, it was very hard for to change the habits of a lifetime. Was there something more he wanted for Martin…?
He was too tired to think about it. The events of the last week, his actions, and the way he felt now, made him question whether he had been actually ready to return to work at all. As always, the actions of others determined what he did.
He closed the folder on the report, deciding to call it a night. He had a meeting in the morning and he wanted to be fresh. Laura had arranged it…; they would meet in Jane Little’s office at nine thirty in the morning. The way she had sounded to him on the phone the other day had actually given him some hope. All he had to do now was sort out what he was going to do about her lawyer…
Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 34
