Brandt was enraged and flung the knife to the ground. He had been called Lance Marshall’s junior throughout school, the army and now in the police force, and he was sick of it.
Marshall was all set to arrest Brandt until he had told him the reasoning behind Alan O'Riordan's demise, and then he had remembered the ribbon in his pocket and Jane Richard's words on the doorstep to her house.
"Nothing you can do will ever help us, unless you kill whoever did this, and even then, what you will find, will help you, and you alone."
‘Your death won’t help any of those families Brandt, but after hearing what you did, it’s going to make me feel heaps better.’
He dropped the gun behind him and strode towards Brandt, who though surprised, ducked down low and tried to rush and grab his knife from where he threw it.
Marshall caught him by the leg, and pulled at it, aiming for the groin but missing and catching himself off balance. Brandt dove at Marshall, and wrapped him in a massive bear hug and spiked him on the hard floor, banging his head on the ground. Marshall felt the lights go out, and back on again, and felt a pain that made him lie very still. But Brandt wasn't giving up. He got to his feet and kicked Marshall square in the face. He kicked him so hard, that he heard a crack, and hoped that he had broken his neck.
Marshall rolled over on his side, from the sheer force of the kick, and felt pain convulsing up and down his body. He felt his arms go limp, and felt spit, running down his mouth and out of his face.
Brandt stood back, watching the convulsion, and waited for Lance Marshall to die. It took a few minutes, but eventually, the seizure died down, and Lance lay on the floor, beside the desk of Alfie Simmons, just groaning. He pushed himself up, until his back was against the side of the office, to see Brandt, searching the floor for his Beretta.
He looked around, and frustrated, gave up and then, moved quickly to grab the Bowie and end Lance Marshall’s life, once and for all.
Brandt held the knife in his right hand, as tight as he could manage, and rushed over to Lance's torso, only to be met by the barrel of a twelve-gauge shotgun. For a second, Marshall wondered if Alfie had indeed left the shotgun unloaded. Brandt moved, to speak, to do anything, but felt his insides tearing to little pieces, as the gun went off, and shredded his body in two.
Through the close quarter's explosion of flesh and bone, Lance Marshall winced and moaned, and mourned the friend who Pete Brandt had once been.
There had been two blasts, one from the Beretta, and another louder one from the shotgun, so it didn’t take long for someone to come running. And when they did, they screamed. They screamed for the body of Alfie Simmons that lay near the door, stabbed to death, and once for the body in the middle of the room, that was, shorn in half.
There were no cries for Lance Marshall, who moaned in their direction. For him, there were shouts of Dr, Ambulance, Medic, and Officer. They must have all come because it took a few people to drag him onto a gurney and get him to surgery.
On the operating theatre, Marshall looked up, and saw behind a mask, the warm eyes of Dr. Ishram. He noticed very little else until he started to smell strawberries and then he passed out.
OVERDUE REST
Lance Marshall woke up, on what he was told, was the third day, after the drama that had taken place. A nurse informed him that due to the severe concussion that he had received they had to manage him in a medically induced coma for two days until they were sure that he was ok. Even then, they were going to have to monitor him closely for another week, before he could go home.
Visitors were to be kept to a strict count of zero per day, in case his brain decided to shut down again, and the days passed by at a rate of agony.
On the second day, in the evening, Marshall received a get-well-soon card, which his Nurse said, made a dramatic improvement on his blood pressure readings. It was from Marla Raye, and it had been signed by both her and William Burges. He saw the x, that was written at the bottom of the card, and hoped that it was Marla Raye who had put it there.
On the third day, Lance Marshall awoke to see the long dark hair and the outline of Lindsay Dawn at the foot of his bed. As his vision cleared, he noticed that she had been crying. Wiping away a solitary tear, she laughed.
‘You look terrible when you haven’t shaved.’
It had been a long few days since Marshall had shaved.
‘What’s happening? Where did you guys get to?’ Marshall remembered, when they wouldn’t return his calls.
‘Don’t worry. You’re going to find everything out over the next few days. The Doctor said that we can’t tell you too much, too quickly, but that should pass as the days go by.’
‘Dr. Ishram? I think there’s something there with him that he didn’t tell us.’
Marshall was stopped in his tracks by Lindsay, who moved closer and shushed him, by placing a finger on her own lips.
‘The Doctor left the hospital, two days ago, after performing surgery, to remove the clots on your brain. He vanished into the City, and hasn’t been seen since,’
She paused and then continued.
‘But he left the deeds to the park and omitted his own name, and instead, made sure that Dr. Mira's family had full rights and privileges, should any of the lands that the park sits on be sold.'
Marshall wondered, what price the guilty would pay. At some stages, what was clear, was that Dr. Ishram had worked in tandem with Pete Brandt. Out of genuine threat, or greed, he wasn't sure. Only the guilty ran. It seemed plausible that he had initially complied with the Mayor and that Dr. Mira had not.
But something had changed his mind, and he had turned once again, into the light. Marshall had him to thank for saving his life, but for now, he decided not to thank him.
Marshall looked away, and felt a hand on his arm.
‘You couldn’t have known about Pete, no one could have. His divorce was going to cost him a lot, so it was probably easy for the Mayor to put the squeeze on him.’ Lindsay said.
Marshall had felt the years, and the pressures of that Internal Affairs investigation put a strain on what had been a close friendship with Pete Brandt. Things had happened in both of their lives, and they had drifted apart, leaving only a loathsome chasm of distrust.
‘What about the Chief, and the Mayor and Johnson?’ wondered Marshall.
‘Not all at once. Can’t tell you everything, Nurses orders. But, I can tell you that the Chief is on gardening leave, suspended indefinitely,’ She smiled, so he knew it was good.
‘And the Mayor? He will be going before the judge in a few days, but it doesn't look good for him. The Chief took a plea deal and rolled over on the Mayor. As for Johnson? Johnson is Johnson. Nothing fazes him.’
That brought a big smile to the face of Detective Marshall.
‘And McIntosh? How did he do?’
Lindsay dropped her head, and brought it back up again, smiling.
‘He is doing ok. Suspended, but nothing major. The Chief took a lot of the rap. We’re doing ok.’
‘We?’ Asked Marshall.
‘Yeah, we, you heard right. Do you have a problem with that Detective?’
He smiled again, and it felt good.
‘Ok. Well, I gotta get going. The nurse said five minutes, and it's been six.’ Lindsay tried to turn away.
‘Thanks for everything Lindsay, I mean it. I would never have done it without you. The new chief is going to be lucky to have you.’
She leaned in close, and smiling, whispered in Marshall’s ear.
‘I'm the new acting Chief,’
Then standing up, she walked towards the door.
‘So, get your ass better, because Metro City needs us.’
THE END
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Marshall Law Page 19
