by Brett McBean
“Have they taken away the bodies outside, yet, Constable?”
Adams shook his head. “Not sure, Sir.”
The Sergeant headed for the door. “You stay in here. Watch that nobody fucks with the rifle. I’m going outside to check on things, okay?”
Adams nodded.
Fucking great, he thought to himself.
“Thanks,” the Sergeant said, then walked outside.
* * *
Wilkes spotted the two paramedics behind the fire trucks. They were each pushing a stretcher towards the bodies that lay on the muddy ground.
He headed in that direction. He noticed that the small fire had been put out. Now all the firemen worked hard at putting to rest the still flaming fire on the next cabin across. He could feel its heat from where he was standing.
“Glad that fire’s out,” J.V. said, nodding his head to the cabin Wilkes was standing in front of.
Wilkes nodded slowly.
The two paramedics positioned the stretchers beside Madge and the other woman. Wilkes noticed that both J.V and Nick were wearing thick rubber gloves. They took black body bags from off the stretchers, and placed them down beside the bodies.
“You guys need any help?” Wilkes said, more out of politeness.
“No,” Nick said. “We’ll be right. Thanks anyway, Sir.”
Wilkes watched as J.V. started placing the body bag on Madge. He felt tears well in his eyes. “What the hell happened here?” he mumbled.
“Sorry?” J.V. said, looking up.
“Nothing.”
J.V. resumed zipping Madge up.
From behind the trucks, Briggs emerged and walked towards them. He had a grim look on his face and was holding a small plastic bag.
“Got the bag,” he said as he approached Wilkes.
“Okay. You bag the gun.”
Briggs nodded and squatted down. He picked up the revolver from its barrel, then slipped it into the clear bag. He then sealed the evidence safely inside.
“How long will the other ambulances be?” Wilkes said down at the two men.
“Not long,” Nick answered. “They should be here in about five minutes.”
Nick and J.V. had finished bagging the two bodies, and were now lifting them onto the stretchers.
Wilkes didn’t want to look at the one Madge was in.
He turned to Briggs. “Go and put that away. I’m going to check out this cabin.”
Briggs nodded quickly, then hurried away.
“I’ll be seeing you boys some time,” Wilkes said. “Under better circumstances, I hope.”
“So do I,” J.V. said. “But when do we ever see each other under good circumstances?”
Wilkes nodded. That was an unfortunate reality.
“Yeah, see you later, Sir.”
Wilkes turned around and walked up to the door of the partially burnt cabin. The entire left side was a mass of blackened wood and smoke.
He stepped up to the door, made sure the handle wasn’t red hot, then opened the door and went inside.
Outside was still reasonably dark, so he had to turn on the light. The electricity still worked, and as Wilkes looked over at the left wall, saw that what used to be the kitchen area was now destroyed.
The sink, refrigerator and cupboards were all black and smoking. There was a horrible smell of burnt plastic.
Fortunately, no bodies were tied to the bed. Wilkes had been prepared for another grisly find, but deep down wasn’t ready for any more. The bathroom door was open and inside was dark. He wandered over and flicked on the light.
No bodies.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Wilkes switched off the bathroom light and turned back to the room.
He scanned the small cabin and saw no bags or luggage. That didn’t surprise him, since there was no car parked out the front.
But what did seem strange were the empty soft-drink cans and cigarette stubs that littered the floor.
Somebody was in here, Wilkes thought.
He checked the drawers, but found nothing.
He did notice, however, that both the beds were crumpled.
Strange.
From the identification that they had found on the bodies, they knew that the man tied up next door and the woman that was lying outside on the ground next to Madge were husband and wife. Morrie and Judith Prescott. Which was ironic in itself, as they were both wanted for questioning over a shooting at their house.
Maybe they were innocent, after all, he thought. Still, better have ballistics check that rifle.
The guy tied up next to Morrie, the one that had still been breathing, was Edward Worchester.
They knew that somebody was staying in the cabin that was now burnt to the ground, possibly Edward.
It also seemed another person had been staying tonight. A Wayne Simons. He had found that out when he looked at the registration book. He had booked two singles – he guessed that possibly he and Edward were staying together. He wondered, were they father and son; gay lovers; or just friends?
So it was possible that Wayne had been caught in the burning cabin. Then again, maybe he was the one who had started it. Maybe he was responsible for all this. If so, then where the hell was he now?
And why did it look like people had been in this cabin? he thought.
Maybe Madge had forgotten to clean the room after the last customers had left.
Heading for the door, Wilkes decided to have Briggs bag the butts and cans, just in case the murderers were the ones who had been in here. They probably wouldn’t be able to lift any usable prints off them, but it was worth a try.
He left the light on and stepped outside.
Just off to his right, the firemen were working hard at putting out the blaze. The fire had died to about half the size, as compared to when they had first arrived.
Wilkes looked at his watch. The time read 6:02 a.m.
“Jesus,” he muttered. He should be home, asleep, lying next to his wife, warm, with Madge still alive.
Instead, he was out here in the bitter morning, one of his dearest friends dead and three other people, at least, also brutally shot.
The driver of the first fire truck saw Wilkes standing by the cabin door. He let go of his portion of the hose and jogged over.
“Hey, Mike,” Wilkes said as he approached.”Think you’ll have the fire out soon?”
“Yeah sure,” he panted. “It’s a bitch, though.”
“Aren’t they all?”
Mike nodded. “That storm sure would’ve helped us.”
“One of life’s little ironies.”
Mike’s face turned sombre. Wilkes knew that he was trying to find the right wording for the inevitable question.
Finally, he said, “Where’s Madge, Harry?”
Wilkes shook his head. “She’s dead, Mike. I’m sorry.”
“I thought she might be. I sorta hoped, though, she was back there in the office with a cup of herbal tea.” Mike huffed.
Wilkes patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll find out who did all this. Don’t worry.”
Mike nodded and wiped his eyes. “Well, I’d better get back. I had to know, Harry.” He turned around and walked back to the fire.
Just then Wilkes heard the arrival of the extra ambulances. They sped up the road then came out into the clearing. Wilkes thought it strange that he hadn’t heard them coming. The sound would’ve carried for miles.
Walking around the back of the fire trucks, Wilkes went up to meet them. Two more had arrived, although only one would be needed.
Maybe not, he told himself. Still have the burning cabin.
As he approached the closest ambulance, two paramedics jumped out.
“What happened here?” the driver said.
Wilkes didn’t recognise him. He was short and completely bald. He did, however, recognise the other paramedic. His name was Roger.
“How are you, Sergeant?” Roger said as he joined the group.
“About as good as can be expe
cted.”
“I’m sorry. Where are my manners? My name is Bullet.”
“Really?” Wilkes said.
“I bet you’d never guess why,” Roger said, smiling.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Wilkes. We’ve got two dead in that cabin over there.” He turned and pointed at the lighted cabin.
“Dead? None alive?”
“Afraid not. One was still breathing for a bit there. Whispered something to Jason before he died.”
“Inspector MacDonald?” Roger said.
“Yeah. Not sure what the kid told him, though.”
“So, what have we got?” Roger said. “Gunshots?”
Wilkes nodded.
“Damn. I hate those,” Bullet said.
“Come on. Let’s get old stretch.”
“I’ll wait here,” Wilkes said.
The two paramedics nodded, then walked around to the back of the ambulance. Wilkes heard talking, then the medics from the second ambulance came up to talk to him.
“We’ve been told that there are only two more bodies.”
Wilkes looked at the woman, a young, plain looking girl. “That we know of. We’re waiting for the fire to be put out first. Then we’ll know if there are any more.”
The woman nodded and turned to her partner. “Well, looks like we get to have a rest.”
The partner, a fat and hairy man nodded. “Thank Christ for that.”
Wilkes had never seen or met either of these two before. He didn’t particularly like them.
“I’ll come and tell you what’s what when I know the situation.”
They both nodded and turned around and walked away.
Rude pricks didn’t even introduce themselves.
Roger and Bullet came around the ambulance with the stretchers.
“Lead the way,” Bullet said.
They walked towards the cabin, Wilkes in front.
“I’ll tell ya now, the smell in there is pretty horrible.”
“What is it? Piss, shit or vomit?”
Wilkes winced at Bullet’s crude manner, but chose to ignore it. He seemed like a decent enough man.
“Blood and urine. Mostly urine.”
“That’s a relief,” Bullet said. “Piss is the best smell out of the three.”
“How do they look?” Roger asked as they made their way around the fire trucks.
“Bad. One was shot in the head, the other in the chest.”
“What kind of gun?”
“Revolver, I believe. Magnum.”
Bullet whistled. “This’ll be good.”
Wilkes stopped by the door and let the two paramedics go in first with the stretchers.
Constable Adams, who was sitting at the table, stood up when Wilkes came in. The rifle still sat in pieces on top.
“Holy damn,” Bullet moaned. “That’s some strong smelling piss.”
Roger and Bullet set the stretchers beside each body – Roger beside Morrie, Bullet next to Edward.
“Do I have to stay?” Adams asked, timidly.
“No, you can leave. Go and find Briggs and...”
Just then Briggs showed up. He stood at the door and leaned in. “Excuse me, Sir, can I have a word?”
Wilkes nodded. “Sorry, Adams. Can you stay in here a little longer?”
“Sure,” Adams said, his face pale.
Wilkes followed Briggs outside. “What’s up, Senior Constable?”
“I don’t know if it’s anything important. But I studied the revolver used in the shootings.”
“That was allegedly used,” Wilkes corrected him, although he was quite sure that it was the weapon used.
“Right,” Briggs said. “Anyway, if I’m not mistaken, the gun looks like a police issue, Sir. It’s a forty-one Magnum.”
“I know.”
“You know?” Briggs said, frowning.
Wilkes breathed a deep sigh. “The woman who owned this motel, she was one of the bodies that was on the ground, her husband used to be a police officer. He was killed twenty years ago. He was stabbed by a madman while he was in the station bathroom.”
“I’ve heard about that,” Briggs said.
“Anyway, Madge kept the gun. As a reminder of her husband. And also for her own protection.”
“So that was her gun?”
“Yes.”
Wilkes could tell what was going through Briggs’s mind.
She didn’t kill these people. It wasn’t Madge, you arsehole.
“Well, that was all I wanted to speak to you about.”
“Okay,” Wilkes said. “I’ve got something for you to do. Inside the cabin that had the smaller fire, there are a lot of cigarette stubs and empty drink cans. I want you to bag them all.”
“You think whoever did this was in there?”
Wilkes shrugged. “Maybe.”
Briggs nodded. “Is that all, Sir?”
“Yep.”
Briggs turned around and hurried away.
Turning to look at the fire, Wilkes saw that the blaze was out. The firemen still had water rushing on the pile of rubble. He guessed so that no small fires started up. Thick smoke drifted endlessly from the ruins. Wilkes felt a small sense of relief that the fire was out. It was one less thing that he had to worry about.
He turned and headed back into the cabin.
Roger and Bullet had the bodies on the stretchers, in the body bags. Blood and bits of mushy brain and bone and muscle covered the back wall. The bed was drenched in pale yellow.
“All set,” Bullet called back when he saw Wilkes.
“Okay. You can go, Adams. I’ll stay in here.”
Adams nodded. “What about the rifle? Are you going to bag it?”
“You bet,” Wilkes sighed. “Can you do it?” he asked him.
“Sure.” He quickened out of the cabin.
“Quiet guy,” Bullet said. “Has a weak stomach.”
“He hasn’t seen many things like this before.”
Bullet nodded.
Wilkes stepped out from the doorway to let the two paramedics through.
“See you around,” Bullet said, carrying the body of Edward Worchester outside.
Wilkes nodded.
“Nice seeing you again,” Roger said.
Wilkes smiled shortly. “Take care. Say hello to Jessica.”
“I will. Same to Pam.”
Roger vanished and so did the body of Morrie Prescott.
Not long after, Adams came back with a large plastic bag. He put the rifle and all its contents into the bag, sealed it up, then left.
Inside the quiet cabin, Wilkes wandered over to the table and sat down. He now had to wait for forensics to come and dust the Bluebird that was parked outside.
Jason had gone with that man, John, to the hospital to tend to the bullet wound. And to get a statement on what happened.
Jason had told him his suspicions about the man. But then Jason was suspicious of every damn one.
He had also told him that when forensics arrived, they were to dust the car and that no one was to touch it until they arrived.
“Hey, Harry.”
Wilkes jumped. He turned around and shook his head. “Fuck, Mike. You scared me.”
“Sorry”
Wilkes stood up as Mike entered the cabin. He immediately winced and wrinkled up his nose. “Christ, how can you stand being in here? Reeks like God knows what.”
Wilkes shrugged. “Get used to it I suppose.”
“Can we talk outside?”
Wilkes followed Mike out into the morning air. Smoke filled his nostrils. “See you guys put out the fire. Well done.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Harry...we have to wait until things have cooled down a bit, but...”
“What?” Wilkes said. “Did you find something?”
Mike nodded. His face was grimy with soot and sweat. Where it wasn’t black, Wilkes could see that his face was flushed.
“It looks like a body.”
Wilkes felt his stomach drop. He
shook his head and sighed. “Just the one?”
“Well we can’t really tell until we sift through the remains, but it looks like just the one.”
“That’s something at least,” Wilkes said. He looked over at the firemen and the remains of the cabin. They were standing around, pointing and gazing at the mound of debris.
“What the fuck happened here, Harry?”
Wilkes turned back to his long-time friend. “God only knows.”
With the sky now an ashen grey and sun-up quickly approaching, Harold Wilkes put his arm around Mike Powell. “We’ll find out, though. Now come and show me this body.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
8:23 a.m.
Wayne had his eyes closed and was enjoying the rest, when somebody knocked on the door.
“Come in,” he called.
He opened his eyes and saw Jason MacDonald. The Inspector was still wearing the same old jeans and jacket, and he had yet to brush his hair. His eyes looked heavy and tiny white stubble covered his fleshy face. He closed the door and approached the bed. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Can’t feel a thing,” Wayne said. “Great thing those pain killers.”
The Inspector nodded. It was obvious that he hadn’t been home to clean himself up. His breath reeked of stale coffee, now, instead of alcohol.
“If you don’t mind me saying, Inspector, but you look like shit.”
The Inspector smiled. “Thanks. I haven’t had a chance to sleep. I’ve been over at the motel, searching around the mountain.”
Wayne felt his heart begin to pound. He wondered if they had found the bodies. “So what can I do for you, Inspector?”
“You were lucky,” he said as he sat down in the chair beside the bed. “As we thought, the bullet went clean through. No bones were shattered. Doctors say that there shouldn’t be any infections.”
“Yeah, I know,” Wayne said. “They say I should be as good as new in about a month, maybe a bit longer.”
“Be able to have a good rest. Lie in bed and relax for a month,” the Inspector said.
“Yeah. I’ll hopefully be able to get back to my work soon, though. Want to get back to it, you know? I miss it.”
The Inspector nodded. “Have you had a chance to listen to the radio or watch TV? It’s all over the news, of course.”
“I bet it doesn’t say much, though. They can’t know what happened.”
