“Twenty years, McMillan. I’ve served more than twenty fucking years and I have been a damn good copper. What gives you the fucking right to think that you know better than all of us?”
I choose my words carefully, but there is no sugar coating it.
“This is not about me, Huntley. You stopped being a copper when you turned your back on the law.
If it wasn’t me, it would have been somebody else eventually. You can stop this now, though. Speak to Sergeant Bellmarsh. Take me to court and agree to give evidence against ACC Butterfield and DS Douglas. It won’t save your careers, but it may just keep you out of prison or get you a greatly reduced sentence. Think about it. Do you seriously want to spend the rest of your life in prison? You have kids, don’t you?”
My mention of his kids is like a red rag to a bull and he jumps up and launches himself at me. With my hands cuffed behind my back, I am unable to protect myself and he lands two vicious punches in my face.
“Don’t you fucking dare mention my kids, McMillan! You could have had it all, but you just couldn’t keep quiet, could you? You’ve ruined everything and now you’re going to suffer. By the time we finish with you, you are going to be begging us to kill you.”
“And what happens then, Huntley? You kill me and spend the rest of your life in prison or on the run. They will never stop looking for you — you know that don’t you? What will happen to your family then?”
This time he uses the butt of the revolver and it causes a deep gash above my left eye as he slams it down. “I fucking warned you — you don’t ever talk about my family.”
Warm thick blood trickles down into my eye and I get the familiar metallic taste in my mouth when it reaches my lips. My beatings at the hands of Butler, Cartwright, and now Huntley are taking a toll on me, but I am still conscious enough to notice that the speed of the van has increased rapidly and it is now being driven way beyond the speed limits. Huntley stands up to shout to Bellmarsh through the grill.
“What’s going on, Pete? What’s with the driving?”
Bellmarsh shouts back, but it is hard to hear him, and Huntley asks him to repeat himself. This time he shouts much louder and his response gives me renewed hope.
“I think we might have company; a silver Audi has been following us for the last few miles. I can’t see who it is, but they’ve been deliberately keeping back. As soon as I increased my speed, they did the same. Hold on in the back, I’m gonna see if I can lose them.”
Huntley remains standing, but he moves to the back of the van to see if he can see the Audi. As the van gains speed he is forced to hold on to the mesh of the rear cage to keep himself from falling.
“It’s definitely following us, Pete,” Huntley shouts back to Bellmarsh. His voice has lost its usual calm tone and I can feel that panic is starting to set in. “Fuck, this is not what we fucking need — get off at the next junction and try to lose him in the City.”
Blood is in my eyes, making it difficult for me to see, but I can see well enough the sweat marks on Huntley’s normally crisp white shirt.
“It’s over, Huntley. If that’s a police vehicle, then they know where I am. It’s only a matter of time before they get a chopper up. You can’t win.”
He takes his eyes of the road behind and points his weapon back at me again. “Shut your fucking mouth, McMillan! This isn’t about winning or losing. We know the game is up for us. This is all about you now, but if anyone else gets in the way, then that’s their fucking problem.”
The van noticeably slows down but I struggle to stay on the bench as it takes a sharp corner. We must be off the motorway and into a suburban area, but Bellmarsh keeps his foot to the floor and only slows slightly for corners or junctions.
Huntley is focused again on the back window looking out for our pursuer, but he turns every few seconds to make sure that I have not moved. In my current state with my arms cuffed behind my back, I don’t think I could take him anyway, but the alternative to dying here is not even worth thinking about.
We are obviously on our way somewhere to meet DS Douglas and perhaps ACC Butterfield. A death at Douglas’ hands won’t be quick and it won’t be pleasant. If they get me to Douglas it’s game over. Slim chance or not, I resolve to try to take Huntley down at the first opportunity. I need a suitable distraction, though, to keep him occupied.
“It’s here, Huntley, I told you didn’t I? Now you’re totally fucking screwed.”
“What, what’s here? I told you to keep fucking quiet.”
“You need you ears tested, Melvin — it’s the chopper,” I taunt. “It’s getting closer.”
He knows that I am lying, but his panic sows a seed of doubt and he turns his head upwards to try to locate the sound of a chopper.
It’s the best chance I am going to get and while he is distracted trying to locate the fictitious helicopter, I push off from the bench and shoulder charge him with the last of my strength and he falls backwards against the rear cage.
The back of his head connects with one of the steel uprights and, while he is stunned, I kick as hard as I can against his knees and his shins until he drops to the ground. He still has the gun in his hand and before I can get to him again, he stands back up, takes aim at my chest and screams at me to get back.
“I fucking warned you, McMillan, you’ve ruined everything. It’s over.”
From such close range he can’t possibly miss and I close my eyes and brace for the impact of the bullets slamming into my chest.
They say that when you have a near-death experience one of two possible scenarios arise. Either your life flashes in front of your eyes or time slows down to the point that you can analyze every aspect of the experience in the minutest of detail. In this particular case and taking into account the multiple beatings I have had up to this point, I don’t think either of these scenarios apply, but the actual events are a little unclear. The only thing I know with complete certainty is that I am still alive and Sergeant Huntley is not.
Huntley definitely fired his weapon, there is absolutely no doubt of that. The sound of the revolver discharging in such a confined space was deafening, and I swear I could feel the vibrations from the bullet as it whistled past my ear and ricocheted off the steel-plated floor. What I am not so clear on is who rear-ended us at exactly the same moment as he pulled the trigger.
Whoever it was, the impact of the collision was enough to launch Sergeant Huntley forward with sufficient speed and force to break his neck against the steel grill at the back of the driver’s cab and to cause Sergeant Bellmarsh to lose control of the van, which is now resting on its side.
Even before the crash, my body was on the verge of giving up, but now Huntley’s body is pinning me to the floor and I don’t have the strength left in my legs to push him off.
I can only pray that my guardian angel gets to me before Bellmarsh does and for a brief moment the silence from the driver’s cab makes this a strong possibility.
Perhaps he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt and went flying through the windscreen, or perhaps the bastard has seen sense and done a runner.
In the end, my hope that he is dead, seriously injured, or gone comes to nothing and he calls out to Huntley.
“Melvin, are you okay back there? Mel, what’s going on?”
He sounds dazed and I hope that the bastard has broken his legs or something more serious, but I am disappointed again when I hear him kicking at the door and climbing out of the van.
A few seconds later, I hear someone pulling at the rear doors. It must be Bellmarsh. If it was anyone else, surely they would be calling out to me, but where then are my rescuers? It doesn’t make sense.
The impact of the crash must have buckled the frames and Bellmarsh struggles to get the doors open, but he eventually manages it and light floods into the back of the van.
A few seconds later he gets the inner cage open and climbs in. His head is bleeding badly and as he tries to pull Huntley off me, it is apparent that his lef
t arm also seems to be injured.
His revolver is hanging limply in his left hand and he uses just his right arm to pull at Huntley’s belt until eventually he gets him off me just enough to expose my chest. Then he swaps the revolver into his right hand and pushes it under my chin.
“I bet you thought that you were going to be rescued, didn’t you? Well, you probably were until the stupid fuck chasing us thought it would be a good idea to ram us off the road and ended up crashing themselves.
“I didn’t get a close-up look, but whoever it is, they are slumped over the wheel ten meters down the road. Probably broke their fucking neck. So say your prayers, McMillan, this is the end.”
It has to be Morgan or Cath he is talking about, but he can’t be certain that the person is dead. He only saw a body slumped over a steering wheel from ten meters away. That isn’t confirmation and I refuse to believe it. And I refuse to lie here and let Bellmarsh kill me.
“Please, don’t do it, killing me achieves nothing,” I plead.
“No, you’re wrong,” he says, “killing you achieves everything. Because of you, I have nothing left and nothing to lose.”
“It doesn’t need to be like that. Help me and I promise that I will help you. You don’t need to lose everything.”
He stands up and points his weapon at me. “You’re wrong, McMillan. So, so wrong — this is the only way.”
His first shot slams into my right shoulder and smashes through my shoulder blade. The second shot goes through the fleshy part of my right leg. My state of consciousness is rapidly deteriorating and, at the rate I am losing blood, I will die if I don’t get to hospital quickly.
“How does it feel to know that you’re dying, McMillan? Ask me to kill you and we can end this right now. All you have to do is ask.”
Despite this offer, I know that he is toying with me and has every intention of making me suffer for as long as possible. I won’t give him the satisfaction now of either begging again for my life or begging him to end my life.
“Do whatever you want, Bellmarsh, just bloody get on with it.”
He is smiling as he raises the weapon again. “Yep, you’re right, enough of this shit. See you in hell, McMillan.”
The next shot covers me in a shower of blood and bone fragments and Sergeant Bellmarsh drops to his knees. His eyes are bulging and there is a huge exit wound in the right-hand side of his face. Unable to believe that he is already dead, he stays on his knees for a few seconds while his brain catches up with his heart.
When it does, he lets out a final gasp and the revolver falls from his right hand and he falls forward onto the body of Sergeant Huntley.
I am barely conscious and my eyes are caked with blood, but my rescuer is instantly recognizable as she climbs into the back of the van still holding her Glock pistol in front of her.
Her head is bleeding badly, though, and she is struggling to walk. She checks Huntley and Bellmarsh to make sure they are no further threat, then she pulls Huntley away and crouches down next to me.
The look on her face gives away just how bad my condition is, but she quickly composes herself and does her best to reassure me as she tries to stem the bleeding.
“Just hang in there, Sean. The paramedics are on the way. Just stay with me.”
I need desperately to touch her, but my arms are still cuffed behind my back.
“Please, my arms, Cath, can you get the cuffs off?”
My question upsets her and makes her feel helpless.
“Sean, I can’t move you, I don’t know how badly you are injured. It won’t be long, I promise.”
She is not crying, but it is obvious that she is holding back the tears. Desperate to stay conscious, I force myself to keep talking and to keep her focused.
“Cath, you saved my life, I would be dead already if it wasn’t for you. How did you know where to find me?”
My distraction works and Cath wipes her eyes and focuses again.
“I got a call from one of the prison officers, someone called Bayliss. He pulled my name and number from the visitation log and he told me what had gone down in the yard. I called it in and then got a fix on the vehicle GPS. Now, please keep quiet and save your breath.”
I can hear sirens getting closer and I can also hear the sound of an approaching helicopter. Cath smiles and confirms the same over her radio.
“Just a few more minutes, Sean, just hold on a little longer, help is on the way.”
Despite her assurances, Cath is also in pain and I assume her injuries are from the crash.
“You’re hurt, Cath. Are you okay?”
“Don’t even go there with the gentleman act, Sean.” She laughs through the pain. “You should see the state of yourself. Now, please do what I ask for once and be quiet.”
It’s not like I am in any condition or any position to argue with her, but the choice is taken out of my hands anyway by shouted orders from outside the van.
“Armed police, show yourselves! Come out with your hands above your heads!”
Cath squeezes my shoulder, then leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. “Hold on right there, partner, I’m coming right back. Then she turns and limps towards the rear doors and shouts out to identify herself.
“Detective Constable Catherine Swain, I’m coming out, hold your fire.”
After this everything goes hazy again. I vaguely remember the pain of a needle in my thigh and a strange sensation of floating, which I put down to the painkillers. I don’t remember being put into the back of the helicopter, but I do remember lots of voices. I couldn’t be sure exactly who they were, but the conversation was mostly around my chances of survival and which hospital they should take me to. My next memory is of being in the operating theatre and of bright lights shining in my eyes.
“Stay with us, Sean. Come on, Sean, you need to fight this.”
Then more needles and oxygen, lots of oxygen and more panicked voices. “We’re losing him, come on, Sean, fight it, son.”
Then the voice of a female, “His blood pressure is in free fall, we need to get more blood into him.”
“It’s not working, he’s losing it faster than we are getting it into him. Nurse, get more clotting agent onto his leg and increase the pressure. How the hell is this guy still conscious? Give him another shot and try to bring his heart rate down.”
Then a needle pierces my left thigh and I can no longer fight the feeling of fatigue. A nurse shines a torch in my eyes and a second later they close and I fall unconscious with some last words from the doctor to reflect on.
“Okay, nurse, that’s enough, he’s gone. The poor bastard didn’t deserve this.”
Present Day – Friday, 23rd February 2018
If this is death, I’m not impressed. Death is meant to be the end of pain and suffering, but my head is absolutely banging and my body feels like it has been trampled by a herd of elephants. And surely, I don’t need to get up if I don’t want to. Who the hell is this inconsiderate bastard trying to wake me up?
“I’m dead for fuck sake, piss off and let me sleep.”
I have no idea if I actually said that out loud, but now the bastard is laughing at me.
“I think that’s a bit dramatic, Sean. You’re not dead just yet. Now, come on, open your eyes, son.”
What the hell, is Morgan dead as well, or am I going mad?
“Come on, Sean, it’s time to wake up.”
The voice is female now, but it’s not Cath. A soft hand touches my shoulder and then there is a light in my eyes again. “Sean, can you hear me? Sean, open your eyes. Do you know where you are?”
Until now I had presumed that I was in either heaven or hell, but the feel of her hand on my skin and the soft reassuring tone of her voice leads me towards the former. I can’t be in heaven, though. I can’t believe that God would be spiteful enough to send my boss to torment me. I force myself to open my eyes and after a few seconds the owner of the soft hands comes into focus. She has a smile that is warm en
ough to melt the hardest heart and for a guy on the verge of death just a few days ago, she is as beautiful as any woman could be.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Sean. Don’t try to move, please.”
I have a million questions to ask, but my lips and throat are as dry as Gandhi’s flip flops and I ask for a drink of water.
As she holds the glass to my lips, I can smell her perfume and I unintentionally breathe in the air and smile. After the stress of the last couple of weeks I am craving to hold on to someone, but I am embarrassed by my actions and I apologize to the nurse, but she just laughs and shrugs it off.
“That’s alright, please don’t worry about it. You’re quite the hero, Sean. I was hoping to be on duty when you woke up.”
Before I can say anything else, we are interrupted by a staged cough and then DCI Morgan leans over me and smiles. “Glad to see that you are feeling better, Sean. Nurse, could you give us some privacy, please?”
My Florence Nightingale smiles again and then squeezes my hand, before turning back to Morgan. “Okay, but not too long, please. He’s still very weak.”
She leaves and Morgan pulls up a chair and sits at the side of my bed.
“We thought we might have lost you for a while, Sean. Don’t ever bloody scare us like that again! How are you feeling, son?”
“I feel like I’ve been shot a couple of times and pistol whipped,” I reply sarcastically. “I’ve had better days, sir.” And then I ask about Catherine. “What about DC Swain, sir? Is she okay?”
“She’s doing fine, Sean,” he replies. “She was kept in hospital for a couple of days, but was released yesterday morning and is at home recovering now. She had a bad case of whiplash, concussion, a couple of broken ribs and a broken ankle. You make a fine pair, don’t you?”
Knowing that Cath is okay is a great relief, but how long have I been out? He said that she spent a couple of days recovering.
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