Private Oz (Private 7)

He can see nothing.

He can hear nothing.

He senses the air tremble again.

He touches wood. Another door. It moves forward. He’s falling … and dies before he hits the ground.

Chapter 2

I HEARD THE crash from the other side of the room and for a second I thought one of the hired caterers had screwed up. But then a woman screamed and I was dashing across reception.

I caught a glimpse of my right-hand woman, Mary Clarke, spin on her heel. She’s a big, muscly girl but has the reaction time of Usain Bolt off the blocks.

I saw the blood first. A smear, then a dark pool spreading out across the marble. The man lay spread-eagled on the floor, face down, torn apart, gaping holes in his back, his right leg shattered, twisted obscenely under him. A hood over his head.

I crouched down as Justine Smith ran up.

Pulling a tissue from my pocket, I wrapped it around my fingers, turned the body over and tried to remove the hood, but it was tied fast. I glanced up to see Deputy Commissioner Thorogood.

“Jesus!” he said as he lowered beside me.

“Multiple gunshot wounds. Twice in the back, leg,” I said and tilted the body so Thorogood could study the ragged circles in the guy’s linen jacket.

Darlene, Private’s tech guru, squatted down close to the body. She’s usually in a lab coat over jeans, but tonight she was wearing a red cocktail dress that accentuated her incredible curves. She pulled on latex gloves, removed a sharp implement from her clutch purse. Leaning forward, she cut the ties of the hood and eased up the fabric.

“Holy Christ!” Thorogood exclaimed.

Chapter 3

HIS EYES HAD been gouged out. There were two red craters in their place. The skin was jagged, blood oozing. A gray bundle of nerves snaked from the left socket and stuck to the skin of the man’s cheek.

It was hard to tell for sure, but he looked like a young kid, maybe late teens, twenty tops. The rest of his face was smeared, his nose smashed to hell.

I heard Johnny Ishmah, the youngest of my team, behind me. I turned to him. “Johnny get everyone out.” Then I saw Mary. “Come with me.”

The Deputy Commissioner straightened and pulled out his cell as he walked away.

I heard him say “Inspector …” His boys would be here in minutes.

“Well, not your average gatecrasher,” I heard Darlene mumble as Mary and I headed for the door.

“Blood trail.” I flicked a glance at the floor just beyond the door.

“Passage ahead leads to the garage,” Mary responded.

There was a slew of blood across the concrete, up the walls. Picking our way round the puddles I leaned on the second door and we were out onto “Garage Level 1”. Plenty of blood still, oval droplets on the rough concrete. The sort of splashes someone makes when they are running and bleeding at the same time.

The poor kid had stopped here, blood had pooled into a patch about two feet wide that was rippling away toward a drain in the floor. The trail led off to the left. Three cars stood there, a Merc, a Prius and my black Spider. Tire marks close to the bend, more blood.

I bent down and picked up a shell casing, holding it in the tissue still in my hand.

“.357 Sig,” Mary said. She was ex-Military Police, knew a thing or two.

“Pros.”

“Must be cameras everywhere.” She glanced around.

“Small garage. There’s a guard at the gate. He has a security camera system.” I turned and led the way back. The road narrowed, a barrier twenty yards ahead. Next to that, a booth.