The Samsara Project by David Burgess (romantic books to read .TXT) 📕

retreat and live to fight another day.”
“You sound as though there might be something in what we have said,”
“I can’t take everything in just yet but something set this off and at this moment I’ve nothing better to offer. Besides, I love a good thriller.”
DCS Hughes mobile phone rang, “Might be some news about Pat, I asked them to call if there was any change.” He answered the call. For a while he said nothing, then just “Are you sure?” After a few more moments he ended the call.
Andrew and Geoffrey looked at each other; they both thought that something had happened to Pat. They looked at DCS Hughes, neither wanted to ask him the obvious question.
“It was not about Pat,” he said, “that was Southern Counties CID. Tracy Rae has been shot.” Andrew and Geoffrey both felt numb. Both knew that Tracy had been at the funeral, both knew that Tracy was theoretically on a rapidly shrinking hit list.
“Any news of John?” asked Andrew.
“Yes,” replied DCS Hughes, “John has been taken to Southern Counties Police Headquarters. He’s their main suspect. They think John murdered or attempted to murder Tracy, my secretary Tracy, dead!”
DCS Hughes broke down in tears. He buried his head into his folded arms on the table and sobbed unashamedly.
“DCS Hughes,” said Geoffrey, “this is important. You said murdered or attempted murder. It can only be one or the other. Why did you say that?”
DCS Hughes sat upright; taking a paper napkin off the table he rubbed his eyes. “An ambulance took Tracy from the crime scene. The paramedics who took her said they had a faint pulse. No one thought to question them. Why would you?”
“Question them about what?” said Geoffrey.
“Check ID’s that sort of thing. Three minutes after they took Tracy a second ambulance turned up. No one has any idea where the first ambulance came from or where it is now. That means no one knows where Tracy is, or how she is. They’ve just vanished into thin air. Add that to your theory gentlemen!”
 
Chapter 16

John was sat on a hard, blue coloured plastic chair, designed, he thought, to make life even more uncomfortable for those unfortunate enough to be sat in it. He was resting his forearms on the top of an equally oppressive looking metal legged and cheap grey plastic topped table. The room he was sat in was more like a windowless box, twelve feet wide by twelve feet long by ten feet high. The top three quarters of the walls were now a dirty cream colour, the rest a chipped and faded yellow, the two colours separated by a half inch wide red stripe. The floor was covered in one piece of scuffed red linoleum. The only window in the room was a small, thin strip of chicken wired glass firmly fixed into the door. Standing in front of the door, on John’s side, was a uniformed constable. John wondered if he was actually a real person as for the past three quarters of an hour, the length of time John had been sat in the room, the constable had neither moved nor spoken. John had tried on a couple of occasions to start a conversation, not about anything in particular, but more to pass the time. Each occasion resulted in the same blank expression staring back at him. “You must be a barrel of laughs at parties,” said John, not exactly out loud but not under his breath either, again no response.
John was also finding the one piece CSI suit he had been given was starting to irritate his skin. All his clothes had been taken off him when he arrived at the police station. So far, he had been told he was here voluntarily in order to help the police with their enquiries. A phrase that John knew could cover up a multitude of hidden agendas. John was an intelligent man, he had been thinking through what had happened earlier at the picnic site. He knew that he was not in a strong position, but he also knew that he had not, at any point, told any lies. “Therefore,” he reasoned to himself, “if I continue to answer every question truthfully then there’s nothing they can catch me out on.”
Despite reassuring himself of his innocence John was feeling far from confident about his position. John was feeling very uneasy, if not a little frightened. Certainly he was feeling intimidated. John wondered if he should be feeling like this when he knew he was one hundred percent innocent, he started to wonder how somebody must feel who knows they are guilty. The though did nothing to make him feel any better.
There was a knock at the door, the constable stepped to one side and opened the door. Detective Inspector Baxter entered the room; he had with him a young female detective. Her name was Detective Constable Roby. The two police officers each pulled up a similar chair to John’s and sat at the table opposite him. The thought of the two officers sitting in equally uncomfortable chairs pleased John. For a moment he thought it might even make the interview shorter.
“I’d like to make a phone call please,” said John.
“All in good time Mr. Reynolds,” replied DI Baxter. “If you don’t mind and while they are still fresh in your mind, I’d just like to run over the events of this morning with you first.”
“Is this discussion or interview being recorded?” asked John,
“It is, yes,” relied DI Baxter
“Then maybe I should have a solicitor present. There are after all two of you, three if we count the doorman over there.”
”I only want to ask you a few general questions about the events leading up to the shooting of Tracy Rae, there are one or two areas that are confusing for me. I just need to get them straight in my head.”
“There is one thing that I would like to get straight in my head,” said John.
“And that is?” replied DI Baxter.
“Tracy, how is she? I have asked everyone that I can about Tracy; I am very worried about her. I want to know how she is. Is she alright?”
“As soon as we have an update from the hospital then I’ll let you know.” Was the reply
“Then she’s alive then, yes, she’s still alive. What hospital has she been taken to so I can go straight there from here?”
“I’m sorry Mr Reynolds but until I’m satisfied with what happened I can’t answer that question. I’m sure you understand.”
“We’ll get back to that later,” responded John in a none too happy tone.
DI Baxter asked John to talk him through exactly what had happened. He asked why they had decided to stop at that particular spot. Was it because it was quiet with a secluded lake area? Was it because there was no one else around?
John answered the questions fully and truthfully. He answered that they came upon the spot by chance, it had not been pre planned and neither had any idea that there was even a lake there. That, at the time, had been a bonus. He explained how he had been teaching Tracy to skip stones and that she had gone back to the car to get the food ready. That was when he had heard a scream.
DI Baxter then changed direction and asked John how long he had known Tracy and where had they met. John’s answer intrigued him. He turned to DC Roby and told her she’d better be careful with this man around. “There can’t be many people who meet that way, in the office of a Scotland Yard DCS no less.”
DC Roby politely smiled, and then turned away.
DI Baxter continued by asking how many times they had been out together? Where had they gone? What was their relationship like?
John told them that this was their first date, he talked about Pamela and how her loss had affected him, how Tracy was the first woman he had dated since her death. Under the circumstances John was holding himself together well.
“Tell me about the men in b lack,” said DI Baxter, “the mysterious men in black.”
John was about to answer when there was a knock at the door and a third officer looked into the room, “Can I have a word sir?”
DI Baxter left the room, he returned three minutes later.
“Is that news about Tracy?” asked John.
DI Baxter walked up and down the small room, not saying anything or looking at anyone. His gaze firmly fixed on the floor. The atmosphere in the interview room was tense, everyone could feel it. After four minutes DI Baxter stopped, he turned and looked directly at John. There was another knock on the door, it opened and the same officer handed a number of papers to DI Baxter. He read through them the handed them to DC Roby, as she read through them he continued to pace the room. DC Roby handed the papers back to DI Baxter. He walked over to John and put one of the papers down in front of him. “This”, he said in a very controlled voice, “is a forensic report on the pistol we found at the scene. Would you care to read through it?”
John looked at him. “Why would I want to do that?”
DI Baxter then laid a second piece of paper in front of John. “This is a ballistics report based on two expended nine millimetre shell casings we found at the scene. This,” he then laid a third piece of paper down, “is a forensic report after we examined your clothes. The same clothes you were wearing at the scene and when we brought you here. Right now I am going to bring in a CSI who will examine your right hand. When he’s done that we will continue this interview.”
DI Baxter opened the door and called in the crime scene investigator. He walked over to John, “Hold your right hand out in front of you, palm facing upwards and fingers spread apart.” John, realising there was no point in not co-operating, did as he was asked. The CSI sprayed a clear liquid onto the front and back of John’s hand. “Just wait thirty seconds,” said the CSI. They did not have to wait that long, within ten seconds the clear liquid sprayed onto John’s hand started to change colour. It started off as a light lilac colour that changed over the following twenty seconds to a deep purple. “Hold your hand still please,” asked the CSI as he took a sequence of photographs.
Once the photographs had been taken John was given a hand towel to clean off the fluid. “What was that about?” asked John.
DI Baxter looked towards DC Roby; she spoke for the first time. “The spray on your hand detects the presence of GSR, that’s gunshot residue. When any weapon is fired, tiny almost invisible traces of gunpowder are blown over who ever fired it. There is nothing you can do to stop it, or get rid of it. It will not wash off or rub off. Only time will get rid of it and then we’re talking days. What we witnessed then was a very fresh sample.”
DC Roby then turned her attention to the papers on the table. “This lab report on your clothes also shows traces of GSR, traces consistent with a double firing of a hand held weapon. This second piece of paper is ballistics and they have proven a match between the two spent cartridge cases and the nine millimetre pistol found at the scene. This final piece of paper is a forensic report. It’s a report that proves,