The Becket Approval by Falconer Duncan (interesting books to read TXT) 📕

down she saw a large patch of wet blood on Gunnymede’s side.

‘Mr Gunnymede’ she said, trying not to be loud despite her concern. He remained fast asleep. She prodded his shoulder. ‘Gunnymede!’

Gunnymede sprung awake and for a second had no idea where on earth he was. As reality returned, he looked at her quizzically.

‘You’re bleeding,’ she said, indicating his side.

He looked at his bloody shirt, frowned and unbuckled his seatbelt. He stepped into the aisle, took his bag out of the locker and walked away.

She watched him enter the toilet and sat back down somewhat perplexed.

Ten minutes later he returned wearing a clean shirt. He placed his bag into the locker and got back into his seat.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

‘I’m fine.’

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Don’t you think I should know what it is? That was a lot of blood.’

‘It’s just torn stitches. Nothing serious, I wouldn’t be here if it was.’

A stewardess arrived pushing a refreshments trolley. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she asked him sweetly.

‘I’ll have a scotch,’ Gunnymede said. ‘A double.’

‘They are doubles,’ the stewardess said.

‘A double double, then,’ he said forcing a smile. ‘With a little water.’

The stewardess handed him a glass and two miniatures.

‘I’ll have a single double, please,’ Bethan said.

The stewardess handed her the drink, dropped a couple bags of nuts onto her food tray and moved on.

They poured their drinks and savoured them.

‘Have you ever worked with the police before?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘As a technical advisor?’

‘No.’

‘Have you worked with Scotland Yard before?’

‘No.’

‘Okay ... well. Scotland Yard protocols. They’re simple enough for something like this. Whatever we find technically belongs to the Albanians but information sharing is the prerogative of those I – we – work for.’

He nodded and finished his drink. ‘I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve had a long couple of days.’

He lowered the back of his seat as far as it would go and closed his eyes leaving her to enjoy her drink alone.

 

 

Chapter 11

A black Mercedes saloon drove along a wide country road snaking through a vast forest that carpeted a hilly terrain. Gunnymede and Bethan sat silently on the spacious black leather rear seats. Ardian Kostaq of the Sherbimi Informativ Ushtarak was in the front beside his driver.

Gunnymede stared at the tree line as it strobed past, set back from the crumbling edge of the tarmac road, the gap in between filled with rubble, weeds and trash. They’d been driving for almost three hours since leaving Tirana. Kostag had said little beyond his greeting. He was pretty formal. He and his driver both smoked cigarettes and between them pretty much had one going throughout the journey. Bethan opening her window for fresh air didn't appear to encourage any consideration on their part. Gunnymede didn't seem to mind.

The car began to slow on a straight, broad open road with no other traffic in sight. Kostag said something to the driver as he pointed ahead. A vehicle was tucked into the trees on the left. As they got closer, more cars and people came into view.

The Mercedes pulled over and came to a stop. Kostag turned in his seat to face the others. ‘This road runs north south, north being that way,’ he said, pointing in the direction the car was facing. ‘The border with Macedonia runs parallel a kilometre inside those woods.’ He pointed to the right side of the car. ‘What you’re going to see now is the site of an atrocity. A massacre. We have no motive. No suspects and a small collection of evidences.’

He climbed out and looped a satchel over his shoulder.

‘Take these,’ Bethan said to Gunnymede, offering him a pair of latex gloves.

In the clearing was a local police car, several uniformed officers, two border police cars and a truck. Another border police car was ominously alone, deeper into the clearing with its driver’s door open. A stand with a small red flag was inside the open door.

As Gunnymede followed Kostag he could see other numbered markers placed around.

‘K-17 was here for maybe an hour when they were attacked,’ Kostag said. ‘Officers were checking a car, here. Three Albanians, father, mother, daughter. They are the only witnesses. One by one, the officers were shot dead.’

‘Did the Albanian family have much to offer?’ Bethan asked.

‘They saw nothing other than the carnage.’

‘And they were not shot at?’ she added.

‘Untouched,’ Kostag said. ‘We must assume the killer could have shot them but he was only interested in the police.’

‘Killer?’ Bethan asked. ‘Just one?’

‘We are certain,’ Kostag said.

‘And male?’ she asked.

Kostag shrugged. ‘He or she. I would suspect a he, but we will keep an open mind. You’re the British military specialist,’ he said to Gunnymede, addressing him directly for the first time since they’d met.

Bethan looked at him as if looking forward to the answer herself. Gunnymede gave a nod that Bethan didn’t find very convincing.

‘Can I ask where you would expect to find the sniper position?’ Kostag asked him.

Gunnymede took a moment to contemplate the question before walking from one marker to the next. When he reached the far side of the clearing he looked down into the ravine and back up to woodland the other side. Bethan stopped beside him to see the five body markers on the slope.

‘There,’ Gunnymede said, pointing to the woodland across the ravine.

‘What range do you think he could make these shots from?’ Kostag asked. ‘Do you mind if I say he?’ he said to Bethan. ‘We’ll accept that for now it could be a he or a she?’

‘Of course.’

‘What was the calibre?’ Gunnymede asked.

The intelligence officer signalled his driver to come closer. He had followed them across the clearing