

Wasted Lives

A Detective Mike Bridger Novel

By Mark Bredenbeck

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Copyright 2014 by Mark Bredenbeck

Book design by Mark Bredenbeck

Smashwords edition

"This book is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, governments, events or locales is entirely coincidental."

"All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated."

For my father.

In order to grow and become a man, every boy needs a positive male role model in his life...

'He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster'

~Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, 1886~

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###  Prologue

He could hear the dog's ragged breathing a short distance behind, he could almost feel its hot breath on his heels. His own breath was coming in short rasps, the oxygen fighting for space in his tar filled lungs, his body rebelling against years of smoking in one malicious moment.

Turning right into the darkness of a service alley he nearly stumbled, tripping over his own feet, the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream along with another shot of adrenalin.

He was not far from home but he was running out of time. The dog had sensed its opportunity and had increased its pace, the scattering of paws on the rough surface got louder, touching every fear receptacle in his brain.

He knew there was a tall fence here somewhere he desperately needed the escape.

A muffled silence invaded his head, his vision blurred. He sensed the dogs' presence getting closer. There was no noise, the sound of paws on tarmac disappeared as if the dog was suddenly floating. Turning his head, he saw a vision of hell as a flash of sharp white came out of the darkness in line with his throat. The dog had found its target.

He panicked and kicked out at the last minute, his foot colliding with the meaty part of its chest just below its vicious head. He heard the air go out of its lungs through its mouth, so close he could smell the fetid stench of its sour breath. It deflated onto the ground below him, an angry growl gurgling in its throat.

The dog was scrabbling on the wet surface trying to regain its footing, giving him precious seconds. Pulling the knife from his belt, he thrust it downwards, putting all his force into the movement. There was a small sucking sound as the sharp blade entered its skull through the eye socket. The blade lodged itself in the bone and stuck fast, the dog shook violently but then became still, light disappearing from its good eye. He did not even hear a whimper as the brave life started fading. Pulling the knife from its destruction, he felt only sadness.

The sight of this life ending was the same as he had seen less than ten minutes ago, that life too had ended on the end of the same knife.

A life traded over a difference of colours, a rival patch of allegiance. A fight over a woman possessed by another but lusted after by him. He had lusted and she had lured by using that lust. She took him from the bar with promises of heaven and he had seen glimpses of it as well, with gentle hands and welcoming wetness. He had been well on the way before the man had shown up. He could not remember the anger although he knew there had been some.

She had tried to calm things between them, she had done her best, but she was the alchemist that had put them together, his foe and him. Her boyfriend's death was the outcome of her unfaithful desire. He would have left it, normally, but for the different 'Patch' on each of their backs. It was not as if he had not been in that position before.

A gang's strength came in its ability to subdue the rest of the pretenders. When he saw the man's allegiance displayed openly on his back, he could not let it lie, not now that this man had found him using his treasure so openly. He could not show any weakness.

He was surprised how easy it had been. He had moved fast, taking the man by surprise. This patched foe had just stood there and taken it, no great struggle, no fanfare, no begging for mercy. Once the knife had entered his sternum, punctured his lungs and pierced his heart the man had fallen to his knees, a look of surprised indignation on his face. The dying patch, his life cheating him so cruelly, and then his death had found him because of nothing but a difference of affiliation. He had tried to say something with his last breath, his words struggling with the lack of air, but then his lights had gone out in front of him, taking something from his soul he could not explain. It was the eyes he remembered most, they had been vacant and lost, a bit like his own. Had he seen an acceptance in them before he had passed? It certainly looked like he had found a certain sort of peace.

He looked down in the dim light at the dog quietly panting, the dog knew it was dying, he knew the patch was already dead... his knew his own run was over.

He thought of the woman. The hands that had been so gentle shortly before had turned on him, words of hatred spewing from within in an angry torrent. He remembered her naked breasts flapping about as she had clawed and kicked at his bare skin, tears and snot staining her once pretty face.

He touched at the drying scratches on his cheek.

She had been so sultry, sensuous even, he was a fool to himself, and he had wanted it all. It was something he could not control.

Looking around at the darkened alleyway, the brave animal bleeding out below his feet, he knew it was his weakness to blame. The darkness that surrounded him echoed his life.

The sound of heavy boots bouncing off the walls of the alleyway suddenly presented another danger; this one was more urgent. The Policeman in those boots had been quick off the mark; he had hardly left the woman's house when he heard him release the dog. He must have been in the neighbourhood when she had called for help. Now his dog was dead and the Policeman would be here to witness it very soon. He looked around at the fence behind him, home was so close but his body was too tired to run anymore.

He looked at the bloodied knife in his hand, then back towards the approaching Policeman, a shadow growing larger. He thought about his infant son, safe at home in the innocent arms of his mother, no knowledge of the world he inhabited. He thought of the star he had placed above his cot, telling him quietly that it was there to guide and to protect him.

Do not live my life, he thought sadly, you are daddy's little Star.

He held the bloodied knife to his chest, sat back against the wire of the fence behind him, and waited.

### Chapter One

"It's nice up here don't you think...?" He left the question hanging, unsure of what his friends answer would be. It was just on dark; he was sitting idle on the wooden seat of the swing, slowly moving back and forth, letting his body weight do the work. Unity Park in Mornington sat high above Dunedin and had a panoramic view of the city and harbour; it was empty except for the two of them. The view from his vantage point down and across the harbour kept changing as he swung up and down.

"It's nice up here don't you think..., what are you a faggot?" his friend replied mockingly. "Don't be letting him hear you say things like that, you'll get the bash for sure."

The use of the word faggot made him squirm he hated that word. Not able to look at his friend, he stared at the darkening harbour, it almost seemed like he could touch it from where they were, sitting so high up on the hill. He could see it flowing out towards Macandrew Bay in the distance where it would turn and flow seamlessly through twenty kilometres of Otago Peninsular countryside, past Portobello, before colliding with the open sea at Aramoana. Ships had come and gone through this channel for over one hundred and fifty years, bringing settlers and supplies for an emerging city. He could imagine the hopes and dreams of the early settlers, starting out pure but diluting down over the years by disease, poverty and hardship. Men would find new ways to survive, the sickness creeping in, falling back into old habits. Predators taking what they wanted again, infecting each new generation.

He knew his situation was not new, it was as old as the ages, but it did not make his life any easier to live.

During the day the harbour took on many different forms and colours, a dirty windswept grey, a choppy green, or perfectly still graphite. In the evening it darkened to a black empty mass, interspersed with the occasional navigation light, guiding you into the darkness. Tonight it would be no different.

He could just about make out the silhouette of a ship in the fading light, tied up against the fertiliser works in the distance, the lights on board the ship blending with those on the wharf giving it an almost magical feel. It was the same feeling he got when he went to the travelling carnivals he had visited as a child, a place of strange loud music and fun. His mind pictured the people who would be on board the ship, exotic people, people with stories, and people with freedom. He envied those people, able to go and do as they pleased.

"It's just different from the hood, that's all I meant. These places around here are made of money, not like the shitholes we live in."

"Look at you, getting all uppity. Thinking you are better than the rest of us. Fuck you Martin; your stepfather is as drunk as the rest of them."

Martin looked at his friend; they had been neighbours for as long as he could remember. Tama's father was in jail. He had been in jail for so long that neither he nor Tama could remember what he looked like. He had never met his own father. He was only here tonight because of the phone call, he needed money to get the new life he craved and the man on the phone had told him that an opportunity would arise and to grab hold of it with both hands and see where it took him. That was why he was here with his friend this evening. There was no other reason.

He had not particularly wanted to be friends in the beginning but that had not stopped Tama Wilson. He had sort of turned up one day and never left. He had gotten used to having him around now. Tama was the only person who called him Martin, everybody else called him Star.

"When do you think he will be here?" He asked.

"He said when it got dark" Tama replied. "But you know what he's like; he'll just turn up when he's ready."

Tama passed Martin the can of strong cider and he took a mouthful of the warm slightly bitter liquid. They had already finished five cans each and were sharing the last one they had. The others were empty and discarded around their feet. Tama stood up and lit a cigarette, drawing in a lungful of smoke he shuffled from side to side as he held it in his lungs.

Looking at his friend standing there in his ripped t-shirt, he almost looked happy, or it may have just been the cider. "As long as we get enough money tonight to buy better shit than this." He tossed the half-empty can as far down the steep bank as he could.

"Fucks sake Martin, I was drinking that." Tama said, looking for a way down through the undergrowth, smoke escaping from his lungs.

The monotonous thumping sound of a bass drum invaded the quiet, turning both their heads. They could hear it getting louder and closer, the sound of a badly tuned engine screaming against its gearing underpinning the music. Looking over towards the road, a silver coloured BMW swung into the access road to the park. The car accelerated and sped towards them on the badly potholed surface. The suspension was so low that the chassis scrapped on the ground creating sparks in the twilight as it bounced out of each small hole. The car slid to a stop about three feet in front of them and sat idling with its headlights obscuring any view of the driver. Smoke billowed from a crack in the driver's side window; the acrid sweet smell of cannabis permeated the air.

"Get in". It was more of an order than a request, the voice betraying a quiet menace.

He did not trust Joseph at all; he used people for what they could give him. However, he was a big name in his world and whatever Joseph Kingi told you to do, you did without question. Looking at the car, Joseph was not visible through the dark tints but his menace was everywhere. Taking a deep breath Martin opened the rear door and slumped into the torn leather seat. The smell of cannabis was overwhelming; smoke stung his eyes making him blink. Tama had taken the front passenger seat, eager to please.

"Still drinking that cheap shit I see boys", Joseph said, indicating the mess of cans around the swings. "Do your jobs right tonight and you could afford the good stuff..., now don't tell me I don't look after my boys". Joseph smiled a wicked smile through the smoke and shook his dreadlocked hair as he laughed at something only known to him.

"What's the job then J man?" Tama asked.

"Where gonna do that corner shop up the north end, there's only that little chink girl behind the counter so it should be a doddle. Plus it's chock full of K2". Joseph was grinning as he spoke. "It's a fucking crime the amount of money they make off of that synthetic cannabis, its only right that we help ourselves to some of that".

"Nice one J man, we're up for that, aren't we Star". Tama sat nodding his head in the front seat, excited at the prospect of easy money.

Martin worried about Tama, he was always too eager to please, to easily led, it was going to be his downfall one day. He saw Joseph observing him coolly through the rear view mirror, his eyes not giving anything away.

"Is that right Star, are you up for it?"

"Yeah J man..., yeah I'm up for it, let's do it", He replied, not at all certain he meant it.

"To fucking right, I'm putting my faith in you two meatheads, I don't expect any shit from you now". His look was as cold as ice as he said it and Martin shivered involuntarily.

Joseph was six years older than he was, so they had rarely had anything to do with each other growing up, even though they had lived in the same small neighbourhood all their lives. Joseph had always been a player, even from a young age. His father who was a big shot in 'The Gang' had handed him his status in the neighbourhood. Nobody messed with the gang, so nobody messed with Joseph. Joseph had grown up believing he was untouchable. No one even blinked when Joseph stepped into his father's shoes after jail finally caught up with him.

Joseph senior or 'Big J' was widely known to be still pulling the strings from the inside and his influence was far reaching, but it was still Joseph junior who was on the outside. Joseph senior had the respect, but Joseph junior only commanded fear. His influence was that of intimidation and fear, something he seemed to revel in. He wondered what he would be like if Big J was still around to keep him in line.

Not much he could do about that now, he needed some money and Joseph was offering, although he had the impression he could not say no.

"How is it going to play out?" He queried from the back.

"Same as it always does, we go in, make the little bitch cry for her mummy, get the gear and get out". Joseph took another long pull on his cannabis cigarette, "But first we need to get us some wheels", he said, while holding the smoke in his lungs.

He saw Tama's eyes light up, if there was one thing Tama loved to do it was steal cars.

They had been driving around for a few hours now and he was beginning to get bored. Martin had been listening to the conversation in the front seat that seemed to consist of Joseph belittling Tama at every opportunity, although Tama had failed to notice or was just ignoring it. Joseph had passed around a Cannabis joint a few times and he had begun to feel the mellow lethargic feeling he always got when smoking weed. He had refused the lines of Speed offered, but Tama had inhaled them as if his life depended on it. As a result, Tama was practically bouncing off the roof of the car. The music had been pounding the whole time.

"What about that one J man? It's an easy score". Tama was pointing at a ten-year-old Subaru parked in the darkness of the street.

"What is it with you and Subaru's T? That's all I've ever seen you steal". Joseph's mood had improved as the night wore on.

"Stick with what you know J man, that's my motto".

"I don't see you bumming little boys T, so you can't live by that motto".

Martin burned inwardly at the comment, he wanted to reach over the seat and stick a knife in the back of Joseph's neck, twist it sharply and snap his spine. Thoughts like this were nothing new to him; he took a breath and stared out into the passing darkness letting the feeling wash through him.

Tama just shrugged his shoulders and carried on as if he had not heard a word. "Come on J man, there is no one about, let's just get it done".

Joseph pulled his car over in the shadows further up the street, "Ok big man, go and get it, but take Star with you. We will meet back at the park in ten minutes".

Martin climbed out of the stuffy smoked filled car, happy to be in the fresh air again. Tama followed him unsteadily. Joseph looked Martin in the eye and held his gaze for a short time. Martin stared back but said nothing. Joseph broke off the eye contact and drove away, the sound of the music died down to nothing as the car accelerated up the street. They both turned and walked back towards the Subaru parked conveniently in the shadows.

"What's up with you Martin, you've hardly said anything all night" Tama punched him good-naturedly on the arm.

"I don't like him Tama, you know that. He treats people like shit".

"Yeah well what are you going to do about it Martin, you're just as scared of him as everyone else, besides he's a means to an end, we need money, he's got a plan".

"A long as that plan doesn't turn to shit, you know he'll leave us in it don't you."

"We'll just have to make sure it doesn't then", Tama had reached the car. Looking around to check they were alone he reached down and expertly sprung the lock on the car door using the slightly modified slide hammer he always had with him. It was something Martin knew he would not be without it when he would be 'Shopping' for cars. Opening the door, Tama lay down into the foot well, popping the cover off below the dashboard. He had the car started a few seconds later. Martin had only just managed to get to the passenger side and climb in before Tama had accelerated away from the curb.

Stoned or not Tama was good at what he did.

One thing Tama did not do well though, was drive sensibly, he had to remind him a few times that they were in a stolen car and he did not need to draw attention to that fact.

"Take it easy tonight Tama, don't try and show off, it's not worth it. Joseph won't thank you".

"Fuck you Martin, I can handle myself".

Martin knew it was the Cannabis speedball mix talking, giving Tama a false sense of bravado. He liked Tama but he knew he was not very bright, and he tended to do silly things when he was out of it.

He did not say anything for the rest of the journey back to Unity Park at the top of Eglington Road. An uneasy feeling about tonight had settled in his stomach, but did not want to share it with Tama. He knew his friend would pass it on to Joseph and he could not be bothered with the drama.

Tama steered the stolen car into the park access road and towards the lookout. He could see Joseph had parked his own vehicle in the shadows near the trees, out of the streetlights. Tama parked next to Joseph's now silent car.

"You two bitches took your time," Joseph said as he climbed into the rear seat. "I was beginning to think you had shit your pants and gone home".

Martin could not help but notice the shotgun Joseph threw on the seat beside him. It was an evil looking thing with a shortened barrel, two black holes for eyes sitting side by side, eyes that would kill you as soon as blink.

Joseph was absently stroking the polished but mottled wooden stock, fingers flicking in and out of the trigger guard. He was looking directly at Martin, his eyes hidden in the darkness of the car, making it hard for him to work out his expression.

"You ready to do some work", he said.

"Let's do it", Tama chimed in from the driver's seat. He planted his foot on the accelerator and then dropped the clutch sending the car into a sideways spin, tyres squealing on the rough surface, an acrid smell of burnt rubber entering the car's interior. Joseph sat silently in the rear as Tama sped out onto the road and started downhill past the darkness of the cemetery.

They were sitting in the stolen car a little way down the road from the store, the street lights were intermittent if working at all, giving them some cover in the darkness. Joseph had lit up another Joint and was passing it around. The lights were on in the store and the signs were still out. Martin could tell Joseph and Tama were amped up about the prospect of the impending violence, they were fidgety and on edge.

The waiting was making him sick, he hated the thought of the chaos and horror they were about to bring to the unsuspecting girl inside. The sight of Joseph wielding a sawn off shotgun in your face was bound to be terrifying for anyone. He just hoped that they would be able to keep a level head and get the job done. The sooner this was over the better.

"Are you ready to fuck some shit up", Joseph said, throwing each of them a black synthetic ski mask.

"Fuck yeah, let's do this" Tama enthused.

Joseph flicked the remains of the joint out of the car window, the embers flaring then dying out on the road. Picking up the shotgun with one hand, he pulled his mask over his face with the other and got out of the car. Tama followed like a puppy dog, eager to please his master. Martin fell into step behind them as they approached the welcoming lights of the store.

They went through the door one by one and then things got noisy.

"Get your fucking hands in the air you slope bitch," Joseph yelled. "Fucking do it, or I'll send you back to your maker". He was waving the shotgun in her face menacingly. The girl was staring back at them, straight into the barrel, not moving. Joseph turned the stock of the gun towards her and slammed it into her face. "I said get your lazy gook arms in the air bitch". The force of the blow knocked her against the wall behind her and she stayed leaning against it, blood slowly leaking from one nostril.

Martin could tell it was pure terror making it impossible for her to move or say anything. He tried to make her put her arms up by motioning to her but she was beyond help. The colour had gone from her face and there were tears streaking down her pinking cheeks. Her mouth was open but there was no sound. He looked over at Tama who was filling his bag with synthetic cannabis and chocolate bars from behind the counter. He could see a glaze had descended over Tama's eyes, which reflected the fluorescent lights above them. Tama was moving on autopilot, the moment had taken him, an excitement found only in extreme behaviour. He looked back at Joseph who seemed to be having a moment of indecision; he knew Joseph was not used to having his orders go unheeded. He found himself looking at his watch; they had been in the shop for less than two minutes. They needed to get out very soon.

Then Joseph changed tact.

"You are actually quite sexy aren't you", he said, leering at his helpless victim. "I've never had an Asian girl before...; I've heard you are all quite tight". He stroked the barrel of the gun against her cheek smearing the blood from her nose, and then ran it down over her small breasts until he reached her crotch, then he rammed it between her legs making her cry out.

"I think I might have bit of fun before we go", he said viciously. "Tama hold this will you". Joseph pulled the shotgun from between her legs and handed it to Tama. "If you're good I'll let you have a go next". A horrible laugh erupted from his mouth. The girl's eyes did not comprehend her situation.

Martin could not believe what he was hearing. This was not what he had in mind. She did not deserve this. She was only doing her job; it was one thing to rob a shitty corner store, but to rape a girl, that was something that made him sick to the core. Joseph had unbuckled his jeans and was pulling them down; he could see his ugly manhood swinging between his legs as he manoeuvred himself closer to her. The girl cowered away from him, trying to melt back into the wall behind her. She still had not uttered a word, pure terror showing in her eyes.

"Get your hands on some of this, you little slut, it will be the biggest you've ever had", Joseph said, as he grabbed his flaccid penis and thrust it towards her.

Martin knew he should do something but his mind deviated between stopping Joseph and risking his anger or running as far away from here as he could. He looked over at Tama holding the shotgun, looking for some sort of direction, but the look on Tama's face told him that he would not do anything; he was totally lost in Joseph's sick power play. He looked back at Joseph in time to see the flash of a wooden bat glance off the back of his head. Joseph lurched forward, pinning the girl against the wall.

"You get out, you get out, I call the police!" The short Asian man yelled in broken English. He raised his bat again and made to strike at Joseph. Martin looked at the open door behind the counter; it must lead to the house in the rear. He must have been in there listening to what was going on.

The man was dressed in flannel pyjamas and looked comical waving his bat in the air. Joseph had regained some composure and had turned around to face the man. The girl, thankfully, had taken her opportunity to escape and had disappeared back through the open door.

"Fuck you", Joseph snarled, as he lunged towards the little man forgetting he still had his trousers around his knees. His legs tangled in the trousers and he fell forward, his head connecting squarely with the side of the bat as it swung violently towards him.

The sickening crunch of bone on wood was overshadowed the immense cracking sound of pellets flying at high velocity from a small plastic shell cartridge containing gunpowder.

"Fucking get some you little bastard", Tama yelled, totally caught up in the moment. Smoke was curling lazily out of one of the barrels as he held the gun at waist level. The little Asian man dropped to his knees, a look of surprised shock on his face. His mouth fell open and he toppled face first onto the ground. Martin could see a ragged hole in the small of his back, frothy bubbles of air mixing with the spreading blood as the little man fought for breath.

He could hear sirens in the distance over the ringing in his ears. Martin watched helplessly as Tama took a step forward and raised the gun, pointing it towards the stricken man.

"I'll finish you right now you piece of shit". His voice had lost a bit of its venom; a trace of uncertainty had seeped in on seeing what he had done.

"Finish the little fucker", Joseph said groggily from the floor. He was on all fours, blood dripping off the back of his skull; his dreadlocks had matted themselves together with the thick red substance.

"Don't do it Tama, let's just get out of here. I can hear the cops coming". Martin knew Tama was beyond reason though. He watched as Tama raised his vacant eyes towards him, then move them slowly over to Joseph, and finally back at the wretched man on the floor. The next thing he heard was the sickening click of the firing pin releasing on an empty chamber.

"Shit..., you're fucking lucky its empty dick head," Tama said, as he looked at the now useless firearm in his hands.

Joseph had managed to get back to his feet, he spat a globule of saliva mixed with his own blood onto the man on the floor, then turned and made for the door without saying anything.

Tama turned and followed him, holding the firearm over his shoulder like a miner with a pickaxe.

Suddenly he found himself abandoned in the store. Although he hated what had just happened he now felt very vulnerable without Tama and Joseph. Surveying the scene, he saw the girl had returned to the shop and knelt before the man. The man was looking up at him, his eyes boring into his head pleading for help. He could not move. His feet felt like lead moulded to the floor. What in the hell had just happened? Why did this man have to get involved? Why did the girl not just do as Joseph had told her? The effects of the alcohol and cannabis had completely worn off.

"This is your fault, why didn't you just leave it, we would have been in and out..., fuck you, you've screwed this whole thing up", he said aloud. Tears were prickling at his eyes. The man on the ground did not respond, his breathing was becoming shallow and he lowered his head to the ground. The girl was just staring at him, accusations in her eyes. Turning to leave, the sound of sirens was getting louder in his ears.

Martin saw the cash drawer was open on the counter, it was full of money, money he needed. Money he deserved for what had just happened. He was not going to leave empty-handed. Grabbing everything he could and stuffing it inside his jeans pocket, he left the shop and stepped back out into the calm darkness of the night.

This was not what he had expected to happen, it was supposed to be easy, it was slipping from his hands...

### Chapter Two

The sound of the siren outside the patrol car was competing with the metallic noise of the working parts on the police issue Glock 17 pistol being racked back and forth, as Gillian negotiated the car through another red light.

"Will you leave that thing alone Steve, it's loaded, you will shoot yourself in the foot", she said.

"Shots fired Gillian, you heard the call, I'm just being cautious", Steve replied

"You're supposed to be keeping an eye out for that blue Subaru Steve; I've got enough on my plate while I concentrate on getting us there safely".

"Point taken Gill", Steve said, as he started scanning the vehicles flashing by in the darkness.

There had been multiple calls about an armed robbery at a corner store in the north of the city; the first was from the shop owner informing them of three men holding his daughter at gunpoint, followed by numerous calls from neighbours calling about hearing gunshots. One of them had mentioned seeing a blue Subaru driving away from the scene at speed. All available units were responding.

It had taken Gillian Holler and Steve Kirkland a few minutes to retrieve their firearms from the locked box in the boot of the patrol car and a minute more to put on the ballistic body armour but they were still going to be first on the scene.

"It's just up here", Steve said, pointing to the well lit building sitting in the darkness that surrounded it. "We'll just go straight in Gill, stay right behind me and clear the area to the left, I will scan ahead and to the right, you got that".

Gillian nodded in the darkness of the car's interior; she was running through what Steve had said in her head. Steve was the junior partner, but he had been a member of the Armed Offender Squad for a good few years and had done all the training so she was happy to defer to his judgement on this occasion. She hated firearms but she was not afraid to use one if necessary.

"Gill did you hear me?"

"Yeah, sorry Steve, I thought I had replied". She made a quick scan of the surrounding houses as they neared the scene; she tried to make a mental note of the pinpricks of light in the darkness indicating which of them had woken up to the sound of gunfire, as they would make up the first round of enquiries, but the whole thing was moving too fast.

"Right then, let's do this". Steve said with conviction.

The adrenalin in her system increased tenfold as she pulled the car to a stop a short distance up the road. Steve was immediately out of the car and moving towards the store but using the side of the building for cover. Gillian fell into step behind him; her heart was beating against her tight fitting ballistic vest. Steve had holstered his Glock and was holding his Bushmaster semi automatic rifle in the ready position. He had moved up to the door and stood just to the side, he looked at Gillian and held three fingers in the air. Then, just like in the movies, he started a silent count before turning and going through the door.

"Armed Police! Armed Police! Don't move!" he yelled, as he scanned back and forth, his finger sitting just outside the trigger guard, ready for any hostile confrontation.

Gillian followed Steve inside, she stayed right on his shoulder and scanned left as she had been told, it was clear. Bringing her head around in line with her weapon, the scene she saw before her was awful. The offenders had clearly retreated leaving behind the bloodied casualties as proof of their venture. A young Asian girl was on her knees in a pool of blood that clearly belonged to the older male lying face down on the floor. She was looking at them with uncomprehending eyes, questions of inhumanity left unsaid.

"Make sure an ambulance has been called, Steve", Gillian said, regaining control and holstering her pistol. She worked better when she was on autopilot and when she was in charge of the situation. Although she had been in the job for almost twenty years, she had never sought promotion. She preferred to work alongside her colleagues on an equal basis, but that did not stop her taking charge when the situation needed it.

Crouching down beside the girl, she felt for a pulse on the male. It was very weak, but it was still there. "Is this your father?" she said to the girl. The girl just nodded. "Are you hurt?" The girl shook her head. Gillian looked around for something to help stem the flow of blood. She saw a black ski mask lying close by, it was synthetic and not woollen. Not even bothered about its evidential value she grabbed it and held it over the wound on the old man's back applying as much pressure as she could, the blood seeped from under it but seemed to stem the worst of the flow. "Steve come and hold onto this until the ambulance arrives will you".

Steve slung his rifle onto his back and crouched down, the ballistic vest making it difficult to stay upright in the squatting position. He put his hands onto the makeshift dressing and pressed. "I'll be good here Gill, you can take the girl somewhere more suitable".

They could hear the sound of more sirens approaching on the night air. It was hard to distinguish the difference between the sirens but Gillian hoped that one of them was the ambulance. Looking at the state of the male, and the amount of blood pooling around his prone body, he would not have long.

Gillian stood up and put a hand on the girls shoulder, "Stand up and come over here with me, I need to ask you some questions".

She had dealt with many victims in the past and knew that niceties were no good when someone had suffered a trauma. They needed a firm hand and clear direction; otherwise, you could end up going around in circles as they broke down into various states of dark emotions.

The girl did what Gillian asked and they both moved over to the shop counter near the door. The girl looked at the open and empty cash drawer, then back at Gillian. Her eyes were deep pools of emotion. Gillian thought she could detect a lot of anger behind the tears as if she was fighting to suppress it. "What's happened?" Gillian said. The first question was designed to get straight to the facts, there was no point wasting time on assumptions when the actual incident was completely different from what you were lead to believe from panicked phone calls.

The girl looked Gillian in the eyes she had made a decision. She was not going to be a victim.

"They robbed us, the pathetic cowards". There was no trace of an accent in her speech. "There were three of them, the big one had a gun, and he was the one doing the talking". The girl looked down at the man on the floor as she spoke. "They had masks on, it was just like you would expect. Then the big one, he..." she paused and closed her eyes, a slight catch of breath coming from her throat, "He got his penis out, he was going to rape me, just because I wouldn't put my hands it the air..." she took another deep breath "I could smell his breath, it was vile". The determination had returned to her voice, she opened her eyes and looked at Gillian. "Dad must have heard what was going on; he came out with his bat and hit the big one on the head. He sort of... fell into me, his face was so close, I wanted to bite it, but he still had the mask on. That's when the other one shot my dad in the back". The girl started crying, "He was going to shoot him again but the gun didn't go off".

"You're doing well", Gillian encouraged, "Is that when they left?"

"Two of them ran out, the big one and the one with the gun, the other one just stood there, he looked like he was crying, he tried to tell me it was my fault". She stifled a sob. "I was looking after dad, then after a while he turned his back and took his mask off. He went to leave the shop and I couldn't see what he did after that, you two were here only a couple of minutes to late".

"Steve driving to slow was he?" The voice behind them made Gillian turn around. "All those muscles and he still has no strength in the foot used on the accelerator". Sergeant Gary Stone stood there grinning, dressed in his customary black jumpsuit and bristling with weapons. "You won't have any need for us here I take it", he added.

Gillian looked behind him and saw three other black clad members of the Armed Offender Squad standing around Steve and offering him encouragement.

"I'll let you know if we come up with any leads once I finish talking to that poor man's daughter here", she said, not bothering to hide the inflection in her voice. Gary Stone could be insensitive sometimes.

"Right you are Gill", he said, "Let's get out there and do a quick area search boys, you never know they may be hiding in the bushes". Gary gave Gillian a smile before leaving the store followed by his merry men.

The ambulance had arrived while Gillian was distracted and were now tending to the male on the floor. They looked so calm and professional as they did their thing. They did not seem to be too worried about his condition, but then it was their job to portray calm in a chaos. Steve, released of his wound duties by the medics, had stood up and was now standing next to Gillian.

"I'll give the duty Detective a call", he said, "I think it's time the big boys came out to play".

It was twenty minutes before Grant Wylie made it to the scene; the phone call had woken him from sleep and dragged him from his warm bed next to his equally warm wife. He had been a Detective for the past eight years and the excitement of being 'On call' had completely worn off, big jobs or not. He had hoped it would be just a matter of dishing out some advice to the attending officers tonight. He could then leave them to secure the scene until morning when he would be back at work. All thoughts of returning to his bed and his unusually accommodating wife went from his head as soon as he entered the shop.

"Shit Gill, what's happened here...?" Grant took in the scene before him, the medics had removed the patient to hospital but his life's legacy was pooling on the floor in a sticky mess, made worse by the attending ambulance officers who had smeared the blood with their boots all around the immediate area.

So much for a sterile scene, he thought.

"Its touch and go with the male who was shot Grant, he's been taken to Dunedin Hospital". Gillian followed Grant's gaze towards the mess. "That's all his blood, so you sort of get the picture".

"It looks like I will have to wake some more people up Gill; we could be looking at a murder enquiry if he pops his clogs". Grant's mind was clicking into gear sluggishly; the adrenalin had started to kick in, banishing the remnants of sleep. "What's been done so far?"

Gillian gave Grant a quick outline of what she knew. "The girl's gone to hospital with her father, Steve has gone with them just in case the man regains consciousness and says something. I've already got a quick statement from the girl, she can't add a lot in relation to descriptions they were wearing masks."

"That's a start anyway Gill; it's always a pleasure to attend a scene where the attending officers have some sort of clue how to do their job". He smiled at Gillian who took the compliment in her usual self-depreciating manner. There was a lot to think about after the initial excitement had worn off. It was one thing to save a life but when it came to punishing those responsible everything had to be meticulously gone over, every angle had to be covered. Any small crack in the investigation could turn into a landslide inside a courtroom, undermined by a clever defence lawyer blinded from his client's guilt by the promise of a big pay cheque or a moment of infamy. Grant had learnt the hard way to do things properly right from the start.

"I thought you were acting Senior Sergeant Gill? That's mostly an office job, how is it that you were here first?"

"The section is short staffed Grant, plus I don't really do offices anyway so I teamed up with Steve..., besides someone has to keep him in check".

"I hear you...." Grant said, retrieving his cell phone from his pocket.

The phone was ringing in his ear, Mike Bridger was not due back to work until tomorrow after being on leave but Grant knew the recently promoted Detective Sergeant would not shy away from this; he would want to be involved right from the start. He just hoped he would find him sober enough to attend the scene.

"Mike Bridger". The voice sounded sober, a good start.

"Mike, its Grant, we have a situation at work I thought you would want to know about".

Grant gave Bridger the quick version while he listened to him getting dressed at the other end of the phone. He could hear the sound of laboured breathing and the occasional expletive as the phone dropped onto the floor on more than one occasion requiring Grant to repeat what he was saying.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Bridger said "Call the team and have them meet us at the scene". He cut the connection.

Grant put away his phone and looked at Gillian. "Mike's on his way, he wants a full turnout on this, it could be a long night".

"It's not like we haven't had one of those before", Gillian replied with a half smile. "How is Mike? I haven't seen him since the Marion Watson abduction".

"He's been on leave; I think it was more directed rather than by choice, something between Matthews and him. He was in a pretty dark place; I think things just got on top of him".

"Well, let's hope he has had a good break then and is ready to get stuck in. I have a feeling this one is going to test us."

He sat in the darkness of the car looking over at the store; the area was busy and alive, with Police Emergency tape strung up like confetti and flashing lights blinking blue and red. He could see a number of uniformed officers standing around looking busy but not really doing anything. 'Dimmer' was playing quietly on the car stereo, 'Dark Night of Yourself'. Bridger loved his music, it evoked all sorts of emotions in him, it cheered him up when he needed it, and it brought him back to reality when he started to get a bit 'mixed up' with stress. Something he had been experiencing a lot of in the last few weeks. He thought of a quote he had read recently 'Without music, life would be a mistake'. It was something that rang true in his mind.

Recently a psychotic man had abducted a girl in her twenties. He had used her in a macabre piece of drama to exact out revenge on his parents for past abuse. Bridger had been instrumental in recovering her just in time, but that investigation had taken its toll in him. He knew he had been using alcohol as a crutch during that time to get through his day-to-day existence, but it had taken a downward spiral. He knew that now, but he had hit rock bottom before he had realised the extent. He had been on leave ever since.

A police dog handler came jogging down the road from out of the darkness, red with exertion. His large hairy dog was still pulling excitedly on the lead, happy to be involved. The busy scene had a lot going on, red and blue lights were still flashing on a few of the patrol cars, there was a gaggle of people standing further down the road being shepherded by an harassed looking junior officer. Flashes of brighter light were visible inside the doorway like a disco-tech, no doubt the Police Photographer doing his thing, recording everything in minute high definition detail, the frailty of humanity seen through the eyes of a lens. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Time to get back on the horse, he thought.

He opened the car door, then stepped out into the cool night air and walked purposefully towards the controlled chaos. Entering the store, he found Grant and Gillian off to one side; they were talking in hushed tones as the photographer snapped away at a large pool of blood on the floor. Grant must have said something funny as Gillian suddenly let out a short but loud belly laugh. They both looked happy in the circumstances, not really a care in the world. Life goes on in the busy world of policing, a new day, a new crime, a new way for humanity to surprise him.

He had been off work now for a number of weeks, more than he cared to remember, each long day bringing a new battle with his emotions, with his loneliness, and with his addictions. He was glad he was back at work, something else to worry him and take his mind of his life. He was ready.

"Hi Mike," Grant said, looking up. "Good to have you back."

"I see you lot have let things slide a bit", he said, looking at the pool of blood on the floor, "This wouldn't have happened on my watch", he added, trying for a bit of levity.

Bridger felt the familiar adrenalin surge as it started to make its way through his bloodstream, banishing any lethargic feelings he may have harboured prior to receiving the call from Grant. He may have lost his way a bit in the last few months, but this was what he did best. He loved the challenge of making sense out of chaos, finding the cancer in the midst of society. No matter what happened in his life, he always had this to escape to. It was an oddly comforting thought though, seeing as it took someone else's misery to enable him to feel this way.

"What's been done so far Grant? Gill?" he looked at both of them in turn.

Grant let Gillian give Bridger a briefing on what had occurred prior to his arrival then added his own little bit. "Just really the basics Mike, it's pretty fluid at the moment. The dog tracked a short distance down the road but lost the scent. It is most likely that they got into a car at that point. Witnesses have said they saw a blue Subaru leaving at speed." Grant shrugged his shoulders. "We were just about to have a quick look at the CCTV", he added, indicating the camera above their heads.

"Right then, let's do that", Bridger said. It was a good a start as any.

The black and white images were flickering in front of their eyes, the time lapse making it hard to see clearly. The scene started with a girl on her own, standing behind the counter. Flicker, there were now three people wearing black masks in the store with her, one of them was slightly out of shot; one had a shotgun in his hands. Flicker, the girl had backed up against the wall, the larger person was running the barrel of the shotgun down her front. One person was filling a bag with items from the shelf. Flicker, a fourth person had entered the scene with a baseball bat he appeared to be an older male, the person with the bag now had the shotgun. Flicker, the larger person was on the floor, the person with the gun shot the man with the bat in the back. Flicker, the man with the bat was lying face down on the floor; the girl was crouching next to him. There was only one other person in the shot but slightly out of view. Flicker, that person was gone. The only two left were the victims. Two and a half minutes of action reduced to 45 seconds of footage, not ideal.

"The footage only shows the view point of that camera", Grant said, pointing to the camera above them. "I'm guessing when it flickers; it should show footage from that camera above the counter. It's obviously not working so we lose some of the action".

"Well it's still good evidence, bag it and we will get the Techs to take a look, see if they can get anything more", Bridger said.

"That's pretty cold and calculating don't you think", Gillian said, "He didn't even blink, not even a warning before shooting that man in the back. He was just protecting his daughter and his livelihood".

Bridger looked at Gillian, "In some ways the actions of the victim actually motivated the outcome", he said, "The man used force which left the aggressor no choice but to retaliate with force".

Gillian and Grant both looked at Bridger disbelievingly.

"Everyone is motivated by different things", he continued, "It's not as simple as good versus evil, there are any number of reasons for someone to be on either side of that coin. I think it was Friedrich Nietzsche who said; 'The good man is not the opposite of the evil man, rather he is just a different expression of the same basic impulses that find more direct expression in the evil man'".

"You don't really believe that do you Mike?" Gillian said in disbelief, "I can see exactly where this poor man was coming from, and he is nothing like those animals on the other side of the gun".

"That means absolutely nothing to me", Grant said, looking at Bridger with a sober expression, "But it sounds pretty deep for you".

"I'm not sure I've actually figured out exactly what it means yet either, but I've had a lot of time to sit and read lately," Bridger said, shrugging his shoulders. He was wondering himself why he thought to use that little piece of information.

The radio on Gillian's belt crackled into life. 'Any unit available to attend Unity Park in Mornington, possible stolen Subaru abandoned in the car park'. The Police Dispatcher's voice was tinny through the small speaker.

Bridger's ears prickled, it was too much of a coincidence. "I'll take that." He motioned to Gillian to respond to the radio call. "Grant you stay here with Gill and finish the scene. Ring Becky back and get her down to the hospital to take over from Steve. I'll get the other's to meet me at the park". Grant was a good operator and had the scene under control and Detective Becky Wright was more than capable of handling the hospital side of things on her own. Bridger left the shop and jogged over to his car, cell phone to his ear. It could not be this easy.

Once he left the North East Valley the southbound one way system swept Bridger through the central city quickly. There was not a lot of traffic as the city and its roads settled down for the night. It was less than eight minutes later when he parked his car in the windswept car park of the Unity Park lookout. Brian Johnson and John Mouller had already arrived and were standing with a uniformed officer he did not know. The wind was buffeting them around.

Brian was a senior Detective and one of his most trusted colleagues. His calm, unflappable approach to the job had helped keep him in check on numerous occasions. John Mouller was a good officer when he wanted to be, which seemed to change from day to day. He always put that down to John's current relationship status, which also changed from day to day. As he got closer to the group, he got a surprise to see that Jo Williamson was also there.

"Hi Brian, John... Hi Jo?" Bridger said, looking back at Brian.

Brian just shrugged his shoulders, "No one said she should go back to uniform after the Watson case, so we just let her hang around", he said, smiling at Jo as he spoke.

Jo did not flinch "I've just been helping out until you got back Sergeant, I've cleared it with my new boss, and Brian said it was okay", she looked at Brian for confirmation. Brian nodded.

Jo Williamson had joined the team very soon after Bridger had been promoted, she had expressed an interest in Detective work and Bridger had needed an extra pair of hands when they were looking into the abduction of Marion Watson. She had proven herself a capable officer and showed promise. He had not seen her since then but Bridger was glad she had stuck around. She would help fix the gender balance on the team, with Becky Wright being the only other female.

"Maybe we should look into making it a more formal arrangement", Bridger said.

"I'd second that", John said, the darkness hiding the fact that he had his eyes planted squarely on Jo's backside.

The darkness was also hiding the red flush spreading up Jo's neck and into her cheeks as well as her radiant smile.

"You said 'New boss' Jo?" Bridger queried.

"Yeah, we'll it's just Gillian Holler, she's acting Senior Sergeant, only until they get a replacement, you know after..." Jo's voice trailed off. She did not need to spell it out. When one of their colleagues had jumped off Lawyers Head, ending his life on a rock jutting out of the cold Pacific Ocean, he not only left a hole in the investigation into his past but also a large hole in the staffing levels back at the Central Police Station.

Bridger did not reply, instead they all walked over towards the blue Subaru parked on the very edge of the car park partially hidden in the darkness. The doors were open to the world along with the boot and there were compact discs lying on the seats and foot-well. The glove box hung open but looked empty and there was a strong smell of cannabis in the cabin area. Bridger looked at the driver's side door lock, it had been punched open, he could see the tell tale signs of a hotwire start with part of the wiring loom hanging below the dashboard.

He had never figured out how it anyone actually did it, even with as many as he had come across in his career.

The rest of the car looked intact apart from that.

"I'd say they had another car parked here, probably their own, and just ditched this one here. It's as good a place as any to dump a car", Bridger said. He looked over at the houses on the other side of the park, across the road. Far enough away not to notice anything suspicious, the car park was used any time of the day and night because of its views over the city and out to the harbour. They would be well used to seeing cars come and go. He would get someone to speak with the occupants though, if only to tick that box. "Let's have a scout about and see if we can find anything", he suggested.

Jo had found a pile of empty cider cans near the swings and had already marked them as evidence. Bridger had seen John walk through the area a few minutes prior without giving them a second thought. He guessed everyone placed different importance on what was lying around. A DNA sample from the cans may throw up a good suspect; it would certainly prove that they had been in the area around the time the car was abandoned and left wide open for them to find. He knew that the council workers cleaned up in the area almost every day. It was one of the more scenic places in the city. The tourist buses stopped here on their way around Dunedin. The obedient tourists would snap pictures on the advice of the bus driver who did not want the view tarnished with piles of rubbish. Bridger looked out into the darkness, the City lights shined brightly in the darkness below them like stars; the view was impressive.

A memory flashed though his mind of his wife Laura sitting beside him in their car, looking at the same view. He remembered her telling him then that she thought it was beautiful, she had said she found it hard to distinguish between the view of the city and the stars in the night sky. They had been so happy back then; he was almost at a loss to remember why they separated.

Shaking himself out of the memory, he forced himself back to reality.

"Good work Jo", he said, "Get them bagged up and we will get them tested for fingerprints and DNA. John you can stay here and help arrange for the car to be towed back to the central Police station for forensic examination". John's face fell as he processed his new task. It would take a couple of hours to sort out, but it would be a reminder to him to be more observant next time. He turned to his attention to the next thing "Brian, Jo, we will have a briefing back at the Police Station, do either of you need a ride?"

Brian shook his head.

"I got a ride here with Brian, so I guess I'll go back with him", Jo said, while looking at Brian for confirmation. He nodded in her direction.

"Good I'll see you back at the office in about twenty minutes then". Bridger said, before turning walking back to his car.

Martin sat in the bushes, hidden in the darkness and the undergrowth. He could see the police officers looking all around the car, inside and out. What did they think they would find, it was a stolen car, the only thing in there belonged to the owner. He watched anyway.

It had taken him ten minutes to get back to the park; he had used some of the money from the store to get a taxi. The driver had not even questioned him; he had just kept his eyes on the road as the police had gone by in the opposite direction. Joseph and Tama had not waited for him. He had left the store and watched as the Subaru disappeared at speed down the road. He had a moment of panic at the thought of his friends leaving him to fend for himself, but then self-preservation had kicked in. Arrest was the last thing he wanted; he did not shoot that man, so he had run, as far and as fast as he could, ducking into bushes as the blue and red flashes of the police cars got nearer. There were so many sirens that he could not tell where they were coming from, echoing around him from all directions.

As the taxi had gotten nearer to Unity Park, he had seen Joseph's BMW driving in the opposite direction. The bastards had not even waited for him here either. He knew that Joseph did not like him. Although Joseph liked to keep company with younger guys, guys he could control and be idolised by, Martin had never been one of the chosen ones.

He patted the money in his pocket, it did not matter much anyway, he had the money, and now he had the rest of the night to himself.

Standing up in the darkness, he saw the female police officer pick up one of the empty cans they had been drinking earlier. Shit, they will have fingerprints all over them, he thought.

He had not been in trouble before so his fingerprints would not be on record, but Tama's prints would probably fill a whole filing cabinet. He had been caught more times than he could remember and always for some stupid thing or another. He smiled as he remembered the first time the Police had arrested Tama. He had come home and proudly shown off the black ink on his fingertips, it was like a badge of honour, which he had refused to wash off for days.

If he was honest with himself, he had felt a tinge of jealousy with all the attention Tama received from that. They were only seventeen at the time. Now his friend was becoming a bit of a liability and he was no longer jealous.

He wondered how Tama was feeling, having just shot a man. He had never seen Tama in a fight, he had heard him talk the talk before, but had never seen him put any of his rhetoric into action. Bloody Joseph Kingi had a lot to answer for, he was sick of the hold that Joseph had over everybody. A couple of knives would have been enough to do the job, now he may have just been involved in a murder. A cold chill ran up his spine.

There was more movement over by the car, it looked like the police were going to leave, at least some of them were returning to their own cars. The lady cop had the bag of cans with her. The cars drove away leaving two behind, one with a uniform and one without. The police officers that did not wear uniforms were the ones you had to look out for; the television had taught him that lesson early. They were Detectives; and they were the ones that solved the crime. The Detectives would be coming after them now; he would have to do some thinking about how they were going to get out of this.

Sliding further back onto the bush, he stood up again and walked away in the opposite direction.

When Bridger finally unlocked his front door, it had been four and a half hours since the phone call from Grant Wylie, over half a normal working day. They had done everything they could to progress the enquiry as much as they could. He just hoped it would not turn from an aggravated robbery into a murder, but if it did, he knew they had covered all the bases.

The last update from the hospital was that the victim was in surgery, he was critical but stable. They would know more in the morning.

The house was cold, even though it was the nearing middle of summer. It had a slightly musty smell to it, something he usually attributed to old men living alone in their blissful ignorance of cleaning.

He half expected to hear Laura's voice call out from the bedroom, the question was always- 'is that you Mike?' If it had been anyone else, there was nothing she could have done about it, she had already announced where she was. He had tried not answering her one night after a night out drinking, thinking it would be funny to scare her a little. She had appeared in the darkened hallway, a pale frightened face staring at him. In one hand, she held a metal torch, and in the other, she had her mobile phone. It was not so funny trying to explain what had happened to the Police Call-Taker she had phoned in her terror.

The memory made him smile, something he had been doing more and more recently when he thought of her.

It was true to say that 'absence made the heart grow fonder'. It was also true to say that it was an effective tool for hiding the sins of the past, you remember less and less of why she went away and more of why you got together in the first place. A denial of one's faults, he thought.

As it stood now she had not returned to their home since the night she walked out of his life. He had not laid eyes on her since the day he saw her in the café with that man, kissing him on the cheek, intimate and happy, so soon after their separation.

He had spoken to her on the phone, but her conversation was always clipped and to the point. 'When was he going to be out so she could collect more of her stuff?', or, 'She still needed time to collect her thoughts, clear her head'. Bridger hoped that there was no one else helping her to cleanse the last remnants of their relationship from her system.

He made his way through the empty house into the kitchen, turning lights on as he went. As always, his felt his eyes moving to the cupboard above the sink. He had not opened that cupboard door since shutting his demon inside. It was a reminder to him that he needed to be strong; he would not find any solace at the bottom of the bottle. Leave the door shut and the light would not reflect on the amber liquid enticing him to sink to new depths with the welcoming smile of a devil.

One thing he was grateful for was he had realised his predicament sooner rather than later and was now able to use the cold hard surface of rock bottom to give him some purchase, a foothold to lever himself out of a very dark hole.

He toyed with the idea of putting on some music, just to help him relax before getting some sleep. He had recently discovered 'The Veils' and he had put the Cd on the player in the kitchen earlier.

Finn Andrews the lead singer, although English born, had attended school in Auckland and so had a New Zealand connection. His distinctive voice on the song Lavinia had touched him when he first heard it prompting him to take a new journey down the road of his musical taste, something he had not done in a long time.

Changing his mind after looking at the clock on the wall, there would be time for a few hours sleep before their shift started.

### Chapter Three

The sky was growing lighter and he could hear bird call in the trees, he was freezing in his t-shirt. He rubbed his arms with his hands, his skin rough to the touch with goose pimples. It had gotten colder as the night neared the dawn, the adrenalin in his system had slowly abated and he had long since run out of the vodka he was drinking.

Martin had been walking all night, aimless at first, sipping from the bottle, the mouthfuls getting bigger the more he drank. He had ended up in the wharf area at one point, searching for the ship he had seen earlier. Stumbling onto the waterfront he realised that it had already sailed, slipping into the inky blackness of the harbour channel without fanfare, taking with it his drunken fantasy of escaping his life. The area left in darkness; the only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the wooden piles, which had emphasised the emptiness inside him.

He had continued to walk, hour after hour, until the sky had grown lighter. He did not want to go home, but he did not want to stay in the cold. He was at a loss; the image of the man with the ugly red hole in his back kept running through his mind, the girl looking at him, accusing him with her eyes. He could not shake the feeling of shame he felt when he saw those eyes in his head.

He had bought the Vodka in an attempt to numb his senses, but all it did was make him feel even more depressed. Why did he let Tama talk him into this? He knew Joseph was an arsehole. It was always going to go bad.

He wondered for a second how Tama was feeling, he could just about see the corner of Tama's house from where he was standing, it looked cold and uninviting in the early morning greyness. He could not quite see his own house, but the need for sleep drew him closer. He would have to suck it up and go indoors.

Opening the door as quietly as possible, he walked into the hallway, the smell of stale cooking fat invading his senses. He could hear him snoring in the lounge room but he knew he would not wake. He would still be out of his head, high on whatever he had managed to get his hands on the night before. If he were in the lounge then his mother would still be at work, doing the night shift in the nursing home, it was always the same.

It had been a few years now since he had felt afraid to be in the house on his own with him, but he always felt the shame. He had never told anyone what happened, especially not his mother. It was something he had learnt to live with, but it was always there between them.

He saw the way he looked at him, a sort of guilty challenge in his eyes. They did not talk anymore, not that he had ever said much to him in the first place. Martin patted the money in his pocket.

It's a start; he knew this was his ticket out of the shithole he lived in.

Closing the door of his bedroom, he lifted the corner of the frayed carpet. Underneath he prised a loose board up with his fingernails. It revealed a small cavity in which he put the money before replacing the board and covering it back up with the carpet. 'It's enough to get me started' he said to himself as he lay down on his bed, not bothering to undress he closed his eyes, dreaming of the new world he would inhabit.

"Martin, wake up man, we're in the paper bro". Martin opened his eyes with a start to see Tama standing at the foot of his bed moving from side to side. "We're in the fucking paper, have a look, how fucking cool is that man, we're gonna be legends".

"Tama shut the fuck up, he might hear you. You dumb shit".

"Who will? Your stepfather? That deviant prick is still passed out on the couch in the lounge, he ain't hearing shit". Tama carried on moving from side to side.

Tama looked wired, as if he had not slept. His eyes were bloodshot and his pupils dilated. The way he was fidgeting Martin could tell he was on something.

He looked out the window and saw a bright cloudless sky, the sort of spring day you look forward to when you were young, full of promise.

Not today though, he thought.

"Forget about him, have a look at this", Tama shoved the paper in his face.

He thought he could see the headline screaming, 'We know who you are and we're coming to get you'. However, it was only a small quarter at the bottom of the front-page reading, 'North end dairy robbed at gunpoint'. It went on to say the male proprietor was in a critical condition at Dunedin Hospital. It went on to say, the Police had only a few lines of inquiry to follow up in relation to the shooting. The image of the old man came back to him; he did not bother to read any more.

"What are you so happy about Tama; you shot a man last night. He might die".

Tama's face was incapable of emotion in his heightened state. "The gun just went off..., but I don't care anyway. I stopped J man from getting the bash. You could see he was impressed, that fucking little piece of shit came out of nowhere man, but I took care of it".

He could almost hear a sense of pride in Tama's voice when he spoke, Joseph bloody Kingi must have been bigging him up all night, making him feel like a real star. Martin did not bother to mention to Tama that he had run out and left him at the store. It was not Tama's fault; not really, he would kill for attention from the gang. He just about did. Nevertheless, Joseph had put him in that position.

"Where's the gun now?" He asked.

"It's in this bag", Tama said, picking up a blue sports bag off the floor. "J man said to hide it someplace safe then come and get you. He wants to see you Martin; he didn't say what it was about".

Tama opened the bag slightly revealing the ugly presence of tarnished grey metal sitting side by side on top of a mottled and splintered wooden stock. The ends of the shortened barrels showing the silver of recently cut steel still rough around the edges; there was obviously no care taken when modifying the benign but evil object.

He started to get an uneasy feeling in his stomach, a summons from Joseph Kingi usually did not end to well, and it looked like he was going to distance himself from last night by making Tama dispose of his gun. He got himself off the bed and looked at Tama who was still hopping from side to side, an excited but serious look on his face. The boy had no idea what he had done. He and Tama were the same age but he saw Tama as a boy; his mental age had never progressed past his first year at high school. He lived in a world where respect came from the wrong type of actions and the people whose respect he craved would never give a shit about Tama. He was always going to be expendable.

"Well we had better get that bag hidden then T, and get round to your mate J man's house". He tried for a smile, only half managing it. There was no way he wanted to panic Tama in his state; and he did not want to let him take them both down by doing something stupid. "We'll dump it over in the Golf Course, I know a good place".

"You're a fucking legend, Star".

Martin never understood Golf as a sport, old men and their little trolleys, and their little balls. Rugby League, now that was a sport for men. They were warriors, hard men that played hard. Nobody gave any quarter and none expected in a sport like that.

As it was though they saw no one on the golf course this morning except for someone driving a tractor mower over in the opposite corner, although it was too far away to bother them where they were going. He looked around at the green space; it was so vast and empty. They were nearing a stand of pine trees, turning his head back behind him to check for anyone following, he could see the view over the city and all the way to the Pacific Ocean. It's funny he thought, the view seems so perfect out here in the rich man's domain, but step off the green of the golf course back into the estate that surrounded it, the place they called home, and the view changed. It was the same view but seen from the wrong perspective. Instead of being something to admire, it was something he could never hope to be part of, stuck in the shithole he lived in, trapped in a life of poverty.

They reached the right place and stopped. Crouching down he pushed the pine needles away from the base of the tree revealing a small cavity beneath. Grabbing the bag from Tama, he shoved it as far as he could into the hole before covering it with the pine needles. Standing, he looked over towards the road, less than a few hundred metres away, obscured by the trees, was 'The Pad'. Joseph Kingi junior's domain, his seat of power, barricaded from view by a high fence.

He preyed on the weak to feed his lifestyle, backed by a crew of thugs who were loyal to the patch. Joseph's coveted patch came to him as a birthright. He did not need to earn it, but it did not stop him leading by example. When Joseph's father had been in charge, the patch had stood for something in the community. They did not offend against their own, but they made sure people knew who were in charge; they commanded respect with a fear in people that they did not see themselves.

That had all changed just before Joseph senior had gone to prison; he had lost his way in life. The drugs he was using made his leadership untenable. A violent man by nature with a quick temper he would lash out without provocation and for any reason. The drugs intensified this behaviour and a spiralling habit led to more and more risk taking to feed the habit. Eventually Kingi Senior had lost control and everything had to come to a head. The Police caught up with his behaviour and arrested Kingi and jail was the obvious outcome. He went away for various offences leaving his then eighteen-year-old son in charge. The fear remained in the community but for a different reason. The new blood had started to rise up through the gang, bringing with them the horrors of their upbringing, the effects intensified by Methamphetamines and heavy Cannabis use passed on by the elders. These were a new breed of gang member, young men not in control of their emotions, living for today and not caring who they hurt in the process. They were all high on the power that fear and intimidation gave them, and right at the top of that pile was Joseph junior.

The older members, still loyal to Joseph senior had distanced themselves from the day-to-day activities of the gang and hardly ever came to the pad. The young Turks had control, and like a twisted sequel to 'Lord of the Flies' they were all jostling for position amongst their peers, a hierarchy in an anarchic world of chaos.

He could see the bottom dwellers on the fence now, the lowest ranking members always found themselves on sentry duty and their heads were constantly popping up over the high fence, wired looking eyes scanning for potential threats. To Martin they were no more than glorified doorman. They were only there to vet, and then let any potential visitors through the barricades. Hardly worth having in Dunedin, the only real threat they faced was from the Police, and then they were hardly likely to ask nicely to come in.

As they neared the fence line, he could tell Tama was getting more and more excited.

"J man was really pumped last night, he couldn't stop talking about it," he was saying, his voice slightly higher in pitch than usual."Man, he told me he might get me a patch for what I did, how fucking cool would that be".

He looked at Tama; he was smiling through wired eyes, it was one of his biggest dreams. He had been going on about it ever since he had known him. At one time, it would have been his dream as well, getting a patch in his world meant you had made it, that you were someone that people could look up to, and that was everything.

Unlike Tama, he no longer wanted to be a big man in his world; he wanted to be any man in a new world, somewhere his memories would be free of where he came from and what he had experienced.

The sentries must have seen them coming as the large wooden gate swung open in front of them without having to knock. Inside, the two young men on sentry duty said nothing as they walked through. They were looking at Tama with jealous expressions, eyes that betrayed envy and awe in the same instance. Tama's posture had taken on a confident swagger as he walked through the yard, parading his newfound status to those that cared. One of the two sentries recognised Martin and flicked his chin in the air as a greeting. Martin returned the gesture; he knew the face, but he had forgotten his name.

"What were you doing over in the trees Star?" The sentry asked.

The question was innocent enough but he was not about to let on the truth. "T needed to take a leak didn't you T". He looked at Tama hoping he would realise what he was doing.

"Yeah... that's right, hope you didn't see too much bro, don't want you getting jealous or something". Tama grabbed his crotch with his left hand and grinned.

"Yeah right", the sentry replied, then pointed to the main building "J mans in there".

Entering the dark musty hallway of the building Martin saw Tama's shoulders drop again, confidence seeping out of him.

The smell of stale beer and Cannabis had permeated into the carpets and walls giving the place a distinctive smell. He had only been in the place once before but it was the same smell he remembered.

Tama seemed to know where he was going so he followed closely behind, conscious of the doors he passed, partially open, glimpses of a twisted humanity inside them.

He saw a dreadlocked male with a belt around his bicep, in one room, needle in his hand. There was a partially naked girl with dead eyes in the next; a fat hairy man was taking her from behind on a bed with no sheets, while another male had passed out in a chair beside them, oblivious. Two women were in another, crying onto each other's shoulders. Music was pumping out of the room at the end of the hallway. He could feel the heavy beat and heard crass lyrics that spat out of the speakers with the angst of the oppressed. The party from last night had not stopped.

"Star..., good of you to come". Joseph said looking up from the floor as they entered the darkened room. His voice was only just audible over the loud music.

He could not see his face clearly in the smoky gloom to read his expression, but his tone was unnaturally chirpy. The wounds Joseph got from his beating in the store were not visible, and his matted dreadlocks were shining as if he had just washed, which he knew was improbable. It was common knowledge that Joseph preferred the old way of creating and maintaining his dreadlocks and that was to wash them as little as possible, if at all.

Joseph indicated that he and Tama sit on the ground next to him.

The two girls who were fondling him in various places, modesty protected by the dim light, got up and scuttled away into the darkness. Martin's eyes adjusted to the smoke and darkness of the room, he could make out more people sitting around the periphery. These would be the chosen, his most trusted thugs. The hierarchy of the twisted world he presided over.

"What's up J man?" He queried.

Joseph smiled a black and gold encrusted smile; he took a deep lungful of smoke out of the butt end of a cigarette, before stubbing it out on the carpet beside him. He regarded Martin for a moment before answering.

"Where did you get to last night Star? We waited for you to come out of the shop but you did not show up. Did you have a go with that tasty piece of arse?"

Martin remained silent and watched as Joseph shook his head in amusement.

"Anyway I just wanted to thank you for last night, is all", Joseph said, looking directly at him now. "We all showed what we were made of..., we certainly showed that little fuck what we were made of as well". Low voices came out of the darkness, grunts of congratulations towards Joseph and Tama.

"Pity we only got away with that synthetic shit and a few chocolate bars. All that effort... still we made the paper this morning, at least that is something though. Did you see that Star?" Joseph held up a paper in front of him.

"Tama showed me", he said, unsure of where this was going.

"Useful thing is the paper, you find out what's going on. Its funny isn't it; you do not know what to believe. See it says here that over one thousand dollars was taken from the cash drawer", Joseph pointed to a piece of the article in the paper that Martin was unable to see. "Do you believe that Star...?"

Martin's heart skipped a beat; he had not thought about this, he did not quite know what to say. He really did not want to give up any of the money to this piece of garbage. Nevertheless, if Joseph found out he was holding out on him, he would kill him.

"We didn't get time to get any money J man, what with Tama shooting that guy after he attacked you". Martin could feel Joseph's questioning gaze upon him.

"That's right Star..., they must be lying. It also says here that the pigs have no clue about who done it. Do you think they are lying about that to Star?"

Martin shrugged his shoulders, "Maybe it's the truth" he said, "Maybe the shopkeeper is just making a false claim, you know..., to get insurance or something". Holding his breath, he waited nervously for Joseph to show any signs that he believed what he was saying.

More grunts of agreement came out of the darkness.

Joseph stayed silent for a few moments as if digesting what Martin had said. "So if the pigs don't have a clue and you two retards keep mouths shut then we are home free". Joseph said, quietly. "Pity we didn't get any of that money though isn't it Star". He added giving him a hard stare.

Martin did not reply he just sat there in the gloom, glad of the darkness that was hiding his fear.

The office was buzzing with talk of the robbery the previous evening. Grant had given an initial rundown of the incident followed by Bridger who, after suffering a ribbing about having to return to work a night early, had followed up with a full briefing of actions completed and then a preliminary plan of attack. Although there had been a full turnout of staff last night, they been spread around Dunedin completing different tasks, so it was good to get together to make sure everyone was singing from the same page of the investigation prayer book.

He had been slightly nervous coming in this morning, but now it seemed like he had never been away. It was good to be back in the fold. Looking around him at the people in the room, nothing had changed, except that Jo had certainly made herself at home in the office. Her desk had a few personal items on it, pictures of a dog, two people whom he took to be her parents smiling in the background. A fresh bunch of flowers was also sitting near the windowsill. "Whose idea was the flowers?" he queried the room.

"Believe it or not, one of John's many love interests", Becky said, looking at them with a slight distaste. "I felt sorry for the girl, she turned up at the front counter with them and was let up to the office, John didn't say a lot to her and she left after a few short awkward silences".

Bridger looked at John's empty desk; he had sent him downstairs to attend the weekly crime meeting in place of himself. "Does anyone know what time he got in last night after I left him to recover that stolen car?, he didn't say this morning".

"He hasn't said, but he was in a foul mood when he came in", Grant said.

Bridger made a mental note to be less hard on him in the future, the team seemed more relaxed than they had been for a while, and he did not want to cause any issues by singling someone out. He was about to say something when the phone rang on his desk, He looked at it with slight hesitation, a feeling of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. Picking up the receiver, he answered on the fourth ring.

The news was exactly what he had been dreading.

'Johnny Chen, 54yr old widowed father of one, proprietor of Chen's food store, died at 0722hrs in the intensive care unit at Dunedin Public Hospital.'

Bridger put the phone down slowly and took a deep breath. The office was quiet. All eyes were on him. "He died...," he said quietly, looking around at each one of them."This is now a murder inquiry".

The next couple of hours went in a blur, Becky and Grant had been dispatched to the hospital to deal with Mr Chen's body, which had now just become evidence, and as such had to be treated the same as anything else in the investigation. The chain of evidence had to be intact. Any evidence they located on the body while the pathologist processed Mr Chen through the indignities of a sudden death was important, so they needed to be there to catalogue and collect it. It was not something that Bridger particularly enjoyed; he had seen his fair share of autopsy procedures in the past. He was glad that he was now able to delegate the job to someone else; a shotgun injury at close range was not ever going to be pretty. Brian was delegated the task of re-interviewing the daughter as the only witness. John and Jo had a reprieve from death and were on their way to carry out door-to-door enquiries both at the scene and at where they had found the car dumped, not that John seemed to mind teaming up with Jo.

Bridger found himself in Detective Inspector Matthews's office on the third floor. His immediate boss was a big bullish man who called a spade a spade. His man management skills were legendary throughout the Dunedin police station. You did as he told you or you found out what mood he was in that day, and it would not usually be good. Bridger had not seen Matthews since he pushed him out on leave the previous month.

"I won't say it's good to see you back on your feet or anything like that but we do need to get a few things straight".

Bridger just looked at his boss and kept his mouth shut, sitting there with his arms crossed he knew he was being belligerent but could not help it. He wanted to hear what he had to say.

Matthews had called Bridger on his drinking which he was within his rights to do, he knew that, but Matthew's powder was not as dry as he liked to make out. Marion Watson's abduction, the last job he had worked on, had taken a few people with it when it ended. It exposed a sick culture that had manifested itself in a few people within the police a long time ago. Those people found themselves subject to scrutiny and all of them had been punished, one-way or another; Matthews had actually instigated the investigation into those people after Bridger uncovered enough facts to warrant it. However, what bugged Bridger was the fact that Matthews had a part to play in the completely twisted scenario that never saw the light of day.

"I don't know what you think you know Bridger, but whatever it is it's in the past and that is where it stays..." Matthews paused, looking down at his desk, "I have done things in the past to get the job done. Some people, even you, may think that those actions were wrong, but they worked then and they still do now, and you know what, I still sleep like a baby." Matthews looked back up from his desk and met Bridger's eye, "Someone tried to prove otherwise once, as you well know, but for all his bluster, it came to nothing in the end. If you have a problem with that I suggest you look for somewhere else to work."

"I'm happy where I am.... Sir." Bridger put emphasis on the word 'Sir' in a childish attempt to show his contempt.

"Good..., well we have to draw a line under this and get on with some work; unfortunately we have a murder on our hands. Not the best time for me to be looking for a new Detective Sergeant". Matthews leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "Now, tell me where we are at".

Bridger looked at his boss; he had skin as thick as a rhinoceros. It did not even faze him; he was living a life in which you could deal with any issue by ignoring it. He had even taken on a chummy stance as if they were old friends discussing past conquests. Bridger knew he would gain nothing by pushing the matter. It would have to keep.

He took a deep breath and then laid out the enquiry so far. It all boiled down to two things, a grainy black and white image of the side of someone's head in the store, as well as the DNA and fingerprints from the cans recovered from the area around the stolen car.

"Not a hell of a lot then is it Bridger, looks like you have an uphill climb on this one. He said, with a neutral tone. "I'll take care of the press release, and get someone to liaise with the family...I'm going to promise them the world Bridger, don't make me a liar".

Matthews dismissed him with a wave of his meaty hand.

The Inspector had actually surprised him though, by not uttering a single expletive in his whole speech.

A first for everything, he thought.

He stood for a second in the hallway outside of Matthews's office and shook his head, unsure of how to take Matthews new approach. He had not mentioned the assault on Jonas Crompton that had plagued the Marion Watson investigation, he was sure he would have had at least had a disciplinary hearing under the code of conduct. You cannot just assault prisoners and expect to get away with it, but it seemed that someone had swept it under the carpet. If they let him off the hook for this assault, he was damn sure he would be on someone's hook when it came to calling in the favour. Bridger pushed the thought to the back of his mind; it was not something he wanted to dwell on.

Returning to his office, he found a message waiting for him taped to his computer monitor, Julie Downie's handwriting with her trademark smiley face at the bottom.

Julie was a civilian employee whose job description seemed to change regularly to accommodate whatever new initiative the bosses had decreed that week. She was a friendly and affable person who took each new change in her stride, happy to be involved. This week it seemed that she was taking messages.

The note read simply; 'Fingerprint result from robbery, please call ext 44467.'

That was fast, Bridger thought, a surge of adrenalin spiking in his bloodstream. A suspect at this early stage would be the magic pill to possibly solving the case. Picking up the phone, he dialled the numbers.

"The suspect is Tama Wilson, twenty year old male, lives in Corstaphine. We found his fingerprints on some empty cider cans littered around where we recovered the stolen car at Unity Park. He has an extensive history of dishonesty and he loves stealing cars so it makes sense he could be involved with this stolen car". Bridger was looking around the room as he addressed the staff. The office was full; Bridger almost found it hard to breath. His Detectives and the members of the Armed Offender Squad had squeezed into whatever space they could find.

The last time he had anything to do with the AOS he had not acquitted himself very well, beating a suspect in an irrational rage, so he felt slightly uncomfortable in their presence.

"We still don't know if the car is actually connected to the robbery just yet though do we", a police officer dressed in his black AOS jumpsuit said from the rear of the room. Ken Moore, second in command of the Armed Offender Squad, made the statement.

Everybody in the station knew that Ken was someone who had little time for him. He unconsciously rubbed the spot on his forehead that had felt the stock end of Ken's AOS rifle. Ken had apparently 'mistaken' him for the bad guy when in the midst of a fast moving situation; he was not so sure that was a true account.

"You're quite right Ken, but it's too much of a coincidence to ignore", Bridger replied, ignoring the negative inflection in Ken's voice, "That's why we are going to kick his door in and ask him what he knows".

Brian Johnson spoke up from the side of the room. "I've dealt with him a few times in the past; he has never had a propensity for violence though. It bothers me a bit that it is out of character. This would be a massive step up for him if he were involved. He hangs around with a Martin McLaren who lives next door. Martin is an unknown to me, although the name McLaren rings a bell for some reason... Anyway Martin is not in the system and I don't think he has ever come to our attention".

"I agree with Brian, this has 'The Gang' written all over it" Becky said, "Joseph Kingi would be a good fit for the build of the bigger person in the CCTV footage we have, his dreadlocks could be tucked up into that ski mask he's wearing. He has a history for using people outside of the gang for his jobs as well. Do we know if Tama is connected to him?"

"That's something to explore in the interview Becky, good point. There are two other people involved in this and Joseph Kingi could be one of them. Now... does everybody know what role that he or she is playing?" Everyone nodded "Good... Once AOS has secured the house and Tama along with the firearm the arrest team can move in", Bridger looked around the room for final questions. Seeing none, he gave the order. "We move on the house at exactly ten hundred hours", he said looking at Gary Stone who nodded his confirmation.

"Right, let's do this".

### Chapter Four

They were back in Martin's room. Tama was still buzzing from his night in the spotlight; Joseph had been more than happy to let him talk back at the pad. He had sat with an amused smile on his face, like that of a patronising uncle, when Tama had regaled the room with his exploits. Martin watched as Joseph whispered in the ears of those around him, no doubt belittling what Tama was saying. He hated Joseph Kingi with his dreadlocked swagger; he hated the hold he had over everyone, using fear to keep people in line. He did not think Joseph understood what letting Tama talk like that would do. With every detail cemented into Tama's head as legend, his self- deceit would get bigger. Tama would fool himself into feeling like someone he was not. He had longed for this type of recognition.

Martin new Tama would shout this story to anyone and everyone who would listen, Tama the unwitting Judas in the group would bring everyone down with his loose tongue, and Joseph was stoking the fire.

Martin had toyed with the idea of letting Tama know about the money, maybe share it with him, he had changed his mind quickly when he realised Tama's storytelling would lead right back to him and to Joseph.

Tama had always been good at sharing though. He remembered the times he had gone to Tama's house in search of a safe place; Tama had always looked at him with knowing eyes, as if he knew exactly what he was going through. He had always given what little he had in an effort to please Martin. Tama was always trying to please people, he did not quite know where he fit in the chaotic world they lived in. They had grown up together in a shared world of poverty and hardship made worse by the weak minds of the predators that lived amongst them. Tama was his best friend. Tama was also a time bomb with its fuse lit, and as much as he loved his friend, he did not want to be near him when he finally went off.

"Pity we didn't get that money J man was talking about..." Tama was looking at Martin without suspicion "We would have been rolling in it, still can't have everything right?"

Martin did not reply. His eyes strayed to the frayed edge of carpet in the corner of his room, a shot of guilt running through his blood. Tama did not notice where he was looking, or what it meant.

"Still, if I get a patch then I won't need it will I" Tama feigned a few shadow punches at the wall, short breaths bursting from his mouth like a boxer in training.

"A patch isn't everything Tama, how much have those guys actually got... J man is about the only one with a car." Martin realised that his friend was completely infatuated with the gang; if they took him in, he would never get his friend back.

"It's better than what we have now Star, they're a fucking family, and they look after their own. I want some of that." He was still fizzing and his words came out faster than normal.

Martin was about to say something when he heard the faint whistle from outside in the distance, it was a warning whistle that was repeated over and over as it was passed from person to person in the neighbourhood. The unmistakable sound of big powerful engines winding up as they accelerated up the hill from the flat sea level suburbs of South Dunedin followed the whistle. A sound they recognised instantly as trouble.

Tama had heard the same sounds, in the drug induced space occupying his brain a couple of synapses had managed to fire in the right order, his brain had told him the trouble was coming for him, and it was probably right. Martin watched as his friends pupils dilated in fear, his breathing became short. He started to have a panic attack, something Martin had not seen since their childhood. Fear was never Tama's friend.

He pushed himself off the bed and went to the window, outside was a blur of movement, Police cars were sliding to a halt, disgorging the occupants all dressed in black. Evil looking guns held in front of them. They were all running with a purpose, eyes visible above black scarves and below black helmets, killer ants with a single purpose, moving with precision towards their intended target.

"What the fuck am I going to do Star? I am fucked aren't I... They're here for me. Fuck, fuck, fuck". Tama was almost in tears, the drugs and alcohol in his system messing with his reasoning. He moved about the room like a caged tiger, not finding any way out.

Martin was beginning to panic as well, it was then he saw two armed police officers pass the window directly in front of him, close enough to touch. He could hear their boots on the path but there was no other sound. He realised that they were heading away from where his front door would be.

"Calm down Tama, its okay, I think they are going for your house, not mine. They don't know we are here". Tama was still wired from last night so there was no way he was going to let the Police get hold of him in that state."Quick, we'll go out the back".

Martin opened his bedroom door quietly; he could hear Tama breathing heavily close to his ear, panic evident. He heard the explosion of a distraction blast in the distance, and then heard the black ants shouting 'armed police'. He imagined them as they swarmed into Tama's house with the big guns they were carrying.

That was good, as they were more likely to be focusing on Tama's house and not the one they were in next door. It may give them a chance.

Martin's stepfather came out of the lounge room shaking his head groggily, standing in their way. "The pigs are next door, what the fuck, have you two done now?" He said, looking directly at Martin. He never spoke to Tama; he did not even acknowledge him half the time.

"Nothing... Not that you would give a shit about it anyway". Martin tried to push past has bulky frame.

His stepfather stood his ground, "Fuck you Martin you little bitch, once they are done next door they will be here for sure looking for you two. I am not having them kick my door in causing me aggravation. Your mother doesn't need it either."

Martin could not believe he was trying to use his mother against him. "Fuck you, you don't give a shit about my mother, just hanging around getting wasted all the time, letting her support you. I'm not scared of you anymore you fat lazy waster..." Martin paused to catch a breath; he did not want to get into this right now. "We're out of here anyway so there won't be any aggravation".

"I know what you have done... I know where it is."

"You're full of shit old man." Martin stared into his eyes, trying not to let the little boy in him give the predator any power. What the fuck could he know anyway?

For a second no one spoke, the shouts outside continued, the police had not found anyone next door. He was right; the police would be here next. They had to move.

The balance of power had shifted ever so slightly now, Martin could see it in his stepfather's eyes, they had a slight uncertain look about them, but underneath he could still see the sickness of his character.

His stepfather relented and turned sideways letting them continue, they practically ran down the hallway towards the back door, not seeing the eyes of the predator following them.

He turned and looked at his friend before he opened the door. Tama was freaking out; Martin could see the fuse was getting shorter. "If we get separated we will meet at the castle, you got that T?" He looked at Tama who was just staring back at him not speaking. "T have you got that? Meet me at the castle", he said more forcefully.

"Yeah..., yeah I've got it Star, no worries, let's get out of here", Tama finally replied, his eyes unsteady and uncertain.

Martin let out the breath he had been holding, he knew his friend was adept at running from the Police; he had a lot of practice in all states of sobriety. Wasted or not he could run with the best of them.

Opening the door, he stepped out into the sunshine followed by Tama. The day looked so calm and forgiving; there was not a breath of wind. The smell of freshly cut grass invaded his nostrils, the sound of a lawnmower somewhere in the distance. It was a beautiful spring day.

He looked left towards the large hedge that separated Tama's back yard from his; they would be invisible until they climbed the back fence into the gully that ran along the back of their properties. Once in the gully they would have to drop quickly into the lower part to remain out of sight. When they got into the gully, they could follow it uphill and come out near another road and from there they would make their way to the castle.

He indicated to Tama where he intended to go and then moved quickly over the rear lawn crouching as he moved. Clambering over the fence he ducked down behind a bush, he could see a couple of police officers in Tama's back yard; they were watching the rear windows in case somebody tried to climb out. With their eyes focused on and scanning the windows, they would not be expecting anyone behind them. They had about three metres to cross in open ground before they could drop out of sight. Tama had made it over the fence and was crouching behind him.

"Come on Star let's get the fuck out of here", he whispered urgently.

They stood up simultaneously and made a dash for the safety of the gully.

Bridger had hoped they would find Tama at home sleeping it off, high on the excess and excitement of the previous night. He wanted things to progress quickly; moving quicker meant that you caught people off guard, less time for them to get their story straight; unfortunately, this morning luck was not on their side. The house clearing team had reported that the house was empty. The fact that he was not in the house might mean that he was hiding out somewhere though, scared of getting caught, and that might mean that his hunch was right and he was involved in the robbery and murder of the shop keeper.

"He's over the back fence, heading into the gully". The urgent shout came from the rear of the house.

Bridger made to run down the side of the house but thought better of it as a big burly police officer holding on to an equally big dog launched himself into action. The dog, sensing some excitement and the possibility of biting someone, was in front and pulling the handler by the lead around his neck.

Bridger followed in their wake, he reached the rear yard in time to see the hairy beast leap over the back fence with the agility of a cat and tear off into the undergrowth.

Before the handler had time to clear the fence a scream erupted from somewhere in the gully below them. A male voice yelling 'Get the fuck off me..., get it off ' followed the scream. The source of the commotion was not visible but by the sound of the frightened pain of the voice, the dog had found its intended target.

Score one for the dog, he thought, smiling.

Bridger climbed over the fence and followed the handler into the undergrowth, small branches catching at his shirtsleeves as he made his way further down the gully.

Coming out into a small clearing he caught sight of the dogs rear end, it had his head buried under a small bush and seemed to be ripping it from side to side as his tail wagged excitedly. As Bridger got closer, he could hear a small whimper coming from somewhere in front of the dog, near the fangs.

"Titan..., Leave! Leave!" The dog handler shouted the command and the dog reacted instantly, its head emerging from the shadows. It had its mouth open panting, its blood-covered teeth clearly visible. The dog looked to have a maniacal grin on its face, as if it was in ecstasy and not just having another day at work.

"Good boy...Good boooy!" The handler praised his dog ruffling his neck and putting him back on the lead. "He's all yours Mike," he said smiling.

Bridger crouched at the base of the bush and peered under. A bloodied and torn leg confronted him, twitching slightly as he stared at it. "Out you come then, let's see you".

"Keep that fucking dog away from me man", the body attached to the leg said fearfully.

"The dogs on the lead..., if you didn't run you wouldn't have met him. I'm sure he's a very nice dog..., usually." Bridger smiled to himself; this was always the outcome when they deployed a police dog to locate an offender. This man was no different; it was hard to be tough in the presence of sharp teeth.

The leg moved a little, then uncurled into the light revealing three big puncture wounds oozing blood and a few small tears in the flesh, not so bad looking in the light, but Bridger knew most of the damage would be below the surface, mentally and physically.

A body followed the leg slowly from the bush, then a head appeared last, the face attached to the head had tears and snot staining its cheeks but was unmistakably that of Tama Wilson. It seemed that their luck had just changed.

### Chapter Five

Bridger sat on one side of the table in the small stuffy room; across from him Tama Wilson was slouching arrogantly in the chair, his bandaged leg placed awkwardly in front of him, small spots of blood seeping through the white of the dressings. It had taken two hours for the doctor to sort out his leg and declare him fit enough to be interviewed, Tama had only just stopped snivelling. He had seen plenty of supposed hard men cry in his time so he had no sympathy for Tama.

Off to the side of the table between them, an ominous black box housing digital recording equipment sat silently.

The search of Tama's house had not found the weapon used to shoot the shopkeeper the previous evening. It was a small setback but one that Bridger hoped would not matter if Tama were willing to cooperate.

"Once Detective Wright gets back with your cup of water we will start the interview. You do understand why you are here don't you Tama?" Bridger said, trying to build a rapport.

Tama just shrugged his shoulders.

"We need to ask you some questions about last night". He did not let on exactly what it was he wanted to know, let Tama fill in the gaps, he might let something slip. Bridger looked Tama in the eye waiting for some sort of reply.

"Fuck you, why did you need the dog and guns for if you just wanted to ask me some questions? You've gone and fucked up my leg now, I'm gonna make a complaint to my lawyer, you's are gonna get done for what you did". Tama had regained some of his confidence now that the painkillers had kicked in.

Not quite the rapport he was hoping for, but before Bridger could reply Becky came in with a cup of water for Tama. Placing the cup in front of him, she sat down next to Bridger.

"Right then let's get on with it", Bridger said, pushing record on the machine next to him. He began reading the preamble off the cue card in front of him. Clarifying Tama's name and details as well as his rights while under arrest and during the interview.

Tama declined to speak with a lawyer then said nothing for the entire interview. He was sitting petulantly, arms crossed, rolling his eyes occasionally and sniggering under his breath as Bridger described the incident in as much detail as possible in an attempt to appeal to his rational side, if he had one.

Becky had tried a different tact and had asked Tama about 'The Gang' and what he knew about Joseph Kingi. Bridger had seen a slight change in his demeanour at the mention of this name, a look of fear had flickered across his eyes. Not much, but it told him that Tama Wilson knew more than he was letting on. They were looking in the right direction.

Tama remained silent, smirking to himself.

The interview concluded and they were none the wiser about how Tama's fingerprints came to be on the cans found near the stolen car and what his involvement was with the robbery and shooting.

It was not a real castle, just a ruin really; originally built for the seventh son of Captain William Cargill, one of Dunedin's founding fathers. His son's name was Edward Bowes Cargill, a prominent businessman and one time Mayor of Dunedin. Construction began in 1876 and it was a grand building in its day, built out of poured concrete, it had parapets similar to a castle. 'The Cliffs' was its actual name but the locals referred to it as 'Cargill's Castle', a name that has stuck right through its decline into the ruin it is today.

Martin sat below what was left of the grey concrete wall at the front of the building, the sun was shining on his face, and his t-shirt was stuck to his skin with drying sweat. It had been ten minutes and his breathing had only just returned to normal.

Too many bloody cigarettes, his mother always said it was a filthy habit; his stepfather did not give two shits either way and regularly stole from his pack. He could really feel the heaviness in his chest today.

From where he sat, high on the cliffs edge, trying to slow his breathing, he could see the cold Pacific Ocean as it washed up on St Clair beach far below. A few surfers were braving the spring temperatures and riding their boards just off the rocky point, down by the council run salt-water hot pools.

He realised then that he had never been to those pools before. He could not even remember the last time he had even swam in the ocean. He lived so close to the ocean all his life, but he felt he did not belong there.

Looking at his watch again, he noted the time. Tama had not shown up, but he was only a little concerned, he knew his friend would be here shortly.

He sat back against the cold concrete, being at the castle always brought back memories of childhood adventures, imaginary games shared between the innocent minds of the children they once were. He and Tama had discovered it a long time ago, not long after they were old enough to roam the neighbourhood on their own. Not that there seemed to be any specific age it happened, no one was usually around to stop them and those that were never seemed to care. His mother was always at work, trying to earn money to support him and his useless stepfather.

That day they had felt brave enough to leave the street they lived on and embark on an adventure into the big bad world. Back then it had seemed that they walked for hours before stumbling across the ruins, but now that they were older it was only a few blocks from home, just on the other side of the golf course.

That was before it started to happen, although if Martin was honest it was probably already happening to Tama. He remembered Tama was always crying, never wanting to be at Martin's house. Tama had it worse than Martin; his parents were violent drunks in those days, the worst of the violence only stopping when his father went to jail. He had no escape, it was no wonder Tama was as messed up as he was. When his stepfather had started on him, it must have been because he had grown bored with Tama and wanted to experience the thrill of someone closer to home.

That shame still burned in the pit of his stomach but it had long since turned to hatred. He wanted to kill that sick predator that had taken his innocence but he knew that it would destroy his mother. He did not blame her, he had never told her about what went on so how would she know. She just kept toiling away in the hope that her family would be all right. The same story repeated itself throughout his world, the plight of so many shielded by the need to survive.

Things were starting to fall apart for him now; he could feel it slipping away. Last night had probably sealed their fate; he would be destined to a life in jail. Like so many others before them, it all came down to a choice. Martin hated the fact he was in this life, he only did the things that came naturally to him in order to survive, to have what everyone else had, a normal life.

Tama was supposed to be his brother in arms, them against the world. He was someone who had shared similar experiences and could relate to how he felt.

Martin felt he had more to offer to the world than what he had given so far, the man had told him that it would happen. He just had to wait. However, things were not going the right way. If he could just get out, he would go to Auckland maybe and start a new life where nobody knew where he had come from. He would be free from people's knowing stares; the images of what he had lived through reflected clearly in their eyes. These thoughts always gave him a warm feeling, as if they were real; they were supposed to happen, as if he could actually achieve them. He had spoken about them with Tama often enough and at first he thought Tama had felt the same but he knew in his heart that Tama would never go with him, despite all his talk. Tama was going to hold him back, as much as he hated the idea he needed to cut the connection and move on before his friend dragged him even further from his desired life.

His phone beeped in his pocket and Martin pulled it out, retrieving the text message he saw it was from Joseph Kingi.

'T's bn pulld, he btr not tlk or I'll fkn kill him'.

'Shit' he thought looking at the message in crude text speak. He hoped Tama was in the right frame of mind to keep his mouth shut but he could not be sure given the state he was in back at the house.

The message had unnerved him, he had not really thought about Tama being a grass, not seriously. He could not let that happen, he wanted too much from his life to have it snatched away by Tama's loose lips.

Tama's smiling face jumped into his head, poor simple Tama, he could not be sure that Tama would have the mental strength to keep everything to himself. He would let himself get confused, maybe say something he did not want to, and then he would sink everyone with his ineptitude. A sudden sadness washed over him.

Martin knew this was the end of the line for Tama, Joseph was not going to believe him whatever he said about his unplanned visit to the police station, if they even let him out. Prison would not even be a safe place given the fact that Joseph's father controlled the inside as well. He knew in his heart that he would never be able to move on with Tama still hanging around his neck.

Sadly, he knew what he had to do; it would be the kindest thing for Tama in the end. He just hoped he would have the guts to do what he needed to when the time came.

For now, he would just have to wait and see if the police would release Tama from his nightmare.

Martin stood up and looked at the view before him, he would miss this place, but he would never look back.

They had to let Tama go, Matthews was not going to let them keep him in the station any longer than was necessary, the evidence just didn't eventuate the way Bridger would have liked. He had argued the point with Matthews, but had known that he was right, all they actually had, were fingerprints on some cans found near to where they located the stolen car. Without Tama admitting to anything, they could not charge him and just to rub salt in the wounds the Surveillance squad was out of town on another job and not available to monitor his movement's once he left the Police station.

Bridger's mood had darkened considerably since the morning's excitement, he knew Tama was involved; it was the way he had reacted by trying to run and then staying silent in the interview. If Tama were not involved, he would have been protesting his innocence. His gut instinct was screaming at him and he trusted his instincts, so he was not happy as he entered the cellblock to tell him the good news.

"If you're looking for Wilson, he's in with his lawyer", a voice said from behind a small partition wall. Steve 'the muscle' Kirkland stuck his head around the side of the wall grinning, his large muscular frame stretching his blue shirt almost to the point of ripping, "I saw you come in on the CCTV monitor..., how's it going Mike, it's good to see you back".

Bridger just nodded as he took in the name of the lawyer on the prisoner board next to Tama's name. The name read, 'J Little'.

Jane Little was a lawyer with Jones Allen, a local firm who dealt with criminal cases; they provided legal aid and were on the list that the Police provided to anyone under arrest who did not have their own lawyer. She was also Bridger's Achilles heel and she had shared a bed with him on numerous occasions. He had not seen her since before he found himself on leave.

The door to the small interview room opened and she stepped out into the confines of the charge room. She had her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and was wearing a smart, close fitting trouser suit. Subtle perfume teased at Bridger's nostrils, her smell was one thing he remembered and to his discomfort, he found himself getting slightly aroused.

"Hi Mike, I thought you were on leave". Jane smiled as she spoke but did not let on there was anything else between them but professional courtesy.

"They can't do without me so I had to come back", Bridger said trying for a lighter approach to hide his discomfort, aware of Steve watching them both closely. "Have you spoken to Mr Wilson? I was just about to release him".

"Yes..., and I am pleased that you are just about to release him, I was just about to suggest the same thing. You have absolutely no evidence to suggest that my client was involved in anything other than drinking in a public place. Last time I checked there is no 'liquor ban' at Unity Park, so it's not against the law". Jane Little was back to being all business, "And as for using the guns and dogs when you went looking for him..." Jane shook her head a little, "Don't you think that was a little over the top?"

Bridger regarded Jane's challenging look she was giving him. Was this all a game to her? He realised that they both lived in very different worlds and he did not really know much about hers at all.

"We did what we did for the safety of all those involved this morning..., including your client", Bridger replied stonily. He was about to continue when he saw Tama standing behind Jane in the doorway making lewd sexual gestures behind her back. He wanted to reach over and grab him by the throat and beat a confession out of him. Teach the little shit he could not hide behind his Lawyer who he obviously had no respect for either.

"We'll that's all academic now", Jane said "I'll be speaking with my boss, Tama may have a case to take this further, now if you'll excuse me". Jane Little turned and let herself out of the door without even acknowledging her client. Three sets of eyes following her departure.

"She got you there Mike", Steve said, his cheeks had a slight flush on them.

Bridger just stood there shaking his head. "Let's get this done", he said angrily, turning back to Tama Wilson.

"What the fuck were you thinking Junior?", Joseph Kingi senior knew the use of the name Junior would wind his son up, "Going shopping with two losers like that, what have I always told you, keep it in the fucking family". Word had reached him quickly, even through the thick concrete walls of his world.

"Fuck you, you old prick, if you didn't have such expensive tastes I wouldn't need to would I.... Maybe it is time you stood aside.... There's not a lot you can do about it right now is there". Joseph junior spat out his reply but it lacked conviction.

Joseph senior was not stupid; he knew the screws would be monitoring the phones. Nothing was secret in prison, but as soon as he heard what had happened he needed to get his son a message, the business needed protecting. If Joseph junior lost control on the outside it would make his position on the inside untenable, he had pissed off to many people to not be the 'king pin' anymore.

"This is your issue, you need to sort it. I don't care how..., just do it." Joseph senior cut the connection before his son could reply. He had said enough to get the message across but had been careful not to say or do anything illegal. That will keep the screws scratching their heads, he thought grimly.

Placing the phone back on its cradle he turned and took in his surroundings. He saw the same sterile painted concrete walls, the same smell of desperation and despair leeching out of them. He had been here for three long and arduous years and he had at least another eight to go. If he had to be in this shit hole he wanted to retain his position at the top of the pile, but his son was out of control and that scared him. If Joseph junior did not look after things, it opened up an opportunity for those trapped inside with him to make a move. Without the threat on the outside keeping them in line, some of those men scared him more than anyone had before. He was getting to old and tired to have to assert his status continually as a way of protection.

Allegiances between desperate men caged together changed on the slightest whisper of vulnerability and he was starting to feel vulnerable for the first time since he was a child. A few tame screws on the inside did nothing for his confidence either.

He had hoped that his son would be able to step up and take care of business after he went inside, unfortunately Joseph junior was just like the rest, arrogant, dumb and full of his own importance, but with a violent streak that would lead him straight to hell.

He did not particularly like his son, but he was blood and that counted for enough.

Rule number one if you wanted a long and successful criminal career, never do anything to warrant extra attention to yourself. Killing someone outside of the world you lived in got you sent down faster than anything did. The Police did not care if you blew each other away, gang on gang, lender on defaulter, they would put in just enough effort to show willing, but kill a civilian and they came down hard. They poured all their resources into finding out which subject of the underclass dared to take out one of their kind.

Joseph junior had crossed a line even if he had not pulled the trigger.

He needed to do something, but he could not let anyone see it coming from him, that was not an option. With this in mind, he picked up the phone and made another call. This might work to his advantage after-all; maybe he could kill all the birds with the one stone. It needed to work; he could not afford it not to.

### Chapter Six

Bridger was feeling a bit defeated as he sat on the table at the front of the office shared by his squad. Looking out the window, which afforded a great view of the city and up into the hill suburbs of Dunedin, he could see people going about their day without a care in the world. The sky was blue and the hills were green with early summer growth. The town planners had made one good decision in their design of the city; they retained a green belt that circled the city on the lower hill suburbs, just above the Octagon. It made it a beautiful city to live in.

What a pity it does not stop us spoiling it though, he thought bitterly.

Maybe he had jumped the gun a little in his rush to arrest Tama. He looked about the room at the faces before him. There was more room now they had it to themselves again and everyone was at their respective desks, but the mood could not have been more different from earlier. Anticipation of a quick result had reduced itself to disbelief in a system that did not allow them to hold someone long enough while they gathered evidence. Everyone has the right of being promptly charged or, in the absence of evidence, be released without charge... that was the rule. However, it was a rule that gave them problems today. Tama was guilty, that was the consensus within the team but the rules were against them. You should ideally gain evidence before arresting someone because once you did the clock started ticking, if it was not there after a certain period then the suspect walked out the door without charge. Bridger had played with the hand he had been dealt and now Tama knew the gamble he had taken, Bridger would now be playing the rest of the deal with a handicap.

Evidence was one thing they were scarce of in this case, Bridger had taken the gamble and arrested Tama quickly hoping that he would catch him off guard so soon after the robbery. The outcome he would have liked would have been a full confession from Tama and the shotgun located at his house. A nice neat little bundle all wrapped up and ready for court. That would have allayed the fears of the public while they gathered evidence on Tama's co offenders. It would also have done wonders for his confidence after his last efforts let him down so badly. It did not turn out the way he had hoped and he felt deflated in front of his colleagues.

"Don't kick yourself Mike, we all would have done exactly the same thing in your shoes, it was the right call", Brian spoke with sincerity "We moved fast...., as we should have, in an ideal world we would have had more evidence before we grabbed him and sure it didn't pay off this time....., but tomorrows another day".

"I agree, this might sound harsh but Mr Chen can't get any more dead", Grant said, "We have as long as it takes to get these guys, this is only day one".

The rest of the team grunted in agreement.

The support of his team did not do much for Bridger's mood. Another thing that was bugging him was the use of resources in the district. Tama was a hot suspect for a murder and his movements needed to be monitored, especially right after he were released. He had spoken with Stan Walton, officer in charge of surveillance, who had told him that the team was out of town. He could not even get a valid reason. Bloody sneaky beaky types they are always so secretive. Matthews had not shed any light on the reasons either just saying that at this stage their job was priority. He would have to just suck it up and get on with it.

"Right, let's work out where we go from here then", he said, "We need to work on the assumption that Tama along with two others robbed that store, although we can't rule out the fact that it may be someone else entirely. One of them pulled the trigger, but they were all involved in a joint enterprise. We need to nail down Tama's friends. Who would he do this type of thing with?" Bridger looked around the room for ideas.

"I still think the gang connection is where we should be looking" Becky chipped in "As Brian said earlier, it would be a big step up for Tama, he wouldn't do this without the encouragement of someone pretty serious...., Joseph Kingi would be my bet".

"And I think we should take a closer look at Martin McLaren as well, it's possible that is where Tama sprang from this morning before we found him", Brian added.

"Ok, Brian, Becky, you work on Joseph Kingi. Grant and John, you've got Martin, and Jo and I will follow up on Tama and anything else that may arise". Bridger looked at the clock on the wall "We all had a late night last night, there's not much to be gained by staying late again tonight, make a start and look at knocking off at about six, be back tomorrow for a seven o'clock briefing". Everybody nodded their agreement and moved closer to their respective partners to put their heads together.

Before Bridger had a chance to say anything to Jo, his office phone rang on his desk. Picking up the receiver, he listened to the caller before hanging up with a slight frown on his face.

"Brian, do you remember Big J?" Bridger said, looking across the room.

"That's Joseph Kingi senior isn't it? What about him?"

"I've just had the Governor from the Milton Hilton on the phone; he had a request through from Big J this afternoon. Joseph wants to see me..., in person... and on my own".

"I would have thought he would be no friend of yours after all it was you who put him in that place. He got about twelve years didn't he?" Brian said.

"I'm guessing he doesn't want to just pass the time of day... Still he's Joseph junior's father and junior is on our suspect list so I guess I will have to go and see him tomorrow as requested". Bridger said, with a slightly uneasy feeling.

He was limping slightly as he walked up into the Octagon in the central city area. They had taken his clothes, to look for evidence they had said. He was dressed only in old sweat pants and top they had found in lost property. He did not care; they smelt better than what he had given them in return.

It was less than a block from the police station but already he felt himself relaxing again. He could see the blue sky above the trees surrounding the grassy area that was a feature of the upper part near the town hall and church. There were people playing a big game of Chess with oversize pieces on the paved area of the bottom near the bars and restaurants, the normality of life.

The drugs and alcohol had worn off but the painkillers and feeling of excitement was more than enough to sustain Tama's mood. They had let him go; the police had nothing on him. They could not prove a thing and he had kept his mouth shut just like in the movies. J man was going to be impressed he was sure. This would show him how loyal he was, what a good soldier he would make. He hoped it would cement those thoughts in J man's mind and show he was worthy of a 'Patch'.

Tama shrugged his shoulders and grabbed at an imaginary vest, trying to see how it would feel to have the leather around him, the patch on his back, the symbol of power and belonging. People continued to walk around him unknowing or uncaring, they thought he was just another dumb loser from up on the hill. Well that would change for sure, once he had the patch they would take notice, people always looked at the patch.

His father had one, a long time ago, before he went to prison. Tama had only vague memories of his father, a big man with a big personality. He always had a beer in his hand and a smile on his face, and he always had the patch on his back. His father was the protector in those days, nothing touched his family while dad was around, although he knew not to cross his father or he would take a beating.

It was not long after his father went to jail when it started happening, Martin's stepfather started coming around with the pretence of helping his mother. His mother was always too drunk to care. That pervert just helped himself and when he got bored, it stopped, just like that. It had left him confused at first, as if he was not worthy anymore; he had grown so used to the attention he received that it scared him to be suddenly alone. He could not remember clearly, or what had happened exactly, as it was so long ago and he was young, but he knew in his gut that it was not pleasant. Fragmented memories fighting against his minds need to suppress them.

He had not been with a girl yet, he had no idea how it felt. Maybe he did not find them exciting enough to want to try anyway, but then maybe he was just too afraid. He felt comfortable with Martin though, he was his best friend and he loved him. He knew Martin had been through the same thing with his stepfather, they had not spoken about it but he had seen it in his eyes. That was why the pervert had moved on from him, to be with Martin. It was another thing he owed him for, taking on the shame and hurt Martin's stepfather had callously thrown his way.

He looked up towards the top of the Octagon, lounging at the foot of the Robbie Burns statue were two of J man's foot soldiers. Their heavy leather vests were covering t-shirts sporting the same insignia as the patches on their backs. Both men were heavily tattooed, and they were wearing dark sunglasses hiding their eyes. They looked like hard men, men who had everything and would not let anyone take it. People walking past were giving them a wide berth.

They were on the other side of the Octagon from Tama but they had seen him. One of them raised his chin in greeting from across the carriageway while the other one was talking on a cell phone, probably talking to J man. J man must be looking out for him, Tama thought with a bit of pride, making sure he got out of the cells. He nodded back but knew better than to approach them. You do not talk to a 'Patch' unless they want to talk to you. Instead, he walked south along Princess Street towards the bus stop that would take him home.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his cell phone to text Martin and let him know his news.

Bridger walked into his empty house, the silence once again hitting him as he found himself drawn to the kitchen. The only room he really used now that she had gone, everything was within an arm's reach and there were no pictures of them within view.

An open book was turned page down on the table where he had left it that morning. He had not had much time to read in the last few years, not really being an avid reader anyway; he had never bothered to make the time. A chance encounter with a poster in a bookstore in town had drawn him to this book.

He had been in a dark place, soon after the death of a colleague by suicide whom he both trusted and respected. However, it had turned out he had been very wrong in the judgement of their character. Combining that with everything else that was happening in his life, with Laura and his drinking, he had hit rock bottom.

Marion Watson had been through a lot in her ordeal with her captor. She was having difficulties at first, confronting her demons. She had seen for herself where demons could lead, watching a person take their own life was bound to make things abundantly clear. After talking with her a little while after that, he knew she would overcome and heal her mental wounds. She was a survivor.

The poster he had seen read simply 'To live is to suffer; to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering'. It was a quote by a nineteenth century philosopher named Friedrich Nietzsche. He had looked at the quote and had seen what Marion had demonstrated to him, she was bravely trying to discover the meaning of her own survival.

He bought the book immediately and although it was a heavy read, he had almost completed it. He had no idea before then that Nietzsche's writings had influenced a lot of modern thinking. In some ways the writings had helped his own outlook and recovery, he was a long way from being straight with himself but he was getting there.

He was too tired to read tonight, so pushed the play button on his CD player. The Music started playing while he sorted through a pile of mail that needed attention. The Veils, with Finn Andrews haunting voice putting a slight chill in his spine. 'Larkspur'.

One envelope stood out from the rest as he went through the pile. There amongst the bills and special offers was an official looking monogrammed envelope sporting the name Jones Allen, specialists in criminal and family law.

Reading the single sheet of A4 paper contained inside, his heart lurched. A polite letter, addressed to him personally, requesting a meeting at their chambers, date to be arranged, and accompanied by representation if he should require. It was a meeting to 'discuss' the terms of divorce proceedings in relation to Laura Bridger.

Bridger sat down heavily in the chair next to the table, he could not breathe and his chest felt like it had caved in. He tried to re read the letter to see if he had made a mistake but his eyes wouldn't focus on the page, the words all blurring into one big mess.

The album playing in the background had moved onto the track, 'Begin Again'. He did not like what he was hearing, nothing was going to begin again, and it would not be a joyous thing. He picked up the CD player and hurled it across the room, ripping the cord out of the wall as he did so. The plastic casing smashed against the plasterboard, the surge in electricity caused a fuse to pop, leaving the room bathed in grey hue in the early evening light.

He stood there breathing heavily, eyes on the cupboard above the bench.

It would be a place to hide if only for the night, lost in the fugue of the alcohol's hypocrisy, always promising better things while slowly making it worse. He knew that he could easily let himself sink back into the amber liquid world, it would numb the feeling he was experiencing now, take away all the anger and frustration. It would be so easy to let the bottle take him again, but who would that hurt more.

Laura had given him no real warning, how had it come to this? All she wanted was space to sort her head out. When had she come to this decision? They had not even had a chance to talk properly.

Bridger looked down at his clenched fists and had to force himself to release the grip on his palms. Uncurling his fingers slightly and letting the blood run through them he felt himself relaxing slightly. Maybe it was not the end of the line, they would talk..., and maybe they could find common ground again... He would pin his hopes on that.

He stood in the darkened room letting those thoughts turn over in his mind. His thoughts flashed back to the day he had seen Laura in the café with that man, a man he had never seen before, a man he had not seen since. He could not even recall what he looked like; the face was always lost in the painful emotions of the memory. He had been harbouring a fantasy for the past few weeks. He would see them together, they would be arguing, the man would push her and then he could march in and sort it out. He would imagine himself venting the homicidal rage that he felt towards this man. Laura would then see he had protected her and it would all be all right again. Things could go back to the way they were. Sometimes it was a varied version of that, but always with the same outcome. Tonight he could not see that happening anymore, the fantasy ended differently.

Bridger's cell phone vibrated silently on the wooden tabletop, the glowing screen indicating a text message received. His mind on autopilot he picked it up and read the message. 'Want to meet? J. x'.

Bridger glanced over at the book on the table. 'The true man wants two things: Danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything'. It was a fitting quote from the man himself.

Right now he needed company, if only to stop him from turning to the bottle and Jane had been playing on his mind since their chance meeting this afternoon. There is always an excuse for everything.

He typed in a simple reply 'Where?'

### Chapter Seven

Tama had sensed that Martin was a bit off with him, his reply to the text sent earlier was short and to the point. He had not been able to find him either which was strange in itself. Martin did not normally wander to far from home. He knew the 'Pigs' would not have caught him, he would have seen him back at the Police station if that had happened.

He had been sitting on the bus on the way back to the hood wanting to share his story but he had no one to turn to. The only people on the bus had turned their heads away when he made eye contact. One little kid in the rear had poked his tongue out before sticking his finger up at him; the boy's mother had smacked him across the head before sticking her own head back into the magazine she was reading. Such a little thing in the boys life, he did not realise how lucky he was to have a mother that cared. It had actually made him a little sad to think of his own mother, living under a cloud of alcohol and drugs. She was such a useless whore; she did not give a shit about him. She never had.

He tried thinking of someone he could tell, he wanted to show everyone who he was. He could not approach or text J man without an invite. That would be overstepping his boundaries. Martin was missing in action and there was no one in the house when he had returned home. The feeling he had this afternoon had started to fade, the initial high wearing off.

He had been sitting on the mattress in his bedroom for the last 10 minutes since getting home to the empty house. They had trashed the place; they had even ripped the filthy sheet he was sitting back off the mattress in the corner, revealing a large tear in the fabric underneath, which was spilling stuffing.

Fucking police, he thought angrily, what did they think? That he would hide the shotgun inside his mattress. They had been through the entire house, nothing had been sacred, not even his mothers room. He had not bothered to pick anything up; it would not really make much of a difference anyway.

He was staring at his cell phone wondering what to do next when the text came in.

'Got a job, get the tools, meet at usual, at 9'.

The number was unfamiliar to Tama, but the message was clear, he was one of the trusted now, he was doing another job. J man must have got one of his boys to send him the text he was clever like that. He wondered if Martin was going to be involved. He thought of sending him a text but then thought better of it, if Star were involved, he would see him there, if he was not involved, he did not want him to know, not yet.

Tama looked at his watch, he had had it since he was a child, it was an old scratched digital Casio but it still told the time. He had about an hour and a half, more than enough time to go and get the shotgun and then get down to the park.

He was starting to buzz again; he knew he was going to get his patch. He would finally be somebody. He would do anything now, he had killed that man and it had not even affected him. He was a stone cold killer, someone that J man could turn to when he needed something done.

He reached under his mattress and retrieved the small point bag with his junk clearly visible through the clear plastic. One thing the pigs did not find, he thought. Grabbing a ratty magazine from the floor and a blackened butter knife, he poured a small amount of the slightly brown powdery substance out onto the cover. He moved it about a bit with the knife as he had seen on the movies, before tipping it into a small piece of foil. He looked around the clutter next to his mattress and found the glass pipe he was looking for. Placing the foil in the small bowl at the bottom of the pipe, he held his cigarette lighter underneath. The powder bubbled and dissolved in the heat then filled the glass balloon with smoke, which he hungrily inhaled. The effect was immediate, pupils dilating, pulse racing. He felt the euphoria flow through him from his brain outwards to the tips of his fingers and toes then race back again and slam into his brain once more. The music, which had been playing quietly in the background, was now clear in his ears and thumping with the Insane Clown Posse, Hokus Pokus. The whole room was alive with the angst of the music; the posters were jumping off the walls, the walls were bulging in and out as if the house was breathing. He was king of the world, people will look at him now, admire him, and fear him. He was a killer; he had killed and did not feel a thing. Stone cold, fucking A.

Standing up unsteadily, he gathered his darkest t-shirt off the floor. He did not have the mask from last night that was with the gun, he was not stupid.

Tama looked at himself in the mirror, the man looking back at him smiled, no trace of the boy he was yesterday. With the dope boosting his confidence, he walked out into the gathering darkness to collect the tools of his new trade.

It was not far; he found himself walking with a slight swagger, just a little, probably not even noticeable but his confidence was building. It was the walk of a man. He turned left into Isadore Road before making the right into Hillhead Road then followed the side of the Golf course until he reached the pine trees, all the while practicing his walk.

He could just about see the pad across the park on his right as he sauntered towards the trees, the high wooden fence blocking most of the light from within. He knew the sentries would be on the other side, checking over the top occasionally. He wondered if they knew what was happening tonight, he wondered if they knew that Tama the killer was going out on the town again. It did not matter, they would know soon enough.

He thought back to the previous night, he was the star of that party, J man had told everybody what happened and then let him revel in it, the drugs and the drink, the girls, they looked at him differently to he had noticed that. He would have one of those bitches tonight, now that he was someone. People like J man and him, they needed girls, men have needs and those girls would feed them. Tonight was going to be his night.

Moving into the shadows where he remembered Martin putting the bag with the gun he crouched down and felt around blindly at the base of the tree. He knew there should be a small hollow somewhere, moving himself forward he pushed as many of the fallen pine needles as he could to one side.

He found the hollow but the hollow was empty.

He started to panic a little bit, searching around frantically, blind in the darkness below the tree. The bag and the gun had to be here, he could not have lost it. J man would kill him if he had.

"Are you looking for this...?" The whisper of a voice came from somewhere in front of him, hidden between the trees, almost sorrowful in tone.

"What...?"

The metallic sound of a shell cartridge chambering into a breach as it closed rang out, the sound bouncing off the trees around him, before ringing in his ears.

He looked into the darkness, trying desperately to see shape behind the voice. Tama's stomach felt hollow all of a sudden, acid was pouring into the empty space making him feel sick.

"It has to be this way", the voice said, no trace of emotion now.

"What does?"

Tama sensed some movement next to the closest tree, a shadow attached to the voice stepped into view.

"It's better for all of us", the shadow said.

Tama could not speak; this was not going the right way.... He wanted to stand but he did not understand what the shadow wanted, so he stayed on his knees as if praying. Was this a bad trip? Was this the dope making him see and hear things?

The voice sounded familiar to him but it was to quiet to tell. He thought he knew the voice... it might be all right.

The shadow moved closer, a slither of light on his face, Tama's eyes widened in betrayed confusion as he glimpsed the familiar face behind the shadow.

"W-Why...?"

Light flashed from the darkness, just a small lick of flame, which burnt into the back of his wide-open retinas. The flash left behind a white-hot stain, insignificant except for the noise that came with it. His ears registered the loud crack milliseconds before his face imploded and the back of his head exploded, sending fragments of yellow grey bone and brain matter, swirling within a red mist, back against the rough brown bark of the solid tree trunk behind him. His body toppled forward landing face down in the dirt; its final degrading act was to purge itself of its waste.

The face of the man that had smiled back at him in the mirror earlier in the evening had spread itself all over the tree.

The shadow turned and melted back into the darkness.

Bridger parked his old Toyota at the bottom of York Place, a couple of blocks east of the Octagon, near to the St John Ambulance building. It was more out of habit than the desire to be inconspicuous, he knew there was limited off street parking outside her flat and what street parking there was would be full of the area's residents at this time of night. He did not want the hassle of having to manoeuvre about, trying to jostle into a tight space. Besides, it was only a short walk uphill, the fresh air might clear his head a bit. Locking the car, he began the short trudge up the hill. Every time he came here, it reminded him of the difference in their lives. He would never be able to afford as second residence just so he did not have to travel too far to get to work. He realised as he walked that he did not even know exactly where Jane lived when she went home in the weekends, but then their relationship did not lend itself to personal details of the other. He did not really want to know either if he was honest with himself. It just complicated things a bit too much when you did not need to.

Arriving out the front, he stopped at the gate to catch his breath a bit. Jane's flat was the bottom part of a large two story Victorian house with a Welsh slate roof, the wrought iron balustrades on the balconies giving it a grand feel.

Bridger had not really looked at it properly before. He normally arrived after dark and mostly inebriated; then he would leave again in the cold morning light with bleary eyes and a heavy dose of guilt. It would have been quite a place when it was first constructed; the family, which it housed, would have been from the upper classes of the colonisers. The man of the house would have been a Lawyer or a Banker, someone of standing within the fledgling community of early Dunedin.

Bridger stood outside the familiar blue wooden door and took a deep breath, was Jane really a good idea?

I am not cheating now, he thought, with a tinge of guilt nagging at the back of his mind.

Jane answered the door before he had time to change his mind. He did not even remember pushing the buzzer.

"Mike, how are you? Come in". Jane's business like tone confused him a little, as she stepped to the side and motioned for him to come inside.

He took in her shapely form out of the corner of his peripheral vision and could not help noticing her very sensual fragrance. She was a very sexy woman.

"We are in the drawing room, through there", she said pointing to the door at the end of the short hallway, "Go through".

Bridger's mind flashed back to the first night they spent together, he remembered laughing at Jane as she had told him in a playfully posh voice that they would be 'doing it' in the drawing room and would he please go through and make himself available for her pleasure. The leather Chaise lounge had been more than adequate to make them both available to each other in many ways. From Jane's tone of voice though, he was not sure that a repeat performance was on the cards.

Had she said 'We' are in the drawing room? He could not remember. His sixth sense started to twitch a little as he went through into the familiar surroundings.

Bridger stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging open slightly, Jane nearly walked into the back of him. The sight of the person sitting nervously at a small table, hands fidgeting on her lap, knocked the wind out of him.

"Sorry about the subterfuge Mike, but Laura didn't think you would turn up to a formal meeting at our offices".

Laura's smile was small and forced; "Hi Mike" was all she managed.

Bridger looked at his wife, and then back at Jane, what sorts of games was she playing here? A thousand things were running through his head all at once making it difficult to put a sentence together. Did Laura know about Jane? Was she here to confront him about it?

"It's nice to see you Laura, I've missed you...," Bridger could not quite look her in the eye.

"I know what you're like, you haven't missed me Mike; you've missed us..., there's a big difference". Laura's tone was neutral as she spoke, no emotion, as if she knew exactly what he would say and she had already worked out her reply.

"What's this about?" Bridger asked, looking at both Laura and Jane in turn, then over to the Chaise lounge in the corner.

Jane looked at Laura and indicated for her to reply.

"I've asked Jane to act on my behalf; we met at her offices.... She said she knew you through work. I thought a friendly face might help things along a bit".

Bridger looked at Jane who was concentrating on Laura; he did not think it would have been just a chance meeting. Jane was playing a very dangerous game getting involved in a relationship break up, giving legal advice to the wife of her lover; it would be enough to sink her career.

"I thought you only handled criminal cases Jane" he managed.

"I'm making an exception in this case Mike, since it's you, and we get on okay... Don't we?" She turned and looked back at Laura "Anyway as Laura said, I thought a friendly face would help things along, make it easier on both of you."

Bridger could not think of a reply, he looked at Laura nervously.

Laura was dressed in her work clothes, she had her fiery red hair tied back in a pony tail and needed minimal make up to accentuate her features. She looked good, just like he remembered. Bridger had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her hand, tell her it was all a mistake, and tell her that they could start again.

He could not say anything, he just felt embarrassed. He did not want to do this with Jane involved. It felt dirty.

He looked at Jane; she was standing behind Laura and he saw her raise her eyebrows slightly as she smiled back at him. Both women standing there he knew intimately, it was an odd feeling. One of them was hopefully still unaware of the others part in the triangle.

Laura was looking at him waiting for him to say something. Laura deserved his involvement, right from the start.

"Let's talk", he said quietly.

Bridger had received the call from Grant Wylie just as he was about to close the deal. Jane had been more than persuasive after Laura had left, insisting that they 'Do it' right there on the chair that Laura had used. He had tried to resist at first but then his base needs had taken over and he had lent himself to her pleasure. She had been very excited as well, not needing a lot of attention before he was able to enter her. For his part, he had just sat there on the seat, involved only from the waist down, as she ground her hips and buttocks down onto him, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

The sound of the phone ringing though had had an immediate effect on them both, breaking the mood. Jane had just climbed off him without a word and pulled her skirt down, leaving him flaccid and wondering what in the hell he had just been involved in.

Driving in the darkness now, he felt slightly uncomfortable, not having bothered to shower before he had beaten a hasty retreat, glad of the excuse to leave. He gave himself a sniff, but could not detect the musty smell of unwashed sex. There was no doubt that he was a willing partner in the whole scenario but he was at a loss to say why.

Seeing Laura had shaken him, he was not prepared to have that talk; he could not bring himself to ask the question burning in his stomach about the man she had kissed in the Café. As it was, it was not very productive, just setting the ball in motion really. One thing he knew now, Laura was serious about wanting to separate.

Already Bridger's mind was conflicting though, his thoughts about Laura and Jane were being pushed aside by the pending thoughts on 'Death' which were about to invade his private space again for the second time in two days.

Pulling into Hillhead Road, he could see that the circus had already arrived.

Bright spotlights had been set up; a hastily erected shelter stood in the trees nearby, no doubt the victim would be lying beneath it. The scene looked like something out of a close encounters film.

He could see Grant standing on the roadside up ahead, he looked relaxed despite the situation and was talking to someone dressed in white coveralls, the hood covering his head and obscuring the wearer's identity. Another unknown male standing next to them was dressed like a golfer.

A uniform Constable waved him to the side of the road as he drove up close to the emergency tape blocking the way through.

"Hi Steve", he said, as he got out of his car. Not bothering to lock it, he walked up to and then climbed under the blue and white tape. "This is pretty well contained and under control I see".

"That's Gillian Holler for you, she is a pretty efficient supervisor" There was a fond tone in Steve's voice, like that of a younger brother to an older sister "She had most of this sorted a few minutes after leaving the office on the initial 'body found' call. Grant is over there if you want him, he was the on-call Detective that we contacted, and I guess he called you".

"Has there been any trouble with our friends over there?" Bridger asked, indicating the large tin and wood wall of the pad across the park. It was clearly lit up with the shadows of numerous heads visible above the fortifications, all staring intently at the controlled chaos of the scene.

"Not yet", Steve said, patting the holstered Glock pistol on his hip "But then they would have to be stupid to try anything".

"Well I guess they will be on our door to door enquiry list won't they", Bridger said, smiling at the thought. Any chance to pay them a visit and shake the tree a little was too good an opportunity to miss.

He walked over to where Grant was standing with the white clad figure. As he got closer he recognised Simon West, the Police Scene of Crime Officer dressed in his customary white paper weight overalls. Being a very meticulous sort of character, he was ideally suited to his role of evidence gathering. He was also rather portly; his overalls straining against his belly making him look more like a white Telly Tubby than a professional.

"Hi Mike, I didn't see you at last night's shout, but then I did have a few things on my plate...., my usual partner pulled a sicky and left me to process the whole scene on my own", Simon said, shaking his head. "It looks like she's left me in the lurch again tonight..., but hey ho, it's her loss", he added smiling and rubbing his hands together, eager to get on with his job.

Bridger had completely forgotten about Simon's love of the gruesome and macabre. It was rumoured that he had a personal photo collection of all the scenes that he had attended throughout his career. He could not repeat the stories he had heard from the less salubrious in the job about what he did with those pictures.

Grant stood behind Simon out of his eye line smiling at his colleagues' questionable eagerness. "Mike this is Neil Calder" Grant indicated the male standing off to the side, "He's the club Pro, he runs the golf shop up in the clubrooms. He is also the man who found the body. Neil this is Detective Sergeant Mike Bridger, my boss."

Neil put out his hand in greeting "Hello Sergeant, nice to meet you." A slight trace of an accent was noticeable as he spoke but Bridger was unable to pick out where it was from.

Bridger offered his own hand and received a firm shake from a strong hand. Golf must be good for something, he thought. "Call me Mike..., you found the body?"

"That's right; I was out for a late round after work just before it got dark so I was late leaving. I think I heard the shot just as I was leaving the clubrooms, but the door had slammed shut at the same time so I didn't take much notice of it until I found the.." Neil paused and took a breath, "Until I found...," he pointed over towards the area lit up by the powerful spotlights which no doubt displayed the remains of a human being in full gory detail. Bridger noticed a slight shake in his hand.

"It's okay Neil, I get the picture. What were you doing on this side of the golf course; surely you would normally leave from the front?"

Neil seemed a bit happier once Bridger had moved him off the subject of the body. "I walk through here on my way home, I live in this side and it's faster to walk through here. I thought I might pop into the trees on my way to see if I could dredge up some stray balls, it's amazing how many get lost in these trees daily." He pulled a few balls out of his pockets as evidence of his reason.

Bridger looked around, it was pitch black, and he could not see anything outside of the lights set up a few meters away. "Forgive me Neil but how do you see the balls in the dark?"

Neil flicked on a torch he had been holding in his hands, directing the powerful beam into the darkness. At the same time, he picked a small white golf ball from his pocket and tossed it into the trees. A few sweeps of the beam and they could see the little white ball glowing clearly against its surroundings. "Sometimes it's easier to see in the dark..." His voice trailed off at the end obviously recalling what he had actually found instead of a ball.

Bridger took this as his queue to jump in, Neil was obviously upset, and he sometimes forgot that it was not a normal occurrence for most people to have to deal with death. "I guess it must have been a bit of a shock finding the body Neil. We will need to take some details and speak to you properly about what you saw, but for now I can get someone to run you home if you like?"

"I only live just down the road so I can walk"

"I've got his details Mike." Grant said. Neil was nodding eagerly as if he wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

"Okay Neil, I'll have someone call you tomorrow and take a statement."

Neil nodded but did not reply. He started to walk away but then turned back "Should I come into work tomorrow?"

"We should have this cleared up by mid morning Neil, so I don't see why not, unless you're not up to it."

"I think I should be fine, stiff upper lip and all that, the regulars wouldn't be too happy to miss their golf." Neil turned and walked away without waiting for a reply.

Bridger watched him walking away. Golf was the most important thing in some people's lives. He wished his life was that simple?

Turning back to the group, he saw Simon shuffling from side to side, eager to get on with things and get back to the body, the polar opposite to the man who had just walked away.

"He's over here Mike, care to take a look?" He looked at Simon and made to reply but he had already started walking towards the temporary shelter before waiting for an answer.

Bridger looked at Grant and shrugged his shoulders then turned and followed Simon towards his next collector's item.

Stepping on the steel walk plates that Simon had lain on the ground earlier, leading up to the temporary shelter, Bridger had the feeling that a fat snowman was leading him on a nature walk, only there was no wonder of nature at the end of this short walk.

The body lay face down in the dirt; the harsh overhead lighting from the portable spotlights was unforgiving. The back of what Bridger guessed was a head had burst open like a ripe tomato, he could see pieces of bone and brain matter spread out behind the body, below its feet. The tree behind the body only a short distance away looked wet and sticky.

Looking at the obvious injuries there was no point checking for signs of life, even though that was probably what the first responding officers had done.

There was not a breath of wind, everything was still and the sound of the silence was almost audible. Bridger always felt an eerie feeling at scenes where death had occurred, as if everything around it was holding its breath and waiting for the body to give up its secret. It was always at a point where there was a lull in activity, between the violent beginning and the chaotic finish. A point in which you could draw a breath and just look, it was then you saw everything for what it was, you saw the frailty of life. Bridger hated death.

"There's no face, so identification might be difficult, all I can say is, it's a male," Simon said. "I'd say this is a wound inflicted by a shotgun, and if you're wondering what that smell is, I think he shit himself before he died".

The sound of Simon's voice bought Bridger back to reality. "Yeah, I'd say you're right Simon", Bridger said, looking at what was left of the victim's head and registering a slightly distasteful smell. "Although I think I know who this is..., those bandages on the leg..., I bet they are covering a great big dog bite".

"Tama Wilson", Grant said, from behind them.

"Yes", Bridger said in agreement, "Which leaves us with the question; who would want to kill the only suspect we have for last night's murder?"

"There's no honour among thieves", Simon said, crouching and poking around in the dirt beside the body.

Exactly, thought Bridger.

### Chapter Eight

The glare of the early morning sun was doing nothing for his tired eyes. He had forgotten his sunglasses and they were bone dry, burning slightly behind the eyelids. He had only about three hours sleep after they had finished up with Tama's body the previous evening. The consensus was that his co offenders got rid of him as the weakest link, afraid that he had talked to the police and would lead them into a trap. That was the theory, now they just had to prove it.

Matthews had wanted to separate the two cases, but Bridger had argued that they were connected and that his team had a greater chance of getting to the truth if they worked on both simultaneously.

Matthews had deferred to Bridger's train of thought and had not even put any hooks in his decision. It made Bridger slightly nervous the way Matthews was acting, he knew where he stood with him but he could not help but think that Matthews was just waiting for him to trip up.

He did question Bridger about his reason for visiting Kingi in prison when there were two murder enquiries underway, pushing for details about what Kingi wanted and how he had communicated it to him. Bridger had been unable to elaborate on either of those two subjects.

Kingi senior had been Bridger's informant before jail had caught up with him. Theirs was a relationship that was always fraught and uneasy but over the years, it had borne out a wealth of information. He used some information as background, stored it away for another day and some he acted upon either way it had led to a few arrests, usually of the opposition.

Informants were closely guarded secrets within the police, few, if any other officers, would know of the relationship between an informant and their handler. It was as much for the informants protection as anything else and it ensured that information would be free flowing if the 'Human Source' thought he was something special. However, it was usually because Bridger paid for the information. He certainly had not expected to have to pay Kingi this morning, as the law could construe it as exploitation, paying a serving prisoner. In Bridger's experience, though, they usually wanted something in return. Information was never free.

Right now, he had that appointment to keep with Joseph Kingi senior.

He had actually thought about postponing now they had an extra body on their hands but did not want to let Matthews know that, as he had seemed on edge about the visit. He also had a hunch that Big J may be able to help with both murders. In any case, the team was in capable hands with Brian Johnson at the helm while he was visiting his chum in jail.

Having set a few tasks to keep everyone busy while he was at the Milton Prison as he only planned to be away a couple of hours, he felt fairly relaxed that they would continue to progress the enquiry while he was tied up. They would do all the usual jobs first in order to satisfy any later judicial process. The chain of evidence needed to be intact.

Jo Williamson and John Mouller had drawn the longest straw and had the choice of either attending Tama's post-mortem or doing the dreaded door knock at the next of kin's address. Not much of a choice but they had chosen the door knock which would also include door-to-door inquiries in the local area. 'The Pad' was on their list. It was what he would have chosen to do as well if he had the choice. Death always looked uglier when dissected by curious doctors.

Becky Wright and Grant Wylie would attend the hospital again and Brian Johnson would be overseeing the tasking roster from the office. A busy day for all those involved, but that is what the public expected of them.

Bridger had his stereo up loud as he descended the south side of Saddle Hill on the southern motorway. Mosgiel, with its Hollywood style sign placed on the hillside, spread itself out below and to the right of him.

Referred to as 'Mollywood' by the locals, the jewel of the Taieri Plains received its name from Mossgiel Ayrshire, a farm owned by the poet Robert Burns, who was the uncle of the Reverend Robert Burns; one of the co founders of Dunedin.

Historically a place of industry with a large woollen mill long since closed, it was now just another suburb of Dunedin; a small town engulfed in the extremely large city boundary.

The rest of the Taieri Plains stretched out before him bordered on one side by the Maungatua and Silverpeaks ranges, with a low range of coastal hills on the other separating the Plains from the cold Pacific Ocean.

The other end of the Plains was his destination this morning. Milton Prison, a new build complex housing around 480 prisoners from Dunedin and all over New Zealand. A place where Joseph Kingi senior had spent the last three years for drug dealing, aggravated assault, and robbery, based mostly on Bridger's evidence in chief. It was evidence that Big J had been disputing from the day he received his sentence

The journey was going to be about twenty minutes long so Bridger just relaxed into his seat and let the music wash over him as he drove south. The Rubens cover recording of the Hunters and Collectors classic 'Holy Grail' pouring through the speakers.

With all that had been happening he hadn't once thought about his marital troubles since attending the scene of Tama Wilson's demise the previous evening.

He began working over in his mind how he was going to play this. His memory of Big J was of an overly egotistical male that liked to dominate the conversation, twisting it to suit whatever purpose he wanted at the time, which changed on a second by second basis.

Bridger's purpose was to explore whether Big J knew the identity of the three masked males they were hunting. If Joseph junior were involved, Big J would know about it.

Big J was not likely to inform on his son, but he was the one who had made contact so it was obvious that he wanted to speak about something and if he gave the names of the other two, then it would only be a matter of time before they linked them to Joseph junior. Then it would be job done.

The music continued to play, 'And those big black birds, they were circling in the sky. And you know what they say, yeah, nobody deserves to die'.

Bridger thought about Tama, were the big black birds circling now, looking to pick off the remains of the dead from this literal battlefield. Tama may have been a bad egg, but as The Rubens was singing, 'Nobody deserves to die'.

I will have to stop reading Nietzsche, Bridger thought, there are too many hidden meanings in everything.

It did not seem like long before the big grey concrete walls of the prison loomed into view. The walls were massive making the place look like a modern day fortress, only they wanted to keep people inside this fortress, no one in their right mind would want to invade the place.

Parking the car in the closest place he could find to the entrance, Bridger gathered everything he would need for the interview, if that were what this was going to be, and walked towards the front door.

He looked up at the blueness of the sky and took in a deep breath of the fresh air. He knew once he was inside the walls the feeling would change, the air would be stale and the sky, if he could glimpse it at all, would be a faded shade of the blue he could see now.

Prison was a horrible place, made worse by the desperation of those it contained. He had been here before and even though Milton Prison was relatively new, he knew the walls had still been saturated and infected with the hopelessness of wasted lives.

He hoped he would only be inside a couple of hours then he could get on with some real work and leave the desperate to the people paid to look after them.

Martin woke with a start, sitting up he could see a bright light shining at the end of a very black hole, tunnel like. The glare made him squint, he felt stiff and damp, and the light offered warmth and comfort.

Images of death flashed through his mind.

"Where the fuck am I," he said aloud. His voice echoed slightly, an empty hollow sound.

He could feel a cold hard surface under his hands, the chill was sitting about an inch off the ground, floating. The occasional wet drop fell from the blackness above him and hit the equally invisible stone floor.

Slowly it all came back to him. The image of Tama lying face down in the dirt, his head spread all over the tree, the feeling of revulsion, hatred and despair that had invaded his body.

Tama was his best friend and now he was dead.

He had run, as far as he could, but it had not helped dissipate the hollow numbness that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Tama's death was down to him, it had been the inevitable outcome of their actions. He knew he should have done something back at the store; he could have saved Tama before it all got out of control. Now he had two deaths hanging over his head, one, which was out of his control, and the other that was as a direct consequence.

He stood up in the darkness, the walls of the tunnel close on either side. It had been a place to sleep, a place to contain his angry thoughts as they fought for control of his mind, a place to hide.

It was now another place of childhood play forever tarnished with the memory of death.

Tunnel Beach is located about 8km from the city centre, a small beach only protected from the rest of the coast by a small headland and large un-scalable cliffs, it's really only usable at low tide. The shoreline is accessed by a short tunnel cut into the rocks as a path descends down to the beach, it was built by another Cargill, this time John Cargill in the 1870's, to give his family easy access. It was rumoured that it was to enable John's daughter to use the beach without having to expose herself to the public at nearby St Clair.

It was the first place Martin had thought of last night, no one would look for him there.

He walked upwards towards the entrance of the tunnel and emerged back into the light, a perfect vista of the Pacific Ocean edged by sandstone cliffs, one sporting a large naturally formed arch, opened up behind him. The green grass of the paddocks spread out to the front of him was rippling in the slight breeze as he looked at the track that would lead him back to the top.

The sun was shining, it was warm now he had left the chill of the tunnel, everything was normal. Image's of a much younger Tama playing on the track, flashed through Martin's thoughts.

He saw him smiling as he went as close to the edge of the cliff as possible, a game they had played as children.

Suddenly Tama's expression went from happy to anguish, a puzzled and betrayed look on his face. He heard Tama say, 'Why?' before he watched him step backwards and disappear over the edge.

The vision shocked him and he stumbled, and then fell against the side of the hill landing heavily on his backside.

He reached out his hand towards the cliffs edge, a hopeless gesture directed at the empty space the image of Tama had occupied.

Tama was gone... It was too late.

Martin began to cry.

"He's not pretty I'm afraid", the pathologist said as he snapped his rubber gloves onto his fingers. Dr James Mortimer had been a doctor for twenty years after graduating with first class honours at the Otago University, a local boy who never left. He had been a pathologist for the past five years and was well acquainted with what the police required from him.

"There is not much left of the cranial region, but I understand identification is not an issue".

Grant Wylie hated post-mortem procedures as much as children hated vegetables, and in his experience, that was a lot. This would be his second viewing in less than 24 hours.

"We know who he is Doctor." Grant said. "We are really just going through the motions here. I'm not sure how much evidential value there will be having you confirm that he died after having his head blown off".

"That may be Detective, but as you and I both know evidence can come from the most unlikely places. We won't know what we might find until we have a closer look". Dr Mortimer did not wait for a reply before walking into the cutting room.

Grant looked at Becky and shrugged his shoulders feeling slightly admonished.

"I'm just glad we are behind this window and not in there with him." Becky said. "That stink can be horrendous".

They both looked though the window and watched as Dr Mortimer arranged the tools of his trade in order of appearance.

Grant thought he could see a slight sadistic smile on his lips as he picked up the scalpel that sat neatly next to the large set of bolt cutters. A chill ran through him as he looked at the pile of human waste laid out on the gurney before them.

There is no dignity in death, he thought, it comes to everyone; he just hoped he would be spared the Doctor's attention when his time came.

A knock on the door behind them interrupted the surreal scene making them both jump.

"Excuse me Detectives but the Doctor asked me to give you this". The nurse was petite and looked foreign; she had a brown A4 size envelope in her hand. "It's the results of the procedure for Mr Chen".

She looked like she wanted to hand over the documents and leave as quickly as possible, glancing distastefully at the activities through the window.

Becky took the envelope and the nurse retreated through the door.

"Thanks'" she called to the back of her head as the nurse disappeared down the hall. Turning back to Grant "You would think they would have a stronger stomach with their job".

Grant just nodded his eyes on the A4 envelope in Becky's hand.

"Grant can you keep an eye on Dr Jekyll in there while I have a quick glance at this"

Grant was about to protest but then thought better of it, he knew Becky hated death as much as he did. Doing her a favour might work out well for him in the future, besides he had already seen the worst of it, once the pathologist sliced open the body the shock factor was less. He took the organs out one by one, examining and weighing them before placing them in a bag, which ended up stitched back into the body at the end. The face would be peeled back to enable the skull to be opened up to reveal the brain's secrets. It did not look human after a while and that made the experience a little more bearable.

"If I have to", he said, smiling a false smile before turning back to the gruesome show being played out for his viewing pleasure.

Dr Mortimer had already opened the chest cavity and was using the large bolt droppers to cut the cartilage away from the middle of the rib cage to enable access to its contents. Inside was the heart, lungs and various other things that Grant had no idea about, and a lot of blood.

"It seems that Dr Mortimer was right, you don't know what you will find unless you look", Becky said, a trace of excitement in her voice "It says here that he found a small amount of blood and saliva 'Other than the victim's' on the victim's palm".

Grant looked incredulous, "How could he tell that it was different? There was so much blood from the victim it would have just mixed in with his own". He was thinking ahead to a Court hearing, any good defence lawyer would argue this discovery as very unlikely. They may even go so far as to say it was 'planted' unless a credible explanation for its discovery was offered.

"Doctor Mortimer is one step ahead of you again Grant, he has placed a side note on the file indicating how the sample was discovered...., " She looked up at Grant, then through the window at the Doctor, "He's not new at this you know Grant, he is the police's pathologist of choice". There was a very protective nuance in her voice, as if there was more than just professional admiration for the good Doctor.

Becky looked like she was going to keep the information to herself, but then thought better of it. "It looks like a long winded explanation", she said handing a document to Grant, "Have a read".

Grant looked at the sheet of paper and struggled to make sense of the Doctor's handwriting.

'The sample was found encased in the deceased's palm which was subject to rigor-mortis and had curled upon itself, thus enabling the mixed saliva blood sample to remain viscous. The sample presented differently than other secretions found on the body. In my opinion, someone other than the victim put it there by spitting on the palm area. This other person would have had an injury to the mouth or head/facial area to cause the saliva blood mix'.

"Well, he seems to have covered that off pretty efficiently, I guess we need to have it submitted for DNA testing ASAP". Grant said begrudgingly.

"The person who was hit by Mr Chen with the bat would be injured," Becky said "My guess is that the sample would belong to him. From what I saw on the CCTV footage he was the one who entered the shop with the gun then handed it to our shooter when he tried to rape the young girl".

"Has the blood type been tested..., that's pretty simple isn't it?" Grant looked at the sheet he was holding, "Okay it has been.... O positive... Maybe we can match it to our friend lying on the table in there; it's easier and faster to match DNA if you already have a suspect sample".

A knock on the window behind them interrupted their train of thought. Dr Mortimer was holding a small test card up to the window, it had drops of blood on it, he was shaking his head and indicating the sheet Grant was holding, they both looked closer at the card he was holding, indicating blood type A.

"It looks like Dr Mortimer is one step ahead of you again," Becky said smiling and then mouthing the words thank-you through the window.

"Well that would mean it is only a choice between our friend in there and one other for the shooter. The guy with the injury did not shoot Mr Chen, CCTV shows that." Grant said.

"My bet is that the DNA will match Joseph Kingi Junior, I still think he is a good fit for what I saw on the tapes." Becky replied."And that means the other person is likely to be one of his goons".

"Only one way to find out", Grant said waving the file in front of Becky, "Let's get the testing underway".

John Mouller did not know anyone that enjoyed this part of the job, aptly labelled the 'Death Knock', heralding one of the only visitor's you wouldn't want at your door; he could not stand it when people broke down in front of him. He thought he had left that part of the job behind when he became a Detective. He was not a counsellor, he did not even know anyone who had died, apart from his grandparents and he was too young at the time to remember that. They were already to drive up to Tama's house when a twist of fate saved the first part of the job. The uniform staff had brought Tama's mother into the station by the after she was found in a doss house close by. Dressed in a short tatty skirt, a tight t-shirt covered with a plain black leather vest and a pair of very high heels she looked as if she had just come in from a night working the streets.

John had taken in her sullen pale features, unkempt hair and the telltale pockmarks of a heavy drug user and decided she would not have made a lot of money if she had.

He had watched, as Jo had taken no notice of her appearance, treating her with the dignity the occasion accorded her. She had taken her through to an office with soft furniture and made her comfortable, and gave a hot cup of tea.

Jo had taken her time and chosen her words carefully. John had been impressed with her compassion.

Mrs Tania Wilson on the other hand had appeared not to care at all that someone had shot her only son to death. She just sat there sipping her tea and sucking air through the gap of her missing tooth, nodding her head as if she agreed with what Jo was telling her, her vacant eyes watching but not seeing.

He had watched as Jo tried to make her see the seriousness of the situation but it just did not seem to get through. In the end John had decided enough was enough and had put a stop to it, if Mrs Wilson did not care she might as well leave so they could get on with the rest of their task. Jo had voiced her concern but had deferred to John's experience as a Detective.

As they had watched her leave the station she had lit up a cigarette and approached the first person she saw asking for money.

Now they were on their way to the next part of their day, and he hoped it would be more productive. They had spent most of the short journey up to Corstaphine in silence.

"Where do you want to start?" Jo asked John, hoping the answer would be 'The Pad'. She wanted to get that enquiry out of the way as soon as she could. She had not had many dealings with Gang members before but had dealt with Joseph Kingi Junior once for a speeding offence. She was on her own when she had stopped his car; she had no idea who he was then, having only been in the job about six months.

Thinking it would be just another routine stop she had not bothered to update the communication centre of her status. As soon as she had approached the driver's window, she knew she had made a grave error of judgement. She could feel his menace radiating out of every pore of his pockmarked skin. The way he had looked at her made her stomach crawl, and he knew it. She was an easy target and he was not about to let any girl tell him how he should be driving.

When he stepped out of the car not even bothering to wait until she moved, then stood in her face she had nearly wet herself.

He had looked toward the empty patrol car and realised she was on her own, he did not even need to say anything, the look on his face told her the whole story. She had simply turned around and retreated to the relative safety of the patrol car.

As she drove away, she watched him in the rear-view mirror making lewd gestures towards her and laughing. She hated herself for that act of cowardice and she had never told anyone of the encounter. She just hoped that he would not remember their brief meeting.

"Let's start with Tama's house and move from there towards the scene", John replied "Retrace his steps; someone might have seen someone following him".

"Tama's friend Martin McLaren lives next door, doesn't he? Let's start there then" Jo said nervously, still apprehensive about the impending visit to 'The Pad'.

John didn't notice her mood as he parked the car in the street between what looked like a wreck of a car and one that was in better condition but had no wheels, supported by two old jacks and a couple of blocks of wood.

Walking up the short path that spanned the unkempt grass of the front lawn Jo saw a curtain twitch in one of the windows facing them. Someone was home, and had seen them approaching.

The door flew open before they had a chance to step onto the porch.

"What the fuck do you's want", the man was flushed and sweaty, his paunch bulging dangerously over his scruffy sweat pants. "He's not even here, so you's can fuck off back to the pigsty if you want".

"I'm sorry, who are you?" John said in a neutral tone.

"I'm the one that lives here and telling you to get the fuck off my property". The man spoke with venom but his body language betrayed a nervousness, which did not escape their attention.

"Well...." Jo said forcefully "You obviously know who we are, so you know we won't be going now that you have insulted us. I take it you're Martin's father?"

John looked at Jo wondering where this was going.

"Star... That loser is only my stepson, mores the pity. He's a waste of space, I only put up with him so his mother will keep sucking my dick". The man's black eyes looked Jo up and down and he licked his lips.

"Charming... is Martin or his mother home?" Jo continued.

"No and No..., now fuck off". The man stepped back inside and slammed the door in their faces.

John and Jo looked at each other. John just shrugged his shoulders, "That didn't go as well as I would have liked," he said, before he turned and started to walk back to the car.

Jo watched John retreat towards the car, wondering why he was not pushing things a little further. This man clearly had something to hide. She burned inwardly; she could not stand the way that some people viewed the Police as the enemy. Looking at the closed door she couldn't think of any legal reason to make him open it up again so she gave in and followed John silently back to the car, dreading her fast approaching date at 'The Pad'.

### Chapter Nine

Bridger signed in at the reception counter and waited for his escort to the interview room where Joseph senior would be waiting for his audience. The officer behind the desk came around and indicated that he lift his arms up. The whole process was just a routine for him. Being a Police Officer afforded him no special privileges; they searched him just as they did everybody else.

The Prison Officer at the reception was a big jolly fellow dressed in a very similar uniform to the Police. He was almost too jovial to have spent his working life locked in the confines of the concrete walls with life's less privileged.

His standard line was 'Don't take the tie off as they might not let you out again'. Bridger looked down at his crumpled suit and scuffed shoes he had owned for many years and decided that he might be right; he looked like he belonged here.

He had not actually noticed his appearance this morning as he had struggled out of bed still half dressed. He had only managed a few hours sleep. Normally Laura would tell him if he looked unkempt and he could rectify it, not anymore. A wave of loneliness swept through him and settled in the pit of his stomach.

His escort arrived a short time later but was less courteous than his jolly counterpart was. It was as if Bridger had interrupted his daily routine and it would affect the rest of his day. He did not say a word as he led him down a corridor and through several locked steel doors until they came to a suite of functional concrete offices that Bridger thought looked very similar to the Police interview rooms back in Dunedin. The Prison Officer indicated the first door on the right.

Bridger took a deep breath before entering the room, once he was in there they would close the door behind him and it would seal him in with a man who hated the very sight of him.

He stepped through the door and there behind the polished concrete slab that served as a desk sat Joseph Kingi senior. 'Big J' in all his menacing prison issue glory.

A heavyset man before he had come inside the walls it looked like he had trimmed down significantly from what Bridger remembered; now sporting huge bicep muscles and large muscular shoulders. The look on his face was neutral but that meant nothing as history showed he was capable of venting violent rages on unsuspecting people who mistook his mild manner for softness. He would go from sharing a beer with someone to kicking him unconscious in a second, for no other reason than he felt like it.

Bridger looked back at him, trying to hold eye contact for as long as possible, a futile attempt to gain the upper hand and show who the Alpha was.

A second Prison Officer was standing in the room with Joseph; he watched the slightly comical interaction with amusement, a small twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"I will leave you two to it then shall I?" he said, "Press this button when you're finished or if you need help and we'll come and get you". The officer gave Joseph a look, and then indicated a small red button on the wall by the door, before stepping out of the room.

Bridger noticed the look that passed between the officer and Joseph. Was there a touch of hatred in the officer's eyes? On the other hand, it could just have been fear.

The steel door clanged shut behind him, leaving Bridger standing in the corner breathing in the stale air he was sure would run out before he finished what he came here for. He could have sworn he heard the mechanical sound of the lock barrel closing inside the door...

"Aren't you going to say hello Mike?"

Any thoughts of the door went when Joseph spoke; he always hated the way Joseph used his first name, as if they were old friends or contemporaries. A throw back from the old English gangster films where the local crime lord would have a love hate relationship with the lead Detective. They would share a pint of 'Old Peculier' in the smoky confines of a local pub; the bad guy would reminisce about past exploits almost foiled by his adversary sat across the table from him. It did not work like that in real life.

Get on the front foot right from the start, which is the way Bridger thought to play it.

"I understand you have some information you would like to share with me Mr Kingi," he said, looking at his notes so as not to have to look into Joseph's eyes.

"Mr Kingi, I like that..., it makes me think you actually respect me..." Joseph responded. "But if that was true I wouldn't be in this fucking shit-hole would I". His voice hardened.

Bridger looked up from his notes and saw that the expression on his face had not changed to match his tone, but the look in his eyes had an edge to them as he regarded Bridger with a cold unflinching stare.

"I'm a busy man at the moment Mr Kingi, but I expect you know that already. I do not have time for games. What do you want?"

"You used to listen to what I had to say when I was on the outside, well this time I want to listen to what you have to say, but we'll get to that in a minute, so first things first... Sit". Joseph indicated the seat in front of the polished concrete slab.

Bridger thought about ignoring his request in a show of authority but that would just delay the proceedings and he would have to stay locked away from the outside world for longer than he wanted. He sat opposite Joseph and spread his files out on the table trying to gain ownership of the space around him. He did not look up until he was ready.

"Joseph, let's get one thing straight right from the start, you asked for this meeting. I am here of my own free will, I will be leaving here of my own free will at the end of this conversation. It is up to you what information I leave with and what it relates to. So please..., get on with it."

"I was hoping this would be more civil, but then that's never been your forte has it Mike". Joseph sniffed loudly and then cleared some mucus from his throat. "You're right about one thing though, you arrived here of your own free will..., but when you leave will be up to me". A sadistic smile played out on Joseph's lips as he produced a small black cell phone and placed it on the table before them.

"When it rings..., answer it."

Parking across the road from 'The Pad', John shut off the engine. They could hear what sounded like a group of grown men barking like dogs from beyond the impenetrable fence.

This was followed by someone shouting 'It's the five ohh', which only served to increase the level of barking and swearing.

Faces popping up over the fence, bloodshot eyes peered out from between tattoos, yellowing teeth bared, the welcoming committee.

"Not a lot of mirrors in there I'm guessing", John said, trying for a bit of levity to hide his discomfort.

They were taking a risk making inquiries at the place where the gang held all the power, but they could not afford to treat them any differently. Giving them special treatment would only reinforce their status within the community. If the police were afraid then the public would see that and react accordingly. It was best just to treat them the same way as everybody else. It still did not stop the very human reaction of fear whenever John thought about entering the lion's den with no way out unless they wanted to let you go. The best meat was fresh meat and these 'Dogs' would tear you limb from limb without blinking, a violent sheep mentality.

"Just treat them like you would anyone else", John said as they walked over the road towards the entry gate. He was not sure if he believed it himself. "We will speak with J man first, but we will speak with anyone that was staying at the pad last night as well, we don't let J man tell us otherwise."

Jo just nodded in reply, wondering whether John actually knew what he was doing.

As they neared the gate the barking subsided, and then the gate opened. A big Maori male stepped into view, the gate closing behind him. He had dark sunglasses on, obscuring his eyes and blending with the green tinge of the tattoos on his face. Standing on the path, arms crossed over his massive chest, he was not quite the physique of an athlete as he had an equally massive stomach hanging over his belt. A smirk spread across his face as he regarded them with the disdain of someone who thought too much of himself and his position in life.

"We've come to make some enquiries about the shooting last night over in the golf course." Jo spoke up, trying to get on the front foot and hide her nervousness.

"Well girly, you can make your en-quir-ees to me...." the male licked his lips as he looked her up and down taking in every curve of her slender frame with his hidden eyes."I'll be gentle with you...."

John recognised the person standing in front of them, although they had never met. Bazz Ropata was the gang's 'Sergeant at Arms', a sort of in-house sheriff, someone who handled internal disciplinary problems and outside 'enquiries'.

"Well Barry...," John said. The sound of sniggering came from up on the fence line above them at the mention of his name, "You know as well as I do that if we can't speak with you lot now we will just assume you have something to hide. Then we come back with a search warrant and the Armed Offender Squad and turn the pad over hoping to find something. Who do you want to talk to..., us..., or the boys with the guns?"

The use of his first name had an effect on him and he sneered.

"Well Coppaa, there's nothing to hide here, so good luck with your warrant, now you's can fuck off..."

John was about to say something but was stopped by the gate swinging open behind Bazz.

"I'll take it from here Bazz". Joseph Kingi junior stood just outside the gate, his bulky frame filling most of the space. His eyes glued to Jo were red and blood shot, and his pupils looked like pinpricks.

A couple of barks sounded from above them, the minions encouraging the leader.

Jo's stomach did a cartwheel; she saw the recognition in his eyes.

"If you want to waste your time come through, ask what ever questions you's want, but you already know what the answers are going to be", he said, as he stood aside and gestured to the open gate.

Joseph's tone of voice had a silky but sleazy nuance. There was also a quiet menace hidden in his words, something Jo did not fail to notice. She looked at John for guidance but he had already started to move towards the gate, then like a moth drawn to flame, she could not help herself as she followed behind him. The curiosity of what lay beyond the fence overcoming any misgivings she may have had.

Bazz Ropata had fallen into step behind them as they entered the cauldron in case they changed their minds.

As soon as they were inside both Jo and John realised they had made a serious mistake underestimating the gang and Joseph's benign invitation. The gate slammed shut behind them, the minions jumping down from their parapets behind the fence and surrounding them to the rear. Hyped up and stoned off their heads, they edged closer and closer to the two police officers.

"So Coppaa's what do you want to ask then?" Joseph was looking at his underlings spread out around the bare yard. "We are all ears".

Jo spoke up, looking everywhere but at Joseph.

"As you know there was a shooting last night, over in the trees beside the golf course. Tama Wilson was shot to death".

There were a few murmurs of acknowledgment from within the group.

"I understand that you all knew him and I am sorry for the loss of your friend", Jo looked directly at Joseph now, "If you saw anything, or know anything about who may have shot him, I am sure you will let us know so we can prosecute whoever did this....". She looked around at the group again, "You don't have to speak up now. You can come and see us in private and complete confidence".

A few stifled laughs came from the audience before her, but most of the gang members were looking to Joseph for their direction, quiet in their loyalty to the leader.

"Well you've certainly grown a pair of balls since we last met", Joseph said, watching Jo with amusement. "But you're still a naive little bitch who is playing a game she doesn't belong in.... You know nothing about us do you Girly".

Jo was shocked with the reaction, to her dismay redness spread up her neck and into her cheeks.

"What the fuck.... This girl thinks we are a pack of Narcs," Bazz said loudly from behind them. "Dogs don't diss their brothers' bitch", he whispered in Jo's ear. Barking loudly he made her jump.

More barks started coming from the crowd, faces twisting, teeth bared, things were getting ugly.

John was trying his best to calm things down but was not succeeding. "It's time we left I think Jo", he said, all the colour had leeched out of his cheeks.

The dogs were circling now, almost baying for blood. All around them they could see only high fences made of wood and tin, crates of empty beer bottles were stacked against the fence, cans littered the ground displaying the culture within the cauldron of the gang environment they were trapped in. The one small gate that promised a safe exit had shut tightly behind them.

John got his cell phone out of his pocket, but someone knocked it to the ground and crushed it under a heavy boot.

Hands grabbed at Jo from behind, running inside her jacket over her stomach and under her breasts. Her phone was taken from the inside pocket and it suffered the same fate as John's.

"You're in our world now Piggy Piggy's, welcome...."

A fist came out of nowhere and slammed into Johns face, knocking his head sideways. Jo felt something wet land on her cheek; wiping it with her hand, she could see it was blood.

John was staggering, his eyes starting to glaze over, another fist connected with his jaw, a sickening crunch. His legs gave way and he dropped to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth. The pack fell upon him like ravenous animals, all wanting their share of flesh. The barking was at frenzy.

Jo's instinct was to protect John but she felt herself being grabbed roughly from behind and pulled off her feet. They were dragging her towards the main building.

"Where gonna have us some fun bitch", an ugly voice said in her ear.

While being dragged closer to her own fate, she could see John curled up on the ground desperately trying to protect his head from the frenzied attack.

His assailants were just boys really, probably the young prospects trying to outdo each other and gain the attention of their elders. There were two cowards putting in more effort than the rest, kicking at John's head, really going to town. She took in their faces while they dragged her roughly up the front stairs. She would remember those two if she could, they would not get away with it, whatever the outcome.

John's helpless pitiful figure lying amidst the howling dogs watched over by the pack leader disappeared from view as they took her further into the hallway. They shoved her into a stale smelling room with only a stinking mattress and a fetid sheet covering it for furnishing and the realisation hit her like a sledgehammer. She felt her stomach go weak and she nearly wet herself right there on the floor. They were going to rape her.

She turned and lashed out at her captor, running on the instinct for survival that all living things have in them. Her arms were moving of their own accord as she scratched and clawed at the tattooed face in front of her. An evil smile looked back at her from the blur, a gold tooth glinting from inside Bazz Ropata's mouth. A huge fist came out of nowhere and connected squarely with her forehead, and then everything went black.

### Chapter Ten

Martin was walking again; the temperature had started to climb as the morning had worn on, a northeasterly breeze bringing the warm air making it harder to breath. He had taken his t-shirt off and wrapped it around his head making him look like the pictures of the crop pickers he had seen in his mother's glory box, pictures taken in the late 1970's. The grainy black and white images were of her family working the fields up in Pukekohe, back then it was only a small rural settlement south of Auckland. They showed her father and brothers, his grandfather and uncles. They were people he had never met. He always remembered the pictures, it promised another life was possible, that he did not need to live in his existence.

His mother had not spoken much of her family in the years he was growing up but they looked so happy in the pictures, they looked like they belonged somewhere, they were hard workers. They were working, not like his loser stepfather; he had not seen him work a day in his life. He was a lazy self-indulgent abusive predator. He deserved to die, not Tama.

As he walked, his mind was turning repeatedly with hatred and disbelief. With all that had happened in the last two days, he felt more than capable of taking care of business, dealing with the issue of Tama's death had cemented that into his being.

He wanted what his mother's family had; he wanted a family, somewhere to belong. He wanted to be happy.

He had not met his own father; he only knew what little his mother had told him. His mother and father had met in Pukekohe, she was only nineteen and he was twenty-two. His father was apparently a big man in their circles. He was someone all the girls had wanted to be with, but he chose his Mother.

They had given his father a job to do in Dunedin and so they had moved south. She never told him what that job was or who 'they' were, only that he was also a big man in Dunedin as well. His mother had told him he died three months before Martin was born.

He always wondered what it would be like for him if his father were still alive, would he have a good life like the people he saw walking around Dunedin. One thing he did know was that he would not have had his life touched by another man's sickness. He hated this life. He wanted a new one.

He got closer to town the more he walked, the new houses overlooking the ocean were off to his right housing the rich parents and their privileged children, the older houses indicating the start of his world were in front. Up here, the line between civilisation and the empty fields of the windswept coast stood out starkly against its backdrop. The town seemed to just end, as if the people had chosen not to go any further.

That could be true of many of the inhabitants around his life, he thought, they had not found any reason to strive for anything different.

He walked on in a daze; his thoughts were tumbling around inside his head, no clear direction.

The new cemetery came into view, glimpses of polished headstones through the trees to his left. They would have one more tenant now that Tama was dead; they were slowly building a population of people who would make nothing of the rest of eternity. He wondered if Tama's mother would even bother to claim him or just leave him rotting in the fridge at the hospital. She was such a useless bitch. Tama had practically raised himself.

A new wave of loneliness washed over him, he had no one else. He had not been close with his own mother now for a long time. She was always at work, blindly trusting in her family at home but never really seeing, left to the mercy of the predators amongst the pack.

He hated himself for what he had done but it was too late to change anything. Tama was dead.

Images of a destroyed face flashed through his mind, surrounded in a red mist. The look of a little boy lost, of a life wasted.

A seed germinated in the pit of his stomach, a crazy idea but he did not have anything to lose. He just had to take care of the loose ends first.

He continued to walk with renewed purpose.

The sound of an engine drifted towards him on the breeze, a car approached from in front, it had the unmistakable shape of an unmarked police car. Martin ducked into the small bush to his left and crouched down.

The car slowed but did not stop, the driver looking down at something on the seat, a driver with a heavily tattooed face and dreadlocked hair.

Martin watched the car disappear the way he had walked from, wondering why Baz Ropata would be driving a police car.

"The sample has been sent up to Christchurch for the priority casework team to analyse" Grant said looking at his watch. "It should almost be there by now; we managed to get someone on a plane with it last minute".

"Good", Brian replied, "The last thing we need is delays, the quicker we get the evidence, the quicker we can go through the gate at the pad, we need to stop this before anyone else gets killed".

"Let's just hope it belongs to Joseph Kingi and not an unknown who hasn't got a sample on our DNA database", Becky said, hanging up the phone she was using. "I have the team leader's word that once the sample arrives they will get on to it. Unfortunately, he said that it would take a while, there are five processes they need to complete to obtain the profile from the sample and they each take time. That's even before they can analyse the result then match it to a sample on the database."

"Not like CSI then is it", Grant said.

"They will work around the clock on this one but his best case scenario was later tonight if not tomorrow". Becky said

The office went quiet, each of them contemplating the news, positive that it was that they had a DNA sample; processes would slow them down again. Investigations in the real world were slow painstaking processes that took time and a lot of labour. It involved the gathering and collating of information, no matter how small, to build a picture of the crime that would hopefully point very clearly at whom was responsible.

DNA was just the start, a small but vital piece in the puzzle, somewhere to start, a reason to ask someone to account for why it was present at the scene and in this case on a corpse.

"Let's just hope Mike comes back with something from his visit, or John and Jo turn something up with the door to door enquiries. It may give us a head start", Brian said.

"Has anyone heard from them this morning?" Becky queried.

Both Brain and Grant shook their heads.

"It will be lunchtime soon, John wouldn't miss that", Grant said smiling, "He's probably taking his time, giving Jo the benefit of his experience; he never misses a chance that man. I'll give it a couple of hours then give John a call; I wouldn't want to cramp his style".

"In the mean time we can get on with cataloguing all these exhibits", Brian said, indicating the large pile of items stacked inside evidence bags which were placed against one wall. Bags that contained everything that the two corpses had on them at the time of their demise that were not required for forensic testing.

Bridger was sitting opposite Joseph who was smiling from ear to ear and sitting back with his hands behind his head, not a care in the world. The small black object on the table in front of them was resting quietly, waiting to give up its secret. He was temporarily lost for words.

He looked over at the door and then to the red button on the wall. Joseph followed his gaze.

"It won't do you any good, the screws have locked the door and the button, the screws have been told to ignore it for a while as well" Joseph said quietly, "And I wouldn't be looking to use your own phone to call for help..., not until you've spoken to him. Big J pointed at the inanimate cell phone lying on the polished surface.

Bridger stood up and pushed the red button anyway, this ended now. He was too busy to have a convicted criminal messing him around.

Joseph smiled, "Typical fucking copper, always so impulsive, always needing the upper hand. Well let's see shall we, how long will you give it until you realise that they won't come?"

Bridger looked at his watch; he knew from experience that the officer on duty would be only a short distance down the hall, sitting in a small office head down in a daily paper or magazine. He would have heard the bell and normally would be in the room within about 30 seconds. He looked at his watch again, time was ticking by and no one had come.

"This pretty much amounts to kidnap, Joseph..., you do know that?"

Joseph just shrugged, pulled out a hand rolled cigarette and lit up in front of him, inhaling deeply before blowing smoke in his direction. The distinctive smell of cannabis filled the small claustrophobic room.

The smile on Joseph's face said it all. "Prison is a fucking supermarket Mr Bridger; you can get whatever you want here, drugs, information, and violence. You just have to know the right people, and in here I am the right people".

Bridger was amazed at his stupidity. How did Joseph think he was going to get away with this? What was he trying to achieve?

"What's all this...." The question cut short by the ringing of the phone. The vibrations making it move across the polished surface.

Bridger stared at the phone for a moment; not wanting to answer it and listen to what he knew in his gut would not be good news.

"I'd answer it if I was you, he's an impatient man, and he is also on a bit of tight time frame due to his circumstances being similar to my own".

Bridger reluctantly picked up the phone and accepted the call. The caller ID was blocked.

"Do you know who this is?" the voice was male, calm and confident.

"Should I?" Bridger was in no mood for games.

"I guess not..., I don't remember you either. Mind you, I have been in this shithole for nearly twenty years. I'm David McLaren, President in exile, incarcerated at the pleasure of the Government pretend".

"So Mr McLaren, maybe you could tell me what this is all about, your man here is committing an offence by keeping me here against my will as I'm sure you're aware". Bridger's mind was working overtime, trying to get back on top of things.

David remained silent, but he let out a small laugh.

Bridger was unsure how to play this new twist so decided to just go with it and see where it led. He did not feel threatened at this stage, as he was quite capable of holding his own if it came to a fight; all he would have to do is hold him off until help arrived. He just hoped it would not come to that and if it did that help would actually come.

"All in good time, but first we need to lay down some ground rules. You will stay and listen to what we have to tell you and nobody gets hurt". The subtle menace in David McLaren's voice was unmistakable. "There are a couple of things we need to accomplish today and to ensure that happens I have taken out a little insurance".

Bridger looked at Joseph sitting smugly across the table from him, he would not be able to hear what McLaren was saying on the other side of the phone but he already knew how this was supposed to play out.

"Mr McLaren we are in a prison full of prison guards, it won't be long before they come checking on us and then this little charade will be over".

Bridger heard a slight chuckle on the other end of the phone.

"Mr Bridger, you are in a prison full of prisoners and it is us that run the show, the guards are just referees, employed to keep people like me at the top and all the others in line. You can also buy off the guards. Every man has his price. You would be well advised to listen to what we have to say".

Bridger looked at the phone in his hand; this had obviously been set up, for whatever reason. They searched prisoners before and after visits with the public for this very reason. One or more of the guards this morning obviously had a hand in providing the cellphone. He suddenly felt as if he had no choice.

"Okay, say what you have to say", Bridger said, quietly.

"It would be remiss of me not to give your host the first right of reply", David said, reasonably "He has something he would like to clear up with you before we get down to our business. After all, he was the one who managed to get you there; I just saw an opportunity to get in on the action. So with that in mind I will cut this connection and call back in, let us say... Five minutes? That should give you enough time to adjust to your position". McLaren cut the connection leaving a silent space.

Bridger had to fight back a slight feeling of panic as the closeness of the four walls felt like they were restricting his breathing.

### Chapter Eleven

She opened her eyes but could not see; instead, images of a broken man were floating around inside her head, bloodied and bruised. His face looked at her with dark eyes, pleading for help. She tried to reach out but her arms were floating and she could not control their movement. Something was wrong, the man started to cry, blood leaked from his eyes like tears. Cuts were appearing on his face as if like magic until his face was one big bloody mess. It frightened her.

She shook her head trying to distort the image. This could not be real. He was an apparition. A face leapt out of the bloody mess leaving a blank space, it came towards her clearly in focus, a familiar face without a head, the devils mask.

The face was calling her name, over and over; the sound went from frightened to pitiful before fading to nothing. Still she could not see.

The image of the body in her eyes started convulsing in front of her as if being attacked by an invisible force; the black hole where his face should be was deep and endless, drawing her in. She could see right into the core of his being. She felt every painful emotion of his torture as if she was inside him. Then in a puff of smoke, he was gone, leaving her empty.

Her eyes finally focused on four walls, peeling wallpaper, yellow stained ceiling. A sad knowing entered her thoughts. She felt her body going cold, her limbs stiffening, growing heavy. The room started to spin; the floor was trying to take her beneath its wooden strength, submitting her to the horrors below.

She could smell mould, mildew, dirt, the smell of death, the scent was overpowering, invading every pore in her body. The weight increased pressing on her, forcing her further down, she could feel the worms crawling beneath her. It was going to bury her alive; the worms were going to have her.

Another face appeared in her vision, an ugly face, a face that had no ounce of compassion. It looked at her with contempt, a look that told her that it was going to do as it pleased. She knew this face, a memory flashing in her brain giving her even more fear. She had seen him before.

A sharp pain erupted from her arm and she recoiled into herself but something held her arm tight. She tried to focus and saw a strong hand gripping her forearm; she looked down at an ugly needle sticking from her bicep topped by a plastic syringe filled with hate. The face smiled, he released the pressure on her arm.

The face spoke. "There you go, just a little top up, get you in the mood; it didn't look like you were enjoying your first dose".

She could feel a tingling in her arm where the needle had entered her skin, a warm feeling spreading around the puncture wound like an infection, the worms below scurried back into the dank earth, leaving her floating on a cloud of nothingness.

Her body convulsed as the drugs transported themselves around her vascular system before slamming into her brain. A euphoric feeling radiated from the base of her cerebral cortex outwards, engulfing her body in a wave of pleasure that she had never felt before. Clarity invaded her consciousness, everything was sharp and in focus, a heightened state of excitement.

The feeling was a polar opposite to what she saw in her false clarity. In the room with her, she saw Detective John Mouller tied to a chair in the corner of the room, his head was down, his eyes closed. Blood was spotting on the floor below as he bled from his nose and mouth.

Joseph Kingi junior was standing above her smiling, a smile that did not reach his cold eyes. One hand was clasping the used syringe, with the other he reached out and put two fingers between her lips stroking around the edges delicately before forcing them into her mouth making her gag involuntarily.

He looked at her with sick eyes, portraying not lust but a need for control, a power he could only feel when he took what he wanted.

"Soon..." he said, before turning and walking from the room.

Jo Williamson's drug induced brain could not find the fear it needed, the deceptively euphoric feeling winning out as she watched the door close on their stinking prison cell. Then her brain spiralled downwards once more and the demons returned.

"First of all I think we should show each other a measure of trust", Joseph Kingi senior said recognising his queue as Bridger looked at the now silent phone in his hands. Joseph's voice sounded calm and reasonable, "I will show you something that might upset you, but I trust you not to overreact."

Bridger's own cell phone beeped in his pocket. Joseph smiled maliciously.

"I've still got your number Mike..., from the old days," he said, seeing the question in Bridger's eyes. "I've had someone send you a picture..., open it and have a look".

Bridger retrieved his phone and saw the 'New Message' icon. He scrolled through the options selecting 'Open Message'. A small image appeared on his screen, the wretched sight of a young woman lying on a rank mattress in a small room he did not recognise. The image of the woman was vaguely familiar although the image quality was too poor to see clearly.

"See anyone you know?" he said quietly.

Bridger tried to enlarge the picture to make it clearer, and then he noticed another person in the corner of the frame, his arms bound to a chair and he looked to be in a bad way. He did not need to adjust the settings to know who it was, he would recognise the flashy shirt and tie that John Mouller always wore anywhere.

The synapses in his brain joined the dots and sparked a flash of recognition; if that was John Mouller, then the female had to be Jo Williamson.

"What the fuck is this?" Bridger spat out angrily.

"It's just an insurance of sorts; they sort of got caught up in this at the last minute you could say, just icing on the cake really. We will not harm them if you do as I ask. There are a few outstanding problems I need you to solve".

The situation Bridger thought he was in had just morphed into something infinitely more urgent, it wasn't just him in this situation it was two colleagues as well, and they looked to be in worse shape than he was.

"Where are they?" Bridger could not make out anything but blurry images of yellowing wallpaper behind his captive workmates.

"That's not your concern, suffice to say that they will be released unharmed once we have completed our business". Joseph held his palms together as if praying, elbows on the table, fingers tapping against each other.

"What you have done is detain me here against my will and kidnap my two colleagues, both very serious offences, whatever happens here today you or your mate on the phone aren't going to get away with it, no matter what business you think you have with me. I suggest you let my colleagues go then we may be able to start filling in the hole you are digging for yourself". It was Bridger's last throw of the dice; he did not really think he could reason with him.

"I think you're mistaking me for someone who gives a shit Mr Bridger." Joseph sneered and sat back against his chair as if regarding his prey. He did not look to Bridger like a person who thought he would spend the next large part of his life behind bars.

"I don't know where they are either, before you ask, that part has nothing to do with me..."

Bridger could not believe what he was hearing from this piece of filth. Both Kingi and McLaren were arrogant men in his eyes; they had both played the game by their own rules and lost. He was not about to let either of them dictate how this was going to play out.

Holding his phone in his left hand, he lowered it below the table as if placing it in his trouser pocket. With his thumb, he blindly moved around the screen in an attempt to send out a message. He knew roughly, where the forward message icon was, and when he pushed it, he knew it came up with a recipient's box. It would be a random selection but he hoped whomever it ended up with would know what to do. He did not have many numbers stored in the phone and most of those were work colleagues anyway. Blindly pressing send, the picture disappeared off the screen and pinged into another phone somewhere on the outside of the big concrete walls.

"Now that you have seen your friends, give your phone to me", Joseph said, watching what Bridger was doing but not seeing. "I wouldn't want you to try and do something silly. That would only jeopardise our arrangement". His voice had a slightly patronising nuance to it.

Bridger placed his phone on the table in front of him and held his breath. He watched as Joseph pulled it to his side of the table but left it on the top in plain sight. He did not bother checking the screen to Bridger's relief, he could not remember whether it would show his last text or not.

Bridger was eager to progress whatever they had in store for him, "Get on with it please, I don't have all day".

"You have as long as I say..." The menace in Joseph's voice was immediately evident. "You and I have the small matter of evidence to discuss. Evidence which was planted..., which you planted".

The look of utter conviction in what he was saying displayed on Joseph's face unnerved Bridger slightly. He truly believed that someone had set him up.

He took a deep breath and decided his only option was to play the same game, cooperate in his rules of engagement and see where it led.

"Okay Joseph, I'm listening...."

Standing in the shadows of the sports pavilion's covered concrete shelter Martin could see the fence line of 'The Pad' across the field. The golf course was behind him with the stand of trees where Tama had met his demise, the slight warm breeze making them sway silently against the blue of the sky, a gentle scene of green hiding a violent secret in its bosom. There was no sign of the police though, they had removed the emergency tape, the lights and the cameras were gone, taking with them images of a life that never was. It was as if nothing had even happened, as always when the circus left town. It left only an empty hole in which the fleeting promises of freedom withered and died a lonely death.

One life would never move on though, he thought bitterly looking at the ugly fortifications of the culprit's castle across the road.

Behind the walls, protected by tin and wood, watched over by a horde of minions blinded by a false loyalty, sat the dreadlocked devil himself.

Joseph's BMW had arrived a short while ago parking in its usual place directly outside the gates partially over a bus stop. It was driven by one of his men, Bazz Ropata had gotten out of the passenger side and both had gone inside the gates. Martin wondered what had happened to the police car that Baz was driving, an uneasy feeling rumbled in the pit of his stomach.

He drew in a breath and then started walking over towards the pad, knowing that as soon as he got into the open of the field he would be in plain sight of the sentries, they would know he was coming and there would be no turning back.

Walking across the field he could feel the eyes on him, he was taking a risk going to see Joseph with what had happened to Tama, but he needed to know what had happened, why it had all fallen apart. He had no idea how Joseph would react or whether he would see him as a threat. He looked at the bag he had retrieved from near Tama's body last night, a little less weighty now but he hoped it would still have the desired effect.

The barking started as he approached the gate, the hyped up sentries straining at their lead, eager to do some damage. Tama's death must have stirred things up. He looked up to the top of the fence; wired eyes looked back, eyes cold and bloodshot. They had tasted blood, the dripping remnants displayed on their faces, and they had not quite had their fill.

The gate swung inwards revealing the interior for a short time, a world visible to only a few. He stepped inside and the gate slammed shut. The barking stopped and he felt eyes on him once again, the silence was unnerving.

Looking around him, he saw the faces, a mixture of fear and awe. Some were eying the bag suspiciously as if it presented a danger; others were looking at him as if he that presented the danger.

Joseph stepped out of the shadows of the front porch and stood at the top of the stairs with his arms crossed. Martin sensed it was more defensive in nature than a confident pose, something he had not seen from the leader before.

He felt a funny sort of respect from the yard full of dogs, as if he had risen in the pack and was now able to contest the Alpha status.

J man's eyes had not left the bag Martin was holding.

"What's up Star?" The question was innocent enough, the tone uncertain.

Martin looked from Joseph to the bag he was holding then around at the minions encircling him. Their eyes were firmly on him, ignoring the old Alpha at the head.

A realisation came over him, they think that he killed Tama, they were thinking the shotgun was in the bag he had with him. The thought slammed into his brain like adrenalin, they were afraid of him and it was that fear that their misplaced respect grew from. It was a strange feeling but it felt oddly comfortable, it made him feel wanted. He knew he could get used to this feeling if he let himself.

However, if they thought he killed Tama then they had not been responsible, and if they had not been responsible then who had? He was sure Tama's death had been at the hands of Joseph or one of his minions, Joseph had most to gain from Tama's demise.

The thought slightly unnerved him, he was sure it had been the gang. They were the only ones that could have been responsible, no one else stood to gain anything. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

What did it really matter, he thought, Tama was dead. He would not let this new twist impact on his plan to move on from this place.

He looked back up at Joseph who had not moved or said anything since his initial greeting, he could not read the expression on his face clearly but he did not trust him at all so decided to stay silent about Tama and see where it went.

"Can I speak with you J man?"

"Sure Star, sure.... Come in", Joseph stood aside and indicated the darkness of the hallway like a serpent guarding the entrance to his lair.

Martin took the stairs one at a time, he saw Baz Ropata lurking in his peripheral vision. He had a look of contempt on his face as his eyes followed him as he crossed towards the door. In some ways, Baz had always scared him more than Joseph had. He was like a scorned second prince unable to ascend the throne by virtue of his circumstance. Always second to those born into the life before him. That made him a very dangerous man and Martin had seen that right away.

He shivered slightly as he entered the hallway, he felt Baz's look cutting into his back like a traitors knife. He ignored the feeling and followed Joseph further into the interior. He had business to attend to inside.

This time the feeling inside the main building had changed, the party had moved on, the doors in the hall shut tight.

There were two boys standing outside one of the doors that looked like sentries on a post, put there to guard something. They were both younger than Martin but they had an arrogance about them that came from a false belief in what they belonged to and what they stood for. They had nothing outside the gang to give them any sense of purpose.

They had been slouching against the wall, but as Joseph came into view, they both stood and looked alert. When they saw Martin behind him the look in their eyes changed slightly, it went from the arrogant indifference to something else that Martin could not quite place. Whatever it was, they directed it at Martin and not at Joseph.

"What's in the room J man?" Martin asked as they went by.

"Just a bit of business that's all, looking after my father's well being".

Joseph did not elaborate anymore and Martin left it at that, not really bothered either way.

Joseph led them into the same room they were in the previous day but the curtains were open revealing a room that looked like it had seen everything that a depraved life had to offer. It had a smell of sickness and decay. Stale air invaded his nostrils.

"Sit down, let's talk" Joseph indicated the old sofa on the edge of the room. He cleared the debris onto the floor and moved a half-empty can of beer that had lodged itself between the seat cushion and the back. "Can I get you a beer Star?"

"No thanks, this won't take long". Martin lifted the bag slightly as he sat down placing it on his lap.

Joseph's eyes shot straight to the bag and his body tensed slightly before he regained his usual swagger. It was only an instant but Martin had seen it, Joseph Kingi was afraid of him.

"Tama's dead," Martin said without emotion.

"Yeah, that's a real shame, T was one of the good ones" Joseph's eyes were going from Martin to the bag and back as he spoke. "Do you know who did it?"

Martin decided to push things a little. "You put him there J man, he wouldn't be dead now if he hadn't got mixed up with you and the pack of mongrels that follow you about. I'm here to let you know that it's over... it's gone too far."

There was no anger from Joseph in return for Martins description of the gang. "What are you going to do?" The fear in Joseph's voice was evident and he could not take his eyes off the bag.

Martin moved the bag to the side of his feet and lent down towards it.

Joseph's breath caught in his throat and he backed away slightly. Martin looked directly into Joseph's eyes; the power had shifted for the second time in two days, first with his stepfather now with Joseph. He was in control of the situation, the inadequate shameful feeling he constantly carried with him was dissipating. It was as if a light switched on inside his head, he smiled inwardly thinking of the new life he would lead, free of all of this.

"I'm leaving..., from this neighbourhood and this shit-hole town. I'm heading north; I just needed to see for myself"

"See what Star? What did you need to see?"

Martin stood up prompting Joseph to take a further step backwards, fear and confusion fighting for prominence behind his dark eyes. Martin saw it all, displayed clearly on his face. Joseph was frightened and Martin enjoyed the feeling it was giving him. This was what he wanted to see, the only constant in the life Joseph Kingi led was the need for power and control; take that away and it left him with nothing, just like everybody else. There is always a bigger fish in the pond and today Martin felt like a killer whale.

He hefted the empty bag over his shoulder, turned his back and walked out of the room not bothering to give Joseph a reply.

"Fuck you Star; you're all shit anyway...." Joseph's confidence had come back a little as he realised that Martin was not going to put two barrels in him as Tama had suffered. "What are you going to do up north anyway? The cops will be looking for you... You killed the killer man; we could use someone like you... Take care of business.... Star...? Fuck you... you little bitch..."

The sound of Joseph's voice faded as he walked back out into the sunshine.

One more stop, he thought, and then it is all over.

Baz Ropata was standing at the gate on his own, eyes hidden behind dark lenses, arms crossed across his massive chest. There was no fear in his manner like there was with Joseph. He was blocking Martin's exit and did not look like he would move as he approached the gate.

Martin stopped in front of him looking directly at the black lenses of his sunglasses but did not say anything. He was beyond fear; he just did not care anymore. Intimidation would no longer work.

Baz spoke quietly.

"I knew your father Martin... he was a good man".

He had not heard anyone but his mother speak of his father before and it slightly unnerved him to hear Baz speak with him in a slightly affectionate tone. How would a hard man from the gang know anything about his father? Still he stayed silent unsure of Baz's motives.

"I need to let you know something... I need you to trust me. What you do with what I tell you is up to you..." Baz paused for a second as if expecting an answer.

Martin just nodded.

"We have two little piggies tied up in the back room, one waiting for slaughter and the other... Well let me just say the pleasure will be all ours.

J man is holding them for his father, some sort of leverage to get another little piggy to squeal, but you see there is a higher power out there and that power wants a different outcome, a changing of the guard.

You know J man is afraid of you now, all these losers are. It was a cold thing you did killing Tama, but a necessary one, I can see that. They wouldn't have the balls themselves."

Martin was shocked at how frank Baz was with Tama's death. He wanted to tell him that it was not him but could not find the words. He let him continue.

"I'm a bad man Martin; you probably know that, I have nothing inside. I will not make excuses for it, it is far too late for that now, but I made a promise to someone once to try to help someone else. I am doing that now, however late it is.

J man is out of control, I don't think he has a clue what he's got himself into, and I don't see a way out from this" Baz looked serious "He doesn't trust you not to go to the pigsty and fetch help"

Martin just stared at Baz, hoping the growing confusion would not show on his face.

Baz moved closer to Martins ear and whispered something; his voice was quiet and hoarse as if it was a struggle to tell him. Then he stood aside and spoke loudly.

"Fuck off out of it Star..."

The minions out of ear shot for most of the conversation started barking loudly in appreciation of the possible new Alpha who had stood up to the pretend killer.

The gate opened and Martin walked out onto the street. Baz Ropata followed him out, got into Joseph's car, and gave him an unseen stare from behind his dark glasses, lifting his chin slightly in Martins direction as he drove away. Confusion was winning the battle in his head; he did not know what he was supposed to do with what Baz had told him. He desperately wanted his new life and that was starting to slip away, he did not want to get involved anymore and the one thing he knew he would never be was a nark.

One more stop.

### Chapter Twelve

Brian Johnson was sitting in the office, Becky and Grant had gone up to the canteen on the fourth floor for some lunch. Brian always ate at his desk with his own company; he found his thoughts were clearer when he was on his own. It was always better when the office was empty and clear of distractions. He was getting older, it took more and more on a daily basis to find the peace he needed as the job got busier and busier. He was glad that Mike Bridger had taken on the role of supervisor leaving him to see out his years in relative peace. In the silence, he heard the sound of laboured breathing coming from the hallway outside then a familiar female voice.

"There's someone downstairs to see you Brian, she wanted Mike Bridger but he's not in the station". Julie Downie said this as she passed by the open office door, weighed down with a pile of someone else's paperwork, tied up in the busy life of a civilian employee within the police.

She had started speaking before she had even reached the door as if she knew instinctively that he would be in there on his own. Maybe he was turning into a creature of habit in his old age.

"Thanks' Julie", he said as he got up and looked at his half-finished sandwich. Duty calls, he thought.

A short journey in the lift took him to the ground floor and then out into the front office.

"She's in there," a uniform constable said indicating the small interview room that was closest to the public area at the front.

Opening the door, he took in the slightly familiar and attractive female sitting in one of the chairs.

"Hi Brian, I'm not sure if you remember me, I was looking for Mike but he's not in, which is strange considering..." She stood as she was talking, a slight confusion in her voice, red hair falling across her face. "I'm Laura, Laura Bridger, Mike's wife..., well sort of..."

Brian could sense a slight embarrassment in her voice, he knew almost too much about their circumstances, it was not a well kept secret within the police station.

"Yes, Laura... I remember. It's nice to see you again," he said, smiling "Mike is out at the moment... He is doing an enquiry at the prison... Is there something I can do for you?"

"I'm not sure..., I got a text message from Mike, it was a picture but there was no message with it." She looked at Brian as if looking for permission to carry on "It was quite disturbing... I am not sure what it means... Do you know that he and I are separated?"

Brian just nodded his head, slightly uncomfortable and embarrassed himself. He had only met Laura on a couple of occasions and that had been a few years ago.

"We had a meeting last night, I told him I wanted a divorce, Jane, my lawyer, she set it up. I am not sure Mike took it that well. I think he sent me this picture as some sort of threat".

"That doesn't sound like Mike's style Laura, have you got the picture with you?"

"No I was slightly upset when I left the office, I picked up my work phone and left my personnel cellphone on the desk... The picture is on that phone. I was going to come down and see Mike to... Well to see what he was trying to achieve".

Brian looked at Laura; she looked like a strong woman. He could tell she was finding this difficult but he could not see Mike resorting to threats. On the other hand he also did not know what motivated people to cheat on their wives so what did he know really.

"What was in this picture Laura?"

"It was really blurry and small... My phones not one of those flash ones... from what I could see there was a woman on a bed; she had blood on her face... I think she had been assaulted. There was a man in the corner sitting on a chair; he looked like he was watching her. There may have been blood on him to but it was hard to tell".

Brian had seen pictures like that on various websites he had viewed as part of an investigation into a particularly vicious 'date rape' gang who liked to post images of their conquests online. If Mike had sent her a picture like that, he would have definitely been crossing a line. He hoped there was a better explanation.

"Would you like me to have a word with him about it when he gets back?"

Laura looked at Brian uncertainly; she drew in a breath and held it, biting her bottom lip.

"No... No, I think it may have been a mistake. I agree with you I do not think its Mikes style. I'll wait and talk to him after work." Laura smiled a small smile "Thanks Brian... Just talking to you has put it in perspective, I am sure he did not mean to send it to me. It looks like work stuff, he probably just got the numbers mixed up, I know what he's like with technology."

Laura stood up and straightened her skirt.

"You're probably right Laura," Brian said as he saw her back out into the public foyer. "I'll leave it with you... Listen Laura, Mikes a good one, but even good ones make mistakes sometimes." He wondered why he was trying to fight Mike's corner for him.

Laura smiled tightly then turned and walked back out onto the street.

Brian watched her go wondering exactly what Mike Bridger was actually up to. He failed to notice the heavily tattooed male with dreadlocks who fell into step behind her as she walked away from the Police Station in the direction of the Jones Allen law offices.

"All I require you to do is admit that you planted that DNA evidence in my house and sign your name against it, then your little friends will be let go, it's as simple as that". Joseph Kingi pushed a single piece of white paper and a pen towards Bridger. "There is no way I'm spending any more years in this shit-hole for something I didn't do".

"That DNA evidence was found in your washing machine and on a piece of clothing that you owned which was in the machine, it was a clear cut case". Bridger was getting angry at Joseph's inability to grasp the concept of 'Caught bang to rights'.

"Fuck you Mike, stop treating me like a twat. It was not there the first time you searched my house, how come you came back and found it. It doesn't compute."

"I don't know what you want me to say Joseph, I can't lie. It was not until we knew what we were actually looking for that we realised we had not searched the washing machine. It was a simple oversight; the search warrant covered multiple entries onto your property so we just came back and looked. It was all there in plain sight."

Joseph's eyes were getting wider and his nostrils were starting to flare.

"It was you who came back on your own Mike..., you alone. You lot had me locked in your stinking cell back at the pigsty at the time so how do I know what you took with you. You are all the fucking same, bent fucking coppers. Well I've got another surprise for you, something to make sure you agree and then stick to your side of the bargain".

Joseph had been fiddling with the buttons on Bridger's phone; another beep indicated a message received. He looked at the screen and smiled an evil smile; he held the phone up so Bridger could see a picture on its screen. "This was taken a few minutes ago."

There were two women in the shot, both of them pretty, both of them vulnerable. Laura and Jane were standing in the street outside Jane's offices, oblivious of the person obviously taking the photograph, but more importantly, oblivious of the danger it presented. A shot of adrenalin shot through Bridger's blood stream, helpless anger bubbled in his brain.

'It is impossible to suffer without making someone pay for it; every complaint already contains revenge' The quote from the Nietzsche book surfaced in Bridger's mind as he sat looking at Joseph wondering what he could do to help his colleagues and protect Jane and his wife.

His mind was racing now trying to see a way out. He remembered the incident as clearly as his own birthday. He had been a detective for only a few months and was still finding his stride. It had been towards the end of a particularly hot summer and people were getting tetchy with the unfamiliar heat. Joseph had apparently taken offence at a foreign tourist from a cruise ship docked at Port Chalmers. The reason was never clearly established. He had beaten him half to death and stolen his bag, which had nothing really of value in it. There had been no witnesses and it had taken an anonymous tip to point them at Joseph.

The team had scraped together enough information to obtain a search warrant; the level of evidence had satisfied the requirements of the Justice who had signed it. They had gone through the door at Joseph's house to find him with his pants around his ankles standing astride a very scared young woman who obviously had not given her consent. Joseph was high on Methamphetamine, a half used bag of crystal beside them on the table. He had put up a good fight during his arrest but the team had been itching for a confrontation and he did not last long before they subdued him. They arrested Joseph for the offences presented to them and transported him back to the police station. The house had been given a once over but with the excitement of the arrest they thought they had enough to get him to confess to the robbery as well.

As it turned out Joseph had refused to say anything in the initial interview and they had no other evidence that he had robbed the tourist, they had come to an impasse. The girl he was having sex with when they found him was too strung out to remember whether she wanted to or not, but the longer she thought about it the more she was convinced she would not want to do anything with Kingi. They had known it would be a push to get a conviction on the rape charge. He would go down for some the offences they saw him commit but it would not be a long stretch, they needed evidence of the assault as well.

Inspector Matthews had pulled him aside and told him to go back and search the house properly this time.

Something was niggling at his thoughts as he recalled the events, another Nietzsche quote fought itself into prominence, 'Not when truth is dirty, but when it is shallow, does the enlightened man dislike to wade into its waters.'

Matthews had specifically mentioned the washing machine and that was where he had found the evidence. That evidence had been Joseph's lynch pin, it was what secured his conviction.

Despite his dislike for Detective Inspector Matthews and his actions over the last few months it was a thought which Bridger did not want to explore any further. To doubt your own kind was not a path any police officer should have to take. These waters were indeed shallow and he did not want to see the murky bottom where the truth always lay.

Bridger felt like a cars headlights had caught him on full beam, standing in the middle of the road with nowhere to run. Joseph's absolute conviction that he did not do the crime might be true and that meant they were both fighting a losing battle.

The image of Jo lying on a bed next to Laura and Jane flashed through his mind, they were looking at him with sad eyes, blood pooling around them. They all needed his help in one way or another; he knew he only had one option. He had to end this now.

"I'll write whatever you like, just tell me what you need".

Joseph smiled a smile that did not reach his cold eyes. "I thought you would see it my way, now before we conclude out business you need to speak to my old friend".

They both looked at the silent phone sitting in front of them. Bridger was willing it silently to ring; his colleagues' time was running out.

He picked up the pen and started writing.

"A bloody car fire in the middle of the day? My uniform is clean on and now it will end up smelling of smoke." Steve Kirkland said as he accelerated out of the town boundary and along Blackhead Road towards the quarry.

"We haven't had any stolen car reports, must just be an insurance claim or something."

They could see a large amount of black smoke rising lazily into the air as they descended the hill.

Gillian Holler was not taking any notice. Instead, she was looking out of the window at the cold ocean below them and to the left, a faraway look on her face.

"You know Dunedin used to be a quiet place to work," she said. "The only trouble we had when I first joined the job used to be drunken students. Now we have had two murders in two days".

"You have rose coloured glasses on Gill, crime is a growth business in this town," Steve replied. "And a lot of people have actually been killed in Dunedin; it isn't as innocent as you make out. How about those 13 people killed at Aramoana back in 1990 that was bad. Then there was that whole family killed by one of their own and a fair few since then as well. Robbery is becoming more commonplace now though, I agree with you there. We should invest some of our superannuation fund into that business; it would provide a better return than the stock market at the moment." Steve grinned.

Gillian did not reply.

"We didn't get our usual greeting from the boys as went past the pad today" Steve continued obliviously "They must be keeping their heads down after all that's happened. I'd bet anything they are involved in the killings somehow, nothing goes on in this neck of the woods without J man knowing about it".

Gillian drew in a sharp breath and glared at her partner.

"It's Joseph Kingi, Steve, calling him J man just adds to his mystique, it sounds like you're buying into his sick culture, just call these thugs by their proper names, take some power back." The look on Gillian's face stopped Steve from making any reply, instead he pushed a little harder on the accelerator, keen to get to the scene and out of the car to escape his partner's foul mood.

As they approached the bend in the road just before the quarry, they saw there was a gravel car park off to the left. The entrance to which was blocked by a large red fire appliance, lit up with blinking headlights and flashing red lights. Behind its hulking mass was a burning wreck that three fire fighters were attacking with a hose spewing water and foam. The fire and dark smoke dying down to be replaced by a white steam that hissed and cracked as the water found its way into the interior of the car.

Steve parked the car in the middle of the road and left the red and blue lights on. He and Gillian got out of the car and walked over to the senior fire officer on scene.

"How's it going Gill, I haven't seen you in a while. You're still in uniform I see," he said, only nodding in Steve's direction as a greeting.

The fire officer was a friendly character in his late 40's with an open and ready smile.

"Hi Jack," Gillian replied. "How are the little ones?"

Steve noticed Gillian's shoulders relax a little and her mood lighten.

"Still with their mother I'm afraid, I don't get to see them much these days, but that's another story".

"That's a bummer, we should get together for a drink one day, catch up on old times," Gillian said, hope evident in her tone.

"I'd like that" he replied.

Steve could not believe what he had just witnessed; Gillian Holler had just asked someone out for a drink. He was just about to make a smart comment but the fire officer had turned to him with his hand held out.

"I'm Jack. Jack Perry" he said.

Steve shook his offered hand and introduced himself.

"Now that the formalities are out of the way, maybe you could explain why a Police car would be on fire in a remote spot like this," Jack said. "I knew things were difficult and you have to tighten your belts to make budget, but resorting to insurance claims is a bit over the top." Jack grinned as he spoke "And don't try and blame us poor Fire-fighters for not getting here quick enough to save it either..." His voice trailed off as he saw the confused look on Steve and Gillian's face.

Jack turned around and indicated they follow him over to the smouldering carcass.

Back in the office, Grant and Becky looked as if they were sharing a joke in hushed tones while placing something in John's top drawer. When Brian walked in they both looked up quickly with guilty looks on their faces.

"What are you two up to then?" Brian asked.

"You gave us bit of a fright Bri, I thought you were John" Grant said, his cheeks getting a slight flush.

Becky just looked embarrassed.

Brian's eyes were on the drawer.

"It's just a little thing for John, just a wee joke..." Grant said.

"We'll as long as you remember the new catch phrase 'Banter can be bullying' I'm sure it will be a great laugh", Brian said as he opened the drawer to have a look. A small book titled 'Better Chat up Lines' was lying face up. A post-it note attached said, 'No chance, love Jo X'.

"Don't let Jo see this will you, it's bad enough she has to put up with John's lady killer ways as it is," he said.

"John wouldn't have a chance with a girl like Jo anyway, he's nowhere near her bottom line even", Becky said, as she went over to her own desk to answer a ringing phone. The conversation was short and to the point.

Placing the receiver back on the cradle she looked up as the colour drained from her face.

"Are John and Jo back in the station yet?" She said quietly.

Both Brian and Grant shrugged their shoulders.

"Why?" Grant asked the obvious question.

"A police vehicle has just been found burnt out near Blackhead Quarry; Gillian Holler says it's not a marked patrol vehicle so it must be one of ours".

"Shit" Grant and Brian said together.

Grant had his cellphone out and he was frantically punching numbers into the keypad; he flicked on the speakerphone as it rang through.

The three of them held their breath as the phone continued to ring.

"Try Jo's cellphone will you Becky, I don't have her number," Grant said.

Becky rang through on her phone and they had two speakerphones sounding out the empty ring of a phone not answered.

### Chapter Thirteen

John Mouller did not know how long he had been slipping in and out of consciousness, but this time he did not return to the dark nothingness. The room was silent but he felt a presence nearby. He tried to move but his arms held tight, restrained behind him with some sort of binding. A metallic coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. One of his eyes would not open and his face felt like it was made of rubber. There was a sharp pain in his chest and his lungs felt like they were on fire.

He tried to remember what happened but could not make his mind work clearly. Had he been in an accident? He could not recall.

His one good eye kept filling with something warm and sticky and he had to keep blinking it clear. He tried to focus but it was a struggle and nothing came into view. He tried to call out but the words would not leave his throat.

Fear started to prickle into his consciousness, he felt himself craving the darkness of before. At least he would not be in so much pain.

A face flashed in his mind, a pretty face, a face he knew. He had to stretch his mind to recall the name. Jill...? No, Jo... Jo Williamson. Another memory surfaced, the sight of Jo struggling with her captors as they dragged her into a building, ugly dangerous faces around her. More pain shot through his body and he convulsed, coughing even more blood into his mouth. Then it all came flooding back, the ugly pleasure on the faces that had been above him, the pain in his body as they lashed out. Taking whatever issue they had with whatever demon plagued their life and transferring it into their vicious assault.

He opened his good eye wide and looked around the room. This time things came into focus, it was then he saw her; she was lying on her back with her head rocking back and forth and her eyes closed. Her pale face was showing black stained tears running down her cheeks. The wretched sight made John's stomach turn.

Jo's hands were running all over her own body, sometimes it was as if she was trying desperately to sweep something off her and then it would be more slowly, erotically, as if she was enjoying it. He could hear a small whimper coming from her lips.

He tried to call out to her but could not think of anything to say. She was lying there not wearing anything but her black lace bra and panties and he felt embarrassed, for her, for looking at her, and for himself.

He noticed another presence in the room; someone was standing near the door with his back to him, displaying a black leather vest with full regalia on the rear. He was watching Jo intently, in one hand, he held a camera phone towards her and the other hand had pushed itself inside his filthy jeans rubbing himself back and forth.

Anger rose in his throat and he struggled against his bonds in a futile attempt to stop the patched pervert from degrading Jo any further. He had not protected her when he should have and she had ended up as a prop in a sick fantasy, no better than a piece of meat. Anger and sadness invaded his head in equal proportions. He spat the blood from his mouth "Over here dick head", he managed.

The Patch stopped rubbing himself and turned towards John, confused eyes, as if he had not noticed him in the room before now. Then anger flashed through them "What the fuck are you looking at faggot? Do you get hard looking at guys? Am I making you excited, is that it?" he grabbed his penis through his jeans and thrust his hips towards him. "Well you're gonna get a show shortly Mr Piggy. We're all gonna have a go on Miss Piggy and you're gonna enjoy that. We may even have a spit roast... Mmm-mm... I do like roast pork" The Patch licked his lips and looked back towards Jo.

John spat blood towards him "Fuck you, you're not going to get away with this. It's time you let us go; it can only get worse for you".

"It's time you went back to sleep little piggy"

The Patch reached over towards the wall and picked up a wooden bat, holding it at waist level he walked closer to him.

John watched the Patches' leather vest move stiffly as his shoulders tensed up. Then the bat started moving in slow motion, he could almost hear it coming through the air towards him. It seemed to take ages to move towards his head, like a meteor on a deadly trajectory. He looked directly into the Patches eyes in the split second before the inevitable impact. John's acceptance of probable death passed through them into the empty void behind the ugly facade that the Patch portrayed to the world.

A white light exploded in his head, followed by a sharp pain that registered just before he fell into a dark void of his own.

Bridger watched as the screen on the phone in front of him lit up with the blocked number, the vibrations moving it closer to him across the surface as if inviting him to answer. Taking another deep breath, he picked up the phone and pressed answer not bothering to say anything in greeting.

"Have you listened to what my old friend has to say...?" David McLaren's voice was smooth and deep, no trace of the anger that Joseph had displayed.

"Where are my colleagues being held?" Bridger butted in.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know bloody well what I'm talking about, the two police officers you and Kingi have kidnapped as insurance."

There was a deep throaty chuckle on the other end of the phone. "Well now, it seems Joseph is as impulsive as ever, still pulling the same amateur moves."

Bridger remained silent unsure if McLaren knew anything about it.

After a short silence he continued. "Is he keeping well? Joseph I mean. I have not seen him since incarceration in this shithole was put upon me. From what you have just told me I see that he has delivered you his ultimatum. Have probably signed your life away?"

"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?"

"Well that's all good and well but you see I can't let it happen. He needs to stay where he is, it doesn't suit my purposes for him to be released".

Bridger could not believe what he was hearing. He had just spent the best part of ten minutes fabricating the letter that Joseph was sure would lead to his release and now McLaren was telling him he didn't want that to happen.

"If Joseph gets out then my son would be in danger of falling into the same life I have led and I can't have that. Joseph and his son need to be taken care of for good and you're going to see to it."

There was no winning with these two, Bridger thought to himself.

"What do you want then?" He said in reply.

"All in good time, but I need to give you reasons first, I'm not an unreasonable man and Joseph and I do have a history".

"Well get on with it" Bridger said angrily.

"Temper tempers Mr Bridger, it was that which put me where I am now, and you would be wise to remember that." David took a deep breath the sound audible over the phone. Then he continued

"We were as thick as thieves back in the day. We grew up together back in Pukekohe did you know that? Then we both joined the 'Gang' together, that was before he moved south to Dunedin. I followed a few years later with my wife; the leaders decreed a new chapter needed to be set up in the deep south. There were opportunities abound, untapped markets, and things to be explored. It was a brave new world and I was the trusted one, the new leader of a new chapter, we could write our own destiny and that is what we did. Neither of us saw this as an ending to that story though. My ending came at the end of a knife, his for drugs, robbery and rape. You tell me what is worse....

Bridger did not say anything.

Anyway it was me who recruited him back into the life", David went on, "But he had changed since our childhood days, his ideals never quite matched my own, he always had a different agenda it was if he no longer cared. Maybe he felt isolated in Dunedin before the chapter was set up, lost his way a bit. His only recourse was to lash out; and he liked to lash out. Violence was always his first port of call. I am not saying I was a saint but then I always had a reason for my aggression, he used it as a form of self-advancement. The gang was always a place for people like me to belong, to find purpose in our lives. He just used it for his own personal entertainment and gain; I did what I did to survive.

I know how the juxtaposition of this must confuse you a bit. You cannot really see the difference between us, violence is violence no matter what the justification, I can see that now, I have grown up a lot since I have been inside. I know I have missed a lot in my life because of the choices I made but I had no choice. It is what it is and I accept that, but I still think I deserve some sort of comfort and security. It was society that put me here".

Bridger listened to David's speech; the years in prison had not dispelled the arrogance of the man He still lived in a 'Poor Me' world, holding other people responsible for his position. He was right; there was no difference between the man he was listening to and the man sitting in front of him.

"This is all really interesting stuff Mr McLaren", he said "but it's not helping me or my colleagues is it, do you really know what is happening outside of the walls you live in, the people holding them could be doing anything that want, the picture shows that they are in a bad way".

"I trust they won't be harmed unless needed, even Joseph and his son aren't that stupid"

Bridger silently noted the fact that David had mentioned Joseph's son, the Pad would be a close bet for where the gang were holding Jo and John. He looked at Joseph across the table; he had not taken his eyes off him. There was no chance of Bridger relaying the information to anyone. A feeling of uselessness came over him, how could he have put himself in this position so easily? David continued to speak.

"After I was locked up Joseph ruled the roost, he cut most of the ties with the hierarchy from up North, playing on the fact it was a long way to come and fix the problem. He took the Gang in a new direction, one that I do not entirely agree with and his son is now taking it even further.

I do not expect to get out of here and I do not think Joseph will either despite his bullshit story about being set up. There is no way that any of your lot will be admitting to any funny business in relation to his arrest and conviction; he is just pissing in the wind. I need you to keep Joseph locked up and take out his son as well. I need you to do it to protect my own son from following me into this shithole of a life.

You see in the end we want the same thing, him and me, to protect ourselves and our offspring, but the truth is that we are just old men who have wasted a good chunk of our lives in shit-holes as we find ourselves in now. Prison is a young man's game, we are just two old bulls still rutting against each other, to arrogant, and pig headed to realise that our horns have become brittle and weak... Then when I think about it, we have probably both come to the same conclusion one way or the other. The difference is in the stakes. It is much harder to survive in Paremoremo maximum security than the holiday camp that Mr Kingi is in".

Bridger looked around the confines of what passed as an interview room at the Otago Correctional Facility; it was not at all hospitable in the normal sense of the word. He sensed there was a bit of prison envy in David's little speech, if there was such a thing.

He looked at Joseph Kingi who was sitting with his hands behind his head, looking directly back at Bridger but very oblivious to the other side of the strange conversation he was currently engaged in. he looked more relaxed now that Bridger had written and signed the paper he wanted. He had to use a bit of poetic license in the detail but it seemed to placate Joseph. It was entirely a work of fiction and he had no idea how he was supposed to use it. He did not think Joseph had any clear idea of where this went from here either. It was the actions of a desperate man not thinking clearly. McLaren on the other hand was a different kettle of fish. He was much more dangerous. His reach seemed to be wide and he had nothing to lose. Between them, they were causing Bridger's head to ache. So called brothers in arms, they were willing to sell each other out in the end to ensure their own comfort and safety.

David's monologue went on.

"My son, his name is Martin. He would be about 21 or 22 now; I have lost count of the years. I have never seen him as anything than a baby. I have no idea how his life has been going so far, what his experiences have been. My last image of him was in his cot before I got done. I never wanted this life for him and I still don't. When I heard about the current troubles, what Joseph's son was doing, Martin's involvement in all of it, I saw it as an opportunity to see to his welfare, do what a father should."

Bridger's mind made a quick connection and put Martin in the frame with Tama and Joseph for the robbery slash murder. It made sense; why else would McLaren be going to all this trouble. He wanted to keep his sons name out of it. The sound of McLaren's voice, still talking obliviously bought Bridger back to the present.

"Joseph reached out to me to set this up; he doesn't have the pull, not really. The only thing he could pull off was kidnapping your colleagues, and even that was probably a last minute thing, it had to have fallen into their laps as I don't think they have the ability to plan something as elaborate as that".

Bridger held his breath, McLaren did not care either way what happened to John and Jo. He was trying hard to force back the anger he knew would burst out any minute and derail any hope for an amicable solution. McLaren continued, oblivious of Bridger's feelings.

"The real power still lies with the Northern Chapter; I'm still a big part of that. A word in the right ear, a wad of money here and there, they are the things that can get you anything you want. Knowledge is power; if you know something about someone then it is up to you how you use that information. I worked that out pretty quickly early on in my life; it has stood me well all these years..." David paused for a second and Bridger could hear him breathing down the phone. "How do you think Joseph ended up where he is...? I had my man talk with our tame copper; let him know where to look. We put a couple of things in place for you to find and then Joseph did not know what had hit him.

Bridger's thoughts flashed back to Matthews, was he someone's tame copper? Was Matthews fed the information of where the evidence would be? It tainted the evidence if found that way as it could never be verified, especially as it was not there when he had looked the first time. Joseph's story of being set up was sounding more plausible.

"What's to stop me from using what you have just told me?"

"Did you like the photograph of your wife? That was my contribution to this little shindig. Joseph does not even know who took the photo or who they are. So you see it's not Joseph but me you have to worry about. She's really quite hot isn't she, your wife. But, she's nothing on that sexy blonde lawyer who was with her. My man in Dunedin told me he nearly had to help himself... He is an ugly man that one, but a useful one. I am sure he would have treated her real nice. Still there's always time isn't there..."

"Fuck you McLaren, you do not get to threaten them, not now, not ever" Bridger's anger had gotten the better of him; he wanted to reach down the phone and grab him by the neck. Joseph was watching his display of anger with an amused look on his face. This only served to fuel Bridger's rage even further. He stood up and hurled the phone against the concrete wall, smashing it into two pieces as the battery separated from the case.

Joseph looked at Bridger "That was dumb; you shouldn't get so angry Mr Bridger"

Bridger stood there breathing heavily, wondering what to do now. Then his cell phone started ringing. Joseph held it up towards him.

"Answer it, and this time don't do anything stupid, it's the only phone we have left"

Bridger took the phone and pressed answer. David's voice showed no trace of emotion. "Now Mr Bridger, let's conclude our business."

### Chapter Fourteen

"As you all know John Mouller and Jo Williamson are missing. We found their patrol car burnt out near Blackhead quarry around lunchtime. There was no one on board, thank god...." Brian said, while looking around the room. The look on everyone's faces was grave. A response team had assembled in a hurry and not everyone had made it to the briefing. There were three members of the Armed Offender Squad perched on a desk at the rear of the room, all in different states of readiness. Grant and Becky were sitting at their desks; Detective Inspector Matthews was sitting up front with Brian.

"Detective Sergeant Bridger's cell phone is showing an engaged signal, or it may be switched off, either way we can't get hold of him so I will be running the response" he continued, while looking at Matthews, who nodded in agreement.

"I've tried ringing the officers manning reception at the prison but you know what they're like; the prison officer on the desk told me he had no record of Mike actually signing in. bloody useless lot of good that does us. He is in the process of checking the various interview room's for our elusive Sergeant as we speak."

"But it's fair to say that the picture his wife described to you had two people depicted in it?" Matthews queried.

"From what I recall, yes, but I haven't been able to contact her either to verify. Gillian Holler is on her way to her place of work to see if she can find her. The picture was sent by Mike to his wife this morning so whatever he is doing I would bet it has something to do with the disappearance".

"Are you sure he's not just skiving off somewhere and he really did just send a threatening picture to his wife". Ken Moore asked the question as the second in charge of the AOS. "Why would he send it to his wife and not to one of us if it was important? We don't want to be running off on another of his wild goose chases."

"I know you and Mike don't get on Ken," Brian said "But it's too much of a coincidence that Laura Bridger received that picture at the same time that Jo and John have gone off radar. There will be a reasonable explanation as to why he sent it to her, you know the trouble he had with the new phones we were given, he didn't know the difference between text and email"

Ken Moore just nodded his acceptance of Brian's logic. Brian looked at the rest of the room and continued

"Now it's my bet that Mike has either taken the picture himself and so would be with them and in the same trouble wherever that may be, or he is at the prison with Joseph Kingi and the picture has come into his possession some other way".

"If Joseph senior is involved then Joseph junior is up to his neck in it, I say we roll the pad now, it's our best bet to finding John and Jo." Becky said.

"It's a gamble, Detective Wright," Matthews said, butting in "If we execute a warrant at the Pad and they aren't involved then we have wasted a lot of time and resources, no..., we need to wait for Bridger to clarify what the picture is about".

Grant's heckles were up, it sounded like Matthews was going to sit on his hands while anything could be happening to their colleagues.

"This is all tied into the robbery shooting and killing of Tama Wilson", Grant said, anger in his voice "They were going to make enquiries at the pad this morning, now they have disappeared, it doesn't take a genius..."

Matthews glared at Grant "We wait Detective, if Bridger isn't at the prison then we will re-evaluate then. At least we will have a full contingent of responders by then" Matthews looked at Ken Moore for confirmation.

"The boys are about ten minutes away boss, Sgt Stone is a few minutes behind them..., he lives further out of town" he replied.

"Good, now, Detective Johnson you keep on top of the prison, let me know as soon as you here from Bridger; the rest of you get on to your human sources and see what the word on the street is, someone may have heard something."

Matthews stood up to leave "I'm as worried as you are, but we can't just rush into these things" he said, sounding more as if he was trying to convince himself.

He walked out the door, unaware of the incredulous looks the rest of the team were giving him.

Matthews's attitude left the office in a stunned silence, broken only by a ringing phone.

Brian picked up the receiver, the rest of the room held their breath expecting news. Brian nodded and placed the phone back on its cradle.

"Preliminary results are in on the DNA sample," he said, looking directly at Grant and Becky "It's a match for Joseph Kingi junior... We roll the pad now, screw Matthews"

The rest of the team were on their feet and moving out of the room before he had finished speaking.

Brian just hoped they would be in time to stop whatever was happening to their colleagues.

He rattled the front door but it would not budge. A card on the front read 'Closed for family bereavement'. He looked through the window, the store was clean and tidy, someone's pride and joy, someone's life. There was no sign of the horror it was host to a few nights before. Martin looked at the surrounding houses, the place looked different in the daylight, more civilised.

There was someone across the road mowing his lawn, he did not even look across at the store or pay Martin any attention, concentrating on the grass as he went back and forth in parallel rows.

Cars passed by intermittently blowing exhaust fumes. Passengers were alighting a bus that had arrived a short distance down the road, a couple of younger passengers were shoving each other good naturedly and laughing as they neared the door. The sign on the bus read 'University-Octagon'. Life went on regardless.

He looked back and he saw an image of Tama standing inside the darkened shop window, shotgun in his hands, he was smiling. He looked content, as if he had finally found his calling. It was almost as if he had discovered an outlet for whatever was inside him eating away at his soul, he looked at peace.

In a perverse way, by killing the shopkeeper, Tama had achieved the recognition he had been craving all his life. A life wasted, so that his own life could achieve its potential, he had actually made something out of the life which trapped him.

Dog eat dog, only the strong survive and all that shit, he thought.

Martin's emotions were slightly conflicting, he felt badly for the shopkeeper but at least Tama had died happy in the end.

The bus drove by him, slowly picking up speed, the growl of its diesel engine vibrating against the glass of the shop window. The passengers on board paid no attention to him, staring straight ahead or sharing a joke with the person next to them. He stared at the advertising on the rear of the bus as it continued, not really seeing, the fumes of the making him cough. 'Do you need a break? Try a break at the lake'

He did not really know what he wanted to achieve by coming here, the need to move on had drawn him this way. He took the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and smoothed it with his palm. Looking at his messy handwriting he suddenly felt inferior, he had had trouble finding the words and it was all he could offer. The simple word 'Sorry' would have to say everything that he had swirling around inside his head, stuff that he had been unable to make sense of at all.

He slipped the paper under the locked door of the shop-front and stood up. He saw dark spots staining the pavement around his feet, reminding him of bloodstains. His stomach turned a little and he moved slightly backwards to avoid stepping on anything. Something moved in his peripheral vision and he flinched, looking to his left he saw that he had come in line with a view of the attached house.

The windows were open and the lace curtains inside were moving in the slight breeze. Then a stronger gust of wind blew them wide, revealing the interior, it was for only a few seconds but it seemed to Martin that time had slowed. He looked into the interior, a slightly voyeuristic feeling, as if he was intruding on someone else's life without their permission.

A young girl was sitting at a table inside; her head was in her hands. She looked up and their eyes locked. He could see she had been crying, she was looking directly at him but not really seeing, the same look he had seen in those same eyes two nights ago. He panicked slightly but could not bring himself to break eye contact with her.

Martin could see there was no recognition in her eyes though, only pain and hurt. Still he could not bring himself to look away; her innocence and sorrow transfixed him.

The girl looked down again, breaking the moment. The lace curtains settled back into place and took her away from sight, leaving a ghostly image floating with the curtains in the breeze.

Martin stood there, paralysed with a deep sorrow. He was once a little boy filled with little boy dreams. Those dreams had died at the hands of one man; he could not change that now. The dreams of that young girl in the house a few feet away died at the hands of one man as well, but for different reasons. He could have changed that but he did not and that made him sick. This man's death was a joint effort in which he was involved; he was as guilty as if he had pulled the trigger himself he knew that. His had a messed up life, and his sickness had now infected others. He did not deserve this, she did not either, and their lives owed them something better than what they had.

He knew now that he had to make amends before he could move on; he had to try to fix things. He really did not have a clue where to start.

The image of the girls lost face ran through his mind and then he thought of two people who could use some help now, something that he could do before it got worse. They were still pigs though and they had a hand in this mess as well, stirring the pot, causing reactions with their nosiness, but he knew that they did not deserve whatever Joseph had in store for them. He had to go back.

Looking at the window once more, he mouthed the word 'Sorry' and then started walking.

The fence line was unnaturally quiet; they could not see any of the usual bloodshot eyes peering over the ramparts. Something was slightly amiss but no one was saying anything, frightened that they had it wrong but not wanting to be the first to voice their opinion. The only outcome that anyone who was present wanted was to have their colleagues back unscathed.

Brian Johnson and Grant Wylie had approached from the golf club car park, Becky Wright and Ken Moore had parked further along Hillhead Road and had backtracked until they had reached the row of Pine trees on the edge of the golf course. The group were now standing in the shadows of the trees, invisible to the pad situated across the sports field in front of them.

"Tama Wilson was shot a few feet over there wasn't he?" Becky said looking at Grant.

Grant just nodded his reply, eyes focused on the pad.

"Bloody good riddance to bad rubbish if you ask me" Ken Moore spat out. "He got what he deserved".

"Lay off it Ken, no one deserves to die, no matter what they have done." Becky's tone was slightly matronly.

"It's his lot that have John and Jo, Becky, so don't tell me to lay off it."

"I don't need the team arguing the toss right now," Brian said angrily. "We have a job on in case you haven't noticed."

The team fell silent again.

Brian looked at his watch, and then out over the field. The sun was shining; there was a slight breeze but not enough to lower the temperature. A smell of freshly cut grass invaded his nostrils. It was a typical spring day in a typical neighbourhood in Dunedin. The only difference was, behind the tall wood and tin fence hiding its ugliness inside and situated between two tidy houses, was a police target, and things were about to get noisy.

He counted down silently from five, using his fingers, until he reached zero, then watched with a satisfied smile as the large tractor with a front end loader bucket attached and held out in front rounded the corner and then came rumbling along the street, it was followed by a procession of police vehicles. Thirty seconds later it made a sharp turn and accelerated quickly towards the gate of the pad, the noise of the engine sharp but then muffled by the sound of the destruction it brought. The gate gave way as if it was made of matchsticks.

Men dressed in black, faces covered under their Kevlar helmets and bristling with weapons disgorged from the patrol cars following the tractor. They moved with precision, the sound of flash bangs reverberating across the field as they filed in through the destroyed gates, rifles raised and pointing forwards, all with a single purpose, find their colleagues.

Brian listened but hoped he wouldn't hear any shots fired, although he desperately wanted to get John and Jo out safely, the fallout from any police shooting had far reaching effects, whatever the justification was. It was his decision to do things this way; they had only had time to come up with a loose plan of action based on best practice. Although he would not be the one pulling the trigger, the authorities would test his actions repeatedly in any subsequent enquiry to see if there was any weakness. All to make sure that some fine line had not been crossed, that it was a last resort and that there was no one else to blame but the person who presented the danger in the first place.

He was comfortable with his decisions whatever the outcome; John and Jo were his first and only priority.

Looking at his cell phone, he could see no missed calls or messages. Still no sign of Bridger then, he thought, hoping that his instincts had been right and he had not just wasted the last half an hour on a wild goose chase.

"It's time to move over and see what we have got" Ken said, who appeared to be listening to his radio earpiece. "The lads have got the building secure."

There was no discussion as the group moved out of the trees and started jogging across the sports field in the direction of the pad. They did not look back; they did not see the person standing a bit further back from them, hidden in the shadows and trees.

Martin stepped out of his camouflage and watched them crossing the field; he had heard everything they had said about Tama. It only served to increase his confusion, he wanted to do the right thing, he needed to do it to be able to move on, but what he had just heard showed the futility of it all. It will always be them and us, he thought, the underclass and the rest. "Open your fucking eyes and see," he yelled after them, not caring if they heard or not "I'm right fucking here... This is my world, I fucking matter to you know." He crouched down in the long grass and began to cry, tears of anger and frustration at his inability to find the right coping mechanisms.

The closer they got to the pad the more it looked like the place was empty. Brian had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he saw a few of the Armed Offender Squad officers were gathered just inside the broken gate, milling around, wondering what to do next. Ken Moore asked the nearest officer what the state of play was.

"The place is empty boss, there's only one guy left as a caretaker and he's not saying anything... there's no sign of Mouller or Williamson"

"Shit, that's not what I wanted to hear" Brian butted in on hearing what was said. "Where is this caretaker person? I will have a word with him. He must know something"

"He's in the back room," The officer said, pointing at the main building. "The boys have him covered. Good luck getting anything out of him though, it's Baz Ropata and as you know he's no friend of ours"

Brain was about to say something when a loud commotion erupted from inside the house. First one black clad member, then another, came stumbling out the door backwards. Both were off balance. The first one missed the steps and tumbled onto the ground below the porch, his rifle hanging in a sling over his shoulder over digging into his back as he landed heavily. The second officer had regained his footing only to be knocked backwards again by an unstoppable force that materialized out of the darkened hallway and morphed into a very angry Baz Ropata. He stood there on the porch just outside the doorway, breathing heavily and looking around. He had the look of a caged animal looking for his next victim. He looked like he was in no mood to be answering questions and he was not going to just sit down and take the police infringing on his personal space.

"Come on you fucking piggies, come and get some slop... its dinner time and I'm dishing it out". He locked eyes with Becky Wright standing in the group by the gate and smiled salaciously. "You first little Miss Piggy, I've got something right here for you" Baz grabbed at his crotch and sneered.

The officer he had knocked over stood up and made to grab at Baz's arm. Baz kicked him in the stomach then expertly brought his knee up into his face as he doubled over, blood and mucus spilled from his mouth and nose as he deflated to the floor. "Come on, I'll take any of you's bastard's" he yelled, making 'come here' gestures with his meaty hands.

The rest of the squad had regained their composure after the surprise of Baz's advance; they had all brought their weapons up and were pointing them directly at him. That did not seem to faze him one bit.

"Get down on the ground; get down on the ground now" The commands were being yelled.

Baz did not move an inch

"Get down..., do it now"

He just stood there smiling as the officers inched closer and closer, weapons raised, eyes locked on their target.

"You're gonna have to kill me" he said quietly, holding his arms wide like a cross and looking at the sky. "Just fucking kill me."

"Not likely dickhead" the officer to his left said as he swung the butt of his rifle into the bony part of Baz's face, knocking his head sideways. "I wouldn't want to waste a bullet on you"

The officer to his right returned service and swung the butt of his rifle into the other side of Baz's face in what looked like a practiced move. Baz dropped to his knees, a stunned look on his face replacing the angry sneer. Another officer used his boot to kick him face first into the dirt before putting a knee in his back and reaching for his handcuffs.

Grant had moved over to the mêlée and leaned down. "Where are they?" he said, barely containing the anger he felt towards him.

"Don't know what you're talking about Piggy" Baz replied groggily, spitting blood onto the ground.

Grant grabbed a handful of dreadlocks and pulled his face up off the ground. "I said, where the hell are they?" his voice was a hushed angry whisper, his face right next to Baz.

Baz just looked back at him, arrogant indifference written all over his face.

"He's not going to help you Grant," Brian said putting a hand on his shoulder. "Just get him out of here Throw him in the cells for a while, see if that helps his memory."

"What's the charge?"

"Obstruction, resisting arrest, assault, take your pick..."

Grant asked the two officers either side of Baz to help him out. Lifting him bodily, they dragged him facing forwards, Baz refusing to move his legs, over the remains of the broken gate and out into the street before shoving him unceremoniously into the back seat of a patrol car.

Another police patrol vehicle came driving up to the scene in a hurry, braking sharply as it pulled to the side of the road. The car door opened and Sgt Gary Stone, officer in charge of the AOS, stepped out.

"I see I'm too late for all the fun. Typical, I told the missus that we should have bought a house closer to town." The smile on his face died when he saw Grant's expression. "Have you got them back?" he queried, hesitantly.

"No, the pad is a ghost town and this prick isn't letting on where everybody went." Grant indicated Baz sitting in the back seat. "He knows where they are, I'm bloody sure of it, but we can't do a damn thing about it" Grant kicked the side of the car in frustration.

"What about Bridger? Has anyone heard from him?"

"Not yet..."

A call from inside the fence cut Grant's reply short. Becky's urgent shout had them running into the house to see something she had found. Entering the room, she indicated what she had seen to them, they all drew in a breath realising straight away, what they were looking at. There was a mattress on the floor in the corner, and it had clothes next to it that looked like the ones Jo had been wearing that morning. In the other corner was a small wooden chair, one of its legs broken making it lean against the wall. There was blood all around the base of it and sitting against the opposite wall was a wooden baseball bat. Red stains ran like rivers down its length and they could see what appeared to be hair matted in the blood pooled around the bottom.

"Bloody hell, this doesn't look good" Grant said taking in the scene "Looking at this I would say that whatever happened here wasn't pleasant, and if Jo and John were involved they are in a lot of trouble."

"These are Jo's clothes," Becky said, her face white as she held up Jo's police identification card. "This was in the pocket."

There was a short stunned silence in the room as they digested the fact that their colleagues were now in serious danger.

"Get Baz Ropata back to the station now" Brian said, looking at Grant "Lean on him hard, he knows where they are, make sure he knows that if anything happens to them he will be just as responsible."

Grant did not need telling twice, he was already heading for the door.

"I'll get the scene of crime officers down here to bag this lot up. The rest of you start looking through the rest of this place, see if we can find something that might point us in the right direction. It's our only course of action." Brian looked at his cellphone wondering where in the hell Mike Bridger was.

"We are running out of time Mr Bridger, even with my reach we can't hold the screws back for too much longer, you need to make your choice."

Bridger sensed in McLaren's tone of voice that his choice would have to fall on right side for this to be resolved to his satisfaction."

"If I do what you want then I risk hurting my colleagues," he said looking directly at Joseph senior when he spoke. Joseph's expression changed slightly on hearing Bridger's words. He realised that Joseph would not be privy to what was being discussed between them; he thought he had his confession signed and sealed. He was expecting McLaren to back him on his crusade for his release; Joseph had no idea that McLaren had put him there in the first place, and more importantly wanted him to remain there.

"And if I can't do what you want, then what?"

"Then I can't guarantee that your wife won't meet with the loving hands of my man on the outside. I have told him that he has the green light if you do not agree with my proposal. If my son ends up in any sort of trouble then its game on"

Bridger's mind was about to burst, his thoughts were all over the place. He was stuck between the beliefs of Joseph Kingi that he had set him up and the unreasonable demands of McLaren. On one side were his two colleagues, in very real danger, and on the other his wife and possibly lover were targets for the sick fantasies of a violent pervert. How was he actually meant to weigh up the two, they both deserved his protection. He knew in his heart that his colleagues needed the help first. Knowing this did not make his choice any easier, only harder.

"Time's ticking by Mr Bridger. You know in your heart which way you should decide, just say the word"

Bridger took a deep breath, Nietzsche surfacing in his thoughts once again.

'All things are subject to interpretation whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.'

"Can you help me with my problem?" Bridger hoped McLaren would notice the inference that he was talking about his colleagues. He did not want Joseph knowing what was going on until he made his decision which way he was going to play it.

"The simple answer is... no, Mr Bridger, I don't have a clue where Kingi will be hiding your little friends..., except the pad, it's the only logical place I can think of. You are a clever Detective so you will figure it out. It's not really my problem; I only have to worry about how to stop my man's unholy desire for your wife if he doesn't hear from me."

That is what he had been afraid of; the pad was the first place he had thought of as well. It looked like he was going to have to do something he did not think he would ever have to do. Bridger had come to a decision, "Okay Mr McLaren, I'll do my best. That's all I can do."

"That's what I thought..." David said softly "Love always wins out doesn't it; blood is thicker than water when it comes down to it, your first priority will always be your wife. For what it's worth though Mr Bridger, I hope your colleagues will be okay."

The phone went dead which left Bridger staring at Joseph Kingi who was sitting across the table from him, a suspicious look on his face.

'You have your way, I have my way, as for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist'

He did not bother saying anything to him, just picked up the paper with the false confession scrawled onto the face of it. He folded it in two and placed it inside his jacket pocket.

Joseph smiled as he watched him do it, "You have three hours from when that door opens to get that lodged with the Courts. My lawyers will be advised when it happens and will let me know, they have been told that there is going to be a development, but do not know what it is. Once they let me know then your little piggy friends can go 'wee wee wee' all the way home. If I don't hear from them then I can't call off the dogs and your friends will become food for their appetite"

Bridger remained impassive, shaking his head unconsciously at the futility of the situation. Two men who had wasted their lives still had the power to control the destiny of others in a world where everyone had their own boundaries and some were willing to cross them all too easily. He just hoped his decision had been the right one.

The steel door clanged behind them as the lock was undone, swinging open, it bought a rush of cold fresh air into the stagnant room, and it surrounded and cooled the two men who sat staring at each other, almost intimately like feuding brothers who have finally come to an understanding.

Bridger took a long deep breath of the fresher air and stood up to face the officer in the doorway, his anger only barely contained that someone in his position would allow a prisoner to dictate what he did. He saw an unfamiliar face staring back at him; it was not either of the two officers from earlier.

"There you are Sergeant; I've had a bit of trouble locating you... Why was this door locked?"

Bridger did not bother to ask and just gave him a hard stare.

"You really should sign in at the front desk you know, it's not a safe environment here, especially if we don't know where you are or if you are even present in the building."

Bridger was about to say something this time but stopped himself at the last minute, he needed to fix his own problems first, not sort out the prison service. Picking up his cell phone from the table, he stalked out of the door, feeling Joseph's malignant eyes staring at him in the small of his back.

"Three hours Mr Bridger" Joseph called from inside the room as Bridger continued to walk.

### Chapter Fifteen

Martin stood in the warm sunshine outside his childhood home, slightly on edge. The scene he had witnessed at the pad had shaken him. When he heard that cop say what he did, he wanted to smash him, stick a knife in his belly, and make him see what fear and survival was all about. That cop didn't give a shit about Tama or what he had to deal with, all he saw was trash, someone to be swept up and dealt with so the 'Normal' people could sleep soundly, knowing that they were so much better than the likes of him.

He had watched in awe as the police had moved in with vicious precision and violent force. Where was that effort when Tama was lying in the dirt with no head? There was no speed then, it seemed like they were just going through the motions, typical bloody coppers.

The gate had been no match for the front-end loader driven by that black killer ant. He was not embarrassed that he had been crying. It had actually made him feel slightly better. He had stayed and watched what the police were doing; half hoping that he would see the two police officers Joseph had kidnapped come out with them. However, the face they had dragged out was bloodied and beaten and the distance had made it hard to tell at first who it was. The sight of the man struggling against his captors, as they tried to put him in a police car with his dreadlocks swaying violently, left little doubt in his mind. It was too late for those little piggies. They were gone. He was sure Baz Ropata would not be letting on where the rest of them were no matter what they did to him. The unwritten code was sacred to Baz, Martin knew he would never break or deviate from his chosen path. Do not speak to the cops, no matter what.

He remembered the text from Joseph, saying he would kill Tama if he talked. Tama would never talk; he followed the rules as well. He may not have been as hard as Joseph or Baz but he still lived the same life, ran in the same circles, and breathed the same fetid air in the same stinking neighbourhood as everyone else. Martin found himself getting angry again, it brought back memories of Tama and how scared he had been before the police came for him.

Tama did not have to die. Things could have been different. He thought of what he knew, and of what Baz had told him. He could end this if he wanted; he knew he had the power now.

Fuck'em, he thought, let J man and his crew dig as big a hole as they wanted, big enough for all of them to fall into. Fuck the police as well, what have they ever done for the likes of him, they had not even been able to protect Tama.

Martin looked at the closed door at the end of the short path, a path he had walked up and down all his life, a path that for many years had been one of fear.

He knew his mother would not be home yet, but that was good; he did not have the words for goodbye. Although they had not been close, in the last few years, she was still his mother and he was not sure whether he would be able to walk away if she asked him not to.

He would be there though, the man who had shaped his young life from innocent wonder, a child's courage to face the world and all it had, into an ashamed frightened existence of self-doubt and hatred, one man's sickness touching him and others and infecting them all beyond cure.

He hated that man, for making him hate himself.

I will just have to be quiet, he thought, he is probably passed out on the couch anyway, the fucking loser.

Another thought flashed through his mind, he was glad at that moment he did not have the shotgun with him; but then would he actually be able to pull the trigger. Would his hatred have been strong enough?

Either way he needed to retrieve his money, there was nothing without the money, no new existence. Taking a deep breath, he walked up the path, opened the front door and stepped inside.

"In here Star" The voice was quiet, almost seductive, instantly taking him back all those years. He was seven years old again, too young to know any better, too young.

The strength went from his legs and the hollow self-hatred returned to his stomach. He had only ever called him Star when he wanted him..., when it was time.

"I said in here Star" the voice was more urgent, more forceful, Martin sensed a slight desperation in the tone. He had not been in this place for years now and he did not quite know how to respond. Surely the sick pervert did not think he was going to get away with it, he was to physically able to be taken advantage of now. He would not let it happen, not again.

"Star...? Get the fuck in here".

Stepping into the open doorway that led from the hallway to the lounge room, he saw him sitting there in his chair. Dirty painful memories came flooding back, memories of the filthy white singlet that sat above his nakedness while he had knelt at the foot of the chair, holding the shaft in his small fists to stop it going too far in and choking him, tears mixing with saliva and bile as he had struggled to comprehend his reality.

The sight before him today though made him take a backwards step when he realised what he was actually looking at, in the place where he would have found naked vile torment all those years ago sat the shotgun.

A small sad smile on his stepfather's lips played out as he looked at Martin standing in the doorframe. He had one hand on the stock, thumb over the top and forefinger inside the trigger guard. The other hand was absently stroking the twin barrels.

"I watched you the other morning", he said, "I saw you hiding that bag under the tree, it didn't take much to figure out what was in it when I saw the news."

"It was you..., you killed him didn't you" Martin could not quite understand why this was happening. "What the fuck did he ever do to you? You fucking pervert. It should be the other way around; it's you who should be dead, not Tama."

His stepfather nodded his head slowly as if agreeing with Martin's angry outburst. The gun did not move from his lap.

"It was easy enough, Tama was dumb, a threat. I just sent a text telling him he was needed for a job and he came right to me; he would have done that with the police eventually. It had to be that way..., to protect you...," He looked at the floor as he spoke, "To protect your mother...," He drew in a deep breath as if admitting something to himself, "To protect me."

He did not want any explanations; there would never be a good enough reason to shoot his friend. He looked at his stepfather, the expression on his face had not changed, it was as if he just felt a need to explain and that was all. He looked pathetic sitting there with the gun on his lap.

Martin felt no fear from the shotgun; but he hated the way he was feeling now, and the gun offered a way out. He had not contemplated this before, but like his innocence, someone else would make this choice for him. Inside his head at that moment he was a seven years old again, full of shame and disgust. The realisation that he would never be free of the memories hit him like a sledgehammer, but this time he was old enough to know better. He had spent his life living with a distorted view of the world, trying to keep up the pretence of being normal in the chaos of other people's lives and he was tired, too tired to play any games.

"Fuck you Bill Patterson, do what you have to do", it was the first time he had spoken his name since his childhood, purging something from his memory. "I'm fucked in the head anyway thanks to you, you took my life from me then, so it won't make a hell of a lot of difference now."

His stepfather remained sitting but he saw his body tense, the knuckles on his hands went white. "You're more like your father than you know Martin... that's why I have to do this. It would have happened sooner or later".

Martin saw the shotgun rising up off his stepfather's lap, a sad faraway look in his eyes, just as a child lost.

"I'm sorry, I thought I could fix it... but I was wrong"

The twin barrels of the shotgun swung in Martins direction and he braced himself for the pain, but at the same time, craving the oblivion it offered.

"I'm just a sick man..., please forgive me".

His stepfather moved the barrels past where Martin was standing and angled them upwards, the shortened length making it easy to tuck them neatly under his own chin.

Looking directly at Martin, a small tear running down his cheek, he pulled the trigger.

Martin just stood there in the midst of the chaos, as the noise of the blast echoed around the room and then died out to a muffled ringing in his ears. He crouched down against the wall staring at the mess before him, he could almost see the sickness soaking into the threadbare carpet as the blood pooled around his feet. He began to cry, tears of relief sliding down his cheeks, and suddenly he felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders as he watched his stepfather's body twitch and shudder as the last of his nerves died and became still.

He closed his eyes in search of the new world he was to inhabit.

### Chapter Sixteen

Bridger walked straight past the front counter at the prison, ignoring the protesting instructions of the officer behind him about signing out. If they have no record of me signing in I am not likely to waste my time signing out, he thought. He heard the officer mumble something under his breath about Police and attitudes and was about to turn around and have it out with him about attitudes and his fellow officers but the sliding door opened in front of him letting a welcome gust of fresh air into his lungs. The fresh air calmed him slightly but he wanted to be outside as quickly as possible, to shake off the feeling of helpless claustrophobia that he had developed while stuck in that concrete capsule with Joseph Kingi.

Three hours was not a very long time, he knew he needed to move fast, as Joseph's last words were running through his mind. He hoped her had made the right decision. Pulling out his phone, standing in the fresh air he felt his breathing returning to normal, at least he was now in some sort of control of what happened next. If he was honest with himself, he had actually felt a little scared. He was not scared for himself, but for fact that he was unable to do anything about his predicament. He was scared because he had let himself get in that situation to easily. What happened in the prison bought home the fact that he was not in control, he could not predict the actions of other people and that made them dangerous, and what was worse, he had inadvertently involved friends and family.

He dialled a number into the phone and it answered straight away.

"Mike? Where the hell have you been, it's all turned to custard here, John and Jo have gone missing, their car has turned up burnt out at Blackhead and we can't find them anywhere."

Not quite the response he expected from Brian, but it did not surprise him. "I know, I can't tell you much at the moment but have you tried the pad?"

"Of course we bloody have, they're not there Mike, the place was empty except for Baz Ropata and he's not saying anything. I saw the picture you sent Laura, Mike, was that them? And if it was, what do you know about this?"

Bridger was starting to get an uneasy feeling; he had been counting on the fact that the gang were holding John and Jo at the pad. It made sense that they would be there, it was where the gang held all the power, it was where Joseph Kingi junior would feel safe, safe enough to do as he pleased. Where in the hell else could they be?

"Tell me what you know Mike, things have got out of hand here, John and Jo could be in real danger" Brian's tone was professional but there was a slight undertone of fear and confusion.

"The photo was them Brian, don't ask me how I know, you're just going to have to trust me on this..." Brian's words registered in his brain "What do you mean I sent it to Laura?" It was not something he wanted to share with his wife; she should not have to be involved in this dirty business. He had always tried to protect her from his work, trying not to discuss it in too much detail if she had ever asked. He felt sickened that she would have had to see it. At least she had the sense to bring it to Brian, he thought. "Never mind Brian, I'm on my way into town now, I'll be there as soon as I can."

Another thought crossed his mind "Also do you know the whereabouts of Tama Wilson's friend, Martin McLaren?"

There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone. "Funny you should ask that Mike, we are on our way to his house right now. What do you know about it...?" He paused again as if waiting for an answer Bridger was not about to give. Brian continued, "There has been a report of gunshots from inside. It is too much of a coincidence, he has to be involved somehow, and he may even have Jo and John. The AOS are just setting up their cordons now."

"Don't do anything until I get there Brian. I need to speak with Martin," Bridger pleaded, angry at the fact he could not tell Brian why.

"I can't control what the AOS do in this situation Mike; you know that, it's their show when there are firearms involved."

Bridger's mind was working overtime; if Martin was involved and he did something stupid then his wife would be in danger. "Brian, where is Laura now?"

"After she left the station I don't know where she went, Gillian Holler has gone to track her down."

"I'll see you as quick as I can." He cut the connection before Brian could say anything more and started running for his car.

'Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings – always darker, emptier and simpler' Bridger didn't want to let feelings get in the way of his actions but it was feelings that had guided his choice for Laura and his colleagues and it was his actions that would determine the outcome.

Driving his car at speed out through the large gates and back onto the main road, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach started getting deeper.

"Throw that one in the back room..., the one without the roof" Joseph directed, indicating to the two skinny gang prospects who were manhandling the still unconscious John Mouller. "Put the other one in there as well, they can keep each other company."

"Maybe the Vultures will fly in and peck their eyes out" one of them joked.

"There's no Vultures in Dunedin you thick bastard, it's not warm enough, they only live in deserts... like Waiouru, up in the North Island" the other one said, rolling his eyes at Joseph to include him in the ridicule.

Joseph just shook his head. He was sure there were no bloody Vultures in New Zealand at all. Idiots surround me, he thought. However, he was starting to feel slightly on edge himself. Things were not going quite to plan, thanks to Star, and it made him feel inferior. He hated the fact that he had shown fear in front of him, he felt stupid and weak. Star was a killer; he had killed his best friend and that made him dangerous and unpredictable so maybe he was right to feel fear. Joseph liked to think he would kill to if he had to, but the truth was he had never crossed that line.

Martin's father was a killer as well, that is why he was in jail; he knew that from what his own father had told him. He wondered if Martin knew. He had never heard him speak about his father before. He certainly was not going to tell him what he knew, that would do too much for Stars reputation and he could not have that.

"What do you want to do with this one J man?"

The question pulled Joseph back from inside his head. He looked at the semi naked figure of the policewoman, she was standing of her own accord but two of his dogs were supporting her, her eyes were glazed over and makeup was running down her cheeks in dark stains. She looked like a used sex doll.

He found himself getting slightly aroused at the sight. She was such a picture of perfection; he had thought that the first time he had set eyes on her when she had stopped him in that car. That sexy uniform, the way she had shown fear, and then acquiesced without saying anything, letting him off with his behaviour, letting him leave without a word. He knew she wanted him to do that to her, she wanted him to dominate and control her. Actions always speak louder than words; it was always the way with woman.

He had tried to play out those fantasies in every sexual encounter he had had since that day, always picturing her face, but it was never enough, none of them looked at him just as she had that day, the girls he had all had dead eyes with no fear. It was always just going to be a matter of time, he knew he would come across her again, but she had given herself willingly today and for that, he was extremely grateful. Soon he would have her and he would give her what she wanted, and he would enjoy every bloody thrust.

"Put her in there," he said, indicating the least of the stinking bare concrete rooms.

He knew he owed it to his father to carry out his wishes, but if he ended up having to let them go then he would not have her, and he would most probably go to jail. His father had not thought this through to its conclusion; he was stupid like that, which is why he was in jail.

He had come to his decision, once his father got what he wanted and the confession he wanted lodged with the courts. Then he would be free to do as he pleased with these two, and he could not let them leave, not now he had come this far.

He looked at his watch, three hours to go.

Martin opened his eyes, had he heard something? Had he been sleeping? He was not sure, but the ringing in his ears had subsided. There it was again- someone was calling his name - someone far away.

Looking at the remains of his stepfather, slumped in the chair, he saw blood pooling around his buttocks and onto the floor. Strangely, he had the feeling that it was his stepfather calling, from whichever purgatory into which he had fallen. He imagined him meeting up with his real father in the afterlife, what his father would say to him. He could imagine what he would have to do, as penance for his worldly sins. However, the remains of Bill Patterson looked just like Tama had, all busted bones and tissue leaking his bodies secrets all over the floor. He was not saying anything, he was not here anymore, and there was no afterlife and no way for redemption. He would be damned in the soul of a sinner for eternity.

We all look the same on the inside, he thought sadly. There is no difference, it is just a pity we cannot see that while we are still alive. Maybe his mother should have seen something different though; he wondered what view she had of his dead stepfather, whether she had any suspicions of his sick needs. He shook the thought from his mind; he could not tarnish her like that. She was his only stability.

'Martin McLaren, if you or anybody else are in there please come to the door with your hands empty and your arms above your head'

That voice again, it sounded tinny, mechanical even, he was not really listening, but it wanted something.

Martin looked at the shotgun, still clutched in his stepfather's lifeless hands, his body refusing to relinquish it even in death.

'This is the Police; you need to follow our instructions. Come to the door with your hands empty and your arms in the air... Do it now.'

The mention of the word police did not alarm him even slightly. He was past caring. He felt lighter inside than he had ever felt before, he was almost happy. Watching his stepfather blow his own head off right in front of him was almost cleansing, putting a final full stop on a lifetime of shame.

He had survived it, Bill Patterson had not. It was a bittersweet victory of sorts, he liked what he was feeling but it was a feeling he knew would not last.

He looked at the gun. It once again offered a way out, a way to keep the feeling he had now, forever. It would be a final finger to the world and he would go out on a high. He had nothing else so what did it really matter.

He stood up in the small room, not caring where he put his feet. There was a slight squelch as he walked towards the window. Looking outside, through the lace curtains, he knew he would be invisible to anyone out there. He saw a beautiful blue sky interspersed with wispy white clouds, the small trees outside the house were not even moving in the minimal breeze. He could hear cicadas chirruping and snippets of birdsong. He saw black clad figures crouched across the street, the eyes the only thing visible, guns pointed in his direction. He saw hatred radiated from within each of those black figures. He saw death.

Moving further back from the window, he lent across the still warm body. Ignoring the coppery smell of the blood and brain matter, he took the shotgun from its cold hands. Something purged from within the lifeless corpse as he inadvertently shifted its position. The noise and smell gurgled out of the hole in its head, where the mouth used to be. He gagged and stumbled backwards.

"That stinks, you dirty bastard," he said to the faceless corpse, barely managing to hold onto his stomach contents. He screwed up his face in distaste, and then holding the shotgun in one hand, he kicked out at his stepfather "Fuck you Bill Patterson, the pleasure was all yours."

Without looking back, he turned and walked out into the hallway and towards the front door.

### Chapter Seventeen

'Stand by, stand by' the command crackled in the earpieces of every member of the AOS who were all dispersed into the quiet suburban street. 'The front door is opening, standby for target conformation' Sgt Gary Stone was acting as spotter and negotiator and had radioed the instructions to his squad. Ken Moore, his second in command, who also acted as the squad sniper, had taken up position beside Stone. Ken's rifle, the Accuracy international AW sniper rifle was against his shoulder and pointed directly at the front door of the ordinary looking house. Gary knew he would have a clear line of sight through the powerful scope. Whoever stepped through that door would be in Ken's crosshairs, and he would be able to neutralise any threat they presented with one small movement of his trigger finger.

The rest of the squad carried Bushmaster M4A3 Carbines as well as Glock 17 pistols. Gary had dispersed them between outer cordons to stop anyone entering the street and finding themselves in crossfire, to the inner cordons that would contain anyone inside the area that might decide to make a run for it.

It was something the squad trained for constantly and had done countless times for real. The difference today was that each member's emotional state was on a knife-edge. They all knew and liked John Mouller and Jo Williamson, the frustration and disappointment had been extreme when they had not located them back at the pad. If he put all of that with the adrenalin from earlier still in their bloodstream, and the fact that some had expressed their concerns that they were wasting time with this job while not looking for their friends, made Gary Stone a very nervous man.

He knew his priorities should be with his missing colleagues but this was a legitimate call, more than one person had reported hearing gunshots and that meant they had to deal with it. He did not want an incident today; they did not have the time to waste if someone on his team let his discipline slip in any way.

He had no further time to think about it as the door across the road from them opened fully, and a figure stepped through and out onto the porch.

"Be advised, we have a male in the doorway, dark hair, medium build, dark clothing" Stone was watching him through his binoculars but his arms were obscured by a small bush that was within his line of sight, he needed to see what he was carrying. Moving sideways to get a better look, he still tried to stay within partial cover in case this male posed a threat. His fears were borne out when he saw the unmistakable shape of a shotgun, one that had its barrels shortened. The male was carrying it with one hand, barrels towards the ground, hand around the wooden stock, finger in the trigger guard. With the other hand, he saw him wipe at his face, as if brushing away sweat, or tears.

"That's Martin McLaren." Ken Moore said with certainty, his index finger moving from outside the trigger guard to rest lightly on the trigger itself.

Stone saw Ken Moore's breathing slow down in preparation for a shot.

"Alpha one to all members, we have one male combatant standing on the front porch. He has a shortened double barrel shotgun in his right hand. It's being held at waist level pointing at the ground" Stone took a breath; he had obligations now in relation to standard operating procedure and police general instructions "Be advised F061 applies, do not engage unless he poses a threat or tries to break the cordon." There was more to it than what he had said and he knew that all of his squad members knew this 'General Instruction' back to front and inside out. As always, he had to tick every box in case they ended up shooting someone. It was not so much to safeguard himself, more to protect his fellow squad members, who in most cases would only be doing their job. The public outcry would attract all the anti police establishment types, and there would be heads called for if any discrepancy was found. The bosses in Police Headquarters based in Wellington would do their best but there always had to be someone to blame. He was buggered if he was going to let it be one of his squad.

"I have a shot Gary," Ken said, not taking his master eye from the scope.

"Okay Ken, but let me try and talk him down first. We don't want to get tied up in a shooting today, not with Jo and John still out there somewhere" Stone picked up his loud hailer and switched it on.

"There can't be too many sawn-off shotguns floating around this city" Ken said "I'm betting this one was used on the shopkeeper in the robbery and I'm willing to double the odds that it was used to kill Tama Wilson as well. If Martin was involved in all of that then he deserves to be shot"

Gary looked down at his colleague "You might be right Ken but it doesn't stop me having to do this by the book" he put his mouth to the speaker.

"I need you to put the weapon down and move into the street... do it now."

No movement.

"Put down the gun and move into the street now, we have armed police surrounding you"

Martin looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun he scanned from left to right, then his eyes located Gary and Ken and that is where they stayed.

"We have firearms trained on you right now; if you present a danger to us you will be shot. Put down your gun and move out into the street."

Martin started moving, slowly, taking one small step at a time, eyes fixed on Gary and Ken.

"He's moving Gary, he still has the gun," Ken said urgently.

Gary glanced quickly at Ken and saw the knuckle on his trigger finger go white. "Stand down Ken, his gun is still pointing to the ground. You have to let me do this my way"

Martin kept advancing towards the front gate, walking slowly on the concrete path. The gun held loosely in his right hand.

"If that gun moves even a small fraction in our direction, he's dead" Ken spat out angrily.

Martin reached the front gate and kept moving.

"Martin McLaren, stop where you are and put down the Gun" Gary knew this was the last throw of the dice, if Martin didn't stop then Ken would shoot, and he had seen what 7.62mm rifle ammunition could do to a body at close range. Whatever Martin McLaren had done he did not deserve that. He heard his colleague take a deep breath and then release it slowly, he knew he was preparing to shoot; it would only be a fraction of a second more. He did not take his eyes off the target, willing him consciously to stop.

Then Martin stood stock still, gun hanging limply by his side. He was less than fifty metres away and Brian could see he had been crying. Bloody great, he thought, all he needed now was an armed person in an emotionally fragile state, the worst kind there was. Martin just stood there with wide eyes looking directly at the barrel of the rifle pointed in his direction, as if contemplating a decision.

"This guy wants to be shot, Gary. He knows what he's doing; we have let him come to far as it is." Ken's voice sounded on edge.

"We're not in the habit of assisting people to commit suicide Ken, just give me a chance." Despite the situation, what Brian Johnson had said about Bridger's request was playing in the back of his mind. Bridger did not always play by the rules and he kept things pretty close to his chest, but if he needed to speak with Martin, he would have a good reason. John and Jo's disappearance may even be connected.

"Put the gun on the ground and move to your left." The distance between them almost made the loud hailer redundant, but he need it to be clear enough to all that may be listening that Martin had heard his instructions.

Martin just stood there and did not move.

### Chapter Eighteen

Bridger was driving at breakneck speed; he had tried contacting Laura on the phone, nearly running off the road as he fumbled with the numbers on the small keypad, but she had not answered her phone. He hoped there would be an explanation for that other than the scenario that was running through his head, causing his foot to press the accelerator even harder.

The car was fitted with red and blue lights in the front grill and on the front and rear windows and it had a siren, which was currently blaring out although it was struggling to compete with the sound of the engine, but other motorists still seemed oblivious to his haste.

"Get out of the bloody way you ignorant dickhead," he yelled for the umpteenth time as he came up fast behind a vehicle travelling at the speed limit.

The vehicle in front pulled slightly to the left and Bridger floored the accelerator, feeling the car surge forward as he straddled the white centre line, just managing to squeeze between that car and an oncoming truck with its lights flashing and horn blaring. He saw the angry confused eyes of the truck driver as the tractor unit roared by, dragging its trailers so close to his car that he could hear the noise of the wind displacement. Looking in his rear view mirror as he continued he saw the truck's trailers swinging wildly as the driver fought to pull back onto an even course. The sign on the rear of the trailers read 'Have a nice day'. The truck carried on around the corner out of sight. He did not have time to care what happened to it next.

He was scrolling through his contact list looking for Gary Stone's number, looking down more than at the road, almost driving blind, holding the steering wheel steady by jamming his knee under it. Another loud air horn sounded from out the front and he looked up in time to see large headlights flashing wildly directly in front of him. Grabbing the wheel with his free hand, he swung the car into a wild arc and narrowly missed the next oncoming truck, dropping his phone in the process.

"Shit, I don't bloody need this right now", he said aloud, trying to reach down between his legs. He could not keep his eyes on the road and reach low enough at the same time so Bridger forced himself to slow down. He needed to get where he was going and not kill himself in the process. Working hard to keep his foot from pressing heavily on the accelerator in his urgency and keeping the vehicle at a steady 120km/hr he glanced down quickly to get a bearing on where the phone had landed. Seeing it resting just short of the brake pedal he took a deep breath then ducked under the dashboard grabbing it on the first try. Bouncing straight back up he was relieved to see that he was still on a steady course.

This time he rang the number for the central police station, a number that he knew by heart and asked the operator to put him through to Sgt Gary Stone's cell phone. He was just entering the motorway at the base of Saddle Hill when someone answered.

"Stone" The voice was gruff and rushed.

"Gary its Mike, I need to know what's going on"

"Mike, you're a hard man to find these days." He sounded annoyed. "Make it quick," he continued, "We have Martin McLaren in the cross hairs, he's armed Mike and not in good place right now, he's currently standing in the middle of the road with a shotgun. Ken is squad sniper..."

Bridger did not have to ask what that meant; if Martin moved an inch from where he was, he was going to die. Despite his own history with Ken Moore, he knew Ken was a 'by the book' kind of man when it came to his current role, and he was an excellent shot. His feeling of helplessness deepened and his foot pressed harder on the accelerator.

"I'm two minutes away Gary." Bridger looked down at the car's speedometer that was reading 155km/hr and climbing "For god's sake, do not shoot him." He cut the connection and threw the phone on the seat beside him, concentrating on the top of the hill and the cars that were banking up as he reached the apex and the next lower speed restriction. He pictured Laura's face, beautiful, sad, and then the image was gone.

He knew he had less than a few minutes... at most.

### Chapter Nineteen

Martin stood stock still, his breathing was normal, his heart wasn't beating that fast, well not as fast as he would have thought, standing in the middle of the road with a load of Pigs pointing guns at him. He knew he had control of the situation though, he had watched enough films to know what cops did if you pointed a gun at them. It would be his decision, he would choose when, he had already chosen how.

He had seen that Pig though, the one that did all the talking on the loud speaker. He had answered his fucking phone, casually, standing there talking to someone, like he did not matter. Like that fucking cops life was more important than what was going on. Martin was surprised at how much that hurt him inside, it started to bring back those feelings again. No one cared about him; he was not even a threat to take seriously. Anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach. He had thought that he was not going to pull the trigger, but what the fuck, it did not matter either way.

He took a deep breath. Not today, he thought, I will not let them take this from me.

Today he felt free, of the shitty baggage he had been carrying around most of his life. He felt free of his unfounded fear of the bullies and thugs that ruled his part of the world, and of Tama, not that he did not love him in a brotherly way, but because Tama was the anchor that had kept him trapped below the surface. It would not get any better than today. He looked up at the bright blue sky, today was a good day to die.

Looking back at the police dressed in black, guns pointing directly at him, he waited for his life to flash before his eyes. He knew it was supposed to happen, everybody says it does, but nothing came. He closed his eyes as he tried to remember his life, just something to take with him when he went, a happy memory maybe, but still nothing came.

Maybe its best, he thought sadly, make a clean break, I do not want it to follow me into the afterlife as well.

The sound of a siren broke into his consciousness, quiet at first but getting louder. This sound was oddly comforting to Martin, echoing his life in a way he could not articulate himself. It was the sound of safety, but it was still too far a way to do any good, always out of reach. He could always see it but could not quite get there.

It's time, his mind told him.

The siren got louder, and then it stopped.

There was definitely a small movement, it was almost lost in the cacophony of siren noise that had encroached on the scene from over on the left, but Gary Stone had seen it. He had deliberately left his eyes on the target and not strayed to the police car that had driven through the cordon and stopped, tyres squealing, a short distance away. He already knew who it would be in the vehicle and did not feel the need to check.

The movement he had seen though made him hold his breath in anticipation. He had watched Martin tense up, and from his experience, he knew that he must have made his decision. The same decision many men before him had made, for many different reasons. Martin would raise the gun, point it in their direction, and then they would shoot him. It was the inevitable outcome. Bridger would be too late.

He saw the shotgun begin to move upwards slightly, time slowed down, things were running in slow motion, any second now... he became aware that nothing had happened, no shot had come from his sniper. He did not even have time to think about why Martin was still standing, when his answer came with an angry outburst from Ken Moore.

"What the fuck is this...?" He heard him yell, the adrenalin running through his system muffled the frustration and anger in Ken's voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure moving into their line of fire. He was wearing a crumpled white shirt with damp sweaty patches under the arms and un-pressed dark trousers. He knew Ken would not take a shot with a second person in the firing line unless necessary; he was too professional for that. He also knew that he would still have Martin in his crosshairs, one eye on the target and the other on the approaching figure, a difficult position for him.

The figure had his arms outstretched and Gary could see that his focus was on Martin as he moved closer. It looked like Martin had not noticed this interloper yet and had raised his shotgun almost to shoulder height. He watched Martin close his eyes, when they opened a few seconds later he had a confused look on his face as if he to expected that someone would have shot him by now.

Everything was still moving slowly though as if time had slowed down, muffled sounds were all around him. The scene unfolding before him was almost surreal. The figure had moved right in front of Martin now and was standing facing him, the shotgun pointing at his chest. It was Bridger.

"What the fuck is Bridger doing? He's going to get himself killed." He heard Ken's voice through the fog in his head. "Get the fuck out of it Bridger."

The outburst bought Gary back to reality. "I'm not sure what he's up to Ken... Have you still got a shot?"

"All I can see is the small of Bridger's back, if Martin starts shooting there's not much I can do about it"

Gary opened his radio microphone again, "Alpha one to all members, be advised the sniper has not got a clear line of site. Any member with a shot is clear to engage if needed."

There was no positive response from the squad members surrounding the address.

"Shit... why do you have to be so bloody impulsive?" Gary said aloud

"I should just shoot the bastard in the backside to teach him a lesson." Ken spat out.

Gary glanced down at Ken; his finger was still inside the trigger guard, the knuckle white. Bloody hell Bridger I hope you know what you are doing, he thought.

He looked back up; Bridger and Martin were still face-to-face, he could not see the gun but he knew Bridger would probably have a good view of it.

Martin raised the gun, subconsciously bracing himself for the pain, but also welcoming the end. When the siren had stopped, he knew it was time. He closed his eyes in anticipation but nothing happened. This wasn't what happened in the movies, he wanted a hail of bullets, every gun in the street to open him up and spill his secrets onto the ground, he wanted out. Nothing happened.

Then a man came out of nowhere and stood directly in front of him. He watched as the man reached out and touched his shoulder. He saw the man's mouth moving, he was saying something but his mind could not hear it. He looked down at the gun in his hands; it was pressing up against this man's chest. He could just pull the trigger and then they would have to shoot him.

Pull the trigger..., pull the trigger..., pull the trigger you pathetic useless coward. His mind was screaming at him but he could not do it. He saw the man's mouth moving, he saw the man had something to say, he knew he should listen... He knew deep down that he could not pull the trigger even if he wanted to, he would always be afraid... He relaxed the finger he had on the trigger slightly, his heart slowing.

Snippets of sound were invading the quiet in his head, he heard the word 'father' and 'prison', he became confused, this man didn't want to shoot him, he wanted to help. Martin took a deep breath, accepting the fact that he probably would not die today. He lowered the gun to his waist, pointing it at the ground, and then the world came rushing back in.

"Thank you Martin, it's not a nice thing having a gun in your chest. You have done the right thing... My name is Mike Bridger."

Martin could hear him clearly now, he looked at the man in front of him with the sweat patches under his arms. It was warm, but not that warm. "What do you want?" he asked, tears of frightened anger prickling at the corner of his eyes.

"I want to make sure you don't get hurt and that you don't do anything stupid with that gun. I want to help you."

Martin took a deep breath trying to calm down. "Are you a cop?"

"Yes."

"You don't look like a cop" Martin took in the sweaty bedraggled man in front of him, he had a crazy look in his eyes, no cop he had ever seen had looked at him like that. "I didn't kill him." Even if he was not a cop, he wanted this man to know he was not a killer, it was important.

"You didn't kill who?"

Martin looked behind him at the house "My step father... He shot himself... with this," he said, indicating the gun hanging by his side.

"What are you going to do with that?" The man called Bridger asked him.

"What do you care, I'm supposed to be dead already, but you fucked that up by just being here"

"I promised your father I would not let you get hurt...; I need you to hand me the gun Martin"

Martin looked Bridger in the eye, confusion running through his mind. Was this some kind of joke? "What the fuck do you know about my father...," This was not how it was supposed to happen, Martins mind started reeling, he had forgotten until now, the phone call from that man in prison, was this what he had meant. "I've never met my father." Martin did not know what kind of game this man was playing but he was trying to mess with his mind. He said he was a cop and cops did not care about what happened to him, just as they did not care about Tama. He got what he deserved- according to them.

The man just looked back at him with a look now bordering on fear; he could not quite work out whether he was afraid of him or something else. Either way, he only cared for himself that much was obvious, so he actually looked just like any other copper Martin decided. He was probably just full of lies to try to get him to hand over the gun.

"You're a fucking liar," he shouted. Martin had made his decision. He shoved Bridger hard in the chest catching him off guard. He watched him stumble backwards slightly, it gave him all the room he needed. Raising the shotgun up to shoulder height, he waved it back and forth and then pointed it directly at the cop who had called himself Bridger.

"Fuck you..."

A single shot rang out breaking the lazy silence in the still air.

### Chapter Twenty

The bullet caught him just below the right clavicle, striking the meaty part of the shoulder. A searing hot pain went straight through him, spinning him around and dropping him to the ground, the rough tarmac scraping his back and tearing open his shirt. He was expecting it but he did not think it would hurt this much. God it hurt like hell. He lay on the ground, staring at the sky, trying to control his breathing. The pain was getting worse as the initial adrenalin wore off and his body realised it had been shot. He struggled to make his muscles work but managed to put his hand up to his shoulder and felt a hot sticky wetness. When he pulled his hand back, he saw it was red with blood before it dropped uselessly to the ground beside him, the strength in his muscles giving out. He felt his heart starting to beat faster as it tried its best to compensate for the loss of fluid from its vascular system. His vision started to blur, the blue sky above him became grey and mottled, shadows fell across his face and then his sight became cloudy, sinking him even further into darkness. The last thing he saw before slipping into a murky unconsciousness was the distinctive shape of a rifle barrel pointing at his chest; the eyes staring out of the black mask behind it looked angry and confused.

Bridger kicked at the shotgun that was lying to the side of Martin's lifeless body, sending it scattering across the tarmac. Dropping to his knees, he placed his hand over the wound on his shoulder, trying desperately to stem the blood flow. "Get a bloody ambulance here right now," he yelled looking at Gary and Ken who were standing above him, rifles still trained on Martin. He could not hear any breathing when he lent down close to his face, but then his ears were still ringing. He had felt the bullet fly past his ear so close that the tiny projectile had caused his eardrum to pop with the change in pressure.

He knew who's rifle it would have originated from and could not help wondering if he had actually missed his intended target. "You could have killed me, you dumb prick" Although he was angry and hyped up his voice lacked any real venom as he knew Ken had undoubtedly saved his life.

"You're welcome" Ken said, barely containing his own anger, before turning away and shouldering his rifle then pulling his radio from his belt and calling for medical assistance.

"If you hadn't been in the line of fire Mike then Ken wouldn't have been put in that position," Gary said disapprovingly "I'm not happy about what you did at all. You're bloody lucky Ken is such a good shot, I'd say he saved your life."

Bridger noticed Gary had spoken in his quiet and contained voice, a voice that he used when he was extremely pissed off but needed to remain professional, but he was pissed off himself and did not have time for other people's feelings.

"Just save it for another time will you Gary, I need this boy alive. My wife's safety depends on it." Right now Bridger did not really care what he said or how he said it, he could repair those bridges if he had to. He would not be able to put Laura back together if McLaren's henchman made her a victim. He continued to put pressure on the wound while compressing his chest at the same time, trying to bring him back.

Gary crouched down beside him and started doing his own compressions in a rhythmic manner, so Bridger went back to using both hands on the wound.

Martin gave a small cough below him and his eyelids fluttered slightly, his chest started rising and falling, it was very shallow but he was visibly breathing again.

Bridger sucked in a deep breath of his own; Martin was not dead... yet. He opened his eyes slowly and looked directly up at him; his mouth was working up and down his tongue flicking inside his mouth as if searching for moisture. He spat out small flecks of blood that were landing on his lips, Martin was trying to say something.

Bridger bent closer "What are you trying to say? I can't quite catch it." Martin's voice was hoarse and shallow, the lung next to his wound not providing enough air to push out the words and he could not hear anything clearly. "The parcel? What parcel Martin? Where is this parcel?" Bridger had no idea what this meant. He watched helplessly as Martin's eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth hung open but did not move anymore.

"Shit... where is the bloody ambulance? I thought you had one on standby for times like these?" he looked up at Gary and Ken

"We do, it should be here in a few moments, it was back behind the outer cordon" Gary had stood up again and was looking back down at Bridger "Don't worry Mike, he will be alright"

Ken Moore the man who had nearly shot him and most definitely shot Martin just snorted air from his nose and mouth as if he did not care either way.

"He bloody well better be, for my wife's sake," the anger in Bridger's voice had returned.

"What do you mean; your wife's safety depends on it?" Gary Stone looked like his blood pressure had just ratcheted up past boiling point. "Is she tied up with John and Jo's disappearance? What about their safety Mike or have you forgotten about your colleagues?" There was more than a slight edge to his voice as if he questioned Bridger's priorities. "Are you going to elaborate on any of this Mike?"

Bridger did not answer, instead he looked at the watch on his wrist, he had 2 hours left before Joseph Kingi's deadline and he had already failed in his first objective, things were not going his way. He pressed down harder on the wound, but the blood kept flowing.

"Get that ambulance here now."

Detective Inspector Greg Matthews put the phone back on the cradle and contemplated the information he had just received. He was sitting in his small and stuffy office, a place he had begun to loath recently. It had never occurred to him that he might start having doubts about his work this late on in his career. He had not been able to shake the feelings ever since a fellow officer's psychotic son, a case that had far-reaching implications for many people, kidnapped Marion Watson. He had been a Police Officer for the best part of 35 years; he had spent a brief stint as a police dog handler and then qualified and worked as a Detective for 15 of those years before climbing the ranks to where he was today. Policing was his life; it was in his blood, just as it was in his father's blood before him. He recalled what his father, Sergeant Jim Matthews, had said to him on his graduation day from the police college when he had stood there proudly in front of him dressed in his crisp blue uniform.

'Son, in this job there are two types of people, those that follow the sometimes obtuse and strict rules of law and think they are doing a good and a just job, and more power to them, and then there are those who catch the criminals. It's up to you what sort of person you are, but remember criminals are criminals and we all have a sworn duty to catch them.'

He had not really given much thought to that bit of advice over the years, he was not quite sure what his father had meant; and his father had never repeated it, he had just sat back and watched as his son worked his way through the ranks. He thought about that, his father had not amounted to much in the job, he was happy to retire a Sergeant. Matthews had not been satisfied with that rank; he had wanted more from the job, and he had worked hard to get where he was, he had caught many criminals in the process. Did that make him the latter person his father was referring to? He was not anything like his father.

He knew that he had cut some corners in his time, crossed a few lines, but never once had he lied in court when providing his 'evidence in chief'. It was something he was proud of, he lived by the mantra that if nobody asked him directly then he did not tell. Defence lawyers had never pushed Mathews about how his evidence came into his possession, taking it at face value. Maybe it was his size and stature, which intimidated them, or the way he delivered his evidence in a sincere and believable manner. Then maybe he had just been lucky. His attitude was evidence is still evidence no matter how you came across it. Many criminals had gone to jail because of that, and they had all deserved it.

The man downstairs in the cells had not gone to jail very often though. He had done time when the offence was violent enough or public outrage would have been a probable outcome, but he had slipped past the net on numerous occasions. Baz Ropata was almost a protected man thanks to him, and it had never bothered him up until now.

He had been receiving information from Baz for the best part of 20 years, ever since the night he had come across David McLaren, the same night his dog Zeus had died at McLaren's hands. It was the most terrible sight he had seen up until then, his dog bleeding to death in a cold wet alleyway, and it had ended his career as a dog handler. However, the man who had inflicted those fatal wounds, the dangerous killer who had slain the man earlier, and who he found crouched against the fence crying quietly had been the one to facilitate his journey on his new career path.

His first instinct had been to kick the shit out of him, make him pay for killing his dog but he did not. His blood had been boiling but he was glad he had managed to refrain, as David McLaren became his first real informant. He was pathetic that night, crying like a baby, babbling on about family and role models as if he was actually a decent human being lured off the path by some dark and evil force outside of his control. All Matthews remembered seeing was a killer, plain and simple; he did not really care how he ended up in that position or what sob story he was going to dish out. He had killed someone and he had killed his dog, he had wasted whatever opportunity life was going to throw him in that one moment.

Matthews had seen the opportunity that presented itself; he knew what McLaren was offering him and grabbed it with two hands. He had used McLaren's vulnerability and played on his conscience recruiting him as a snitch as he crouched on the ground crying and stroking the bloodied fur of the dead animal at their feet. That human source relationship had endured all this time via his trusted henchman Baz Ropata. McLaren had told him he wanted to make amends for Zeus and had been true to his word, providing a lot of information through Ropata about the local criminal element. Matthews had a lot of success on that information which had helped him make the jump into being a trainee Detective. When that information had started to dry up, McLaren thinking he had done enough to quell his conscience, Matthews had just reminded him that he would not want to be branded a grass while he was confined to jail, and so the information still flowed.

Matthews was not stupid though, he knew McLaren had been throwing curve balls on a few occasions. McLaren had used him to further his own agenda by providing information or evidence against people he wanted out of the way. But as always he weighed up the evidence against the person it was used against; if that person was a criminal living on the edge of society and had got away with other things in the past then he used it, plain and simple, and he slept like a baby knowing another scumbag was off the street. His father's words came back, a criminal is a criminal; it is all just a matter of time for them.

He had never let on to anyone his connection with McLaren or Ropata and that was never going to change. He wondered if Bridger had the same sort of relationship with Joseph Kingi senior, it was not beyond possibility, he knew Bridger played his cards close to his chest. This little visit he was on at the prison could be just a little ruse to meet and exchange information but then it didn't make much sense for Kingi senior to be dobbing his own son in to the police because that's who was most certainly involved in the murder of the shop keeper. Brian Johnson had confirmed as much with his phone call earlier about the DNA match.

All he knew for sure was that since Bridger had gone to the prison to visit Kingi, two of his officers had gone missing and Bridger had a photograph showing them in a state of hostage in some shithole somewhere. It pained him to admit but he thought Bridger was actually a decent Detective, someone who stood up for himself, so he knew the photo would be legitimate.

He recalled an incident a long time back when Bridger had questioned him on a charging decision involving a domestic assault. He had balls to do that; Matthews had outranked him several times over even back then. He had him down as someone to watch, ever since that day. Sure, he was a bit 'rough and ready' and certainly not without personal problems, but then who did not have any of those. Deep down, he knew that whatever Bridger was doing it was what Bridger did best, which was work on his own.

He knew he would never tell Bridger what he thought of him, that just was not his style. His was more of a 'take no shit' sort of guy, it had served him well throughout his later career and he knew he had gained a reputation of being a bit of a hard nut.

He thought of reaching out to McLaren, but it was Baz Ropata in the cells now, not McLaren. He was the monkey, not the organ grinder and that posed a little problem. Baz had been arrested at the pad where his two subordinates had been held very recently and it made sense he would know where they were now, but he was also the monkey that danced to Joseph Kingi junior's organ, just by nature of the gangs hierarchy so he would be loyal to Kingi to. If he pushed Ropata he risked his relationship with McLaren, but then what information had he received recently. He rubbed at his temples wishing the decision were easier.

Although he did not know what connection McLaren had to this, he knew Ropata would know where they were holding his colleagues. He had never actually elicited any information from McLaren or Ropata; he only ever received the titbits that they threw his way; that was going to change today. Baz was going to tell him where they were, or he would sell that little monkey down the river, and even Baz would not survive being a grass within the Gang. He did not give a toss what McLaren thought, his colleague's lives were at stake.

Matthews stood up in his small stuffy office and tucked his shirt into his trousers before heading for the door, the reflection he caught in the polished brass nameplate as he walked out of the door looked drawn and haunted. He was getting to old for all this shit and he needed a break. He walked out into the hallway and took the short walk to the lifts, stepped inside and pushed the button marked 'Basement level'. The cold concrete and painted block walled level with no natural light..., where the cells were.

### Chapter Twenty One

Joseph Kingi junior was getting impatient, he had not heard from his father or his father's lawyer and he wanted to get on with it. That bitch in the next room was on heat, he could smell her from where he was and she would need to see to her to very soon, before the drugs really took hold. If that happened then she would be no good to anyone, just another strung-out whore and he could have as many of those as he wanted. She was going to be his prize. He knew deep down that his father's attempt at being released was a long shot, the desperate actions of a scared old man, someone who had lost control and wanted out. There was no 'out' in their game, you were a dog for life and that was that.

"This is a fucking waste of time." He said aloud, looking around at his pack of loyal dogs. Each one of them was supposedly loyal to him, although he was not always sure that was true. One thing he did know was true, they were definitely loyal to the patch they all wore on their backs. Because of that patch, they followed the rules. The Gang rules told them he was their king, the Alpha, the leader, he was the top dog, and short of physically overthrowing him, they could not do a damn thing about it. He could take all comers; none of them frightened him in the least so he did not really care about whether their loyalty was genuine or not. What he did care about was his power. He had the authority to make decisions, to do as he pleased, and he did not want things to change. It would if his father got out of prison, he would go back to being second fiddle. His taste had lasted far too long for that to happen now. He had made his decision

"We don't need to wait any longer... it's time."

Barking erupted spontaneously from within the gathered mongrels, the sound echoing off the bare concrete walls surrounding him with the chilling call of the animals they were.

In the room with no roof, off of what was left of the main living area, John Mouller failed to register the sick animal cry for blood echoing through the cavernous empty shell that served as his cell, and in the room next to that Jo Williamson heard the lustful call of an Alpha looking for his bitch. The drugs racing through her system making it hard to quantify the fear she should have felt.

Back in the main room Joseph Kingi junior stood in the middle of his pack, circling slowly, head up, eyes closed, arms held sideways, soaking up the fearful adulation like a rancid sponge.

And the dogs kept barking.

"Where's that bloody ambulance?" Bridger's forearms were aching with the pressure he was applying to the wound on Martin's shoulder. Before anyone could reply, two Ambulance Medics appeared from behind them and crouched down beside him. They were an odd pair, one, an older male with glasses and the look of importance, sweating slightly and carrying a large green backpack and the other a younger female who looked fresh out of school but who appeared to be in charge.

"We'll take it from here," the young female medic said before issuing a set of instructions to her colleague that went straight over Bridger's head. Her male colleague appeared to know exactly what he was doing though as he produced a large white compression dressing from the bag and placed it over Martins wound after unceremoniously pushing Bridger's hands away.

"You've done a good job so far, the bleeding has mostly been contained," he said by way of conciliation. "This young man is lucky you were here".

Bridger was not so sure that what the male medic had said was right about being lucky. He looked at the female medic who was busy preparing an IV line to put into Martins arm to try to replace some of the fluids he had lost. They were both calm and confident and seemed in no real hurry. He took their words and actions as a good sign that Martin would be okay. Not exactly what David McLaren had wanted but it was as good as it was going to get in the circumstances.

He stood up; feeling his own blood circulating back into his stiff legs then looked at Gary and Ken. The look on Gary's face said to him that he had a few questions he would like answered. The look on Ken's face told him that he thought he should be dead right now and he felt cheated somehow. He actually thought Ken could be right; he deserved whatever Ken thought should have happened but then he did not have time to dwell on the outcome. Feeling inside his jacket pocket, he felt the paper sheet with his false confession on it. He knew there where lawyers that expected this to be with them in the next two hours but he needed to find Laura first.

Picking his phone out of his pocket, he dialled the numbers he knew by heart. The call rang through to answer phone again. "Shit..." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His mind was working over every possible scenario, each of them bad. Where are you Laura?

He started to panic a little but then he forced himself to control his breathing, helping to calm him and think more clearly. She would be at work, unable to answer her phone or in a meeting, or she may be just ignoring his call as a show of defiance. He knew in his heart what call he should make next but felt like he would be betraying Laura if he did.

Gary and Ken had moved a short distance away and looked to be in deep discussion. He knew it was protocol to stand Ken down pending an investigation as it was with all Police shootings and that was probably the discussion now that was played out on the street a short distance from the 'victim'. He took the opportunity to slip a bit further away as he dialled Jane's number; he was almost back at his car when she picked up.

"Hey lover." Her voice was husky and he could sense the smile in it, "I was wondering if you would call."

He was in no mood to play along "Not now Jane, have you seen Laura today?" He did not wait for an answer "Forget that, where did she go when she left your office this morning."

There was a slight pause as Jane took a breath "She said she was meeting a client..., how did you know we had an appointment Mike? It was a last minute thing."

"Did you see anyone hanging around that looked suspicious?"

"Not that I recall... what's this about Mike?"

"Nothing... If you hear from her, tell her to ring me." He only felt slightly guilty about not telling Jane the truth, but it was more likely to be Laura that McLaren would target, he could not know anything about his relationship with Jane.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea Mike" Jane replied with a slight annoyance in her voice "You don't sound like you are in too good a mood. You don't want to say or do anything stupid; Laura wants to keep things amicable, and those photo's she showed me today... well, let's just say that's not a good start."

His thoughts were falling over themselves inside his head while his brain flipped from the image of his wife to that of his two colleagues, never making any clear division between them. It was only his heart pushing him towards Laura but he did care about his colleagues as well. He did not hear what Jane had said about the photos. "Just get her to call me." He cut the connection and looked at his watch; he needed to know who McLarens man was on the outside and he needed to buy some time. Gary looked over in his direction, which sparked an idea.

"Gary, we need to keep this out of the media and off of the main police channels for as long as possible, I don't want it known who has been shot here." He had no idea how far McLaren's tentacles spread but if he got wind of his son being shot then that would not be good for anyone, he needed a complete lockdown on this one.

Gary's face was incredulous "You don't want much do you Mike. How do you think I'm going to do that?"

Before he could say anything in reply two young squad members came out of the house behind them, their faces were pale and drawn. One of them was Steve 'the muscle' Kirkland "We've got one inside, sitting in a chair; he's missing most of his head" Steve said, the look on his face at complete odds with his powerful physique.

"That will be his step father" Bridger indicated Martins still unmoving figure being worked on by the medics as he spoke "Apparently Martin didn't do it." He got into his car without saying anything else and shut the door, ignoring the looks he was receiving from his colleagues and let the quietness of the cabin's interior wash over him, trying to make sense of what he was going to do next.

Detective Brian Johnson was only a couple of streets away at the pad; he was always his sounding board in times of crisis. He had been there on more than one occasion for him in the past. He knew he needed to share the burden of his dilemma with someone, just to help him think more clearly. His emotions were getting the better of him and he could feel a deep desire for a drink, and that was not where he wanted to go right now. He started the car and pressed heavily on the accelerator spinning the wheels slightly as he drove away, ignoring the looks on his colleagues' faces.

### Chapter Twenty Two

Grant Wylie entered the custody area of the Dunedin Central Police Station with one thing on his mind, to get Baz Ropata to spill his guts. He had spent the car journey from the pad to the police station holding his temper in check. Baz had just sat quietly with an angry smirk on his face staring out of the window. Grant had desperately wanted to reach over and smack him in the face and force him to tell him where the rest of the gang had his friends, but he knew that it would not do any good. Baz would never talk to the police and he certainly was not afraid of violence. He had to play this another way, it would not pass muster in a court of law but that was not the point, Baz was the only source of information they had and these were extraordinary circumstances.

He had heard that the armed offender's squad had shot someone back up in Corstaphine, the grapevine indicating Bridger had been involved somehow. He must have surfaced finally but he was too busy to give much thought as to what part he had played in all of this. This was getting messier by the minute and they were no closer to finding John and Jo. These were definitely extraordinary circumstances so he had no issues whatsoever with what he was about to do.

He had spent the last twenty minutes gathering as many unsolved cases from the office that dealt with child abuse as he could, he added to that the faxed copy of the DNA analysis indicating Kingi in the robbery murder. A little modification to that form was all it took; Baz Ropata was now looking at very serious charges backed up by DNA evidence. He was sure Baz would not want to go down for crimes against children, as tough as he thought he was he would not last in prison with his temperament and that label around his neck. It almost sounded fitting to Grant for him to turn the tables on Baz for once, make him feel the fear he had instilled on so many people in the past. Baz Ropata was a bad man and deserved everything that was coming to him, even so, he knew it was only ever going to be leverage, but he felt angry enough to pull it off and he would still sleep easy.

"Get a fucking ambulance here now." The urgent shout preceded the audible panic alarm that started bleating its call, reverberating off the concrete walls of the custody block. Grant threw his pile of files on the desk in front of him and followed the custody officer who had leapt off his chair like a startled rabbit and then run blindly into the corridor of cells. The panic alarm usually meant an officer was in trouble and needed urgent assistance.

Another bloody incident is not what they needed right now they did not have time for that. Grant was thinking that the day could not get much worse when they reached the source of the alarm and saw what had happened, he realised with growing fear that it already had.

He stood there in the slightly chilled room, it was colder in here than outside in the warm sun, but the sight which lay before him warmed him on the inside so he did not mind. She was pathetically beautiful, lying there with just her bra and panties covering her modesty. She was so pale and porcelain like, she reminded him of the dolls his mother collected when he was a child. They had been so lifelike; he remembered the thoughts he used to have about the dolls. He remembered how they would mock him with their eyes when he could not control himself any longer. After his older sister had left home and taken her friends with her, he only ever had the dolls. He touched her skin with his sweaty fingers, running them along her belly; she was much warmer than a doll. It was much like his sister had been when he was younger; only this time he was the one in control, not her, or her perverted friends.

He could feel his arousal growing, a deep-seated feeling that only came to the fore in circumstances like these, and he started to rub himself. There hadn't been many times like this but when they came his way he needed them like a drug, and today this girly copper was the needle in which it would be delivered. He felt it beginning. Earlier he had found one of the other Patches trying it on with her; he was a bitch for trying it on without his permission. Lucky for the Patch, the other copper had interrupted him before it had gone too far. If he had closed the deal with her, he would have had to kill him and not just beat him as he had. No one was going to sully his prize, the rest of them could do what they wanted with her afterwards, but he was going to be first...

The sound of the door opening behind him broke the moment. "What the fuck do you want?" The interruption instantly bringing his temper to the surface, suppressing whatever excitement had started to build in his loins. He looked at the interruption, standing there shaking slightly, "This better be good."

"S-sorry J man, I thought you might want to know this. Baz has been picked up; the pigs did over the pad a little while ago." The interruption was glancing nervously between Joseph and Jo Williamson lying semi naked on a yellow stained mattress, his eyes staying a little too long on her.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Joseph snarled.

The interruption jumped backwards at the outburst and looked like he was going to cry "N-nothing J man, I was just saying about Baz."

"Well you have said now, so get the fuck out... Baz is safe; he wouldn't diss a brother dog." He looked the interruption in the eye and knew what he said had to be true, or every one of them would be fucked.

The interruption backed out of the room, eyes fixed on Joseph then shut the makeshift door behind him leaving Joseph and Jo in the murky stagnant room.

Joseph shook his head in anger, the interruption had skewed his concentration, and he had felt his hardness dissipate. "Fuck fuck fuck," he growled under his breath. What's next..., he needed another hit that is what he needed; speed up his system a little. She would taste better on the gear he knew that. However, something else was bugging him that he could not quite place.

Baz's face was in the front of his mind, big and ugly. He grabbed at his head to try to dislodge the image but he could not shake it free. Baz had always been there, he had been there when his father had run things and stayed when he had taken over. Even when some of the old timers had given up and drifted off Baz had stayed loyal to the patch. That is what bugged him; Baz was loyal to the patch not to him. What did that mean? He did not know. If it came down to it though he knew Baz would not talk to the police, which was one sacred rule that bound them together no matter what they did. What did Baz have to do with the coppers wife though...? He did not really care. He wondered briefly if his father's plan had worked out but then dismissed the thought outright, he had moved past that now. This was his show.

He had time; the pigs would not find them here, he had done all sorts of things here in the past and no one had taken a blind bit of notice so a couple more hours would not hurt anyone. He laughed quietly to himself at that thought; it would not hurt anyone except his captive audience. He looked at Jo lying on the mattress, vacant eyes staring back but not seeing, lost in a haze of drugs. "You are going to have to wait a little bit longer Miss Piggy, but I promise you it will be worth it."

He stroked her face with his hand, almost affectionately, this felt right to him. Then he turned and left the room in search of another hit.

### Chapter Twenty Three

Detective Inspector Gregg Matthews stood outside the cell door breathing heavily, his white cotton dress shirt spattered in blood and his hands were dripping with red. His eyes were bloodshot and he had a streak of blood across his forehead where he had wiped his hand over it. He was saying something but Grant could not quite make it out over the noise of the panic alarm still screaming in the background. Then everything went quiet as the custody officer killed the cacophony.

"Get a bloody ambulance here right away" Matthews yelled, the loudness of his voice echoing in the now quiet corridor. The custody officer retreated towards the custody reception area in search of a phone.

"Don't just stand there Detective, give me hand in here."

Grant did not hesitate, he knew whose cell this would be, and he knew his colleagues' safety was disappearing as fast as the blood dripping from Matthews's hands. Moving to the doorway, as Matthews disappeared back inside; the sight that confronted him brought him up short. The cell walls looked like an abstract painting of hell, with claret coloured paint dripping from long casual brush strokes depicting the inner thoughts of a madman. The words 'Fuck the Police' was smudged onto the wall, written in excrement and sitting just above the lifeless body of the man who had left this last message as his epitaph. Staunch till the bitter bloody end.

Matthews was crouched over Baz Ropata's foetal body, his big hands struggling to wrap around Baz's equally big wrists, slashed open lengthways from his hand to mid forearm in a crude tear. A fatal cut every time but Matthews didn't seem to acknowledge what he must know, the empty vessel that was Baz Ropata just lay there, curled up in a pool of his own blood and faeces.

Grant stood in the doorway unable to speak while watching his senior officer attempt to save a dead man, realising that their only recourse to finding John and Jo had just painted his life story all over the cell walls.

They were both standing in the yard at the pad, sun on their backs, the warmth evident in the slight breeze, a lovely spring day, except it was not even closer than a dark grey for them.

"I'm not going to say I approve of your actions Mike, but this has gone beyond that now, it is what it is for now and we need to sort it" Brian's voice was non judgmental as always despite what he was saying. "I'm not sure how they managed to pull off the prison scenario either..." He looked Bridger directly in the eye as if seeking reassurance, Bridger could do nothing but look back at him. He had nothing to give in return. "But I guess nothing would really surprise me with that lot" Brian continued "Some of the prison officers let the prisoners get away with a little too much in order to keep them quiet. They don't realise that sometimes there is an unseen price to pay for a quiet night in the cell block."

Bridger could not quite pick up in Brian's tone whether he actually believed his story about not being able to leave the interview room but he could not dwell on that right now. "I'm under a bit of pressure Brian; I don't know whose threat to take more seriously Kingi's or McLaren's. I've tried contacting Laura and can't get hold of her."

"I don't know who McLaren has on the outside to help him but we both know now that the gang have John and Jo. There is not much we can do about Laura at the moment Mike, we have to hope she hasn't been caught up in this but we can try and do something about what we do know and that is to find our friends"

That was not quite, what Bridger had wanted to hear, but he knew it had an element of truth in it. All he had was a photograph of his wife and Jane to go on, he did not know if McLaren had actually ordered his man to do anything yet, but he did not doubt that if Martin died then McLaren would be seeking revenge just as he had promised.

"Was there anything in the house that might help us find them?"

"We have searched this place from top to bottom Mike; we haven't found anything that points us in the right direction yet. We have come to a dead end...." Brian's voice trailed off uncharacteristically, something that was foreign to Bridger when it came to Brian's usual confidence. He could see the strain on his friends face, Brian had always had a way forward in the past, his calm demeanour and ability to think outside the box had been his forte all these years. Nevertheless, it looked like even this was beyond even him.

"Where are we at with Ropata? Is he talking?" Bridger decided to change the subject.

Before Brain could answer his cellphone chirped, looking at the screen he held up a finger to Bridger before answering.

Becky Wright came out of the house in front of them and walked down the stairs, she was just putting her own cellphone into her pocket. She looked at Bridger a few seconds as if contemplating something before speaking. "Mike, where have you been? What is the story with those pictures? What do you know about all this...?" Her voice was a mix of angry and confused. "You know something, I think it was too early for you to come back to work, Brian is more than capable of handling things... There I've said it." She glared at Bridger daring him to say something.

Bridger did not know quite how to respond. "I know what you're thinking Becky; there is a lot going on that I haven't let on to anyone except Brian. After we get everyone back safe and sound, I will explain to everyone. I owe you guys that much at least."

She did not look convinced but Bridger knew she was too professional to let her emotions get in the way of her work for too long.

"I've just got off the phone to Gillian Holler; she was looking for your wife. We needed to see the pictures you sent her."

Bridger's hopes rose but then fell flat when he saw the look on her face.

"She wasn't at work Mike; they haven't seen her since she left for her appointment this morning. She told them she would only be an hour at the most. Do you know where she might be?"

He did not get a chance to answer as Brian butted into their conversation when he finished talking on his cellphone "That was Grant..." He paused; his face became deathly pale as the concerned look on his face drained away with the blood from his cheeks, "Baz Ropata was found dead in his cell a few minutes ago."

He wanted to say something but Bridger felt an unwelcome shot of adrenalin go through him, his mouth went dry and his chest tightened. Images of his wife and colleagues were flashing through his mind, screaming his name, pleading with him to do something. His balance failed him slightly and he started to go weak at the knees. He felt like he was having a panic attack, it was either that or he was having a heart attack. He shook his head a little and the images disappeared, easing his anxiety slightly, letting him to breathe again, but he still could not say anything. Things were sliding downhill fast and he felt powerless to stop them.

Becky let out a little gasp as Bridger watched her process the same information "Shit..., did Grant get anything out of him?" her voice was shaky.

Bridger felt the need to say something but still had no control over his voice box.

"He didn't get the chance, Becky" Brian's voice was matter of fact "He found Inspector Matthews in the cell block covered in blood with a very dead Baz lying at his feet".

The panic attack started to ease a little, leaving Bridger with an adrenalin deficit making him feel empty and sluggish as he digested what Brian had said. What did this mean? Becky then answered his question with what he knew to be true, as he looked from Brian to Becky and back again, holding no constructive part in the conversation.

"This is beyond a joke." Becky's words were spat out and angry "Baz was the only one who knew where the gang have Jo and John... what happened to duty of care and all that? What in the hell was Grant doing letting him out of his sight even for a minute... He bloody knew how important he was, he bloody well knew..." Tears were visible in the corner of her eyes.

Brain put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, the simple act made Bridger feel slightly jealous of the ease at which Brian seemed to feel compassion for other people and wasn't afraid to show it. He looked away and found himself surveying the empty yard trying to gather his thoughts; he could almost feel the desperation leaching out of the ground all around him as he stood there. Year after year of troubled men infecting the soil with their sickness and leaving the ghosts' of their plight as a legacy. He realised that the same plight which had put them here today, bad men wasting their lives blaming society for their problems. The yard was almost like a prison cell for their ghosts. He was angry at how people could be so different from each other, he had no idea how these people functioned, and they all had their heads wired up in the wrong way, what made them want to live on the edge of society? What gave them violence? He had no idea. It was an argument for another day. Even Nietzsche could not explain this one, but he knew that he did not want the bad men to win.

He made a decision "There's nothing we can do here now, let's get back to the office and speak with Grant and Matthews, maybe Baz has left a clue or said something to someone before he died." Even as he said it aloud, he had a stabbing guilt that he was slowly but surely letting his colleagues' lives slip away with every passing minute.

### Chapter Twenty Four

Bridger sat on the edge of one of the desks in their small office; the remaining team members were all there deep in their own thoughts leaving the office deathly silent. Two very vacant desks were sitting in their midst as a stark reminder of the terrible task at hand, he could almost feel the desks mocking him as he sat there. He shook his head; he felt a lot like he had yesterday, a huge sense of failure after they had released Tama without charge. The view from the window did not even grab his attention, as it normally would have. He remembered what Brian had said to him yesterday, that he had 'done the right thing' and 'not to kick himself', he had also said 'Tomorrows another day'. Well that bit was true, it was another day, but it was a whole lot worse. He could not help thinking what he could have done differently, if he had made better decisions none of this would have happened. He had been back at work for a little over 72 hours and everything had turned to shit. All he had left in his life was his job and it looked like he was not very good at that either. A slight uneasy feeling began building in his stomach and he felt himself become dizzy, breathing deeply he tried to calm himself, he didn't want another panic attack if he could help it.

He desperately needed a drink; times like these he needed to dull from his psyche to release the stress and he knew no better way than sinking into a mellow bottle of whiskey. He could almost taste it and feel the peaty burn in the back of his throat. He swallowed letting the thoughts hit the bottom of his stomach, he felt it warming him from the inside as the mellow feeling flowed through his system. Closing his eyes, he felt himself relaxing; he unscrewed an imaginary cap then poured himself another hit, going with the feeling. This one had the same effect as the last. He felt his thoughts clearing as they always did at the beginning, just before the bite set in and the alcohol took you on its own journey. He let the feeling continue, knowing there would not be any journey this time. He let the thoughts jumble in his head, like pieces of a jigsaw. He mind always worked better when he could let his thoughts flow freely, something he had not been able to do in a long while. He downed another imaginary hit and the results were instant. McLaren... Kingi... Tama... Three players that were all connected somehow. Martin... Shotgun... Prison... Lawyers... There was a connection somewhere. Matthews... Ropata... Laura... Something was not quite fitting into place. Laura... Jane... Lawyers... Divorce... It started to fall into place now. Jane... Tama... Duty lawyer... McLaren had a man on the outside. Matthews... Kingi... Matthews... Ropata... Could it be that simple? Jane... Lawyers... Kingi... Lawyers... Lawyers... Jane... Matthews and Ropata... Ropata and McLaren. A shot of adrenalin surged through him, better than any whisky he had tasted. Ropata was McLarens man, he had to be, Ropata had been with the gang for most of his life, and he would have served under McLaren at one point. He was the link and if that were the case then Matthews would be the officer to whom he gave his information. Then what had happened between Matthews and Ropata in the cells? The initial account was that Ropata had slashed his own wrists with a piece of broken plastic that he had managed to smuggle into the cells. Bridger was at a loss to say how he managed to conceal it during the searches Ropata underwent subsequent to his arrest.

'Not when truth is dirty, but when it is shallow, does the enlightened man dislike to wade into its waters.' The familiar Nietzsche quote came to mind for the second time, but he dismissed it out of hand, that was a line to far for any police officer he knew, including Matthews. But that didn't really concern him now, what it meant was that McLaren was blind without Ropata and if McLaren was blind and had no reach anymore, then Laura was safe..., for now..., all he had to do was find her. He just hoped that Ropata had not had time to get to her before being forcibly arrested at the pad, but if he had, she was likely to be being held with his colleagues. He knew it was dangerous to think this way; Ropata might not be the man McLaren spoke of, but he could not bring himself to think otherwise, it would be all consuming and that would get him nowhere.

The thought of his colleagues brought about the other much more pressing thought he had, which was Jane... her name connected to his colleagues via Kingi. Lawyers, Colleagues, Kingi they all went together. Jane was a lawyer, he had to reach out to her, she could find out whom, or if, anyone was acting for Kingi and if she did then he could then get him or her on board and force Kingi's hand. No lawyer would want to hold back once he let him or her know what his or her client was doing. Besides, there was no way he was lodging the false confession in court, it was laughable if Kingi thought otherwise.

His brain was making connections now and the next one hit without warning. McLaren knew Jane was a lawyer, he had said so back at the prison when comparing his wife and her in the photo. The only way he could know that was if he knew whom Jane was, and if he knew Jane in that capacity, then Jane knew more than what she was letting on. Timeline or not, it was time he took back control of this situation and made some decisions.

He dialled Jane's mobile number.

### Chapter Twenty Five

Gregg Matthews, over thirty years in the job, the rank of Detective Inspector, faithful husband and father to one, stood in his office staring into the reflective glass of his drinks cabinet. Blood had spotted in large red stains on his shirt; his face had the red smears of someone else across his cheeks. He did not recognise the person who was staring back at him. What in the hell had just happened... He could not get those vacant dying eyes out of his head. He was sure that prick had smiled at him before he died; as if it was a final, 'Fuck you', before he set off on the road to hell, or whatever eternity for which he was destined.

He had tried... god knows he had tried, hard, but he was not a monster, his colleagues lives were at stake. Baz remained staunch until the end; he did not give anything away, even when he had applied the pressure to his wounds, pressing his fingers deep into the broken flesh. Baz actually looked like he was enjoying it... he knew he was dying anyway... what did it matter to him. Matthews had no comprehension of what made a man that way, not an ounce of compassion, no concept of decent human behaviour. Baz had achieved nothing in his sick life, and his final act was to remain staunch... because that is what dogs did. They did not talk to the police... ever.

He had no idea that the men he was protecting, if that is what he could call them, were sicker than him, their lives more self indulgent than his... He was a foot soldier; he always had been and was only there to do their bidding. They would sell him down the river as soon as blink if it suited them, their supposed code was all talk. In fact, he thought grimly, that is exactly what McLaren had planned to do anyway...

Baz was not the only means of communication McLaren had. Matthews hated the fact he felt like he was beholden to McLaren, but over the years, he had done things because of McLaren's information that would not pass muster in a court of law in the present climate. He had never broken any laws but you could not clean dirty washing without a thorough going over and that would spell an end to his career. Therefore, he had listened when McLaren had reached out to him directly; he had said that something was going to happen, that there would be a changing of the guard. At the time, he had thought it would be a good thing, Kingi junior was getting out of control and new blood might have been easier to control. He would be able to get the crime stats under control again; the bosses in bullshit castle would see he was dealing with the issues. Baz was going to be going down with the rest of them, but that had changed when Kingi had used Tama and Martin in the robbery, instead of Baz. Things had just gone downhill from there.

He wondered if Kingi senior had told Bridger of Martins involvement in the robbery. McLaren was adamant he did not want his son to go down for that. Martin had not pulled the trigger he knew that, the killer was already dead. Martin had no part in planning the robbery either, that honour had to go to Kingi junior. It was his plan, his stuff up that caused the death of the shopkeeper so he would go down for it. He could hold Martin's name out of it if he had to for that and still feel comfortable. He just hoped that Martin had nothing to do with the shooting of his stepfather, that one he could not hide from, father or no father.

He would have to cross that bridge when he came to it, now they found themselves where they were, Kingi junior still had John Mouller and Jo Williamson, and McLaren seemed like he did not give a damn.

He had never been this angry. Punching his hand through the thin wooden veneer of the cabinet door he felt the wood splintering and the shards finding their way into his hands, the pain shooting up his arm. He withdrew his hand and inspected the damage; it must be what the Catholics meant by their flagellation of themselves, the pain helping the penance. He was not religious but the pain helped a little.

McLaren had not said what he was going to do and Matthews was not sure if everything that happened was entirely down to him, but that did not matter now. What mattered now were his colleagues' lives.

He took a fresh shirt from his cupboard next to the broken door of the drinks cabinet; the very act of putting it on helped to calm him. Next to the shirt was his police body armour, unused since the day they issued it to him. He took this out and shrugged it on, having to breathe in slightly to zip it up and attach the belt. At least he would look the part even if he did not have a clue what they were going to do. He needed to lead from the front but did not really feel up to it.

Leaving his office, he set off in search of Bridger and the remaining team.

### Chapter Twenty Six

Jane had answered on the first ring; she was actually in the Police Station dealing with one of her 'clients' deaths whilst in the custody of police. Her voice was all business, with a tinge of blame laced into each syllable. She must know of the connection he had with this case and the death, but she did not even acknowledge it. Bridger had not even bothered to engage in conversation before cutting the connection. He knew damn well, whose death she was dealing with, and it figured as much. He was standing in the lift on his way down to the cellblock level, fuming. He was beginning to get a very uneasy feeling about Jane and her secrets, if she was playing games with him; they were sick and misguided and it was putting his friends' lives at risk. She needed to tell him anything she knew about 'Her clients' and he wasn't going to take any of her shit.

The lift opened and he stomped out into the concrete corridor. He banged his shoulder against the steel door as he miss timed his electronic key tag with the lock opening, only serving to increase his anger.

Inside the watch-house area it was a hive of activity, the watch-house staff had escorted the remaining prisoners out the back and placed them inside the prison escort van for temporary shelter as the blue circus got to work on the remains of Baz Ropata. Superintendant Bill Hoskins the Southern Area Commander was standing in the corner with the Senior Sergeant in charge of the cellblock and one of his unfortunate staff members, a very nervous looking young constable. There was a male dressed in a dark suit that he recognised as a Doctor the Police used on an on call basis as well as well as the Coroner who had made an appearance for once, but right in the middle of them, holding court, like only a woman could, was Jane Little. She looked very sexy, very educated... and very messed up. The sight of her sharing what looked like a joke with the men hanging on her every word pulled him up short; did he feel a tinge of jealousy at what he saw? He did not really have time to worry about that.

"Jane, can I see you in the office over here please." He did not bother to acknowledge any of the men standing with her, despite two of them outranking him. He was indicating the empty room off to his right.

"Hi Mike, sure I can speak with you... will you excuse me gentleman." She flashed him a smile with a mischievous glint in her eye before making her way over towards him.

"Detective Sergeant Bridger, I need to speak with you on a number of issues regarding what's happening today" The Superintendants voice was calm and confident but Bridger had no time for him right now. His mood dictated that it would not be a good idea anyway; the only questions he would ask would be to explain his behaviour and that would not help find his colleagues. He did not need to make an enemy of the Area Commander.

He replied as calmly as he could "As soon as I find Jo and John... Sir.... You can have my undivided attention..."

He shut the door behind Jane as she entered, catching the Superintendants questioning look before he shut the blinds shutting out everybody else but them. Jane brushed up against his arm, and he breathed in her fragrance as it invaded his nostrils.

"Trying to get me alone Mike? I did not think you would be into this sort of thing. You know your boss is outside, don't you" She went to kiss him but he brushed her off and went over to the wall facing away from her.

"Jesus Jane, will you just give it a rest for once, do you have any concept of what is actually going on here?" He turned back to face her and saw a single tear running down her cheek, there was a look in her eyes that he hadn't seen before, a slight vulnerability. It was only there for a second before it disappeared and she wiped her cheek. "I'm sorry Mike, it's just the way I am when I get stressed, it's like I can't help it."

Bridger stared back at her wondering if that were true or not.

"The Superintendant has just told me about your workmates Mike, it's awful. It really is... Is that why you asked me about Laura earlier, is she involved in this? Were those photos of your friends?"

Bridger's mood softened, but only slightly, at seeing Jane actually upset "What involvement do you have in all of this?"

"What...? Nothing... I do not know anything about your colleagues. What do you think I am?"

"I don't think you are anything Jane I'm just trying to find my wife and colleagues and your name keeps popping up." Bridger decided to lay all his cards on the table, he did not have time for games. "Are you Joseph Kingi's lawyer?"

"No, but one of my colleagues is..."

She did not hesitate at answering but Bridger noticed slight concern flash through her eyes

"My firm takes care of the legal aid work, you know that Mike... Joseph is one of our clients."

"Do you know anything about his attempts at getting his conviction overturned?"

"That is something we are working on at the moment, yes... I shouldn't be telling you this Mike, but it relies on us proving that a police officer planted evidence."

The look on Jane's face told Bridger that she was back to being all business. This was just a game to her. Was she privy to Kingi's plan? Did she even know what her client was up to?

He tried to speak as calmly as he could "Do you know that it is Kingi and his son who have our Detectives?" Bridger pulled the false confession out of his pocket "He is using it as leverage to get me to lodge this as evidence." He passed the letter over to Jane who unfolded it and began reading.

"Is this true Mike? Were you the one he has been talking about...?"

"Of course it's not fucking true, Jane, its bullshit, I just wrote that to get myself out of the prison and back to help Laura and my colleagues." He looked into her eyes searching for a reaction "But there is another player in all this mess as well and he doesn't want Kingi out of jail and so is threatening my wife..., his name is David McLaren." This time the look of concern in Jane's eyes was more evident "He is your client isn't he."

"He... he is Mike, but I haven't done anything for him recently. He is still in prison up in Auckland and will be for most of the rest of his life." Her eyes took on a confused look.

Bridger wondered if she or her firm knew that their clients were out to get each other, it certainly did not look like they had done their homework on them before taking them on.

"Did you know he had a son here in Dunedin?"

"I didn't Mike, I have only been acting for him for the last couple of years though..."

"Well he does Jane; he has as son, and that is the next part of all this mess. He wants me to protect his son, look out for his welfare, and make sure he does not get into any trouble. His terms were, my wife's protection in exchange for that privilege, but since no one has seen Laura since she left your office, and we have just shot his son, I cannot see that working to well now. Can you?"

"Are you saying I had something to do with this Mike?" her voice hardened.

Bridger did not really think she would be involved, he knew deep down this was all happening because of the sick power plays of desperate men, but he was still angry and needed to take it out on someone.

"She was at your office Jane; I saw a photograph of you and her standing outside. How would someone know that she would be there? Now she is gone and you were the last to see her..." Even before he finished talking, he regretted saying it.

Jane spat out her reply instantly "Fuck you Mike, I resent that..., I would never harm your wife... you do more harm to her by not keeping it in your pants, you should think about that..."

The door opened behind them, breaking the moment. Bridger saw the look in Jane's eyes telling him that this conversation was not finished as Gillian Holler came through the door followed by Detective Inspector Matthews and Brian Johnson. The look on Gillian's face was concern, Brian was all business, and the look on Matthews face was a barely contained rage. All three of them were wearing police issue stab proof vests.

"There you bloody well are Bridger; I thought you had disappeared again... Hi Jane." Matthews acknowledged Jane with a nod when he realised Bridger was not alone. Jane returned a tight smile.

Brian butted in "Gillian could not find your wife at work or anywhere else Mike, have you been able to raise her?"

Bridger had been afraid of this outcome, he had it in the back of his mind that Laura would be somewhere else and everything would be all right, even though the way his luck was going that it was extremely unlikely.

"That means that Kingi junior has her as well as John and Jo." Bridger had resigned himself to that fact now and he found himself almost detached from what he was saying.

"Grant and Becky are out canvassing their informants and shaking some other trees," Brian said. "Someone out there must know where the gang have them."

"We would have other staff as well but they are tied up with the two extra deaths we now have on our hands, so it's not ideal... What staff can be spared are making door to door enquiries all over the neighbourhood but it looks like we are going to have to deal with this ourselves as best and fast as we can before we lose anyone else" Matthews looked directly at Bridger when he spoke but his voice had no trace of blame in it. Instead, Bridger detected an angry determination, something he had not seen much of before in him. He looked ready for action. Bridger just wished he knew where to start that action; he started to feel lacking again.

Matthews's words had quietened the room as they all contemplated what he had just said. Bridger looked at each one of them in turn; they were all facing him but looking at the floor at the same time, as if they too were unsure of his ability but had to defer to him as the leader. He looked at Matthews, there was something different in his eyes, he could not quite place it but despite Matthews outranking him significantly, even he seemed to be looking towards him for direction.

Gillian's mobile phone rang in her pocket and she answered on the third ring. She thanked the caller then cut the connection looking at Bridger. "Steve Kirkland has just told me a neighbour saw Martin coming out of the pad a short time before Joseph's BMW and four other vehicles left in a big hurry."

"We already know they moved them somewhere though Gill, how does that help us?" Bridger asked.

"Martin was there at the pad before John and Jo were moved Mike, he may know where they went. Did he say anything to you?"

"He didn't get a chance, Ken shot him..." Bridger was trying to recall their brief and strained conversation. Nothing stood out in his mind, Martin had gotten angry at the mention of his father and then Ken Moore had put a bullet through his shoulder. He had said something though, after he was shot... the parcel... but that made no sense...

"The only thing he said, but it makes no sense is 'The parcel'. Don't ask me what that means... he was pretty out of it at the time so I could have misheard"

A short silence as everyone tried to work out whether this meant anything could help them.

"What if it wasn't the parcel he was saying...?" Jane's voice came from behind their group and turned their heads. "I grew up in Corstaphine... I went to primary school with many of the gang members who are still up there. There was one place we liked to play as children and that was the old ruin of The Cliff's. The locals know that place as Cargill's Castle, don't they? What if it was 'The castle' Martin was talking about and not any parcel."

"I had to lock up a gang member a couple of years ago," Brian said, excitement growing in his voice as he spoke "I couldn't find him at first, I tried everywhere... I finally found him after a tip off... he was at that old ruin, it looked like he had been practically living there..."

Gillian was standing quietly listening to the conversation, nodding her head in agreement.

Bridger looked over at Jane who gave a small smile in return. He took a deep breath; this had to be it... "We have no other options at this point; I say we move on the old castle..."

No one needed telling twice.

### Chapter Twenty Seven

Joseph Kingi junior was sitting in the corner of the room; he could see a few of the Patches were lying around the room with him, in different states of consciousness. The hit had gone straight to his head, his body was relaxed and buzzing at the same time, and the warm feeling that used to last used last had long since dissipated, leaving the tail end to wreak its havoc on its way out of his system. He never used to enjoy coming down but he had grown to like it. The feelings it evoked reminded him of his life, periods of intense highs and a long painful slide into darkness. It was always on the way down that, that he did his best work though, he had the anger, and he still had the drive. If he went too far down, he would be no good to anyone he knew that. It was the same if he was to far up, he did not give a shit about anything, and he could let things slide off his back so easily. Life was always good at the top, he loved those times, but they would not last long enough. The highs had become shorter and shorter. The only way to get back there again was to do something about it, and he could only do it on the way down... it was a vicious circle if he waited for it to happen naturally, he would stay low for too long. The drugs sped up the process immensely and he could control when it happened, keeping him out of the darkness.

He knew what he wanted to do now... but he needed to work himself up to it now, he needed to hurt someone. Martins face had been circling during the spiral downwards, Martin was a killer, and he was not... yet. He knew now he needed to change this or he would always feel fear. Fear that everyone would see him for what he was..., inferior to a killer.

He thought about this for a second, it had to be easy; Martin had done it... he thought about the girly copper in the next room, she would taste so much better if had worked a bit of his angst out before he started on her. It would last longer and she would enjoy it more...

He could not do the other copper though, that would be selfish. He needed to share that one with the other dogs. They needed their share of flesh; he had to keep the pack happy. He would have to do the other one... he knew the other one did not really deserve what he was going to do, but needs must. It made no difference in the end who it was that fate gave him, anyone would do. The copper could watch though, and then he would get a feel for what was going to happen to him... the thought excited him and he could feel it building.

Standing up unsteadily, he felt for his knife, it was there on his belt. It was not particularly big; more of a large pocketknife, but it would do the job... walking to the door he found himself getting slightly erect. He took a deep breath, pulled out the cold hard blade of his knife and entered the room.

### Chapter Twenty Eight

John Mouller was in more pain than he had ever felt before. He thought he had woken, but could not be sure. His body was on fire, he could not move and that trapped him within himself. He was fighting against his mind, which was telling him to sleep, never wake up, and never feel the pain again...

He could feel someone else in the room with him to, another human presence, but he could not open his eyes to see. It had to be Jo...; who else could it be? He had to stay strong for her. He had been the one who put her into danger; he had been too arrogant and overconfident. He had been trying to show off a little as well, but he had underestimated the Gang and now she was suffering...

The last pitiful image of her wearing only her underwear was stuck in his head, he knew they wanted to rape her, he knew they would not let either of them go. He knew they would die and he could not do a thing about it.

He had no idea how long they had been there, time had lost its meaning. Why in the hell has no one come for us..., Dunedin is not a big place, everyone knows where the pad is, our bloody car is parked right outside.

He found himself getting angry with his colleagues, they never took him seriously, and he always felt like the tolerated little brother around them. He lived in a different world; he knew that, simply because of his age. They just didn't remember what it was like starting out, older more experienced colleagues had a way of making him feel a little lacking... it didn't help he was a little bit lazy as well. Although he had worked hard to become as Detective and put everything he had into the cases that warranted it, there was a limit. Some jobs were for the uniforms to deal with... he was a Detective...he was supposed to be above that now. Some of his colleagues, Mike Bridger for one, had mentioned in a veiled way that it was supposed to be a 'whole of police' approach to fighting the battle against arseholes like the ones who had them now.

Trapped inside his head, he was in trouble, and he needed help. He did not care where it came from, Uniform or Detective... he realised that they were all in the game together... us against them, no division.

He heard a door open and felt a small rush of fresh air, followed up by the sour stench of unwashed human. He could not see but he felt the presence move into the room, was this it? He wanted to brace himself but his body would not play the game, it was too sore and tired, he did not control it anymore. Callously trapped inside his body to hear and feel everything that was to happen and he could not do a damn thing about it.

"Are you awake, Coppa?" He recognised the voice... Joseph Kingi...there was a strange edge to his tone. "I have something for you to watch..." He sounded hollow; his voice was fading in and out making it hard to hear. The image of his face broke into his unconsciousness and stayed there. Ugly tattoos made uglier by an evil and dangerous smile, licking his lips, flicking his dreadlocks back...

"This is it J man... this is it..."

Was Joseph talking to himself? Maybe he was J man... He was confused. He heard the sound of laboured breathing, as if he was exerting himself. Then a grunt, followed by the sound of something heavy and dull banging on the wall to his left.

"I'm going to fucking enjoy this bitch..."

There was a subtle noise, similar to a ripe tomato squashed in a closing fist, followed by a sharp intake of breath... a small whimper ...

"Fucking get some..." Joseph's voice was becoming urgent. More breathing...he was doing something to Jo... something he could not see... something he felt...

There was more breathing, increasing in urgency... he heard another sick sucking sound followed by a dull thud... one... two... three, more and more. He heard a wet gurgle, quickly smothered... a wet coppery smell invaded his nostrils, overpowering the sour sweat... he had smelt this before...

Then silence...

"It's done...I've fucking done it... fuck yeah"

He felt Joseph stand up from his labours...

"Did you enjoy the show, Coppa...? I actually fucking loved it... but it's only an appetiser for the main course, and I'm going to really enjoy that now..." He wanted to scream, he wanted to rise up and take Joseph Kingi down, he wanted to help but his broken body betrayed him.

The sour stench subsided as he felt Joseph's presence leave the room, leaving only the coppery aftertaste of blood; the face subsided from inside his head. He was left in the room... alone... the other human presence had gone...he had killed her, she was gone...there was nothing he could do now.

He stopped fighting his consciousness, he wanted sleep, and he did not want the pain. He did not want to lie in this room anymore, next to his dead colleague.

### Chapter Twenty Nine

Bridger could feel the extra weight in the car as he swung it around the corner into Isadore Road; underinflated tyres making it wallow and crab across the surface before grabbing traction again. He saw two faces in the rear view mirror rocking from left to right as the car corrected its position on the road. Killing the siren and slowing a little, he heard a collective release of breath. He did not really care what they thought of his driving though, they were only a few hundred meters from the approach road to the old ruins and the thought of saving his wife and colleagues had taken priority.

Driving past the front entrance to the golf course on their right, he could not help noticing the car park was full of near new sedans, the type owned by wealthy retirees. So much for respecting the dead, he thought, the golf must go on. He wondered if they had taken any notice of the Gangs activities in the last few hours. Highly unlikely, they would be far too busy trying to put their little white balls into the equally small holes.

Continuing along the road he could see a Police patrol car parked on the corner up ahead with its blue and red lights blinking on and off.

"That will be Steve Kirkland" Gillian spoke up from the rear. "He and another have been released from the scene of the shooting; they have all their kit with them"

The four of them had only been able to gather two rifles and three pistols from the firearms safe at the police station on their way out the door, Bridger was glad that Steve and his partner would have more firearms with them. He had a bad feeling they were going to need them.

"I have one patrol heading this way from North but they are a little while away yet..." Matthews said. Bridger glanced back at him in the mirror and their eyes met for a second, there was nothing in the look. "And no, I'm not going to say let's wait for them... we go in now, hard and fast" he added.

Bridger did not need telling, he already knew how this was going to play out and he was not waiting for permission from Matthews.

Driving past Steve Kirkland in the other patrol car he indicated for him to follow as he made the turn into the street.

"That's Joseph Kingi's car isn't it?" Brian said from the front passenger seat.

Bridger had seen the car that he was pointing at and the recognition of his familiar BMW only served to increase his urgency. He felt the car surge forward as he subconsciously pressed down on the accelerator. This was it, they were here... he just hoped they were in time.

The old building was not visible yet, hidden behind a subdivision of new houses it was perched on the cliffs edge accessed via a single entrance track. That would work to their advantage today though, he thought, as the houses would shield them from immediate view right up until the last minute.

Inside the car, he could hear the unmistakable sound of ammunition rounds chambering inside the breach of the Bushmaster rifles coming from the backseat and he saw Brian on his left sliding the working parts back on the Glock pistol he was holding in his hand. The adrenaline was almost overpowering, and had every one of them hyped up and ready.

They were four hundred meters away from the only entrance to the castle.

"Let Steve take the lead on the entry Mike, he has had the training." Gillian said. Her voice heard from behind him.

Bridger knew she was probably right and checked his mirror to see how far behind he was. The front end of his patrol car filled the entire mirror; he was right on their tail. Good man, he thought, we will not be wasting any time when we stop.

Two hundred meters left.

Steve took the initiative and accelerated around the outside of their car, as if he had read Gillian's mind. He raced ahead and Bridger watched as he expertly slid the car to a halt, just like in the movies, and then disgorged along with his partner from either side. Both of them were dressed in the black of the AOS and wore black Kevlar helmets on their heads. They came together, brought their rifles up to the ready and then moved in unison like figure skaters vying for Olympic gold as they disappeared down the rough track. Nothing was going to stand in their way.

Jumping on his own brakes seconds later he brought their car to a stop and had the door open before he had even applied the handbrake. The others had opened their own doors as the car surged forward slightly causing them to stumble as they tried to alight. Realising his mistake he banged the gear selector into park. He had to stop himself for a second. Slow down a bit, you will stuff this up otherwise...; the thoughts were lost as he saw his colleagues disappearing down the track behind the black clad Olympic skaters. Grabbing the Glock pistol from its holster strapped to his thigh, he followed suit.

As he neared the old building, the scale of it became apparent, it was not overly large by today's standards but it was an impressive structure anyway, with its tall crumbling concrete walls, huge window openings and battlements on the roofline giving it the impression of a small castle keep. With a backdrop of bright blue sky and a view over St Clair and the ocean, it would normally make a beautiful sight, except today. Today it held a deadly secret, of which Bridger was acutely aware. He could almost feel Laura and his colleagues calling out to him from within its derelict walls.

He could see his five colleagues crouched down behind bushes with their guns trained towards what looked like the only entrance on this side of the building. He could not see anyone in or near the building at all, it looked as empty and derelict as its ruin suggested. Steve Kirkland waved him closer. "Mike, Simon and I are going to breach the front door there," he pointed at the obvious door. "You and Brian go through those empty window openings to the left and right, they are not too far off the ground so you shouldn't have too much trouble" Bridger just nodded while looking at where Steve was pointing. "I'm going to send the Inspector and Gillian around the back to mop up anyone making a run for it."

He found himself impressed with Steve's quick decision-making skills; and made a mental note to let him know when this was over. Looking over at Matthews, he saw he was nodding in agreement with Steve's directions. The look on both Brian and Gillian's face told him that they understood what the plan was and were ready to go.

"We go on three then..."

Steve Kirkland pulled a flash-bang grenade from his belt, held his hand in the air; three fingers erect, and then dropped them one by one.

### Chapter Thirty

Bridger heard the loud retort of the flash-bang doing its thing as it announced their arrival, then watched as Steve and Simon disappeared into the open front door arch, the shouts of warning echoing over the receding explosion. He had to slow his breathing a little, as he looked over at Brian who nodded back, indicating he was ready. Climbing up into the empty concrete window frame, he dropped inside the dank bowels of the ruin. A musty damp smell laced with human urine hit his nostrils instantly. The acidic odour burnt at the back of his throat. The room he landed in was empty but shouts of unknown voices came from further inside the castle.

Bringing his Glock pistol up into the action position, his master eye looking over the iron sights at either end of the short weapon, he moved through to the next room and into the chaos. It seemed to be some sort of central area with various openings off each wall, some had doors, and some did not. He saw Brian emerge from a door on the opposite side; his Bushmaster rifle was up and scanning from left to right. Steve and Simon had taken up positions on the other side from them both; one of them had his rifle pointed squarely at what lay between them all. The other was moving his attention between the various openings in the room in case of anyone surprising them. He could not tell them apart dressed in their black gear with their faces covered. It would be a foreboding sight for anyone and obviously was for the pack of dogs who now sat cowering in a huddle in the middle of the room.

A strange silence had descended now they had made the initial entry and Bridger could hear his own breathing, which was surprisingly steady in the excitement. It had taken less than a minute to reach this point but the adrenaline was still pumping through his body. He scanned the leather clad pack in front of him, a few faces he recognised, some he did not. Most of them looked pretty strung out under the fear of a faceless man wearing black threatening to shoot them. It took less than a split second for him to realise that Joseph was not amongst the pack, and there was no sign of Laura, John or Jo.

Shit...They had to be in here somewhere... The others had come to the same unspoken conclusion just as Gillian came through the door at the rear of the room, followed by Matthews who was breathing heavily, his face almost purple with exertion. "No one came out the back Mike, they must all still be inside" Gillian said.

No one needed any encouragement to complete what they came for. Bridger took the initiative, "Clear these rooms... Kingi is still outstanding, he knows we are here now and he might be with them, so be careful." He watched them move along the walls closest to each, before he made a move himself.

The first room he came to was empty except for a pile of old newspapers and some fast food containers, the food inside decomposing. He moved further along the wall, this one had a door that was slightly ajar. He could feel a slight boost in his adrenaline, which he knew from experience, was his sixth sense telling him that something was amiss. There was something behind this door...

He took a deep breath then kicked at the base of the door causing it to swing inwards; moving into the room in time with the door he quickly scanned left and right working on autopilot, his vision at head height. No threats... dropping his eyes to ground level the sight of what lay there slammed into his senses making his leg muscles weaken involuntarily and he dropped to his knees, pistol clattering onto the concrete floor as it dropped from his useless hands.

The floor was sticky with blood, the coppery stench making him gag. Detective John Mouller was laying on his back, eyes swollen and closed, purpling bruises mottled the rest of his face, his jaw was set at an improbable angle, and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. His breathing was so shallow that Bridger could not see any movement from his chest. His outstretched arm disappeared under an old grey blanket that was lying next to him. The blanket covered something bulky, it had dark wet stains in various places... there was someone under it... Images of Laura flashed through his mind... it couldn't be... he couldn't breathe, Jo or Laura...? He did not want to find out, but he knew he had to look.

With increasing panic, he reached out and took the corner of the blanket in his shaking hand, pulling it back slowly he saw straight away. All he could see was death, inflicted in such a rage that he could not see them making a conclusive identification. He took a deep breath exhaling slowly trying to get a hold on his emotions; he could feel his stomach tightening. Looking upwards through the roof, open to the sky, he noticed it was a beautiful hazy blue, he hoped it was the last thing seen before death, and then he looked back at John and wondered if he had offered any comfort in the last moments.

### Chapter Thirty One

"I have John in here," Bridger yelled, stumbling back out into the main room. "He's in a bad way, we need an ambulance." He did not say anything about his other discovery lying destroyed on the cold floor.

One of the Patches sniggered from within the pack in the middle of the room "He fucking deserved it piggy..." More nervous sniggering came from within, a couple of barks sounded. Bridger's blood started to boil and he moved towards the nearest Patch he could see...

"You're no better than fucking animals" he spat, before kicking out at the patch on the floor "There is a police officer lying seriously injured inside that room, and I have no doubt you probably would have killed him if we hadn't found you"

More barks... he kicked out a second time, not caring where his shoe connected.

"One of your mates lies dead next to him; he has been cut to ribbons. What the hell is that about...?"

He could see that his revelation had an immediate effect on the pack; it was as if it was news to them.

"What the fuck are you talking about...?" One of the Patches spoke up "We ain't done nothing to him..."

"Except beat him a little," another said, causing a few more barks and sniggers from the pack.

"Yeah, so if he's cut up, then it's you's that have done it... fucking pigs" The barking erupted into frenzy, the rabid faces of the Patches blurred into one. The noise was fever pitch and banging into the back of his brain. They really were animals. Bridger had had enough; he put his pistol in the air and fired one round into the ceiling above them. The sharp retort silenced the pack immediately.

"I don't give a shit what you lot think." He could hear himself yelling the words "One of you will tell me where you are holding the two women or I will shoot the nearest one of you I see." Realising he was now pointing the gun directly at the group; he knew he did not really care. He could not stop himself.

The Patches stared back at him defiantly but no one spoke... he was going to pull the trigger.

The sound of a siren approaching somewhere out on the road broke the standoff; the sound of Gillian's voice was trying to make itself heard inside his head.

"Mike... Mike take it easy..., Brian and Inspector Matthews have found Jo in another room... Steve has Joseph Kingi in custody."

He lowered his pistol, looking at Gillian "My wife Gill, where's my wife, she should be here..."

"She's not here, Mike."

Looking around the room, he felt helpless; the collective intelligence of the patches sitting in the middle did not amount to much. They would not know anything..., they were followers not leaders, one of them would have said something if they knew, just to rub it in his face. She had to be here, somewhere...

Two more uniformed police officers came through the door at the front followed by two ambulance medics, he heard Gillian direct them into the room where John was lying. Things were happening... He needed to find her... Where was Laura, it made no sense...?

"Have you checked upstairs...?" The sight of Joseph Kingi, shirtless and in handcuffs, emerging from the room on the other side cut his question off. He closed the gap between them in four large bounds ending with his face inches from Joseph's ugly tattoos.

"Where the fuck is my wife you piece of shit." He had the pistol barrel jammed into Joseph's temple, his knuckle white on his trigger finger.

Joseph smiled "I don't know what you're on about piggy... I ain't seen your wife. That tasty piece of arse back there was enough for me" There was a sickness in his eyes and he looked completely lost in a haze of drugs and violence. It was plain to see he did not care who he hurt

Matthews spoke up, his voice commanding "Bridger... Enough... let me take care of this. You go and check the upstairs area for Laura; I will take our friend here out back and see what he has to say... We will get her back"

Lowering the pistol he backed away slightly, he could see something in Matthews's eyes that told him he meant what he said. He looked at the pistol in his hands, this was not the way, he was not this person, and if he was to get Laura back, he needed to be in control. "Okay Sir... if he says anything though, I need to know straight away."

"It goes without saying Mike..."

The use of his first name by Matthews was a first; there was something different in his voice that he had not heard before... indifference...? Acceptance, maybe? He could not quite place what it was. He watched as Matthews pulled an old t-shirt over Kingi's head and tied it at the bottom, rendering him blind. Then he wrenched his arm behind his back, almost to the point of breaking, and physically manhandled him out of the door. The large bulk of Matthews frame, made bigger by the ill-fitting stab vest, dwarfed Joseph Kingi's own large stature making him seem almost childlike. Then he guessed that is what he was really. He was a child who had not matured in the right way. A child in a man's body, capable of horrendous murder... his hand tightened around the pistol grip of the Glock... he had to holster it before he did something stupid. Laura was here somewhere... that was his priority.

He scanned the room, everything was under control, they had their colleagues back, and all he wanted now was Laura. He saw a doorway which opened to a passage and then onto some old stairs. Without thinking he took the stairs two at a time, not bothering about danger or even caring if he encountered any.

"Laura, Laura..." He was not even aware that he was calling her name.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he did not have many options to choose from, it was not an overly large area. Looking around he found that he could see into two of the small anterooms in front, but they were empty. No one had come out to see what the noise was yet, but that was not surprising, anyone up here would have heard the commotion downstairs and would know the police were here for them. They had better be scared... he thought, and they better not have touched her...

There were two doorways left, one wide open and one with a door. He pulled the Glock from its holster once more, moving towards the closed door he glanced into the open room to his right, pistol up and ready. He could see the room was empty... you must be behind door number one then...

Kicking at the door as hard as he could, the old wood splintered and gave way, the door burst inwards and he moved inside, swinging his pistol back and forth, eyes in line with the sight... scanning an empty room.

She is not here... dropping to his knees, the adrenaline in his system caused him to shake uncontrollably, he felt like crying. His hopes had been pinned on Laura being here, he had no idea where else she would be.

Somewhere outside he could hear a loud voice, it was demanding, it was not getting any response. Standing, he went to the window and looked down, the glass had long since disappeared and the warm breeze tickled his face.

He could see Matthews on the grass, he had Kingi by the neck and the blue of the ocean below them framed them both. Standing next to the cliffs edge it was clear to him what Matthews was doing... and he did not care. 'Fear is the mother of morality' according to Nietzsche and Matthews was delivering that lesson.

He watched quietly as Matthews edged the blinded Kingi closer to the cliff face. From his vantage point it seemed surreal, almost Shakespearian... old school policing at its worst but for a very good reason. He already knew what the outcome would be; dogs did not talk to the police...

A minute or so passed and he had not heard anything of the conversation the two players were engaging in below him, but he could guess what Matthews was whispering in Kingi's ear. Kingi just stood there with his back to the cliff face, defiant in his stance, head covered with his t-shirt. Then it happened...

Matthews put his hands on Joseph Kingi's chest and pushed, it did not take much effort. Kingi lost his footing and stumbled backwards. He did not hear anything from him as he disappeared out if view below the cliff edge.

Bridger felt nothing; he did not even question the decision Matthews had made. Kingi would not talk, he made his own decision, and it was what it was... another life wasted.

He turned back into the room just as the message tone chirped on his phone. Taking it out of his pocket, he looked at the message details. One message received from Laura Bridger. His heart lurched in his chest... opening the message he read, 'Mike, I need to see you after work. We need to talk.' He looked between the phone and the window... Laura was fine... Joseph Kingi would not have known the answer to an issue that was not a problem in the first place. Shit...

He took the stairs two at a time and rushed through the middle of the ruin to the back door, ignoring the looks of everybody around him. He came out on the old stone terrace and saw Matthews at the other end of the lawn, still standing at the cliffs edge. He was looking down at where Kingi had gone over the edge and appeared to be smiling.

Moving towards him, slowly now, slightly fearful of what he would see, he got nearer to the edge. He could hear what sounded like a baby animal. Standing next to Matthews and looking down himself, he saw Joseph Kingi less than a few feet below the edge, lying in a foetal position on a large rocky outcrop, and he was crying like a baby.

### Chapter Thirty Two

Bridger was sitting in the empty office, he looked at the clock on the wall, eight o'clock and the sun was just starting to set, casting shadows on the city skyline outside his window. The days were stretching out. The summer was edging closer. It was normally a time he would have looked forward to, long summer days, plenty of time after work to enjoy oneself. He just could not bring himself to get excited and the last couple of days had really taken a toll on him.

John Mouller would not be enjoying himself this summer either, he would be in the hospital for a couple more weeks at least and then he faced a long and arduous recovery from his many injuries. When he had popped in to the hospital earlier this afternoon to offer support, the nurse had told him that John was still in the induced coma. It was supposed to help his brain recover. He did not want to see him in that state again so had not gone into the high dependency unit. The way he looked in the ruins that day would stay with him forever.

Jo Williamson was a little luckier; she had no serious injuries and could not recall a lot due to the cocktail of drugs the gang had injected into her system. She knew how they had found her though and she had said that was what scared her the most. When she was asked, she had only been able to say she had no idea what Joseph Kingi or anyone else may have done to her while she was in that state. On Becky's advice, she had voluntarily submitted to a medical examination in relation to rape, unfortunately that had come back inconclusive. She had seemed on the outside like she was dealing with her ordeal okay, but when Bridger had spoken to her he could see something in her eyes that told him otherwise.

The troops had rallied around them both and were giving as much support to their young colleagues as they could, which was all they could do.

He had been racking his brain over the last few days to see if there was anything he could have done to prevent what had happened, or if his actions had caused it. He had not been able to come up with any viable answer, but he hated the thought of his colleagues torment and blamed himself anyway.

Brian, Grant and Becky had all gone home for the night leaving him alone in the now quiet office. He was going over the report that he had prepared for the court file in relation to all that had happened. It had taken the team almost a week to untangle the events that had unfolded over a period of only three days. After that, it was a relatively straightforward process to attribute blame to the right people. In all they would be laying sixty charges between thirteen people. All of them were members of the 'Gang', all of them calling themselves 'Dogs for life'. None of them had said anything in relation to what happened... except one.

Joseph Kingi junior had laid it all bare for them; he had given them chapter and verse, but only after a visited in the cells by Inspector Matthews. Matthews did not tell him what he had said to Kingi on the cliff edge or what he had discussed in the cells. Some things did not need saying. Needless to say Kingi was now getting reacquainted with his father, and it would not be long before he heard that his son had broken the golden rule of the gang, he would not want be at that family dinner.

Matthews himself had taken leave, while the investigation into Baz's death in custody was finalised. It was only a formality; it looked like he had cut his own wrists with the plastic he had smuggled in, probably secreted in his back passage for just such an occasion. There was not a lot the police could do with such a determined person.

Martin McLaren was going to live, he had lost a lot of blood but they had said he had stopped the worst of it. His name never came up in their enquiries for any offence. Kingi had told them that he had robbed the store along with Baz and Tama. He revealed tama was the shooter. The scene of crime officers had determined that Martin's stepfather had indeed committed suicide and a subsequent note found in his possession admitted his guilt in shooting Tama. A nice neat little package all wrapped up and ready for judgement on those remaining.

Something bothered him though, he almost felt like someone had used him for their own gain and he had been unaware. He had spoken to Martin himself in the hospital; he had asked him about his father in jail. He had tried to get him to say whether he expected the things that had happened, and all he got in response was a smile. What was behind the smile he would never know, but Martin was now safe, so he guessed David McLaren had what he wanted all along. That was what bothered him, was this outcome what David wanted all along? From what he knew about the rest of the messed up gang, it was very hard for to change the habits of a lifetime. Was there something more he wanted for Martin...?

He was too tired to think about it. The events of the last week, his actions, and the way he felt now, made him question whether he had been actually ready to return to work at all. As always, the actions of others determined what he did.

He closed the folder on the report, deciding to call it a night. He had a meeting in the morning and he wanted to be fresh. Laura had arranged it...; they would meet in Jane Little's office at nine thirty in the morning. The way she had sounded to him on the phone the other day had actually given him some hope. All he had to do now was sort out what he was going to do about her lawyer...

###  Epilogue

'He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster'

Martin felt a slight rush of adrenalin as he walked through the open gate into the yard, it was not much but it was there, sitting just above the dull pain in his shoulder, which reminded him of the last couple of weeks. The doctors had told him he was lucky to be alive, he was not sure if that is how he felt. The doctors had also told him that the police had probably saved his life, stopped him from bleeding to death. The fucking police had shot him in the first place, was that lucky? He did not know what to think. His mind had been all over the place since then, somewhat numb, nothing made sense.

People had come and spoken to him while he was in hospital, they had asked their questions, drilled him about how his stepfather had died, what his involvement had been with the robbery. Some had been Police officers, Detectives or something; he could not remember as they all looked the same to him. Some had been social workers or counsellors, and others had been from places he could not recall the name of, they had even asked him whether he still wanted to harm himself in any way. He had not really known how to answer that one. They just continued asking questions.

Telling them what he knew, that his stepfather had admitted to killing Tama, and then shot himself, felt a little strange. He had not ever spoken out of turn against anyone in his life. However, his stepfather was not just anyone; he was the mould that had spread over his entire being, suffocating the life out of him, as he had gotten older. He had been always there. He was always a reminder.

His stepfather had taken the cowards' way out instead of facing his demons and taking penance, but he felt comfortable with that so told them everything. It cannot be narking on him if he is a dead man. They had not said anything about whether they believed him or not, they just wrote things down in their little books, nodding along as he had spoken. No one had asked him about the robbery and he had not said anything, he had not gotten away with anything though, he knew his demons would see to that.

Many people had come to see him in the last couple of weeks; they were all different people, some with offers of help, and some with threats. They all had different agendas; all he knew was that every one of them had looked at him in exactly the same way, a mix of pity and indifference. The feeling he got when they looked at him was that they saw an unlucky piece of shit loser, who had lost his way and gotten himself shot, and they were just there to tick some boxes on their stupid little forms. Well if that is what they saw then that is what he was..., to them. He may be a loser in their minds, but only he knew what he had actually been through and how it made him feel. He had survived his stepfather, he had survived his life, was that a loser? He had no idea.

Seeing his mother standing in front of him, frail looking and crying, when she had visited him, that had been the hardest part of all. She wanted to know everything and he had not been able to tell her. She was devastated enough to think her husband had done something like he did and she had not seen it; it would kill her if she knew the truth..., he knew he would never tell her.

During one of her visits, when she could make time between shifts at work, he had asked his mother about what that cop had said to him that day. He asked her directly whether his real father was in prison and not dead, like she had told him all his life. At first, she did not say anything; she had just looked at the floor with a sad faraway look in her eyes. It took her a few minutes but when she had looked up, she had told him that it was true.

It had shocked him at first, to think that his mother, the only one in his life he could truly trust had lied to him, but she had explained. He recalled her speaking in those soft tones, with a small amount of affection in her voice, for a man long since lost to her.

She sat on the edge of his bed and he had listened as she told him his father was a man who had taken a wrong turn in his life. He had been strong once but had succumbed to the temptations offered to him by people who did not care about anything. Apparently he used to have a saying that he would repeat, 'A person was born into a life and he was destined to live that life but only he could choose what he would achieve with the life he had'.

The gang was the top of his father's life status in the end; it had given him what he thought he was missing, whatever that was. His mother had told him that she knew this to be wrong now, but in the beginning it had given his father something to aspire to. Over the years, it had eaten him away on the inside and he had become disillusioned with life. She saw the destruction of the man she knew happen over a few short years, spurred on by heavy drug use and a corruption that happened to those in power. She did not want that for her son, she had known that anyone was capable of anything and that she had not wanted the legacy of his father to compromise his life because she loved him too much for that and that was why she had told him he had died.

She said it took a strong person to overcome a bad role model and that she had seen that strength in him in the last few years. Had his mother really seen the role models he had while growing up?

She had compared him to the way his father had been before they moved to Dunedin, when he was younger and had aspirations in life. If only she knew what he had done, what he was really like, would she love him as much then?

What would she think of him if she knew of the strange phone call he received not less than a few days before the robbery? The voice on the phone had been deep and raspy, it exuded a confidence he had not heard from anyone. He had found himself drawn instantly to it but he could not recall exactly why. At first, he did not know what to make of this man on the phone claiming to have known his father, but then as he listened more things started to ring true. He had not said much himself, he had felt more like an embarrassed schoolboy, but he had listened. It was only when he was in hospital that he had connected this man to his father..., this man was his father, his mother had confirmed that in his mind when she had dropped that bombshell at the hospital.

His father had told him on the phone what was going to happen, that he wanted him to have more from life, and that things would make themselves clear very quickly, he just had to wait for it to happen.

Well it had happened, but not the way he would have liked it to be. Things had certainly tested him over the last couple of weeks and he was almost lost to it, but he was here now, it was up to him to make the decision on how it was going to play out. His father had been adamant about that one thing. He recalled the last words he said to him on the phone, 'With great power comes great responsibility'.

He had heard that before, but he could not remember if it was a Spiderman movie or something else. It sounded like bollocks to him anyway. What great power was he ever going to have? He had been sure all along that the plan for him was to move away and make a new life, but now he was not so sure...

Walking into the empty yard his mothers words were playing slowly in his head, 'Just like his father' she had said. The yard in which he stood had once been his father's domain, knowing this now gave it an oddly familiar feel, completely different from the last few times he was here. Maybe it had something to do with Joseph not being here as he was always, Joseph Kingi junior was now locked away; maybe it was Baz being dead. Or maybe it was just the lack of spaced out losers that used to cling to the fences like rabid monkeys all itching to hurt someone, using that hurt to gain some sort of status and respect from other losers that had been doing the same thing longer than they had. The adrenaline rush he had felt coming in subsided and he felt himself relax a little, looking around he started to feel more and more comfortable. A couple of young males came out of the house in front of him and raised their chins in greeting, they were not wearing patches but then he doubted that there were any patches left. From what he had heard, the police had grabbed them all from the castle.

"How's it going Star?" One of the males said, with a slight nervous edge in his voice.

Martin looked at him, he was probably about eighteen years old, not much younger than himself, but he was looking back at him with respect in his eyes. The other one was about the same age and was looking at him in a similar way.

"Can we do anything for you Star?" the other one said.

Tama's words came back to him, 'They are a family...' He thought about that for a minute. What family did he have? His mother was never there, Tama was gone, and he did not actually know anyone in Auckland, so it was just him... as it had always been. Maybe his father's legacy was not such a bad thing after all. Maybe he could do this, run things his way, choose his own destiny. One thing was certain; no one was around to tell him otherwise. Auckland could wait..., at least for now.

He looked at both the males in turn "Are you with me boys?"

"Hell yeah" they both replied.

Martin took a deep breath of the warm spring air and smiled, he could hear a lawnmower's incessant engine noise on the breeze. Somewhere in the distance, almost out of earshot, a dog started barking...

### ῼ

'With great power comes great responsibility'

Francois Marie Arouet (Voltaire) "Œuvres de Voltaire, Volume 48"

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More books in the Detective Mike Bridger series:

Human Frailty

Send in the Clowns

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Send in the Clowns

A Detective Mike Bridger novel

By Mark Bredenbeck

ῼ

'When you give your life to the circus, the circus can take your life.

130 years of grievance within one travelling carnival comes to the fore when a member of the troupe dies in suspicious circumstances. In a world full of captive animals, big personalities, and silent protesters, Detective Sergeant Mike Bridger finds himself in the middle of a strange and ancient existence. An existence where everyone has an agenda and some will stop at nothing to pursue it.

Sometimes, the Clowns don't laugh...'
Chapter one

The trumpets' sounded and the noise of the audience died away too an excited hush. The mixed scent of candyfloss and animals permeated the air. The canvas, surrounding the crowd, flapped quietly in the breeze. All around was darkness, broken only by the insensitive glow of the occasional cellphone, but no one cared. The children were on the edge of their seats, the adults' attention drawn between the darkened ring and the look of exited wonderment on their child's face. The sounds of the trumpets' became urgent, building to a crescendo, but were then silenced by the stabbing beam of the spotlight, piercing the darkness and shining down from high above. The booming voice echoed in the bleachers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls... Welcome... too the Big Show"

The crowd erupted into applause as the Ringmaster stepped into the small circle of light with a swish of his red satin cape. Carnival music, piped through the speakers placed above the wooden bleachers, adding to the atmosphere. A child started crying.

"Tonight, we have a veritable feast of entertainment, brought to you from far and wide... You will gaze in wonderment at the exotic creatures..., laugh in merriment along with the Jesters..., and gasp in awe at the daring exploits of the trapeze artists... So..., for now..."

The Ringmaster stood in the dead centre of the spotlight, surrounded by his darkened audience, arms held wide, revelling in the moment. The carnival music died away, leaving silence. No one dared speak.

'Ooh-Gah', the sound of the old-fashioned car horn broke the hushed anticipation. The Ringmaster gestured towards the noise with another swish of his cape.

"Send in the clowns..."

The ring lit up with flashing lights, the music returned in frenzy, and a child size car ambled onto the sawdust-covered circle in the middle of the Big Top. Four colourful heads with painted smiles swayed back and forth, as the little car careered around in figures of eight. The old horn was blaring out its merriment and the Clowns clung on for dear life.

The Ringmaster stayed where he was, watching the clown car with practised amusement. The Clowns were shooting water guns into the crowd as they moved around the ring, the noise of the small 50cc engine drowned by the squeals of delight thrown out from the darkness. One of the Clowns fell off his precarious seat, rolling head over heels, as the little car turned sharply. The other Clowns laughed silently at him and made their escape as fast as they could. The stricken Clown tripped over his large shoes and rolled again as he gave chase to his callous chums. The laughter from the crowd grew, the music played on.

Outside the tent and unseen, restless animals stomped irritably in their cages, waiting for their turn in the spotlight. The generators placed under their cages that provided power to the concession booths, belched diesel fumes, adding to their confined agitation. Further away, on the roadside, silent objectors stood motionless, their faces anonymous behind masks. The silent protest vigil ignored by the majority, only there for the spectacle and not the morality. Back inside the tent lithe bodies dressed in tight sparkling spandex climbed rope ladders into the darkness above.

The Clowns tired of their amusement and tried soaking the Ringmaster with a bucket of water, the children loved it. "Away with you... we have no time for your shenanigans" The Ringmaster brushed off the Clowns with another swish of his cape, and they retreated with mock admonishment like chastised schoolboys. The Ringmaster went back to his audience, "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls... please turn your attention skyward and prepare yourself to be amazed."

The lights turned up, illuminating a muscular man and a petite but strong woman standing high on wooden platforms either side of the ring. They were looking at each other across the darkness between them, a seemingly impossible gap. A slight nod of their heads, a trust passed between them, the crowd fell silent again. The dull thud of a drum bounced like a heartbeat around the bleachers, slowly building intensity, the crowd stamping their feet in approval. The drums stopped and the man swung out across the ring, thirty feet in the air. The crowd drew breath as he dropped from his perch and expertly caught the cross bar with his knees, swinging back towards his side, upside down. Carnival music returned to the bleachers.

Holding her own swing, the woman leapt gracefully from her platform on the opposite side and then swung towards the now returning male. It was a practiced move, delivered for the audience hundreds of times. It was a simple jump and catch, no need for a net... She let go with confidence.

The crowds' collective breath held... There was no meeting of hands, no strong arms to grab her and take her to safety. She was tumbling in front of the shocked audience, watched by the male as he swung away helplessly. A child screamed...

The sparkly spandex clad woman landed with a dull thud at the feet of the stunned Ringmaster and then lay still. The carnival music played on...

