Killer In The Cloud (Mike Wesley Series Book 1) Read online

  KILLER

  IN

  THE CLOUD

  by

  JOHN STEWART

  Copyright © 2014 by John Stewart

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  http://www.reddreamproductions.org

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  The shot came from beyond the tree line, breaking the silence like a clap of thunder in the sky and when the bullet hit, his whole body quivered. As a keen hunter, he had heard more than his fair share of gunfire over the years and recognised the sound, but it wasn’t until he got the metallic taste in his mouth that he looked down and realised he was already falling.

  He hit the ground as his eyes closed and upon opening them again he marveled at an irregular brightness in the sky. Slowly raising his hand from his side, he saw the darkest crimson he had ever seen. It was at that moment, the horrifying reality of what had just happened finally registered in his mind. He gazed at his blood soaked hand and feared for all that he was. Knowing the journey time to the nearest hospital was over an hour, the volume of blood he was losing gave him cause to consider only one likely outcome.

  Lying on the damp, bumpy grass, his mind drifted to his triumphs and regrets, not so much in a flash, as people often describe, but in a wave of clarity. His busy working life rarely allowed him the time to sit and reminisce about the past, or the future for that matter. His mind was always cluttered with the facts, figures, names and addresses his job provided, but not now. Now he was free from all such distractions and could browse through his memories as if reading a book, a living, breathing book full of sights, sounds and familiar fragrances emanating from the events of his youth spent with his long departed father.

  It could have taken hours when, in fact, he was only down for a few seconds. Enough time for the wound to produce severe blood loss, causing him to fade fast. As his memories, along with his life, began to glide away, the cloudy sky returned into dull focus and standing over him, he saw the face of the man who had shot him.

  Chapter 1

  Mike Wesley was filling out some case reports when he received a phone call requesting he, along with his Garda colleagues Gregory Walsh and Helen Kean, attend a meeting at divisional headquarters in Abbey Street with Chief Superintendent David Crawley on Friday the 20th of June.

  Since the death of his boss, Sergeant Patrick Burns, he had been expecting such a call. He had been playing the role of acting Sergeant for two months now and he knew it was only a matter of time before they called in the troops to set out a more permanent structure. On one level, he was looking forward to the meeting, finding out where he stood and what his future role would be at the station would bring some much needed certainty to his life. On the other hand, recent years of pay freezes and lack of promotions meant good news was a rarity to say the least.

  This was not his first official meeting with the top brass, and the timing gave him a week to prepare himself and talk to officers Walsh and Kean about what they could expect from it. Mike was a natural leader and although he had been on the force the same length of time as Gregory, his superiors in Abbey Street had noticed his drive and investigative abilities, attributes that officer Walsh, unfortunately, did not possess.

  Gregory was originally from Dublin, but had moved from town to town over the years with his father and as an only child from a broken marriage, he found it difficult to settle in anywhere.

  He often joked to Mike that the only reason he joined the Gardaí was to take on the kind of bullies he had encountered during his school days. He wasn’t bad at his job and Mike enjoyed his sense of humor. They made a good team when interviewing suspects; Gregory would always play the bad cop to Mike’s good, a cop show cliché that was surprisingly effective, especially on younger teenagers, terrified their parents would find out they’d been underage drinking. He had taken trainee officer Helen Kean under his wing to show her the ropes as well as anyone could have and despite his over fondness for borrowing things and an annoying habit of drawing mustaches on every picture he saw, Mike was glad to have him around.

  Helen, the latest addition to the station was originally from Cork and joined the team straight out of her training in Templemore the year previous. She was older than most recruits and had a young daughter. Before joining the Gardaí, she had been studying to become an accountant, an ambition she decided to forgo when she fell pregnant, but her experience allowed her to take on some bookkeeping work in the evenings and she hoped to one day work for the Criminal Assets Bureau, which was becoming an increasingly busy department with the rise in organised crime across the country.

  Since the passing of Sgt. Burns, they were coping well and Mike was hopeful the meeting would reflect that fact.

  ***

  Friday arrived and two officers from the Edgeworthstown station arrived in Kilcrew for the day while Mike, Gregory and Helen took one of the patrol cars and drove the thirty-minute journey to meet the Superintendent.

  Chief Superintendent Eamon Crawley had been a serving member of the Gardaí since 1985 and was looking forward to his retirement so he could pursue a political career within the Department of Justice. He made a point of knowing the officers serving under his command and liked to address each of them by name. The morning of the meeting was no different and Mike, Gregory and Helen were all warmly greeted as they entered his office. Beside Crawley stood Sgt. David O’Rourke. He was next in line for Crawley’s job and was sitting in on official meetings to ease the transitional period. O’Rourke had no such likeable traits. He was very formal, strictly by the book and in Mike’s experience, a bit of an asshole.

  As the meeting began, Crawley commended all th
ree of them on the good job they had been doing since Sgt. Burns had passed. “He would have been immensely proud of the job you have done, keeping the station operational.” Mike was concerned at the wording of the statement, but held his tongue as Crawley continued. “Now as you are all aware, we have been going through some tough financial times over the past few years and I’ve been advised that a full-time replacement for Pat will not be possible at this time. Instead, what will happen is the Kilcrew station will be placed under a six-month review and following that review, it will be determined whether or not the station is to remain open.”

  Both Helen and Gregory turned to Mike, waiting for him to speak up, which he eventually did. “Okay so, who’s heading the station?” O’Rourke stepped in. “I’ll be taking command of the Kilcrew station from here. You will report to me on all arrests and any other matters you feel you may need assistance with.”

  Looking concerned, Gregory broke his silence. “So, what happens after the review?” O’Rourke replied before the Superintendent had the chance, clearly wanting his presence felt.

  “Well, once completed, the station would be closed and you would be relocated elsewhere.”

  Mike noticed a hint of satisfaction in O’Rourke’s tone and fired back. “Who will police the town if we get relocated?”

  Crawley stepped in. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. If the station is proven to be viable, you won’t be going anywhere. Mike, as you have assumed the role of senior, you will take on the cases and duties left by Sgt. Burns. Sgt. O’Rourke will be available to assist you should you require anything. The last thing I want to do before I retire is close a station, so give me a good reason not to.”

  “Thank you Sir, we won’t let you down,” Helen finally added as both O’Rourke and Crawley stood to indicate the meeting had concluded.

  They walked out of the station in silence and got into the car. Helen looked at Mike from the back seat. “What are we going to do?”

  Gregory turned to her. “There’s nothing we can do. We’re fucked.”

  “Did you see that smug little prick O’Rourke in there, he was loving it.” Mike said as he started the car. “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something.”

  Chapter 2

  Rebecca Hollister opened a bottle of wine and sat in the window of her third floor London apartment. She had been waiting for weeks on word of a new job, having tried every paper across the city, but knew her recent bad press wasn’t going to be forgotten anytime soon.

  The cost of living in London wasn’t cheap and without a paycheck, her savings were running out fast, so when an old friend from home offered her a freelance position at the Roscommon/Longford Herald, she had little choice but to take it.

  She had only been home a handful of times since taking the job in London and although it was a step down from her work as an investigative journalist, she knew it was a necessary one. As she sipped her wine, she looked around her empty apartment. She had just two boxes to bring home, the rest of her things were rented.

  “Not much to show for seven years,” she said to herself with a tear in her eye. Her flight was in three hours, and she had some time to kill before calling a taxi, so she had a look through some of her old articles in a bid to cheer herself up. When she came across the one that broke her into the big leagues, she couldn’t resist reading.

  ***

  The story started off when a group of Royal Navy crewmembers were kidnapped in the Shatt Al-Arab waterway between Iran and Iraq and were held in captivity for thirteen days. It was a huge story, and when they were released, the media scrum was one of monumental proportions. Everyone wanted to interview the survivors, but due to a militarily imposed ban, they were unable to share their stories.

  Following some legal wrangling, the military backed down and allowed the crew members to sell their stories of captivity and Rebecca’s editor, Angela Davies, arrived at her desk with just such a tale, printed by a rival tabloid. “If that rag can get an interview with one of those survivors, so can you. Come back to me with a story in two days.”

  It was her big chance to get noticed at the paper and she grabbed it with both hands.

  It took her the best part of that day to track down one of the survivors willing to talk for the money she was allowed offer, so she made the deal fast and arranged to meet with him the following morning. As soon as she arrived, she took out her digital recorder and began asking him questions about his ordeal whilst in captivity? It was basic stuff by any journalist’s standards and it wasn’t until he asked her to turn off the recorder that things started to get interesting.

  As soon as the recorder was stopped, he confessed to Rebecca that the whole kidnapping had been staged and that everyone on the ship was in on the con. They had paid some Iraqis to take fifteen crewmembers off the ship and hold them for two weeks while the others onboard raised the alarm and waited while the world’s media found out. Once they were released, their plan was to sell their stories and split the profits amongst the rest of the crew, but they started arguing about how to split the money and the plan fell apart. Needless to say, Rebecca was shocked as well as excited, this was just the story that she was looking for.

  She wrote it all down word for word, thanked the sailor for his honesty and returned to the newspaper offices to write up the article. While she was writing, she visualised the story adorning every front-page in the country with her name at the bottom. She was so excited, she almost ran to her editor with the finished article. “You made it, I’m impressed,” Angela said looking surprised at the rookie journalist’s presentation. “Just give me five minutes and I’ll give it a read.”

  “I’ll wait here,” an impatient Rebecca replied. Angela finished up what she was doing and read the article. “Holy shit Rebecca, this is big! If this is true, they could go to prison. Let me make some calls.” Waving Rebecca out of the room, she picked up the phone and began dialing frantically.

  Rebecca returned to her desk feeling very happy with her work, a feeling that was soon to be replaced by disappointment. Half an hour later Angela came out of a heated phone call with a high-ranking military official, the news was not good. They could not run the story due to heavy political pressure, and if it ever saw the light of day, jobs would be lost. Rebecca was gutted; the story of a lifetime and it was gone in minutes.

  Despite the story being blocked, the next day Rebecca received her own office and a significant salary bump. Angela had finally recognised her potential and from that point on she kept climbing.

  ***

  As Rebecca read over the story, she wondered if the office and pay increase were truly given to her for showing potential or were they payment for keeping the story quiet. None of it mattered now and smiling to herself, she put the folder back in its box, wondering if maybe the new job would have some secrets they’d like her to keep too.

  Chapter 3

  Mike had the weekend off and chose to spend it working on ways he could make the station more productive. He was now the senior officer at his station, aside from the ever-absent Sgt. O’Rourke and at thirty-five, he was confident he could take on the challenge.

  The prospect of being transferred to another station was not an appealing one. With bills to pay and no savings to speak of, a daily commute would put, him along with Gregory and Helen under financial pressures they could all do without, not to mention damage any chances of future promotions. With a new station would come a new hierarchy and the climb to the top would be a lengthy one.

  One idea he kept circling back to was making a change to the shift patterns. At present, the station opened at 12pm and closed at 8pm with officers on call rotation the rest of the time. Having all three on duty at the same time seemed like a waste of resources to Mike, so he worked out a three-person, eight-hour shift rotation.

  The first, starting at 8am, would be simply titled, the day shift. The second would begin at 4pm and would be known as the swing shift and finally the aptly named night shift, w
hich would start at 12 midnight. The idea was to give a twenty-four hour service to the town, hopefully giving residents peace of mind and confidence in their local Gardaí, something that Mike felt they had lost over the years.

  His plan also proposed handing off a lot of the time-consuming administrative duties to the Abbey Street station’s civilian staff. The standard backup and annual leave protocol, in which Gardaí from other stations would be available if required, would remain in place. By Sunday night, Mike had it all drawn up and was looking forward to pitching the idea to Gregory and Helen.

  ***

  Monday arrived and Mike was in a good mood, he brewed a fresh pot of coffee and sat down with his coworkers to discuss his proposal and get their feedback. “It actually suits me fine,” an upbeat Helen said as she looked through the calendar on her phone. “I could pick up Shauna, two out of three weeks, which I can’t do as it stands.”

  Mike looked to Gregory. “How about you Greg? What do you think?” Gregory wasn’t so keen on the idea. “I don’t know Mike, that night shift looks like a bitch.”

  Mike knew it was time for the hard sell. “Well, it’s either try this out and show Crawley we’re trying to improve things, or we can carry on and make peace with the fact that we could be commuting up to two hours every day come the Christmas. If you have any ideas we could try, let’s hear them.”

  Despite his apprehensions about the night shift, Gregory knew it was the best way forward and agreed. “Alright I’m in, when does it start?”

  Mike smiled. “Good man. I have to run it up the ladder first, it could take months, but we’re kind of a special case here, so you never know, they could go for it straight away.”

  Gregory and Helen finished their coffees and set off for their daily patrols while Mike manned the phones, trying to decide whom he should contact about the shift change idea. His decision didn’t take long. “Straight to the top,” he thought as he hit Superintendent Crawley’s extension number.