Written In Blood

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Mitchell banged noisily on the door, and then stepped back to wait impatiently. When almost a minute passed without a response, he hammed on the door again with his fist.

Malcolm Wright yanked open the door, ready to yell at whoever had disturbed his sleep, but the words froze on his lips when he saw who was on the doorstep. "Lewis, what's going on?" he wanted to know.

Mitchell didn't answer straight away, he didn't want either Kieran or Tara to hear what he had to say, instead he grabbed the younger man by the front of his t-shirt and pulled him out of the house. Heedless of the fact that his friend was bare-footed, Mitchell dragged him across the yard and into the shadows on the far side of it.

When they were out of the moonlight, and far enough from the house to avoid drawing the attention of Malcolm's children, Mitchell spun him round and shoved him up against the side of the chicken coop. He did so with enough force to rattle the coop and disturb the occupants, who squawked their protests noisily for about half a minute before settling down again.

"Why'd you do it?" Mitchell demanded over the noise from the chickens. "I told you not to do anything, why didn't you listen to me?"

"What're you talking about?" Malcolm wanted to know, his voice as sleep-filled as his eyes.

"Don't play games, Malcolm, I'm not in the mood." Filled with anger over the situation he had been put in by someone who was supposed to be a friend, Mitchell shoved Malcolm up against the chicken coop again, re-awakening the occupants. "I know you went down to Wild's place after I told you I had to release him. I told you not to do anything, to leave him alone, but you went down there, and you shot at him through the bloody living room window."

"You're damned right I did," Malcolm said, matching the sergeant's anger with his own. "I told you what I'd do if you let that sick sonofabitch go. You let him go; I had no choice. That bastard took my Emily, and he's almost certainly killed her – I can't let him get away with that. Being shot's nothing compared to what he deserves; he deserves a much more painful death than that, he deserves to be tortured, slowly, like the Spanish Inquisition used to do to people, or something."

"Except he's not dead," Mitchell snapped. "You come closer to killing his solicitor than you did to killing him – she's been taken to hospital in the air ambulance; it's just as well you didn't manage to kill either one of them, just as well also that Constance is old and can't move too quickly. She didn't make it to the window in time to see you, so she's got no clue who tried to kill Wild, which is good news for you and for me. If she had seen you, or had any clue whatsoever it was you, I'd have to arrest you." He looked far from happy at that thought. "As it is, I might still have to arrest you, if Wild or his solicitor saw anything that points to you. You'd better hope that when they wake up, they either saw nothing or they remember nothing, otherwise you're looking at a lot of time in jail for attempted murder."

"I don't care, if you wanna arrest me, go ahead," Malcolm told his friend. "I'll tell the world what I did, I'm not ashamed; I'm glad I did it – I just wish I'd made sure I killed the sonofabitch; the world would be a better place without people like him in it."

"Don't be such an idiot." Mitchell had to bite his tongue to avoid snapping at his friend as he sought to get his temper under control. "Do you really think what you've done only affects you, that if you go to jail declaring yourself a martyr for justice, or whatever bollocks you choose to claim, that it will only make a difference to you. What about Kieran? What about Tara? What about Emily – she might not be dead; I know you're sure she is, but she might not be, and if she is still alive, she's gonna need you when she's found. Even if she is dead – Mitchell hated having to speak so bluntly, but knew it was necessary if he was going to get through to his friend – Kieran and Tara still need you; Kieran can't manage the farm on his own, if you go to jail, you'll lose the farm, and even if he could keep the farm going, he couldn't manage it and Tara. I doubt he'd be allowed to try given he's only seventeen.

"Going to jail would cost you the farm and Tara, she'd either have to go and live with relatives or, more likely, be taken into care, is that what you want?" 'Not only that but I'd probably lose my job, since you told me what you were going to do, and I didn't stop it,' Mitchell thought, but didn't add.

Malcolm seemed to deflate at the mention of his two, still definitely alive, children. "What do I do?" he wanted to know.

"Nothing, for now," Mitchell told him. "Just go about your life as if you did nothing, and pray that when they wake up, Wild and his solicitor either saw nothing or remember nothing." He let go of the younger man's t-shirt and was about to walk away when he thought of something. "There is one positive to be had from you shooting Wild – with him in hospital, there's no way he can hurt any other girls, and by the time he's ready to be released, we'll have the evidence to put him away."

"Fat lot of good that does my Emily," Malcolm said.