Free Exit Wounds by Aaron Fisher Page B

here. And then, he was going to come back, and get Dean.
    Paul waited a few moments more and then ventured out back into the corridor, heading the way he came.
    The room had been dark and with his mind focused first on remaining undetected and then his fury at Dean, Paul hadn’t even bothered to look round. If he had, he would have noticed Becky, bound, gagged and lying unconscious in the corner of the room.
    M.I.T. (Murder Investigation Taskforce), Cardiff Branch
     
    Tony praised the god of the atheists when he found that there was a digital database of known gang tattoos and emblems available on the department server. But that victory was short-lived. The software was still pretty basic and after it brought up eight different possible matches that looked nothing like the image he had uploaded, Tony wondered if it was even worth having.
    Drumming his fingers on the desk, Tony considered the option of tasking one of the subordinates to go though the database manually. He shook his head. Share the workload, share the victory.
    Tony had been chasing this case since the first body had been found and had fended off his fare share of other ambitious officers, hungry to beat him to the prize. He needed this result badly. It was his ticket out of his current position. He had been stuck here longer than he had planned anyway. With this result under his belt he would more than catch up with his scheduled career. And yet the thought of shifting through the thousands of possible images himself still filled him with dread.
    There was another possibility that Tony hadn’t yet considered: The camouflage jacket. What if it was more than just a fashion choice? If the suspect had a background in the forces then it could be a military tattoo, specific to a particular regiment.
    Tony reached for his phone and hastily punched in a sequence of digits. As he waited for the other end to pick up, he spotted Craig entering the room, coffee in hand. Tony had hoped he’d be able to avoid Craig whilst he was on one of his regular cigarette breaks but their eyes met immediately.
    “Hello?” a polite female voice said, giving Tony an excuse to look away.
    “It’s Horton from upstairs again. I spoke to you earlier about the software for matching known emblems and insignia.”
    Tony heard an inaudible sigh down the receiver. “Yes, I know it’s pathetic but it’s all our funding allows at the-”
    “Oh no, it’s not a complaint at all,” Tony interrupted, switching into auto-charm. “The searching program is a bit preliminary but the database is very comprehensive.” Tony paused for a breath. Judging the sound of silence as a good one, he continued, “I was just calling to inquire as to whether the database possibly contained images of military tattoos?”
    Tony looked up. Craig was hovering around his own desk, the occasional glance flickered over Horton’s way.
    “Oh, I don’t know... It might do I suppose.”
    “I’d be ever so grateful if you could check for me please,” Tony told her. He imagined the woman to be thirty-something going on fifty-something. Young and computer-savvy, but abrupt and obstinate beyond her years. That’s what being locked in a basement filled with nothing but computers does to you.
    Craig had made his way over to Tony’s desk, forcing him to look up.
    “What you up to?” Craig asked. It was said casually, as if between friends, yet Tony could still feel the sharp edge of a suspicious finger pointed at him.
    “I’m just chasing a tattoo I found the suspect has on his hand,” Tony replied, struggling to find the words that would satisfy Craig’s curiosity yet remain vague enough that he had given nothing away.
    “I wouldn’t bother,” Craig lifted the polystyrene cup to his lips. “That search engine’s a waste of space.”
    Tony nodded, “Thanks.”
    Craig didn’t move. Tony thought about asking him to check through the database manually. If there was one person he could trust to come