Free False Witness (John Steel series Book 3) by P. S Syron-Jones Page A

for the techs to get here.”
    But the kid couldn’t resist and slowly turned the corner.
    At first, he saw nothing. So he moved the flashlight around until he found a desk and a chair.
    He found himself looking puzzled. What had spooked the veteran so much, he wondered? Then his light hit the large monitor and he saw the reflection. The flashlight hit the floor as the man ran for the bathroom.
    The veteran cop leaned his head back and breathed in a lungful of fresh air, but dared not close his eyes, for fear of re-seeing that image in the monitor that was now burnt into his brain. He heard the kid blowing his dinner into the toilet and shook his head.
    “I told you not to look.”
     
    It was late when McCall got the call on her smart phone. She had kicked off her boots and made some popcorn ready to enjoy a movie marathon.
    As her cell phone danced around the table with the vibrations of its ring, she just looked at first, almost not wanting to answer it. But its persistence became unbearable and she had to answer:
    “McCall.” Her tone was filled with disappointment. Her eyes fell on the bottle of red she had just uncorked, and she scowled as she waited for the inevitable.
    “We need you to come in.” The voice was that of the night-desk sergeant. He apologised for disturbing her and passed on the message he had gotten from the other shift.
     
    The roads were fairly quiet, but trying to find a parking space park near the scene was nigh on impossible. The street was narrow and made worse by the almost never-ending line of parked cars.
    Samantha McCall had to park almost a mile away, or so it felt. The night air was warm with a slight breeze that tickled her cheeks as it brushed past.
    She had no trouble finding the building: squad cars with their blue lights that illuminated the surrounding buildings, the ME’s van and the CSU four-by-four made the place stand out.
    As McCall passed the uniform at the main door, she showed her shield. The female officer nodded and then went back to watching the street for anyone trying to sneak in for a better look. Inside she followed the procession of uniforms and stopped at the fourth floor on seeing detectives doing the door-to-door.
    McCall headed for what she thought was the obvious doorway, with CSU teams getting suited up for the task ahead.
    As she entered the sitting room McCall looked round, taking in the decor of the journalist’s apartment. As her head turned, she stopped as she saw a familiar face and smiled.
    “Hey, Detective Bennett, you got me out of bed to work your case for you,” she called out.
    The detective stopped talking to one of his colleagues and turned to her with a large grin. “Hey, McCall, I figured you might like to watch in, see how the real cops do it for a change.”
    The two of them embraced like long-lost buddies.
    “It’s been too long, Sami,” her friend said. “I heard you got a couple of news flashes recently, very nice.” Bennett said smiling.
    She slapped him on the shoulder, still grinning. “Okay, so you didn’t bring me down in the middle of the night to reminisce. What’s going on?”
    Bennett’s face became grim. “This looks like the work of your killer. Gee, I’m sorry Sami, he’s struck again.”
    McCall finished gloving up and nodded, and then she pulled out her small camera and switched it on.
    “Okay, Carl, you lead.” She said.
    The tall blond-haired detective flicked his head in a come on motion and she followed him to that long hallway she had noticed when she’d first entered.
    Picture frames with news articles littered the walls. She took note of one and realised it was a kind of scrapbook of everything the journalist had done. McCall nodded in respect of his work, which spanned from war in Afghanistan to the lowdown on some guy crossing the world on a bike.
    Sam got her camera and her nerves ready. For her it was the unknown that was the worst part of this procedure. Not knowing what to expect, sure, she