This chapter is only the initial draft. I want to see what people think so that i can develop the story from here.
Chapter One
A breeze blew over the West End Central Police Station. A few people were walking down the street in front of it oblivious to the events unfolding within. The building stood proudly and majestically among its surroundings but inside was a different story. The offices and cellblocks were deserted. The cafeteria and the interrogation rooms were empty. It was in the office of the Chief Inspector that events were unfolding.
The Chief Inspector for the station was currently tied to his chair behind his desk, bleeding heavily from a large hole in his chest. Three other officers were nailed to the back wall watching the inspector slowly bleed to death whilst in agonising pain. Each officer had a large rusty nail forced through each of their hands which was holding them tightly to the wall. Two more nailed had been stabbed straight through their calves to secure them entirely to the wall. The four men were alone in the office, writhing in agony.
Forty minutes previously the station had received a phone call about an incident at a house near Regent’s Park and all the other officers from the station had left to investigate the event, leaving only the four officers in the building.
Ten minutes later, he arrived. He was a man dressed in a neat black suit and carrying two black bags. He strolled into the station, pulled a small pistol from his pocket and shot the inspector in the chest before turning the gun on the other officers. The gunshot was very loud and the inspectors were sure that someone must of head it, but no help came. They were left in the clutches of their tormentor, very much alone, shaking with fear and anxiety.
The man in the suit had then opened one of the black bags and pulled out a tool kit which he used to nail the men to the wall. Then he took the keys from the inspectors desk, turned and smiled at the three officer, as if to admire his craftsmanship, and left.
They had been there for twenty minutes now and the inspector was showing little sign of life. He remained tied to the chair with his head bowed, unconscious.
“Are we… are we gonna die?” whispered one of the officers through clenched teeth.
“No. Help… help will come…” replied another officer. However his tone told a different story and his voice has filled with false hope and promises. It was the tone of a defeated man.
All was silent for a few more minutes, until the inspectors body slumped forward on the chair, toppling it over so that it came clattering to the floor with his lifeless body strewn in a chaotic mess. He was dead.
*
Back at the house of the Carter family, police were baffled. They had two bodies, one missing person and no evidence to suggest anyone else had been in the house.
“What your saying detective is that unless their six year old son suddenly took up shooting, excelled at it, shot his parents with the precision of a hired assassin and then took off taking with him all evidence, we have no idea what the hell happened here? You are seriously telling me the only three people who have been in that house in the past two weeks are Mr and Mrs Dead and their invisible son!” shouted Detective Tom Fisher from New Scotland Yard’s Specialist Crime division.
He had been called to the scene in the early hours of the morning and was extremely displeased at what he had found. He grunted in the half light of the dawn and stormed off toward the house, marching away from the incompetent detective who had just given Detective Fisher the really bad news.
The officer at the door sensed Tom’s mood and stepped aside so as not to anger his superior further. Fisher barged straight into the house and turned to the pathologist who was at that current moment leaning over one of the corpses which lay hunched on the kitchen floor.
“What happened?” he barked bluntly to her. “Why is she dead? Why is there no trace of anyone else in the house? Why are you all so hopeless at your bloody jobs?” Fisher spun round to address the entire room. “I want some information and some evidence to explain what the hell went on here!”
The pathologist turned to him. She was a slim yet tough woman who was extremely attractive with dazzling blonde hair and an attractive figure. She turned to Fisher with a look of complete outrage. “I’m sorry but we are working as hard as we can. It is hardly our fault if this killer left no trace of his existence!” she turned back to the corpse and picked up a file that lay open next to it. “As far as the body goes, we have a woman, 34 years old, identified as Jane Cartman. She was shot twice, once in the thigh and once in the head. The second shot was fatal. The killer then came along and removed both bullets with a bladed weapon, possibly a kitchen knife, so we can’t be sure of what sort of gun he used. The body upstairs is a 36 year old man, identified as Ben Cartman, her husband. He was shot twice through the chest with the same gun, judging by the wounds. He was then attacked with the knife. The bullets were removed from his body just like with his wife but then the knife was used to cut a large wound across his upper left arm. The wound has then forced open and the killer dug deep into the arm with the blade, tearing all the muscle away from the bone and exposing his Humerus. All this was done after the death and I have no idea why he did it. That is all we know.”
The pathologist turned and went back to work on the body. Tom Fisher turned to look around. It was a large detached house with an ornate hallway. Leading off the hallway were the kitchen and the living room. The kitchen was brand new and immaculate, with not a trace of dirt or dust covering any surface. Gleaming appliances stared at Tom from all sides. The living room was much the same with very little sign that it had even been used. A sofa sat in the centre of the room facing a large television which sat up on an elaborate wooden stand. A dining room complete with a decorative table and six chairs lay behind a glass door at the back of the living room. Everything in the house looked expensive and overpriced. This was obviously the home of a wealthy family.
Tom Fisher was puzzled. The killer had come into the house and killed the husband and wife. Then he had removed all of the bullets from the bodies and attacked the husband with a knife, tearing his upper arm to pieces for no real reason. After that he had vanished with no real trace along with the 6 year old son of his victims. Nothing added up. There was no motive and no evidence. There were no suspects. Tom Fisher was not happy.
“Sir we have found something!” shouted one of the officers. Fisher hurried over to him. The officer was lying under the dining table looking up at the underside. Tom joined him and slid under the table beside him. What he found rendered him immediately speechless.
A bomb was strapped to the underside of the table. It was attached to the table by a series of cables and screwed into the wood. A green light was flashing on the side of the bomb and a timer was fixed to the front of the bomb. The timer was slowly counting down. There was just over a minute left on the timer.
“It’s a set up,” said Tom more to himself than anyone else. He looked across at the agent. “How much do you know about bombs?”
“Not much…” replied the agent who, having realised what was happening had lost all colour from his face.
“Well there is enough explosive here to level the building,” replied Tom, in as calm a voice as he could muster. “Everybody out!” he cried.
Panic erupted in the room. Tom slid out from under the table and called out again. “There’s a bomb! Everybody out now!” Everybody in the building was rushing for the exits and piling out of the building. Tom hurried with a group of officers towards the front door and outside. All around him screams and panic filled the air. He ran from the building into the street as quickly as possible.
Around 30 officers had been inside and some were still inside when it happened. A huge explosion ripped through the building and the house was torn apart. Debris scattered the street and rumble flew through the air. The house collapsed, becoming nothing more than ruins.
Tom Fisher dived for cover. He lay motionless on the ground for the longest minute of his life so far. Smoke and debris fell like rain and blackened the whole area. As police officers ran in all directions, confused and scared, Tom sat up and turned towards the house. How could he let this happen?
Then he saw something that froze his blood cold.
Just outside the door lay a woman’s body. Her dazzling blonde hair was full of dust and dirt, her attractive and fragile physique lay sprawled across the path just outside of the building. A large bloody wound sat on the side of her pretty young face and her eyes lay open and lifeless to the world. A woman, cut down in her prime. The pathologist was dead.
This was now personal.
. Same thing as before in taking out some of those terrible dull words like bad, especially "really bad".