“How do we want to do this?” said Oscar.
“Keep it simple,” said Daniel. “Less to go wrong that way. We walk in, flash our IDs around, and arrest everything that moves. Oscar, you can flatten any muscle who objects, just to show we mean business. Then we tear the place apart until we find some useful paperwork . . . and perhaps even some computer records, if anyone’s been stupid enough to use an obvious password. Once we’re done we can just sit on everything, call the commissioner, and wait for backup.”
“Assuming everything goes smoothly,” said Nigel. “And we don’t have to lay down the law in an assertive fashion.”
“Best part,” said Oscar. He cracked his knuckles loudly, and everyone found a reason to look somewhere else.
“Paul, you can take the front door, with me,” said Daniel. “Nigel, Oscar: nip round the back. Just in case anyone rabbits.”
“Since when are you the commanding officer?” said Nigel.
“Do you have a better plan?” said Daniel.
“That’s not the point,” said Nigel.
“It sort of is,” said Paul.
“Let’s get this show on the road!” said Oscar.
He strode off, heading determinedly for the narrow alley beside the shop, and Nigel went after him.
“If you crack your knuckles one more time, Bear . . . ”
Paul grinned at Daniel. “It does feel good, to be doing something that matters.”
“This is what I joined up for,” said Daniel. “To be the man in the white hat, riding to the rescue. Do you think anyone in there is going to give us a hard time?”
“Why should they?” said Paul. “Makes more sense for them to just sit quietly, and wait for the firm’s lawyers to break them loose.”
“Then let’s go fight some monsters,” said Daniel.
“I take it back,” said Paul. “You’re not a Boy Scout, you’re a knight in shining armor.”
“Somebody has to be,” said Daniel.
Inside the shop, the walls were covered in shelves packed with cheap paperbacks, while a bored-looking teenage girl stood slumped over the counter, concentrating on her phone. A tall, gangling sort with spiky hair, a white T-shirt, and black leather trousers, she made a big thing out of ignoring the new arrivals while still being very aware of their presence. Daniel moved forward to confront her, while Paul drifted casually into position to block the way to the rear door. The receptionist looked up from her phone, her eyes quietly alert while her face gave nothing away.
“See anything you fancy, gents? Got some nice Agatha Christies.”
“We’re not here for books,” said Daniel.
“Didn’t think so. Do you have an appointment, gents?”
Daniel showed her his warrant card. She just sniffed.
“We’re paid up. You want anything special, your bosses will have to talk to my bosses. Not my department.”
“Cut the crap,” said Paul. “We’re shutting you down.”
The teenage girl stood up straight. It was hard to tell whether she looked more surprised, or outraged. “Like hell you are. I told you: we’re all paid up!”
“We heard you,” said Daniel. “We don’t care. You’re under arrest.”
She didn’t even try to bluff him, just bolted for the rear door. Paul was ready for that, but she lowered her shoulder and slammed right through him, sending him crashing into a bookshelf. She was already through the door and gone by the time he got his feet under him again. Daniel shook his head.
“You have spent far too long behind a desk.”
“She must be on something,” said Paul, with what dignity he had left. “She punted me out of the way like a runaway truck.”
“She won’t get far,” said Daniel. “Nigel and Oscar must have blocked off the rear by now, and if she tries that trick on Oscar she’ll just bounce right off him.”
“Well, no more mister nice guy,” said Paul. He drew his Taser. “From now on, anyone who even looks at me funny is going to dance the funny dance.”
Daniel nodded, and drew his own Taser. “She’s probably already on her phone to someone higher up, to ask for instructions.”
“Let her,” said Paul. “It’s time to bring the hammer down.”
The back room turned out to be just an open space, its gloom only partly pushed back by light spilling through from the shop. No furniture, no stock, nothing but another door on the far side of the room. Which crashed open suddenly as Oscar barged through, with Nigel right behind him.
“Thought it had been quiet a bit too long,” said Nigel. “So I had the Bear announce us. He’s so useful to have around; our very own human battering ram.”
“Next time I’ll use you as a battering ram,” said Oscar, massaging his shoulder.
“Did a teenage girl just run past you?” said Paul.
Nigel raised an eyebrow. “Hardly.”
“Where is everybody?” said Oscar.
“There was only the one girl,” said Daniel. “And she got away. But if she didn’t leave through the back door . . . ”
“Then there must be a hidden exit in here,” said Paul.
It didn’t take them long to discover the trapdoor in the floor. They got it open easily enough, revealing rough stone steps falling away, illuminated by a single hanging bulb. Daniel held his Taser out before him and started down, with the others following close behind. After a while, Daniel wrinkled his nose.
“Can you smell . . . blood?”
“Reminds me of the butcher shop my old uncle used to run,” said Paul.
“We knew this was a chop shop,” said Oscar.
“Even a backstreet surgery should smell of antiseptic, not offal,” said Nigel.
“This is going to be a bad one,” said Daniel.
Nobody argued with him.
The steps ended at a locked door. Daniel stood to one side, so Oscar could do the business. He charged down the steps and slammed the heavy door open, and they all rushed in, Tasers at the ready. The low-ceilinged cellar was bigger than the shop above, starkly illuminated by overhead fluorescent lights and packed from wall to wall with trestle tables bearing dozens of naked corpses, cut open so the organs could be removed. Blood-spattered rib cages had been levered back, over empty crimson caverns. Arms and legs had been sliced open, to get at the muscles and tendons. There were no eyes in the faces, no tongues in the gaping mouths. Even the skulls had been sawed open and emptied out. The harsh light was merciless in revealing every detail, and the stench of blood and death was almost unbearable.
The policemen huddled together, like children who’d found their way into an ogre’s lair.
“This is no surgery,” said Nigel. “This is a charnel house.”
“A chop shop,” said Oscar.
“This isn’t what we came here for,” said Paul.
Daniel didn’t say anything. He was too sickened, and too angry.
At the back of the room, three figures in blood-soaked surgical gowns were bent over a patient on a table. Held in place by heavy leather straps, he still fought and heaved as the surgeons’ hands disappeared into the hole they’d made in his torso; and bit by bit they took him apart. Scalpels cut and slashed, and gloved hands removed all the useful pieces, placing them carefully on waiting steel trays. The patient would have filled the cellar with his screams, if he hadn’t been so thoroughly gagged.
Blood spurted, and steam rose from the opening into the chilly air of the cellar. Daniel stood frozen in place by shock and horror, as one of the surgeons put aside his scalpel and thrust both hands into the bloody opening. He pulled out the man’s heart, and held it up so the other surgeons could admire it. The patient heaved against his restraints one last time, and then lay still. Blood spilled down his sides, and dripped off the table to splash on the floor.
Daniel knew there was nothing he could have done to save the man. Everything he’d seen had taken place in just a few moments. But for the rest of his life he would be tormented by the thought that he should have done something. He raised his voice.