The Fourth Cart

  Chapter Forty One

  Magee stared at his radio in despair. ‘Damn it!’ he spat out. ‘Why the hell isn’t Nixon responding?’

  Melissa yawned. ‘He’s probably fallen asleep, sir.’

  ‘Where the hell is he? He should have reported in at least five minutes ago.’

  ‘Do you want me to go and look for him?’

  ‘Yes please, Melissa. He should be round the back.’

  As Melissa jogged off in search of the officer who was not responding to his radio, Magee checked his watch. Eleven twenty-five. The other murders had occurred well past midnight. An hour or so to go, he pondered, if tonight was going to be the night it happened, that is. Unexpectedly, his radio crackled into life.

  ‘Sir,’ Melissa screamed, ‘He’s out cold. He’s been sandbagged!’

  ‘Who has?’

  ‘Nixon, sir. He’s sprawled on the ground, unconscious. The back gate is open. The attack must be in progress.’

  ‘Shit!’ Magee gave swift instructions into his radio and rushed across the road to McAlister’s front door. He banged on the door, pressed the bell and shouted, ‘Open up! Open up!’ Despite being prepared for this eventuality, now that it had happened he was quite shocked. There seemed such little likelihood of the murderer getting away with it.

  The front door opened and Magee found himself looking at Melissa. ‘Has he gone out past you?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then he must still be in the house. Okay lads,’ Magee said, letting five other officers in to the house ahead of him, ‘Spread out! Search each room. Melissa, you stay here by the front door.’

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Amy McAlister called down from the top of the stairs. ‘Who are you people?’

  ‘Police, madam,’ Magee responded. ‘Where is Mr McAlister?’

  ‘Des, you mean? Well, I think he’s still downstairs somewhere. I haven’t heard him come up yet.’

  Magee pointed to two of the officers and said, ‘Get up there, you two. Give her some protection and search every nook and cranny. You others, come with me.’

  Amy McAlister screamed hysterically at the sight of two burly police officers advancing towards her. Two minutes later, one returned downstairs and broke the news to Magee that the upstairs rooms were empty. In dismay, he went out into the garden but was greeted by the sight of an officer walking towards him gesturing his frustration with his hands. He reached the obvious conclusion; the murderer was not on the property, nor was McAlister. ‘Damn!’ he muttered and went back inside in search of Amy McAlister.

  Standing guard in the front hall, Melissa jolted at the sound of a soft knock on the front door. She opened the door in trepidation and asked of the gentleman standing there, ‘Can I help you?’

  Brigadier Armstrong smiled warmly as he gave Melissa a brief once over with his eyes. ‘Are you Detective Sergeant Kelly?’

  ‘Yes I am, why?’

  ‘I'm taking charge. Tell Chief Inspector Magee I'm here will you please?’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Brigadier Armstrong.’

  ‘And that makes you …?’

  ‘You wouldn't want to know that, my good sergeant.’

  ‘Oh, right. I see,’ Melissa replied. ‘Well, er, I'll go and find him for you, sir.’

  Magee was upstairs, in a bedroom trying to calm Amy McAlister.

  ‘He said he was just popping out to chat with the officers on duty,’ Amy McAlister stuttered through her tears.

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Magee asked.

  ‘He said they must be bored. He was going to make them a cup of tea.’

  ‘Did anything unusual happen tonight? Did he speak to anyone? Was there a phone call earlier, for instance?’

  ‘Yes. Yes there was, actually. Just before he put a coat on to go outside. Oh, dear god,’ Amy McAlister sobbed. ‘Where is he? What's he done?’

  ‘I don't know yet, I'm sorry.’

  Melissa interrupted. ‘Excuse me, sir. There's a Brigadier Armstrong downstairs. He says he’s taking charge.’

  ‘Tell him I'll be down in a minute. Give him whatever he wants. Anything at all.’

  ‘Right. Say no more.’ Melissa said as she touched the bottom of her nose.

  Magee stayed with McAlister’s wife for a few minutes. He just couldn't understand the mentality of Des McAlister. He had obviously walked into a trap. But why on earth had he gone out in the first place? What had the phone call been about? Another of the murderer’s games perhaps? Was there no end to this stupidity? Magee left Amy McAlister to console herself as best she could.

  Downstairs, Magee found Brigadier Armstrong giving out commands thick and fast. Within minutes, several police cars arrived carrying more men and a selection of powerful torches. Police dogs were offered a variety of McAlister's dirty clothes and shoes, and their handlers raced off into the night with their animals straining at the leashes.

  The trail left by McAlister was less than twenty minutes old, fresh enough for the dogs to follow. The alleyway McAlister had run down only went in one direction. Soon, the dogs came out onto a narrow suburban road opposite a small public park. By the time they reached the park’s entrance they were barking furiously, knowing they had found their mark.

  As Magee raced into the park, he shone his torch in the direction that the dogs were straining. In the distance, he could make out a vague shadowy outline up against the war memorial. As he drew nearer, he slowed down, and then stopped, horrified. The outline was that of a body; a hideously distorted body.

  Desmond McAlister had been gutted like a pig at an abattoir. Strips of intestines lay on the ground or hung down from his waist. His head hung at an impossible angle, almost severed at the neck. The knife sticking out from his chest looked bizarrely redundant.

  Two of the police officers, young novices, gagged and vomited. Magee turned his torch away out of respect.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Someone at the back of the search party asked.

  Brigadier Armstrong grunted. ‘Don't be bloody stupid! Take the dogs around the area. See if they can pick up any exit trails.’

  Magee walked as close to the remains of McAlister as his stomach permitted, reached for his radio and barked orders for arc lights, canvas sheeting to veil the victim and several bags to put McAlister’s remains in.

  The dogs failed to locate anything. The only trail picked up led to the main road then disappeared. The murderer had got away from right under Magee’s nose. He was sickened by the events of the evening and bitterly regretted his promises to Rees Smith and the Ambassador. He wanted to tell the world about this monstrosity and to see the murderer caught, sentenced and put away for ever.