"The only way in which one human being can properly attempt to influence another is by encouraging him to think for himself, instead of endeavoring to instill ready made opinions into his head."
--Sir Leslie Stephen, British biographer (1832-1904)
"They didn't leave much of this place," Chandra said, as he picked his way across the blackened, charred debris strewn across the floor.
The smells inside the burnt - out hulk of what was left of the store were indescribable. The very air itself seemed to still be burning, and this scent was mixed with the aroma of burnt vegetation, paper, cardboard and woodsmoke.
"No, I suppose not," Libra said, following behind. "Where's your uncle?"
"In the back," Chandra replied. "The firemen found the safe. The minute they declared the area safe this morning and the insurance people cleared him, he came straight here to get our papers. Uncle's opening it now."
"Is the safe a fireproof one?" asked Libra. Chandra nodded. "Well, let's hope the papers survived, at least," Libra said.
Their feet crunched on unidentifiable matter as they approached the back room. Inside the dark office, a figure crouched over a black, squat box whose door lay open. The muck had been cleared from the top of the safe so that the contents could be taken out and placed on top.
"Petty cash," said the man crouched over the safe, "documents, mortgage, till receipts ..." papers rustled as he leafed through a thick sheaf of them - "invoices ... yes, they're all in order here." The old man got up, clutching his papers, and looked at Chandra.
"At least we still have the documentation," he said. Chandra's face was deeply solemn and troubled. "Uncle, I just came to let you know, the doctor has finished with Mum now. Auntie's with her, and the neighbours."
"All right, Chandra," said the old man, "I'll be right along now."
The last echoes of the weapons died away in the firing range. The two men stopped, unloaded the empty smoking casings from the revolvers, placed the guns back on the table. Only then did they remove their goggles and ear protectors.
"Let's see how you did," said Detective Sergeant Croft.
"Better than you," replied the other officer, with a wry smile.
DS Croft operated the controls to retrieve the paper targets. They both took them down, looked at one another's deadly handiwork.
"You're rubbish," said the second officer. "Mine's grouped around the heart better."
"I dunno," said DS Croft. "Mine are close enough. At least they're all inside the circle."
"Yeah, well," said the other, feigning cynicism. They laughed.
"C'mon," the second officer said. "Let's get these guns back into storage. We were off duty ten minutes ago." He clapped DS Croft on the back. "You lost. You're gettin' them in."
"She is resting," the doctor explained to the old man. "That is all I can do for her, now."
Chandra sat on the sofa next to Libra, his eyes brimming. "Mum," he moaned.
"Can we see her?" asked Chandra's uncle. The doctor nodded.
"Your wife and the neighbours are there," the doctor added. "Best to go and see her now." He paused. "While you can." He looked at Chandra. "You, too."
There was movement from the door. Everyone turned, to see Devi from next door standing in the doorway. The look in her eyes was indescribable.
Chandra and Mr Singh got up, headed for the door with the doctor in tow. Libra stood, but remained in the living room. There were soft footsteps from behind him: he turned, saw the neighbour standing behind him.
"Would you like some tea, Mr Stewart?" she asked. Libra shook his head.
"Thank you," he replied. "You'd better go in there and help out. I will wait here."
"You are a very gracious guest," Devi said. "Mr Singh says that Chandra thinks the world of you."
"Did he?" Libra said, turning fully to face Devi. "I'm honoured."
"How did you and Chandra meet?" Devi asked.
"We, er, met through business contacts," Libra replied. "He was interested in hiring some personnel, and I have been setting up a branch of my recruitment agency near his cafe. I discussed his firm handling the catering contract." He gestured behind him, at the street scene through the lace curtains. "Then all of this started, and Chandra had to come home." Libra sighed. "If he has to stay here, I may have to find another catering company."
"That is a shame," Devi said.
"Ah, but this is not the time for discussing business," Libra said. "The needs of Chandra's family come first here. I was simply glad to help."
"But you need not have done so," Devi said. "Chandra's van could have held enough stock."
"I brought along a couple of other boxes in the back of my car anyway," Libra said. "Saved him making three trips in his car. Here, back to Liverpool and back here again."
"Your spirit of generosity is astonishing," Devi said.
"You can thank Sergeant Govinder Hari for that," Libra replied. "A good friend of mine. Saved my life, once. Back when I was a Forces lad."
"I never knew you served in the Army," Devi said. "For how long?"
"For most of my adult life," Libra said. "1979 until early 1992, when I managed to get out of it with a fat pension and a ... large bonus." He coughed discreetly into his hand, looked up.
His sight had just come on. "Excuse me," he said, gesturing. Devi fell silent. Libra reached inside himself, cranked up the sight as high as it would go.
The silence was absolutely deafening, and the air as stifling as a waterlogged blanket. It felt as if a weight had just come over the whole house. Then, equally suddenly, the weight lifted.
Libra let his heightened senses relax. Normality began to return, as did the sounds of the city outside: the background rumble of cars, a faint police siren. A car roared by outside, making Libra and Devi jump. They looked at each other, understanding what had just happened.
And then the wailing began from the next room, began to rise to a tragic crescendo.
"So much for getting down the pub," said DS Croft to his colleague from the firing range, with the sandy blond hair and open blue eyes.
"Next time," said the man. "You still owe me a pint." He made a "firing gun" gesture with his right hand.
"All right, you two, knock it off," said DI Warburton. "You two have got a job to do, and you can't afford to slack off here."
"I take it off duty time's cancelled," said the sandy blond copper.
"Enough wisecracks," DI Warburton said. "On this sort of case, you go off duty when I tell you to. This chap has killed people, and he's probably not going to stop at just the one group, or that one incident in Waterloo Road the other day.
"The presence of the gun suggests he's still active, or perhaps that he went under cover for a bit after the first set of killings. And now he's back on the streets, and as dangerous as ever. So which would you rather face? A nice, cosy night out and maybe a couple of dead people waiting for you when you get back, or a nice bit of overtime and sore feet, and a violent creep in the nick?"
"The overtime is very appealing," said the sandy haired copper around the end of his pencil, which he'd inserted into the corner of his mouth. "But getting this guy is even more appealing, if you know what I mean."
"Glad to see you and I are starting to think the same way at last, Huntington," said DI Warburton. "Now, let's get down to business. First, there's that consignment of firearms we recovered in this morning's raid. Ballistics think they match the cheap dud weapon they found in the street at the back of Bannerjee's. They could be part of the same cargo. I think we should start there ..."
By: Fiat Knox
Copyright © Fiat Knox, 2001