Rich Men, Dead Men

Rich Men, Dead Men Michael Dylan Contents Chapter 1 Tuesday, 13th September Chapter 2 Wednesday, 14th September Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Thursday, 15th September Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Friday, 16th September Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Saturday, 17th September Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Sunday, 18th September Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Monday, 19th September Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Tuesday, 20th September Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Wednesday, 21st September Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Thursday, 22nd September Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Friday, 23rd September Chapter 60 THANK YOU Get a FREE book today 1 Detective Inspector Simon Wise held out his hand, desperate to stop a murder. ‘Give me the gun. Please — think of your wife. Your kids.’ The gunman stared back at him with wild eyes, sweat pouring down his face, pistol shaking in his hands. ‘I can’t do that.’ They were on the roof of the Maywood estate in Peckham. It was still hot despite it being 11 p.m., the June heat stored deep in the concrete and trapped by the surrounding buildings that overlooked the unfolding drama, all washed blue by the flashing lights of the army of emergency vehicles below. There were two others on the roof with Wise and the gunman. Derrick Morris, the star witness in a gangland murder trial that was due to start in the morning, was on his knees. Barefoot and shirtless, he looked like he’d been dragged out of his bed and hauled up onto the roof. He had his arms around his girlfriend, Tasha Simcocks, who was also on her knees next to him, wearing only her nightdress. Both were crying, eyes fixed on Wise with the desperate hope that he could keep them alive just a little bit longer. The trouble was Wise didn’t know if he could because the other person on the roof, the man Wise was pleading with, had his gun pointed at Morris and Simcocks’ heads and, if Wise couldn’t find the right words to stop him, he was going to murder the pair of them. It was a bad situation made far worse because the gunman was a police officer, a Detective Sergeant in one of the Metropolitan Police’s Murder Investigation Teams. He was a man Wise knew better than almost anyone else in his life, and seeing him there with a gun and intending to kill a witness made no sense at all. Andy Davidson was his partner, after all. They’d risen through the ranks together, helped each other, supported each other, and did a damn lot of good together. Not only that, Andy had been Wise’s best man at his wedding, godfather to his kids, and who he’d been drinking beer with only hours before. There was no one he knew better — except Wise didn’t know Andy at all. ‘Please, Andy. Before Armed Response gets here. Give me the gun.’ Wise took a step towards his partner, hand still out. ‘Don’t come any closer,’ Andy cried, his eyes wide and bulging, burning cocaine bright. Sweat glistened across his face and soaked his t-shirt. He pressed the revolver against Morris’ head, but Wise could see the shaking in his hand. Was that a sign of his resolve weakening or just his desperation? ‘Another step and I’ll shoot him.’ ‘Mate, please,’ Wise said. ‘I don’t know why you’re doing this, but we can sort it out. We can fix it — whatever it is — if you give me the gun. You’re not a murderer.’ ‘You don’t know what I am!’ Andy screamed. He wiped his free hand across his face, rubbing the snot from his nose, blinking tears away. ‘I have to do this.’ A red dot danced across Andy’s shoulders, seeking his head, finding its spot, stopping on his temple, dead still. An ARO in one of the neighbouring buildings had Andy in his sights, the laser targeting locked on a kill shot. ‘No!’ Wise shouted. He thrust both hands up in the air, turning, trying to see where the sniper was, trying to block his line of sight. ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot.’ Time stopped as Wise waited for the crack of a shot and the sight of Andy’s brains punched from his skull. But no shot came. No order given to terminate his friend. Someone still hoped Wise could stop this without bloodshed — for now. The clock was ticking, though. The order would come soon enough. No one would risk Andy killing their star witness. He turned back to his friend. ‘The AROs have got you in their sights, Andy. Please give me the gun before it’s too late. Think of Debs. Think of Katie and Mark.’ Think of me, he wanted to say. He’d already lost his actual brother, he couldn’t cope with losing Andy too. ‘Please, mate.’ ‘If I don’t do this,’ Andy said, ‘he told me he’d kill them.’ ‘Who did?’ Wise took another step forward. ‘If someone’s threatening you or your family, we can stop them. You just have to trust me and give me the gun.’ The two men stared at each other. Twenty years of history being relived in their eyes. Their friendship. Their bond. Surely, he’d give up. Andy was no killer. ‘Please mate.’ Andy shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Si. I’m sorry for ev—‘ Something punched Andy off his feet a heartbeat before Wise heard the crack of the gun. Time slowed as Andy tumbled forward, red mist leading the way, his brains and blood already splattered across the rooftop. He landed on the concrete