Imperfect Killing by Luke Delaney

Mendham answered. ‘That was a little too early for me.’
    ‘But the props store was locked, right?’ he asked a deliberately leading question.
    ‘Er … no,’ Mendham answered tentatively.
    ‘All this equipment – including replica firearms – and you left it open?’
    ‘I always do,’ Mendham tried to explain. ‘You never know when one of the props might be needed – they might be filming a show in the middle of the night and realize they’ve forgotten to request something. I can’t be here twenty-four hours a day. So long as everyone sticks to the booking in and out system it works fine.’
    ‘Is there any CCTV down here?’ Sean enquired.
    ‘No, no,’ Mendham insisted. ‘Sometimes the actors strip down to almost nothing trying on costumes. It wouldn’t do to have CCTV covering that – privacy laws and all that.’
    Sean considered the way they entered the basement and was sure that if the killer had come from there he wouldn’t have used the same entry-exit to make his way to the car park. ‘Is there another way out of here,’ he asked, ‘other than the way we came in?’
    ‘Of course,’ Mendham assured him. ‘Health and safety made sure of that.’
    ‘Where?’ Sean rushed him.
    ‘Two fire exits,’ Mendham explained. ‘One on the west side leading to a stairwell that leads into the main lobby.’ Sean immediately dismissed it in his mind. ‘And one on the east side that opens onto a small stairwell that leads up to the side of the building.’
    ‘Directly to the outside?’ Sean seized on it.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘To the car park?’
    ‘Close,’ Mendham confirmed. ‘Turn right and it’s only a few yards away. Turn left and it’s not far to the Southbank.’
    ‘That exit’s not covered by CCTV,’ Benton added fuel to the flames in Sean’s head. ‘We checked it in case the shooter ran past that way, but there’s no camera. Closer to the car park there is and at the corner of the Southbank, but not covering the fire exit. We picked him up running past the camera covering the car park corner, but not the one on the Southbank. We just assumed he knew where the camera was and avoided it.’
    ‘He’s not on the camera,’ Sean spelt it out, ‘because he never passed it. He came in here early in the morning when there was no one here and dressed in the boiler suit and balaclava before taking the revolver he’d already selected, and loading it with his homemade bullet. Do you keep records of ammunition usage?’ he asked Mendham.
    ‘Good Lord, no,’ he answered. ‘I just keep an eye on it and order in some more if supplies are looking low.’
    ‘He probably knew that,’ Sean guessed, ‘he could easily have taken a few cartridges without anyone being any the wiser.’ Sean headed east across the basement, past yet more racks of clothing and other props, followed by Benton and Mendham until they reached the fire exit. He pushed the bar down and eased the door open waiting for the sound of an alarm, but there was none. The cold air from outside rushed over him, and he imagined it hitting the shooter – catching him by surprise, quickening his already shortening breath, making his already trembling hand shake even more.
Did you almost turn back?
he asked the ghost of the killer.
Did being outside – the shock of the cold – almost bring you to your senses, almost make you go back inside, return the suit, the gun, the balaclava and forget the whole thing? But you couldn’t, could you? Your hate and jealousy were too strong.
    He stepped outside and immediately saw the small stairwell Mendham had described. He climbed the first two steps and peered over the top of the flight. It gave him the perfect view of the car park, while affording him near perfect concealment. He could see the empty space where Sue Evans used to park her car – the forensic team long since packed up and gone, taking her car with them. ‘Then he came out here,’ he picked up his commentary, ‘and he waited –