Gun Street Girl by Adrian McKinty Read Free Book Online Page A

Fletcher was doing the same thing, but with less obvious enthusiasm.
    â€œThere were no signs of a forced entry at the Kelly home and Michael Kelly has been missing from the house since the incident. We have, of course, alerted traffic, customs, border patrol, and the army,” Crabbie continued.
    He passed around photocopies of what turned out to be Michael Kelly’s RUC file. “Teenage convictions for joyriding and embezzlement,” Crabbie said.
    The joyriding wasn’t terribly interesting, but the embezzlement was a sophisticated little scheme to steal money from his school ski trip fund, only rumbled because Michael Kelly’s co-conspirator had blabbed. Charges dropped, of course, after Mr. Kelly had contributed money for the school’s new gym . . . 
    Constable Lawson, adorably, put his hand up in the air.
    â€œYes?” Crabbie asked him.
    â€œHow many bullets did the killer or killers fire?”
    â€œAccording to a preliminary forensic report three nine-millimeter rounds. All now recovered and entered into evidence. We can’t, of course, tell if it was Mr. Kelly’s gun because we haven’t yet recovered the weapon. On an initial examination we think that the father was shot first, followed seconds later by the mother.”
    â€œWhy do you think that?” Lawson asked.
    Crabbie passed over the crime scene photographs. “Take a look, he’s still watching the TV. Hasn’t moved a muscle. She has partially turned to look at the shooter.”
    Now Constable Fletcher put her hand in the air.
    â€œYes?” Crabbie asked.
    â€œSo, it looks like Michael Kelly did it?” she asked uncertainly.
    â€œWe can’t make that assumption at this stage.”
    â€œBut if there’s no forced entry, it’s his father’s gun, and he’s gone missing . . .” Constable Fletcher continued.
    â€œYes, Michael Kelly would seem to be the obvious suspect. We’ll need to find out if he has a girlfriend or other close friends that he may be hiding with. Guest houses and hotels have also been alerted.”
    â€œHow long a head start would he have if he did the killing?” Lawson asked.
    â€œPatho estimates time of death at just before midnight, so he could have five hours on us before the alerts went out.”
    â€œPlenty of time to get a ferry over to Scotland,” I said.
    â€œWhy not just go to the airport?” Fletcher asked.
    â€œFor a flight you need ID, to cross the border into the Irish Republic you need ID,” Crabbie explained. “But to get the ferry to Scotland you just pay your money and hop on.”
    Fletcher still didn’t quite grasp it. “But he still could have flown somewhere. No one knew to stop him until this morning.”
    â€œThey keep records on computer. We’ve told them his name. If he’d crossed the border or taken a flight we would know about it by now,” Lawson explained.
    â€œI get it. So he either took the ferry or he’s still in Northern Ireland,” she said.
    â€œExactly. There were four ferries he could have taken last night before the alarm went out. A one a.m. to Stranraer, a two-thirty a.m. to Cairnryan, a four a.m. to Stranraer, and a five-thirty a.m. to Cairnryan.”
    â€œSo he could be anywhere in the middle of Scotland by now,” Fletcher said.
    â€œHe could be anywhere in the middle of Britain,” Crabbie said. “But the alert’s gone out for him and his car. So maybe we’ll get lucky.”
    â€œLawson, you look troubled,” I said.
    â€œI don’t know . . . it, er, doesn’t feel quite right,” Lawson said.
    â€œWhat doesn’t feel right?” I asked.
    Lawson’s cheeks reddened. “Well, if you’re going to shoot your dad after months of provocation you’re going to have it out with him first, aren’t you? You’re going to yell at the bastard and tell