Backup arrives in the form of a dozen officers armed with shotguns and pistols barely three minutes later. They burst into the coroner’s office and then rush headlong down the corridor for the cordoned coroner’s lab. When they crash into the room they find Detective Sovel Bhura propped up against some storage cabinets, his head low as he coughs, one hand cradling a wound to his side.
“Detective!” One officer exclaims prior to rushing over to offer Sovel aid. He is quickly followed by two more. The remainder of the officers in the room, of which there are five, swiftly sweep their raised weapons about the space searching for potential threats. They find none, though there are two skinless bodies in the lab laid out on the floor. They look relatively fresh. The officers turn their noses up in disgust but otherwise manage to keep their stomach contents where they belong.
“Are you OK?” One of the officers asks Sovel. The wounded detective nods, his breathing heavy as does so but other than that he utters no words. “What happened?” Another of the trio gathered around him asks as the third radios for a medical team.
“The killer, they got the drop on me. They were waiting. I took a bullet to the side. Then they ran off at the sound of the sirens. You guys saved my life turning up when you did.” Its evident Sovel is in pain as the words pass his lips. He gulps every so often and struggles to get words out without needing to pause to suck down another breath.
“Don’t worry; we’ll get you to a hospital detective. They’ll patch you up.” One of the officers says with a reassuring tone of voice meant to ease Sovel’s potential worries and panic. He certainly looks pale, his brow covered in sweat, his hand bathed in deep red crimson seemingly from the wound.
“Did you see the killers face?” One of the other officers asks after a time. There is a pause. It lasts a good few seconds but following it Sovel raises his head, slowly, only to reveal a smile.