by D Attrill
“So your experience does serve a purpose then?”
“Nah, just called in Burger King for us breakfast - next I heard this were going off.”
Leyton continued watching the scene freeze towards an uneventful climate. The girl had obviously declined full-stop from speaking or reasoning with any of them, be it cop or cleaner.
“If you fancy resuming your quest for grub, I may just join you.” Leyton resigned.
“Well there’s nowt else I’m needed for.” Armitage was looking round at the dying debacle.
“That’s my revenge on Greg taken care of, then.”
Sniggering at her own joke (due to the rarity of Leroy Armitage actually getting it) she followed him through the metropolis of mahogany padded chairs.
She commonly quibbled the logic in abandoning a vast arena of vending hatches for a fast food outlet several minutes’ walk away. Then again, she had an excuse to examine Meadowhall’s ‘spectacular' Christmas illuminations in greater detail. It was little surprise to see the lights already on at eleven o'clock in the morning. The only deviant was the ‘Santa’s Skelter’, a gigantic 30ft Christmas tree complete with a spiral slide - a ride was presumably a freebie for those exiting the grotto within.
“How on earth do they hold onto their presents whilst coming down that... Leroy?”
She found her DC dawdling round the Market St windows, seemingly disappointed, or embarrassed about something he’d spotted.
“Sorry ma’am but I think your ‘Whopper' might be out the window.”
Leyton’s eyes diverted, from the festive furnishings across to the women’s shoe retailers where Armitage’s ‘Burger King’ would have been.
“So how many trips ago was this then, Mr ‘geography’?”
“Want to try ‘Subway’?” Armitage pointed across “Haven’t any burgers, them, but there’s loads of other stuff they have, wi’ bread.”
“Would you mind being a darling and fetching me a Cajun-and-Mayo?” She moved a tenner across to him “Treat yourself, with the rest. I’m just popping in here for a couple of minutes... ohhh, bloody hell.”
Leyton was almost knocked flying to the side by a shape she or Armitage barely recognised. The pink/white slip of a smallish woman swept past behind. Leyton felt her own jacket lift with the turbulence.
“Yes, your medal awaits at the end.” Leyton muttered, indiscreetly.
“Jo?” A new voice spun her in the other direction. “Joanne Leyton? Is it you?”
Leyton really wished it wasn’t, right at this moment. She swung round, having to justify her blunders to another stranger.
“Hi, I thought it was you.” said the figure standing exactly where Armitage just had.
She was a woman of similar-looking age to Leyton herself; stood draped in a dark blue cardigan and a tan/orange tie-dyed dress that distinctively obscured her shoes. She smiled as widely as her face allowed, appearing to recognise Leyton as if it were yesterday.
“Becky… my god. What are you doing in Sheffield?”
Leyton was compelled to cry, on finding her former Cambridge roommate Rebecca Grayson standing there, as large as life. Her ever-youthful angel face, was a sight she hadn’t had the privilege of seeing since their year four Sociology leaving night at London’s Stratosphere Bar. The eleven-plus years since had seemingly failed to transform her from the flowery, Bohemian she best remembered, although her curly auburn hair hid her forehead much less than back at the time. Both sunk into each other’s arms in an embrace that lasted minutes more than seconds. Neither had expected they’d end up crossing paths again til way past fifty.
“The day would never come... ” Leyton became more charged with the emotion of the event.
“Nor has the answer to my question. So what does bring you to Yorkshire then?”
“Work, mostly. Also the need for a change of scene.”
Leyton could easily understand that. The last time she'd seen Becky, she'd been babysitting for over two years. She had originally opted for a gap year to get over the strains of Uni; in doing so, squandering opportunities that Leyton had straightaway taken on graduation. Finally bothering to apply, Becky had found out the hard way that sociology degrees didn't get her around too much in rural Wrangleford, and in being reluctant to spread her wings, she was left with either wiping babies bottoms or bar room tables for a living. Paying for her naivety to this dag, obviously, she had eventually left the countryside for the lights of the city.
“Seems you’ve achieved the latter successfully, at least… oh, hold on a second.” She paused Becky as a radio call rippled through her coat “Yes, Will, what have you got ready to embarrass me with this time?”
“Ma’am, the girl’s kicked off again.”
“Kicked off?”
“Kicked one of the Surface Saviours.”
“Who?”
“The cleaning contractors. She got away before we could give chase.”
“What was she wearing? I didn’t get a proper look, back there.” Leyton hated having to talk like this in front of an old friend.
“Pink shell-suit top, blue denim leggings. Still had child with her.”
“Oh Christ!”
It was an exact description of the same human tornado that had nearly taken her nose off moments ago. Leyton apologised to Becky before scurrying off towards the south plaza. She must now have felt her re-appearance had been a mirage.
“She’ll be on her way to the car park, ma’am!” WPC Stannings cut into the commentary.
“I don’t think so, Amy, there’s no way out through here from what I’m hearing.”
Leyton found she had landed in another circular plaza, surrounded by ‘Starbucks’, ‘Primark’ and ‘BHS’ amongst other big names she saw more than enough of daily.
“Any clues?” she asked Stannings, hopefully. “You know this place like the back of your hand compared to me.”
“Staff exit, beneath the stairs. Sixty metres on your left.”
Leyton scanned her eyes past the cavernous glass store fronts until she clocked a couple of white double doors hidden beneath the stairs.
“And so she disappeared.”
She found herself at a dead end, in both meanings of the word. The girl could have as likely doubled back to the top and away, or taken an unauthorised thoroughfare via one of those cavernous clothes stores. If she had chosen the fire doors though she’d have done so remarkably unnoticed - there were no signs of the doors having been opened just seconds ago and if so, it would have hardly been seen by too many people.
She trusted a voice from her heart. Choosing one of the white doors at random, she made sure few people were watching then crept in round. She ended up in a cold, concrete lobby, lined with doorways.
Leyton checked each single one down the side, seeing if any were open that shouldn’t be.
“Any luck, ma’am?” Stannings asked again.
“She’s made it further off limits than I anticipated.”
Leyton turned back towards the mall.
“I should just leave this to Secur…oh, hang on…”
Leyton left off.
A figure had appeared right in front.
She barely had time to register the blond face, and bright pink top, before a swift right hook came up.
Leyton staggered against the wall as she nursed her near-dislocated jawbone. She just blinked a glimpse of the girl as she disappeared back out through the door.
It was enough to notice the baby was no longer on her person.
This read to Leyton like a book: the young woman was clearly staring more trouble down the gun than first guessed, without assaulting a police officer to add to it.
Taking her hand away and also relieved not to find blood, she swung out through the doors and straight upstairs to the mezzanine.
“Ma’am... you there?” That annoying young voice was onto her case once more.
“All’s ok, thanks Amy. I just had an argument with the doors.”
�
�Where are you now?”
“Same as the last time you asked, albeit twenty feet further up.”
“But she’s still on the ground floor!”
“Christ, she could be making back to the food court!”
Leyton knew how this person was playing it - all and sundry in a uniform are chasing her arse along the bottom; aware that she’s cornered, she conceals the baby in some secret hidey hole and takes off back, believing she’s lost us.
“Shall I have the other end set some sort of trap?”
“Other end? Er, Amy, where exactly are you monitoring all the action from?”
“Lifts outside Debenhams.”
“Oh shit.” Leyton never heard Stannings mention taking up position down the other end of the shopping centre “Ok go for it, but don’t take her on unaccompanied. Just keep her where you can see her.”
Hoping that she would listen, Leyton wove her way left and right along the upper arcade, checking every possible shop window along the way. The person she pursued was no longer just a young single mum with a bundle: more an individual whose motive might prove suicidal.
On arriving back in the food court she needed to act fast. She continued to peer over the railings, on her way across the restaurant areas, keeping constant view of all movement down below. With no sign of her suspect again yet, staff activity had also resumed to normal.
She headed towards the toilets, tempted to put her reserve plan into practice. Once there she stood at a respectable distance, opposite the door to the Ladies and as doing so kept her radio visible as to assure the public. She peered discreetly through, each time it opened. A few reactions of muted hostility from customers coming and going still came her way, despite her efforts.
Risking a further venture forward, she pinned the door open using a nearby mop bucket. She got glimpses of various backs at the basins: nothing either pink or blonde could be picked out as yet.
“Spilt summat, duck?” enquired a voice behind.
Leyton turned to find a cleaning attendant taking her bucket back.
“No, I thought there was...” she tried to apologise.
“Ma’am!!! It’s the ones below you!” Stannings yelled up the radio.
“Excuse me two minutes…” she borrowed the mop, politely “You’ll get it straight back.”
Leyton tore off round before the cleaner could pucker up a word to object.
She dived down the escalator and banked, biker-like into the bottom lobby. Unable to picture herself acting like this, as a respectable police officer, she began as she had upstairs by watching from the fire doors.
Still not one person in pink was to be seen.
She clenched the mop handle, ready to break it.
A last idea tempted her to continue straying along Garstone’s cavalier lines.
Seeing no one was heading out at that moment, she pinned the mop across the toilet doorway.
“You gonna tell me what’s up?” the attendant had caught up with her again “No disrespect but what you’re doing’s breaching health and safety.”
“I think its mental health and safety in the case of this one.”
“You after her who were making a scene in the Oasis? She’s long since legged it, her.” The attendant’s slight hobble on her left leg, gave away that she might have been the one who the girl had reportedly kicked.
“Well my officer just told me otherwi...se.”
Leyton’s stare now stayed on the door. At the second-to-end sink, a fluorescent pink elbow had just peeped into view. After the two elderly women alongside moved away to the handriers the other also turned, directly across into a cubicle.
“Payback time, I think.”
Leyton wielded the mop, and threw caution to the wind. The door she had disappeared into was a little ajar, and also still moving a little. Leyton stood outside, holding her breath as tightly as her weapon. The occupant was obviously doing something other than just answering nature. Once all became quiet, Leyton listened.
The door opened right at that second, revealing a catastrophe of blonde hair and bright pink nylon beneath.
“Right you, turn around.” Leyton barred her exit.
The figure in front obeyed, standing slowly upright.
“Erm, aren’t you a bit taller since we last met?” Leyton noticed she’d swollen to six foot three inches in height.
“Depends how long ago that was.” sounded a reply that certainly wasn’t female.
“Sorry.”
“No need, darling.” replied the rather bemused party, her lipstick looking only half-applied. “We're both in the right side, aren’t we?”
Leyton left her to it. Turning to notice that two other startled septuagenarians had seen the lot, she showed her badge as fast as she could. Luckily they seemed convinced.
“Ma’am! Back of the cinemas!” Stannings updated her again, not a minute too soon
“I’m onto her.”
Putting her embarrassment on hold, Leyton gave back the mop and then grabbed a pair of security personnel along the way past
They stormed the two sets of atrium doors, straight into the outside courtyard.
Jumping over the ornamental wall, Leyton found herself looking across the river Don.
She heard distant brakes screeching.
“This way, luv.” She was summoned by one of the security staff.
Following them across a bridge, she could see a white Vauxhall Corsa stopping up at the pedestrian crossing.
As she came into full view of the road, Leyton had just enough time to catch the small blonde figure that boarded it by the passenger side.
It was too difficult to make out faces though the dark tinted windows.
She sprinted over the crossing, only for the Corsa to accelerate off towards the motorway ahead.
It soon became totally swallowed by the traffic around it.
Leyton and both guards were left standing on the road, less so appalled as they were mystified.
(iii)
Leyton backed onto the pavement as parps sounded behind.
She shot back across the bridge, shouting into her radio.
“Will! Bring the car round. It’s probable she’s headed for the M1.
Leyton ran down the delivery road, towards the front of Marks & Spencer.
Right then, a Vauxhall Vectra came roaring round the corner, right up to her.
“I never knew your name was Will.” Leyton said as she leapt into the passenger side.
“He’s already on it, ma'am.” Garstone explained.
He reversed and turned right towards the roundabouts.
“Amy set him on ahead, hoping to block her off. Vehicle’s a white Corsa, I gather.”
“Ignore previous, ma’am.” said Thompson up the line “Suspect believed to have selected preceding exit instead. Likely headed towards Ecclesfield.”
“I say, aren’t there such things as cam…”
Being pointed to a yellow cover over the top of the nearest lights quietened her.
“We’ve got a monster-sized rewiring going, right until on until January.”
Thompson, their traffic specialist, explained, having heard “Affects all junctions feeding Meadowhall and the motorway. State of the art new system; basically it’s combined speed and traffic signal surveillance. The awkward part is the driver you’re after appears to know all about it, as well.”
“So we are after a vehicle we can’t chase by registration?”
“Unless it helps that hardly anyone would drive a fifteen-year- old Vauxhall Corsa around at that speed.
“You get her told mate.”
Garstone was thanking him.
Moving off, he tore uphill, past the Park And Ride and over a railway bridge. Turning right, the road took them downhill towards a hectic crossroads, shadowed by terraced streets behind, and an impenetrable queue in front.
As they let traffic come across, sirens also cut through the flow, from the eastern entry.
Leyton recog
nised Thompson’s unit pelting round the other cars and across.
She saw Garstone react by readying his indicators .
“Greg, we can’t do a left here.”
She noticed the sign beneath the lights.
Her subordinate showed little regard as usual, leering left and uphill before she could say any more.
“Bloody he-e-e-llll.”
Leyton worked loose the radio
“Will, where are we?”
“Fife Street, heading uphill into Wincobank. Car apparently seen leaving Meadowhall Road, sighted just now, travelling northwestward, three hundred yards in front.
Garstone was already trying to get up speed behind him. Unfortunately, Fife St’s narrow, terraced incline allowed scarcely more than a single vehicle’s width each way.
As it widened slightly over halfway up, they could see Thompsons’s lights fade over the horizon. A crossing hatchback then cut them out of view.
“Christ, that’s her! Will, mate, she’s beneath you!”
The assailant appeared to know a few tricks from the book.
Garstone checked for oncomings and then accelerated to the next right turn.
Tailing Thompson took him down through a plush residential road, turning gradually until he found himself swooping across Fife St again, up into another. A further left turn took him right round back in himself.
This area of Wincobank seemed seemed to be like a butterfly-like amalgam of avenues, centred by the steep long corridor of Fife St cutting through.
The rollercoaster-like amalgam of ups and downs, was still obviously to Garstone’s liking, going by his increased ‘superhero’ antics over the top of every crest he drove, although his over-gratuitous zigzagging through traffic gates started to make short work of Leyton’s stomach.
“Where the hell’s Leroy got to?” she had finally had enough.
She tried contacting their missing cavalier. “Hotel Papa Five-Seven-one, come in. Leroy, are you at all in on the action?”
“Ma’am. Come in.” She just got Thompson’s voice instead again. “Suspect sighted at top, travelling in a clockwise direction. Currently on Standon Rd.”
