by D Attrill
No sign of a body below.
Wildly frustrated, he shunted himself away and back around. On facing the fire stairs, he saw the gate at the bottom had been opened. It made for instinct. He threw himself up the steps, striding four at a time to the top.
Pounding his way along the intermediate balcony, he held his breath whilst having another look round him. Becky was nowhere to be seen below or above. Taking off again, he bounced his way up the rest of the steps. He reached the roof quicker than he’d rather have; he squinted at the thought of stumbling across her body on entry.
Garstone heaved himself over the top ledge. He took a heavy breath.
There was only a bulky vent immediately in front... but no Becky.
He toured the sides of the structure with precaution, peering slowly round. The air around him was absolutely dead, with an invasion of mist descending. Only the countless rooftops and the sole dominating skyscraper sliced up the skyline. As he stepped right onto the roof, the murk served up an additional shape. A slim figure, with shoulder length hair and a cardigan, was standing at the far end, facing away from him. She appeared to have her arms folded.
“Becky!”
He called to the figure
She turned round.
“I don’t think you’ve got the right girl, love.”
There was a click of cordite-encrusted metal.
Garstone found himself facing into the barrel of a just-discernible pistol.
Leyton had been a sworn loather of heights right up to now - a police helicopter being her one exception - and today that was sadly not an option. That aside, the gruelling climb, up a 120ft tower crane allowed her a sole peace of mind - it gave her higher ground over their target. Finding the borrowed jumpsuit a real struggle to fit over the top of her armour, she eventually succumbed to leaving it unbuttoned and disguised it with her high-vis vest.
She let both generations of the Armitage family go first. Trembling, Leyton took each step very precisely. Although the rain had been and gone overnight, the steel was slippery and wet. She could not risk rubbing her hand dry against face as she normally would; her cheap fake moustache just held already. Taking each breath like a blow into a trumpet, she upped her pace slightly behind Armitage, who was already eighteen rungs above.
“Are you OK there ma’am?” He had obviously noticed.
“You just to remember, it’s twenty steps, then to the other side, then twenty again.” Des was calling down. “I used to count the cats eyes like that when I was cycling up the Woodhead Pass. Got you up to the top of that terrible hill, in no time.”
“What dad means is don’t look around, just straight up.” Armitage was nodding down at Leyton. He continued to climb behind his father as she clawed her way along beneath.
“Fuckin’ hell!” Armitage suddenly went.
Not following his own advice he’d seemingly risked a peep across the street himself. Whatever he’d seen obviously numbed Armitage into letting go. He instantly dropped two steps, getting hold again just before landing on Leyton’s head.
“Leroy, what on earth?” she covered her head.
“It’s Greg. He’s got on the roof wi’ her.”
“Oh my God!”
Urging Des to lead as fast as possible, Leyton shinned up behind them while leaving her fears at the bottom. She let Armitage help her into the cabin at the top before capturing view of whatever had unfolded below.
Two figures could be seen on the top of the restaurant roof, four storeys above Cambridge St. The one standing closest to the edge, was carrying a distinctive bundle in her arm, in the other something Leyton still didn’t want to believe. A young male police officer, one she very well recognised, was standing close to the rear rooftop vent, taking very slow steps towards the other.
Reaching for her radio, she was stopped by Armitage.
“Can’t use them in here, ma’am.” he cautioned her “They interfere wi’ controls and stuff.”
“It’s OK, no problem." Des had sat down already, and was lifting a cordless control panel onto his lap. “I haven’t turned the thing on yet.”
With a nod from her DC, she tried every officer she could, who might be listening.
“Chris! Will!” she called. “Come in! Where are you? Are you still inside the building?”
“No, ma’am… we’re outside again.” PC Hall responded first. “Have taken up position outside Rabersons, alongside two other units.”
“DC Garstone has got himself in trouble.” Leyton hadn’t time to deal with the fact they’d disobeyed her orders “He is on the roof with suspect… target still possibly armed. Do you think you can send half a dozen further officers across? He could do badly with some backup.”
“Unable to move from this position, ma’am. Suspect has weapon aimed at us - if one of us moves, she’ll likely guess where we’re heading.”
“Great...”
She watched Garstone who was now stood stock still opposite Fiona. The girl was swinging her gun arm between the officers below and back at him every few seconds, she could see.
“I’ll have to find a way down and round the other side.” she looked across to the City Hall, beyond the end of Rabersons. “If I can get a bus or taxi to take me behind the buildings and back in behind Greg, we could gradually sneak some cavalry up.”
“Hey dad, you know that heap of rope you said you kept up here…?” Armitage seemed to be having another thought.
“I think you might be standing in it.” Leyton could see the coil lying round his feet. Armitage stepped out and was studying it.
“What will you be wanting with that?” Desmond asked.
“Tha remembers how much I weigh?” Armitage asked instead of answering his father’s question. He then turned round to Leyton” You do, don’t you ma'am?"
“I think I do...well...” Leyton was totally perplexed at the question.
“How much were it last time you asked?”
“Sixteen just, just over, at my best guess…”
She suddenly began to catch his drift.
He was studying the crane jib, also lifting up the rope as he did.
“Tell me you’re having a joke, Leroy Armitage.”
(iii)
Garstone stayed almost frozen to the spot, trying only to move the slightest inch. Standing on the edge of the roof, Fiona had her weapon aimed his way for two minutes without turning.
“I take it you’re saying there's more than one fruitcake amongst us up here?2 He began conversation casually. He hoped Fiona would share the mutual wit if he were to mock his own gullibility right in front of her.
He strained a couple of short steps further. His however, didn’t seem either short or silent enough for her to ignore. Through the cold November wind, he heard the barrel clicking.
“Keep right where you are. They're gonna be baggin' yer brains up down the bottom there, otherwise.”
She sidestepped along the edge, her weapon still aimed at Garstone's face. She thrusted it at him. Just at that moment, her child began crying again.
“Guns and babies, pet, not a great combination.”
Garstone said it, simply on impulse.
“Nor are nosey police bastards AND MY OWN BUSINESS.”
Fiona yelled before turning her barrel back towards the street. She was still glaring back at him through her gruesome bulleted eyes.
“So why no get back on your walkie-talkie, tell all your wee copper chummies to back the fuck away?”
She turn the gun hurriedly back on him.
Garstone felt at his vest for his radio. He found to his horror only an empty pad on his breast pocket where it would have lived.
“Fuck me flying...” he remembered he’d swapped it with a spare…which he’d in turn left on the bar. Billington had probably claimed it as his own, by now.
Fiona appeared uninterested, having directed her face back to below. She obviously had patience with this particular officer.
Garstone watched, taking slow steps ahead, tw
o inches with each foot. As he got to three metres of her, he saw her moving her gun arm.
“Maybe you’d like to talk,” He assured himself that certain procedures remained harmless.
“Talk?” curling round to him, Fiona was squinting her eyes. “Talk about what?”
“Anything.” Garstone gestured to her. He tried to look open to ideas. “Perhaps you’ve still got something up your grill about the ol’ referendum, eh?
“What?” Fiona looked as if that gun would fallout of her hand, the way she cracked up with laughter. “Why ‘dye think I want anything to do with that place anymore? I got haf those bastards after my arse, now.”
And your boyfriend too. I didn't get chance to let you know, but Tom survived. Don't know how long it'll be until he's up to driving his moll about town, though.”
“Aww, ain't you such a brave wee boy, wanting to wind me up, such?” She aimed the gun straight at him. Her angle looked more that of a qualified sniper, than a crazy young single mother with some random cop in her way.
“I've still one left in her.”
“Really? I thought you’d treated us to the whole eleven.”
“You know that's real impressed me Mr Garstone. I didnae think a two-bit Detective Constable ever got hold o’ a shooter. How do you know so much?”
“Enough to convince me that’s the same one that sent Paula Radcombe on her way.”
“Who’s she?”
“What, you don’t remember her? The poor defenceless lady you and your boyfriend dumped on a motorway one dark night?”
“She wis in the way. I would hae let her go, only she’d said she’d already got the pigs onto me. They ‘d recognise me right away, wid they had booked me.”
You hadn’t applied your disguise yet: you were still blonde. Garstone swallowed the revelations as they surfaced, fearing of an aggressive comeback from her. He decided quickly, to change his direction of tact.
“How’s about you tell me what happened with Mr Roundtree? Was he also in the way? Or maybe was he a ‘wee tattler’ instead? Well? Was he?”
“That wis an understatement, aye.” Fiona snorted, openly. “You know him, he couldnae attend to his own business; no' him nor his wife. Fuckin' nosey bastards, baith the two of them. Might have even been takin' the bin out, he's watching me from his windae. I ever come home later than five, the afternoon, he's asking where I been tae that time. Mind you, I wid have let just that sort of thing go, only he's started phoning up on me now as well.
“I've got to be honest, pet - if I heard my neighbour was trying to force her nanny to eat dog food, I might have considered dialling. Christ, yeah...that brings me onto something. How come while you saw fit to bump off all these others, you still let Becky live and breathe?”
“Her, she wish a great wee girl, I always give her that. Just a bonny great lass. It's just... .” Tears began to disfigure her eyeliner “It wis just, that I saw Becky was starting doing a lot o' the same things that June had. Toys, she moved them about... she said it was in case Izzy might ever have an accie. I flipped also when she walked in, watching me feeding. I shouldn't had scared her away, I didn't mean it, just for me...it wis the same from before, all over again. Interfering bastards snooping all over me, the same they did so many times in the past.”
“I thought you and Becky had got things sorted between you after a couple of days or so.” Garstone attempted to listen, while also staring at a sudden dark patch that had appeared, hanging low in the sky behind her. It could be a cloud - the rain was already muscling its way in through the mist.
“I thought you got things sorted after a day or two.” He tried to keep the conversation up.
“I did, myself.” Fiona sobbed furiously “Only she repays me by keeping bringing her mate Leyton round. I came tae realise then, what she was… another o’ those stinking bureaucrats.”
“Social workers?”
“Same as June:, aye. She was eyeing me, my home, my bairn up and down. Both had tae be in it together, and Becky, she wis doing nothing to stop her nosing. Comes out afterwards, her friend’s actually a filthy wee copper...alike you...alike all YOU BASTARDS DOWN THERE!”
She had turned the barrel straight on top of the cops down below. “What you all fuckin’ looking at?” she was screaming, she sounded more than deadly serious about squeezing that trigger.
”No please! No, don’t!” Garstone pleaded. “No, Fiona, please…don’t! Don’t do it!”
Treading closer forward, he reached out aiming touch her arm. Suddenly his foot made friction with a tiny bit of gritstone.
Fiona abruptly swung round, routing the gun straight at Garstone's face.
“I said DINNAE COME NO CLOSER!”
Her thumb could be heard to click the chamber.
Nothing followed.
He opened his eyes to see Fiona slamming the gun down with fury.
“I might as well take this off now then.” he taunted her by undoing his vest.
“Dinnae risk it dearie.” she was still thrusting her weapon at him. “I’ve another wee clip under here. I can easy load it before you’ve chance.”
Garstone saw the dark shape so close it was almost upon her.
The shape was now that of a human, in fact impeccably reminiscent of DC Armitage.
“LEROY! NO! LOOK OUT!”
Fiona snapped round only to be bowled into by Armitage, who was strapped to a gigantic moving hook. Both baby and gun were sent flying high out of her arm, as she was knocked backwards to the floor.
Garstone leapt, diving across through mid-air, American football style.
His arms opened like scissors to shut round Izzy.
He caught the bundle and rolled over on his back, keeping the toddler from touching the floor all he could.
Crying began. He looked down at Izzy as he stood up clutching him tight.
Lifting to see the face he feared the absolute worst. A petrified though undamaged face gazed up.
He saw Fiona lying there, looking evidently disoriented. She was trying to crawl on her front, seemingly not managing much, under whatever injury she’d suffered.
“Greg!” Armitage was calling “Gi’ us him!”
“You can’t take a baby back across!” Garstone suspected what his friend's follow-up stunt intended.
“Don’t have to mate!” Armitage was playing a finger towards the upper adjoining roof. Two figures were visible, over the top, both in police uniform.
“Oh my...” Garstone allowed himself to run after Armitage, who was still moving with the crane, and placed Izzy into his wide open arms.
Seeing that the swing radius was going to make the upper roof, Garstone stepped back, and watched the baby being delivered to safety.
He was almost tormented by tears. He gave his colleagues a colossal thumbs up as they took the tot away.
GLACK!
Garstone fell knee first to the ground as the back of something sharp, hard and metallic struck his neck from behind. He momentarily blacked out with pain, though he still sensed the subsequent thump, as he hit the floor.
Lying on his back in agony, as he felt the wet of blood behind his collar, he looked up to see Fiona towering spread-eagled over him, clutching the gun by its barrel.
“Just because it’s out of ammo, it disnae mean it’s no use any more.”
She was bent down towards Garstone, her face in a twisted sideways stare.
“What are you going to do about it then?” Garstone spluttered, trying to get to his knees.
“You know...I honestly hate having to kill a cute wee guy like yourself.” Fiona said “Difficult bit is though… I told you I preferred even numbers. So, five-and-a-half murders - sounds like I’ve got a wee problem there.” She grabbed Garstone by the hair, kicking him. “Say, if you let me have back my bairn again, I’ll just paralyse you from yer neck down, then we’re done.”
She struck him hard with the butt again.
Garstone felt the gun almost break against his head,
as opposed to the other way round it could have ended.
“D...d..don’t....no, please.”
He pleaded, taking a violent kick to the abdomen from one of her evil studded boots. The blood finally made its way up, pouring from his mouth.
“Thought you’d enjoy a wee taster, upfront.” Teasing Garstone she circled him then stood, gearing up to give him another gun-butting.
“Got anything to say?”
All Garstone could do was spit letters amongst saliva and blood.
“Speechless? Right...”
Drawing back her fist, Fiona stepped slowly forward. She towered savagely over his head.
“I always thought you wis one of the nicer cops to have ever got under my skin. Now instead, you turn out as a two-bit bastard cradle snatcher!”
She bludgeoned Garstone with the butt brutally harder than ever.
“Any more questions? Say, you’d better hurry it up if you wannae ask them me. You’re almost beyond speaking.”
Garstone somehow detected this might be the end. It would scarcely make any difference if he were to finally touch on a little dangerous ground.
“Who... was Fio...Fiona...McGro...gan?”
“Fiona McGrogan?”
“Yeah... the re...al ...one.”
“She wis a good wee friend, she was. Straight uptae the second that she crossed the line.”
“So there is a sixth bullet to your belt?”
“Someone else took care of that bitch... someone who also had the bottle to turn themself in for it. Decent of them, eh, don't you think?”
“If you'd tried that one out, you first murdered June, they’d have handed you a fifteen minimum tariff, tied at the top with ribbons. Seeing how you ended up landing, you're lucky they down on fifty. I mean, at the end of the day, none of these people needed to die, did they?”
“You dinnae listen, do ye. Already said, nobody had to get kelt! Just other people; all these other people having to stick their nose where it isnae wanted! To talk outside o’ their liberty! To reap what wisnae theirs they sowed! To destroy my trust! Destroy me! Defy the motto of the McKinnerman Brotherhood. The lips that cannae stay together, are the ones that must be silenced forever.”
