Deadly Obsession

by OMJ Ryan

  ‘Shit!’ he said to himself, trying remain calm as the car began to follow him.

  On the radio, the classical music rose, building towards its crescendo. It only added to his anxiety and sense of foreboding. ‘I can’t hear myself think!’ he growled, and switched it off.

  Checking his mirrors, he saw the patrol car drawing closer. His mind raced. Had they recognised the van? Were they following him? Had someone seen him stab Sims in the car park and called it in? Or was it as simple as the patrol car was needed back in the direction it had just come from? He checked the speedometer; he was doing 55mph on a stretch where the limit was 60. Not too fast, and not too slow.

  ‘Come on. Pass me, pass me,’ he muttered under his breath as the patrol car sat behind him, matching his speed.

  He began to consider what he would do if they did try to stop him. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind he would finish what he started – no matter what it took. He considered trying to outrun them, but he knew full well there was little chance he could lose a virtually brand-new police car in this old banger. There was the possibility he could charm his way out of it. Had he been dressed as Dr Anderson, he’d have stood a chance, but tonight, dressed and looking as he did, would make it all the more difficult.

  The blue lights of the patrol car began flashing in his mirror, followed by a single whoop of the siren, indicating they wanted him to pull over.

  ‘Fuck!’ he yelled as he contemplated making a run for it once again. But he knew that would only attract more cops, which was the last thing he wanted.

  A sudden sense of clarity, followed by calm, washed over him. He knew exactly what he had to do. He began to slow the van down before pulling it off onto the side of the road, where he stopped.

  He watched in the left wing mirror as one of the officers approached his passenger door, then tapped on the window.

  Gabe leaned across and wound it down. ‘I wasn’t speeding was I, officer? I’m sure this is a sixty on here?’

  The officer stared at him, his expression deadpan. ‘Is this your vehicle?’

  ‘No. It’s my dad’s, actually. You might know him. He used to be one of your lot,’ Gabe said, with forced levity.

  ‘Can I see your license?’

  ‘Er, I don’t have it with me, I’m afraid. It’s at home.’

  ‘I see, sir. Would you mind showing me what you’ve got in the back, please?’

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  ‘It’s just procedure.’

  Reluctantly, Gabe got out of the van and, a moment later, arrived at the rear doors, where the first policeman had been joined by his female partner. Both officers carried torches in their right hands, and each did a double take when Gabe’s full appearance became clear under the car’s headlights.

  ‘Open up, please,’ said the male officer.

  ‘There’s nothing in here,’ said Gabe.

  ‘Well, you won’t mind us having a look then, will you?’ said the female officer.

  Gabe shrugged and turned his back to them as he grabbed the door handle with his left hand and began opening the door slowly. His right hand was positioned close to the knife he’d secreted in his jeans.

  At that moment, a call came over the radios attached to the officers’ chests. ‘Control to all units. Is anyone available to attend The White Horse pub in Woodford urgently?’

  The two officers glanced at each other before the female responded. ‘Control, this is Alpha Bravo Five. Go ahead.’

  ‘Alpha Bravo Five, Major Crimes urgently request a patrol team to monitor a suspect thought to be travelling in a dark Mark II Ford transit van. The driver is believed to be armed and very dangerous—’

  Before the operator had even finished his sentence, Gabe made his move. In a flash, he unleashed the large blade at lightning speed, thrusting it sideways into the male officer’s armpit, just above his stab vest. Screaming in agony, the man dropped to the ground like a stone. The female officer panicked as she fumbled for her taser, but was no match for Gabe as he rushed headlong at her, lifting her off her feet before slamming her down onto the bonnet of the car. Winded, she tried to call out, but was silenced as he rammed the back of her head onto the bonnet repeatedly until she stopped moving. Stepping back, he watched as she slipped off the car like a ragdoll and onto the road. Gabe turned back to the male officer, who was lying on the ground, moaning. The glow of the headlights cast a metallic sheen to the dark blood pooling around his torso. Wasting no time, Gabe opened the back doors to the van. Then, grabbing the male officer by his stab vest, he dragged him along the rough road, leaving a shimmering trail of blood in the dirt. The officer was pretty much a dead weight, and it took all of Gabe’s strength to pull him up and into the van. He laid him down next to Sims, who was now unconscious, but still breathing.

  Throughout the melee, both radios had continued to fire off messages. The operator sounded anxious, having received no further response from the pair. ‘Control to Alpha Bravo Five. Come in, Alpha Bravo Five.’

  Gabe removed the male officer’s radio and pushed it into his pocket as he jumped down from the back of the van. Closing the doors, he moved quickly back to the cab and, a moment later, screeched away at speed.

  His plan was on track and his final destination so close, he could taste it.

  56

  With Bovalino at the wheel, Phillips in the passenger seat and Jones in the back of the car, they raced towards Woodford at breakneck speed under blues and twos, the siren blaring as they snaked through the inner-city traffic. As soon as they reached the country lanes, they would go silent so as not to alert Anderson to the fact they were chasing him down.

  A few minutes prior, Townsend had called with an update on Sims who, it seemed, was no longer answering his phone. She was also still awaiting confirmation on which patrol team had been dispatched to The White Horse. Phillips’s impatience was mounting.

  Grabbing the car radio, she connected through to Control. ‘Control, this is Mike Charlie One en route to Woodford. Can I get an ID on the first responder team for The White Horse?’

  She waited a moment.

  ‘Mike Charlie One, this is Control. Alpha Bravo Five responded a few minutes ago, but have since gone silent. I’ve been trying to reach them, but nothing is coming back.’

  ‘What was their location when they responded?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘They didn't get chance to say. They were the first to answer the alert and asked for details, which I relayed. But then they didn’t reply.’

  ‘Is that normal for Alpha Bravo Five?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  Phillips’s gut told her this was somehow connected to Anderson.

  ‘Hang on, Mike Charlie One,’ said the operator. ‘I have something coming in from Alpha Bravo Five now.’

  ‘Patch them through to the open channel so I can talk to them,’ ordered Phillips.

  ‘Doing it now, Ma’am. You have control.’

  A moment later, a faint female voice came through the car speakers. ‘This is Alpha Bravo Five. Officers down, I repeat, officers down.’

  ‘Alpha Bravo Five, this is Detective Chief Inspector Phillips from Major Crimes. What is your location?’

  ‘One mile east of Woodford on Church Lane, Ma’am.’

  ‘And what is your situation?’

  ‘Officer Hastings has been stabbed in the chest and driven away in a van.’

  ‘What van?

  ‘I think it’s the one everyone’s been looking for. A Ford transit. We stopped it because it appeared suspicious and asked to look in the back. As we were in the process of doing that, the call came through from Control asking us to look out for the exact same vehicle. Before we could respond, the driver attacked us.’

  ‘Are you injured?’

  ‘Just a few cuts and bruises. He attacked Hastings first, so I went for my taser, but he was too fast. He beat me up and knocked me out.’

  ‘Can you describe your attacker?’

  ‘He ha
d a man’s voice but was dressed like a woman.’

  ‘Did he have a facial tattoo?’

  ‘Yes, a large star on his cheek.’

  Phillips closed the radio link for moment. ‘Shit. It’s Anderson.’

  ‘He can’t be thinking of killing a copper, surely?’ said Jones.

  ‘Can’t he?’ replied Phillips. ‘Like Harris said, he’s escalating with each kill.’

  Jones’s face fell. ‘Jesus, Guv. We can’t let that happen.’

  Phillips opened the radio link once more. ‘Alpha Bravo Five. Which way was the suspect heading when you stopped him?’

  ‘East.’

  ‘Ok. Stay where you are. We’re on our way. We’ll get a paramedic out to you as soon as we can.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ma’am, I tried to stop him, but he was too strong.’

  ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. In fact, you’re lucky to be alive.’

  Phillips turned her attention back to Control. ‘Control, we need all units to be on the lookout for the suspect’s vehicle. I want updates as they come in. Any units responding are to follow the suspect at a distance. They must under no circumstances engage. He is armed and highly dangerous. And, Control, I want helicopter support from X-Ray Eleven as well as the TFU, right now!’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  Phillips closed the radio link.

  ‘Where to, Guv?’ asked Bovalino.

  ‘Head towards Church Lane. He can’t have got too far from there in that shitty old van. I’m praying that once the helicopter is up, we can get a more accurate idea of his position.’

  Bovalino nodded, and hammered the accelerator.

  57

  He’d been expecting it, of course, having heard Phillips give the order twenty minutes ago over the copper’s radio. However, the police helicopter had arrived quicker than he’d planned for, the thunderous growl of the rotor blades pressing down on him from above, along with the white light from the enormous spotlight, which lit up the dark country roads like a football stadium. The helicopter was not his only companion, as two patrol cars followed, matching his considerable speed, tucked in behind his van. He’d seen this kind of thing on TV a hundred times before: a suspect involved in a high-speed chase with myriad police cars in pursuit, his every move being watched from the dark sky above. Tonight was different, though. He was aware of that. Thanks to Phillips’s desire to catch him herself, he’d heard with glee that every officer in the Greater Manchester Police had been ordered to maintain a safe distance. To watch, observe and follow, but not engage with the armed and highly dangerous suspect.

  He allowed himself a smile. He was almost done. All he had to do was stay ahead of the tenacious DCI Phillips for just another fifteen minutes or so, and he could complete his plan. Tonight, at last, he would cement his own notoriety whilst tearing down Bert Anderson’s oh-so-precious legacy. Just a little farther, he thought, checking his wing mirrors for any signs of Phillips and her team.

  As he raced through the winding country lanes, he could hear the two men rolling around in the back of the van, banging up against the metal sides with each turn. Despite his years as a doctor – which had included the occasional shift in accident and emergency – he had never had cause to deal with a stab wound, which meant that at this moment in time, he had no idea whether either Sims or the officer were still alive. Again, it didn’t matter. The plan had always been to kill Sims and another male victim, just like Dennehy had done. He’d got lucky with the cop, saving him the time it would have taken to hunt down a second man on the street.

  But was it really luck? Or was it his destiny?

  He smiled at the thought and accelerated, taking the van up to a trembling 73mph. Any higher and he risked the old girl falling apart. His mind was drawn to the closing scenes of The Blues Brothers, where the faithful old black and white sedan finally gave up the ghost, crumbling into pieces as Jake and Elwood jump out and make the final leg of their journey on foot in order to complete their mission from God. By complete contrast, he was certain his divine guidance came from somewhere entirely different.

  At last, he could see the signs for the old farm up ahead; only half a mile to go.

  His eyes were drawn now to the flashing lights of an unmarked car approaching from the rear at speed. He was pretty sure its siren was whooping, but if it was, it was drowned out by the noise of the helicopter overhead. Whoever was driving was determined to pass the patrol cars. Phillips. He turned up the police radio in the hope of an update on her position, then pressed the accelerator flat to the floor, pushing the van harder and harder.

  ‘Come on, girl! You can do it. Come on!’ he yelled as he edged closer to the gateway to the farmland.

  A few minutes later, he slammed on the brakes, then dragged the van off the road and onto the bumpy old track. He checked his mirrors as, behind him, the driver of the unmarked car expertly drifted before pulling off the road and through the gate at high speed. If it was Phillips behind the wheel, she was one hell of a driver.

  The helicopter’s spotlight followed him as he lurched up and down at speed along the rough terrain. At last he could see the final destination up ahead, resplendent in all its glory, bathed in white light from above. He smiled to himself as he listened to Phillips’s every word over the radio. She was desperate to know where he was headed, but not one of those idiot coppers had a single clue. Fighting the large, heavy steering wheel, he abruptly pulled the van off the track and into the field, then surged towards the huge drainage ditch up ahead. After the heavy rain of recent days, the ground was waterlogged and incredibly muddy. A few seconds later, the van’s wheels began to spin, and it shuddered to a stop.

  There was no time to waste. He leaped from the cab and dropped down into the thick mud, which enveloped his boots like glue. His steps were laboured as he made his way to the back of the van, glancing back to the road where police car after police car was turning down the track and heading straight for his position.

  His heart raced as adrenaline coursed through every fibre. He yanked open the back doors and climbed inside.

  58

  Bovalino raced along the bumpy track after Anderson.

  ‘Where the hell’s he going?’ shouted Jones from the back seat. ‘And what’s he planning on doing in a bloody great field?’

  Whatever it was – considering Anderson’s previous murders – Phillips didn’t believe they’d arrived at this location by chance.

  Since the pilot had spotted Anderson’s transit ten minutes ago, Phillips had been in direct contact with him. She connected with him now. ‘X-Ray Eleven, this is Mike Charlie One. Can you see where the suspect is headed?’

  There was a momentary pause. ‘This is X-Ray Eleven. The track leads to outbuildings about half a click away. They appear to be stables of some kind.’

  Phillips wracked her brain for anything in Dennehy’s history of crimes that involved such a location.

  ‘Jesus! What’s he doing now?’ shouted Bov. Up ahead, Anderson’s van swung violently off the track and into the thick mud of the adjacent field. ‘I can’t take this in there, Guv. We’ll get bogged in seconds!’

  They skidded to a halt.

  The helicopter hovered overhead, illuminating the field to their right. All three of them leapt out of the squad car and watched as the transit tried in vain to navigate the thick mud. It ground to a halt no more than a hundred yards away, the tyres spinning violently, throwing up lumps of muck but getting nowhere.

  ‘This is X-Ray Eleven,’ said the pilot a moment later. ‘The suspect is out of the vehicle and on foot. I repeat, the suspect is out of the vehicle and on foot.’

  ‘We can’t lose him!’ shouted Phillips as she prepared to give chase, but halted when she saw Anderson move awkwardly through the mud towards the back of the van. He opened the doors and climbed in before pulling them closed behind him.

  Farther back down the track, two four-wheel-drive vehicles approached at speed, sirens whooping and lights fl
ashing.

  ‘TFU, Guv,’ said Jones.

  Phillips kept her eyes locked on the van. A minute later, the BMW X5s came to a halt nearby, casting the area in alternating blue and red light.

  Sergeant Roy Matthews was once again the senior officer. ‘What have we got, Ma’am?’ he yelled, doing his best to be heard above the helicopter’s rotor blades.

  Phillips pointed to the van bogged in the mud, locked in the spotlights from overhead. ‘Anderson’s holed up inside with two potential victims, one of which is a police officer,’ she shouted back.

  ‘Is the suspect armed?’

  ‘We think so. We know he has a knife, but as to what else, we have no idea.’

  ‘In that case, we should set up a sniper team,’ said Matthews.

  Phillips agreed.

  Matthews moved to brief his men, who immediately jumped into action.

  Phillips returned her gaze to the van. ‘What are you planning, Anderson?’ she muttered.

  It started to rain, a few drops at first, and then the heavens unleashed a torrent of water. Up ahead, the back door of the van opened without warning, and Lachlan Sims appeared. He was being held from behind by Anderson, a huge combat knife locked against his throat. Anderson nudged Sims carefully out into the mud, then slowly moved out after him, his head and torso in almost perfect alignment with his hostage’s.

  Matthews’s snipers were in position, but because Anderson was so close to Sims, there was no clear shot.