Sarah considered telling Jessica everything, but it was still too early. Also, despite trusting the woman, there was no way of telling how she might take the news. Thomas was a fellow countryman, and her colleague in upper management. Dr Jessica Bennett was as loyal as they came, but her allegiance was not solely towards Sarah.
Sarah cleared her throat and tried to sound casual. “I’m probably being paranoid, but I’ve been getting the feeling that someone is intercepting our communications.”
“What?”
“Hey, you know me, always assuming the worst.”
“Sarah, if you think we’ve been bugged, I need to know about it. If there’s been some kind of security breach—”
Sarah cut her off. She couldn’t hop into this rabbit hole right now. “I have nothing concrete, Jessica, okay? I’m probably just being stupid, but I promise I’ll tell you if I get anything real. Right now, we need to focus on finding Oliver Simpson. Maxim Ivanov is after the kid, and that can only be bad news.”
“Maxim Ivanov? How on earth is he involved with this?”
“I’m honestly not sure, but finding Oliver Simpson might give us the answer.”
“You’re right. He’s our top priority. Go find him, Sarah. Then tell me what the hell is going on.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Because I’m trusting you here. If you’re involved in something, don’t bring me down with you.”
Sarah grunted. “The only thing I’m involved in is protecting this country, same as you. But, just so you know, I would never do anything to jeopardise your career.”
“Update me in an hour. Stay safe, Sarah.”
The call ended. Sarah walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Once she’d drunk it, she walked back into the living room and found Mandy and Howard staring at her. For the last hour, they had all been working together on their next move. Seems like it had been decided for them.
Sarah cricked her neck, wondering how much longer she could keep going on zero sleep. “Mandy? You good to hit the road with me? We have a lead on Oliver Simpson.”
Mandy looked at Howard and shook his head in disbelief. “Tell you the truth, driving would be a good way to clear my head. This is all really happening, right? You’re alive? All this time, you’ve been okay.”
Howard nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, man, I’m alive.”
Mandy remained still for a moment, a blank expression on his face, but then he pulled Howard into a hug, almost crushing him in his thick arms. “You keep it that way, you hear me?”
“Yeah. Sorry we didn’t bring you in earlier.”
“I understand why you didn’t, but if it happens again, I’ll kill you for real.”
“Message received.”
“You ready?” Sarah asked. She was growing jittery. Every second they wasted was a second the rabbit might get away.
Mandy reached into his pocket, pulled out a set of car keys, and tossed them to Sarah, who barely caught them. “I’m not doing any more walking today. You can go fetch the car and bring it round.”
Sarah chuckled, tossed the keys into the air, and caught them again. “No problem. I’ll meet you downstairs. We’re going to go see a boy about a plane crash.”
Sarah and Mandy reached Watford and found it deserted. Local shops had closed for the day, and it appeared people didn’t want to be out on the streets, probably fearing more planes dropping out of the sky and landing on their heads. Sarah wished she could comfort them, but Oliver Simpson was still at large, and as much as she wanted to give the kid the benefit of the doubt, she might be wrong about him. He could be just another sociopath, already planning his next kill.
Sarah checked her phone for messages, having listened to it beep several times during the drive from Hornchurch. Most of the messages were quick updates from her team, but one in particular caused her to take a moment to read. It was from Thomas, sent via the encrypted messaging app that the MCU used.
Sarah. Just got update. Mattock going to pull through, but damage to lung is bad. Looks like retirement will come early. I know you two are close. Wanted you to hear it first. He’s still unconscious, but will contact you soon as changes. Tried to call couple times but couldn’t get through. Let me know you’re okay.
Sarah swallowed a lump in her throat. Thomas must have tried calling her when her phone had lost its signal. She was glad, because she wouldn’t have wanted him to hear her become emotional. Mattock lived for the job, and while it was amazing news that he was going to pull through, she knew him well enough to know he would prefer death over forced retirement. He had once told her that if he did his job right, his eventual cause of death would be a bullet to the brain.
I need to go see him.
But I can’t right now.
She updated Mandy, telling him Mattock was doing okay, but omitting the further details. Mandy didn’t need any more stress right now, not after having just learned that Howard was still alive.
“Thank God he’s okay,” said Mandy. He tapped the steering wheel exuberantly and let out a sigh. “You want me to wait in the car, or do you need backup?”
“Stay here and keep on the line, okay?”
Mandy switched off the engine and reclined in the Range Rover’s electric driver’s seat. “I’ll be here, but you be careful. I think…” He brought himself back up in his chair.
She frowned at him. “What is it?”
“I’m not positive, but I think we might have had company on the drive over. A white van. They’re not exactly uncommon, but with what happened to Howard…”
Sarah nodded. “Okay, white van. Got it. I’ll stay alert.”
“So will I.”
Sarah stepped out of the Range Rover and headed towards the crash site. It had grown dark by now, nearly eight o’clock, and while the billowing black plume of smoke was no longer visible, the air stank of ash. She wasn’t there to focus on the plane crash, however. She was there to find Oliver Simpson. The kid had made the phone call home several hours ago now, but there was still a chance he was in Watford. Jessica had provided the location of the payphone, so that was where Sarah headed.
She found it inside the town’s bus station. The metal payphone booth was like a relic from the past, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen one. Where once there might have been a bank of them, there were now only two. Takeaway menus and taxi numbers covered the glass surrounds, most of them faded and colourless. Nobody was using either phone, and there was no sign of Oliver Simpson.
Oliver was smart, knowing they might track his mobile phone, but naïve enough not to realise they could also trace incoming calls made to his home. Just like with the plane, he had been savvy enough to hack a secure system but stupid enough not to cover his tracks.
This kid never even considered getting caught.
Maybe he never expected he would ever do anything wrong.
He called home to speak to his mum because he was scared. What would he do after that?
Sarah hurried out the station and rejoined Mandy in the car. She told him to get as close to the crash site as possible, and sat silently, rocking her knee while he drove. He parked up right at the edge of the supermarket car park.
Sarah got out into the darkness of the February evening. The crashed plane now appeared otherworldly, cloaked in shadow and at the same time lit by spotlights and smouldering fires. It was an unnatural juxtaposition of dark shapes and glinting metal. An alien beast rising forth from the earth.
Despite the death toll, things were calmer than they’d been earlier. People’s shock and panic had given way to dejection and solemn grief. The press had set up along the cordon, their equipment housed beneath pop-up gazebos. Chit-chat and squawking radios filled the air, yet the whole place felt deathly silent. Most of the survivors and shell-shocked spectators were gone.
Oliver Simpson would need to keep out of sight. If he got too close, he risked being spotted. His name and description had been disseminated t
o every single member of law enforcement, and the nation’s largest manhunt was underway. It would be a dumb move for the kid to be here, but who else could have made that call? Jessica might have been right about Oliver coming to Watford for a thrill, but there was also another reason he could be there. Guilt.
That would be good. It would mean he has a conscience.
Sarah was unsure why, but it was important for her to assume the best of Oliver Simpson. If seventeen-year-old boys were deliberately committing mass murder, the battle was lost. The world was unsalvageable. She needed to believe there was a human element to this monstrous crime.
Not wanting to stand around and do nothing, Sarah spoke with the various police officers and civil servants. She even cornered a plane crash investigator and questioned him for five minutes. As Mattock had warned, the investigator was cagey and unwilling to share anything concrete. The man did, however, infer that the plane crash was no accident. Sarah already knew that, but when the details reached the public, the shit show would truly begin.
The airlines would blame the government and the government would blame the airlines. Meanwhile, the public would blame both of them and ticket sales would fall through the floor. That, as a result, would negatively affect business and tourism. Terrorism, once again, would take centre stage on the news, draining billions from the public coffers as Westminster battled to restore confidence. The damage caused would go much further than the seven-hundred-plus innocent souls lost today.
I need to hear what happened from Oliver Simpson’s mouth.
Then I’ll decide whether to take him in alive or dead.
After half an hour of wandering around and chatting, Sarah’s mouth grew dry. She had drunk nothing since leaving Howard’s flat, so she set off towards the refreshments truck that had been brought in to service those working at the crash site. She asked the vendor for a water, and he handed her a half-litre bottle free of charge. “Thanks,” she said. “What’s the mood? Everyone must be pretty tired.”
The vendor, a young man looking rather weary himself, gave her a shrug. His eyes settled on her scars for a moment, but they didn’t linger. “It is what it is, ain’t it? I’ve been watching them pull bodies from the wreckage for the last three hours. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen, and yet…” He shrugged again, this time looking downwards. He took a moment before looking up again. “I’m still here, helping out, aren’t I? Later, I’ll go home and tell my girlfriend about it and we’ll watch TV until one in the morning. It disturbs me… how okay I am.” He grimaced. “No, not okay, that’s the wrong word for it. It disturbs me how—”
“Functional you are,” said Sarah, helping him find what he was searching for. “I get it. It’s surprising how much we can deal with in the moment, but things can change later down the line. Be nice to that girlfriend of yours, you might need her support in the near future.” She turned back to see the wreckage. Speaking over her shoulder, she said, “Suffering is like the rain. It doesn’t weigh you down all at once. In fact, you can carry on as normal for a while, barely even noticing. But eventually, if you don’t find shelter, you suddenly realise you’re soaking wet and shivering.”
“Sounds like you’ve seen some things.”
She turned back and pressed the tip of her index finger against her face. “Let’s just say… these are the least of my scars.”
The young man nodded, as if considering her meaning. After a while, he shook himself and smiled glumly. “You hungry? I don’t have a lot left, but help yourself to sandwiches. Oh, and I’ve been saving this for someone who looked like they could use it.” He reached under the counter and produced a chocolate chip cookie the size of her hand. “Nothing like a sugar rush to keep you going.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” She took the cookie and turned to examine the row of sandwiches on the stainless steel counter. Nothing looked particularly appealing, but she hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. “Mind if I grab a couple? I’m running on empty.”
“Sure thing.”
There were picnic tables set up at the far edge of the supermarket car park, so Sarah trudged over and plonked herself down. Her entire body groaned with relief as the pressure of standing removed itself from her spine. Her eyelids began to close as exhaustion spread through her body. Her breathing grew heavy. She was almost snoring while awake.
I’m going to have to call it a day soon.
Wanting to keep working, but knowing she needed to take a moment to look after herself, she unwrapped the cookie and took a massive bite. It was the hard kind, rather than soft, but it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. She chewed it into a mush and let it linger in her mouth before swallowing. Then she finished a sandwich in three bites. Eventually, her restlessness won out, and she pulled out her phone to speak with Jessica. She considered trying her mobile but called directly through to her extension at the earthworm. Someone might be listening in, but she had nothing sensitive to share anyway.
“Jessica? Hey, it’s Sarah. It’s a bust on Oliver Simpson. Has Charlie Team found anything?”
“They’re following up on a few leads, but nothing so far. Just keep your eyes open.”
“That’s why I’m calling. I don’t think I can any more. I need to come in for some downtime.”
“Of course. Take as long as you need. We can handle things while you rest.”
“Thanks. I’ll check in with you back at the earthworm, yeah?”
“Roger that.”
Sarah ended the call and got up off the bench. She turned and headed back towards the car, where Mandy would be waiting for her, but something caught her eye as she moved away.
A group of people were gathered at the edge of the floodlit cordon, many lofting candles overhead. Members of the press converged around them, filming and taking snaps. It was a vigil, something Sarah had never seen before. She crossed the road to take a closer look. A woman at the front smiled and beckoned her to join them, but she declined with what she hoped was a polite smile. As a member of the active investigation, it would have been inappropriate to join in, but she enjoyed standing beneath the night sky and watching. A pleasant, waxy odour pushed away the stench of super-heated metal and charred bodies, a welcome relief. Many of the candle bearers wept quietly, while others sang hymns and said prayers. Those without candles held up homemade posters. One or two waved photographs. Sarah could see it all plastered on tomorrow morning’s newspapers.
Pressure built behind her right eye. A drumbeat started in her chest. It had been a while since she had felt such powerful emotions, but it was bittersweet. Misery surrounded her – the worst she had ever encountered – yet she forced herself to endure it, to breathe it in. She gained strength from the pained sobs of those around her. She had been so focused on Oliver Simpson’s motives that she had forgotten that they didn’t even matter.
Several hundred people had died today, leaving countless families behind to grieve. That debt needed paying. These people, holding their candles and photographs, deserved justice.
Oliver Simpson.
I’m coming for you, kid.
Sarah prepared to leave. In the last ten minutes she had moved closer and closer to the candlelit vigil, but she now stepped away slowly, not wanting to disturb anybody with her exit. She hadn’t heard from Mandy and assumed he was snoozing in the car. While some of her tiredness had gone away, exhaustion was creeping back into her bones and making her feet heavy. It was time to go. She needed sleep, and as much as she hated it, someone else would have to apprehend Oliver Simpson. She should have been okay with that.
Why do I always need to be the one facing down danger? I have a team. I should trust them.
Sarah stepped towards the road but paused. Ten metres away, an old man was handing out foil-wrapped packages from the boot of an old Vauxhall Astra. A woman next to him, presumably his wife, was handing out bottles of water. Behind them, a second car had parked up, and even more people were handing out parcels. Sarah recognised what was happ
ening; she’d seen it before. Members of the local community had cooked food at home and were now offering it to those working at the crash site. The same thing had happened during the port delay gridlock after Brexit. It made Sarah smile, further restoring her faith in humanity. The hearts and minds of the ordinary British people were still pure in the ways that mattered.
Like packs of hungry wolves, weary civil servants and spaced-out volunteers gathered around the two parked cars. They unwrapped the packages greedily and filled their faces with hot sandwiches and steaming pittas. One man placed a sausage in his mouth like a cigar before chomping it. A young man grabbed a bottle of water and drank thirstily, pushing his floppy blonde hair out of his face as he tilted his head back. There was something familiar about the kid.
Bite my nipples. Is that Oliver Simpson?
Sarah stood a moment longer to confirm it, but she was sure. Oliver Simpson had broken cover to grab a bottle of water. He was right there in front of her.
You really did come here.
I’ve got you.
Sarah leapt into action, body fizzing with the anticipation of wrapping the kid in a choke hold from behind. But somebody stepped in her way. She cursed and tried to sidestep the obstacle, but the man went the same way as her. It was merely a passer-by hoping to grab a snack from the Good Samaritans, and when he realised he was in her way, he smiled sheepishly and said, “I’m half-asleep. Sorry.”
With no time for pleasantries, Sarah shoved the man aside and sprinted at Oliver.
But the kid had spotted her, eyes wide as if he didn’t quite believe she was real.
You ain’t getting away, kid.
In his panic, Oliver threw the bottle of water at Sarah. His aim was impressive, and it struck her right in the chest. She shook off the sudden jolt of pain and continued her sprint, but the ambush was now a chase as Oliver took off like a rocket. While Sarah was a middle-aged woman operating on zero sleep, he was a young lad with barely an ounce of fat. A svelte figure didn’t always equal stamina, though, so Sarah would stay on his tail and hope he got winded before she did.
Terminal (Major Crimes Unit Book 4) Page 9
