by Michael Wood
Sian went over to the two young constables. ‘Listen to me,’ she said in hushed tones. ‘I don’t want you doing anything stupid, ok? Listen to what DI Brady tells you, and if you find yourself in a situation that is likely to get you injured or killed, get out of there straightaway. You’ve both got people who love you. They’ll want you to go home this evening. Is that understood?’ she said firmly.
‘I’m going to give Susannah a ring,’ Finn said. His voice was quiet as he tried to hide his emotions. He pushed up the frameless glasses on his nose, picked his phone up from his desk and went into the corner of the room to make the private phone call.
‘I don’t want to go,’ Scott said quietly as he looked to check he wasn’t being overheard. ‘I’m finally happy. After years of hiding away and not wanting to say anything for fear of being made fun of, I’ve found a man I love and now I’m going to get shot.’
‘You’re not going to get shot,’ Sian said, holding his clammy hand. ‘Stay calm, vigilant, and don’t take any risks. You’re a sensible lad – you’ll do the right thing.’
He took a deep breath. ‘You’re right. I suppose, if I was still single, I’d be more likely to take a risk. Being with Chris, it gives me a responsibility.’
‘Precisely. I’ll go and get the flak jackets for you and Finn.’
Sian headed off. Rory stepped forward.
‘Mate, you all right?’ he asked Scott.
‘I’m fine,’ he lied.
‘Don’t do anything fucking stupid out there.’
‘It’s the ones with the guns who’ll be doing anything stupid. I’m staying in the car,’ he said with a nervous smile.
‘Will you do me a favour?’ Rory asked.
‘Anything.’
Rory stood closer to his best friend. His voice was low and urgent. There was a look of horror in his eyes that unsettled Scott. ‘Don’t put yourself at risk, obviously, but if you find yourself in a situation with the gunman, I want you to fucking kill him for me. For Nat.’
‘Shit!’
‘Problems?’ Sian asked as she walked by Christian’s office.
‘That was forensics. They’ve just analysed the mobile found at Weedon Street. There are no fingerprints, no call history and no serial number. It was just a burner phone. Used once then tossed away.’
‘Why leave it on, though? Why leave it where we’ll find it?’
Christian chewed on his lip while he thought. ‘To distract us. To make us waste our time while he can get to the Parkway and kill more innocent people.’
‘He knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?’
‘He certainly does. I don’t mind telling you this, Sian, but I’m genuinely scared about what else is going to happen today.’
Chapter Sixteen
‘Suze, it’s me,’
‘Oh, Finn, thank God. Are you all right?’
Susannah Cotton was glued to the television. She should have been working on her clients’ accounts, as the deadline for self-assessment tax returns was looming, but the news of a gunman on the streets of Sheffield and her husband possibly in the firing line caused her to down tools, leave her home office and sit in front of the television to watch the newsreader with the awful haircut ramble on about Brexit before intermittently updating viewers on the breaking news with infuriatingly little.
As soon as her mobile started ringing, she’d snatched it up from next to her on the sofa and swiped to answer.
‘I’m fine. You?’
‘Not in the slightest. Have you caught him?’
‘No. Not yet. Listen, there’s been a second shooting at the Parkway. You’re not going out at all today, are you?’
‘No. I’ll stay in. Mum said she was going to come over, but I’ve told her to stay indoors.’
‘Good thinking. Listen, Suze, I’m being sent out to the scene.’
‘What? Why?’ she asked, a tear escaped her eye. ‘Shouldn’t Armed Response go? You’re just a DC.’
‘I’m part of HMET. We have to investigate. I need to knock on doors, ask if anyone’s seen anything.’
‘Can’t someone else go?’
‘No. It’s my job, Suze. I have to do this.’
‘You’d better come home tonight, Finn Cotton.’ She tried to sound positive and commanding, but she felt anything but. She was pleased he couldn’t see her, as she knew the colour was likely draining from her face.
‘I will.’ He paused, and a silence developed between them. ‘I love you, Suze.’
‘I love you too, Finn.’ She cracked and tears streamed down her face.
‘Scott, what the fuck is going on? Our school has been placed in lockdown,’ Chris Kean said. He was in the staffroom on a break. All pupils and staff had been told about a situation developing in Sheffield city centre and for everyone’s safety they were to remain in school until further notice, all outdoor activities were cancelled and none of the senior pupils would be allowed out at lunchtime.
‘There’s been a second shooting.’
‘Jesus Christ! Where?’
‘At the Parkway. I’m going out there now.’
‘You’ll stay safe, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will. Listen, if anything happens to me—’
‘Scott, please don’t,’ Chris interrupted.
‘No, I need to say this. If anything does happen to me today, I want you to know that this past year has been the happiest of my life. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to be so open about who I am, but with you by my side, I’ve achieved more in one year than I have in my whole life. I love you, Chris.’
‘Oh my God, Scott, I don’t know what to say,’ Chris said. He ran his free hand over his cropped haircut. He wanted to cry but had to be strong for Scott. ‘We have had an amazing year. I’ve loved every minute, but it’s not over with yet. We’ve got so much left to do.’
‘Have we?’
‘Of course. We’ve got tickets to see Muse in Manchester in June. We’ll stay there for the weekend and get pissed. We’ll go on holiday in the summer – somewhere hot and exotic. And then there’s your thirtieth birthday to plan for next year.’
Scott laughed. ‘I’m not even twenty-nine yet.’
‘So? A big celebration takes planning. Don’t talk like you’re saying goodbye, Scott. You’ll be home for tea, like always.’
Scott heaved a deep breath. ‘What are we having tonight?’
‘I’ve no idea. It’s your turn to cook.’
‘It is, isn’t it? How about my famous spag bol?’
‘Sounds good. I’ll pick up some wine and garlic bread on the way home from school,’ Chris said, his lips quivering as he tried to maintain a smile.
‘Right, well, I’d better be off.’
‘Any news on Matilda?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Ok. I love you, Scott.’
‘Love you, too.’
Chris ended the call and looked at his phone. The wallpaper was of Scott’s smiling face grinning out at him.
‘Is everything all right?’
Chris jumped and turned to see Ruth standing behind him. He shook his head.
Despite being several inches shorter than Chris, Ruth pulled him into an embrace and rubbed his back.
‘There’s been a second shooting,’ Chris cried into her shoulder. ‘Scott is being sent out to the scene.’
‘He’ll be all right.’
Chris pulled away and went over to the window. He looked out into the greyness. ‘I can’t lose him.’
‘You won’t. He won’t be anywhere near the action. If there’s a sighting, it’s the Armed Response teams that go to these things, right? He’ll be in the background.’
‘You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just … it’s scary.’
‘It is. It’s a bloody scary world out there at the moment,’ she said, joining him at the window.
‘Every time you turn on the news there’s been another stabbing or gang-related violence or a terrorist attack. And nobody
is doing anything about it.’ He stood with his arms folded tightly across his chest. He sniffled back the tears. ‘Politicians don’t have a clue what’s going on in the real world. Look how much money they’re wasting on Brexit when it could be used better elsewhere like the NHS or to put more police on the streets. They don’t have a clue and they don’t care. They’re only interested in what they can make for themselves.’
‘Anyone would think you were dating a policeman.’ She smiled.
Chris turned to her and cracked a smile. ‘I’m right, though. We don’t need a cabinet filled with Etonians from privileged backgrounds running the country who don’t know what it means to struggle. I fucking hate this country right now, and I never thought I’d hear myself say that.’ He kicked a chair over and stormed to the other side of the room.
‘This is more than your political stance, Chris, isn’t it? What’s going on?’
Chris flicked the kettle on and took a deep breath. ‘I want to ask Scott to marry me.’
Ruth’s eyes lit up. ‘That’s brilliant news. What’s stopping you?’
‘I don’t want to be married to a policeman.’
‘Ah.’
Chapter Seventeen
At the Royal Hallamshire Hospital, Matilda’s parents were waiting impatiently for news of their daughter but the operation had only just begun. They were in for a long wait, and neither of them thought they’d have the stamina for it.
Frank and Penny Doyle lived in a picture-postcard cottage in Bakewell in Derbyshire. When Frank had ended the call after being told their daughter had been shot, neither of them had spoken. They’d been expecting something like this to happen at some point. Thankfully, they’d been on their way to Meadowhall at the time and so were relatively close by. They were at the hospital within minutes.
Matilda’s relationship with her parents wasn’t easy. She was a daddy’s girl and, although she didn’t see him as much as she liked, she phoned and texted him often. They had a strong bond that went back to when she was very young. Her relationship with Penny, on the other hand, was stilted, to say the least. At almost every opportunity, Penny tried to get Matilda to rethink her choice of career. She hated her daughter being in the police force. She wanted Matilda to have a safe job – something dull and boring where she wasn’t risking her life every day – to get married again and have a child. Rather than have to endure the same conversation over and over, Matilda simply kept away from her. Unfortunately, this meant rarely seeing her father.
Penny, heavily made-up and wearing designer clothing, sat on the edge of a hard plastic chair in a family room close to the operating theatres. She’d taken off her knee-length winter coat with the fake-fur trim and tried, with difficulty, to not chew on her perfectly manicured nails.
‘It’s strange how everything changes so quickly,’ she said, breaking the painful silence. ‘This morning, we got up, had breakfast as normal, and all we planned on doing was having a trip out to Meadowhall – hit the sales, have a nice lunch, back in time for tea. You don’t think…’ Her words were lost to tears. She pulled a small packet of tissues out of her leather handbag and carefully wiped her eyes so as not to smudge her make-up.
Frank was sitting by the door. He was tall and athletically built, having taken care of his body during his retirement years. He had a good life, money in the bank, and wanted to enjoy his free time as much as he could. Living in the countryside, he was able to get out for long walks and the local swimming baths were only a short drive away. He lived for his family. He loved his wife, despite her being high maintenance, and he doted on his two children. He didn’t want much out of life, just happiness and good health for those he loved. Was that too much to ask for?
‘Penny, have you phoned Harriet?’ he asked.
She looked up. There were tears in her eyes. ‘No. Do you think I should?’
‘She’ll want to know.’
With shaking hands, she fumbled in her bag and pulled out a shiny iPhone. She unlocked it and scrolled through her contacts, looking for their youngest daughter’s number.
‘I can’t do it,’ she whimpered.
Frank stepped forward. He sat down next to her and took the phone off her. ‘It’ll be all right, Pen. Matilda’s a fighter. She’s had to be.’
‘She’s never been shot before. Who survives a bullet to the head?’
‘A lot of people.’
‘But they’re never the same afterwards. There could be all sorts of things wrong with her.’
‘Penny, let’s just wait to see how she goes in the operation. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.’
Penny stood up and went over to the window. They were high up in the hospital, and on a clear day, the view was of the whole of the Steel City. Today, the low cloud was too thick to see through. It was oppressive and claustrophobic. She stood looking out for a long time. When she turned around to face her husband, black mascara had run down her face.
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with it, Frank. I’m sorry, but I don’t.’
‘With what?’
‘Matilda. If she’s brain-damaged or needs constant care. I don’t think I can feed her, dress her, wash her, take her to the toilet. I’m sorry. I know this makes me sound like a bad person, a bad mother, but I can’t see my daughter like that, Frank. And she wouldn’t want me to. She wouldn’t want to survive this knowing she couldn’t be independent.’
‘Penny, you’re thinking too far ahead. We can’t go making plans until the operation is over with. Stop getting yourself in such a state,’ he said, holding her firmly by the shoulders.
‘Frank,’ she began, looking up at him with wet eyes. ‘If they ask us to turn off the life support…’
‘Penny, don’t.’
‘No, listen to me. If they ask us, we should let them.’
Frank let go of his wife and stood back. They’d been married for forty years and he’d always let her have her own way. As long as she was happy, he was happy. This time, he would fight her all the way.
Chapter Eighteen
DC Rory Fleming took over Scott’s work when he went to attend the scene of the second shooting but he was struggling to concentrate. He kept hearing Natasha call out to him, holding up her bloody hands, then that bullet hitting her. Her eyes were still fixed on him as she dropped to the floor. How was he going to cope without her? He loved her so much.
‘Shit,’ he said to himself as he felt the emotions rise. He needed to get a grip. Nat’s killer was out there and he needed to find the fucker.
He’d perused the CCTV footage from the entrance and exits of the police station and found nothing untoward. There was a question mark hanging over one man seen entering the station via the back entrance carrying a spirit level over his shoulder and coming back out again less than a minute later, just as the fire alarm started. Had he been simply following procedure and heading for the nearest exit when an alarm sounded, or was there something more sinister about him?
Rory watched the footage again. He zoomed in. The man’s eyes darted rapidly left and right as he left the station. He was wearing dirty clothes, jeans that had seen better days, a holey sweater with a high-visibility waistcoat over the top and a beanie hat pulled down low. His face seemed filthy and he had an unkempt beard. He could have been a workman, but Rory wasn’t convinced. He looked too dirty to be a workman just starting. Surely he’d have washed before coming to work.
He picked up the phone and dialled the main reception.
‘Alice, it’s DC Fleming from HMET.’
‘Hello, Rory. I was sorry to hear—’
‘Yes, thanks,’ he interrupted, not wanting to hear another round of sympathy about Natasha being murdered. ‘Listen, can you find out for me if there was any building work booked in for today?’
‘What kind of building work?’
‘I’m not sure. Anything that would involve someone coming in with a spirit level,’ he said, looking at the still image of the man on his laptop.
‘Thanks, Alice,’ he said, hanging up before she could say anything else. He called Sian over and told her to look at the footage.
‘That’s not a workman,’ she said. ‘That’s McNally.’
‘You’re going to need to explain how you know that.’
She pulled up a chair. ‘McNally is one of Sheffield’s increasing number of homeless people. About a year ago I was out with my sister-in-law. We’d been to City Hall to watch a…’ She looked at Rory. ‘It doesn’t matter what we saw,’ she said, reddening slightly. ‘Anyway, we were going back to the car when this bloke tried to mug us. From nowhere, McNally very kindly told him to leave us alone. Although, he was a little more forceful in his choice of language. Anyway, me and Liz bought McNally a drink as a thank-you and he told us all about himself. Whenever I see him outside the cathedral, I slip him a fiver. He’s a lovely bloke.’
‘So why did he enter our police station with a spirit level over his shoulder and leave less than a minute later?’
‘You think he set off the alarm?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Print off his picture and update the board, then we’ll go and have a wee chat with him. He always hangs around the cathedral around lunchtime, as it’s busy.’
Sheffield city centre was subdued. People had heard of a gunman stalking the city and had decided to stay clear of crowded places. The January sales were in full flow, but the footfall was lacking. The cold, wet weather probably didn’t help either.
Sheffield was still going through a period of regeneration. Dated concrete monstrosities were being demolished to be replaced by generic boxes. More shops were built but remained empty, and blocks of student apartments were being thrown up left, right and centre.
Sian and Rory, wrapped up against the elements, headed on foot for the cathedral. Sian’s phone rang.
