Time Is Running Out

by Michael Wood

  ‘Wanker,’ Lewis said under his breath.

  ‘I heard that,’ Danny called from the front of the van.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Where’s your friend McNally?’ Christian asked Sian.

  ‘He’s in the canteen having a bite to eat.’

  ‘At the taxpayer’s expense,’ Aaron said under his breath, but loud enough for all to hear.

  They were in the HMET suite, the atmosphere of which was subdued due to the eerily few officers present. Two of their civilian staff had been wounded and were now in hospital, while Ranjeet and Matilda’s absences were more deeply felt.

  ‘Actually, no, Aaron. I paid for him to have something to eat out of my own pocket. Not that it’s any business of yours,’ she chastised him, giving him a deathly stare.

  ‘We’ve got some images from our CCTV, the office block across the road and the allotment we’d like him to take a look at,’ Christian said.

  ‘I’ll go and fetch him.’ Sian left the suite, her head down and taking long strides.

  ‘Where are we with getting more officers?’ Christian asked anyone who’d listen.

  ‘We’ve got Aaron,’ Scott pointed out.

  ‘No offence to Aaron, but one more isn’t going to make much of a difference.’

  Aaron shrugged. ‘None taken.’

  ‘Those left are either going through CCTV footage or taking witness statements here and at the Parkway. There are also the relatives of those injured or dead to be informed, which the Chief Constable is saying is a priority before it’s leaked to the media,’ Scott said, running his fingers through his hair. He looked tired and harassed.

  ‘Can’t we get people in on leave?’

  ‘We already have done. Jennifer Moore is on her honeymoon in Greece and Ellen Devonport is still on her recuperating backpacking tour of the Far East. This, right here, is all we’ve got.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Christian said. He leaned over the desk, biting his bottom lip. His eyes darted rapidly back and forth as he tried to think, tried to make some kind of sense of what was happening and where to go next. He took a deep breath and wished he had a bottle of something alcoholic hidden in his desk drawer. He suddenly realised why Matilda often suffered panic attacks.

  ‘Aaron, we need to find out who this gunman is,’ Christian began. ‘He’s a good shot, he’ll have to have practised at some point. You don’t just wake up, find a gun and suddenly become a crack shot at it. Look through the licensing register and see if any owners match the description we have of the gunman. Cross-reference that with anyone who’s had a military background. We could be looking at a disgruntled soldier here.’

  ‘Really? You’re giving me DC-level stuff to do? Look, I know—’

  ‘No, you look, Aaron,’ Christian said, raising his voice. ‘We’re two DCs down. I don’t have the luxury of delegating jobs to the correct rank, so anyone standing around with his hands in his pockets is going to get something to do, even if that’s popping to the shop for a pint of fucking milk. Do you understand me, DS Connolly?’

  Their eyes locked. It was a battle to see who would turn away first. Eventually, Aaron sucked his teeth, turned and headed over to his former desk.

  Christian wasn’t the type of person to raise his voice and shout at a fellow officer, especially in front of others. He didn’t believe in that kind of humiliation. However, his fuse was incredibly short today, and getting shorter by the minute.

  In Christian’s office, Sian took McNally through the CCTV images from the cameras at the office block and the allotment. The gunman was also caught on a camera from HQ overlooking the rear car park.

  The gunman knew what he was doing. He knew he was going to be surrounded by CCTV and had kept his face covered and his head down. However, anyone who’d met him, spoken to him, would have been able to recognise him from the images.

  ‘Yes. That’s definitely the guy,’ McNally said. He had eaten a large cooked breakfast in the canteen, drunk several cups of tea and Sian had asked one of the uniformed officers to sneak him into the changing rooms for a shower. She’d been unable to find him a change of clothes, but he was more than grateful for everything she’d done for him. He looked fresher and more alert than he did when she found him outside the cathedral.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Christian asked.

  ‘Yep. Told you – tall and skinny. His eyes were wide, but close together. He was wearing exactly what I said he was, too.’ He pointed to the laptop.

  ‘When he spoke to you, how did he sound?’

  ‘I don’t know – calm, I suppose. He spoke quiet, low.’

  ‘Any accent?’

  ‘Sheffield, like mine.’

  ‘Was their anything distinguishing about him? Any scars, tattoos?’

  McNally thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. He had stubble. His left ear had been pierced at some point, but, no, nothing stood out about him. I’m sorry I can’t be more help.’

  ‘You’ve been a big help, McNally,’ Sian said, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘Listen, we might need to talk to you again, especially when we catch this bloke.’

  ‘Well, you know where to find me, Sian. If I knew what this guy was planning, I wouldn’t have accepted his offer. I really am truly sorry,’ he said with genuine sincerity in his voice.

  ‘I know. Thanks. Can he go now, Christian?’

  ‘Sure. Thanks for all your help.’

  Sian made eye contact with the DI and signalled towards McNally. Realising what she was trying to say with her eyes, he dug his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a twenty-pound note.

  ‘Cheers, mate. Not necessary, but I can rent a bed for tonight now,’ McNally said.

  ‘I’ll show you out.’ Sian left the office with McNally while Christian went into the main suite. Aaron jabbed at the computer, seething, while Scott was just finishing a phone call and Rory was by the window, looking down at the car park longingly.

  ‘Right then.’ Christian rubbed his hands together. ‘McNally has confirmed the bloke who paid him to set the alarm is the one from the allotments and the rooftop. We’ve got our man, we just need to identify him. I don’t care how you do it, use your informants, knock on doors, ask people in the street, but our number one priority right now is to identify this man. Once we do that, we’ll know what his plan is and we’ll have some way of trying to catch the bastard.’

  Scott spoke up. He wasn’t his usual confident self. His voice had an edge of emotion to it. ‘I’ve just been speaking to a uniformed officer who was taking statements from the office block opposite. The gunman used a key card to access the building and gain entry to the roof. It was in the name of Wendy Turton. Last night, she was mugged leaving work and had her handbag stolen. She’d called into work first thing to say she wouldn’t be coming in.’

  ‘Ok, Scott, get in touch with this Wendy and get her to tell you everything about her mugging. Did she see the face of the mugger? If not, can she describe him in any way? Find out whereabouts it happened and check out nearby CCTV.’

  ‘He planned this,’ Rory said, turning from the window. His eyes were red from where he’d been rubbing them. ‘He’s been planning to launch an attack on the police for a while. Like you said, sir, he didn’t just wake up this morning and decide to shoot us. Someone else should have known what he was up to.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Gunmen are notorious for being loners. They sort of detach themselves from reality. I mean, any normal person, upon hearing people screaming and dying, would react with some kind of remorse, but when you’re in the kind of mental state he’ll be in, it won’t register at all,’ Christian said, his hands on his hips.

  ‘He’s a psychopath,’ Scott said.

  ‘He is,’ Christian agreed.

  ‘Does that make him more difficult to catch?’ Rory asked, looking hopefully between the two.

  ‘No, but it makes him more deadly.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Christian looked around the
room at the wide eyes glaring back at him. ‘Nothing,’ he said. He turned and went into his office, closing the door behind him.

  ‘What did he mean?’ Rory asked the room at large.

  ‘He meant,’ Aaron spoke up eventually, ‘that by the end of the day, it’s possible that there’ll be a few more empty desks in this room.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Adele and Lucy pulled up at the Parkway but neither of them moved from the car as they looked out at the devastation ahead of them. An invasion of white-suited forensic officers were working hard as bodies were covered, markers were laid down and bullet casings collected.

  Adele felt sick. She was shaking and would give anything for a drink right now. She closed her eyes tight and tried to compose herself. It didn’t work. Her heart was pumping loudly in her chest, blood thundering through her ears. Inside, she felt like she was screaming.

  She had never reacted like this to attending a crime scene before, and as a Home Office pathologist, she had been requested at some of the most high-profile crimes around the country. In May 2017, she’d been the chief pathologist on the Manchester Arena bombing and orchestrated the post-mortems on all twenty-three deaths. Less than two weeks later, she was drafted in to help following the terrorist attack at London Bridge, which had resulted in eleven deaths, including those of the perpetrators. On top of these extraordinary events, she’d had her regular work to contend with which, as chief pathologist covering the whole of Yorkshire and the majority of Derbyshire, accounted for many deaths and procedures coming to her attention. Vulnerable children killed by members of their own families; teenagers needlessly stabbed to death; drug deaths on the increase; elderly people dying in their homes, with charities and governmental departments wanting to know if this was due to austerity cuts. Her email inbox was increasingly full of questions asking her to verify a death, quantify deaths and contribute to reports.

  In order to stop her mind from overthinking the day’s work while at home in the evenings, she’d succumbed to a glass of wine or two, sometimes three … and occasionally a whole bottle. She was aware she was on a slippery slope, but hoped she was sensible enough to know when enough was enough.

  ‘Do you get the feeling this is going to be the worst day of your life?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘It already is,’ Adele said, unable to take her eyes off the carnage.

  ‘Happy birthday to me,’ Lucy said under her breath.

  They eventually took off their seat belts and stepped out into the gloomy, dank Sheffield air. They set about collecting what they needed from the boot before heading over to the Crime Scene Manager, Sebastian Flowers, who looked as horrified by events as everyone around him.

  ‘Adele, thank goodness you’re here,’ he said by way of a greeting. ‘You’re going to have your work cut out.’

  ‘I already have. What can you tell me?’ she asked, subdued.

  ‘Eighteen dead at the scene. I’ve no idea how many have been sent to hospital, but I’ve been informed two more have since died. Any news on Matilda?’

  ‘Nothing yet.’

  He looked from Adele to Lucy and back again, reading their blank expressions.

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Give me a shout if you need anything.’

  ‘A plane ticket on the next flight to the Bahamas would do nicely about now,’ Lucy said as she suited up.

  ‘I’d settle for a time machine taking me back to before all this happened.’ Sebastian smiled sadly.

  ‘We’re going to struggle with space back at the mortuary. Lucy, get on to Simon Browes. He should be at Watery Street by now. Tell him there’s been a second shooting and there are at least twenty more bodies coming in. Ask him to give Nutwells a call. We’re going to need a temporary body-storage facility bringing over, and can he contact a few other pathologists to see if they can help out with the post-mortems, either at Sheffield or close by?’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘While you’re at it, ask him to check on supplies, too. I know we only had a delivery last week, but we’ll be going through gloves like nobody’s business.’ Adele squeezed the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Lucy asked, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  ‘No, Lucy. To be perfectly honest with you, I’m scared out of my mind. My best friend is undergoing brain surgery that she may not survive, and even if she does, her life will dramatically change for ever. We’ve got bodies piling up right, left and centre, and my son’s boyfriend is chasing around Sheffield looking for a madman with a gun.’

  Lucy stood in awkward silence next to her boss. ‘I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could say.’

  Adele shook her head. ‘There’s nothing anyone can say. We just have to try to find a way to get through this nightmare and out the other end in one piece.’ She looked down at a body covered with a white sheet not three feet in front of her. ‘We’re still here, though. We can help those who aren’t. Will you get my bag?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Lucy patted her boss on the back and went to the boot of the car to retrieve Adele’s kit.

  Adele put on a pair of latex gloves and walked to the first body. She knelt down, the hard tarmac of the Parkway digging into her knees. She carefully pulled back the sheet and revealed the face of the deceased beneath. The body was of a young girl, around eight years old, with blonde hair tied in bunches. She was wearing a pink flowery dress, a jean jacket over the top and black shoes. There was a large hole in her chest where a bullet had hit her heart directly; blood had oozed out of her, soaked up by her clothing. Adele looked at her face. She was pretty, a line of freckles running across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes. She had studs in her ears and a silver chain around her neck. She was just a child.

  Adele lifted up the girl’s arm and held her hand. It was cold, soft and pale, small and smooth. The fingernails had been painted a light pink. Adele looked back to the face. She could never understand why people looked at the dead and thought they were sleeping. To Adele, they were bodies. Whatever had been inside them that had made them who they were was gone. This was no longer a person, simply a dead body. A cadaver. Unfortunately, this was the cadaver of a small child whose short life had only just begun and had been snatched from her in the cruellest of ways.

  Adele couldn’t handle this. Tears poured from her. She looked up and saw the body of a dead woman lying not too far from the girl. She was on her front, her arm stretched out as if reaching for someone. Adele looked back down to the little girl and up to the woman again. They looked alike. She wondered if this was mother and daughter, running for their lives beneath a barrage of bullets. Who had been hit first? Did the mother fall, the daughter stop and was hit as she tried to help her mum? Did the mum reach out to her dying little girl only to be hit once again before she could reach her?

  Adele closed her eyes. She could feel her stomach churning. She felt her body buckling from beneath her. She fell forward, her gloved hands hitting the tarmac to stop herself from collapsing. She gasped for breath as her vision blurred. She leaned back, opened her mouth and let out a painful wail.

  Lucy and Sebastian ran towards her. Lucy grabbed her, held her in her arms while Sebastian covered up the body of the girl.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ Sebastian asked, his eyes wide with worry.

  ‘I don’t know. She’s been strange for a while. Adele, what’s wrong? Are you all right?’

  Adele couldn’t speak. She screamed and cried out as weeks and months and years of keeping everything locked up inside came rushing out of her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Simon Browes was well known for his abrupt temperament and sharp tongue. Of average height, with soft features and warm-looking eyes, he gave the impression he was friendly and approachable. However, within minutes of first meeting him, it quickly became evident he was socially awkward and had absolutely no idea how to communicate with people. His professionalism was constant
ly switched on, and any social event he had to endure, even a friendly drink in a pub with a colleague, was conducted as if he was having a one-on-one meet with a student.

  He wasn’t a people person and struggled to maintain personal relationships, but academically, he was at the very top of his field. He was an excellent pathologist and his expertise was much sought after around the country. However, he knew the situation he was walking into in Sheffield and had had a word with himself on the journey over to adapt his manner.

  He was met by Claire Alexander and he greeted her with a warm smile, which she likely found disconcerting having already been acquainted with his unique manner, but today, nothing made much sense.

  ‘I hear we have people dead who were known to you?’ he asked while he took off his Barbour coat and flat cap.

  ‘Yes. Several police officers have been killed this morning.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ The question did not sound natural coming from his lips.

  ‘Numb. To say the least.’

  ‘And Adele? How is she?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Adele is great at masking her emotions. However, when she lets go, she really does let go.’

  ‘Oh dear. Then I suppose my duty is to pick up the slack and give her breathing space.’ He gave that uncomfortable-feeling smile again.

  ‘That would be very useful.’

  ‘Well, I’ll scrub up and you can get the conveyor belt started. Uh, sorry,’ he immediately apologised for his crass comment. ‘I’ve had Lucy Dauman on the phone. She tells me there’s been a second shooting and there are eighteen more bodies due in.’

  ‘That’s right. There are also two more coming from hospital.’

  ‘Gunshot wounds. How terribly pedestrian. As you know, Claire, I’m not a fan of the digital autopsies, but it would be very useful for me if you could perform them on those that come through and give me a clear indication of where I should target my expertise.’