by Michael Wood
Claire gave a hint of a smile. ‘I knew you’d come around to the digital world eventually.’
‘These are highly unusual circumstances. Once back to normal I shall return to sticking pins into a little effigy I’ve had made of you.’
Claire’s smile dropped.
‘Ah, sorry. That was my attempt at humour. Should I not?’
‘Perhaps not today.’
Claire turned and walked away, leaving Simon alone in the corridor. He looked at the trolleys lined up in front of him. There were so many bodies and not enough staff to process them and put them into the fridges. Simon rolled up his sleeve. He felt a calmness waft over him; he was in his element.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jake Harrison was parked up in his dirty white Ford van in a supermarket car park close to the Sheffield Parkway.
When his brother Steve had first suggested the plan, he’d spent many days on the computer researching mass shootings. He wasn’t worried about having the courage to squeeze the trigger and kill a person, but it was the psychological effects of the aftermath that caused him a few sleepless nights. How would he react when he heard people screaming and running for their lives? Would it trigger something inside him, telling him it was wrong and to stop?
Jake wasn’t a very dynamic person. He wasn’t deep or confident and was easily led. Since he was a child, his younger brother had taken control and been the dominant one of the two. It didn’t help that Jake was six foot before he was even a teenager and the subject of jokes at school. It also didn’t help that he could eat for England yet wouldn’t put on weight. He was always lanky and had gone through life being called ‘beanpole’, ‘skinny ribs’, ‘long streak of piss’, ‘Lurch’ and other cruel jibes people would throw at him. He tried not to let it get to him – sticks and stones and all that – but the constant bullying every single day of his childhood took its toll. Yes, he was tall and stick-thin, but why did people have to make fun of him because of it? He couldn’t help his height any more than he could help the colour of his skin or what day of the week it was.
By the time he left school, he resigned himself to the fact he was going to be a loner. Nobody would want to date someone like him. Everyone he’d asked out had turned him down; and they hadn’t just said no either, they’d said it with revulsion, as if the very idea of going on a date with Jake Harrison was beyond repugnant. When he finally met his future wife, well, that was like being hit by a thunderbolt.
They’d met at college. She was studying for her A Levels and he was retaking the GCSEs he hadn’t concentrated on at school. It wasn’t love at first sight. It was an incredibly slow-burning relationship. They met one evening when the heavens had opened and the rain was lashing down. Jake was leaving the building, umbrella held aloft, waterproof coat zipped up to the neck; he was always organised. Standing in the doorway was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She had a look of worry on her face as she stared out at the deluge, wearing only a thin sweater, no coat, no umbrella, no protection from the elements.
‘Would you like me to walk you to the bus stop?’
‘Would you?’ she asked, her face lighting up as she smiled at her saviour.
‘Of course.’
‘You’re a star.’
They walked at a pace. Jake towered over her and he kept looking down and smiling. And she smiled back. He racked his brain for something to say, anything, but all he could think of was something dumb and stupid that would make him look ridiculous. How was your day? Crap weather, isn’t it? Do you study here? Stupid.
Once at the bus stop and in the dry and safety of the shelter, Jake closed the umbrella.
‘Thank you so, so much,’ she said, hand on her chest. ‘You can’t trust the weather in this country, can you? Light showers, it said on breakfast TV this morning. How is this a light shower?’
Jake found himself smiling as he watched her talk. She had beautiful lips, twinkling eyes, and dimples appeared in her cheeks when she smiled.
‘It was—’
‘Oh, my bus is here,’ she interrupted. ‘I would have missed this if it hadn’t been for you. Thank you, again. You’re a life saver.’ She touched his arm and jumped on the bus and out of his life.
He saw her a few times again around the college after that. They smiled, waved, said hello, but nothing happened between them. Not until they both happened to be in the local pub one evening. If memory served him correctly, it had been raining that night, too…
‘…nearby schools are being placed in lockdown.’
The voice from the radio in the van brought Jake back from his daydream. Although, it transpired, it was more like a nightmare, considering the way things had ended between them. He shook the thought from his mind and turned up the radio.
‘South Yorkshire Police must be working on the assumption the two shootings are related. If that is the case, what next for the Steel City? Is there a sniper on the loose? Is the force adept enough to cope with such an incident especially with their number depleted? The Prime Minister has been informed and is keeping a close eye on the developing story.’
He turned the radio off. If the Prime Minister had been involved, that meant his actions had attracted national interest, possibly international. Gun crime was associated with America and warzones in the Middle East, not England, and certainly not Sheffield. This was a highly unusual crime for this small island. The eyes of the world would be watching.
He reached into the glove box. His hand touched something sharp. He pulled it out and looked at his fingers. A small dot of blood appeared. He squeezed the fingertip and watched as the blood began to pool. It was the first time he’d seen his own blood since the diagnosis. It hadn’t changed – it was still a deep red, a thick liquid. He hesitated, then sucked his finger. His blood was diseased. Strangely, it didn’t taste any different.
He took his mobile out of the glove box and turned it on. #SheffieldGunman and #Sheffield were the top trending hashtags on Twitter. He couldn’t help but smile at that. He scrolled through some of the postings.
@CoffeeCurls Second shooting @ Sheff Parkway. Closed in both directions. Bodies lying in the streets. Fucking scary. I’m not going to work today. #Sheffield #SheffieldGunman
* * *
@Pete_Ash68 This country is getting more like America every day. I could hear shots and screaming from Parkway from my house. Helicopter overheard. This is scary stuff. #SheffieldGunman
* * *
@annebonnybook Please don’t post any pictures on Twitter of the victims of the #Sheffield gun attack. These are people’s family members. Have some respect.
* * *
@hkist Does anyone know if the schools will be letting the kids out early? Not sure if best place is locked in school or at home. #Sheffield
* * *
@saffron1623 Stuck in traffic just off Parkway. Chaos. Police and marksmen everywhere. Someone’s gone mad with a gun and shot the whole place up. #SheffieldGunman
* * *
@HarrowMorgue News are saying there could be as many as 50 dead. #StandingwithSheffield
* * *
@TheQuietKnitter This is the view from our office overlooking SY Police HQ. Bodies everywhere. #Sheffield
* * *
@hellywellytaff Very quiet in #Sheffield city centre. Police cars driving slowly looking for gunman. #NoH8
Jake smiled. Steve had told him this would happen. He warned him to prepare to be the most important man in the country once he got started, but he had to rein in his emotions. He couldn’t let the excitement, the danger, the adrenaline go to his head. He had a job to do. And he was going to make sure he finished it.
Steve Harrison was back in his cell. The news channels were covering the breaking story of the shootings in Sheffield, but they were being careful not to get their fingers burnt by reporting something that might not be true later and end up getting sued. They were playing their cards very close to their chests. He couldn’t stand listening to that wanker Dan
ny Hanson on a loop, mugging it to the camera. He had targeted the journalist while he was on his killing spree in Sheffield. He coveted the press coverage and used Danny to promote his crimes. In doing so, he’d elevated Danny to a TV reporter. He’d benefited from Steve’s murders and he was going to benefit from this too. Maybe Steve should remind him of the fact that he’d helped his career. It could be useful to have a journalist in his pocket at some point in the future.
From under his mattress, Steve took out an old iPhone that had seen better days. It was scratched to death, the screen was cracked, and it was far from the latest model, but it wasn’t easy to get such things in prison. Considering how they had to be smuggled in, not many people were willing to shove an XR Max up their arse.
He turned the phone on. The time stated it was a little before one o’clock. It was roughly the agreed time to make his call. He scrolled for a number and dialled. It was answered on the second ring.
‘You’re doing good, kidder,’ Steve said as a way of a greeting. He could be found with the phone at any moment. Every second was precious.
‘Cheers.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m ok.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes. No sweat.’
‘Good man. Tell me about Matilda.’
‘You should have seen her, Steve. Everyone goes running back into the station. I mean, they’re charging around like headless chickens and she’s just stood there in the middle of the car park. She’s looking around to see where I’m shooting from. When she clocks me, she just stands still. Staring at me.’ Jake’s words were falling over each other he was speaking so fast.
Steve took a breath. The thought of looking through the eye of a gun and seeing Matilda Darke on the other end gave him goosebumps.
‘Did she look scared?’ Steve asked.
‘Oh yes,’ he said with a smile in his voice.
‘Tell me what you did.’
‘I shot her in the shoulder. She staggered back. I waited a few seconds until she righted herself then, bang! Another shot to the head.’
‘You got her in the head?’ Steve wanted to shout in excitement but couldn’t risk being overheard.
‘Yes. The back of her skull actually came off. I saw it. Bang. Hit. Splatter. Down she went like a sack of shit.’
‘Jake, you’re a fucking star. I love you, man.’
‘You too, brother. Listen, I’m done now, yes?’
‘Of course you are, mate. You’ve done me a massive favour and I’ll never be able to thank you enough. It’s all yours now, mate. Enjoy your-fucking-self.’
‘I intend to.’
Steve paused. He knew this was possibly the last time he’d be speaking to his brother, and the sense of occasion was not lost on him.
‘Jake,’ he said after swallowing hard. ‘I know you’ve had a rough deal lately, but you’ve always been there for me, mate. You’ve always come through for me. I couldn’t have asked for a better brother. I want you to know that.’
‘Cheers, man,’ Jake replied, almost nonchalantly.
‘I better be going now before someone comes looking for me. I’ll be keeping an eye on the news. You’ll take care, won’t you?’
‘Of course, man. Blaze of glory, mate.’
The line went dead.
Steve hid the phone under the mattress and lay down on top of the bed. He was the first to admit that he was a serial killer, a mass murderer, but he blamed Matilda Darke for turning him into one. She was a smug, supercilious bitch who stopped him from getting on when he tried to better himself and get a promotion. There was nothing he could do from prison, but he knew Jake would be easily won over. And, surprisingly, it had been easier than he thought.
Steve received letters and cards from people all around the country. He had fans. People loved the idea of talking to a real-life serial killer. The letters from women were sometimes pure filth, telling him what they’d like him to do to them. He often sold those to the sad loners who needed wanking material. Others wanted to marry him, mother him, look after him. Some were seriously fucked-up. However, he read every single letter he received because sometimes a letter arrived from a true fan, from someone who could be helpful on the outside. When he saw the photo that accompanied the letter, Steve knew he’d found his new right-hand man to act as a conduit between himself and Jake.
Today was a long time in the planning. This required baby steps. But Steve was a very patient man. He drip-fed his new best friend what he needed. He told him to introduce himself to his brother, to develop a relationship and build up a bond. Once that was in place, it was all systems go.
Apparently, when asked if Jake would get a gun and shoot Matilda for Steve, he’d agreed without hesitation. He hadn’t even blinked. He said yes, as if he’d been asked if he wanted a cup of tea.
As the weeks went on and the conversations developed, Steve began plotting the plan of action. It had to be studied from every angle, and a contingency plan had to be put in place should anything go wrong. As Jake was going to get hold of a gun and shoot a copper, he’d most likely be shot dead by police or end up in prison for the rest of his life. Either way, his life would change dramatically because of one tiny little gunshot. So, if your main target is someone high up in the pecking order, why not have some fun? Killing a copper isn’t going to get you a few years in prison then out on licence; no, Jake will be in for life. So if you’re going to get life for one murder, what else can the courts do to you for a dozen murders?
Once Steve was informed who else Jake wanted to target, he felt more relaxed. His brother was taking this seriously. He wouldn’t be backing out at the last minute. He’d given this careful thought.
‘I can see his reasoning. I’ve no problem with that,’ Steve had said. He’d leaned forward and lowered his voice so the prison guards couldn’t overhear the conversation with his new best friend. ‘However, once the police know his identity, they’re going to know where he’s heading next. He needs to throw them off the scent after the first shooting.’
‘How?’
‘Instead of just knocking on Matilda’s door and shooting her in the face when she opens it, he’s going to need to go all sniper on them. Shoot up the whole fucking station. Then, distract them with a second attack in another part of Sheffield. Lie low for a bit, let the cops think he’s finished or moved on. Give it a few hours for them to scratch their heads wondering how the two events can be related. Then … Columbine!’ he’d said with a grin.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When the call ended, Jake suddenly realised that was possibly the last time he was going to talk to his brother. He’d killed a lot of people today. He’d killed coppers, for crying out loud. There was no way he’d be walking away from this. Once they worked out who he was, and they found him, they wouldn’t be interested in taking him in for questioning, it would be like the final act of Bonnie and Clyde.
He wished he’d said more to Steve, something potent and meaningful, perhaps. They were like chalk and cheese but Jake had a great deal of respect for Steve. He loved him. He should have told him that. He looked at the phone and wondered if he should risk calling him back. No. Steve would kick off if he did. ‘Under no circumstances should Jake phone me.’ That was the first rule.
From the glove box, Jake took out a sandwich box. He removed the lid and breathed in the rancid aroma of corned beef, his favourite sandwich filling. He was hungry. Killing obviously gave you an appetite.
He sat back in his seat and took a couple of large bites. Looking out of the windscreen, he watched as life in Sheffield seemed to continue as normal. Traffic was teeming along at a normal pace; people were going in and out of shops to buy what they needed. Life hadn’t changed much. Did they know there was a gunman on the loose? Maybe they hadn’t heard or maybe they just didn’t care. People were so complacent these days. If something didn’t directly involve them, they didn’t take the slightest bit of interest. That’s what pissed Jake off
. That’s why the UK was in turmoil over Brexit, because people only thought about themselves when voting. They didn’t look at the bigger picture. Bastards. The lot of them. Selfish, ungrateful, immature, self-centred…
His phone pinged with an incoming text. He hoped it would be from Steve. He’d like to message back, telling him that he loved him and say a proper goodbye.
He recognised the number, but he’d been told not to save contact details, so was not quite sure who was texting him.
Matilda Darke is NOT dead! She’s been moved to the Hallamshire. Think she’s being operated on.
‘Fuck!’ Jake called out, punching the steering wheel. He’d watched her through the gun. He’d pulled the trigger. The back of her head had exploded. How could that not have killed her? Who is she, the fucking Terminator?
He smiled to himself as he put the last of the sandwich in his mouth, put on his seat belt and started the engine. Steve had said to have a back-up plan just in case something went awry. He’d been right. As usual.
Jake drove out of the supermarket car park and headed back the way he’d come. It was time to pick up his insurance policy.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Adele was no use to anyone at the crime scene at the Sheffield Parkway, and she couldn’t bring herself to go back to Watery Street and help Simon Browes with the post-mortems. Every time she thought of them, she pictured Valerie and Ranjeet and the tears would flow once more.
The pathologist had a strange relationship with death. She dealt with it on a daily basis and for the last twenty-plus years of her career, she’d told herself not to get too close to the people she cut open. The more she thought of them as people, as having lives, jobs, friendships, hobbies, the more she felt like she was working on someone she knew. Once the procedure was over and she was writing up her report, the background to the individual was necessary, sometimes, to determine how they died. Learning snippets about them then didn’t seem to bother her.
