by Michael Wood
She almost fell off the back doorstep as she recoiled from the horror barely inches away from her. She wanted to be sick. She wanted to scream for help. She had no idea what to do.
Once again, Janet pulled out her phone and dialled her husband’s number. While listening to it ring, she paced up and down the back garden. She wanted to look back in the house to make sure she hadn’t plunged into a nightmare, but daren’t. She didn’t want to see her sister like that.
‘Ronald, it’s me,’ she said with a shaking voice. ‘I need you to come over to Vivian’s right now. I think … Well, I don’t know what to think. Something’s happened and … oh goodness, Ron, they’re dead. They’re both dead.’
‘What are you talking about?’
The delayed shock was setting in. Janet started crying uncontrollably. She leaned against the side of the house and fell to the floor. Tears were streaming down her face and she gripped the mobile phone, screaming, begging, pleading for her husband to come to her rescue.
By the time Ronald arrived, a neighbour had heard Janet’s screams and rushed to her aid. Ronald found her being comforted by an elderly man with a look of horror on his face.
‘Janet!’
‘It’s ok. She’s had a nasty shock. I’ve called the police. They’re on their way. They might be delayed though after everything that’s going on today.’
Ronald stared at him.
‘Sorry, Patrick Burton. I live next door.’
‘What’s happened?’ Ronald squatted down to Janet, who was sitting on the doorstep, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She hadn’t drunk any and her hands were shaking despite the heat coming from the cup.
‘She was talking about Malcolm and Vivian being killed,’ Patrick continued. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t quite believe her, so I had a look for myself. She was right. They’re just lying there on the floor in the kitchen. I’m no expert, but it looks like they’ve been shot.’
‘What?’ Ronald asked, surprise in his voice.
‘It’s true,’ Janet said. She looked up from the mug. Her eyes were full of tears. ‘They’re dead, Ronald.’
‘What was it? A break-in or what?’ he asked turning back to the neighbour.
‘I can’t see any sign of a break-in.’
Ronald turned to his wife. Her face had softened. The tears had dried up.
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ he asked.
She swallowed hard. ‘Where’s Jake?’
‘Oh my goodness.’ Ronald fished around in his pocket. ‘I’ve got the spare key. We should go inside and have a look. He might be injured or something.’
‘Shouldn’t we wait for the police?’ Patrick asked.
‘Are you sure they’re dead? Did you hear any shots?’
‘No, but, my wife’s a bit deaf. We have to have the television turned up loud.’
‘Ronald, just go and see, please,’ Janet pleaded, grabbing hold of his arm. ‘They might need help.’
Ronald patted his wife’s hand and made his way to the back door.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Patrick said.
Ronald inserted the key and turned it slowly. He pushed the door open and looked inside. He didn’t know if he should enter or not. He’d read enough crime fiction novels to know this was a crime scene and not to interfere with any potential evidence. However, they were his family. He couldn’t just leave them there, lying in pools of their own blood, especially if they needed urgent medical attention.
‘Oh my goodness,’ he said, a hand clamped to his mouth. He looked down at the body of his sister-in-law. Vivian Harrison was a good woman. She’d put up with a great deal over the last couple of years. She was always so kind, caring, considerate of other people. Surely she deserved better than to be shot to death in her own home.
‘Are they dead?’ Patrick asked behind Ronald.
‘I don’t know. It looks like it.’
He stepped into the house. The neighbour followed.
They didn’t notice the red light come on above the door.
Another bleep caused Jake to switch cameras. He turned to the one that gave a view of the whole kitchen. His mother and father were in the same position he’d left them in this morning while it was still pitch dark outside.
He saw Uncle Ron enter the kitchen and that nosy bastard from next door. They walked slowly and carefully through the room, not taking their eyes from the stricken couple.
Jake put the iPad on the front passenger seat and removed the laptop from his bag. He opened it, woke it up, and began frantically hammering at the keyboard. He paused, slammed his finger down on the large enter button, then went back to looking at the iPad. This show was just about to get exciting.
‘They’re definitely dead,’ Ronald said, having checked for a pulse on his brother-in-law. ‘Their bodies are cold. They’ve been dead for some time.’
‘Oh my God. We should probably wait outside until the police arrive,’ Patrick said.
‘You’re right,’ he said, his voice full of tears.
‘I thought they’d have been here by now. I know that— What was that?’
‘What?’
‘I thought I heard a beeping noise.’ He turned and looked around him. ‘The microwave’s come on.’
‘Has it?’ Ronald asked.
‘Yes. Look. There’s something in there.’ He crouched to look through the door but couldn’t make out what it was. ‘Why would it do that?’
The microwave was counting down from thirty seconds. Ten seconds had already lapsed.
Ronald went over to join him.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he exclaimed.
‘What’s the matter?’ Ronald asked.
‘We need to get out.’
‘What? Why?’
‘I think that’s a bomb.’
There was fifteen seconds left on the clock.
Both men ran out of the house, scrambling with each other over who was exiting first.
‘Janet, move. We have to move,’ Ronald screamed, grabbing his wife from the side of the house and pushing her past Malcolm’s Vauxhall. She dropped the mug of tea. It smashed on the ground.
‘What’s going on?’ she screeched, panic etched on her face.
‘There’s a fucking bomb in the house,’ he said, swearing for the first time in his whole married life.
The three of them ran as fast as they could and only made it to the bottom of the drive before the microwave pinged.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The last of the bodies was being removed from the car park at the back of South Yorkshire Police HQ. Sian watched from the window of the Homicide and Major Enquiry suite. She’d never be able to look out of this window again without seeing the strewn bodies of her colleagues. She glanced up to the building behind, where the gunman had fired from. Sian had never felt such hatred, loathing and venom for one person as she had for the bastard who had mercilessly murdered decent, hardworking people in cold blood.
‘Who’s that?’
Sian jumped and turned to see DC Finn Cotton join her at the window. She looked back down to see the final body being carried to a waiting police van that would take him to the mortuary.
‘Sebastian said it was Robin Morley. A PC. I didn’t know him,’ she said, her voice filled with tears she was clinging on to.
‘I did. We called him Batman, for obvious reasons,’ he said with a ghost of a smile on his face. ‘He was a lovely bloke. Only in his late twenties. He wanted to work his way up the ladder. He passed his sergeant’s’ exam just before Christmas. He could eat for England. I was on protection duty with him once; a whole night shift stuck in a car with him. He knew some filthy jokes, which helped pass the time, but bloody hell, he broke wind that could strip the enamel off your teeth.’ He smiled at the memory.
‘Are you all right?’ Sian asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
‘No. I’m not. I knew every one of those that died out there. In the last two years, I’ve either worked with them, or had good
personal conversations with them. They were more than colleagues. Even the ACC was more than just a boss. I’ve lost six friends today.’
‘We’ve all lost six friends, Finn. Every police officer in the country will be grieving for these guys. But we pull together. We don’t suffer in silence. We come out of this stronger and we fight back. We fight back hard,’ she said with real determination.
‘Sian.’
She turned at the sound of her name being called and saw DI Brady nodding for her to join in him his office.
‘Remember that, Finn,’ she said, turning back to the detective constable as she rubbed his back. ‘None of us are alone in this. That’s how we survive – by banding together and showing this wanker we mean business.’
It was rare for Sian to swear, especially in front of a colleague of a lower rank. She always wanted to maintain that air of professionalism about her. However, today, those words she hated were more than justified.
‘I’m so sick of trying to be positive,’ she said as she entered Christian’s office and closed the door behind her.
‘Do you want to take a break, have five minutes to yourself?’ he asked.
‘No. I want to scream. I want to kick something,’ she said, her eyes darting left and right as if looking for something to pick up and throw through a window.
‘Sian, take a seat, there’s something I need to tell you.’
Her gaze fixed on him. She saw the look of hurt on his face and she suspected the worse.
‘Oh God, Matilda’s died?’
‘No. Nothing like that,’ he quickly assured her.
‘Oh, thank God.’ She slapped a hand to her chest and plonked herself down in a squeaking chair. ‘What’s happened?’
‘A couple of things. First of all, I’ve had a call from Adele at the hospital; Matilda was pregnant. She lost the baby.’
It was a few long seconds before Sian could take in what he’d said. ‘She was … oh, Jesus Christ, no. Oh God.’ Her head fell forwards into her hands. ‘That’s … that’s just the worst news. The poor woman.’
‘According to Adele, she didn’t even think Matilda knew she was pregnant. Adele didn’t know, and she said Matilda definitely would have told her.’
‘Yes, she would. After all she’s been through, she’s just getting her life back on track and this happens.’ She looked up. ‘Did Adele say how the operation was going?’
‘Slowly. They’re removing the skull fragments from the brain, but until the swelling comes down, they can’t repair the skull, and they won’t know how much damage there’s been until she wakes up. If she wakes up.’
‘Am I having a nightmare?’ she asked. ‘Because none of this seems real. How can Valerie and Ranjeet be dead? How can Matilda be fighting for her life? I can’t get my head around any…’ She broke down, her words lost to the tears she had been so bravely hanging on to in front of Finn, Rory and Scott.
Christian ran around to her, pulled her from the chair and held her tightly in his arms. He didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could say. A comforting hug, an acknowledgement of support said more than any useless placatory words could.
The door to Christian’s office was opened without being knocked on. Christian looked up and saw Chief Constable Martin Featherstone standing on the threshold.
‘Everything all right?’ he asked in his usual strong, commanding voice.
Sian quickly pushed herself out of Christian’s embrace and wiped her eyes. ‘Everything’s fine, sir. I just needed a little cry.’
‘Everything isn’t fine, Sian. This is one of the most unusual days I think any of us will ever experience. Anyone who claims they haven’t shed a tear over what’s happened today is either a liar or a psychopath. Now, I’m glad you’re both here. A call has come through – two people have been found shot dead at a house in Worrall.’
‘Who?’ Sian asked.
‘I don’t know yet. However, the man who called it in has made several calls. We’ve not been quick on response due to obvious reasons, but his last call was to say that he believed there was a bomb in the house.’
‘A bomb?’
‘The gunman’s house?’ Christian asked.
‘That was my first thought,’ Martin said. ‘Until we know more, I’m going along with the assumption that he’s shot and killed his family and booby-trapped the house before heading off on his shooting spree.’
‘We need to get into that house,’ Sian said, making her way towards the door.
‘Nobody is going anywhere until the house is secure,’ Martin said, stopping her. ‘A bomb disposal unit is on its way from Catterick Garrison.’
‘That could take ages. What if there is a bomb and it goes off? Vital evidence could be destroyed,’ Sian said.
‘And if I let you lot go in there and a bomb goes off, I’ll lose even more officers. No. Nobody is entering that house until it’s secure. In the meantime,’ Martin said, turning his attention to Christian, ‘I want you and your team in the neighbourhood. I want the whole street evacuated and the neighbours interviewed. We need to know everything we can about the people living there and how it fits in to the narrative of one man waging a war against the police and the people of Sheffield.’
With that, he turned on his heels and marched out of the office. He’d left Christian’s door open when he entered, so the majority of those in the open-plan office had heard everything the Chief Constable had told them. The grim faces of the HMET said it all; they were dealing with more than an angry man with a gun and a vendetta. This was a man who had bomb-making capabilities and a whole arsenal of potential lethal weapons up his sleeve. Who the fuck was this man?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Danny Hanson could feel his mobile vibrating in his jacket pocket, but he was too busy repeating the same shit over and over again in a live piece to camera from outside the front entrance of South Yorkshire Police HQ.
He’d watched the BBC News channel on a slow news day where the same story kept getting repeated until even the newsreader looked bored, but he was in the middle of an exciting, developing story. His phone was buzzing from his police contact giving him exclusive information nobody else had, yet he wasn’t allowed to act on it because he needed to be in front of the camera to tell the few viewers who were watching at this time of day that a gunman was terrorising the city of Sheffield.
‘Danny Hanson, our North of England correspondent, thank you,’ the newsreader said.
He remained still, looking grim-faced into the camera until he was told through his earpiece that he was no longer on screen. He rolled his eyes and lowered the microphone. He turned away, fished his phone out of his pocket and saw he had a voicemail and several text messages.
20 now confirmed dead from the Parkway.
* * *
Dead at the station are Valerie, DC Ranjeet Deshwal, PC Natasha Tranter, PC Robin Morley, PC Fiona Lavery and Sergeant Julian Price.
* * *
Get yourself over to Mowson Lane. It’s all kicking off.
‘Fuck!’ Danny said out loud.
‘Problem?’ Lewis asked, looking up from his camera.
Danny ignored him and searched for the number of the producer on his phone.
‘Hi, Dan, you’re doing a great job,’ the producer said by way of a greeting.
Danny hated being called Dan. ‘Thanks. Listen, I’ve had a contact at the police give me some exclusive information. I need to get out to Worrall.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘The other side of Sheffield.’
‘We’re doing a recap at quarter past. I need you there.’
‘I’ve repeated the same things for over an hour. Can’t you just run that again?’
‘Something might happen. It needs to be live.’
‘Nothing’s happened. If the Chief Constable was going to give another press conference, we’d have been told about it by now.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at it hard to stop himself from saying somethi
ng he shouldn’t.
‘We’ve got the images sent over from South Yorkshire Police. Calls are coming in all the time. We could have an ID any minute.’
‘I just need ten minutes to check this out.’
‘What exactly is happening at the Wirral?’
‘It’s Worrall, and I don’t actually know yet. All I know is that it’s kicking off.’
‘Is it even relevant to the shooting?’
‘I … don’t … maybe. Possibly,’ Danny waffled.
‘Get more information from your contact and call me back.’
‘But…’ The line had already gone dead.
Danny chewed his bottom lip hard as he thought. He looked up at the building of South Yorkshire Police HQ. It looked how it always did on any other day. The only exception was the increasing number of press parked outside. It was frustrating. If he’d still been working on The Star, then he’d already be halfway to Worrall by now.
‘Lewis,’ he said, turning around quickly. ‘Can you cover for me?’
‘What? How?’
‘I need you to say there’s a problem with the camera and we can’t do a live feed at quarter past.’
‘Why?’
‘Just … something’s come up. It could be big. I don’t know, but we need to move now.’
‘I’m not lying for you, Danny.’
‘Look, Lewis, this is a massive story. It’s huge. How often do we get a gunman in England, for fuck’s sake? I’ve got a contact within the police feeding me information,’ he said, holding up his phone. ‘He’s been spot-on about everything so far. If we get this, it could mean big things for us,’ he said with wide-eyed excitement.
