Time Is Running Out

by Michael Wood

  ‘And if it’s nothing, it could me the sack. My girlfriend’s pregnant with twins – I need this job.’

  ‘I need it too. More than half of my salary goes on my sodding rent. But don’t you see what’s happening here? I’ve got an in with the police. If we get footage of another shooting or the gunman being arrested or something, who knows where that will lead us.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘I really don’t like this, Danny.’

  ‘You’re a journalist, Lewis. We hunt for the best story we can get.’

  ‘No. You’re a journalist. I’m a cameraman. I don’t even want to be working on news. I’ve applied for every nature documentary the BBC have done in the last few years and got nowhere.’

  ‘How many more times can we see fucking penguins shivering to death in a huddle in the Antarctic? It’s been done so many times, I bet even the penguins roll their eyes when they see David Attenborough get off the plane. We’ve got the chance to catch a gunman in action!’

  ‘Doesn’t that scare you, even a little?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. It’s giving me a boner just thinking about it,’ he said, slapping him on the arm and heading for the van.

  ‘You need to see a therapist, mate. You’re not wired right.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Two cars carrying what was left of the Homicide and Major Enquiry Team arrived at Worrall. They couldn’t get onto Mowson Lane, so had to park around the corner.

  Uniformed officers were busy knocking on doors and informing residents of what was happening in their street. Staying indoors was not an option. They had to leave their homes as there was a potential bomb threat. It was organised chaos as people made their way quickly down the road to where they were being transported by bus to a nearby community centre.

  ‘A bomb disposal unit is less than an hour away. We’ve no idea how long people are going to have to be away from their homes, so we’re asking them to take their pets and any medication they may need.’ Inspector Porter filled Christian in on the developing situation as the HMET approached the roadblock.

  ‘Any sightings on the gunman?’ Christian asked as he watched an overweight woman trotting up the road with a dog on a lead in each hand and a heavy-looking carpet bag under her left arm. She looked scared to death as she glanced over her shoulder at her house, as if for the final time.

  ‘Not so far.’

  ‘It’s been three hours since the shooting at the Parkway. Where the bloody hell is he?’

  ‘He’s either gone to ground and someone’s hiding him, or he’s finished and probably topped himself.’

  Christian thought for a moment. ‘I very much doubt he’s finished.’

  ‘I don’t think so either. I’ll leave you to it then, mate.’ He slapped him on the shoulder and made to leave.

  ‘Is everything all right, Gavin?’

  ‘Yes. My sister lives on this road. I just want to make sure she’s safe.’

  Christian offered him a sympathetic smile. Despite Sheffield being a large city, it was a close one too, and family and friends tended to stick by each other. DI Brady suddenly felt individually responsible for all half a million lives living in the Steel City.

  ‘What do you want from us?’ Scott asked.

  Christian took a breath. ‘Scott, you, Finn and Rory help with the uniformed officers. If there is a bomb in there, we don’t know how it’s wired, if it’s on a timer or anything. We need this road cleared as quickly as possible.’

  The three DCs set off. Christian watched Rory as he moved away. He was quiet. He hadn’t said a word on the journey and every time Christian had glanced at him through the rear-view mirror, he looked a million miles away. He was probably working on autopilot today, but tomorrow, and the day after, he’d need careful watching.

  ‘What do we know about the people who live there?’ Christian asked, nodding towards the house.

  Sian looked down at her pad. ‘Malcolm and Vivian Harrison. He’s a lecturer in engineering at the university. She took early retirement due to ill health.’

  ‘Who found them?’

  ‘Her sister, Janet, Janet’s husband, Ronald, and a neighbour, Patrick Burton.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘They’re being taken back to the station to give a statement. Janet’s in shock.’

  ‘Ok. They all need interviewing. I want to know everything about this family as soon as we can.’

  ‘I’ll give Aaron a call and ask him to get the interviews going straight away.’

  ‘Thanks, Sian.’

  Christian turned back to the house. It was a normal, unassuming detached house in the middle of a quiet, unsuspecting street in an affluent area of Sheffield. What the hell had happened behind that white door for someone to shoot both occupants dead and booby-trap it with explosives?

  The sky was darkening by the minute as the dull day descended into late afternoon. It was usually pitch-black by four o’clock in early January. Is that what the gunman was waiting for? Was he going to make his next move under the cover of darkness? A stiff icy breeze caused Christian to shiver. He wished he’d worn more layers today.

  ‘According to Rix, Patrick Burton was telling him in the car back to the station that there was something in the microwave that looked like a bomb,’ Sian said, as she returned to Christian at the roadblock, putting her phone in her pocket. ‘He and Ronald Crowther went into the kitchen and the microwave came on by itself.’

  ‘It sounds like it was wired to a sensor or something. They’ll have triggered it when they entered,’ Christian said, wrapping his coat tightly around his chest to keep warm.

  ‘The microwave was counting down from thirty seconds,’ Sian continued. ‘They ran out of the house, but nothing happened.’

  ‘Did he get a good look at what was in the microwave?’

  ‘No. He said it definitely wasn’t food. He saw wires.’

  ‘Then why didn’t it go off?’ he mused.

  ‘Maybe it was wired wrongly. Maybe it was a dummy,’ Sian guessed.

  ‘Possibly. Sian, get back to the station. There’s no point in us both being here. Have a chat with Malcolm and Vivian.’

  ‘I’ve asked Aaron to do that.’

  ‘I know, but I’d prefer you to do it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re much better at getting under people’s skin than he is.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she said, giving a hint of a smile.

  As Sian made her way back to a marked car to take her to HQ, Christian heard a van screech around the corner and saw the recognisable grin of Danny Hanson in the front passenger seat.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Night’s veil had started to draw in on the journey back from Worrall to HQ. Sian shivered as she climbed out of the car at the front of the building. She doubted she’d ever use the rear car park again.

  With her head down, she pushed by a swarm of journalists, ignored their questions and was let into the building by a police constable she didn’t recognise.

  A little way down the corridor she stopped in her tracks. Sian had been with South Yorkshire Police her entire career. She prided herself on knowing everyone, but it turned out she didn’t know as many people as she thought. Out of the six dead, she only knew two by name. Of the eight seriously injured, she only knew three. That had to change. She turned back and returned to the petite uniformed officer standing by the door.

  ‘Have the reporters been any trouble?’ Sian asked.

  ‘Oh, no. They’ve been quite patient, actually,’ she said in a soft voice. She obviously hadn’t expected a plain-clothed officer to talk to her.

  ‘Have you been here long?’

  ‘I started here a few months ago,’ she said with a look of sadness on her smooth, pale face.

  Sian gave a sympathetic smile. ‘Not the start you were hoping for?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Well, I’m DS Sian Mills. I’m with the Homicide and Majo
r Enquiry Team.’ She held out her hand for the young woman to shake.

  ‘Nice to meet you. PC Zofia Nowak.’

  ‘Beautiful name.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She gave a genuine smile. ‘My parents are Polish.’

  ‘I know today is highly unusual, and it will affect a lot of us in different way, but if you ever need to talk, just pop upstairs. None of us should go through this alone.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. Thank you.’

  Sian promised herself to be more open and forthcoming, especially with the next generation of officers. She proffered a sympathetic smile, turned and headed for the stairs.

  But stopped dead when she saw a face she knew at the end of the corridor.

  ‘Kesinka!’

  Her colleague turned around. Her face was gaunt and wide-eyed. The moment she saw Sian it wrinkled, and the tears flowed.

  ‘Sian!’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Sian started crying and headed towards her with her arms outstretched. They held each other tight and cried on each other’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry, Kes. I’m so, so sorry.’ Sian’s words were muffled, lost in Kesinka’s duffel coat. She pulled herself out of the embrace and looked deep into Kesinka’s wet eyes. ‘He was a good man. The best. I’m so sorry. What are you doing here? You should be at home.’

  ‘I couldn’t stay in the house. I just … I don’t know … I needed some air, so I went out for a walk, and I ended up here. I don’t even know how I got here.’

  ‘Where’s Hemant?’

  ‘He’s with my mum. Sian, I don’t know what I’m going to do without him,’ she said, bursting into tears once more.

  Sian fumbled in her pocket for a tissue. She pulled a crumpled one out and handed it to the DC. ‘I don’t know what to say to you, Kes, I wish I did. You’re not on your own, that’s the main thing. You have your family. You have Hemant, and you have all of us here. We’ll look after you. We’ll make sure Ranjeet isn’t forgotten.’

  Kesinka tried to smile but her tears wouldn’t allow it. ‘I heard about Matilda. How is she?’

  ‘I don’t know. Look, Kesinka, why don’t you go into the family room. There are some other relatives there and I’ll bring you a coffee.’

  ‘Can I…?’ She nodded to the stairs leading up to the HMET suite.

  ‘That’s not a good idea, Kes. It’s an active investigation. We’ve got photos on the board that you don’t need to see.’

  She nodded sagely. ‘Sian, I’m scared. I can’t believe he’s gone.’

  A door opened at the end of the corridor and a group of uniformed officers headed in their direction. Sian put her arm around Kesinka and took her into a nearby vacant office.

  Kesinka collapsed into the seat as if her spine had been removed and there was nothing to hold her up.

  Sian knelt down beside her. ‘Kes, I know you feel like you’re in a nightmare right now, and I’m afraid you are. We all are. But I promise you, it can only get better from here. There are going to be a couple of difficult weeks ahead, but once things have settled down, you’ll find a way to cope. The most important thing to remember is that you are not alone. You’ll never be alone. You and Hemant are so loved here. By everyone.’

  Kesinka’s face screwed up as tears rolled down her cheeks. There was nothing else Sian could say. She pulled her into a tight embrace once again.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  ‘BP’s dropping.’

  ‘I’m almost finished.’

  The operation to remove fragments of shattered skull from Matilda’s brain was not an easy one and required a steady hand. Layton McNulty was the second surgeon to work on her, as the painstakingly slow procedure soon took its toll, and a fresh pair of eyes and a steadier hand was required.

  When Matilda was shot, the bullet grazed the back of her head leaving a longer track of shattered bone fragments rather than a perfect entry wound. Although a direct hit would have seriously reduced her chance of survival, the repair job to the skull would have been neater and easier.

  The operation was stalled when it was discovered Matilda was pregnant. The body had gone into shock and rejected the pregnancy in order to save her life. It was a while before a catheter could be inserted and Matilda stabilised enough for the operation to continue.

  Deep in unconsciousness, Matilda was in the right place. There was a full team of surgeons, consultants, doctors and nurses around her, all of whom were constantly checking her vital signs, making sure she was getting enough oxygen and anaesthetic and that her blood pressure was stable.

  There was a tube sticking out of her mouth, her eyes were taped closed and a tube inserted in her nose, yet she looked at peace as if she was enjoying a deep sleep.

  A machine beeped a warning sound.

  ‘Blood pressure is dropping through the floor.’

  ‘I can’t get hold of this last fragment. It’s embedded too far,’ the surgeon said.

  ‘It might be best to leave it in and come back for it another time, when she’s more stable.’

  ‘I can get to it, just give me another minute.’

  ‘More O-neg.’

  ‘BP eighty over forty and falling.’

  ‘There’s another tear. She’s losing so much blood I can’t see what the fuck I’m going here. Suction,’ the surgeon shouted.

  Blood began to pour out of a fresh wound in Matilda’s head. It pooled onto the table then began to drip onto the floor. It wasn’t long before the surgeon was standing in a growing pool of red.

  ‘She’s going into VF.’

  ‘We need to shock her.’

  ‘Fuck!’

  The surgeon took a step back as the crash team took over. One nurse grabbed the defibrillators, while another nurse began removing the gown covering Matilda.

  ‘Charging to one-eighty. Stand by.’

  Everyone stepped back from Matilda as her heart was shocked into life. Nothing happened.

  ‘Again. Stand by.’

  Still nothing happened.

  ‘Charging to two-forty. Stand by,’ the nurse said. Her voice sounded calm and controlled.

  Once again everyone stepped back, and more volts were shocked into Matilda’s heart. All eyes turned to the monitor to see if her heart was going to react.

  ‘Still nothing.’

  ‘Charging to three-sixty. Stand by, everyone.’

  Matilda’s body jolted as a shock of electricity surged through her body. Her face didn’t acknowledge what was happening and her heart didn’t respond.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sian had composed herself after leaving Kesinka in the family room. She’d gone into the toilets, splashed some cold water on her face and had a word with herself in the mirror, before sending off a text to her husband, Stuart, telling him how much she loved him. On her way to the interview room, she called Kesinka’s mother, having got her number from HR, and asked if she’d come and collect her daughter. The last place she needed to be today was a police station.

  ‘What room are Ronald and Janet Crowther in?’ Sian asked Aaron as she caught up with him in the corridor.

  ‘Interview room one. I’m about to go in for a chat now. I was just sorting some refreshments.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Wait, are you coming in with me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Christian asked me to.’

  Aaron stopped walking. ‘Don’t you think I’m capable of taking a witness statement?’ he asked harshly.

  ‘Where did that come from? I’m sitting in with you, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s because I’m not trusted.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘You didn’t need to. It’s written on your face. Fucking hell, Sian, I’ve been a DS almost as long as you have. I make one little mistake and suddenly I can’t do my job.’

  Sian let out an exasperated sigh. ‘First of all, it wasn’t a “little mistake”, it was a monumental cock-up. You slept with a witness and scre
wed up an entire murder case. Secondly, you’re no longer on HMET, and a member of the team needs to be a part of this interview. You can read into that whatever you want to, but the fact of the matter is, I’m going in there with you. If you want to be an arse about this, I’ll get someone else from CID to join me.’

  Aaron remained silent, though he didn’t take his eyes from Sian.

  ‘Which is it to be?’ she asked, looking up to him.

  He didn’t reply, just turned and headed for the interview room.

  Ronald and Janet Crowther were sitting next to each other in silence. They both had a mug of tea in front of them, but neither had touched it. Their faces were blank in disbelief at what they had stumbled across this afternoon. Two hardworking people who paid their taxes and had never been involved with the police, never even had a parking ticket, had been plunged into a living nightmare. Two members of their family had been shot to death and a bomb planted in the house. It didn’t seem real. How could it? This was Sheffield, for crying out loud, not a Jack Ryan novel.

  ‘Is there anything else we can get you?’ Sian asked as she sat down opposite them.

  Janet shook her head.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Ronald answered.

  ‘Now, we’re not recording this interview. Neither of you are under arrest. We just need to ask you some questions to try to understand what happened to Malcolm and Vivian,’ Sian said slowly so they’d understand among the confusion of thoughts and images racing around their minds.

  Neither of them said anything. Sian turned to look at Aaron. He raised his eyebrows. This was going to be a long process.

  ‘Janet, when was the last time you spoke to your sister?’ Aaron asked.

  It was a while before she answered. She was staring down into her rapidly cooling mug of tea. She licked her dry lips. ‘Last night,’ she said, barely above a whisper.

  ‘Was this in person or over the phone?’