by Michael Wood
‘We’ll leave you to it,’ Claire said, tapping Lucy on the arm and nodding towards the doors. ‘We’ll be in my office if you want us.’
They didn’t make it to the doors before they were opened by another. DS Sian Mills entered and slowly approached Adele.
She didn’t need to say anything. The blank look on her face, the wide, distant eyes and the tear stains on her cheeks told the whole story.
Adele looked up at Sian. She opened her mouth and released a heart-wrenching sound that seemed to come from the centre of her soul. She fell to the floor as she screamed and wailed. Her only child, her lifeline, had been cruelly taken from her.
Chapter Sixty
DC Finn Cotton entered Christian’s office carrying a tray with three mugs of tea – one for each of them and another for Aaron Connolly. They were all sat in silence as they tried, and failed, to make sense of what had just happened at Stannington Secondary School, at everything that had happened since early this morning. Seven police officers were now dead, three from their own team. A word had yet to be invented to describe the events of today. Nightmare didn’t seem strong enough to cover it anymore.
Finn stood by the door, his hands wrapped around his mug. He took a sip, but it didn’t taste of anything. He turned to look out of the room. A few support workers were milling about in silence, going about their tasks, but there were two desks that would remain unoccupied for quite some time. He blinked, and a tear fell from his eye which he quickly swept away.
‘Any news on Scott?’ Aaron asked.
‘I called my sister – she’s a nurse at the Northern – and she said that his mother’s with him. He’s had to be sedated.’
‘I didn’t know your sister was a nurse,’ he said.
‘Yes. She works in gynaecology.’
‘That’s not where Scott is, I hope,’ Aaron said, in an attempt at levity to relieve the tension.
Finn flashed the barest hint of a smile. ‘No. She goes out with someone who works in A&E, who passed on the news.’
‘Ah.’
The room fell silent again and none of them knew what to say.
Christian hadn’t touched his drink. He was sat forward on his chair, staring into the distance. He looked physically, mentally and emotionally drained.
‘Sir,’ Finn said. His voice barely above a whisper. ‘DI Brady,’ he said louder.
‘Christian!’ Aaron called, snapping his fingers in front of Christian’s face.
‘Hmm? What?’ he asked, coming back to reality from wherever his mind was.
‘What do we do now?’ Finn asked. ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘That’s a good question, Finn. I wish I knew the answer.’
‘We need to wait until Inspector Porter’s finished at the school. If they’ve killed the gunman, then it’s all over. If they arrest him, it’s just beginning for us,’ Aaron said.
‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ Finn began. ‘You don’t realise how fragile life is until something like this happens. Just this morning we were taking the piss out of Rory for getting engaged to Natasha, now they’re both dead along with Ranjeet and the ACC. In the blink of an eye, all those lives lost.’
‘Are you all right?’ Christian asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied, a heavy frown on his face. ‘I don’t know how I feel. It’s like … there’s too much going on for me to understand and accept.’
‘You’re in shock.’
‘We all are,’ Aaron said.
‘Have you called your wife?’ Christian asked.
Finn nodded. ‘I didn’t tell her we’d lost more officers. I didn’t want to worry her. She’s been watching the news all day. They’ve taken the regular programmes off BBC One and are doing a news special.’
‘Danny Hanson will be loving that,’ Aaron said.
‘Susannah said that Danny’s been trending on Twitter since he made his first broadcast. He’s very popular with female viewers, apparently.’
‘Really? The twat’ll be even more annoying now,’ Aaron said.
The door opened. Finn quickly stepped out of the way to stop being squashed against the wall. Chief Constable Martin Featherstone entered. His expression was grave.
‘I’m incredibly sorry about DC Fleming,’ he said. ‘I won’t lie and pretend I knew him, because I didn’t. But if DCI Darke chose him for her team, then he was obviously a dedicated and professional detective. And I know he’ll be missed by you all.’
‘He will, sir, thank you,’ Christian said.
‘I’ve had Inspector Porter on the phone from the school. They’ve done a full sweep of the building and they haven’t located Jake Harrison.’
‘What?’ Aaron asked, incredulous.
‘He must have got away, somehow, in the melee.’
‘An explosion, a gun attack, dozens of lives lost including one of our own – I’d hardly call that a “melee”,’ Aaron said scathingly.
‘You’re right. I’m sorry. Poor choice of words.’
A phone rang in the main office.
‘That’s mine. Excuse me,’ Finn said, looking almost relieved to be leaving Christian’s office.
‘There are two thoughts as to what happens next,’ the Chief Constable began. ‘Either we’ll find Jake dead somewhere, having taken his own life, or he’s planning a fourth attack.’
‘From what we know of Jake, there’s no evidence for where a fourth attack could possibly be,’ Christian said. ‘He’s killed his parents, he’s attacked us as a force, and he’s killed his wife. What other grievance could he possibly have?’
‘Maybe it’s entirely random like the shooting at the Parkway,’ Featherstone said.
‘No. There is nothing about this that’s been random. Everything has been planned in the minutest of details.’
‘Then what was the motive for the Parkway shooting?’ Aaron asked.
‘To confuse us,’ Christian said. ‘To throw us off his scent. To give him more time to plan his strategy and get to the school. We had two massive crime scenes to process, and we were several officers down. While we were sorting ourselves out, he was biding his time until it went dark so he could attack the school and kill his wife.’
‘We need him found, Christian, before he strikes again. How is he moving from one location to the other without us knowing about it? Does he have a car or a van? Do we know any of that?’ Featherstone asked, almost shouting.
‘We know he has a van.’
‘Registration number?’
Christian shook his head.
‘So, we’re looking for a white man driving a van. Well, that really narrows the search down,’ Featherstone said with bile.
‘Sir—’
‘And why is there such a lack of information about a man who has been able to terrorise the city for the best part of eight hours?’ Featherstone interrupted.
‘Because we don’t have the intelligence or the resources. This man is a loner. He doesn’t have friends we can call upon. His aunt and uncle haven’t a clue what kind of vehicle he’s driving and, you may not have noticed, sir,’ Christian said, his face reddening in anger, ‘but we have lost seven officers from this station today. Seven good men and women. I’m sorry that this team isn’t filled with emotionless robots, but we’re struggling to process the loss of our colleagues and friends.’
Christian would never have raised his voice to a senior officer before today, which was testament to the unusualness of the situation. He was angry. He was frightened. He was also incredibly protective of the team he’d been put in charge of during Matilda Darke’s absence.
There was a light rap on the door. Christian looked around the Chief Constable and barked at Finn to enter.
‘Sorry to interrupt. I’ve had a call from downstairs. Steve Harrison has arrived.’
Chapter Sixty-One
Jake Harrison was sitting behind the wheel of his van. He was breathing deeply and rapidly. His adrenaline was through the roof. His white shirt was splattered
with blood, as were his face and hands. He could smell the cordite from the bullets fired and the exploded bomb, which he hadn’t expected to work. It had been so simple to put together.
He thought about Ruth. He really did love her. When she walked out on him, abandoned him when he needed her the most, his love quickly turned to hate. They had been good together, but Steve going to prison, his hero turning out to be a serial killer, destroyed all that.
When Jake had been approached by someone Steve trusted and the plan began to form to reap revenge on the police force, Jake knew he’d want to add Ruth to his list. She had to die for leaving him. The look on her face when he rammed the Glock pistol into her mouth was something that would stay with him for a long time. Her eyes widening as she looked at him pleadingly, tears running down her face. As if he was going to let her go. As soon as he fired – as soon as her head exploded – brain, blood and bone spattered the wall behind her. He let go, and she dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. The bitch was dead.
He couldn’t remember much else after that. He remembered shooting one of the coppers on Steve’s list and letting the other live. Then, he had turned and calmly walked along the corridor, down the stairs, and out through a window in a storage room on the ground floor. While police were storming the front of the building and kids were fleeing from the back, he was walking over the field, Glock in the back of his trousers, rifle over his shoulder, breathing in the cold, damp air and feeling the drizzle on his face. It was cool and refreshing.
But this was far from over. Matilda Darke was still alive and her being dead was the main point of today. It didn’t matter how many people he killed, including his own parents and wife, it would still be a failure if Matilda remained alive. Being in a coma or a vegetable would not be enough for Steve. He wanted her dead.
From the glove box, he took out another iPhone and turned it on. Nobody had this number. He’d use it once, then destroy it.
He climbed out of the van, opened the back door and saw his hostage tied up in the back. Her face was stained with tears. She looked to be in pain as the gag around her mouth was rubbing at the skin.
‘I need you to shut the fuck up,’ he said, pointing the Glock at her with one hand while he dialled with the other.
It was a while before the call was answered.
‘Listen carefully,’ he began. ‘Don’t say anything until I’ve finished. Matilda Darke is still alive, and she needs to be dead. I’m going to the Hallamshire Hospital to finish her off. You need to make sure I’m not challenged. Do you understand?’ There was no reply. ‘I said, do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ came the weak reply.
He held the phone out and placed it next to his hostage. She whimpered and tried to speak, but the gag wouldn’t allow it.
‘Did you hear that?’ Jake asked.
‘I did.’
‘She’s still alive. If I see one copper at the hospital, I will fucking kill her, and she’ll know it’s your fault. Understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good man.’
He ended the call. He removed the battery and SIM and dropped them down a nearby drain.
‘It’s nearly over, love,’ he said, winking at his hostage before slamming the van door closed.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Steve smiled at the familiar building when the car turned and pulled into the visitors’ car park at the front of the police station. He’d only worked in there for two years, but he knew every inch of it.
Growing up, he’d passed the place many times, hoping, one day, to be working there. He felt proud to wear the uniform, to be out on the streets representing South Yorkshire Police. It didn’t take long for the feeling to sour once he realised the politics involved, the brown-nosing, the sucking up. If your face didn’t fit, and Steve’s obviously didn’t, there was no chance of promotion, of being among the elite. You were just a statistic, a face in the crowd, a uniformed nobody to police a Sheffield United match, guard the crowds during Armistice celebrations and patrol the lanes of Meadowhall at Christmas to pacify the shoppers that their safety was paramount.
He hated this building and every fucker in it.
The car door opened and Steve, still handcuffed, was helped out. He looked up and wondered how many of his former colleagues would be looking down at him. He needed to play the role of a repentant man, of the grieving son, of the shocked brother. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Once inside the building, he couldn’t help but take in his surroundings and smile. He never thought he’d be back in here again. He was pushed down into a hard, plastic chair and told to wait. He had no intention of going anywhere. They could have removed his cuffs, left the door open and the car engine running, and he wouldn’t have escaped. There was plenty more drama left in the day and he didn’t want to miss out on a single minute of it.
The door opened and DI Christian Brady entered the reception. He looked older than the last time Steve had seen him. He was softer around the middle and his hair was a lot thinner. He looked tired, haggard, and there was a redness to his eyes. He’d obviously been crying.
‘Steve,’ Christian said as a form of greeting. There was no pleasure to his voice.
Steve nodded but didn’t say anything.
‘Can I get you anything? A tea or coffee, perhaps?’ he asked, though it seemed to pain him to be polite.
‘A coffee would be nice,’ he replied, refusing to say thank you. ‘Black, strong, one sugar,’ he said with a friendly smile.
Christian seemed to bite his lip to stop him from reaching for Steve’s throat and squeezing the life out of him. He turned to the desk sergeant and asked him to set up an interview room while he went and made the coffee. As he left, Steve saw Christian’s eyes burning into him. This was going to be so much fun.
‘Sian, I didn’t expect you back so soon,’ Christian said as he stepped into the corridor from the men’s toilets.
After meeting Steve again after all this time, Christian had needed a few minutes alone. He couldn’t help but think of all the pain and suffering the former constable had caused, and how he’d duped DC Faith Easter into thinking he was in love with her just to get closer to the investigation. He hadn’t needed to kill her. She was a good detective, a genuinely decent person. It angered Christian that she had been used so despicably.
‘How’s Adele?’
‘Devastated,’ she replied. Sian’s face looked dry, but her eyes were red, likely from crying alongside the pathologist. ‘Claire’s taken her home. I think she’s going to stay with her overnight. I just…’ She shook her head and swallowed her tears. ‘I have no idea how she’s going to get through this.’
‘We’ll be there for her. All of us,’ he said, squeezing the top of her arm. ‘Look, Steve’s arrived from Wakefield Prison. Do you want to interview him with me, or shall I get Aaron to sit in?’
‘No,’ she said, her face hardening. ‘I’ll come with you. Can you give me a few minutes though?’
‘Sure.’
Interview room one had been set aside for Steve Harrison. He sat at the table and took a leisurely sip of his coffee. It was the best he’d had in a long time. He made the most of his time in prison – there was nothing he could do about his incarceration, so he didn’t fight it – however, there was the odd luxury he missed: a decent cup of coffee, takeaway food, going to the coast, getting pissed at the weekends and a good shag. But if he dwelt on what he missed, he’d go mad. The best and only way to get through the slog of a prison sentence is simply to accept it. Don’t think of what you no longer have, adapt to what’s available and make the best of the situation. Once he’d settled, he was much happier with his surroundings.
Sitting next to him in the interview room was Shaun Cox. He sat with his back straight, his massive arms folded across his chest and his huge legs spread apart in front of him. His face was craggy and set permanently to scowl. He radiated malevolence. It was as though Steve could feel the seething mass of rage bli
stering from him.
‘Enjoying your day out?’ Steve asked.
Shaun didn’t reply.
‘You can relax, you know. It’s me in for questioning, not you.’ He looked across and saw the thick vein throbbing in the prison officer’s neck. ‘How do you relax, by the way? You always look like a lion in the jungle ready to pounce on a zebra. I bet you spend your evenings sharpening your weapons waiting for the zombie apocalypse.’
The door opened and Christian entered with DS Sian Mills behind him. Steve sat up straight, licked his lips and shifted in his seat. It was show time.
‘Sian, lovely to see you again.’
‘I’d say the same, but we’d both know it would be a massive lie,’ she said.
‘Not still upset about me punching you in the mouth, are you?’
‘I was more upset about you killing one of my friends.’
‘Shall we get started?’ Christian said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ‘Steve, you’re not under arrest. However, this conversation will be filmed and recorded. As you know, your parents were killed this morning and we believe you brother shot them in their home. I truly am very sorry for your loss.’
Steve looked up into Christian’s eyes and saw the sentiment was genuine. ‘Thank you.’
‘We’ve looked at the record of people coming to visit you in prison and saw that Jake was a regular visitor in the first six months but then suddenly stopped. Why was that?’
Steve paused for effect. He knew time wasn’t on the police’s side, but he had no hurry to get back to Wakefield Prison. He could quite happily spend the night here. He took a sip of his coffee, leaned back in his chair and thought about his reply.
‘The thing you need to know about Jake,’ he began, ‘is that he looked up to me. He idolised me. He’s three years older than me, but he put me on a pedestal. I was always the confident, happy one, even as children. He followed me around and always wanted to play with me and my mates rather than get friends of his own. Me going to prison sort of burst the bubble.’
