by Michael Wood
‘I don’t like the sound of that. A loner with nothing to lose. Could be dangerous.’
‘Funny you should say that.’
She looked up from the photograph. ‘Go on.’
‘Colin Theobald has been in and out of prison his whole life. I’ve got a record sheet here as long as the River Don. He started his career in criminality at the age of fifteen when he received a suspended sentence for stealing a car. At the age of nineteen he was banned from driving for two years for drunk-driving, speeding, and having no tax and insurance.’
‘Are all his crimes car related?’ Matilda interrupted. She would much rather go through the entire history in her own time than have it read out to her like a book at bedtime.
‘No,’ he scanned down to the bottom of the page and turned over. ‘He served eighteen months for GBH in 2000, was given a suspended sentence for burglary in 2003, served eighteen months for burglary the following year, and various other charges and sentences for assault, car theft, and burglary again up until 2014.’
‘So, in and out of the nick his whole adult life then?’
‘Yes. He’s the kind of guy the Sheffield tourist board don’t want on the cover of their leaflets.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘I’ve no idea. Uniform have been checking on the residents in the tower block. His is one of the flats they’ve had no response from.’
‘No. I mean is he in prison now?’
‘No. He served his last sentence in 2014 for assault. He got eighteen months and served five.’
‘Right, thanks Rory. Leave me his file.’
Rory closed the file and placed it on her desk. Matilda could see him remain rooted to the spot out of the top of her eyes. He eventually took the hint and left, banging the glass door behind him.
She looked down at the brooding picture of Colin Theobald. He looked a mean bastard. His deep, dark eyes were soulless and penetrating. Matilda imagined even his school photographs had been sinister and frightening. This was not a man to be messed with. This was not a man you took for granted. If he was the aggravated burglar, the perpetrator of the double shooting, and the man who threw Gerald Beecham to his death from a tower block then he was an extremely violent and dangerous man.
FORTY-TWO
The doctor walked down the corridor of the Northern General Hospital with a thick file under her left arm. Life was going on around her. She went relatively unnoticed. As she approached the private room she stopped and peered through the glass. Sitting up, bruised and bandaged, was Lois Craven. She was staring straight ahead, a perplexed look on her face. A single tear escaped from her right eye and fell down her cheek.
The doctor knocked lightly, a tiny rap from a single knuckle. ‘May I come in?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. She entered the room and closed the door behind her.
‘Hello. My name is Doctor Sheila Warminster. I’m a Consultant Psychiatrist for the Sheffield Teaching Hospital. Your consultant thought it might be advantageous for me to come and have a word with you.’
Lois quickly wiped her eye. ‘A psychiatrist? I really don’t think—’
‘Don’t worry,’ Sheila interrupted. She put on her least threatening smile. ‘I’m not here to analyse you or write a detailed report on your mental health. I don’t even have to write a report at all, just a few lines in your file saying how I think you’re coping.’
‘I appreciate that, but—’
‘Mrs Craven. Lois. You’ve been through a massive trauma, not just physically but mentally. You mustn’t bottle everything up and think you can return home to your usual life. Things have changed.’
Lois finally nodded her consent. She didn’t look too happy about it, but Sheila hoped she would see it was for the best to get things off her chest. She smiled and pulled a chair close to the top of the bed.
‘So, physically, how are you doing?’
‘Well I’m not in as much pain as I was. I’m still on a lot of medication but I’m healing just fine.’
‘The doctors are very pleased with your recovery. You’ve been lucky.’
‘Lucky? I don’t call watching the man you love getting murdered in front of you then being beaten, raped, and shot lucky.’ Another tear fell from her eye. She flicked it away. ‘Shit! I never used to cry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The slightest thing sets me off.’
‘Crying’s good. It’s a release. Would you like to talk me through what happened?’
‘Not really.’ Lois took a handful of tissues from the small box on her bedside table and wiped her eyes and nose. ‘I’ve gone over it in my head so many times it seems to have lost all impact. It’s like I’m watching it on film.’
‘When you’re going through it, how do you feel?’
‘Numb. It’s like it’s not happening. It’s not me.’
‘You’re desensitizing yourself. The more you go over it in your mind the more you’re accepting that it really did happen.’
‘Accepting?’
‘Maybe that’s the wrong word. You’re not accepting, you’re understanding it. You’re getting used to the fact that it happened and you can’t hide from it.’
‘So have I just got to live with seeing it every time I close my eyes or fall asleep?’
‘No. Your mind needs to get used to the trauma. Once it has you’ll stop thinking about it as much. You’ll get the odd trigger but you won’t be reliving it over and over.’
‘It’s all I’m thinking about at the moment and being stuck in here isn’t helping. Is there any chance of me being able to go outside, get some fresh air?’
‘I’ll have a word with your consultant but I don’t see why not. I believe your husband has been visiting.’
‘Martin, yes.’
‘How did he take what happened?’
A tear fell down Lois’s face again. ‘You mean how did he take to me cheating on him again? Oh he was over the moon. I’m sorry.’ She wiped her eyes and bit her bottom lip to hold back more tears. ‘I think I may have actually blown it this time. I can’t see us making it through this.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘He can’t even look at me. He’s distant. He won’t bring the kids to see me.’
‘You’ve had affairs in the past?’
‘Yes. More than one.’
‘Did he know about them all?’
‘I’m not sure. Thomas isn’t his, yet he’s bringing him up as his own. He’s put up with more than any other man would have done.’
‘Are you grateful for that?’
‘I don’t know. At first I was. I was petrified of the thought of bringing a child up alone.’
‘And now?’
‘I resent him. I know I shouldn’t and I hate myself for saying it, but I just wish he wasn’t so weak. He should have thrown me out and not taken me back. He’d be happy now. He’d have married again, and chosen someone to love him for the man he is.’
‘Don’t you think he’s happy now?’
‘Of course he isn’t. Would you be happy married to a serial slut?’
‘Why are you being so hard on yourself?’
‘It’s what I deserve. I’ve been married to Martin for twenty years next summer and in that time I’ve slept with six other men. Six. What kind of a wife am I? What kind of a mother am I?’
Lois slumped back on the bed, her head sinking into the pillow. Her tears were flowing freely and she didn’t bother to wipe them away.
‘I’m in so much pain,’ she cried out.
‘Emotional? Physical? Mental?’ Sheila asked in a soothing monotone.
‘All of the above,’ she forced a laugh. ‘Do you know what the most awful part of it is?’
‘What?’
‘I’m not sorry. I mean, I’m sorry I’ve put my kids through all this and Martin, but I’m not sorry I had the affairs. They were fun, they were exciting, they were exhilarating. They were exactly what I needed at the time.’
‘And the consequences?’
&
nbsp; ‘Do you mean, were they worth it?’
‘Yes.’
‘No. I should have been happy. I had stability, a husband, a home, a decent job, a loving family, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t conform to what was expected of me.’
‘When you’d been shot, and you were lying on the ground, what were you thinking about?’
Lois raised her eyebrows as she thought of the answer. ‘I don’t remember,’ she said. After a long pause she continued. ‘Yes I do. I thought of myself. I should have been thinking of the kids, and Martin, but I didn’t. I thought of how much pain I was in. I thought, I wish he’d killed me.’
‘You wish you’d died?’ Sheila was expecting to hear that reply.
Lois nodded. She couldn’t speak. ‘I’ve ruined so many people’s lives. Jesus! Why didn’t he just kill me?’
FORTY-THREE
Three cars crawled along the busy roads in rush-hour traffic. In the first, DI Christian Brady was driving with Matilda sitting alongside him. In the second car was Rory Fleming and Scott Andrews with Faith Easter in the back. The third car held four armed uniformed officers. There was a van heading to the scene containing armed response officers but they were coming from a different direction.
The traffic was at a standstill; cars were bumper to bumper, buses were trying to force their way into and out of any gap they could find and the traffic lights pointlessly changed colour without aiding the flow of vehicles at all.
‘Why’s it so busy?’ Matilda moaned, looking in all directions out of the window.
‘There’s a match at Bramall Lane tonight. I’m supposed to be going,’ Christian added under his breath.
Matilda sighed and relaxed back into her seat. She looked through the file on her lap once again. ‘Theobald definitely matches the description Lois Craven gave me but does he fit your burglar?’
‘I know it’s not much to go on; tall bloke, well built, wearing black, but the last witness saw he had a tattoo on his neck and blond hair. Colin Theobald ticks all the boxes.’
‘Theobald also has a history of violence.’
‘We could solve three major crimes within the next half hour,’ Christian smiled.
‘Do you honestly think it’s going to be that easy?’
‘PMA.’
‘Is that some kind of new text-speak I’m not up on yet like PMSL?’
‘Positive Mental Attitude. If you think positive and with confidence, then good things will happen.’
Matilda rolled her eyes. Don’t tell me he’s seeing Dr Warminster as well?
Matilda spotted a dark-coloured BMW three cars in front. She angled her head to get a glimpse of the registration number. It was a private number plate. It wasn’t the car that had been following her. She relaxed. Was that another dark BMW further ahead?
‘So Scott, how are you feeling now?’ Faith Easter asked from the back seat.
‘I’m OK. The headache’s finally cleared.’
‘Have you seen his scar?’ Rory asked from the driver’s seat. ‘It’s his badge of honour.’
‘It’s going to stand out,’ Faith said. ‘You have such a smooth face. Any news on Joseph Glass?’
‘I called his parents about an hour ago,’ Scott said. ‘There’s no change. He’s just lying there. Completely unresponsive.’
‘Oh God. You don’t realize how dangerous this job is until something like this happens.’ Her voice cracked.
Rory looked at Faith through the rear-view mirror. ‘You OK Faith?’
‘Yes I’m fine. It just puts things into perspective doesn’t it? I mean, we come to work and we don’t know what we’re going to be confronted with. We may not make it to the end of the day.’
‘I’m so pleased you decided to come in our car, Faith, and cheer us all up,’ Rory said.
‘We stop ourselves from doing things because we’re afraid of looking foolish but when you think of how precious life is, how fragile it is, you wonder why we don’t just take the plunge more often. We’re only on this planet about eighty years – that’s nothing,’ she said, almost to herself.
‘Are you getting all philosophical on us?’
‘What? No, just thinking aloud, that’s all. Ignore me.’
‘We’re trying.’
‘Look, Faith, if you want to go back to the station nobody will think badly of you,’ Scott said, turning in his seat.
‘God no. I’ve been after this sodding burglar for months. I want to see it through to the end. Ignore me, I’m just in a reflective mood. It’s this business with Joseph, it’s getting to me. Bloody hell, I wish someone would do something about this fucking traffic,’ she yelled.
Scott and Rory looked at each other with raised eyebrows.
After twenty minutes of wrangling with the traffic, the team of cars eventually made it to the tower block on London Road. The van containing the armed response officers was already waiting. The back doors were open and everyone helped themselves to a ballistic vest. As usual, Matilda struggled into hers. She realized they weren’t designed for comfort, but when you carried a few extra pounds and you had an ample bosom they were not the most practical of items to try and squeeze into. Out of the corner of her eye she looked over to Faith who seemed to slip hers on with ease. Typical.
Huddled around so they could be heard over the sound of horns blaring and engines revving, Matilda conducted the short briefing.
‘Colin Theobald lives on the twelfth floor. We have no idea if he is in there or not. We also don’t know if he’s armed. What we do know is that he is a very dangerous man. I want AR in first, secure the scene and Theobald, then the rest of us will go in and turn his place over. Any questions?’
She was met with silence and grave looks as the enormity of the task ahead suddenly hit home.
‘Right. Myself and DI Brady will go up in the lift first with the AR. You follow afterwards,’ she said to Rory, Scott, Faith and the uniformed officers who weren’t carrying a weapon. ‘Let’s go.’
The foyer to the building was surprisingly bright and clean. There was a faint hint of cheap disinfectant. Matilda pressed the button on the lift, and, even in the silence, the sound of the carriage hitting the ground couldn’t be heard.
Squeezed inside, the journey up twelve floors seemed to take a long time. They were packed tightly together; the sound of breathing in through the nose echoed around the tiny space. Someone coughed. Someone hiccupped. Someone burped then apologized, blaming the moussaka he’d had for lunch. The lift juddered to a halt and the doors yawned open and the relief all round was palpable.
Silently, the AR officers led the way. Matilda and Christian held back. Neither of them were armed.
An officer gave a hand signal and another stepped forward and gave the Yale lock a deafening hard kick. The flimsy door flew open and the officers filed in, weapons raised.
‘Armed police,’ cried one of the officers.
Outside in the corridor, several front doors opened. Matilda raised her warrant card. ‘Police. You need to close your doors and stay inside. Now!’ she shouted at the gawping neighbours.
The lift beside them pinged and the doors opened to reveal Matilda’s team and the uniformed officers.
‘Rory broke wind,’ Faith said.
‘I didn’t do it on purpose.’
‘All clear ma’am,’ one of the armed response officers called out from inside the flat.
Matilda entered to find a grubby and sparse flat. The windows were filthy with years’ worth of grime on the inside and out. The net curtains were nicotine yellow. There was an old box-style television set in the corner of the living room and a dark brown corner suite that looked like it came from the 1970s.
‘This is not what I wanted to see,’ Matilda said to anyone who would listen. ‘Don’t just stand there, you can still search it.’
The rest of the team set out to search through every drawer and cupboard in every room while Matilda and Christian stood back.
Rory opened a pizza box on the co
ffee table. There were a couple of slices still inside and they looked relatively fresh. ‘Someone’s been living in this depressing hole recently then.’
‘It looks like someone’s been sleeping rough here,’ Faith said, her face wrinkled up against the bitter odour that was difficult to trace.
‘I honestly thought he’d be here,’ Matilda said.
‘So where is he then?’
‘I don’t know,’ she snapped, not meaning to. ‘Was everything checked; housing register, electoral roll, tax office?’
‘Yes. Everything official states that Colin Theobald lives in this shithole.’ Rory chimed up from the living room.
‘So where is he then?’
‘For fuck’s sake Christian, I don’t know,’ she shouted and stormed out of the flat.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To get some fresh air. Anything of interest I want it bagging and taking to the station. Ring me the minute you find anything of any use.’
Bypassing the lift, Matilda yanked open the door to the stairs and started to run down them. She had no idea where Colin Theobald was right now but as darkness began to fall on the steel city she had a fair idea that he was planning to strike again.
FORTY-FOUR
UNSTABLE DCI PUTS OFFICERS’ LIVES AT RISK
By Alex Winstanley
One of South Yorkshire Police’s top detectives is mentally unfit for duty, yet is still in charge of an elite team of dedicated officers.
DCI Matilda Darke, who returned to work in December last year following her suspension over the Carl Meagan kidnapping, is suffering with depression and anxiety issues and struggling to cope with the demands of a high-profile job.
An unnamed source within South Yorkshire Police said: ‘It’s sad to say but Matilda Darke should not be allowed to keep her job. She is a danger to her fellow officers and to the public.’
Earlier this week DC Joseph Glass was injured while pursuing a suspect. He is currently in a critical condition in Northern General Hospital. On the same day, DC Scott Andrews was run off the road late at night after working almost twenty-four hours without a break. Both of these detectives are on DCI Darke’s Murder Investigation Team.
