by Michael Wood
He opened his eyes, took a deep, but shaking, breath and channelled his inner Matilda Darke. He needed to be the strong one now. He needed to lead this team into hunting for the gunman who had killed so many of their own. This was going to be a long day.
Christian entered the HMET suite from his office. The atmosphere was heavy and sombre. Sian was sat at her desk, head down, tears streaming down her face. He went over to her and squatted beside her desk.
‘I can’t seem to stop crying,’ she said, wiping her eyes with a saturated tissue. ‘Poor Ranjeet. He’s only just got married and become a father for God’s sake. How’s Kesinka going to cope? He stopped to save me. If he hadn’t… If he’d carried on running, he’d have made it back.’ She wiped her eyes again, rubbing them red.
‘Sian, you can’t blame yourself. Any one of us could have been hit out there.’
‘I froze. I just … I couldn’t move.’
‘Sian, don’t.’
‘And Valerie. How’s her husband going to cope now? And Matilda. Did you see what happened to her head?’
‘Sian, look at me,’ he said firmly. ‘We have to be strong. I need you by my side to help. I can’t do this on my own.’
‘Where’s Rory? He was so happy this morning.’
‘Sian!’ He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘Sian, you need to get a grip. You’re not going to be any use to anyone if you’re just going to sit here crying. I need you to focus.’
She wiped her eyes again, ran her fingers through her red hair and sniffled. She blew her nose and composed herself.
‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. Have you called Stuart?’
‘Yes. I’ve told him what’s happened. He’s coming here to bring me a change of clothes,’ she said, looking down at herself. She was still wearing her fire marshal’s jacket over her white jumper, both of which were covered in blood.
‘Good. Now, the Chief Constable is on his way in. He’s going to be Gold Command and I’ll be Silver. I really need your help, Sian. I’ve never been involved in anything like this before.’
‘Neither have I. Normally, the ACC would be Gold and Matilda Silver. You and I would be Bronze.’
‘Forensics are downstairs, and they’ve accessed the building where the gunman was shooting from. CID are trawling CCTV footage to see if we can pick him up. The first thing we need to do is identify the dead and inform next of kin.’
‘Right,’ she said, rubbing her eyes again. ‘I’ll get Finn on to that.’
‘We’re also going to need statements from everyone. Hopefully someone saw who was shooting at us. Are you going to be all right?’
‘No. But I can fake it until I can get home.’
‘That’s what I plan on doing.’
In the men’s changing room, Rory Fleming was sat on a bench in complete shock. He had no idea where he was. His mind was trying to make sense of what had happened. He was happy. He was engaged. He was in love. Now he was covered in blood and his fiancée was dead. How did that happen in the space of a few minutes? Scott was filling a sink with warm water and dampening a flannel.
‘Is he all right?’
Scott jumped at the sound of the voice. He hadn’t realised there was someone else in the room with them.
PC Rix was standing in front of a row of sinks. His eyes were wide. He had the look of fear etched on his face.
‘No, he’s not,’ Scott answered honestly.
The uniformed officer swallowed hard. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Can you leave us for a few minutes? Make sure no one comes in?’
He nodded and headed for the door, not taking his eyes from Rory.
Scott had taken off his clothes. The suit was ruined. He’d been splattered with the blood of his colleagues. He was currently wearing a forensic suit until he could find time to go home and change into a replacement. But his first priority was Rory. With a facecloth, Scott was wiping his friend’s face to clean it of blood spatter. Rory didn’t react as Scott ran the wet towel over his cheek and along his forehead. It was clear he didn’t feel anything.
‘Rory, you need to take your jacket and shirt off,’ Scott said, quietly. ‘Rory, can you hear me?’
‘Huh?’ He looked up to his best friend.
‘Your shirt. It’s covered, mate. You need to take it off.’
He looked down as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Oh. Right. Yes.’ He shrugged his jacket off and began to slowly undo the buttons. ‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’
‘Matilda? I’m not sure. I hope so.’
‘No, Natasha. Do you think she’ll be all right?’
Rory’s face was blank. His eyes were wide and stared straight into Scott’s.
‘Natasha?’
‘Yes. I mean, they’ll look after her at the hospital, won’t they? But she’ll be all right. When do you think I’ll be able to visit? Do you think Matilda will let me take this afternoon off?’ He started to shake, as if he was cold.
Tears pricked Scott’s eyes. He squatted down to his knees and held Rory by the shoulders. His paper suit crinkled. He could feel Rory’s shaking body. ‘Rory, Natasha was shot,’ he said slowly and clearly.
‘Yes.’
‘She died, Rory.’
‘She…?’ A tear escaped his left eye and fell down his cheek.
Scott nodded.
‘But we’re getting married. I gave her a ring. She wants to get married in August.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘She died?’ Rory asked, his face frowned in confusion.
Scott’s tears began to fall, and his bottom lip wobbled. He was trying to hold on to his emotions for the sake of his best friend, but it wasn’t easy.
‘What do I do now?’ Rory asked eventually.
Scott took a deep breath. He held his friend firmly by the shoulders. ‘We find the bastard who did this. We tear this city apart, and we don’t rest until we’ve got the fucker locked up.’
Rory nodded slowly. It was a while before he spoke as Scott’s words slowly began to take meaning. ‘You’re right. I can grieve when we’ve caught him.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And when I catch him, Scott, I swear to God, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands,’ he said with steely determination in his eyes.
Chapter Five
‘DI Brady, isn’t it? CC Martin Featherstone said as he entered the building.
‘Yes, sir,’ Christian responded.
‘Walk and talk,’ he said, heading for the stairs. ‘What’s the latest?’
‘We have six confirmed dead so far, including ACC Masterson. Eight are at hospital with injuries, none of them life-threatening, except for DCI Darke.’
‘How is she?’ he asked, his face showing concern, but his voice was professionally strong.
‘It’s too early to tell.’ Christian’s reply was full of emotion.
They walked with urgent strides. Christian was not a short man, but even he found himself having to break into a trot to keep up with the Chief Constable.
‘And the gunman?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ He stopped and looked at Brady.
‘We don’t know who he is. Hopefully, he left something behind on the roof he was shooting from. Forensics are up there now, and we’re looking through CCTV footage.’
‘Is this a terrorist attack? Have we received any phone calls?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. I’ve got someone contacting other forces to see if they’ve had any incidents today, but so far, there have been none.’
‘Have the media been in touch?’
‘No. It’s only a matter of time, though.’
‘Ok. I’ll deal with that.’
As they walked towards Valerie’s office, they passed police officers and civilian staff, most of whom looked shocked by the events of this morning. The whole atmosphere of the station had changed. Eve
ryone who worked here knew at least one of the dead. No one would fully recover from this.
‘Do we know if this was directed at any one individual or the force as a whole?’ Martin Featherstone continued.
‘We don’t know at the moment, sir,’ Christian said, feeling more and more dejected with every negative answer he had to give.
‘And the fire alarm was a hoax?’
‘We assume so.’
‘I’m not hearing any firm answers from you, Brady.’ He stopped and turned again so he could look Christian in the eye.
‘I’m sorry, sir. It’s very early days, and we’ve lost a lot of officers. We’re doing all we can with the resources we have.’
Featherstone took a breath. ‘Of course. You’re right. I’m sorry. Look, get your best people working on this. Keep me in the loop, and I’ll handle the media and try to get more officers attached to this. Anything you need, let me know.’
‘I will, sir. Thank you.’
Christian watched as the Chief Constable turned a corner. He then blew out his cheeks and turned on his heels to head back to his office. This was a nightmare scenario that even DCI Darke would struggle with. How the hell was he supposed to cope?
‘Where is everyone?’ Christian asked as he entered the HMET suite.
Sian was on her mobile. Judging by her body language and her hushed tones she was obviously making a private phone call. DC Scott Andrews was by the kettle, making a round of teas. It was clear even from the doorway that his hands were shaking.
Scott looked up. ‘Erm, I don’t know,’ he said, his voice full of emotion. ‘Rory’s getting changed. Finn is around somewhere. I’m sorry.’
‘Scott, are you all right?’
‘No. I’m not,’ he answered honestly. ‘I’ve just seen my best friend’s fiancée get murdered and while wiping her blood off his face, I had to tell him to try to be strong. And I have no idea what that even means. How do you remain strong when the people you care about the most are being shot at?’
Sian had ended her call. She stood up and went over to Scott, putting her arms around him.
‘It’s ok, Scott. What you said to Rory was the right thing. It may have sounded like bollocks to you, but it’s what he needed to hear. It wasn’t the words; it was the sentiment. You’ll be there for him. We’ll all be there for him.’
Scott held Sian in return. He leaned his head down on her shoulder and began to sob. ‘I saw Matilda’s head… How’s she going to survive that?’
Christian watched on. He’d never seen either of these two officers cry before or show their feelings to such an extent. It was hard to witness, yet it’s what they needed to do in order to release some pent-up emotion to be able to continue working. He hadn’t cried yet. He was sad, naturally, and when he called his wife from the station toilets to tell her what had happened, he’d choked on his words, but the tears wouldn’t come. He felt angry rather than upset.
‘Scott, why don’t you take a step back for five minutes; go home and get changed,’ Sian said.
‘I can’t even do that as the building’s in lockdown. I’m not allowed to leave.’
Christian looked out of the glass door to make sure no one was about to enter. ‘Look, you two, I really need you to help me out here. I’ve no idea how to lead this investigation. Until we get CCTV and anything from forensics, we’re going to have to rely on the public phoning in, saying they’ve seen someone with a gun. I need your support. Please.’
Sian and Scott pulled apart. They both nodded.
Scott wiped his eyes. ‘Matilda said something before she was shot. She was looking up at the gunman. I mean, she was really glaring at him. She said she knew him.’
‘What? Did she say who it was?’ Sian asked.
‘No. All she said was that he’d called her.’
‘He’d called her?’ Christian echoed.
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘She had a phone call when she came in this morning,’ Christian said. ‘She went into her office to take it. She wasn’t in there more than a couple of seconds before she came out. She looked … I don’t know, sort of pale.’
‘Did she say anything?’
‘No.’
‘You think she might have been threatened or something?’ Sian asked.
‘She could have been.’
‘But then why didn’t she tell us?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe she didn’t think it was a credible threat.’
‘But it must have sounded credible because less than five minutes later we were all getting shot at,’ Scott said.
Christian perched on the edge of Sian’s desk. ‘Scott, when Matilda was looking at the gunman, did you see him?’
‘Not clearly. I was only really looking at the gun.’
‘Do you know what kind it was?’ Sian asked.
He thought for a moment. ‘It looked like something Armed Response use.’
‘A rifle?’
‘I think so. He had it on like a tripod thing at the front. He was squatting behind it, looking through the viewing bit.’
‘Sounds like a Heckler and Koch,’ Christian said to Sian.
‘Scott, think back,’ Sian said. ‘Can you remember anything about the gunman?’
‘No. He was wearing a hat, a beanie. It was black, and he was wearing dark clothing, but I don’t think he had a jacket on, as he looked slim, like he wasn’t padded or anything.’
‘Did he look young or old?’
Scott frowned as he thought. ‘I’d say … young, I think. The way he moved though—’
‘What do you mean?’ Christian interrupted.
‘When he shot Matilda, he moved very quickly away from the edge of the building, as if … I’m not sure.’
‘Go on.’
‘It was as if he knew exactly what he was doing. The way he put the gun away and dismantled everything, it was like it was second nature to him.’
‘Like a professional?’ Christian asked.
Scott nodded.
‘Fuck me! We’ve got a sniper loose on the streets of Sheffield.’
‘What does that mean?’ Scott asked.
‘It means he’s not finished.’
Chapter Six
The paramedic alerted the Northern General Hospital from the back of the ambulance that they were bringing in a major trauma. He monitored Matilda’s output and made sure she remained stable as they sped through the busy streets of Sheffield. He wasn’t worried about the wound to the shoulder as, despite there being no exit wound, the bullet hadn’t seemed to have hit any bone or major artery. The wound to Matilda’s head required urgent attention. The skull had been fractured and if any fragments were lodged in her brain, it could drastically cut her chance of survival.
When the ambulance arrived, the team was waiting, and Matilda was wheeled directly into Resuscitation where the paramedic gave the handover to the team who would work to save her life.
‘Forty-four-year-old Matilda Darke; a detective chief inspector with South Yorkshire Police. Time of incident was around nine this morning. Two GSWs. One to the left shoulder. No exit wound. Bleeding controlled. One, a glancing bullet wound to the left-hand side of the head. Depressed skull fracture. Pulse one-ten, tubed and ventilated. Oxygen ninety-seven per cent. BP maintained at over fifty. GCS on arrival was eleven, eyes three, motor four, verbal four. She was combative and disorientated and had to be restrained and sedated. Pupils fixed and dilated: left four millimetres, right three millimetres. Responsive.’
‘Thank you. On my mark. One, two, three, lift.’
Matilda was transferred from the trolley to the bed where the medical team in Resus began to cut her out of her clothes and monitor her vital signs to make sure she was stable. Once the bleeding from her head was under control, the first task was for Matilda to have a CT scan to see the extent of the damage on her head and to the brain. A surgical team, including a neurologist, and an operating theatre were
all on standby. They were all against the clock to save Matilda’s life, and time was running out.
Chapter Seven
Claire Alexander rushed into the autopsy suite.
‘She’s coming,’ she said excitedly.
Home Office Pathologist Adele Kean stopped what she was doing and ran into her office. From the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet, she carefully lifted out a large box. By the time she’d removed the lid and carried it through to the main suite, her anatomical assistant, Lucy Dauman, had entered.
Adele burst into a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ with Claire joining in. Neither of them could hold a note and the noise resounded off the pure white walls, but the sentiment was genuine.
Lucy blushed and tucked her long blonde hair behind her ears. She couldn’t stop grinning and didn’t know where to look as she was serenaded.
Adele placed the box on a stainless steel table in front of them. Inside was a cake she’d had made by a baker she knew out in Dronfield. The cake was in the shape of a body on a slab. There were realistic-looking silver instruments along the side and a perfectly accurate Y-incision drawn down the naked body. It was ghoulish and in slightly poor taste, but it was made of cake, so that made it all right.
Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Oh my God, that is horrifying,’ she said.
‘I gave the cake maker an old photograph I found of a man on a slab. I asked if she could do something like that. I must say, I wasn’t expecting her to be so graphic,’ Adele said.
‘That is truly gross. I love it. Thank you so much.’
‘You’re welcome. Happy thirtieth birthday, sweetheart,’ Adele said, stepping forward and giving her a hug and kiss on the cheek. ‘You’ll get your present later. There’s also a bottle of something very nice chilling somewhere very inappropriate that we’ll have with lunch.’