by Michael Wood
‘I really think you should see someone, Adele,’ Claire said. ‘You’re getting more disturbed.’
‘It’s healthy to have a sense of humour in this job. Isn’t it, Lucy?’
‘Oh my God, if you look under his towel you can even see his…’ Lucy said, taking a closer interest in the cake.
‘Yes, we’ve noticed,’ Claire said. ‘I think we should keep an eye on that baker – she seems to have enjoyed herself far too much making it.’
‘She did say it was rare to get such a project. When she does, apparently she likes to go that extra mile. I suppose it makes a nice change from knocking up a Victoria sponge.’
The phone in Adele’s office started to ring.
‘I’ll get it,’ Claire said.
‘So, remind me, what’s it like being thirty?’ Adele asked.
‘Well, I woke up this morning feeling fine until I opened Ben’s presents. He got me a woolly cardigan, a set of knitting needles, a pair of comfortable slippers and the DVD box set of Hetty Wainthropp Investigates.’
‘Oh. I’m guessing he’s now in one of the freezers,’ Adele said as she smiled.
‘He said it was just a jokey present, and he’ll give me my real one tonight. He’s a sod. I’ll have to think of something to do for when he turns thirty in September. The problem is,’ she said, tucking her hair behind her ear again. ‘Is it wrong that I liked the cardigan?’
Adele threw her head back and laughed.
‘Adele,’ Claire called out from the doorway of her office.
They both turned and saw the look of fear on her face.
‘What is it?’
‘There’s been a shooting at the police station.’
Adele worked a great deal with all departments and staff within the building at South Yorkshire Police HQ and knew the majority by name. She felt the effect of a shooting like a slap in the face, and it was a very long minute before she was able to compose herself and spring into action. If she’d been called out, it meant that there were fatal casualties, including people she might know.
While she and Lucy assembled what they’d need, Adele kept checking her phone to see if Matilda had called or texted to tell her about the situation. Her phone remained silent. While this wasn’t unusual, she felt a sense of foreboding creep in. She knew one day Matilda’s luck would run out. She’d been involved in so many confrontations with killers and rapists but always managed to survive, albeit with a few bruises.
‘Adele, I’m ready when you are,’ Lucy called from the doorway. Her eyes were wide and her face pale. She, too, knew how grave this case was going to be if people they knew, who had attended post-mortems in this very building, were among the dead. This was going to be a memorable birthday for Lucy Dauman and for all the wrong reasons.
Adele jumped. ‘I’m coming.’ She quickly grabbed her coat and left her small office.
‘Have you heard from DCI Darke?’
‘No,’ she said, tucking her phone into her trousers pocket.
‘She’s probably busy. A shooting at the station. I mean, it’s just nuts, isn’t it?’
‘Come on.’
The drive took less than ten minutes, but it felt like forever. It was a dull and gloomy day. Clouds hung low over the city and a heavy mist was in the air. Adele sat in the front passenger seat, her mind whirling through the many possibilities that could have befallen her friend. She wondered who was among the dead; Scott was dating her son, Rory had recently proposed to his girlfriend, Ranjeet was a new father, Christian had two lovely daughters and Sian had four children and a husband who doted on her. Please God let them all be all right.
‘Is it selfish of me to hope no one I know well has died?’ Adele asked, breaking the heavy silence in the car.
‘Of course not.’
‘I was just thinking … We know so many of them, uniformed officers, detectives, civilian workers, but some we know better than others. Look at that PC who always seems to be the exhibits officer, the one with the lisp and the cute smile. I’d be devastated if he’d been killed, but then I’d be putting someone else in his place.’
‘Adele, it’s only natural to think like that. I was thinking exactly the same.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I’m hoping to God it’s nobody I’ve met. I don’t know how I’d cope if say Rory or Sian or Ranjeet had died. They’re like friends, aren’t they?’ she said as she pulled up at a set of traffic lights.
Adele took her phone out and looked at the blank screen.
‘Still nothing?’
‘No. I was wondering if I should phone Chris and tell him.’
‘There’s no point until you know what’s going on. I’m sure Scott’s fine, but there’s no point worrying him unnecessarily.’
‘You’re right.’
They turned the corner and saw the station up ahead. It looked as it usually did. Lucy parked, and they set about getting their things out of the back, slinging heavy bags over their shoulders, picking up forensic suits and packets of gloves and overshoes.
They walked slowly to the doors, but they didn’t open as they should have done automatically. A uniformed officer was stood behind them.
‘Dr Adele Kean and Lucy Dauman. I’m the pathologist,’ Adele shouted. She was struggling under the weight of her bag and case, but dug her ID out of her pocket and slapped it on the glass.
PC Rix nodded and opened the doors.
‘Sorry, we’re in lockdown.’ His face was ashen.
‘What’s happened?’
‘There was a shooter on the roof of the office block behind us. He just opened fire.’ There were tears in his eyes.
‘Are there many dead?’
He swallowed hard and shrugged.
Lucy placed a hand on his arm; a sign of comfort, while Adele asked where they should go.
As they made their way to the rear car park, they walked along corridors in stony silence. The atmosphere felt heavy, as if the building was already in mourning. They exchanged frightened glances. They both knew they were about to enter hell.
As Adele stepped out into what counted for daylight in early January, she stopped and looked at the carnage. Bodies were littered about the concrete, lying in pools of blood. Shattered glass was everywhere, and a team of white-suited forensic officers were already marking the area with evidence tabs.
‘Adele.’
She turned at the sound of her name being called and saw DI Christian Brady heading towards her. She felt an instant sense of relief. One officer she knew well was still alive.
‘Christian, what the hell’s happened?’ she asked softly.
‘What have you been told?’
‘Just about a shooting. Where’s…’
She didn’t need to finish her question. Christian’s eyes told her everything she needed to know.
‘She was hit twice. Once in the shoulder and once in the head. She’s been rushed to hospital, but … it doesn’t look good.’
‘Oh … my…’ Adele buckled and dropped her bags. Christian and Lucy caught her between them. Tears were streaming down her face. She tried to talk but found she couldn’t speak as the emotion gripped her throat.
‘Why…? I mean, who’s…? I don’t…’
‘It’s early days, Adele,’ he said, holding her firmly. ‘We’re going to work round-the-clock to catch whoever did this.’
She looked up at Christian’s blank face through tear-stained eyes. ‘Are you all right?’
He nodded.
‘Who’s dead?’ she asked.
‘From our team, we’ve lost Valerie and Ranjeet.’
‘Ranjeet?’ Lucy gasped, slapping a hand to her mouth. She’d always had a soft spot for the young DC.
‘Oh no,’ Adele cried. ‘Where’s Scott?’
‘He’s fine. He was with Matilda when she was shot, though. Adele, are you going to be able to do this?’ Christian asked.
‘I can give Simon Browes a call, Adele, if you want?’ Lucy said.
/> It was a while before Adele answered. ‘No.’ She sniffled. She struggled to take a tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes and nose. ‘No. I’m fine. I can do this. I can. What about you, Lucy?’ She turned to her assistant, who had tear tracks smudging her make-up.
‘It’s our job. We have to.’ She’d obviously tried to sound confident, but her shaking voice belied her words.
The Crime Scene Manager told Adele where forensics had finished and directed them over to where two bodies were covered with white sheets. They suited up, taking their time to put on the blue suits, overshoes and gloves. They were in no rush.
Adele knelt down by the first body. The sheet was patchy with drying blood and a pool of it had seeped out beneath. She took a deep breath, steadied herself and slowly peeled it back.
Valerie Masterson was lying on her front, her head facing to the left, her eyes wide open. Her face was spattered with blood and her brown hair was matted where it had dried. A bullet had entered her neck. There was no evidence of an exit wound.
‘Do we do post-mortems on them all?’ Lucy asked, looking around at the covered dead.
‘Yes. At the inquest, questions will be raised about how long it took for the emergency services to arrive. They’ll want to know if any of them could have survived had an ambulance arrived a minute or thirty seconds earlier. We have to answer that question.’
‘And could they?’
‘Not in Valerie’s case. It was a direct hit. The bullet entered the back of the neck and went into the brain. She’ll have been dead before she hit the ground,’ Adele said, sniffling. ‘Lucy, give Simon Browes a call. I’m not conducting a PM on Valerie or Ranjeet.’
She covered Valerie with the sheet and stood up. She turned to look at the building. Windows were shattered, bricks were riddled with bullet holes. How the hell had this been allowed to happen?
Sian was looking out of the window at Adele stepping around the bodies. As she pulled back a white sheet and Valerie’s face was revealed, Sian baulked and stepped away from the window. Surely this was a nightmare. She felt numb. Her mobile on her desk started to ring.
‘Stuart,’ she answered. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m outside. They won’t let me in.’
‘What? Why not?’
‘Some young uniformed officer on the door said the building’s in lockdown.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll come down.’
She ended the call and ran out of the room. She was covered in blood. It was drying and sticky, and the metallic smell was making her feel sick. There was no way she was spending the day in a sodding paper forensic suit.
She ran into reception and saw her husband standing on the opposite side of the automatic doors, a rucksack in his hand.
‘Can you let that man in, please?’ Sian said to the young officer. Her question was polite, but there was venom in her voice.
‘I can’t let him in, ma’am, I’m sorry. I’m under orders,’ PC Rix said, his voice quiet and shaking.
‘That man is my husband. He’s brought me a change of clothing, unless you want me to spend the rest of the day wearing the blood of my dead colleagues,’ she said, her voice rising.
‘Chief Constable Featherstone has giving strict orders than no one is allowed in or out—’
‘I don’t give a fuck what orders you’ve been given,’ Sian interrupted, practically exploding. ‘That man is my husband, and he’s coming into the station right fucking now,’ she screamed.
‘Let him in, Constable.’
Sian turned to see CC Featherstone in the doorway. She gave him a brief smile before turning back when she felt the blast of cold air on the back of her neck.
Stuart barged into the building and grabbed his wife, holding her firmly against him.
‘Oh my God, are you all right?’
‘No, I’m not,’ she cried into his chest.
‘I’ve brought you some clothes. I don’t know if I’ve brought the right ones. I just shoved anything in.’
‘That’s ok. Come on.’ She headed for the changing rooms. As they passed CC Featherstone, she said, ‘Thank you.’
‘You need to show a little compassion,’ Featherstone said to the uniformed officer when they were gone.
‘I’m sorry. I…’ he quivered.
‘That’s ok. I know you’re only following my orders, but orders are there to be broken, occasionally, but don’t tell anyone I ever said that,’ he said, giving a wry smile. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, despite the fact he was evidently not fine.
‘No, you’re not. None of us are today, but that’s all right. What’s your name?’
‘PC Rix, sir. Justin.’
‘Nice to meet you, Justin. Have you been on the force long?’
‘A few years. I joined South Yorkshire Police in November.’
Featherstone gave him a weak smile and turned to leave.
‘Sir,’ Rix began. His voice was light and soft. ‘Is it true, about DCI Darke, I mean?’
‘Is what true?’
‘I heard a couple of the women talking in the canteen say that she’s dead.’
‘She’s in a very critical condition. It doesn’t look good.’
Rix staggered back in shock, hitting the wall behind him. ‘Are there many others dead?’ he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
‘Six. So far.’
‘Why did this happen?’
‘If I knew, I’d tell you,’ Featherstone turned and headed off down the corridor, leaving the young PC staring into space.
Chapter Eight
There were a couple of uniformed officers sobbing in the female changing rooms when Sian entered. She told them her husband was coming in and to get out. It was out of character for her to be so impolite, but today was an unusual day for everyone. Everything had changed and would never return to normal.
The moment they were alone, Sian collapsed in a torrent of tears. Stuart held her tight. He was a huge barrel of a man with a rugby player’s build, legs like tree trunks and hands like shovels. He almost scooped his petite wife up, and that was precisely what she needed. Her cries were muffled as she pressed her face against his chest and let out all the emotion she was holding on to in front of her colleagues. They’d seen her cry before, but never like this.
‘What actually happened?’ Stuart asked when Sian pushed herself away and began drying her eyes.
‘There was a fire alarm. We all went outside. And then, I don’t know, someone just started shooting at us,’ she said as she began unbuttoning her shirt. She wondered whose blood was on it. ‘Oh Jesus, it’s gone right through to my bra.’
‘I’ve brought you one. You said to bring a full change of clothes, so I just grabbed whatever from each drawer.’
She looked at him and smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she croaked as tears pricked her eyes once more. She looked down at her body, at the knife wound she’d sustained last year. At the time, she’d thought nothing could be so frightening as getting stabbed. She had no idea something this horrific could happen. Not here.
‘Is it a terrorist attack?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Was there a warning?’
‘We’re not sure. Matilda received a call a few minutes before, but … we’re looking into it.’ She took off her shirt and tossed it onto the floor. ‘That’ll have to be thrown away. I’ve not had it long.’
‘How’s Matilda?’ Stuart asked. He’d only met her a handful of times so didn’t know her, but he knew Sian held her in high esteem.
She slumped down on the bench and shook her head. ‘I can’t see her surviving. That second bullet took off the back of her head, for crying out loud. She dropped to the ground like a boulder.’
Stuart shuffled up next to her and placed a massive arm around her bony shoulders. ‘Come on, you know Matilda, she’s tough. She’s been through so much. She’s not going to let a little thing like a bullet finish her off. She’s not the type,’
he added a forced chuckle.
Sian gave a weak smile. ‘She’s not indestructible. Nobody is. Even if she does survive, I doubt she’ll be able to return to work.’
‘Think positive, Sian. That’s what you’re always telling the kids. The world is a bad enough place as it is without us being all gloomy and negative. If we think positive, then positive things will happen.’
‘Today I’ve just realised how pathetic that sounds. What’s the point in being positive when there are people around every corner trying to destroy things?’
‘But there aren’t. You’re just saying that because of the job you’re in and the people you come into contact with on a regular basis – the murderers and rapists. Most of us are decent people just trying to make sense of the world and do the right thing.’
‘Trying but failing.’
‘You can’t think like that, Sian, especially today. You need to be positive to catch this man. You need to be positive for your team. You need to be positive that Matilda is going to pull through,’ he said with determination in his voice.
She turned to look at him. ‘When did you become so wise?’
‘I’ve always been wise. I’ve just been saving it for the right moment.’ He smiled.
She gave a genuine chuckle and fell into his arms again.
‘Come on, you’re no use to anyone sitting here in your bra. Get dressed, go out there, catch that man, and come home tonight. I’ve got the day off. I’ll make us all a special meal and we’ll sit down like a family for once, all six of us, and we’ll celebrate being together.’
‘But you’ve got tickets to that thing at the Sheffield United ground.’
‘I’ll give them to Rob at work. He can take his son.’
He kissed her on the forehead.
Sian felt herself softening. She could always rely on Stuart to say and do the right thing. They’d had their moments over twenty-five years of marriage, like any couple, but despite what happened in life, he was constantly beside her. He was proud of her career, of what she’d achieved as well as having and raising four children.