Time Is Running Out

by Michael Wood

  ‘Adele, Simon Browes is on his way. He’s coming up from Derby.’

  ‘Thanks, Lucy,’ Adele said without turning around to look at her colleague.

  ‘Also, Matilda’s mum’s called and left you a message. She’s asked if you can meet her at the hospital.’

  Both Adele and Claire were alert and turned to Lucy.

  ‘Has she said how she is?’

  ‘No. But she’d like you to be there.’

  ‘I suppose I could pop along while Simon does the PMs on Valerie and Ranjeet and be back for the others.’

  ‘I can hold down the fort with Simon. Take as long as you need,’ Lucy said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Right. I’ll get changed.’

  ‘Will you keep me informed?’ Claire asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Wait, has anyone phoned Daniel?’

  ‘Oh my God, I completely forgot,’ Adele said, suddenly remembering Matilda’s boyfriend. She squeezed the bridge of her nose as she tried to remember if she had his number. She was pretty confident she had. ‘Shit. I’m going to have to call him, aren’t I? Is this day going to get any bloody worse?’ she asked herself as she stormed out of the digital autopsy suite.

  Chapter Ten

  Christian was marching down the corridor, back towards the HMET suite, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He answered without looking at the screen.

  ‘DI Brady.’

  ‘It’s Gavin Porter. Armed Response,’ the deep baritone of Inspector Porter replied. ‘None of our weapons are reported missing. All are accounted for. None of our officers are behind this attack. They’ve all been questioned, and all are on standby, waiting instruction.’

  ‘Thanks, Gavin. Shit, I’m getting another call through. I’ll ring you back,’ he said as he answered another call. ‘Brady.’

  ‘Sir, it’s Finn. I didn’t know where you were, so thought it best to call you.’

  ‘I’m right outside the suite and can see you picking your teeth.’ He hung up the call and pushed open the door.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve just had a Snickers,’ Finn said. ‘I’ve got CCTV footage from the entrance to the building where the gunman was shooting from. I can’t be certain, obviously, but I think this is him.’

  Finn swung his laptop around. The image on the screen showed a tall, thin man wearing a dark beanie hat, dark combat trousers and a black body warmer over a dark top. He was carrying a rucksack over one shoulder, which looked heavy. Finn pressed play. The man came out of a side entrance, looked around him before stepping out onto the street. He kept his head down as he made his way out of the frame.

  ‘Take a screen shot and send it to my phone.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Where’s he heading?’

  ‘I’ve followed him on a number of cameras but lost him as he gets to the city centre.’

  ‘Does he do anything?’

  ‘No. His head is permanently down. People sidestep him, likely because it’s clear he’s got this determination about him, if you ask me.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Christian mused.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘If you’ve just pulled off a shooting spree and managed to get away, why would you be walking with such determination, making yourself stand out from the crowds?’

  ‘To get away.’

  ‘But he has got away. He’s disappeared into the city centre.’ Christian ran his fingers through his hair.

  ‘There are loads of cameras in town, sir. I could spend days getting footage of them all.’

  ‘I know. Don’t worry about it. Shit—’ He stopped.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘This just confirms what I was saying earlier to Sian. He’s determined because he’s got something else in mind. Another attack.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘When Scott saw him just after he shot Matilda, he said he looked like he knew what he was doing. He fired, packed up his gun, and headed off. He’s got something else in mind.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Finn said under his breath.

  Christian walked away from his desk. He chewed his bottom lip as he thought. ‘Finn, get onto uniform and make sure they’re driving round. We need a presence on the streets. I need to ring Porter back,’ he said, selecting his number on his phone. ‘I want Armed Response out there now.’

  ‘Sir, if he is planning a second attack, shouldn’t we let the public know?’

  ‘If we knew where, yes, but we don’t.’ He looked up when he saw Sian entering the suite, but frowned when he looked past her through the doorway. ‘Why are there officers hanging around doing nothing?’ he said, commenting on the two uniformed officers standing outside the door. ‘Sian, make a call, I want SY99 up in the air right now.’ He pulled open the glass door to the two PCs. ‘What are you doing?’

  The female PC baulked at the force of Christian’s questions. ‘Sergeant Naylor asked me to give you this list of the injured and dead,’ PC Zofia Nowak said, handing out a folded sheet of paper with a shaking hand.

  ‘Right. Thank you,’ he said, his face softening slightly. He looked to the other, much taller PC and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I was wondering if I could have a word, sir?’ PC Justin Rix asked.

  ‘It’ll have to wait. I’m sure you have things to do. Off you both go.’

  Christian closed the door and opened the piece of paper. His eyes scanned down the list of names. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he uttered. He closed his eyes to compose himself against the horror unfolding in front of him for a moment. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. When he opened his eyes, he felt a strong determination of what he had to do. Standing in the HMET suite, looking around him, these were his officers, his detectives. They were relying on him to keep his head when everyone else seemed to be losing theirs. He could do this. He could be the leader they needed him to be.

  ‘Finn, get uniform to help you track the gunman’s movements from the building. He’s got to be in a vehicle of some kind. As soon as you’ve identified it, let me know. We need him found before he reaches his next target.’

  ‘Next target? What’s going on?’ Sian asked.

  ‘Sian, just get the helicopter in the air,’ he instructed forcefully. ‘Everyone, we’re against the clock here,’ he said to the room as a whole. ‘It’s been ninety minutes since he tried to kill us all, and we’ve already wasted valuable time. I believe he’s a man on a mission and is plotting another attack. I hope to God I’m wrong, however, we need to be prepared. I want everyone in that building opposite interviewed,’ he said, pointing out of the window. ‘Somebody must have seen him entering or leaving. Monitor incoming calls – has anyone reported someone driving erratically or looking suspicious, or having driven through a red light? Check social media for talk of an incident of this kind. If it’s a terrorist attack, there’ll be chatter about it. If it’s a lone gunman … well, that makes things trickier.’ He fell silent and chewed his bottom lip, hoping to God this wasn’t a trigger-happy psychopath acting alone. ‘Don’t stand there looking at me like a goldfish. Move, move, move!’ he shouted.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the image Finn had sent him. He leaned in, squinted and glared at the blurred photo. There was a familiarity about him he couldn’t put his finger on.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Christian asked.

  His phone vibrated in his hand. It was an incoming call. He swiped to answer. ‘Brady.’

  ‘Sir, it’s Lisa McGregor from the tech department. We’ve been looking at DCI Darke’s office phone. The call that came through this morning was from a mobile phone that’s still active. I’m sending you a map of the trigger points.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He hung up then made another call. ‘Gavin, the call to Matilda’s phone was made from a mobile that’s still active. As soon as I get the coordinates, I’ll send them over to you. I want an armed team out there, and I want that phone found. Any CCTV of the area
needs to be scrutinised.’ He hung up before Gavin could reply. An email had already arrived on his phone giving the details of the mobile. He forwarded it straight to the inspector in charge of Armed Response.

  The location of the mobile phone was somewhere on Weedon Street, a long road not far away from South Yorkshire Police HQ. Armed officers ran to their vehicles and, under the direction of Inspector Porter’s running commentary, headed for the scene.

  On one side of the road were offices and industrial units, on the other was scrubland next to the River Don with Meadowhall Shopping Centre a stone’s throw away.

  According to the map on Porter’s phone, they were very close by. He instructed them all to pull over and begin a fingertip search of the area, but to also be on the lookout in case the gunman was still in the area. The phone was stationary and had more than likely been dumped, but the gunman had already targeted the police once this morning. There was a real possibility this could be a ploy to lure a unit of armed response officers as bait. With a packed shopping mall a few hundred yards away, an unpredictable shooter on the run was the last thing the police needed right now.

  Porter ran down the pavement with his team behind him as they looked for the location of the phone. They were almost on top of the phone, according to the map, but couldn’t see anything on the ground.

  ‘It’s got to be on the wasteland,’ he said, slightly out of breath. ‘He’ll have thrown it over the fence. Someone get a ladder.’

  A ladder was brought out of the back of one of the vans, placed against the steel fencing, and, one by one, officers jumped over it.

  ‘Do you want me to call for the search dogs?’ a uniformed officer asked, shouting above the fast-moving traffic behind them.

  ‘Not yet,’ he replied. ‘I’ve got a feeling we’re not going to need them.’

  ‘Sir!’

  He looked up. An armed officer approached the fence, a rifle in one hand, a plastic bag in the other. He passed it to him through the slats.

  Porter rolled his eyes. He took out his mobile phone and made a call. ‘Christian, it’s Gavin. We’ve found the phone. It’s an old-style Nokia, switched on. It had been thrown over the fence on Weedon Street.’

  ‘Excellent. Get it straight to forensics. They—’

  ‘Wait,’ Gavin interrupted. ‘The phone is in a bag. It’s in a sealed South Yorkshire Police issue plastic evidence bag.’

  ‘What?’ Christian asked.

  ‘You know what this means, don’t you?’

  ‘The fucker’s playing with us.’

  Chapter Eleven

  10:40 – Sheffield Parkway

  Jake Harrison walked through Corker Bottoms Allotments with his head down. His face had a heavy expression and his lips moved slightly as he muttered to himself, going over everything that had just happened. He could see the odd person tending their patch in his peripheral vision but didn’t want to make eye contact and invite conversation, even if it was a simple head nod or a good-morning. He took long strides. He blended into his surroundings with dark clothing, army-style trousers and heavy walking boots. His backpack felt heavy, full of his arsenal of weapons. He’d taken care of Matilda Darke. He just needed to throw the police off his scent, giving him enough time to get to his second destination. Once that was over with, he didn’t care if a police marksman took aim and blew his brains away. It would be a happy release.

  His first attack had gone exactly as planned, better even. By the time the fire alarm sounded, and everyone began filing out of the building, Jake was in prime position on the roof of the building behind, having gained access using a stolen key card.

  From his vantage point, he had full view of the police station car park. He waited until the whole building had been evacuated, plain-clothed detectives, uniformed officers and civilian staff. He spotted Matilda straight away. He’d been watching her, following her, studying her for so long that he was seeing her in his sleep. He thought he’d be nervous, but surprisingly, he felt calm. He wasn’t just after Matilda, he wanted to hurt the police. He wanted to deplete their number, have them struggle to cope with the loss of colleagues as well as the hunt for him. There was no way he was going to make today easy for them. His plan was to destroy. This day was going to go down in history as one of Sheffield’s darkest days – no, by the time he was finished, the whole world would know about him. This would be one of England’s darkest days.

  He lined up the shot, aiming for a very attractive young uniformed officer and squeezed the trigger. The sound of the shot was muffled. He hit his target, and she dropped like a stone. There was a delay as those around her looked bewildered, wondering what had happened. He fired a second shot. He heard a scream, and everyone began running back into the building. Jake found himself smiling. The sound of panic and horror was like a rush of blood to the head. He aimed carefully and accurately and watched as people started to fall. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. For a moment, he took his eye off the ball, and it wasn’t until he saw Matilda standing in the middle of the car park, actually looking up at him, that he remembered his whole reason for today was to kill her.

  There she was, standing tall in her winter coat, dark hair flowing in the breeze. She wasn’t hiding. She wasn’t running. Her face was blank, her eyes wide as she stood in the middle of the carnage. Her colleagues were dead around her, and she just stood, looking up at him, challenging him, almost.

  This was too easy.

  He looked momentarily from the viewfinder, and he was sure their eyes locked. He smiled, but she remained passive. Silence fell all around him, and he remained fixed on his target. She was making it so easy for him.

  He lined up the shot and squeezed the trigger, hitting her in the shoulder. She staggered backwards, and he got her clean in the head with the second. He watched her drop dead to the ground, packed up his kit, and left.

  He ran down the stairs quietly and calmly. He needed to leave the building urgently, to flee before he was surrounded, but he couldn’t panic, as that would raise suspicion as well as cause him to make mistakes. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears. Every time he blinked, he saw Matilda’s dead expression as she fell backwards. He pushed open the fire door to the office block and stepped out into the cold winter air. Everything was calm and quiet. A great disaster had taken place, and everyone was trying to make sense of the sounds they’d just heard before the reality hit. He stood still on the edge of the road and took in a lungful of polluted air. It tasted good. It tasted of a task well done. His brother would be proud.

  He headed for the van he’d parked in a side street, far enough away so hopefully CCTV would lose him in the miasma of alleyways he went down to reach his vehicle, started the engine and made his way to his next target.

  Jake Harrison had never felt more alive than he did right now. The world had dealt him a very bad hand. He’d been hampered at every turning. Society scorned him. His parents pitied him. His wife loathed him.

  His brother had the right idea. Nobody fucked with a Harrison and got away with it. It was time to show everyone what he was truly made of. Today was the day he was going to sit back and watch the world burn.

  Past the allotments, Jake trudged over uneven ground under the cover of darkness provided by a thicket of trees. He would have preferred a clear day, but the weather in England, particularly in the North, was unpredictable. It was a dull, dank day. Heavy cloud hung over the city, and there was a fine drizzle in the air. On one hand, it kept people indoors, or in their cars, so there were fewer to see him stalking the streets of Sheffield. Unfortunately, it left him exposed.

  The sound of the Parkway grew louder as he exited the trees. He looked around him, constantly keeping vigil. With the noise from the traffic whizzing by at sixty miles per hour, it would be easy to not hear someone close by watching what he was up to, or a police officer on his trail. No, he was sure they wouldn’t have worked out who he was yet. He still had time on his side.

  To his right was Harb
orough Rise and a handful of terraced houses. He walked along the pavement as if he belonged there; a regular member of the public going about his busy life. He paused as he took a step on the bridge. He took one last look behind him to make sure there was nobody close by. Up ahead, nobody was heading towards him. Traffic below was busy and fast-moving. The timing was perfect.

  He walked onto the bridge and stopped over the lanes running southbound. The noise from the vehicles was loud, and the smell of diesel and petrol clung to his nostrils and scratched the back of his throat. It tasted foul. He removed his backpack and squatted to the ground as he opened the camouflaged bag and scrambled among his weapons. He had three different variations of a Glock pistol, a Heckler & Koch he’d used at the police station, but he chose the SIG SG 552, which he’d managed to get from someone online who had connections with Derbyshire Police.

  The SG 552 was a compact weapon. Jake unfolded it, inserted a spring-loaded cartridge and set the firing to a single shot.

  He could feel his heart pounding. He thought his palms would be sweaty and his nerves would make his body shake, but he felt none of that. The moment he picked up a gun, he knew this was what he was destined for. He took a deep breath. He was ready.

  He looked through the bars of the iron railings at the fast-moving traffic below. Cars, taxis, lorries, vans, coaches and trucks hurtled along. He wanted a car, preferably an Audi. He hated Audis and their drivers. They seemed to think they owned the roads and could do what they liked. Wankers. There was one up ahead. Light grey. Fingers crossed a sales rep would be driving.

  Being right-handed, Jake steadied the gun with his left hand and put his right forefinger on the trigger. He couldn’t afford to take too long in case a driver looked up and saw him aiming at them. He had the Audi in his sights and squeezed the trigger.

  A bullet was fired. It cracked the windscreen of his target car and hit the head of the driver, who was thrown back in his seat. The car continued travelling but began to drift into the next lane. A Ford Focus beeped and swerved, slamming on its brakes. A car behind the Focus crashed into it. The Audi, still drifting, clipped a motorbike, which spun. The driver fell off and was run over by a white van whose tyres screamed as the brakes were applied. The Audi crashed into the embankment at speed, flipping it over. A Punto swerved to avoid crashing into it and ploughed into a Nissan, which then hit a Mercedes. It was carnage. Squealing brakes and the smashing glass and the crunching of metal filled the air.