Time Is Running Out

by Michael Wood

  Traffic began to slow down and stop as they witnessed the crash ahead. Someone will have called the police. Help would be on its way.

  Jake watched from the bridge. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked out at a sea of gawping faces. They were sitting ducks. He changed the setting to firing three bullets with a single touch of the trigger.

  People started to get out of their vehicles, seeing if they could help the injured. Others started filming on their mobiles. Ghouls. They had to be taken out first. He didn’t want to be captured on camera.

  He raised the gun, aimed and fired.

  Chapter Twelve

  Detective Constables Scott Andrews and Finn Cotton were parked a few doors down from the Deshwal house at Heeley on the outskirts of Sheffield city centre.

  It was a cramped-looking street with two rows of terraced houses either side, no front gardens and cars crammed into any available space.

  ‘I’ve never delivered a death message before,’ Finn said from the front passenger seat.

  ‘I have, but never to a colleague.’

  ‘How’s Rory?’ Finn asked, looking across at Scott.

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. He should go home, but I doubt DI Brady will allow it.’

  ‘I still can’t believe what happened. I was close to the building when the shots started ringing out. I just opened the door and ran in. I didn’t think about anyone else.’

  ‘That’s perfectly understandable.’

  ‘I just stood there and held the door open for people. I could have run out and helped. I saw Sian fall. I should have gone to grab her, but I couldn’t.’

  ‘Finn, don’t beat yourself up about this. We can all say we’d be the hero under fire, but until it happens, we don’t know how we’ll react. Have you called your wife?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, wiping his eyes. ‘She told me to stay safe.’

  ‘Well, make sure you do. I don’t think I’ll be able to do this more than once today.’

  There was a knock on Finn’s window. They both jumped and turned to see Kesinka’s smiling face beaming at them. She was wrapped up warm against the elements, woollen hat, matching scarf and gloves and a thick winter coat. Finn opened the window.

  ‘I thought it was you two. On a stake-out? I’ll save you the bother. The drug dealer at number twelve has gone on holiday. Two weeks in Miami, lucky sod. Who says crime doesn’t pay?’ She laughed.

  ‘Hi, Kes,’ Scott said, sullenly.

  ‘What’s up?’

  She took in Scott’s blank expression and turned to Finn. His eyes were wet and darting left and right as he didn’t know where to look.

  Kesinka’s smile dropped.

  ‘Oh my God, no.’ She put her gloved hands to her face, releasing hold of the pram she was pushing. It started to roll down the street.

  Scott jumped out of the car, followed by Finn. Finn made a beeline for the pram while Scott grabbed Kesinka and pulled her to his chest. He held her tight as she sobbed loudly. He increased his grip as her legs buckled and she started falling to the ground. Her screams echoed around the neighbourhood.

  From her handbag attached to the handles of the pram, Finn took out the house keys. He unlocked the front door and Scott walked in slowly, pulling Kesinka with him, leaving Finn struggling with the pram.

  It seemed like an age before Kesinka stopped crying enough to look up. She was on the sofa with Scott next to her. Finn was in front of the fire, little Hemant in his arms, rocking him left and right as he made gurgling noises. Behind Finn, on the fireplace, a silver-framed photograph showed Ranjeet and Kesinka on their wedding day. It was a simple affair, nothing big and fancy as neither of them wanted a fuss. Ranjeet looked dapper in his fitted dark grey suit and dusky pink tie. Next to him, linking arms, was Kesinka in a cream floor-length dress. It clung to her in all the right places. Both of them grinned to the camera, having just declared their love for each other in front of their family and closest friends. They were happy. In a confusing and unstable world, they’d found each other among the madness and decided to share the rest of their lives together.

  ‘What happened?’ Kesinka choked. She held a cushion on her lap, cuddling it firmly to her chest.

  Scott filled her in on the shooting. He told her how Ranjeet had stopped to help Sian. How he’d died a hero.

  ‘St-stupid bugger,’ she struggled to say as she tried to catch her breath between the tears. ‘He never thought of himself, always other people. Look at what happened last year when we had those floods and he jumped into the river to save Ellen. I didn’t half give him hell once I got him back home. And now look what he’s gone and done.’ She tore at a damp tissue.

  She started to cry anew and fell into Scott’s embrace.

  ‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea or something?’ Finn asked.

  Kesinka didn’t react. Finn looked at Scott and shrugged his shoulders. He looked uncomfortable cradling a child.

  ‘I loved him, Scott. From the moment I saw him, I loved him. It was his hair. So shiny, so thick and lush. And his eyes, deep and dark and smiling. He was gorgeous. I didn’t think I stood a chance with him, but when he asked me out, it was like all the angels in heaven were singing. I’ve never met a kinder, more caring, loving, honest man. He really was the perfect husband.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I think Hemant might need changing,’ Finn said quietly. He looked horrified at the prospect of having to change him.

  Scott stood up and took the baby from him. ‘I’ll do it. Is everything upstairs?’

  Kesinka nodded. Scott left the room holding the child, not even a year old, at arm’s length.

  ‘What am I going to tell his parents?’ Kesinka cried, looking hopefully at Finn.

  ‘We can do that if you want.’

  ‘And what do I tell Hemant when he gets older?’

  Finn sat down on the sofa next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘You tell him his dad was a hero, because that’s what he was. He died saving people’s lives.’

  She tried to smile, but grief wouldn’t allow it. The tears continued to flow.

  ‘Why, Finn? Who would do something like this?’

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t,’ he answered honestly.

  ‘I’m supposed to go back to work in a couple of weeks. We joked about being a husband-and-wife team, solving crimes together like some kind of cliché TV detective drama. How can I come back to work now knowing my husband was killed there?’

  She looked at Finn with tear-filled eyes, hoping for an answer. Her world had been destroyed. How was it possible for her to continue?

  ‘I really don’t know, Kes. Don’t make any big decisions now. They can all wait. Just concentrate on yourself and the baby.’

  Scott came down the stairs carefully, holding baby Hemant in his arms.

  ‘I’m never doing that again,’ he said with a look of disgust on his face. ‘I’m not sure if I’ve put it on him correctly or not,’ he said, handing the baby to Kesinka.

  She took him in her arms and held the gurgling baby to her chest as she leaned her head on his and wept.

  ‘He looks like Ranjeet, don’t you think?’ she asked, looking up.

  ‘He really does,’ Scott said. ‘He has his eyes.’

  ‘I suppose this is Ranjeet’s legacy right here. He died young, but he left his mark on the world. I just have to make sure Hemant grows up knowing how brave his dad was and encourage him to follow in Ranjeet’s footsteps, putting others first.’ Her bottom lip was wobbling uncontrollably. Tears were leaking down her face.

  ‘That’s that best thing you can do,’ Finn said, putting his arm around his colleague.

  ‘It’s going to be so difficult on my own.’

  ‘You’re not on your own,’ Scott said. ‘You’ve got the whole of South Yorkshire Police behind you.’

  She looked up again and smiled, though it looked painful for her to do so. ‘Will you guys do me a favour?’

  ‘Anything,’
Finn answered.

  ‘When you catch this gunman—’

  ‘Don’t say it,’ Scott interrupted. ‘I know what you’re going to ask, and I understand, because you’re angry, but, please, don’t.’

  She paused, her eyes locked on Scott, before eventually nodding.

  ‘We should be getting back,’ Scott said gently.

  ‘Is there anyone you’d like us to call?’ Finn said, getting up.

  ‘No. I’ll call my mum, ask her to come over. She only lives up the road. She won’t be long.’

  ‘If you need anything, give us a call.’

  ‘I will.’

  Finn made his way to the front door. He left the house and seemed to visibly relax once he was out in the cool air.

  Scott held back and waited until Finn was out of earshot. He turned to Kesinka.

  ‘I’m going to catch him. And I’m going to kill him for you, and for Ranjeet.’

  Kesinka smiled and placed a hand on his arm. ‘Thank you, Scott.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Christian had three missed calls from his wife. He’d already phoned her twice and told her he was fine, but she’d obviously been watching the news and needed reassuring. He tried to placate her by telling her he was in control and knew what he was doing; that he was calm and dealing with the matter in hand. When he hung up the phone, he felt sick; he hated himself for blatantly lying to her. He looked up and through the window into the main suite, where he saw his officers struggling to maintain their emotions.

  His officers? He supposed they were his officers while Matilda wasn’t here, and judging by the state she was in when the paramedics wheeled her into the back of an ambulance, it would be a long time before she was back at work, if at all. Until then, he was in charge. What Sian, Rory, Scott and Finn did was down to him. As much as he’d sought more responsibility and hoped for promotion, he wanted it through his hard work, not to have it thrust upon him due to a horrific act of violence. Under this kind of pressure, would he be able to cope?

  On the corner of his desk was a framed photograph of his wife and two children. It had been taken three summers back while they were on holiday in Disneyland Paris. They’d been saving for years, and for the kids it was the trip of a lifetime. Christian had taken the snap after the three of them had met Mickey and Minnie Mouse. The kids were beaming. He smiled at their happy faces. He came so close to dying this morning, to ruining their lives. The thought sent an icy chill down his spine. He always knew there was an element of danger in being a detective, but it hadn’t fully hit home until now. Any one of those bullets could have hit him. It was pure chance that he’d survived.

  There was a sharp rap on the glass door. He looked up and saw Rory standing in the doorway.

  ‘Yes, Rory, what is it?’ he asked, a catch in his throat.

  ‘It’s eleven o’clock. The Chief Constable is about to give a statement.’

  Christian took a deep breath and left his office. Finn and Scott were still out delivering the bad news to Kesinka, so the room was practically empty. He joined Sian and Rory and they sat in front of the TV watching a picture of the front of the building they were in.

  Outside the main entrance, a sea of reporters had gathered. Danny Hanson had fought for prime position at the front of the melee building up behind him. His cameraman was beside him and while Danny held his microphone aloft to capture the words the Chief Constable would be saying, he also had a digital recorder in his top pocket for his own private collection. His intention was to write a book one day. He tried to hide his smile. This really was the biggest story of his career so far. Who knew where his work on it could take him? He was picturing himself in a warzone, wearing a helmet and a bulletproof jacket with ‘Press’ printed on the back, giving a direct-to-camera report while British troops fought the enemy not six feet behind him.

  Cameras started flashing, and he was pushed forward. He came back to reality from his daydream and looked up as the imposing figure of Chief Constable Martin Featherstone exited the building and walked to the top of the steps. He held his head high, shoulders back, a stern look on his heavy brow. His uniform was spotless, as were his shoes. He viewed the sea of reporters and cleared his throat.

  Danny turned on the digital recorder in his pocket nonchalantly.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, good morning,’ CC Featherstone began. ‘A little after nine o’clock this morning, the fire alarm sounded here at South Yorkshire Police Headquarters.’ He spoke slowly and calmly, but there was a nervousness to his voice. ‘All staff followed procedure and filed out of the building. Within minutes, an unknown gunman opened fire from the roof of a nearby office block, killing several officers and wounding many more.’ It was obviously difficult for the Chief Constable to talk, as he had to keep stopping to swallow his emotion. He cleared his throat again. ‘Among the dead is Assistant Chief Constable Valerie Masterson.’

  Danny paled. He’d met with Masterson a number of times. He’d liked her. She was fierce, but she was fair. He found himself moved and the seriousness of the situation dawned on him. He wondered if any other detectives he knew were dead or injured. He wondered about Matilda Darke.

  ‘At this stage, I am not going to reveal the names of the other dead officers, as we are still in the process of contacting their families. The gunman hasn’t been caught or identified. However, officers from the Homicide and Major Enquiries Team and CID are working together in this fast-moving investigation. We will, of course, keep you updated with any new information as and when we receive it. Thank you.’

  Before he even finished talking, the reporters erupted and began asking a barrage of questions.

  ‘Chief Constable, is this a terrorist attack?’ someone to the left of Danny asked.

  ‘We don’t believe this was a terrorist incident, no,’ Featherstone replied confidently.

  ‘Has the force received any threats recently?’

  ‘No. However, we’re keeping an open mind and looking into that line of enquiry.’

  Danny watched the Chief Constable’s face intently. He was itching to ask a question.

  ‘Should the people of Sheffield be worried?’ another shouted from the back.

  ‘The safety of the people of South Yorkshire is paramount. We believe this was an isolated incident, and while our numbers have been reduced today, and we have lost some well-liked, respected and dedicated officers, we are all highly professional and will not allow this to get in the way of performing our duties to the standard the public expects.’

  Danny licked his lips. Not yet.

  ‘What advice would you give to the people in Sheffield right now?’ the reporter directly to the left of Danny asked.

  ‘To remain calm. To go about their business as usual. But also to be vigilant. And if they see anything or anyone unusual, not to take action themselves, but to dial 999 immediately.’

  Now.

  ‘Chief Constable,’ Danny began, raising his arm. ‘Is DCI Matilda Darke leading the investigation?’

  Their eyes locked and Featherstone’s face paled. He opened his mouth and closed it again. His eyes darted left and right as he struggled to find an answer.

  A uniformed officer came up behind him and whispered in his ear.

  ‘I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to have to leave this press conference for now. There will be updates later in the day. Thank you.’ He made eye contact with Danny once again before turning on his heels and taking urgent strides back into the station.

  Danny turned to the camera. ‘That was Chief Constable Martin Featherstone telling us that a number of police officers have been killed including Assistant Chief Constable Valerie Masterson, who has served with South Yorkshire Police for more than thirty years. Back to you, Sophie,’ he said, handing back to the studio.

  He waited a few seconds before lowering the microphone.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ he said.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ his cameraman, Lewis, asked him.r />
  ‘Did you see his face when I asked about DCI Darke? I bet she’s been killed, and he’s not saying.’ There was a hint of concern in his voice. He tensed his jaw as he quickly thought about how he was going to uncover the truth.

  ‘Why wouldn’t he say? Who is she anyway?’

  ‘She’s a brilliant detective but completely fucked-up as a person, which makes her the perfect target to get a juicy story. Something’s happened to her and he’s not telling us the full story.’

  His mobile vibrated. He fished it out of his pocket, smiled when he saw who was calling and swiped to answer.

  ‘Hanson.’

  ‘I have to be quick,’ the caller began in a low voice. ‘There’s been another shooting. Sheffield Parkway. Gunman shot from the bridge.’

  ‘Shit. Any dead?’

  ‘Loads.’

  ‘What can you tell me about DCI Darke? Is she dead?’

  ‘I’ve got to go.’ The line went dead.

  ‘Shit! We need to go,’ he said to Lewis.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way. There’s been another shooting.’

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Loose lips sink ships, Lewis,’ he said with a grin as they made their way to the BBC van.

  ‘We’re not at war, Danny.’

  ‘We so fucking are.’ The excitement in his voice palpable.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wakefield Prison