Time Is Running Out

by Michael Wood

‘It’s Aaron,’ came the reply once she’d answered.

  DS Aaron Connolly had been a part of HMET since its inception but was forced to quit over an affair with a witness last year. Since then, he’d been working with CID on drugs busts and burglaries. Whenever someone was needed to attend a secondary school to talk about the dangers of drink and drugs or how to stay safe online while using social media, Aaron was always sent. That was his penance for South Yorkshire Police being torn apart during a high-profile murder case at the Crown Court.

  ‘Oh. Hi,’ Sian said, a frostiness to her voice.

  ‘I’ve been seconded to help.’

  ‘I see. Well, welcome back,’ she said, not sure if she meant it. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’ve been interviewing some of the staff in offices behind HQ, and although they said they didn’t see anyone suspicious this morning, CCTV has shown a man gaining access to the roof. The thing is, he doesn’t look like the bloke you suspect of setting off the fire alarm in the police station.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t think it would be the same person. It would have taken too long – by the time he’d reached the roof of the offices after setting the alarm off, we’d have realised it was a false alarm and gone back inside.’

  ‘What I’m saying is, maybe there is more than one man on this.’

  ‘That’s what we’re saying, too.’ The man never listened. ‘In fact, we’re off to speak to a source now – a homeless bloke who goes by McNally.’

  ‘What do you know about this “McNally”?’

  ‘He’s a harmless man who is down on his luck, like a lot of the homeless.’

  ‘Really? You’ve looked him up?’

  Sian hesitated. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I’m looking at his file now. Duncan Arthur McNally, born on the twenty-eighth of October 1989. No fixed abode. He’s been arrested six times for drunk and disorderly, seven times for disturbing the peace and twice for drug dealing. When he was twenty-five, he was dishonourably discharged from the army for unruly behaviour.’

  ‘Well, none of us know what these young men have to face in the army,’ she said.

  ‘Sian, you’re not listening. He’s ex-military. Who better to launch a sniper attack than someone trained with guns? Where are you?’

  ‘We’re heading to the cathedral to speak to McNally, as I know he’s normally there around this time.’

  ‘On your own?’

  ‘No. I have Rory with me.’

  ‘Don’t approach. I’ll send back-up.’

  ‘Aaron, calm down. You’re overreacting. I’ve chatted with this guy on many occasions. He’s not a killer. He’s not a sniper. He’s a little mixed-up, but who isn’t when you’re sleeping on the streets. If you send armed officers and surround him, he’ll clam up. Personally, I think he was paid to go into the station and set the fire alarm off. It’s possible he’s seen the gunman, but he won’t tell us anything if he feels threatened.’

  ‘I don’t like this, Sian.’

  ‘Personally, Aaron, it’s nothing to do with you. You’ve been seconded back to the HMET. You’re no longer a member and I have the final say on this.’ She ended the call and put the phone back in her pocket.

  ‘Aaron’s back, is he?’ Rory said, speaking for the first time since leaving the station.

  ‘Temporarily, yes.’

  ‘So, we’re going to meet a man, unarmed, who was paid to help the gunman murder my fiancée?’

  ‘Rory.’ Sian stopped and turned Rory to face her. ‘I know you’re going through hell right now, but you need to put your personal feelings to one side until this is all sorted out. I know it’s difficult, but you have to be professional about this.’

  ‘How can I? I’ve lost my fiancée, Sian. I’ve lost the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, the woman I was going to marry, the woman who was going to have my children. How can I carry on like nothing’s happened?’

  ‘I’m not asking you to do that. I’m asking you to remain professional. By all means, cry, mourn, do whatever you have to do to come to terms with it, but while you’re at work, you need to be a detective.’

  ‘How can you be so cold after what you witnessed this morning?’ he asked, looking daggers at the sergeant.

  ‘Is that what you think I’m being?’ she sounded hurt. ‘I know you’re going through a lot right now, Rory, but I will not tolerate you turning on me. I’ve cried buckets this morning. Ranjeet, a young man with a baby, was killed right in front of my eyes, trying to save me. I had to scrub his blood out of my hair. His child will never know his father. I’m devastated, horrified, shocked and appalled by what’s happened, and I will relive his death every day for the rest of my life. However, I can honour him by catching the bastard who killed him. I’m not cold. I’m not calm. I’m screaming inside, but I’m fuck-all use to anyone if I allow that to show.’ With that, she stormed off, leaving Rory behind.

  ‘Sian, I’m sorry,’ he said, breaking into a trot to catch her up. ‘I didn’t mean to snap like that. I just … I honest to God don’t know how I’m going to come back from this.’

  ‘You won’t,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but you won’t ever be the same person again. Neither of us will. You’ve lost somebody special in the cruellest way imaginable. From today, you’ll be a different person. You will love again, and you’ll laugh again, it’ll just take time. But even when you’ve moved on, found love again and you’re stood at the top of the altar waiting for your bride to walk down the aisle, you’ll be feeling a different kind of happiness to what you would have felt had today never happened.’

  Rory swallowed hard. ‘Thank you.’ His eyes glistened with tears. ‘And I’m sorry, again.’

  She rubbed the top of his arm. ‘You don’t need to apologise today, Rory. Just remember, you know me – I will never say or do anything to upset you, and I will be here whenever you need to cry or scream.’

  ‘You’re a good woman, Sian.’

  ‘I know,’ she said with a smile. ‘If you ever want to recommend me for an OBE, I won’t stop you.’ Rory gave a genuine smile, but only briefly. ‘Come on, let’s go and see what McNally has to tell us.’

  Duncan Arthur McNally wore dirty cargo trousers, scuffed walking boots, a dark red sweater with holes in it and a padded waterproof jacket that was a size too small for him. He had a khaki beanie hat pulled down low, sitting just on top of his eyebrows. He was twenty-nine years old but living rough on the streets of Sheffield had aged him terribly. His face was ruddy and wrinkled, his dirty-blond beard was wiry and unkempt.

  It was a cold day and a harsh wind was blowing. He stood in the shadows of the cathedral opposite East Parade. He liked it here. It was central, so close to shops and offices where people made their way to and from work at lunchtime. He often made a few quid, enough to buy himself a sandwich and a coffee somewhere. It was also quiet, away from the main hustle, so he could be left alone with his raging thoughts.

  Winter was a difficult time for the homeless, and although there hadn’t been many frosty nights and very little snow so far this season, temperatures had been cold, the wind had been strong, and rain had been heavy. He had no idea how much longer he could continue living like this. He ached all over from holding himself rigid at night against the cold. He’d had a cough for weeks that showed no sign of shifting, and the cut he’d gained from being attacked over Christmas by a group of drunken teenagers was refusing to heal.

  ‘McNally,’ Sian called as they approached.

  Leaning against the wall of the cathedral, McNally had been away with his dark thoughts and he jumped at the sound of his name being called. He wiped his wet eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.

  ‘Sian, you all right?’ he asked with a quiet but gruff voice.

  ‘I’m doing ok, thanks,’ she lied. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Can’t complain.’ He smiled.

  ‘Are you eating?’

  ‘I am. I had a big fry-up in the market this morning. That’ll ke
ep me warm all day.’

  ‘McNally, this is a colleague of mine, Rory. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s been a shooting at our headquarters this morning. We’ve lost a few officers.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, genuinely meaning it. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Physically, yes. The thing is, we’ve been going through CCTV and we found you entering our building via the back door with a spirit level over your shoulder.’ Sian took out a printed copy of the image, unfolded it and showed it to him.

  He nodded. ‘Yes. That’s me. I didn’t shoot anyone though,’ he said defensively. He tried to take a step back, but the cathedral was in his way.

  ‘I’m not accusing you of anything. I know you didn’t pull the trigger. I’m guessing someone paid you to go into our building and set off the fire alarm?’

  McNally looked from Sian to Rory and back again, then looked around to see if anyone close by was listening in to their conversation.

  He ushered them to lean in close, so he could drop his quiet voice further. ‘This bloke came up to me first thing, while it was still dark. He offered me fifty quid to just waltz into the station, set the fire alarm off and waltz back out again, bold as brass.’

  ‘Can you remember what he looked like?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Tall, thin, pale. His eyes were too close together for my liking. He looked shifty.’

  ‘Did you ask him why he wanted you to set the alarm off?’ Rory asked.

  ‘I did. He told me to mind my own fucking business. His words, not mine.’ He smiled to Sian.

  ‘Where did you get the spirit level and the high-vis jacket from?’

  ‘He gave them to me. He told me to dump them afterwards. I’d left my coat and bag round the corner from the station and threw the stuff in a bin nearby.’

  ‘How did you get to the station?’

  ‘He gave me a lift in his van.’

  ‘What was his van like?’ Rory asked.

  ‘It was white. Well, I’m guessing its original colour was white. Like me, it needed a good wash,’ he said with a chuckle in his voice.

  ‘Did the bloke say anything to you on the way there?’

  ‘Nope. Nothing at all. I tried making conversation, but he wasn’t having any of it. He didn’t even look at me; just stared straight out of the windscreen. His hands didn’t leave the steering wheel once. He had a determined look on his face.’

  ‘How did you get back into town?’ Sian asked.

  ‘I walked. Once he dropped me off round the corner from the station, he told me to give him five minutes, do the deed, then I was free to go.’

  ‘Did you see what direction he drove off in?’

  ‘No. I wasn’t looking. Look, if I’d known he was going to shoot at you, I wouldn’t have done it. I swear. You know me, Sian.’

  ‘I do,’ she said with a smile. ‘Listen, we’ll need you to give us a formal statement. I’ll make sure you get a hot meal in the canteen, and we’ll sort you out a change of clothes, too. Will that be all right?’

  ‘Sure.’

  As they headed off from the cathedral towards the station, Sian took a twenty-pound note out of her inside jacket pocket and discreetly handed it to McNally when Rory wasn’t watching. He took it and smiled.

  ‘Did you see any guns or anything suspicious in the van?’ Rory asked.

  ‘No. Although…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When we pulled over behind where the station is, we went to the back of the van to get the spirit level and jacket, and I saw a uniform in the same box.’

  ‘What kind of uniform?’

  ‘A copper’s uniform.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  The chaotic scene at the Sheffield Parkway looked like a film set. Vehicles were riddled with bullet holes, shattered glass covered the road and blue lights flashed off every surface. By the time Scott and Finn arrived at the scene, the injured had been taken to hospital, traffic had been diverted and the Parkway closed in both directions. Several of the dead still lay strewn about, white sheets giving them a final cover of dignity against the violent deaths they’d endured.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Finn said as he stepped out of the car. He looked around him. He shopped at the nearby Morrisons most weeks. He and his wife had driven along this stretch of road countless number of times. Seeing it like this was alien.

  ‘Over here!’ Christian Brady called out to them.

  They both looked up and saw the DI on the bridge above, who summoned them to join him. On top of the bridge, the wind was stronger, the gale buffeting them as they walked. They were cold and exposed to the elements, and possibly to the gunman too.

  Surveying the scene from above didn’t lessen the impact of what had taken place. In fact, it heightened it. Crashed vehicles seemed to stretch for miles as drivers had tried to flee the danger and caused more damage. A covered body was half hanging out of a car, shot dead while they tried to make their escape. It was a sad and painful scene to witness.

  DI Brady was with Inspector Gavin Porter. Standing at five feet nine inches tall, Porter was dwarfed by the other three officers, but his all-black clothing, his protective equipment and the large gun in both hands gave him a sense of power and danger that made his presence much taller than the others.

  Porter had been with South Yorkshire Police since he was young enough to join. Following his two-year probationary period, he immediately joined the Armed Response Unit. He’d always wanted to be at the forefront of the action and had policed many large events in the region from football matches to royal visits to protest marches. He prided himself on having never once fired his gun throughout his twenty-year career, but he’d been highly trained for every eventuality.

  Scott glanced at him and took a step back. Despite being a detective and having come across guns many times in the past, he couldn’t get used to them. He hoped he wouldn’t live to see a day when all British police were armed. If it happened while he was still a serving detective, it would be the day he resigned.

  ‘We’ve had a few good eyewitness statements so far,’ Christian shouted against the wind. ‘None of them could give us a decent description of the gunman, but the Audi down the embankment was the first hit. A perfect shot right through the windscreen and into the driver’s eye.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Finn winced.

  ‘Lucky shot or plenty of practice?’ Scott asked.

  ‘Look around you,’ Inspector Porter spoke up. His Yorkshire accent was thick and deep. ‘There’s eighteen confirmed dead so far and dozens injured through being hit, ricocheted off or other injuries, yet we’ve picked up less than sixty shell casings. This bloke knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘A marksman?’

  ‘Or as good as. All of his targets were moving, and he managed to hit someone or something with practically every bullet. You’ve got a dangerous bloke out there. He needs catching fast.’

  Christian nodded to Finn and Scott to move up the bridge for him to talk to in private.

  ‘Guys, this isn’t going to be easy,’ he said quietly once they were in a huddle. ‘We don’t know where he’s going to target next, we don’t know his motive and we don’t know what kind of weapons he has on him. He’s already targeted the police; he could still come after us again. We need to identify him as quickly as possible.’

  ‘How?’ Scott asked.

  ‘We need to work backwards. He obviously came here straight from the station, so what route will he have taken? I’ve phoned Sian, and she told me he paid a homeless guy to set the fire alarm off at the station, so he was waiting for us to leave the building with his gun aimed. He’s organised. He’s calm and he’s fucking dangerous.’ There was an urgency in Christian’s voice, his body shaking. Scott wasn’t sure if that was from nerves or the cold wind.

  ‘What do you want us to do?’

  ‘Armed police! Your house is surrounded.’ A shout was heard from somewhere below the bridge.

  ‘Brady, we’ve got something
,’ Inspector Porter said from the side of the bridge.

  They ran down the steps from the bridge and the decline towards the houses on Beaumont Road North. The row of terraced houses in the cul-de-sac were characterless, and judging by the toys abandoned in one front garden and a trampoline in another, home to families with young children.

  Two marked police cars were parked haphazardly as armed officers in protective clothing ran from house to house, garden to garden and shed to shed to make sure the gunman wasn’t hiding close by. Through a loudspeaker, instructions were being given for residents to remain indoors for their own safety. Curtains twitched in almost every window as frightened onlookers tried to see what was happening in their usually quiet neighbourhood.

  One of the houses had turned their front lawn into a makeshift driveway. A dirty white transit van was parked on it. Several armed officers were standing outside of the front door, guns aiming at the house.

  ‘There are people in there, but they won’t come to the door,’ an officer shouted towards Inspector Porter, his voice muffled behind his mask.

  ‘How many can you see?’ Christian asked.

  ‘At least three adults in the living room.’

  ‘Knock again and tell them to come out.’

  The officer banged on the glass with a gloved fist. The noise echoed around the street. ‘Your house is surrounded by armed police. Open this door and walk out slowly with your hands up. This is your final warning. I will break this door down if necessary.’

  Christian looked nervous as he exchanged eye contact with Porter. Finn and Scott, wearing only flak jackets for protection stood well back.

  After a long silence, the armed officer looked towards Porter.

  ‘Your call, Brady,’ Porter said in turn.

  ‘Shit,’ he uttered under his breath. ‘I can’t risk anyone losing their lives. Do we know whose house this is?’

  ‘No. Either way, they’re ignoring us. They’re obviously hiding something.’

  ‘Ok. Break in.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Porter instructed his officer.

  ‘Can someone get me a ram?’ he shouted over his shoulder.