by Michael Wood
‘It’s worse than we thought.’
‘What?’
He held out the letter. ‘He’s got nothing to lose. Jake’s got terminal cancer.’
Chapter Forty-Four
‘It’s chilly out there,’ Jake said to the receptionist who’d let him in. He’d concealed his bag at the side of the entrance, out of sight. ‘PC Harrison,’ he said with a smile, holding out his hand. ‘You are?’
‘Susan Moss. I’m one of the administrators.’ She quickly shook his hand then folded her arms tightly against her chest. ‘I’m pleased you’re here. A lot of the teachers have some questions, especially with the school day almost finished. We weren’t quite sure whether to allow the children home on their own or not.’ Susan was a short woman, somewhere in her mid-fifties. She had to crane her neck to look up at Jake. She was dressed conservatively in a long skirt, thick tights, a white blouse and a navy jacket over the top. She spoke with a strong voice, but her panicked face belied her words.
‘Don’t you have a policy you follow during times like this?’ Jake asked as he followed her towards the office, smoothing down his ill-fitting police uniform. His eyes casually scanned the corridor. He took in the nearby classrooms, staircase and exits. This was the big test of his strength of character. He’d been planning and plotting this for so long, but now he could actually go through with it. His heart wasn’t racing. He wasn’t sweating. His hands weren’t shaking. He felt calm. Oh yes, he was more than ready.
‘We do, but, well, nothing like this has ever happened before. It’s fine to read a procedural document and file it away for future reference, but when something actually happens, it throws all logic out of the window.’
‘I fully understand,’ he said calmly with a soothing smile.
They went into the office. Another woman, cut from the same cloth as the administrator, was sitting behind a desk. The moment she set eyes on a man in police uniform, she visibly relaxed. Salvation was here. She proffered a nervous smile, which Jake reciprocated.
‘Is the head teacher around?’
‘Yes,’ Susan said. ‘Julie, could you call for Alan?’
The woman sitting at the desk nodded and picked up the phone.
‘Can I get you a coffee or anything?’ Susan asked Jake.
‘No. I’m fine. Thank you.’
‘I’m guessing you’ve been busy today,’ she said, a nervous edge to her voice.
‘You could say that.’ He smiled and exaggerated rolling his eyes. He looked around the room while the other woman was on the phone. ‘Someone’s birthday?’ he asked, noticing the cards on the bookcase.
‘It was Julie’s yesterday. The big six-oh,’ she whispered.
‘Alan’s on his way through,’ Julie said, replacing the phone.
Jake unbuttoned the top button of his police uniform jacket, reached inside and wrapped his right hand firmly around the handgrip of the Glock 17, fitted with a silencer, that he’d concealed. He pulled it out and didn’t give the two women a chance to react. He placed the gun to the temple of the secretary standing beside him. He squeezed the trigger. The back of her head exploded, and she dropped to the floor. Julie, mouth agape, took the second bullet to the centre of her forehead. She fell backwards in her chair, blood and brain matter hitting the wall behind her.
The rush of adrenaline was immense. He looked down at the dead women. He’d killed two people in less than ten seconds. It was exactly how he’d imagined it. Everything seemed to fade away. The mental agony and anguish he’d been in for so long disappeared. His mind was empty, devoid of everything. He was focused on one task, and he was going to succeed brilliantly.
He heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw the tall, stick-thin figure of the head teacher, Alan Fitzgerald, enter the room. With his large ears and bulbous nose, he looked like the BFG in a cheap suit. His smile froze as he took in the blood spatter on the walls. He looked down at his feet at the dead eyes of his secretary staring back at him. He didn’t have time to react before he felt the gun press against his temple.
‘Please, don’t shoot,’ he spat nervously. ‘I have a wife and two—’ Jake pulled the trigger. The head teacher dropped to the floor like a stone.
Jake replaced the gun in his inside pocket and headed for the main entrance to the school. He picked up his bag from around the corner and went back inside, closing the doors behind him. From the bag, he pulled out a change of shoes, something more comfortable for his rampage, and removed his police uniform jacket.
Among the arsenal of weapons, Jake pulled out a heavy steel chain. He wrapped it around the handles of the doors and secured it with a padlock. He didn’t want anyone getting away. He’d done a recce of the school several times over the last few months and knew where all the entrances and exits and fire doors were on the ground floor. He’d chain those as he went about his task.
Back in the front office, he emptied the bag of its weapons. He reloaded the Glock and placed it in his inside pocket. He had two Heckler & Koch rifles. He put the straps over each shoulder and checked the setting was to fire multiple bullets with each squeeze of the trigger. He double-checked he had plenty of ammunition in his bag, which he put on his shoulders.
At the bottom of the large rucksack, he carefully pulled out a small pressure cooker.
‘Right, Jake, old boy,’ he said to himself. ‘This is it. Let’s roll.’
Chapter Forty-Five
Rory and Scott had driven back to HQ in record time, breaking every driving rule in the book. A few traffic cameras had flashed at them on the way, but Rory didn’t give them a second thought. He wanted to get to Jake Harrison before he caused more death, destruction and mayhem. He wanted to get his hands on him and make him pay for what he’d done to Natasha.
Scott had wanted to ask him to slow down, but every time he looked across at his colleague, he saw the dark look of determination on his face, a thick vein throbbing in his neck. It was best to leave him alone rather than poke the bear unnecessarily.
Once in the HMET suite, Scott plugged his iPhone into his laptop, downloaded the photos he’d taken and put them up on the projector screen DI Brady had pulled down.
Christian, Sian, Finn and Aaron all stood back and looked with wide-eyed horror as Scott scrolled through the pictures showing press clippings of the Dunblane massacre, the Columbine shooting, the Oklahoma City bombing and the Aurora cinema shooting.
‘What does this all mean?’ Sian asked as she bit at her fingernails.
‘He’s obsessed,’ Aaron said.
‘But something like what he’s done today takes planning; it takes organisation. Surely one man can’t do all this on his own? How did his parents not know with all this plastered on the walls?’ Sian asked.
‘We need to move fast on this,’ Christian said. ‘Sian, bring Ronald and Janet in here. They need to see these photos.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes. Anything they can tell us about him could be vital. He needs finding, and quickly, especially if he’s capable of building a bomb.’
‘The two lads who did the Columbine shooting had a copy of The Anarchist Cookbook in their possession,’ Scott said as he scrolled through his laptop. ‘So did James Holmes, who shot all those people watching The Dark Knight Rises in Colorado.’
‘I don’t even want to touch that book,’ Finn said, looking at it with disdain. ‘Who thought it would be a good idea to publish it, for crying out loud?’
‘And look at these notes,’ Rory said as he began laying them out like he was dealing a deck of cards.
Make sure you’ve got your insurance policy lined up. Hopefully you won’t need it.
* * *
Mum and Dad will turn their back on you soon. Dad can take early retirement next year. They’ll move and they won’t take you with them.
* * *
Sorry to hear about the test results. You may as well go out with a bang, Jake. Life is shit. Fuck them all.
* * *
‘What does it mean by “test results”?’ Sian asked.
‘We found this letter inside a book,’ Scott handed it to Sian. ‘He’s been diagnosed with myelodysplastic syndrome. I googled it in the car on the way back. It’s a rare form of blood cancer. According to the letter, it was detected too late and there’s not much the doctors can do for him. They give him six months, tops.’
‘Sian, did you call Wakefield Prison?’ Christian asked.
She didn’t hear him as she was engrossed in the letter. He called her name again, louder. ‘Sorry. Yes, I did. The governor has removed Steve from his cell, and they’re going to keep him isolated until we can get to question him. Apparently, he’s a model prisoner. There were a few incidents when he was first put away, but he’s settled down and he follows rules and procedures.’
‘He could still know about what’s happening today. What about visitors and letters?’
‘He has a couple of visitors but none of them regular.’
‘His brother?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ Christian asked, surprised.
‘When he first arrived, Jake visited him once a fortnight as regular as clockwork. After about six months he just stopped coming.’
‘Any reason why?’
‘Not that he’s aware of.’
‘Did his parents ever visit?’
‘No.’
‘We need to find out who his other visitors are.’
‘He’s going to send me through all the information he’s got. I know these notes suggest Steve put Jake up to it, but how did he get them to him if he hasn’t visited him?’
‘Maybe he has,’ Aaron said, looking up from flicking through The Anarchist Cookbook. ‘Email, letters, via a third party, text from a contraband phone. There are ways and means if you’re determined enough.’
Christian thought for a moment and nodded. ‘Sian, get back on to the governor. I want Steve Harrison brought here now.’
The double doors to the HMET suite opened and a fragile-looking Ronald and Janet Crowther were shown in by PC Nowak. Christian headed towards them taking large strides. He didn’t want them seeing the boards until they’d been briefed.
‘Mr and Mrs Crowther, I’m very sorry to ask you to do this, but as I’m sure you can appreciate, we’re against the clock, here.’ Their eyes darted around the room, trying to take everything in. ‘We believe your nephew Jake killed his parents this morning. We believe he then came here and opened fire on people at this station. Following this attack, he went to the Sheffield Parkway and shot at people in their cars from a bridge. He’s killed more than twenty-five people and we need to find him.’
Janet was crying. Her husband had his arm firmly wrapped around her shoulder.
‘I don’t… What are you saying?’ Malcolm asked.
‘He wouldn’t,’ Janet mumbled. ‘Viv and Malcolm were helping him.’
‘I’d like you to take a look at what we found in his bedroom.’
Christian stepped back and beckoned them towards the boards. Tentatively, they followed his lead. Their blank expressions didn’t change as they looked at the photos of press cuttings and articles printed from the internet.
‘These are news stories of gun crimes and terrorist attacks from around the world. The Santa Fe shooting in 2018, in which ten people died,’ he said, pointing to one. ‘The Virginia Tech shooting from 2007, in which thirty-two people were killed. The Sandy Hook shooting in 2012, where twenty-seven people died. I’m sure you remember all of these appearing in the news. Do you have any idea why your nephew would have stories like this pinned to his bedroom wall?’
Janet’s face screwed up, and she almost collapsed as she wailed and bellowed. Ronald caught her and sat her down on a chair Finn had approached with.
‘Are you sure this is from his room? Vivian and Malcolm never mentioned any of this,’ Ronald said.
‘Perhaps they didn’t know,’ Sian hazarded a guess.
Janet sniffled and wiped her nose on a tissue she’d produced from up the sleeve of her sweater. ‘Vivian mentioned a few weeks ago how Jake wouldn’t let her into his room. She was very house-proud, always liked things neat and tidy, but Jake said he’d clean his room himself. She said she could smell sweat and wanted to air the room, change the sheets, that kind of thing, but Jake wouldn’t let her. She said…’ Her voice tailed off as more tears came. ‘She said she was frightened of him.’
‘He tried to take his own life just after Christmas,’ Ronald said. He crouched next to his wife and gave her a clean tissue from his pocket. ‘I think Vivian blamed herself.’
‘She did,’ Janet agreed. ‘She loved both of her children. When Steve did what he did, she said she had no alternative but to disown him. I don’t know if that was the right thing or not. When Jake split up from his wife, she had him move in. She wanted to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t go down the same road as Steve.’
‘Why did Jake’s marriage end?’ Sian asked.
‘Vivian went to see Ruth many times,’ Janet said. She’d taken a plastic cup of water offered from Finn, had a few sips and was composing herself. ‘Ruth said that after Steve went to prison, Jake changed. He became more volatile, quick-tempered, distant. She’d tried to support him, but he shut her out. She couldn’t live with him anymore, so she told him to leave.’
‘Do you know where Ruth lives?’
‘Yes. She sold the house they shared, and she’s in a flat in… Where is it, Ronald? It’s not Sharrow, is it?’
‘Nether Edge,’ he corrected her.
‘That’s it, Nether Edge. Vivian asked her several times to take Jake back, give him a second chance, but Ruth said it was over. There was no going back.’
‘Can you think of anybody Jake might know where he could get his hands on the kind of weapons he’s used today?’ Christian asked. He asked Scott to put up images of the Heckler & Koch and Glock on the projector screen.
‘Oh my God!’ Janet said, clutching the crucifix around her neck as she saw the guns. ‘Is that what he’s used?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Is that what he used to kill Vivian and…’ Her words were lost to more tears.
‘This isn’t easy, I know,’ Sian said, kneeling down to Janet and placing a hand over hers. ‘Nobody wants to acknowledge the fact that a family member could do something like this, but after what’s happened to Jake over the past couple of years, we don’t know his state of mind. He’s obviously mentally ill, and we need to understand what’s going through his mind at the moment. To do that, we need to know who’s helped him. Where could he have got these guns from?’
‘I don’t know,’ Janet answered quickly.
‘This is not real, is it?’ Ronald asked, his face fixed on the screen. ‘Look, we’re a normal, ordinary family. Malcolm was a lecturer in engineering. I work in a bank. Janet works for a solicitor. We don’t have any connection to guns and violence, or anything like this. This is a whole other world.’
‘Mr and Mrs Crowther, do you know anywhere Jake might be hiding out?’ Christian asked. It was obvious by his tone he was running out of patience.
‘No,’ Ronald said. ‘In the last few months, he’d more or less isolated himself. He rarely left the house.’
‘Are there any friends you can think of we could contact?’
‘I don’t think he had many. He was always a bit of a loner, even as a child.’
Christian and Sian exchanged glances.
‘I’d like you to look at these notes,’ Christian said, handing a few of the small pieces of paper to Ronald and Janet. ‘Do you recognise the handwriting?’
Ronald took what was offered and read them. Janet just looked and shook her head.
‘I don’t. I’m sorry,’ Ronald handed them back.
Christian let out a loud sigh, clearly frustrated. ‘Did Vivian say anything to yo
u about Jake being ill?’
‘Ill?’ Janet asked. ‘As in mental?’
‘No. Physically. We’ve found a letter among his things telling him he has terminal cancer.’
Sian handed Janet the letter. She took it and read it carefully.
‘Vivian would have told us,’ Ronald spoke up. ‘She and Janet were very close. They told each other everything.’
‘Ok, you’ve been very helpful, thank you,’ Christian said, though the words belied how he felt. ‘Does his wife Ruth work? She may know more about the kind of places he could be hiding.’
Janet looked up from the letter. ‘Yes. She’s a teacher at Stannington Secondary School,’ she said. ‘Lovely woman. Jake was a fool for letting her go.’
The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to the photos taken of Jake’s bedroom. He was obsessed with school shootings. He’d read about them online, bought books about them, collected information on the types of guns used and made notes in The Anarchist Cookbook. Had today been leading up to a Columbine-style shooting in Sheffield?
Chapter Forty-Six
The twinkle was back in Steve Harrison’s eyes as he was led from his cell to the governor’s office. He’d asked the prison officers what was wrong, but they wouldn’t tell him. He’d practised how he’d react to the news of his parents’ murder and he could easily produce tears if need be.
Less than half an hour before his cell door had opened, Steve had disassembled the contraband mobile phone. He’d flushed the small battery down the toilet, swallowed the SIM and hidden the empty shell of the phone under the mattress of the elderly bloke in a cell two doors down. There was no way the communications between him and his brother could be discovered.
He walked down the corridor with his hands cuffed in front of him, a prison officer flanking him on either side, with his head high, a bounce in his step and those sparkling eyes smiling. This was the day he had been waiting for. He’d playacted before. He’d inveigled himself into Faith Easter’s life, making her believe he was in love with her so she could feed him information on the investigation of the Hangman case, and she’d fallen for it. Everyone at South Yorkshire Police believed him to be a hardworking copper, eager to climb the ladder and protect the public. Bollocks to that. As soon as he realised how good he was at killing, and able to get away with it, it was difficult to stop. He’d murdered people right under DCI Matilda Darke’s nose and she hadn’t seen it. Well, she was dead now. He’d finally hit the jackpot.