Watch Over You

by M. J. Ford

  Before she got in the car, Jo paused outside the station in Stow. She dialled the number of Little Steps.

  ‘Hi, it’s Josie, Theo’s mum. I just wanted to check everything was okay? Bit of a rush this morning.’

  The key worker assured her that Theo was absolutely fine. ‘He’s playing at the sandtable.’

  ‘Oh … good.’

  For some reason, the thought of it, of her little boy oblivious and happy, made Jo well up. Wethers emerged from the station with an urgent stride and headed towards her. She turned away to conceal her emotion.

  ‘Is there anything else I can help with?’ asked the voice on the phone.

  Jo swallowed back her tears, and put on her game face as Wethers closed in. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Just tell him mummy’s thinking about him.’

  * * *

  Theo remained in her thoughts as she closed in on the location, with Hugh Wethers following in the car behind. It was a physical sensation, seesawing between pleasure and pain, not helped by the light-headedness caused by not eating that day. Something didn’t feel right at all, and she had the uncanny urge to turn the wheel around in the middle of the road and drive back to Oxford, to simply forget James and Megan, or at least to run away from whatever awaited.

  It was only when she heard the thud of the helicopter overhead that she began to shake away the doubts. She passed the first patrol unit, showing her badge, and was waved through onto a deserted road. She found the tactical response van was already waiting at the RV point, with two officers, wearing black gear, a helmet and visor, standing at the open rear doors. A second vehicle, a sleek, navy BMW, was parked in front. Jo pulled up and stepped out.

  ‘Ma’am,’ one of the rifle-carrying officers greeted her.

  Jo recognised the face and the lowland Scottish burr from their previous encounter, back in Oxford more than a year before. ‘How are you, Menzies?’

  ‘Very good, ma’am. And you?’

  ‘Getting there,’ she said. ‘Any sign of the Land Rover?’

  ‘Negative,’ he replied. ‘But there’s a lot of tree cover. If you’d follow me. DCI’s in the van.’

  She accompanied him to the back of the AR vehicle. Inside, as well as two rows of seating, there were equipment stores locked behind metal doors. A third officer, helmet-less, sat in one corner facing two heavy-duty computer screens mounted side by side on a bracket bolted directly to the van wall. Standing over him was a tall woman with cropped red hair, in tailored dark grey trousers and a black jacket, maybe a couple of years older than her, but a lot better groomed.

  ‘DS Masters, I’m DCI Pettifer. Gloucester.’

  ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘Jeffries here can brief you,’ said Pettifer. ‘We’re almost ready.’

  She stepped past, and jumped to the ground outside. Jo approached the screens. Jeffries tapped one of the screens with a gloved fingertip, where two red dots flashed on an aerial satellite map.

  ‘These dots are Constable Connor and Sergeant Menzies,’ he said. ‘The plan is to approach the target following this streambed, heading south-east.’ He pointed to what looked like a line of trees. ‘It’s mostly depressed, so we should be out of sight.’

  Jo took a second to get her bearings, stepping to the back of the van and looking east.

  ‘If he’s there, he’ll be expecting us.’

  Menzies and DCI Pettifer were standing below.

  ‘We can hold at a safe distance,’ said Menzies. ‘We’ll assess risk before engaging. If we can get within thirty metres or so with line of sight, that’s all we need,’ said Menzies.

  ‘And the girl?’ said Jo. ‘She’ll be close. He might try to use her as a shield.’

  Menzies glanced at Pettifer. ‘We’re operating under the assumption the girl is a dangerous individual too.’

  ‘She’s being held against her will,’ said Jo.

  ‘That’s speculation at this stage,’ replied Pettifer.

  Jo assumed she hadn’t heard the truncated 999 call. ‘Ma’am, with all due respect, Megan’s scared. Under duress.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Pettifer. ‘She’s directly involved in the deaths of four people. And there are at least two firearms in their possession. Sergeant Menzies and his men are cleared to use lethal force, but only if they perceive their own lives directly threatened. As long as Megan doesn’t do anything stupid, she’ll be fine.’

  Jo didn’t hold great hopes after everything Megan had done so far.

  ‘She’s sick,’ she said. ‘We need to get her to a hospital.’

  ‘And we will do,’ said Pettifer, steely-eyed, ‘once any threat is neutralised.’ She could obviously see the disquiet on Jo’s face, because she lowered her voice. ‘Sergeant, you’ve done fantastic work on this case so far, but we’ve reached the endgame. I won’t risk any officer’s life for that girl. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Jo.

  From the van, Jeffries called out, ‘Phone’s still not moved.’

  ‘Are you good to go?’ Pettifer asked Menzies.

  ‘My colleagues from Oxford are still en route,’ said Jo.

  ‘They’re non-essential,’ said Pettifer, climbing back into the van. ‘This is our window. Sergeant Menzies, you’re ready?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  * * *

  Jo, Wethers and DCI Pettifer stood behind Jeffries and watched the first-person perspectives of the two officers move up the shallow stream. On the opposite screen, the digital representations of their bodies crept across the map towards a small black cross that marked the position of Tim Tucker’s stolen phone.

  Jo had a strong suspicion already what they’d find and was bracing herself for Megan’s dead body, James Brown long gone. Dimitriou and Reeves were still fifteen minutes out, and Jo told herself not to worry. Pettifer had it right – neither of them were critical to the mission.

  Menzies and Connor came to a halt under a bank, and the voice of the former crackled over the comms.

  ‘We’re in position, fifty metres.’

  ‘Can you get a visual?’ asked Pettifer.

  Jo saw Menzies’ hands extended in front of him and he scrambled up the bank, gripping an exposed tree root to pull himself up. All Jo could see were bushes and trees. ‘Negative,’ said Menzies. ‘Too overgrown. Permission to approach closer.’

  ‘Granted,’ said Pettifer. She was gripping the back of the Jeffries’ seat, eyes glued to the screens.

  Menzies waited until Connor was alongside him, then made a hand signal. Crouching, the two of them proceeded on short bursts, one ahead of the other, before waving their partner on. Occasionally, a rifle butt swung into shot. Through their mics Jo heard the rustle of foliage and their laboured breathing. After half a minute, Connor’s camera picked up a red metal door ahead through a wall of leaves. Menzies showed the same a moment later, but clearer. As Wethers had explained, it was a train tunnel shaft, blocked up over forty years ago when the railway shut down to stop local kids getting inside and causing mischief. The door gave access to the inside, should engineers ever need to enter. The other end of the tunnel, about three hundred metres north, had been filled with concrete, and the ventilation shafts built over. If Megan or James were in there, the red door was the only way out.

  ‘Any visual on the suspects?’ said Pettifer.

  ‘Negative,’ said Menzies. ‘Permission to proceed.’

  ‘With caution.’

  Menzies hoisted his gun, and the rifle, steady and straight, appeared in the bottom of the camera’s frame. The effect of the angle was to make it seem they were staring directly along the barrel at the target ahead. Connor was sweeping the area in arcs with his weapon, while Menzies, a few yards ahead, kept his gun trained on the red tunnel door. Jo was focused there too. If anyone burst through now, they’d be mown down in a hail of bullets.

  Menzies closed in. Ten metres … eight … five …

  Jo bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Megan, if you’re in there,
please stay put.

  The door was metal, with a yellow ‘Keep Out’ sign fastened to it, and another notice in text too small to read. It was fractionally ajar.

  ‘Is anyone in there?’ shouted Menzies, and through the monitor’s speakers it was deafening. Jeffries, the operator, turned a dial.

  ‘We are armed police officers!’ yelled Menzies. ‘If you have weapons, lay them on the floor now, and come out with your hands behind your heads.’

  No sound came from the other side of the door as the seconds ticked by.

  ‘This is a last warning,’ said Menzies. ‘We are armed police. If you are armed, we will shoot you!’

  Still nothing.

  They’ve gone, thought Jo. Or James has, at least. Megan might be lying on the other side dead already.

  ‘Permission to enter?’ said Menzies.

  ‘Go,’ said Pettifer.

  ‘Targeting lights,’ said Menzies, and he flicked a switch near the barrel of his gun. Connor did the same. Then Menzies stepped to the left of the door, turned sideways on to face Connor, and the camera bobbed as he nodded. Connor’s hand reached out and gripped the rim of the door, pulled it open and moved to the right to remain shielded. Menzies dropped into a crouch, twisted, and pointed his rifle through the door. The camera took a moment to adjust as a wide arc illuminated the interior. The floor was bare earth, uneven, and the light only penetrated around twenty metres. She couldn’t see anyone inside.

  Menzies entered and the torch on his barrel threw flares of light over the interior.

  ‘No visual on suspects,’ he said. ‘Wait, I see the phone.’

  He stooped, and the image became confusing. Jo looked instead at Connor’s POV. Menzies was crouching and holding the phone. ‘Looks like they’ve gone,’ he said.

  As he stood, Jo’s eyes caught a strange gleam near his feet – it looked like a wire.

  ‘Holy shit,’ she said, reaching over Jeffries to point it out. ‘Is that a—’

  Both screens went white, and a split-second later Jo heard a loud bang like the first shocking crack of thunder.

  Chapter 29

  ‘Serge?’ said Jeffries.

  ‘Sergeant Menzies?’ repeated Pettifer.

  Jo walked swiftly to the back of the van and looked outside. A cloud of smoke was rising above the trees to the east. She jumped out and dashed to her car, and fumbled with the radio through the open window.

  ‘This is DS Masters, we need an ambulance and air evac. Suspected bomb detonation in the vicinity of Hook Norton. Two casualties, both armed officers. Use my car as position.’

  As she left the car, more radio traffic was coming over, but she ignored it. She strode along the side of the road, looking for a place she could get over the hedge and into the field beyond. Any way she could get to them.

  Pettifer appeared in the back of the van. ‘Where are you going?’ she called. ‘It’s not safe!’

  Jo was about to shout back, when a vehicle appeared, heading their way. Her first instinct was that it was a member of the public who’d somehow slipped past the cordon, but then the horror dawned as she realised it was an old model Land Rover. It was steaming straight towards them, at speed.

  ‘Move!’ Jo bellowed at the DCI.

  Pettifer froze.

  ‘It’s him!’ Jo screamed. As he drew closer, James Brown extended the pistol out of his car door. Jo dived across her bonnet and slid over the far side, face first into the hedge. She heard a Pop! Pop! as bullets hit metal, then a brief pause, followed by ‘No!’

  Three more shots.

  Jo scrambled upright and saw the Land Rover was parked a few metres up, alongside the van. The place where Pettifer had been standing was empty. James Brown climbed casually out of the front seat, and approached the van. He aimed downwards at the ground and fired one shot at something hidden between the front of Pettifer’s car and the van.

  Jo’s stomach recoiled. She couldn’t move. There was movement in the back of the Land Rover. A head resting on the glass.

  Megan …

  Suddenly, Brown spun around, red mist exploding from his right shoulder as a crack emanated from the van. He caught himself against Pettifer’s bonnet, then swung round, swapped the gun into his left hand, and fired four times through the open rear doors. Jo heard a cry of pain. Brown’s gun clicked empty, and he stuffed it in his trousers, climbed back into the Land Rover and pulled away. The whole incident had lasted around fifteen seconds.

  Jo ran to the van, fearing the worst and finding it. Pettifer lay on her back, three gunshot wounds in close grouping on her chest, and a fourth, just a discreet red dot above her left eyebrow. She was completely still. Jeffries lay on his front, completely still, as blood pooled under his head. His gun lay on the ground beside his head. Wethers was slumped beside the monitor, clutching his thigh.

  ‘Go after him!’ he said.

  ‘You need help,’ said Jo, clambering in.

  ‘I’ll survive,’ he said.

  Jo shook her head. ‘But …’

  ‘Go! Now! Take the gun.’

  Jo looked at the standard issue Glock beside Jeffries’ inert fingers. Before she really had time to consider it properly, it was in her hand. She ran back to her car, jumped in. With the gun on the passenger seat, she sped off in pursuit of the Land Rover. She could only have been fifteen or twenty seconds behind, but already she feared she’d lost him. She came to a crossroads, choosing to stay on the same road. As she passed the junction, her eyes caught the fleeing Land Rover to her left. There wasn’t room to turn, so she slammed on the brakes, put the car into reverse, and scooted backwards, engine whining. Yanking the wheel and accelerating, she almost lost the back end around the corner.

  ‘DS Masters in pursuit of green Land Rover Defender, driven by James Brown. He is armed and dangerous. Ambulance required on Quiet Lane, Hook Norton, 800m south of the Chipping Norton Road. DCI Pettifer has been shot and killed. Sergeant Jeffries also. Sergeant Wethers has a gunshot wound to the leg. Repeat two dead, and one injured.’

  ‘Confirm your position, DS Masters.’

  She was gaining on the Land Rover, and checked her SatNav. ‘I am driving north along Weavers Lane from Quiet Lane.’

  The Land Rover swerved, then righted itself.

  ‘Jo,’ came a voice, ‘this is Chief Constable Harden. You said DCI Pettifer has been killed?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Jo and the cool voice sounded alien to her. ‘James Brown shot her four times. Sergeant Jeffries is dead as well.’

  A pause. ‘Jo, discontinue pursuit.’

  ‘I’m right behind him,’ she said.

  ‘We’ve got multiple patrols standing by,’ said Harden. ‘Let him go.’

  ‘Ma’am, he’s just shot three people. He’s an active threat. He’s armed.’

  ‘And you’re not, Masters!’

  Jo glanced at the Glock.

  ‘Masters, I gave you an order. Confirm you understand.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Jo.

  She pressed the accelerator, and closed the gap.

  Brown braked hard, and swerved off the road, along a smaller lane. Jo reached the same spot and went after him. The distance between them was down to fifty metres.

  Jo didn’t know what she was going to do if and when they came to a halt. She didn’t know what she was doing, full stop. Her firearms training had consisted of a single day, a ‘taster’ session more than twelve years ago. She’d been a good shot, better than her colleague Ben Coombs, much to his chagrin, but the whole thing had left her exhausted, mentally and physically. Maybe it was the stress of the day imprinting things on her memory, but she still recalled the instructions of the trainer all those years ago. One hand on the grip, one supporting the wrist. Set your feet. Pull the trigger slowly – a bullet’s fast enough on its own.

  It had seemed easy when the targets weren’t firing back, when they were just making holes in paper. But Brown was a maniac, and his bullets were unforgiving. She thought of Pettifer,
lifeless on the ground. Of Jeffries, a trained firearms operative himself. Of the blood-soaked pavement in Jericho. Of Xan Do, half his face destroyed.

  She thought, among all the images of horror, about Theo, probably dozing off his lunch in the peaceful ambience of the Little Steps dormitory room.

  What am I doing? What am I fucking thinking?

  She almost stopped the car.

  But she couldn’t. James Brown wasn’t going to hurt anyone else – not on my watch …

  As they came around the next corner, Jo saw a building ahead. Her first thought was a farmhouse, and that meant civilians, but as they neared, she realised it was deserted. Just a ruin. And it wasn’t a cottage, but some sort of industrial facility, from the turn of the last century, maybe, with crumbling brick walls but the remains of large doors at one end. There were windows at the top, at the height of a second storey, and just under a shallow-sloping roof. Tall arched windows in the walls had been bricked up, so she couldn’t see inside. Outside was a large area of concrete, overgrown with patches of tall weeds, surrounded by a temporary metal fence that had collapsed in places.

  The Land Rover braked, and Jo did the same, forty or fifty metres back. If he put the thing into reverse, and came at her, she wanted time to turn around. But instead of stopping he continued at low speed, drifting until the front of the Land Rover hit a fence and came to a halt. No one emerged from the vehicle.

  Jo remained where she was for a few seconds, breathing hard. She pressed the radio button.

  ‘This is DS Masters. He’s stopped’ She checked her SatNav, but the lane had no name. ‘I took a track off Weaver’s Lane.’

  ‘This is HS4. We have your position. Transmitting visual.’

  Jo looked up, and saw the helicopter above.

  ‘Megan’s in the Land Rover. Can you land?’