Love Me Not: DI Helen Grace 7 (formerly titled Follow My Leader) (Detective Inspector Helen Grace)

by M. J. Arlidge

  But even as she said it, Sarah suddenly thought that perhaps Daisy didn’t want to get away. She had read about school shootings in the US and knew how they usually ended.

  ‘Just tell me what I can do to make things right,’ she said, changing tack abruptly once more.

  ‘I’m not here to explain,’ Daisy retorted, readying her weapon.

  Grant looked at her former pupil. Daisy was clearly enjoying wielding the power of life or death over her.

  ‘I don’t want to die,’ she pleaded. ‘I know I can be … a bitch. And if I’ve done something to upset you, then I am truly, truly sorry …’

  Tears were pricking her eyes now, her voice choked.

  ‘I’ll do whatever you want me to do, say whatever you want me to, but please don’t kill me. My family won’t cope without me – I know they won’t, so please …’

  She looked Daisy directly in the eye, even as she fought back tears.

  ‘… please don’t kill me.’

  But even as she spoke, a wicked smile lit up the young woman’s face.

  65

  14.24

  They thundered down the stairs, sweeping past her as if she wasn’t there.

  Helen had reached the first-floor landing and had deployed the armed units to sweep the classrooms. She and Charlie had remained in the stairwell, radioing around the team, desperately searching for pointers as to Daisy’s whereabouts in the vast school complex.

  Bang! The loud noise had made Helen and Charlie jump. But it was just the stairwell door crashing into the wall, on one of the floors above. Moments later, thirty terrified students had appeared, running for their lives. The cacophony was frightening. They bowled past, oblivious to any obstacle, but Helen reached out an arm, tugging one of the petrified students towards her.

  ‘Where is she?’

  The student struggled in her arms, desperate to get away.

  ‘Where is she?’ Helen repeated, louder this time.

  ‘Language labs, third floor,’ the anguished student replied.

  Now he wrenched himself free and Helen let him go. Gesturing to Charlie, she mounted the stairs to the next floor, clicking her radio on as she went.

  ‘All armed units to the third floor. Repeat, all units to the third floor.’

  Clicking off, she continued her ascent, taking the steps three at a time. Within moments she and Charlie had reached the third-floor landing. Taking a deep breath, Helen swung open the door and pushed out into the corridor.

  66

  14.25

  It was full of people. Students and teachers had emerged from their classrooms, unnerved by the noise. They looked at each other, bemused and concerned.

  ‘You should leave,’ Helen said, as she marched towards them.

  ‘Why? What’s going on?’ the nearest teacher asked.

  ‘If you’ve heard any of the reports on the radio today … I would just go.’

  Now the shocked teachers seemed to catch her drift, hurriedly ushering their charges towards the stairs. Seconds earlier they had been disoriented and confused, but now they came alive, knocking on doors, alerting others, clearing the floor. Helen was surprised and impressed by how calm and assertive they were and found herself pitching in, urging the students not to dawdle, as she chivvied them towards the fire escape at the opposite end of the corridor.

  Cutting against the crowds, the armed officers now approached. A sign on the wall directed them towards the language labs, so they hurried in that direction. There were four classrooms towards the end of the corridor, comprising the languages department. Three of the doors were open, but the fourth was closed, with the blind pulled down over the window.

  Dropping back, Helen watched on as the armed officers took each of the open doors in turn. Using mirrors, they checked the classrooms, before quietly heading inside. Helen waited tensely, but moments later all three emerged, silently shaking their heads.

  They moved forward again, keeping tight to the wall, Helen now just behind them. She was expecting the glass with the blind to erupt at any moment, but they made it to the final door safely. Carefully, quietly, one of the officers reached out to the door handle, using the wall as cover. Grasping it, he turned. The handle moved, but as he tried to shoulder the door open, he met solid resistance. The door gave a couple of centimetres, but no more.

  This is what Helen had been scared of. She had no idea how many people were in there with Daisy, nor what she was planning to do next.

  ‘Daisy, this is Detective Inspector Grace. I’d like to talk to you,’ she called out in a crisp, clear voice.

  But there was no response from inside.

  ‘Daisy, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.’

  Helen strained to hear, hoping for a reply. None was forthcoming, but she could hear something else. A pitiful, low moaning, like an animal in pain … She gave the unit’s leader a questioning look.

  ‘Stun grenade?’ he whispered.

  Helen had to make a split-second decision – whether to try to engage in dialogue or take action. She didn’t believe Daisy was the type to come quietly, and if there were already people injured, she didn’t have much choice.

  She held up two fingers. Immediately, two officers prepared their grenades, while two more readied themselves for the charge. Counting down silently from three, they launched themselves at the door. It moved slightly, allowing them just enough room to toss in their grenades. A second later, there was a deafening noise and a blast of white light. Now the officers didn’t hesitate, ramming the door hard once more, before pushing into the room, weapons raised.

  ‘Armed police!’

  Helen waited until the last officer had hared inside, then she followed suit. She was breaking protocol and hoped Charlie wouldn’t follow her, but she had to know what they were dealing with. Keeping low to the ground, she moved swiftly into the classroom, desperately casting around for their quarry. But no sooner had she stepped inside than she realized they were too late. Daisy had fled and the barricade blocking the door was not a barricade at all.

  It was a middle-aged woman lying in a pool of blood.

  67

  14.32

  Emilia Garanita was braver than most. It was something she prided herself on, happily going where angels fear to tread. During her time as a journalist on the South Coast, she had constantly put her life on the line in search of a good story, but today she was prepared to make an exception. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she’d been alarmed by the streams of students pouring from the school. She’d had to make an instant decision and on this occasion had decided to retreat.

  Acting on impulse, she had cut against the crowds, heading down the fire escape that brought her out at the rear of the school. This was partly because she didn’t want to get caught in the crush, but mostly because her first instinct was to retrace her steps back to her car. It had felt good sprinting down the stairs, away from the danger, and better still to push out into the sunlight.

  She had continued to run, her heeled boots clicking over the tarmac of the recreation area, before eventually ducking out of sight behind a shed which lay some distance from the main building. It was a small shed – Emilia could see that it contained a ride-on lawnmower and a few gardening tools – but it provided good cover. Hidden from view, Emilia had paused to catch her breath, wiping the sweat from her face with her sleeve. She wasn’t keen on exercise as a rule and suddenly felt utterly spent.

  As she rested against the warm wood of the shed, she began to calm down a little. Had she been foolish to turn and run? It would have been risky to stay, given the obvious panic on the faces of the students, but hadn’t she come here to get a story? So far all she had was a theory – a theory that had been proved right admittedly – but precious little actual material. Could she really go back to Gardener empty-handed?

  Summoning her courage, she moved back around the shed, sneaking a look back towards the school. Immediately, she recoiled. A young woman in a khaki trench
coat was hurrying across the playing fields. She wasn’t heading in her direction exactly, but she would pass quite close to the shed. Where her companion was, Emilia had no idea. Was he fleeing the school via a different escape route? Or had something happened to him?

  Emilia moved round to the other side of the shed, away from the approaching figure. As she did so, her camera bag bumped up and down on her hip, gently goading her into action. Quietly she unzipped the bag and pulled out her trusty Nikon. Reaching the far corner of the shed, she peeked round it. The woman was sixty, perhaps seventy, yards from her and moving fast. In a few seconds, she would pass by the shed and the moment would be lost, so Emilia now raised her camera and zoomed in on the fleeing figure. She was young and female, that’s all that could be said for sure, but now was not a time for details. She pressed the button down, shooting rapidly. As she did so, she felt a surge of excitement, of pride even, happy once more to be ahead of the pack.

  Emilia fired off ten, eleven, twelve shots. Then suddenly the woman looked up. In the viewfinder, Emilia saw her glance in her direction. Immediately she ducked back behind the shed. Had she heard something? No, that was unlikely at this distance. Had she seen something then? Had Emilia’s lens caught the glare of the sun, revealing her presence? Or was she just imagining it? Was the woman simply taking stock as she fled the school?

  Getting a grip on herself, Emilia slowly craned her neck round the corner of the shed once more. To her surprise, there was no sign of the woman. She had disappeared.

  Now Emilia started to panic. Stuffing her camera back in her bag, she hurried round the shed, determined to make a run for it. Only to find the woman blocking her way, pointing a gun directly at her.

  68

  14.35

  ‘Does anyone have eyes on them?’

  Helen had left Charlie in the third-floor classroom, tending to the grievously injured woman, and headed outside on to the fire escape. Daisy clearly hadn’t fled down the main stairwell – as they would have encountered her – so she must have used this as her means of escape. Instead of descending, however, Helen had climbed, vaulting the barrier at the top of the staircase to land gently on the asphalt roof. Marching to the roof’s edge, she had clambered up on to the ledge and radioed DC Edwards, who was coordinating the campus search.

  ‘Nothing yet,’ came his squawked response.

  ‘Nothing at all?’ Helen returned, scarcely believing that they had lost her again.

  ‘It’s chaos down here. We’ve got parents turning up, the press, not to mention seven hundred students. We’re trying to secure the perimeter, but –’

  ‘Where’s the helicopter?’

  ‘On its way. You should be able to see it any minute now.’

  ‘Ok. Keep in touch. In the meantime, I want us to issue Daisy’s mugshot to the press. We need to put out an all-ports warning and I want roadblocks on every road out of Itchen.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  Edwards clicked off and Helen now heard it. She turned to see the dark dot in the sky heading towards her, growing bigger with each passing second. Moments later, the police helicopter roared overhead, arcing up in the sky, before circling round to sweep the campus from the air.

  Helen should have felt reassured by its presence, but she didn’t. She had never worked on a case like this – their killer was striking fast and hard, moving on without hindrance. Four victims in a matter of hours and still she didn’t seem to be sated. Helen was hot on her trail, but so far their best efforts had come to nothing and Daisy Anderson remained at large.

  They had been close, but not close enough.

  69

  14.36

  The young woman looked anxiously up at the sky. Emilia was slightly ahead of her, but using her peripheral vision as best she could, fearful that at any moment she might raise her gun and pull the trigger. And she saw it – a flash of concern on the woman’s face – as they both heard the sound of the helicopter.

  She was scouring the heavens for signs of danger. Emilia did likewise, chancing a quick look while her captor was distracted. Frustratingly the helicopter, which had sounded like it was heading straight for them, had changed direction to hover directly over the school buildings.

  The woman turned back and Emilia snapped her head forward again. They had reached the perimeter fence, the border of the school grounds, though they were some distance from where Emilia had gained access. She slowed to a halt, wondering what was coming next.

  To her surprise, the woman snatched her camera and, tossing it aside, barked at her:

  ‘Over the fence.’

  Emilia did as she was told, grabbing at the chain link fence and scrambling up and over it. She landed clumsily on the other side, falling backwards on to her bum, to the amusement of her captor, who landed deftly beside her moments later.

  Smiling, the woman offered her a hand up. Surprised, Emilia accepted, hoping that this considerate treatment might be the prelude to her release, now they were clear of the school premises.

  But her relief was short-lived, as the woman turned to her and said:

  ‘You got a car?’

  70

  14.52

  Sanderson eyed the line of cars in front of her. A huge network of roadblocks was being established around central Itchen, in an effort to cut off any possible escape routes. There were dozens of traffic and police officers involved in the operation, but it had fallen to Sanderson and DC Reid to coordinate their efforts. Sanderson was not ungrateful – it was good to be tasked with something important – but it was still a major undertaking. To her relief, the uniformed officers under her temporary command had been responsive and her roadblock had been set up in record time.

  The residents of Itchen were not thanking her of course – all of the major arteries in and out of the area were now clogged with traffic – but Sanderson wasn’t worried about that. The latest updates from Meadow Hall School suggested that Daisy Anderson was still at large – nobody had seen hide nor hair of her as yet. She was sailing close to the wind – Helen must have missed her by a matter of minutes – but so far her luck had held.

  Daisy had not rested on her laurels. It was still only early afternoon, but already she had struck four times. Tellingly, she had moved on swiftly after each attack, travelling considerable distances before striking again. On at least two occasions, she had stolen a vehicle in order to travel undetected, hence the importance of a thorough, well-manned roadblock.

  DC Reid was stationed at the western edge of the suburb, monitoring the road to the Itchen Bridge. If Daisy wanted to head back into central Southampton, she would have to go that way. Sanderson was positioned towards the east, where Portsmouth Road met Spring Road. This was a likely route if Daisy wanted to make for her home in Hedge End or make a break for the M27. From there she could head north-east towards London or south-east towards Portsmouth. Either way would be useful, if she wanted to disappear.

  Was this what she was planning? The frequency and brutality of her attacks suggested that she had no qualms about being captured – perhaps even that she wanted to be. But the robbery she’d committed at the pharmacy suggested that she was stockpiling cash and goods. To what end? To pay for her escape? Or live off while she laid low?

  Whatever her intentions, she would have to escape first. Hampshire’s police helicopter was circling the neighbourhood, scouring the streets from above, and another had been requested from West Sussex police. All the roads in the area were now subject to police checks and, given the probable timing of the most recent shooting, it was clear that Daisy was somewhere nearby.

  Was it possible she was sitting in the queue of traffic in front of her? Cradling her shotgun? Sizing up her options? Sanderson paced back and forth, trying to dispel her nerves. In days gone by, when she was a little younger, she would have been exhilarated by a situation like this. Now, however, she just felt a little scared.

  71

  14.54

  The traffic was horrendous, so N
ick Dean pulled over to the side of the road. He had battled across Itchen to get this far, but had been stationary for nearly ten minutes now, so, abandoning his car in a parking bay, he hared off down the street. He didn’t bother to lock the car, couldn’t even tell if he’d shut the driver’s door properly, but he didn’t bother looking back, twisting in and out of the bodies that blocked his route on the congested pavement.

  He had been in a meeting when the call came through. He wasn’t supposed to take calls during the weekly team briefing and he had let it ring out at first. When it started ringing a second time – another school mum calling him – he had snatched it up and hurried from the room, ignoring the black looks from his boss.

  ‘There’s been an incident at the school, Nick. On the radio they’re … they’re saying it’s a shooting.’

  Her words had left him reeling. It seemed impossible. That was something that happened in America, not here. Ringing off, Nick hurried to the car park, pulling up the local news website on his phone as he did so. Nausea crept over him as he read the brief reports of the ongoing incident at Meadow Hall School, of the rolling roadblocks around Itchen. It was happening, all right …

  He was in his car in less than a minute. He knew he should follow Mandy’s good example and ring round the other parents, making sure they understood what was happening. But such generosity of spirit seemed beyond him right now, so instead he burned away from the office, heading towards the school. Dozens of awful scenarios filled his head as he sped towards Meadow Lane. He had heard that there had been a shooting near Ashurst this morning, but paid it little heed as he got caught up in the working day. Now the radio was saying that the shooting at the school was the third such attack that day.

  ‘Please, God, not Jeannie. Not my little girl …’

  He muttered the words, but they did little good. He felt so powerless, so clueless. Wouldn’t someone have called him by now if there was a problem? Presumably not, as the incident was apparently ongoing, the perpetrators still at large. Nick had hammered the horn in frustration – at the slow-moving traffic, at his lack of information – before giving up on his car. The going was slow, there appeared to be as many people heading towards the school as there were trying to get away from it. Nick recognized a few faces – other parents from the school run – and suddenly realized that he must look as anguished as they did. They were ashen, drawn, bewildered – cheery folk that he often said hello to at the school gates all at once looked as if they had aged ten years in a day.