by Michael Wood
Matilda didn’t reply.
‘Answer me, you bitch!’
‘No. I didn’t,’ Matilda said quietly.
‘Because you don’t see. You don’t notice what is going on right under your fucking nose unless it directly affects you. I’ve heard people talking about you. Matilda’s in the toilets crying again. Matilda’s in torment about Carl Meagan. Matilda’s still grieving for her dead husband. For fuck’s sake, Matilda, get over it.’
‘You have no idea—’ Matilda started, struggling to keep a handle on her emotions.
‘I have every idea,’ he shouted above her. ‘Don’t stand there and think just because you’re a higher rank you can silence me. I have the upper hand now. I’m in charge. By the time I’m finished you’ll either be dead or in a fucking mental asylum.’
From his back pocket, he took out a white pillowcase and pulled it down over Faith’s head. He smiled at Matilda.
‘Steve, no,’ Matilda began.
He bent down and grabbed Faith by the legs. He lifted her up and threw her over the bannister. She tried to scream but the gag was too tight. Matilda ran forward to catch her before the rope around her neck tightened.
Chapter Sixty-Three
‘Get out of the way, you gormless bastard.’
DC Rory Fleming screamed out of the driver’s window at a lorry reversing from a side road at a snail’s pace. The driver of the lorry leaned out of his cab and casually gave Rory the middle finger. Rory reached into his pocket for his warrant card and flashed it.
‘Reverse or I’ll arrest you for assaulting a police officer.’
Valuable minutes were lost while the driver wasted time reversing. He wasn’t going to give the hurried detective what he wanted easily.
‘About bloody time,’ Rory cursed under his breath as he was able to mount the pavement and continue his journey towards the city centre.
He was on the wrong side of town and the traffic was still heavy with people making their way home from work. He’d called Christian at the station to ask where Faith was staying. Rory knew where he was heading; he just had no idea whether or not he would get there in time.
He broke the speed limit on Woodseats Road, almost colliding with a single-decker bus who refused to move for him. When he turned right onto Abbeydale Road and saw the length of the tailback, he almost screamed. He slammed on the brakes and slapped his hands hard against the steering wheel, inventing a few new swear words.
Sian and Scott had also been caught in traffic on the opposite side of the city, as they made their way from Hillsborough to the city centre. Eventually, fearful for Matilda and Faith, Scott mounted the pavement and drove round two buses and a fleet of cars. He blocked out the bad language and the horns from impatient road users. He ignored the red light, slamming his foot down on the accelerator. Sian, in the front passenger seat, shut her eyes tightly and held on to the dashboard for dear life.
‘My God, Scott, what are you trying to do?’ Sian said when she dared to open them again. ‘You’re going to get us killed.’
‘I’ve been on the advanced driver’s course. I know exactly what I’m doing,’ he said as he swung the steering wheel right, taking a tight corner at forty miles per hour.
‘Are you sure? I would like to get home in one piece tonight.’
‘You will.’
‘An alive piece.’
As they left the city centre, the traffic seemed to disperse, and the road ahead was quiet. Scott slowed to a more respectable speed and entered a housing development.
‘There,’ Sian called out.
‘Where?’
‘That’s Matilda’s car.’
‘I can’t park here,’ Scott said.
‘Then just pull over. Shit, there’s Steve Harrison.’
Sian was out of the car before Scott had brought it to a complete stop. She reached into her back pocket for her telescopic baton and flicked it to its full length.
‘Steve,’ she shouted.
Steve Harrison stopped and turned at the call of his name. He saw Sian running towards him, baton held aloft.
‘I don’t think so, Sian.’ He smiled.
At six-foot tall, Steve was powerfully built and had a good six inches on Sian. As Sian reached him, he dodged the baton, raised his left arm and punched her in the face, knocking her off her feet onto a parked car. Her head smacked against the bonnet and she slumped to the ground. He turned and ran.
‘Jesus Christ, Sian, are you all right?’ Scott said, running over and crouching beside her.
Sian was dazed. Her jaw was numb, and she could feel her lip swelling.
‘That bastard’s loosened my teeth,’ she mumbled through the pain.
‘Come here,’ he tried to help her up.
‘No. I’m all right. Go after him.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’m fine. Just go.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Scott, just get after him, will you?’ She tried to scream through the pain in her jaw.
Scott turned and sprinted off in Steve’s direction. It wasn’t long before he had him in his sights. Two of South Yorkshire Police’s fastest runners were now locked in a battle of the fittest.
Sian struggled to her feet. Put a hand to her mouth and it came away covered in blood. She felt wobbly but managed to get out of the road. She saw Faith’s car in the driveway and used it to support her as she headed for the front door. Pushing it open she went inside. When she saw what was in front of her, she completely forgot about her own pain.
‘Oh my God!’
Chapter Sixty-Four
To the people of Sheffield making their way to bus and tram stops after a long day at work, the sight of a man in a fitted grey suit chasing a uniformed police officer looked strange, though not entirely unusual. This was Sheffield, after all. They quickly stood to one side as Steve barged his way through, sending people tumbling to the floor. Scott, the more respectable of the two police officers, sidestepped and jumped over obstacles. Unfortunately, this was slowing him down. The gap between them was lengthening.
Steve had been faster in the half-marathon, too. The sense of urgency wasn’t the same, however. Scott remembered keeping his eyes forward during the race. He had been fine for Steve to finish before him. As Scott had caught his breath by the finishing line, he had seen Steve looking at him. Leaning against the railings, head held high, he’d had one hand on his hip, the other holding a water bottle. He’d smiled at him. It was more a smirk. That had annoyed Scott more than anything.
Now, the rematch was on. The conditions were not ideal, and both weren’t wearing the correct gear. Scott’s shoes were expensive Ted Baker Chelsea boots that were not designed for running in. As he pounded the hard streets of central Sheffield, he could feel the stiff leather cutting into him once again. His feet felt wet. Was it sweat or blood? He was dreading finding out. Why did his suit have to be fitted too? Yes it showed off his athletic frame, but it was not good for running in. The seam in his trousers was straining with each leap. He could feel the fabric tighten around his thighs. He would make a point of dressing for comfort from now on, not for style.
They ran down the High Street and across Fitzalan Square and down Commercial Street. As Scott had to slow for a double-decker bus, he looked up and saw Steve standing at the tram stop.
‘Stop that man,’ Steve shouted. ‘He’s a killer. He’s the Sheffield Hangman!’ He pointed towards Scott.
Scott looked around at the frozen public who stared at him with expressions of worry, anger and fear. Who would they believe? A young man in a suit or a young man in a police uniform. Eventually, a huge bear of a man in a high-visibility jacket stepped forward.
‘You bastard.’ He grabbed Scott by the shoulders then pulled his arms back. ‘I’ve got him, mate,’ he called to Steve. ‘You want to cuff him?’
‘Let go of me.’ Scott panicked as more people gathered to stop him from wriggling free. ‘I’m a police officer. I’m a detectiv
e. Let me go.’
‘You’re not going anywhere. Murdering scum,’ the man shouted into Scott’s ear. He could smell the warm rancid breath of a smoker as he abused him with vitriol.
Others stepped forward, grabbing for him, pulling him down to the ground. Scott tried not to lose sight of Steve in the growing crowd. His last image of Steve was of him smiling before turning and walking calmly away, hands in his pockets and his head held high.
‘I’m a detective,’ Scott screamed. ‘I’m a detective with South Yorkshire—’ He couldn’t finish his plea as a steel toecapped boot hit him hard in the stomach.
‘Matilda,’ Sian said from the doorway.
‘Oh, Sian, thank God,’ Matilda cried breathlessly. ‘I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to hold on. Go upstairs and untie the rope.’
‘What?’
‘Now. Quickly.’
Matilda’s voice was shaking. She had her arms wrapped tightly around Faith’s legs. She was standing on the tips of her toes, struggling to keep Faith aloft and the pressure of the noose off her neck.
‘Matilda,’ Sian said, calmly.
Matilda turned her head and stared into the blank wide eyes of her DS.
‘Matilda, you can let go now,’ Sian said.
The tears were streaming down Matilda’s face. ‘I can’t. If I let go, she’ll die. Sian, run upstairs and cut the rope, untie the rope, whatever, just do something. I can’t hold her for much longer.’
Sian placed her hand on Matilda’s shoulder. Her voice shook. ‘You can let go,’ she struggled to speak through the tears. ‘Matilda, you can let go. She’s gone.’
Matilda gasped for breath. The tears continued to fall. ‘I can’t,’ she mouthed. ‘If I let go, she’s going to die.’
Sian slowly prised Matilda’s arms from around Faith’s legs and pulled her boss into a tight embrace. Matilda fell into Sian’s arms and they both collapsed to the floor, wailing in agony at the death of Detective Constable Faith Easter.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Scott rolled over to protect his body from the blows. As he did so, his warrant card fell out of his inside pocket. The kicks stopped, and he saw the sky again as the crowd stepped back.
‘Shit, he is a copper,’ he heard someone say.
Slowly, through the pain, he picked himself up. He looked down at his scuffed shoes and torn suit. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and saw the smear of blood on the grey fabric. His suit was definitely ruined now. He glanced around at the group who only moments ago had been baying for his blood but were now shocked at their own behaviour. They couldn’t look him in the eye.
Scott bent down and picked up his warrant card. He took several deep breaths, before slowly walking away. The crowd parted in silence.
He felt dazed. He could have been killed. That thought made him sway and he steadied himself against the old Yorkshire Bank building. Around him, life went on as normal. Trams stopped to pick up passengers, buses noisily made their way up the incline of Commercial Street, workers chatted as they headed for home. All the sounds mingled into one undetectable white noise as Scott’s head swam.
He looked back at the faces of the crowd who had ambushed him. They all seemed shocked, saddened, sorry by what they found themselves to be capable of. They all knew where it would have led. This is what Steve Harrison had turned people into.
He felt a vibration in his back pocket. He reached for his phone and tried to focus on the cracked screen. Rory was calling.
‘Yes,’ he answered, trying to sound as normal as possible.
‘Scott, where the hell are you?’ Rory was shouting into his phone, struggling to be heard over the sound of racing traffic in the background.
Scott cleared his throat and swallowed his emotions. ‘I’m … I’m just up from Ponds Forge. Where are you?’
‘What are you doing there?’
‘I’m going after—’ Scott stopped talking as he caught something in the distance.
‘You’re what? I didn’t get that,’ Rory shouted.
‘It’s Steve,’ Scott said. ‘I can see him. He’s—’
‘He’s what? Scott, what’s going on?’
‘He’s waiting for me.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Rory, you need to get over here.’
Scott ended the call and returned the phone back to his pocket. He slowly walked down Commercial Street and over the bridge where the tram went on its way to Meadowhall.
Standing in the middle of the bridge was Steve Harrison. He could have run. He had the perfect opportunity to make his getaway. By the time Scott had been found, he could have been long gone, out of Sheffield, heading for the nearest airport. So why was he standing still in the middle of the bridge?
Scott didn’t rush. He ached so much he couldn’t have rushed even if he had wanted to. Steve showed no sign of running away, even when Scott was close enough for them to have a conversation without having to shout.
They stood on the bridge facing each other. Below, speeding traffic of the multi-lane parkway continued as normal – buses, cars, vans, lorries – all of them ignorant of the stand-off taking place above.
‘You’ve taken a bit of a beating,’ Steve sniggered.
‘I could have been killed,’ Scott said.
‘Would I have been able to take credit for that?’ he asked with a smile.
‘Why have you done all this?’ Scott asked.
‘I’ve already had this conversation with Matilda.’
‘I need to take you in, Steve.’
‘You’ll have to catch me first,’ he replied, turning and walking away, further up the bridge.
‘Why haven’t you run?’ Scott asked, confused.
‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Steve shouted over the sound of fast-moving traffic below.
Scott waited until Steve had left the bridge and was close to the tram intersection. The last thing he wanted was to end up going over the railings and onto the parkway below. As soon as Steve was clear, Scott picked up the pace and ran towards him. With a final burst of speed, he rugby-tackled him to the ground.
Steve immediately tried to break free. He elbowed Scott in the stomach, hit him in the face. Scott cried in pain and tried to maintain his dominant position on Steve. But it wasn’t easy, and soon Steve managed to wriggle free. He stood up.
‘You’re pathetic, Scott. You do all this running and think you’re so fit, but it’s all for show. All style and no substance.’ He kicked Scott in the stomach, looked down on the stricken DC and smiled.
Below, Rory was speeding along Sheaf Street. As Ponds Forge International Sports Centre came into view he started to quickly look around him for any sign of Scott or Steve. Nothing. As he approached the Park Square roundabout he saw Steve standing on the bridge.
‘Shit,’ he uttered to himself. He was in the wrong lane and already at the junction. There was no way he could get to them by car, and there was no place for him to pull up and jump out.
He drove into the centre of the roundabout, indicating right, and began circling.
Scott was curled up in the foetal position, his arms wrapped around his body for protection, his face contorted in pain. Steve had been relentless in his attack on his fellow officer. But now he was smiling down at him with his hand held out. Scott looked confused and shook his head.
‘I’m offering you a lifeline, you moron. Take it,’ Steve said.
Scott realized he had no choice. Reluctantly, he held out his own. Steve grabbed him and pulled him to his feet.
‘I couldn’t have you just die here. Where would be the fun in that?’
Before he knew what was happening, Scott saw the evil in Steve’s eyes. He pitched forward, pushed Scott hard and into the path of a tram approaching from behind.
‘Fuck it,’ Rory said aloud, making up his mind.
He threw the steering wheel left and cut across two lanes on the roundabout. Ignoring the beeping horns, he slammed his foot down o
n the accelerator and shot up Commercial Street. He looked behind and saw no trams coming down the bridge. It may be dark, but the street lights would show there was a car on the tracks; they’d see him in plenty of time to stop, wouldn’t they?
He made an illegal U-turn at the traffic lights and headed for the bridge. He saw Steve up ahead, on his own. Where the hell was Scott? Rory turned left, mounted the pavement and slowed down to ten miles per hour. It was enough to knock Steve off his feet, but not enough to cause him permanent injury.
Before Steve realized there was a car behind him, he was on the bonnet. Rory slammed on the brakes, and Steve rolled off, falling to the ground.
Rory jumped out of the car and ran around to the front. Steve was moaning in pain.
‘Where is he?’ Rory screamed. ‘Where’s Scott? What have you done to him?’ He grabbed Steve by the collar and shook him hard.
Steve looked up and smiled.
‘You bastard,’ Rory exploded, punching him in the face. He felt his nose crack beneath his knuckles. Reaching into his back pocket, Rory took out his handcuffs and dragged Steve over to the nearest tram stop where he cuffed him to the railings. ‘When I find out what you’ve done to him I’ll fucking kill you,’ Rory spat in his face.
He turned and ran up Commercial Street and along the bridge. There was a stationary tram on the tracks. People had alighted and were gathered around, glaring down at the ground.
‘Oh, Jesus, no,’ Rory said. He whipped out his warrant card as he approached. ‘Police!’ he screamed.
The crowd began to disperse, and Rory saw the unconscious body of his colleague, friend, and flatmate, Scott Andrews.
Epilogue
Monday, 15 May 2017
Adele pulled up outside Matilda’s house. Summer had arrived early. The sky was blue and the clouds were white and wispy. There was a slight breeze, but it was bright and warm.