We were progressing, but at the same time we were getting nowhere. It was frustrating. And it was this loop of frustration that was going round in my head when Evie walked in with a worried look on her face. As per usual she was carrying her laptop under her arm, which meant she was going to show me something. However, whether I understood what Evie showed me on the computer was debatable as she was a genius with technology.
‘What is it?’
She pulled up a chair and opened the lid of her portable workstation. ‘We have a problem.’
‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Okay. We have another problem.’
‘Can it wait? The problem we’re dealing with already is giving us enough trouble.’ I gave her my most hopeful look.
‘If you think the disorder from last night being spread about on Facebook can wait?’
I looked at her. ‘Well, it’s kind of expected isn’t it? In today’s age?’
She tapped at her keyboard, ‘I don’t just mean the obvious chatter about it, which of course is what started it, but it’s growing, Hannah. It’s spreading – and rapidly. So much so, it has its own hashtag.’
‘Wonderful. And what is that?’ All I had so far were questions.
She spun the screen around to show me. There was a Facebook screen of comments under the hashtag #NottsCopsAreShit. Bloody wonderful and imaginative as it was. I read down some of the comments and it didn’t take many of them to get the gist of what was happening.
Notts Neil; Good on em for last nights trouble. #NottsCopsAreShit and deserve the fuckin runaround.
Paul Treycott; Fucking #NottsCopsAreShit alright. They should hav bin battered with those bricks.
Fiona MacKay; #NottsCopsAreShit so let’s fuck em.
Dean Mallard; #NottsCopsAreShit so let’s give em some shit alright!
Evie was right, this didn’t look good. Not good at all.
I looked at her. ‘How long, Evie?’
‘They’ve been rumbling since it happened last night, but it’s building momentum. The more it’s posted, the more people are seeing it and the more it’s posted again. An ever-increasing circle.’
‘Fucking hell. How did we end up on the tail end of this?’
‘I don’t know, but we need to be on the final end of it, don’t we?’
‘We do. Thanks, Evie. Can you keep an eye on it and also on Twitter please? I know they do hashtags a hell of a lot more on there and if it gets on there then, well, I don’t even want to think about it.’
She nodded and closed her laptop.
‘And for now, I’d better update Youens. He’s going to be one happy chap.’
‘Rather you than me. I’ve heard he’s going through a tough divorce and it’s not one he wanted.’
‘Ah. That explains a bit more then. I’ll try and tread a bit lighter, no matter what he throws at me.’
‘You, tread lightly? I’ve seen you on a night out, don’t forget.’
And with that, Evie disappeared out the door.
87
The day went from the clichéd bad to worse. I had a meeting with Catherine so she could update the chief constable, then I went out to see Youens.
As I was shown into his office, I saw the photograph of his family on his desk. He was sitting in front of the Major Oak in Sherwood Forest, the large oak tree that folklore said that Robin Hood and his Merry Men used to hide out in. He had his wife at his side, with two young boys behind them, about eight and ten years of age, pulling faces. It was a photograph I had seen on my many visits to his office, but it would have been background noise. Not visible, even though seen. But now I saw it properly for the first time and it held a different meaning than many other family photographs on desks. The whole image in front of me was of a man clinging to something he no longer had and while he was trying to throw himself into his job, his division was slipping into disarray around him as well. It was no wonder that he was stern and curt when all he wanted was a part of his life to run as it should. I knew cops who threw themselves into work to numb the pain of disintegrating home lives and it worked to a degree, but not if work was falling in on itself, as Youens’ was. I’d make an effort today. I’d do what I could to make this man’s job as easy as I possible, though in the circumstances, we had our work cut out for us.
‘Good morning, Hannah, can I get you anything to drink?’
I knew from previous visits that Youens didn’t have green tea. ‘A black coffee would be good, thanks.’
He sighed. Something I would have previously taken as a sign of annoyance at what I’d said, but now I looked more closely at him I could see it was tiredness. He was tired. Lines ran from the corners of his eyes and dark shadows underlined them.
He walked to his door, stuck his head outside and spoke to his personal assistant. When he walked back into his office he indicated we should sit on the chairs away from his desk.
‘What can you tell me?’ he asked.
This time I was more than happy to go over it all with him. Strange how perceptions of people warp our interactions with them. He was already well aware of the incident at the supermarket and I updated him on the escalating threat we were facing with the online mob that was building momentum. And where I would have previously taken comments and sighs as sounds of annoyance, I saw frustration and, what? Fatigue, in a job that was tiring him? When his family was crumbling?
My meeting with Youens was one of the better ones we’d had. We’d agreed that having a more visible presence was a way forward. It would help reassure the people who were frightened by what was happening and it would also help us get a heads up before, rather than after, an incident happened.
I was typing up my notes when Aaron walked into the office.
‘Hey. You’ll be surprised to hear I had a good meeting with Youens.’
He didn’t answer me so I looked up from my keyboard. ‘What’s wrong now?’
‘Evie came to see me while you were out.’
‘Shit.’
‘Yep.’
‘How bad?’
‘It’s bad, Hannah. This needs to go all the way up.’
‘Tell me.’
‘There’s a Twitter hashtag that’s trending, whatever that means, Notts cops are shit? And along with the hashtag, trouble is being stirred up against us. People are saying that cops can’t protect people and are arresting everyone but the killer.’
‘Christ, Aaron.’ I rubbed at my arm where an ache was starting up.
‘Ross has also found a couple of low-key public order jobs on the box. A couple of shops have had items thrown around and one has had its windows smashed in. Tie them together and we have the start of a real problem, I’m told.’ He pulled his tie tighter. ‘I really don’t understand what trending hashtags are or how relevant they are to this.’
‘They’re pretty damn relevant if they’re trending and they’re being used by Notts residents.’ I dug the pad of my thumb deep into the scar tissue on my arm and kneaded it.
‘Oh yeah, another one is,’ he stopped and looked at the notebook in his hand, ‘“The everyday people of the county are left at the mercy of the poison killer because hashtag Notts cops are shit”.’
88
It had been a long day and there were still many hours in front of us. Cops were out there taking the brunt of the public’s anger on our lack of progress. We needed to find this killer – and fast. Cop cars had had bricks and bottles thrown at them. Cops themselves had been targeted with missiles and force support had been activated; vans with protective bars over the windshield and specialist equipment for the staff. They were to attend any and all public order incidents. There was full on Gold, Silver and Bronze command structure set up, which is a single command structure, for incidents such as this, where officers knew who was in charge, rather than having too many cooks and all that. One officer of a high rank at Gold and was in overall charge, another officer of reasonable rank was Silver and was tactical and the Bronze officer implemen
ted it all, deciding where the staff were needed to make it all work.
There were local news stations buzzing around with cameras out on the streets.
I needed a break; I was too tense up here in the incident room and my office was crackling with the pressure. There was a deep dark throbbing in my scar. I picked up the blister pack of pain medication that I kept stashed in my top drawer and took a walk down the stairs to the Ladies on the floor below. It might not be more private, but at least I wouldn’t be interrupted by any of my own staff.
It was quieter downstairs as some of the staff had left for the day, though there were a lot more still here than usual because of the extra pressure on resources. People had been asked to stay on. I went into the Ladies and was pleased to see it empty. I leaned my back against the wall and took a deep breath, pressing the back of my skull against the firm concrete wall. Breathing in the silence, the quiet that my body felt it hadn’t been able to get near for so long. This job had been running along like rapids down a rocky river bed and it felt as though we were hurtling towards something dark. That something was waiting for us as we lurched headlong with little direction, pulled by the current of events.
I grabbed the top of my arm fully with my opposite hand and squeezed tightly. The deep throbbing inside felt like a ticking time bomb. Like a warning signal. It felt connected to everything that was happening. The more events spiralled, the more my arm throbbed. I squeezed again and then took the pills I had in my pocket, washing them down with water from the tap. Allowing the cold stream to flow over my face as I bent over the sink. The cool rush relaxing my muscles.
I couldn’t stay down here in the Ladies forever. I had a job to do. I had to help Ross regain his presence of mind and I simply had to keep going.
I pulled the door to the corridor open and saw people running. I stood for a brief moment and wondered if there was another public order offence happening – or another murder. Something to get everyone running to their desks, or to phones, or out of the building. But as I stood there I heard … no, I smelled it.
Fire.
The front of the building was on fire.
89
It was the smell that hit me first. A deep, dark, nasty smell that caught in the back of my throat. I coughed, clearing it from where it clung like a vice with teeth. Sharp and nasty.
Then the drama unfolded like a slow motion reel as I watched people running from the front end of the building with wide panicked eyes. And others running towards it. The ones running away were front counter and other staff that came in to do a nine to five job behind a desk, not risk life and limb while they were at it.
The sound was the next thing to hit me. A rushing, like wind, with a crackle inside of it. All with a building momentum. Taking on a life of its own. Raised shouts over the top of it. Screams and instructions mingled together.
The slow motion reel slowed further as I took in the sound, sight and smell before me and it hit me at maximum volume. All of it.
I ran out of the Ladies, into the corridor. The heat punched me full in the face. It felt as though someone had jammed the heating up in the middle of summer. Screaming assaulted my ears and my nose and throat constricted as the acrid particles from the smoke grabbed hold and clung on, smothering. I coughed again. Hard. Bending over double trying to clear my airway so I could move and help.
Quickly I turned towards the front of the building to see what had happened. It was roaring. Bright orange flames danced, licking their way up the walls towards the ceiling. Searching their way across by means of pictures and posters, finding their next meal to consume and feast on. Some cops had fire extinguishers but they were all but useless.
‘Fuck.’
I turned around. ‘Check the offices as you move backwards. Make sure we don’t leave anyone behind.’
‘Okay.’ The young officer opened the door to our right and went in, bellowing. As he did I heard something else. I looked back at the fire. Then heard it again. Someone was shouting from the other side of the fire.
90
I looked back but the officer who was just here had gone, and was now sweeping the offices looking for people left in this corridor. He moved fast. Through the roar of the fire, the squeal of the alarm and the air gushing out of the extinguishers being used by the cops next to me, I could hear faint shouts.
I tapped the two guys on their shoulders, which were pulled up tight and tense. Their shirts damp. One was only young, his face straining with concentration. The other was older, gut fighting with his waistband, his hair all but gone. I saw recognition of my rank when they looked at me but their focus was on the flames and the heat that was engulfing our station.
Leaning in close, I yelled, ‘I can hear shouting.’ Indicating with my arms in front of us, ‘Through the fire.’
Their eyes widened, then their grips tightened on the red canisters in their hands.
I looked around for another fire extinguisher but there wasn’t one. They were being used.
And they were now empty.
The two cops turned to me. We were moving back as the flames pushed forward, the corridor not much wider than my arm span. ‘Go,’ I shouted. ‘Make sure people are getting out further back.’
‘But Ma’am?’
He meant the people on the other side.
‘Go. Help others get out. Now.’
This was a big station.
They dropped the empty shells with a clatter and ran.
I stood. I listened.
What the hell?
I was further away now. Pushed back by the fire. I could hear … I didn’t know what I could hear any more. The sound of the fire and the building creaking. The screaming of the fire alarm and the noise all crashing inside my head.
The heat was stifling me. But there were people, cops, and civilian staff, trapped on the other side.
Suddenly, it seemed to jump forward, towards me. The heat a solid brick wall and the flames were an angry barricade. I turned to run but hadn’t realised how far back I’d been pushed. I was now at the end of the corridor where the stairs were. I crashed straight into the corner of the wall, my head and upper arm slamming directly into the sharp corner.
Pain lit up my synapses. I stumbled back.
The heat lapped at my back.
My arm throbbed deep and my brain slowed.
Vision became narrowed, tunnelled. Greying at the sides.
I sucked in air. Gasping for it to fill my lungs, to fill my head.
Grabbing hold of my arm, I forced my feet forward, towards the stairs. With my good arm I reached forward for the banister, letting go of my arm, letting the pain slice into my brain. I needed to haul myself up the stairs. In the incident room they might not be aware this screeching sound of the fire alarm was the real thing. Often we ignored alarms while someone went to check out whether it was real or not. Now, as I clung to the rail at the bottom of the stairs I realised how stupid this was.
But it didn’t matter now. I needed to get them out.
My chest hurt.
The greying in my vision became worse.
I sucked in more air.
I clutched the handrail tighter and pulled with everything I had. One slow step at a time.
My feet felt sluggish, heavy, my head like cotton wool.
I pulled harder on the handrail. I had to keep going. The ringing of the alarm was so loud here in the stairwell. The air was clear in here but my head was not. I figured I was feeling the effects of inhaling too much smoke now as my brain felt fuzzy and sluggish.
Just a few more steps.
My knee slammed hard onto the concrete slab of the step as I struggled to pull myself upwards. The pain shot through and up to my brain, piercing the fog that was threatening to close me down altogether. With the palms of my hands on the cool step, I pushed up. I was nearly there.
As I looked at the door at the top, it opened. Ross walked through, his phone to his ear, chatting animatedly. It took him a second or
two before he noticed me pulling myself to my feet. I couldn’t catch my breath to shout him.
‘Ma’am!’ He nearly dropped his phone, hands bouncing in front of him as he juggled to keep hold of it, eventually shoving it in his pocket. A look of shock registered on his face. He moved quickly and was at the side of me in seconds. His arms under mine, lifting me upright.
Now, we had to get everyone out of the building before our killer managed to take the lives of police officers.
91
We stood in the car park, freezing. The heat from the fire made the evening air feel even cooler than it probably was. Several staff members had been taken to the hospital for smoke inhalation. The people I had heard shouting were actually trying to make sure people at the other side were okay and were in fact not in any more danger than I was myself. That wasn’t saying much, considering I had nearly given out to the effects of smoke inhalation myself. A couple of ambulances were in attendance, treating people.
There was still a lot of work to be done and what had happened showed that it was more urgent that we got on with the task at hand. The city was losing its mind.
Perched inside the ambulance with the oxygen mask over my face, I tried to process what we knew and watched as another marked car lit up its blues and sped out into the darkening day. A day where people were panicking and were hurting each other, when what they were afraid of was being hurt.
The ambulance dipped slightly as Aaron climbed in and sat opposite me. ‘The fire service has it all out now.’
I pulled at the clear plastic covering my nose and mouth. Not holding on properly and letting the elastic that kept it in place pull it back with a slap. ‘humph.’
‘What was that?’
I pulled again, this time with a firmer grip, sliding it up over my head, depositing the hissing mask at my side. ‘Go on.’
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