Race to the Kill Read online

  Mary hesitated on the edge of the school site, where a row of plywood boards were attached to the metal fence.

  ‘I’ll show you where to get in,’ she said.

  ‘Wait a minute.’

  He wasn’t going in without Gav. He looked along the road. There was no sign of a vehicle, but there was something else moving towards them in the shadows. It was a man with a large dog. He was walking close to the high fence bordering the back of the new houses in Springfield Gardens. He stopped and bent down to the dog, unclipping its leash. The dog rushed forwards, barking furiously.

  ‘Police!’ Sean shouted, reaching for his baton. ‘Get your dog under control!’

  Mary screamed and began to run, which gave the dog something to run after. Sean raised his baton, ready to knock the dog back when it drew level with him.

  ‘Mosley! Here boy!’ the man called, and the dog skidded to a halt, ears flicking back towards its owner, eyes still on Sean. It was a German shepherd with a mouth full of very sharp-looking teeth. For several seconds it held Sean’s gaze, as if trying to decide whether to obey its master, or sink its fangs into Sean’s face.

  ‘Mosley. Here!’

  It was enough to break the spell. The dog sloped back to its owner and Sean lowered his baton. He looked around, but Mary had disappeared.

  ‘Sorry about that, mate,’ the man said. ‘Didn’t see your uniform.’

  He was in his mid-thirties, Sean guessed, a tousled look to his receding hair, which may have been a styling choice, or simply because it was the middle of the night. Sean resisted the urge to point out that he was not the man’s mate and wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing his baton down on the dog’s skull, had it got close enough to bite.

  ‘Bit late for dog walking,’ he said.

  ‘Just doing my bit for the community,’ the man said.

  ‘By walking your dog?’

  ‘Keeping an eye on things, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Sean said.

  ‘Isn’t that why you’re here? We keep phoning the police, it’s getting ridiculous. There was a load of them earlier, swarming out into the road, like fucking zombies.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Twenty minutes, half an hour ago, tops.’

  Enough time for Mary to have made her way to the petrol station. Perhaps she was one of his zombies.

  ‘Did you see them yourself?’ Sean said.

  ‘Aye. A load of junkies and fucking immigrants. They’ve been using the school as a squat. I won’t let my kids come down here.’

  ‘I’ll need to take some details, and we’ll look into it. Can I have your name and address?’

  ‘John Davies, 39 Springfield Gardens.’

  Sean pulled out his phone and made a voice recording, saving it with the date and time. John Davies gave him an odd look, but Sean wasn’t about to explain why this was his preferred method of making notes that weren’t scrambled by his dyslexia.

  ‘Are you going to do something about that place?’ Davies said. ‘It wants burning down.’

  ‘I can pass on your concern, but at this precise moment, I’m waiting for my colleague.’

  ‘That woman?’

  ‘Eh? Oh, no, she was …’

  Sean wasn’t sure what Mary was. A civilian, just like the dog-owner, worried about what was going on in the disused buildings? Only not like him at all. A different tribe. But she’d wanted him to help her. He thought of her summoning up the courage to speak to him at the petrol station, shivering in her thin, baggy jumper.

  ‘It’s a bloody disgrace,’ Davies was saying. ‘Been boarded up all this time and the security’s no use. That lot have been dossing in there for months.’

  ‘You saw a group of them?’

  ‘Some running, the rest sort of milling about. I thought it was a fire or something, but there wasn’t any smoke. They spread out and some of them headed up this way towards Springfield Gardens. They better not be dossing down in my fucking shed, or I’ll set the dog on them.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that, sir. You’re legally obliged to keep your dog under control.’

  John Davies looked as if he was about to object, when Gav pulled up in the squad car. Sean opened the door on the passenger side.

  ‘We’ll be in touch, Mr Davies, and thank you,’ he said.

  Sean got into the car and slammed the door shut.

  ‘Neighbourhood watch?’ Gav asked.

  ‘With vigilante tendencies. Arsehole. What took you so long?’

  ‘Stopped at the top of the road for a chat with a couple who were pushing their worldly goods along in a supermarket trolley. I thought it was odd for this time of night, and sure enough, they’d come from the school, but they wouldn’t tell me anything. Someone or something scared them off.’

  Sean told him what Davies had seen.

  ‘We’d better take a look,’ Gav said. ‘Nobody leaves home in the middle of the night unless they have to. Where’s Hairy Mary?’

  ‘Disappeared when our friend turned up.’

  Gav called in to say where they were.

  ‘Another unit’s on its way,’ the call-handler said. ‘Sarge says to proceed with caution.’

  From the rear-view mirror, Sean watched John Davies and his dog making their way back to Springfield Gardens.

  ‘Received,’ Gav said. ‘We’ll take a look.’

  ‘It seems quiet enough,’ Sean said, getting out of the car, ‘and we won’t be on our own for long.’

  ‘I’m right behind you, Scooby-Doo.’

  Sean ran his torch across the boards that were lashed to the steel fence and quickly found the unofficial entrance to the site. One section of plywood had been detached and then leant back into place. When Sean lifted it aside, he could see two sections of metal fencing behind it. They’d been forced apart and by stepping sideways into the gap, he could squeeze himself through.

  ‘Come on, Gav, suck your belly in, and you should just fit.’

  ‘There must be an easier way,’ Gav said. ‘I can’t see a shopping trolley getting through that.’

  He moved further down the pavement and Sean could hear him testing the boards for movement, until he reached a gap.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ Gav called and Sean saw him step through on to what had once been a flower bed, but now was just a patch of dry earth.

  The front entrance was fully boarded up, but as a pupil Sean had hardly ever used that door. There was another entrance round the side, which was ramped. It used to lead to the special needs classroom. It was closest to the car park, but furthest from the lights of the new housing development. Sean had a hunch that residents leaving with their possessions in a supermarket trolley might also prefer ramped access.

  ‘This way,’ he said.

  Sure enough, as he came round the building, a door stood open. A metal grille lay discarded on the grass a few feet away. Sean shone his torch into the entrance and went inside. The smell was unmistakable: human waste, backed up in toilets after the water had been turned off, or just left wherever people had the urge. Very little light made its way through the boarded-up windows. Sean and Gav stood in the dark corridor and listened. It was quiet, except for the dripping of water nearby.

  The beam of his torch played across the doors to abandoned classrooms. The tangled hieroglyphs of graffiti tags covered the walls, impossible to read.

  ‘Doesn’t sound like there’s anyone about,’ Gav said. ‘Did she give you any clues about what she thought had happened? I mean, beyond some people walking away, which frankly I don’t blame them, what are we actually investigating here?’

  ‘She said something started. I assumed she meant something kicked off. A fight of some kind.’

  ‘Why don’t we get Marshall’s, the security firm, down here, get the place secured and then leave it for the morning? Report a break-in to the owners and threaten them with legal action for allowing a public health hazard on their property. I’m telling you, there’s no one here.’


  Sean knew he had a point, but there was something in Mary’s fear that made him want to look further. He flicked his torch up the stairs. From outside he’d noticed that some of the first-floor windows still had glass in them. He wondered if that would make it a more comfortable place to sleep.

  ‘I’m going to start up here,’ he said. ‘We can work our way along the top corridor, then come back down the stairs at the bottom end.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Gav said. ‘Let’s keep control informed. There’s still no sign of any backup. Maybe we should wait?’

  ‘What for?’ Sean said. ‘You said it yourself, there’s no one here.’

  He started up the stairs, craning to hear any sounds, but there was only Gav’s voice and the response on the radio, echoing off the concrete. Another unit would be with them in ten minutes, if required, meanwhile they should investigate and report back.

  The upstairs corridor was empty, except for the puddles that punctuated the peeling linoleum. The roof had always leaked, even when the school was still open, but now the buckets to catch the drips had gone and the water had pooled in interconnecting lakes. Sean tried a classroom door, but it was locked. Further along another door stood open. There were blankets and clothes piled on the floor, a half-eaten packet of biscuits and some empty beer cans. There was no furniture left.

  Gav carried on up the corridor, picking his way between the puddles.

  ‘No one around,’ he said.

  The next room had more piles of clothes and plastic bags, odd shoes and discarded newspapers.

  ‘Look at that,’ Sean said. ‘Someone’s left a decent-looking radio.’

  ‘Must have been the last one out, or one of the junkies would have had it.’

  ‘I’m not sure they’re all junkies, Gav. Mr Davies said something about refugees.’

  ‘Well, whoever it was, they left in a hurry.’

  They came to a junction where a second flight of stairs led down to the ground floor, while the upper corridor split along two wings.

  ‘Which way?’ Sean said.

  They listened, but there were no clues in the silent building.

  ‘What’s down here?’ Gav said.

  ‘The main hall, then beyond that there’s more classrooms and the gym. The science labs are on this level,’ Sean said, ‘and there’s another flight of stairs at the far end.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll go down and check out the hall and beyond, then up the far stairs and back along this way.’

  ‘What about the toilet corridor?’ Sean said.

  ‘We’ll wait and see if anyone comes to join us, and let them do that.’

  ‘Good plan.’

  Gav lead the way down the stairs and they were back in the gloom of the ground floor, lit only by their torches and pale slivers of light from the boarded-up windows. Gav opened the door of the hall. A line of windows, just below the ceiling, let in a little more light. Looking up, Sean could see the clouds had cleared and the moon was almost full. For a moment, he saw the school hall as it used to be: red velvet curtains gathered in swags at either side of the stage and the headmaster at the lectern, trying his best to inspire the kids of the Chasebridge estate to make something of their lives. Sean blinked and focused on reality.

  His torch picked out burnt patches on the parquet floor and he could see that the stage curtains had been ripped down and used by the new residents as bedding. A bundle in the centre of the room caught his eye, a pool of water spread round it. He trained his torch at the ceiling, but there was no sign of water damage. He shone the light across the rest of the floor. It was all dry. He went closer, the light from his torch more intense as the beam shortened. The bundle was a human shape, cocooned in a sleeping bag, and the water wasn’t water at all. It was blood.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Early Saturday morning

  ‘It’s been boarded up for three years, awaiting demolition,’ a female voice rang out from the far end of the corridor.

  Sean watched his girlfriend, Crime Scene Manager Lizzie Morrison, adjust her bag on her shoulder and pick her way between the puddles, followed by her colleague, Janet Wheeler. Lizzie was now the senior Crime Scene Manager for the Division and Janet had been appointed Exhibits Officer. Together they made a powerful team.

  ‘Christ, what a stench!’ Janet’s Edinburgh accent seemed even stronger than usual as she pinched her nose.

  He opened the door of the school hall for them.

  ‘Different smell in here,’ he said.

  Lizzie stopped to put on her shoe covers.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. She caught Sean’s eye for a moment. ‘CID are on their way.’

  They seldom worked the same job, but when they did, they followed the rules, both written and unwritten, tried to keep it professional and leave the relationship at home.

  Sean stood just inside the door watching Lizzie and Janet assess the scene, while Gav sat on the bottom of the stairs, outside the hall, filling in the incident report.

  ‘He wouldn’t have stood a chance,’ Lizzie was saying to Janet. ‘His forehead and nose are completely caved in. The pathologist might be able to work out if he’d been awake at the time of the attack, but I hope for his sake he wasn’t.’

  Janet was taking photos from every angle, while Lizzie began to mark out the blood pattern. Sean was confident that he and Gav had done a good job of keeping their feet out of it.

  ‘Janet, can you just get a shot here?’ Lizzie said. ‘I think the suspect must have been standing behind his head. There’s a break in the spatters.’

  She took out a tape measure and made a note of the point at which the pattern appeared to split. She stood up and looked around the room.

  ‘What a place to live,’ she said, and whistled through her teeth.

  Or die, thought Sean.

  ‘I suppose they prefer to come here rather than a hostel,’ Janet Wheeler said. ‘More space and freedom, but also more risky.’

  ‘If they can get into a hostel,’ Lizzie said. ‘I know Saint Bernadette’s won’t take them if they’re still on drink or drugs.’

  ‘Poor guy,’ Janet sighed.

  Sean was thinking about what it took to slip into this life, sleeping rough, always in danger. Not much, if you started in the wrong place.

  ‘Sean?’ Gav opened the door a crack. ‘Khan’s here. I don’t think he ever sleeps. Ask your missus if she’s ready for him.’

  ‘She’s not my missus.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘The boss’s here,’ he called to Lizzie.

  ‘He’s early,’ she said. ‘Okay, let him in.’

  DI Sam Nasir Khan liked to put in the legwork, even when the job threatened to keep him chained to his desk, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he’d turned up as Senior Investigating Officer three hours before he needed to. He’d accepted the permanent role of DI on the Major Crimes Team, instead of going back to Sheffield as a DCI, precisely because he missed the operational side of the job.

  Sean stood up straight, holding the door open, a rush of awkwardness as he tried not to catch Khan’s eye. Lizzie took one more measurement and marked the area with a yellow numbered cone. Khan stood in the doorway in full protective gear, taking in the scene. He turned to Sean for a moment and his eyes smiled above the face mask.

  ‘Good to see you,’ he said quietly. ‘You did a good job on Wednesday.’

  Sean nodded, his mouth too dry to speak. Khan let the hall door close behind him and left Sean in the corridor with Gav.

  ‘What was that about?’ Gav said. ‘I thought you were at the dentist’s on Wednesday.’

  Sean decided not to answer and followed Khan back into the hall. He wanted to be there, to listen, watch and learn. What he hadn’t told Gav, or even Lizzie, was that he’d had an interview on Wednesday, with Khan and the Chief Superintendent. An interview for CID. A letter would be in the post by the end of the week, they’d said. And now Khan was smiling, telling him he’d done a good job. He didn’t wa
nt to hope too much. He had to wait to see it in black and white, but all the same, he felt a little surge of excitement.

  ‘We’ve got a severe facial injury, impact from a heavy blunt instrument and good markings indicating the direction of assault,’ Lizzie said, looking over her shoulder at the DI. ‘No sign of self-defence. His arms were still in his sleeping bag. As far as I can tell, he’s male, under six foot, south Asian or Middle-Eastern, olive skin, brown eyes, but that’s about all I can say for now.’

  Khan nodded, taking in the room with a slow, sweeping gaze, the blackened marks on the floor, the abandoned bedding, the plastic bags and newspapers.

  ‘Hotel California,’ he said.

  ‘Something like that,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Right,’ Khan turned to Sean. ‘I need a full search of the premises. See if anyone’s still here. Another unit’s just arrived and they’re checking the grounds. If you find anyone, I want a name for the victim, last fixed address, anyone who knew him.’

  This meant Sean and Gav would have to cover the reeking toilets after all.

  ‘There’s a couple of old dossers hanging around by the door,’ Khan continued. ‘PCSO Jayson is down there. She’s asked them to wait. Get their statements.’

  Sean led the way down the corridor. The sound of water dripping from the roof was soon accompanied by Gav muttering behind him.

  ‘Manners cost nothing. Please. Thank you,’ Gav said. ‘Never mind that I’ve spent twenty minutes writing up an incident report, which he hasn’t even looked at.’

  Sean decided to ignore him.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Upstairs. Let’s cover the bit we didn’t get to earlier, and leave the worst till last.’

  The stairs up to the first floor were faintly illuminated by the moon, shining through a broken window. Sean was hit by another memory of his time here, the crush at change of lessons, with one class trying to get up the stairs and another trying to get down. It was never a very large school, anyone who had a choice went somewhere else, but it always seemed crowded enough in the narrow corridors and staircases, especially if you were trying to avoid the random kicks or punches from the school bullies. Sean stood still. For a moment it was as if he could still hear the clatter of feet.