Made To Be Broken (22 page)

Papa zero eight and the dogs were unable to round up any of the offenders of the supermarket incident. They must have had vehicles close by that we didn’t know about and had no way of tracking. It had been a long drawn-out affair attempting to trace the group but in the end everyone had had to walk away.

The man responsible for driving the car that had mowed into the mother and child, killing the child, was still in custody at the Bridewell. A remand application was currently being worked on, ready for the morning courts.

And I had six missed calls from Youens. I went to my office and called him back. It was a tense and uncomfortable conversation. He was obviously unhappy about the public order events he now had to police on his area and he knew full well that they were connected to my case. He wanted to know how it was going and what we were going to do. To hear that we were still working on the digoxin case and that it was slow going was not what he wanted to hear, at all. The fact that I was a couple of ranks below him made it so much easier for him to get that point across in a much firmer manner than he might otherwise have had if I was the same rank as him. I bit my lip. There was nothing I could do. And that was the point. Not that there was nothing I could do about Youens giving me grief, but that there was nothing I could do about this case. The offender was calling all the shots until we got a good lead.

The headline for the
Today
was an extension on the online article and was highly emotive and was bound to be pulling in readers for the paper.

Four-Year-Old Killed In Supermarket Rage Car Incident

I finished reading the article.

Following the incident, a crowd gathered outside during the hours it was closed and threw a couple of bricks through the doors and within the store after gaining partial access. There was no loss of life or injury. The extent of the damage has yet to be assessed. No offenders were arrested during this incident. One man is currently in custody for the murder and attempted murder of the York family earlier in the day

I put the newspaper down and leaned back in my chair. The byline was Ethan Gale. I had been avoiding Ethan since that night. It had been a mistake, great as it was, but we were never going to make a relationship work so having great sex with him and tangling my emotions up into a mess that I was unable to sort through was going to do neither of us any favours.

Though the headline grabbed your attention, the article was a straightforward piece of reporting of the incidents yesterday. No over-dramatising of events or criticism of the police, which made a change, but there was a lot to report and there probably wasn’t that much room for conjecture in it. No matter how much I hoped that the news reports would lessen over coming days, I wasn’t banking on it. We had our hands full.

I’d had a few hours’ sleep and had been back in the office at six-thirty a.m., only popping out for a few minutes to grab the paper to see what the situation was. The morning briefing had gone smoothly enough. I’d tasked Evie with keeping an eye on social media as well as the other actions she was working on. Ross was still keeping a tight rein on exhibits, but as we didn’t have any searches ongoing he was also freed up to help out with the vast digoxin enquiries. Claire was preparing another media statement in light of yesterday’s incidents. Catherine wanted to try and calm the public. She had been involved in a lengthy conversation with Chief Superintendent Youens last night after he’d yelled at me for a while and was in agreement with him that we needed to address the issue head on. There were even discussions about having a television appeal for calm in the wake of the murder. Claire had the dubious pleasure of being holed away with Catherine in her office hashing that one out with her; then they would come back to me to let me know what the best approach was. I didn’t mind having this taken out of my hands. Claire knew what she was doing in terms of working with the media, and if it all went pear-shaped on TV then I was more than happy for it to be Catherine who had made that decision. I wanted to be boots on the ground, not worrying about the right thing to say to the baying media – even though sometimes an investigation could be led entirely by the media. That didn’t sit well with me. Their job was to report facts, events that had occurred, not indulge in conjecture or to rile up the public into a frenzy and cause an outpouring of emotion and feeling that couldn’t be contained within a page any longer. That’s how I felt about it, anyway. If I had the same conversation with Ethan, I’m sure I would get a different point of view.

I browsed down the list of emails in my inbox looking for any of significance among the 100 plus that were still sitting there, unopened. Scanning email headers, I saw there were several in from CSU as more results came back from seized items that had been examined. The same results were coming in. The poison used was digoxin, which matched what had been found on the PM. I forwarded the emails on to Aaron who would create actions to contact the families so we could identify where food items had been purchased. Because our earlier enquiries hadn’t proved fruitful I suggested we keep going follow this one to the end.

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.

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”.’

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 implemented 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.