‘Maybe whoever was hurt has died?’ he suggested, his voice shaking. ‘Maybe that’s why they don’t need anything.’ Tom was in that room. Cam couldn’t get past that thought echoing through his head like a klaxon. Even if Tom wasn’t hurt, he might be traumatised by whatever he’d witnessed. And there was nothing he could do to help.
‘Mr Cleaver, I have no other information and everybody still in school needs you to remain calm. How about you go and check that the evacuation’s gone smoothly. I’ll go and chat to your deputy, see how arrangements for the ops room are going.’
Resentment flared. He was in charge, not Penny. Why would the police officer want to talk to her? This was his school, his responsibility. It should be him. But he could see the sense in the man’s words. Pearson seemed to have sussed him out quickly and Cam also resented that. He knew himself that he was better if he had a job to do. In a tense situation he needed focus, he needed to do something and Pearson had spotted that.
‘Okay,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll go down to the main hall and see what’s happening. We’ve still got the group of teachers and year thirteen students who were allowed to leave the humanities block. I put them in a computer room. Do you want to interview them or leave it to your colleagues when they arrive?’
‘My colleagues will definitely need to talk to anybody who can help identify who the men are or what they’re doing over there. Why don’t you assess who’s best equipped to speak to somebody and allow the remainder to go down to the theatre? We can’t interview dozens of people only to hear dozens of versions of the same story – it’d be a waste of time and resources. Hang on, I’ll get Brooks back. Take him with you, see if he can help.’
Pearson took his phone out and sent a quick text. A response pinged in almost immediately. ‘He’ll be two minutes.’
Cam stared at the phone, puzzled. ‘I might have watched far too much television, but don’t you usually communicate by radio? Airwave or something?’
Pearson scowled at him as though he thought that Cam was telling him how to do his job. ‘Mr Cleaver, at the moment we have a number of armed men on site. This is obviously a highly sophisticated operation as they have targeted weak spots in the school’s boundary.’ Cam flinched at the accusatory tone. ‘They knew where they were going and they have been keeping communication to a minimum. It’s entirely possible that they are monitoring our progress and they may have access to the Airwave channel. In situations like this the protocol is to use mobile phones until the danger has been assessed.’
Cam was about to ask how a criminal gang might be monitoring secure police channels, but there was no time to pursue the issue as PC Brooks burst through the door his face flushed and his breathing heavy. ‘Got here as quickly as I could, guv.’
Pearson nodded his appreciation and explained that Brooks was to escort Cam to the computer room where the sixth formers and their form tutors had been asked to wait. The uniformed officer turned to Cam. ‘After you, sir.’ There was something about the way the man emphasised the ‘sir’ that made Cam look at him a bit more closely. Probably in his late twenties with a likeable smile and deep brown eyes, Brooks looked like he might have been a pupil only a few years ago.
Cam led the way back to the computer room where the sixth formers and staff had been asked to wait. He hoped that they’d followed his instruction about not using their phones to contact anybody or to post on social media. If the news of the invasion got out it would seriously hamper the police effort and the students and staff were certainly savvy enough to appreciate that.
‘In here,’ he said, holding the door open and ushering Brooks into C12 as one of the students stopped speaking and turned to the door. They’d only been here for twenty minutes but they all looked wary and weary, staff included.
‘Finally,’ Colin Styles said, standing up from the desk where he’d been perched. ‘What the f-hell’s going on out there?’
Cam studied the worried faces of the students and wondered how best to deal with the situation. The truth seemed to be the best option rather than platitudes and reassurances, but he needed to choose his words carefully. ‘Okay,’ he began. ‘The men you saw earlier are still in the humanities block and are still holding Miss Frith’s form group.’
Murmurs of disquiet amongst the students.
‘The police are on site. At the moment a detective inspector is in charge of the situation but he’s expecting a full negotiating team very soon. The rest of the school is being evacuated to the theatre in town and, as soon as I’ve spoken to you, you’ll all be allowed to join them. I’d still like you to refrain from contacting anybody and to stay off social media. The situation is very delicate and one comment or piece of false information could jeopardise those students and staff who are being held hostage. Detective Inspector Pearson has suggested a communications blackout until the situation has resolved. The last thing we need is a group of reporters and parents in front of the school distracting the police from their job.’
‘What about the parents of the students being held? Have they been informed?’
It wasn’t a question that Cam had been expecting. His decision not to inform the parents had been based on the need for security and to protect those being held hostage. And, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know what to tell them or how he’d deal with twenty sets of frightened parents. He knew how it felt. He was terrified every time he
