6
The teacher was screaming at the children to get out, standing with his back to McBride with his arms outstretched to the side as if he could shield them with his body. The second boy that McBride had shot in the gym lay twitching on the floor under a basketball hoop. The boy was missing most of his head and the chest was a bloody mess but the legs continued to beat a tattoo on the wooden floor and his right hand was trembling.
‘Out, come on, get a move on!’ shouted the teacher. The pupils didn’t need any urging – they were all terrified, and pushed and shoved as they forced their way through the fire exit.
McBride calmly ejected the two spent cartridges and slotted in two fresh ones. His eyes were stinging from the cordite and his ears were ringing.
He walked over to a wall and slowly sat down. He used his left foot to prise the Wellington boot off his right.
He looked over at the fire exit. Most of the children were gone. The teacher was still standing with his arms outstretched, urging on the stragglers.
The doors to the gymnasium burst open and two men with black carbines appeared, crouching low and swinging their weapons around. One moved to the left and the other to the right, then two more stepped through the doors. All four were dressed in black, with Kevlar body armour and black ceramic helmets.
‘Put down the gun or we will shoot!’ shouted Chisholm. All four officers had their weapons aimed at McBride. Two more armed officers appeared and all six men fanned out across the gym, their guns trained on McBride’s chest.
‘It’s all right, boys, there’s no need for that,’ said McBride.
‘Put the gun down!’ yelled the sergeant at the top of his voice. His finger tightened on the trigger of his carbine.
In one smooth motion McBride swung the shotgun around and propped the stock on the floor. He lifted his right foot and slipped his big toe onto the trigger.
7
Sergeant Chisholm realised what the man was about to do. He lowered his carbine and began to move forward but he had only taken two steps when the shotgun exploded and the man’s head disappeared in a shower of blood and brains that splattered across the climbing bars. The sound was deafening in the combined space and the sergeant’s ears were ringing.
Neil Sampson groaned and then threw up, bending double as his chest heaved and vomit splattered over the polished wooden floor.
Sergeant Rawlings went over to the body, picked up the shotgun and broke it open, ejecting the cartridges and placing it back on the ground. ‘Weapon is clear.’
‘Let control know what’s happened,’ said Chisholm. ‘Tell them to send SOCO in.’
Sampson dropped down onto his knees and threw up again. The sergeant went over to three officers who were standing around one of the boys that had been shot. Ricky Gray was crying silently as he stared down at the body. The sergeant put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Back outside, Ricky,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing more for us to do here.’
‘Why would anyone kill a kid?’
‘Who knows?’ said Chisholm. ‘Come on, outside.’ Rawlings walked over to the second boy but even from a distance it was obvious that he was stone cold dead.
The officer shook away the sergeant’s hand. He was still holding his carbine, his finger inside the trigger guard.
‘Stand down, Ricky. Come on.’
‘Fucking bastard!’ The officer turned on his heel and walked across the gym to the dead man. It looked as if he was about to shoot the corpse but instead he drew back his right leg and began to violently kick the body, cursing and swearing with every blow.
Chisholm hurried over and grabbed Ricky’s arm. He pulled him away from the body. ‘Get a fucking grip, will you. That body’s got to be post mortemed and there’ll be hell to pay if it’s black and blue.’
‘He shot kids. Who the fuck walks around a school shooting kids?’
‘Pull yourself together, Ricky. If the top brass see you like this you’ll be off the squad.’
Ricky nodded and took a deep breath to steady himself. ‘Okay.’
The sergeant released his grip on the officer’s arm and jerked a thumb at the door. ‘Get back to the vehicle and take a chill pill. The day you start making it personal is the day when you go back on the beat. Got it?’
‘Got it, sir.’ He headed out of the door, passing two uniformed officers. One was a superintendent. Chisholm looked down at the body of the shooter and had to fight the urge to kick it. Ricky had been wrong to lose his temper but what he’d said was bang on. What sort of nutter would walk around a school shooting kids?
The superintendent walked up to Chisholm and nodded curtly. ‘Are you and your men okay?’ he asked.
Chisholm appreciated the concern and nodded. ‘All good. No shots fired.’
The superintendent smiled tightly. ‘Thank heaven for small mercies,’ he said. ‘The way the press is just now they’d be trying to make it out that we shot the kids.’ He grimaced. ‘This is a mess.’ He gestured at the shooter’s body. Blood was still pooling around it. ‘Any idea who he is?’
Chisholm shook his head. ‘Looks like a farmer.’
‘Did he say anything before he topped himself?’
‘Something about it being all right and there was no need for it.’
The superintendent frowned. ‘Need for what?’
‘I think he meant there was no need for us to shoot him because he was going to do it himself.’
The superintendent sighed. ‘Why didn’t he do that in the first place? Why kill the kids? I’d understand it if he was looking for suicide by cop, but if he was planning to kill himself anyway he could have done us all a favour and thrown himself under a train.’
Chisholm scratched his neck. ‘CID been informed?’
‘Yes, but taking their own sweet time, as usual.’ The superintendent looked at his watch. ‘SOCO are on their way, too.’ He looked around the gym, flinching at the bodies of the two children. ‘My kids are about their age,’ he said. ‘Why would anyone do that?’
Chisholm didn’t say anything. He knew that the question was rhetorical.
The superintendent noticed the vomit on the floor. ‘What happened there?’
‘Young Neil. I sent him outside.’
The superintendent squared his shoulders. ‘Right, keep this area secure until SOCO get here. I’ll be outside, the press’ll be over us like a rash.’
8
On Thursday, three days after the shootings in Berwick, the case came knocking on Jack Nightingale’s door. He had his feet up on his desk with a copy of the
‘There’s nothing in the diary except blank pages,’ said Jenny. ‘And your only pressing task is the
‘For your information I’ve finished the Sudoku, I’m on the crossword now. What’s his name?’
‘He didn’t give me his name. He said he’d explain when he got here.’
‘He could be a nutter.’
‘Nutters don’t tend to phone first,’ she said.
‘Did he say what he wanted?’
‘He said it was a case but he wanted to talk to you in person. He sounded all right, Jack. No need to get
