Pop Goes the Weasel

117

Up, up, up. The Tactical Support team mounted the stairs at double speed, climbing to their vantage point on the top floor of the crumbling building. The stairs were broken and unstable and Harwood had to pick her path carefully, as she followed in their wake. Behind her she heard McAndrew put her foot through a board, cursing loudly as she did so.

‘Be quiet for God’s sake,’ Harwood hissed at her.

Before long they were in place. Looking down, Harwood could see Helen’s bike parked outside the squat opposite. Charlie had already entered it – the dossers living there had confirmed that Ella Matthews lived at the very top of the building. Across the way, Tactical Support were now in place and searching for their quarry.

‘What’ve you got?’ Harwood demanded, her nerves jangling.

‘Two females.’

‘Grace?’

‘And another.’

‘What’s happening?’

A long pause.

‘I can’t see. They are kind of locked together. It’s hard to get a good angle from here.’

‘There’s nowhere else to go, so work with it. Can you see a weapon?’

‘Negative.’

‘Can you get a clear shot?’

‘Negative.’

‘Well what the fuck can you give me?’

‘You want to be hauled up in front of the IPCC, be my guest,’ the irritated sniper replied. ‘But I can’t get a clear shot and I’m not doing anything until I can. You know better, then take over, please.’

He spat the words out without once looking up, his vision locked on the drama playing out across the road. Harwood scowled inwardly. She knew he was right but it didn’t make it any better. She had staked a lot on this investigation and it had to turn out right.

What the fuck was going on in there?