Michael Fowler - Heart of the Demon

There was a long pause on the other end. Grace’s face turned ashen. In her line of vision she saw that Barry was trying to get her attention. She knew that he had spotted that something was wrong.

“Do want to speak to Robyn?” Grace could hear her daughter sobbing in the background. The sobbing got nearer.

“Robyn. Robyn.” She virtually screamed down the phone.

The sobbing drifted away and Gabriel Wild was back on the line “Do you know what I did to all the other girls?”

“If you hurt her. If you harm one hair on her head I’ll fucking kill you.” She screamed back with an edge of hysteria in her voice. The tears of anger and desperation welled up in the corner of her eyes.

Without warning the line went dead.

DAY THIRTY-SEVEN: 12th August.

Detective Superintendent Robshaw was running the operation from the Command Suite at the police station. He had called in a Hostage Negotiator, had briefed Task Force Firearms Unit as to their duties and turned out as many police vehicles as he could muster and ordered them to park up at strategic points throughout the district. Finally, he had called in the phone technicians from headquarters to fix the tracking and recording equipment to Grace Marshall’s phone. As soon as her mobile rung again they would be able to get a fix on the user.

In less than four hours he had managed to get everything into full swing, and he was praying that nothing had yet happened to Grace’s daughter, and that Gabriel Wild had a big enough ego to make contact.

He didn’t have to wait long. Grace’s mobile started to ring.

Suddenly the ring tone was not so funny.

She watched the technicians operate their equipment and when they gave her the ‘okay’ signal she flipped up the screen.

It was Robyn’s phone. “Hello Robyn?” she said nervously.

“Hello Grace it’s me.”

She recognised Gabriel’s voice.

“Let me speak with Robyn,” she replied.

“You’re in no position to make demands Grace. And I’m guessing there’s someone else listening to this so I’ll be hanging up before you can get a trace. I just want you to say goodbye to your daughter.”

Grace could hear Robyn’s cries coming nearer to the receiver. Within seconds she was sobbing in her ear.

“Help me mum,” she snivelled. Then her weeping drifted away.

“The next time you see your daughter, Grace, will be in the mortuary with all the other bitches,” Gabriel hung up.

Grace dropped her mobile.

For several seconds there was complete silence in the room. It was broken by one of the technicians.

“Traced it.” he shouted and stabbed an index finger on a blown up copy of a map of the District. “They’re here, behind one of the units on the Manvers Industrial site.”

* * * * *

The early evening sky was rapidly filling with grey clouds. With it came a fine rain. It sprayed across the windscreen of the parked MIT car, diminishing the view of the main Dearne parkway. Hunter and Tony Bullars were in the unmarked car. They had tucked the Vauxhall Astra into a lay-by and were monitoring the airwaves on their radio sets. Watching and waiting.

When the shout went up, indicating the location of Gabriel Wild, the two detectives bolted upright: Stirred into action.

Seconds after the radio broadcast Hunter locked onto a car that was screaming towards them.

Wild’s Toyota rocked the MIT car as it shot past.

Hunter revved up the engine and slammed into first gear.

Tony Bullars snatched up the radio handset to call it in.

The wheels spun, churning up loose gravel, and Hunter pressed harder on the accelerator, spurring the car in the direction of Wild’s speeding Toyota. Whipping through the gears Hunter soon had the unmarked police vehicle registering seventy mph and was making ground in their pursuit of the fleeing fugitive. He could hear from the radio chatter that other police cars were coming to their aid. The airwaves were awash with police officers’ voices strategically aiming their vehicles to cut off every conceivable escape avenue to Wild. ‘Whiskey nine-nine’ — the police helicopter had lifted from its base at Sheffield to join in the hunt.

As an advanced driver, trained in the craft of pursuit from his drug squad days, Hunter handled the car faultlessly, jerking around the many roundabouts, before pointing the bonnet towards the middle of the road as he straightened out to continue the chase. He beeped wildly on the car horn then re-adjusted his fingers to flick on the beam of his headlights.

As Wild’s car swerved up ahead and the brake lights illuminated Hunter knew his driving had had an effect.

Beyond the Toyota Hunter spotted whirling blue lights in the distance, heading towards them. The response on the radio told him that it was the marked firearms vehicle and he began to ease off. The Task Force vehicle had a far more powerful engine and was far better placed to take over the chase.

* * * * *

Gabriel Wild almost lost control when he spotted the CID cars flashing headlights in his rear view mirror. For a second his car snaked and he stamped on the brake and whipped down the gears. Hitting the accelerator he could hear the Toyota’s engine scream as he began to widen the gap again. His concentration on the car behind made him completely miss seeing the oncoming marked police car until it was too late.

* * * * *

The police Volvo lined its bonnet up towards the Toyota and swung sideways across the road. The actions had the desired effect. The Toyota’s tyres protested with a concerted squeal, jarring, as Gabriel braked harshly. He could do little to stop the car crabbing sideways as he began to lose control of the steering. In a fit of panic he hit the accelerator. The engine screamed, drowning out the bursting front tyre. It bounced up the kerb, onto the grass verge, smashed through wooden fencing, lining the side of the road, and picking up speed, on a muddy surface, it careered wildly down a small incline. The Toyota slid for ten yards before flipping over, rolling twice onto its roof, finally coming to a halt when it hit a metal gatepost.

* * * * *

Gabriel’s head had taken out the windscreen and only the exploding airbag had saved him from being thrown through. As he kicked open the buckled drivers door he caught a glimpse of himself in the rear view mirror. His face was barely recognisable. His forehead had a wicked gash and blood poured from numerous cuts. His right cheek was already swollen causing his eye to close. He also saw that his lip had split in two. He reached up, fingers probing his blood-marked face.

“The bastards. The fucking bastards,” he screamed.

Robyn was slumped forward in the passenger seat. He could see she was stunned but uninjured. He snapped off her seat belt and dragged her by her hair across the front seats, pulling her through the driver’s door, snatching his Bowie knife from the door-well as he stumbled out onto the grass.

He saw that the CID Officers following behind had already alighted, as had the two uniformed officers who had cut off his path, and they were armed; their short rifles pointing in his direction.

Panic set in.

Gabriel pulled Robyn closer to him pressing his head tightly against hers. His focus was on the two armed officers. He could see their mouths moving but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. The detonation of the airbag had temporarily deafened him.

He pushed the blade to her neck, digging the point into her soft flesh, drawing blood. “I’ll fucking kill her.” he screamed. “I’m telling you she’s fucking dead.”

* * * * *

If Gabriel Wild could have just looked in a mirror at that moment, he would have known how wrong he was.