A Shot In The Night (John Harper Series Book 2) (24 page)

Vince
Gilroy was happy to be back on the road.  He felt safer being sat in the police
van than when he was out on the street.  Once the news had broke that the
‘Seasonal Shooter’ would now be targeting the police as well as drug dealers,
the city had gone on high alert.  It had been nearly twenty four hours since
the message had gone viral on the internet and there had yet to be any
shootings, which was a blessing.  The problem was that everyone was now on
edge, jumping at shadows.  This was made worse by the parcels that had been
delivered across the Merseyside area.  Nearly every station had received one
from different couriers and, be it a package or an envelope, each one contained
some sort of white powder.  The fear of chemical attack meant that stations had
to be locked down whilst the substances were checked but since there had been
no casualties most thought that it was a hoax.  However with the current threat
no one could be certain and the risk of contamination was enough to bring most
stations to halt.

Vince
would have been more than happy to sit behind a desk, locked inside, and ride
out a potential chemical threat than risk being shot.  However he had a job to
do and there was a raid that morning.  There had been an anonymous call about a
house a couple of days before.  It wasn’t exactly high priority with all the
shootings going on but it was drug related.  Drug and gang related crimes were
something that the force could work on and the prevailing theory was that the
obvious connection of attacking the drug dealers earlier meant that arresting
gang members might reveal who the shooter was.  Of course that was a long shot
since if the gangs knew who the sniper was then it was more than likely that
they would have enacted their own brand of justice by now. 

There
had been a plan to hit the house after a brief investigation had revealed that
there was a possibility that it was drug farm, especially since there was no
heat signature at all coming from the house when the helicopter flew over. 
That suggested that there was some shielding to mask it from being seen.

The
planned assault was for later in the week but there had been an emergency call
when a grenade had been thrown through the window.  Emergency services and the
police on scene had found a massive stash of marijuana and four superficially
injured drug dealers in the living room, two of whom had to be taken to
hospital.  There were another two people upstairs who were also arrested. 
Right now the four people with minor injuries sat sullenly in the back of his
van.

Vince
was certain none of the men had any connection to the gunman who was
terrorising the city and if it were not for the grenade attack then he doubted
very much that the assortment of weapons and drugs would have been captured. 
It was worrying to think that even in the midst of this ‘Seasonal Shooter’s’
spree of killing that the usual gang rivalries continued unchecked.  He had
hoped, as had many, that the shooter was one of these deranged gang members who
had just overstepped the mark and would be taken out by his own kind. 
Unfortunately even if it was, some of the gangs did not see the drug world as a
business opportunity the older hoods did.  They saw it as a mark of respect and
would continue fighting as long as they gained credibility for it.  However
targeting police was a double edged sword.  It both intensified scrutiny on the
gang members and suspects but also reduced the number of police on the streets.

The
public had been kinder than Vince had thought to the news that the
trigger-happy killer was going to be targeting the police.  After recent
scandals the boys in blue were not the most liked of public servants in the
country, never mind the city, which had actively been framed by corrupt and
power hungry police.  The change in the gunman from originally targeting drug
dealers to the civilian population had altered public opinion.  No longer was
this man a vigilante clearing the streets but now he was just a deranged
killer.  Threatening to shoot the police was even worse; he was actively going
after people sworn to protect the innocent.

No
one was volunteering to patrol the streets unless it was in the city centre and
that was only when wearing actual bulletproof vests.  With the gunman using
both rifles and handguns, even these protective measures were not the best. 
More worryingly was that he apparently had enough skill to shoot some of his
targets in the head and there was no protection for the officers from that type
of attack.

Never
in his life had Vince felt this sort of fear.  He had been doing the job for
nearly two decades and although there had been a few altercations in his past
he had not feared for his own safety to this extent.  It had been a number of
years since he had patrolled the local neighbourhood and he spent the majority
of his time as a desk sergeant at the station he was driving to. 
Unfortunately, due to the shake-ups going on around fitness requirements and
that a number of people had taken leave for the holidays, he had been roped
into driving the van that day.  Not that he resented the work, he was proud
that even in this time he had not taken a day off and that he was out making
arrests.

Next
to Vince sat Peter Stevenson who was just as worried about the sniper but also
happy to be doing some physical work.  The fear of being trapped in a confined
area with a possible toxic agent sent shivers down his spine.  He was new to
the force and seeing the carnage created by a grenade had given him some
disturbing flashbacks to his time in Afghanistan with the Fusiliers.  Having
left the Army he had joined the police to avoid the death and destruction dealt
out by weapons like the one that had been lobbed through the window of the drug
farm.  Peter knew that the police would not want him to be involved in the
armed response unit since they tried to avoid service veterans in their
selection process.  He did however know that there was a brotherhood of service
and he could do some good by trying to maintain the peace.

It
was strange for Peter being back in a world worrying about snipers.  Of course
the training and knowledge he had received in the Army never allowed him to
truly relax and being in a city where gun crime was something that you had to
live with only heightened those trained senses but this was a serious threat,
something he had personal experience of.  He had tried to calm Vince down by
saying that there was nothing really to worry about but it had been a hollow
lie.  The older man had been kind to him when he had first started so he
offered those words and tried to sound brave, even going so far as to tell some
of the stories from his previous career which was something the he tried to
avoid.  Vince knew the Peter had been lying but not to the same extent as the former
soldier.  If this ‘Seasonal Shooter’ was well trained then they would not know
about the bullet that killed them until it had hit them and that was something
Peter had lived with before.  Although Peter knew that detectives worked around
the clock and that there was an armed response unit ready to pounce at a
moment’s notice, he also knew that there had been little development in the
case since the wrongful death of Leo Ambrose.

Peter
did his best to put that thought out of his head but he looked around at his
surroundings as they neared the police station.  He was wary of any flash of
light, every bit of refuse on the streets.  Due to that Pete noticed the bag on
the pavement opposite the van almost immediately and his eyes narrowed wary of
improvised explosive devices on the roadside from his tours in the Army.  Those
same eyes went wide with shock and horror and a bullet crashed through the
windshield of the van, spiderwebbing the glass and hitting Vince square in the
chest.  The stab proof vest was no match for the high calibre bullet and it
shattered his ribcage before exploding his heart, exiting his back and burying
itself into the seat behind him.

Peter
instinctively went to grab the steering wheel but his friend slumped to the
side turning the vehicle with him and towards a red brick wall on their right
hand side.  All Peter could do was hope the crash killed him instead of the hot
metal of a rifle bullet but either way he prayed it would be quick.

Shooting
is very similar to martial arts in some aspects.  To perfect either craft you
have to be dedicated and focussed, both require controlled breathing and hours
of practice which eventually leads to honed muscle memory.  Long distance
shooting is even more of a perfected art.  You judge windage, elevation, even
the curvature of the Earth and its effects on the projectile you are
discharging.  That is all as well as distance.  Right now the 'Seasonal
Shooter' was well within his comfortable range.  This was positively close for
his high powered rifle as he opened fire.  The first shot he had been
particularly proud of.

Perched
as he was on the roof of a disused petrol station, the angle was not perfect
for the shot.  It still allowed for him to look down the road and see the
driver clearly as he pulled the trigger.  The bullet went squarely through the
windscreen and into its intended target.  Through the scope he had a moment to
see the carnage he had wrought before the dead man's hands turned the wheel,
slamming the van into a high wall next to the police station on the left as the
shooter saw it.

The
van was then hit from behind by a trailing police car, skidding so it was at an
angle and presenting a new target.  The shooter opened fire on the new vehicle
hitting the engine three times as his rounds tracked up.  A fourth shot hitting
the passenger in the shoulder as the car smashed into the wall next to the
police station.  Brick from the wall hindered the passenger from opening the
door and before he stood a chance of getting out, the shooter fired two more
rounds into his chest as he struggled to release the seatbelt with one arm.

The
police officer who had been driving was dazed, shocked by the violence of the
crash and the gunshots, which was then compounded by the airbag exploding in
his face.  He turned to see his friend and work colleague being riddled with
bullets.  Blood splattered across his face and eyes.  Panic seized him and he
grabbed for the door handle, his other hand unclipping the seatbelt.  He fell
out to the pavement, hearing and feeling the thud of bullets that hit the
door.  Metal shards sliced into his arm.  He vaguely heard the shout from the
officer who was still in the van, the call to run behind the vehicles for
cover.

Scrambling,
he made the perilously short journey as rifle fired crackled around him before
briefly stopping.  Slumped against the cold metal he breathed heavily, the warm
air from his breath mixing with steam rising from his body.  He looked across
at the officer who had told him to move as he called in on his radio for back
up.

The
shooter reloaded putting a new magazine into his rifle.  He could not see the
two police officers that had survived and he was angry with himself for not
hitting them when he had the chance.  Ten shots and only two kills.

Peter
was also thinking about the missed shots.  He had come to fear the shooter,
worried the man was an expert but he would not be alive if this guy was as well
trained as some of the men he had known in the service.  All he had to do was
remain behind cover and wait for reinforcements to arrive.  Across from him he
saw the other officer struggling to breathe and he shouted to him to relax and
stay behind the bulk of the car.

Time
was now running against the shooter, this was not part of his plan.  He had to
expedite things.  Taking aim at the roof of the police transport, he fired four
times.  The bullets travelled through the metal and into the close confines. 
Inside the prisoners began to scream and shout.  They began banging and rocking
the van as another two rounds hit it, then another two.  A loud yelp was heard
from interior and more banging, this time more furious.

Peter
opened the back door to see light streaming through the eight holes and one of
the four drug dealers clutching the back of his leg.  Blood was soaking the
light grey jogging bottoms he had on and although his face was ashen, he still
yelled for help.  Peter was in a dilemma, leave the men in there to an
excruciating fate of waiting like the proverbial fish in a barrel or let them
out and risk them over powering him.

He
shouted at them for calm and unlocked the inner cage door, believing it was the
only thing he could do.  However he was right about the latter part of his
dilemma and was bowled to the floor as two of the men burst out; one of them
tripped in the space from the can to the floor, the other set off running.

After
waiting for a shot, suddenly he was presented with one and the sniper took aim
and fired.  The round hit the back of the fleeing suspect’s knee, exploding in
a shower of blood, bone and cartilage and leaving the man helpless on the
floor.  The second man who had attempted to escape suddenly halted, unaware
that his head was now between the crosshairs of the scope sat atop the
shooter's rifle.  He spun slowly in place to return back to the safety of the
van but was then essentially decapitated as the back of his skull exploded,
covering the first runner in his brain matter when a well placed shot rang out.

Peter
huddled down behind the rear passenger wheel trying to keep pressure on the leg
of the wounded man, thankful that he could hear the sounds of police sirens in
the distance.