‘Hold on, Rob’s right here telling me something,’ she said. There was a bit of background noise and some raised voices. And then Claire’s exclamation. Gillard was shocked. He had never heard her use the F word before. Certainly not twice in one sentence. There was a huge amount of background hubbub, raised voices. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was panic.

‘Claire? Claire? What is it?’

She took a few seconds to answer. ‘Craig, sorry, I’ve got to go. Whoever’s got the phone is here, in the building.’ It sounded like she dropped the phone on the desk. He could hear her still, but faintly, calling someone else. ‘Rob? Rob? New message. No, now!’

The line went dead.

Gillard rang Claire’s number, but the line was busy.

The last thing she had said that made any sense was: here, in the building. All sorts of scenarios were running in parallel in Gillard’s overactive brain, but the most worrying was a US-style mass shooting. Why else would this man go to the very heart of Surrey Police? Maybe he was an ex-cop, or even a current officer. Only that would explain what was going on.

One thing was certain. Everything had changed. His place was not skulking around at home, even if that’s what the chief constable demanded. It was to be with his colleagues. It was to be at the centre of the action, looking for his wife.

Chapter Fourteen

Gillard now regretted parking in the adjacent street last night. It took a minute’s sprint to get to the Vauxhall, and get moving. He flipped on the blue lights and siren, and left rubber on the road as he tore off on the journey to Mount Browne. That should save him ten minutes on the usual forty to get there. As he drove, he tuned into the police radio monitor which allowed him to overhear the uniforms talking to each other. It was clear that a search was taking place at Surrey Police headquarters. Reading between the lines of the laconic and formulaic interchanges, it was clear that whoever the intruder was, he had not yet been spotted. There was no mention of gunfire.

His phone in the hands-free cradle, Gillard tried twice to get Claire and failed. He then tried Research Intelligence Officer Rob Townsend. There was no reply. Of course as this was his personal mobile, it would come up as an unidentified number in most of his colleagues’ handsets. Right now no one would have time for dealing with strangers.

Foot to the floor, the Vauxhall was soon at the A23 junction with the M25. Traffic reports confirmed that London’s orbital motorway was clear between junctions seven and ten, but it was always a risk. The blue lights cleared traffic more effortlessly here than on any A road. He was about halfway when Claire called him back.

‘What in the hell is happening, Claire?’

‘Sorry, Craig. We’ve got two dozen uniforms crawling all over the building. It’s bloody mayhem.’