Witness (Staincliffe) - страница 9

Across the far side of the recreation ground the bloke with the gun slid into the passenger seat, pulled the door to and the car set off at speed, the driver gunning the engine. The car was side on and Mike couldn’t see the registration plates. Wouldn’t be able to read them at this distance. There was a woman coming out of one of the houses, dressed in a blue uniform. A nurse. The car almost mowed her down, bucked and swerved past her. She was running to the boy. Mike pulled out his phone and pressed 999 as he jumped down from the van. He walked quickly, closing the distance between himself and the figures on the ground. The lad in his green top and jeans, the nurse crouched over him. Across the way, at the corner of the houses, a dog stood barking up at the roof. At something Mike couldn’t see. Pigeons perhaps, or a cat.

‘Ambulance,’ he snapped when they asked him which service he required.

‘What’s your emergency?’

‘There’s a lad been shot on the field near Abbey Street, in Hulme. Beyond the bridge.’

‘Please stay on the line.’

Mike kept walking, and the operator asked him all sorts of impossible questions about the situation and the lad’s health. He tried to stay calm, to get enough breath and control the trembling in his voice as he answered her. He was close enough now to see the lake of blood, glossy in the light, and the nurse doing mouth-to-mouth. He relayed what he could see, told her what the nurse was doing. She kept him talking until the sirens materialized. He thanked her several times before sliding his phone shut. Watching the paramedics scurry from the ambulance, Mike stepped back. The lad wasn’t moving. He couldn’t be very old. Maybe fourteen or fifteen.

Then there was a crowd in Sunday best swarming to the field. A black woman near the front, running fast, her face a mask of fear. Mike had to look away. He tried to swallow, suddenly thirsty. He had some Coke in the van but it didn’t seem right to walk away.

The black woman was on her knees by the paramedics, an older woman beside her, others around them. The woman was shouting and crying, her distress making her words unintelligible but Mike knew exactly what she meant. Any human being would: my son, my son! Mike bit his tongue, took a steadying breath.

Four squad cars arrived, and other assorted vehicles as the lad was stretchered into the ambulance. His mother, an older woman and a teenage girl were directed to an unmarked car. Manchester Royal Infirmary was the nearest A &E, only a couple of streets away. They’d be there in no time, Mike thought. The police were edging people away, asking them to go to the road by the houses, to give their details.