Tunnel Vision

By BH

Part One: Looking Through the Fishbowl

Daylight
See the dew on a sunflower
And a rose that is fading
Roses wither away
Like the sunflower
I yearn to turn my face to the dawn
I am waiting for the day
-Memory, Cats (Andrew Lloyd-Webber)

There was little warning. PC Sam Harker was in the middle of putting his plate of chips on the table in the corner of the busy canteen, bantering with Des Taviner who was about to sit down opposite him. Des abruptly broke off the conversation, looking past Sam's shoulder at the window. Sam just had time to glimpse the look of horror on Des' face before Des' hands shot out, seizing Sam by the shoulders and wrenching him forward. Sam lost his footing and fell face-down on the table with a clatter of plates, too surprised to prevent it or cry out, then a long crash of breaking glass reverberated around the canteen. Fiery pain seared through Sam's nose as it bashed the tabletop, he felt the back of his head being pelted with glass fragments and the sharp pain as they lacerated his scalp, felt the table resonate against his cheekbone as something heavy landed to his right with a thunk and another clatter of plates, heard the cries of shock from his colleagues who had already been seated at the table...then the pressure of Des' hands on his shoulders disappeared and an ear-splitting scream of pain ripped through the air, accompanied by the clang of crockery and the scraping of chairs as the other officers were spurred into action.

Cass Rickman, who had been sitting on the opposite end of the table to Des and Sam, had watched the whole thing, completely powerless to prevent it. Des' scream pulled her out of her paralysis and she scrambled out of her chair to assist him. Des had collapsed onto his knees, covering his face with his hands. He was hunched over and his whole body shook with the wails that were being involuntarily torn from his lungs. Cass' feet slid on the broken glass strewn over the linoleum floor as she skidded into a kneeling position beside him in the chaos-filled canteen. She winced as a glass splinter stabbed her knee, quickly pulled it out and brushed all the glass away from where she was kneeling, and then turned her attention to the screaming officer huddled on the floor.

"Des – are you okay?" she asked him frantically as other PCs hurried to join her. "Des?? C'mon, talk to me...Des!"

Cass' insistent voice finally penetrated the tumult of noise around Des and the waves of pain that were washing through his brain, and in response his incoherent howls changed briefly to words.

"My eyes! My eyes!"

Cass turned to Reg Hollis, who was closest, and struggled to make herself heard amidst the pandemonium.

"Help me, Reg – hold him still," she begged, then yelled desperately to the officers who were crowding around her, anxious to help but more of a hindrance, "Shut up – I can't think! Give me room to breathe, all of you!"

Obeying her asserted authority, the others quietened down and shuffled back, giving her more space, but someone else pushed through and started to kneel.

"Is he alright? Is he okay? It was a brick – someone threw a brick – I don't know why -"

Cass looked up. It was Sam, blood streaming from his nose, tomato sauce dribbling down his shirt and soaking in with the bloodstains already there. He was very wobbly on his feet and his face was very pale.

"No, Sam, you're no help here!" she tried to tell him.

Polly Page moved out from the crowd of officers and pulled Sam back. Di Worrell went to assist her.

"She's right, Sam – you'll just be in the way!" they said to him, hastening him towards the doors. "We'll take you to the FME's."

Cass turned back to Des, worried about Sam but knowing that he was reasonably ok. Though Reg was keeping him still, Des was still screaming in agony. Then Cass noticed with mounting panic the trickles of blood that were starting to run through his fingers.

"Someone get the first aid kit – and find one of the sarges!" she shouted out, then gently attempted to prise Des' hands away from his face.

Des wouldn't let her – he flinched away from her and his screams turned to sobs, more rivulets of blood oozing down the backs of his hands.

"Don't make it worse...don't make it worse, God, it hurts, it hurts!"

"Des, I've gotta look!"

"What's going on? Who's screaming?"

Cass heard Sergeant Ackland shouting across the canteen, but she was too concerned about Des to respond. She reached forward again and this time managed to grab Des' wrists and pull them down, away from his face. There was a long howl from Des as the light hit his eyes and he tried to turn away. Cass's mouth opened and her eyes went wide in horror as she saw the extent of his injuries.

"Christ..."

Des' face was already covered with blood – it was flowing from what seemed like hundreds of different sized cuts all over his face. The light reflected off tiny slivers of glass that were embedded in his cheeks, some in the cuts themselves, but it was his eyes that shocked Cass the most. One bloodshot eye had a large glass fragment lodged in it. The other was partly closed, but the white of it was now a dark red. Bloodied tears coursed down his face, creating a network of red runnels down his cheeks. Des wrested his hands from hers and covered his face up again, wailing, trying to block out the light, but that three-second glimpse of his face was burned on the back of Cass' eyelids. She knelt there, momentarily frozen by what she had seen. Reg looked at her in concern.

"Is it –" he started.

Cass shook her head in dismay.

"God, it's bad...really bad," she muttered. "He needs an ambulance –"

"Cass, what's happened?" she heard June Ackland demand.

The protective circle of officers had parted to let her through and she was kneeling beside Des, looking from Reg's worried, confused face to Cass' unnerved own. Cass thrust her shock to the back of her mind, trying to get back into practical mode.

"Broken window, sarge," she explained rapidly. "Des copped the lot, and it's a bloody awful mess. I've gotta radio for an ambulance – the first aid kit's gonna be useless."

She started to get up, but June pushed her back down again.

"I'll do it, Cass, you stay with him," she said, already standing up. She turned to the other officers standing around them.

"I want you all out of here right now," she ordered. "The fewer people we have in here, the better."

For once, nobody argued. June shut the doors behind them as they left, then attempted to radio for an ambulance.

"I'm sorry, June, the lines are jammed with calls – there's nobody free to raise an ambulance," said CAD Sergeant Gilmore, sounding rather flustered. "Can you use someone's mobile?"

"Received, Craig," June sighed, delving into one of the pockets on her utility belt to find her phone.

Inspector Monroe hurried down the grey, featureless corridor, heading towards the canteen. He'd been given a breathless message by one of the PCs who had been sent out of there, and was now going to see the situation for himself. A loud voice drifted down the corridor towards him.

"Yes – serious facial injuries...FACIAL INJURIES...when will the ambulance get here? I said, WHAT IS THE AMBULANCE ETA...Ok, th – oh..."

Monroe rounded the corner into the canteen corridor and almost bumped into June Ackland, who was looking irritably at her mobile phone display. June turned to face him.

"June, what's been going on?" he asked her. "All I've been told is that Des Taviner's been injured."

"Yes, someone smashed the canteen window, sir," June confirmed. "Des got a faceful of glass – it's serious. I've phoned the ambulance – the reception was awful, I had to keep repeating myself, but I think they got all the details. The ambulance will be here in five minutes. Cass and Reg are in there with Des – would you mind taking over, sir, while I wait outside for the ambulance?"

Monroe nodded his assent and June left. Monroe pushed open the canteen doors and entered the room, making his way towards the huddle of figures on the floor. He noticed the broken window and the glass scattered over one table and the floor. His shoes crunched on the fragments of glass as he walked quickly towards the three officers kneeling on the floor.

Des was shivering – he'd gone into shock and was too exhausted by the pain to scream anymore. His keening was reduced to inaudible sobs and gasping. Cass draped her police jacket over his shuddering form to keep him warm. Reg laid a hand on Des' shoulder, to let Des know that he hadn't been deserted. Des did not respond, trapped in a cocoon of pain and suffering, blood running down his arms and dripping onto the floor. Reg and Cass stayed with him, unable to move him or do anything to help for fear of making his injuries worse. They did their best to explain to Monroe what had happened.

"Did anyone look out the window?" Monroe queried after hearing their relation of events.

Cass and Reg exchanged glances and shook their heads.

"We didn't see anyone, sir – we were sitting at Des' table when it all happened, so we went to him," Reg said. "Sam was facing away from the window, so he didn't see - I don't think anyone else did either, it just all happened so quickly...in fact, I think Des must have been the only one to have seen them, however briefly...he would never have been able to pull Sam out of the way, otherwise."

Monroe changed tack – he didn't want either of them blaming themselves for not getting a description of the person who had thrown the brick. It was a difficult situation and the way that both had coped with it was admirable – there was no point in lingering on what they hadn't done.

"Do you know roughly what time it happened?" he asked.

"Eleven o'clock, sir – right at the start of refs," Cass said, grateful that she was able to supply some useful information.

They turned their heads in the direction of the door when they heard it open. Cass breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted the familiar green uniforms of the paramedics as they followed June Ackland into the canteen. The medics spotted Des immediately and hurried over, lugging their red boxes of kit. They shooed Cass and Reg out of the way and started checking Des over, firing questions at all who were present. For Reg and Cass, the next five minutes were a blur – Des' fresh cries of pain as the paramedics tried to assess his injuries, questions about Des' medical history which they couldn't answer, quick-fire exchanges between the paramedics in a medical dialect that they had no understanding of, and finally Des was loaded onto a stretcher and wheeled out of the canteen.

"Someone needs to go in the ambulance and sort the consent forms," one of the paramedics told them.

Cass opened her mouth to volunteer, but June shook her head.

"No, Cass, you've done enough," she said, then looked to Reg.

Reg nodded 'yes' to the unspoken question. He felt it a duty to his best mate to accompany him in the ambulance, and June understood that, as did Cass, who smiled at him in reassurance.

"I'll ring through when I have news," he promised, then followed the stretcher out.

June, Cass and Inspector Monroe surveyed the deserted canteen with its pushed back chairs, crockery items lying on the floor where they'd fallen, cold food on abandoned plates, and the bewildered looking dinner-ladies standing behind the serving counter, quietly discussing with one another what they had witnessed. Cass looked to the doors that had just banged shut. Monroe saw the direction she was looking in.

"Go, Cass," he said gently. "We'll finish here."

Cass gave him a grateful smile.

"Thanks, sir," she said, then hurried out, aiming to see the ambulance off and glean as much information as she could from the paramedics about Des' condition.

Monroe turned to June.

"We'll have to sort out some sort of briefing to stop the rumours doing the rounds."

June nodded. They both looked towards the shattered window.

"I'll arrange for someone to tape that up and clear the glass," June offered. "And Des' next-of-kin will have to be told."

"Yes, do that – thanks, June. I'd best go and inform the Superintendent," Monroe said, turning to leave. "Keep me posted on news from the hospital."

"Yes, sir," June promised, then remembered something else and called after him, "Oh, sir?"

Monroe twisted to face June again.

"Yes?" he queried.

June spread her arm out to indicate all the lonely plates on the canteen tables. Monroe frowned, thinking, then sighed.

"Let everyone back in once the glass has been cleaned up – they can get another meal, I'll arrange for the cost to be covered."

June nodded, then Monroe left by the doors that Des had been wheeled through just five minutes before. June spoke to the dinner-ladies for a few minutes – none of them had seen anyone around the side of the canteen but they were happy to cook replacement meals – then she took one final look at the empty canteen, closing her eyes for a brief moment when she saw the bloody puddles and red-splashed glass fragments scattered around where Des had been kneeling. She shook her head at the pointless destruction, wondering how to break the news to Des' family, then exited the canteen, locking the doors behind her.

The clamour of the telephone disturbed the silent flat. The slumbering form in the bedroom stirred, groaning as the insistent jangling roused her from her sleep. She stuck a hand out from under the bedcovers and fumbled for the lamp switch, turning over so she could see the clock on her bedside table. It was 4:50am – obviously an emergency or an overseas caller. She got out of bed and trudged out of the room, stumbling half-consciously along the carpeted hallway to where the phone was hanging on the wall. She picked up the receiver and mumbled a half-awake greeting.

"'Lo?"

"Hello. I'm sorry to be calling you this early – I'm not totally sure of the Papa New Guinea time differences. Are you Fiona Taviner?"

"Urm...yeah..." she replied, mentally trying to work out which country the caller was phoning from.

"Sister of Desmond Taviner?"

"Yeah," Fiona said, snapping awake with the realisation that nobody would be calling at this time of the morning with good news. "What's this about – are you from his work?"

"Yes, I'm June Ackland – the Duty Sergeant at Sun Hill Police Station."

Fiona paused, taking this in, a gut feeling twisting her stomach.

"What's happened?" she asked slowly.

"There was...an incident...at the station today – Des was taken away in an ambulance about ten minutes ago. I'm sorry - he's got serious eye and facial injuries with severe blood loss – you were listed as his next-of-kin."

Fiona tried to sort everything out in her mind, then leaned heavily against the wall.

"Oh my God...Have you...do you... what happened?"

"Someone threw a brick through one of the windows in the canteen. Des knocked another officer out of the way and the glass hit him instead."

"Oh..."

Fiona had run out of words.

"Is there anyone else that Des is close to who ought to be told?" the voice on the other end gently inquired.

"There's just me...Mam and Dad passed away when we were kids. We've an Uncle in Birkenhead – he looked after us...but he wouldn't...he wouldn't care...No, there's just me."

"Do you talk to Des often?"

"He phones me once every fortnight or so – asks me how I'm doing, swapping stories, things li...things like that..." Fiona broke off, breathing slowly, trying to control her tears.

"I'm sorry to have to phone you about something like this," June said. "You're obviously close to him – "

"He looked out for me after Mam and Dad died – our Uncle never wanted us, but he had to look after us if he wanted the inheritance in Dad's will. We ended up in the lowest-costing school with clothes no better than rags – Des stood up against the bullies, fought them so they'd leave us alone...oh, God, I want to see him!" Fiona burst out tearfully. "I want to be there – he's my big brother, I should be there - but I've no money to fly over, and there's my daughter..."

"Do you want me to phone you when I have news from the hospital?"

"Please...thankyou, that would really put my mind at rest. I hope he's ok – I hope it'll be ok..."

"I hope so too. I'll let you know as soon as I can, Fiona."

"Thankyou...thankyou...bye..."

"Bye."

June terminated the call, then sat back in her chair, regarding the Yellow Pages directory sitting on the desk. Then she sighed, leaned forward and opened it, flicking through the pages to find an emergency window repair service.

The pain was sending Des out of his mind. He would've done anything – jumped off a cliff, shot himself, anything to get rid of the stabbing, jabbing, intense pain that was flooding his senses. Sounds distorted around him: loud talking, radio jabber, someone saying his name, asking if he could hear it – he couldn't comprehend what to do about it, as he was too busy panicking about everything else. It hurt to see – the light seared his eyes, but attempts to shut them led to even more pain, and there were funny blobs obscuring his vision, floating in front of things like a swarm of flies. All the while there was the fiery burning, like someone skewering pokers into every part of his face, and the pain that came with his black vision was so bad it was as if there were two stake knives buried deep in his eyes. He'd never experienced hurt anything like it before. His thinking had been reduced to a series of disjointed emotions: fear, hurt, panic, all clamouring to be dealt with first – surfacing, then being swamped by another feeling, and another, before returning in a wave even stronger than before. He was being moved, jolted – more pain. He felt the fresh air on his stinging, scored face. He was aware that he was lying down, but now he was moving...clanking wheels, some sort of trolley, going fast. Double-doors creaked open and whooshed shut, then he was inside again. Disembodied voices conversed above him, meaningless, incomprehensible chatter...God, the pain!

"This is Des Taviner, he has serious eye and facial injuries from broken glass, corneal lacerations, prolapsed iris in the right eye and at least one visible intra-ocular foreign body. Severe bloodloss – transfusion needed for sure – vitreous haemorrhage in both eyes, corneal graft needed in right eye at very least. He's had three milligrams of morphine and needs a full eye exam. There's still glass embedded in his face."

"We've got the donor corneas, the porter's at the blood bank now – theatre's waiting for him, take him straight through."

He couldn't understand what they were saying. He felt himself being moved again...bang of doors, needle in his arm, then blissful, pain-free oblivion.

Superintendent Tom Chandler waited till Inspector Monroe had left before leaning back in his office chair and allowing a smug smirk to spread across his face. It was a terrible shame that such circumstances had arisen – after all, Des Taviner was a good officer, though not with the best of attitudes – but now that it had occurred, Chandler had no intention of passing up on the opportunity to manipulate the incident to his advantage. Des had something on him, and that made Des dangerous to the Superintendent's fast-advancing career. Though it had been years ago in their Hendon days, when they had been uneasy colleagues partnered against their will on occasional training exercises, it would only take one name dropped in the wrong place to start a rumour – and in the competitive environment of the Met fast-track, where the slightest anomaly in an officer's record was viciously pounced upon at promotion review boards, rumours were taken very seriously indeed. Des knew about Chandler's womanising ways, and was an obstacle which needed to be cleared. Here, the opportunity for Chandler to do so had arisen without any machinations or string-pulling on his part. Chandler was pleased about that, and reached for the telephone with a smile on his face.

June dug in the filing drawer of her desk and extracted the paperwork that she had been putting off, but her mind wasn't on H-75s. She was still waiting anxiously for news from St Hugh's. Then a thought occurred to her – cameras! She'd forgotten in the rush. Cameras. The security cameras on the east wall of the station where the canteen was situated would have picked up anyone standing in front of the windows, and therefore the window-breaker would be on tape. She picked up the phone and dialled through to CAD. Sergeant Gilmore answered the phone. He appeared to be dealing with another call at the same time.

"...just a minute, please, madam. June?" he said. "I've been meaning to phone for the past twenty minutes, but there's too many calls coming through – proper ones this time. I'll get back to you in a sec..."

June could hear him putting the phone down on the table with the call still connected. She waited, and a few minutes later he picked up the phone again.

"Sorry about that," he apologised.

"Busy?" June enquired.

"Understatement – we've been snowed under with calls of every sort all morning: lost ride-on lawnmowers, rampant racehorses – and those weren't even the hoaxes! What happened in the canteen? Everyone's too busy to talk here at the moment, but Jim Carver told me as he came in that Des Taviner had a window smashed in his face!"

"He has," June told him. "I wasn't in the canteen at the time, but I've heard the story from Cass and Reg. Sam Harker has minor injuries but he should be fine – Des pushed him out of the way and caught the broken window instead. Des is in a terrible mess – glass embedded in his face and eyes. The ambulance left about ten minutes ago."

Craig Gilmore was silent – he couldn't think of what to say.

"Ouch..." he said finally. "I'm sorry we couldn't raise the ambulance for you. Have you heard from the hospital yet?" he added.

"I'm still waiting, but it occurred to me that something might have been picked up by the security cameras..."

Craig paused, thinking.

"Right, I'll check the cameras for you now while there aren't any calls waiting to be dealt with," he offered. "I'll hang up so the hospital can get through. If I find anything on the east cameras, I'll ring you...oh – a call's just come through, I've got to go. I'll let you know, June."

"It happened at about eleven, so check around that. Thanks, Craig."

"Anything to help."

The dial tone buzzed in her ear. June put the phone down and tried to concentrate on the forms, but in reality she was listening out for the phone.

Sam Harker stood with the other officers in the parade room, nosebleed mopped up, face cleaned of blood, shirt changed, listening miserably to Monroe's emergency briefing.

"...We haven't heard from the hospital as of yet, but as soon as we do we'll put an announcement out over CAD," Monroe continued. "These vandals need to be caught, but I don't want you all out there arresting half of Canley's youth population because one of them might be the person who broke the canteen window."

There was a murmur of rebellion from the assembled officers.

"But one of them might have done it, sir!" Nick Klein protested. "We don't have to necessarily arrest people, but we could just talk to them, like."

Monroe raised an eyebrow.

"Talk is the unofficial version of arrest," he said dryly. "You all know how difficult it is to catch people like this – it could be any one of a hundred different people, form or no form. I'm not saying don't try, I'm just warning you not to go storming over the estates arresting every young lad you see – that doesn't make progress, only harassment complaints and I don't want to receive any. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," the officers said in a mumbled but reluctant unison.

After what seemed like an eternity, June had finally managed to focus all her concentration on the H-75's that she had been meaning to fill out for the past week. As a result, she was unprepared for the sharp ring of the phone. She jumped, realised what the noise was and seized the phone.

"Hello?" she queried, hoping it was the hospital.

"Hello, sarge...it's Reg," said the voice on the other end.

Reg sounded very distressed. June's stomach flopped. She hoped that it wasn't bad news.

"Just ringing to say..." Reg continued. "Um...to say that they're operating on Des now..."

June gave a mental sigh of relief that it wasn't bad news, then looked at the clock on the wall. Had it really only been ten minutes since she had started working on the forms? She turned her mind back to the phone call.

"Yes...how is he?" she asked.

"They won't tell me anything – they just rushed him into the operating theatre and told me I may as well go back to the station because they'd no idea how long they'd be...is it alright if I stay, sarge?"

June smiled sadly. She had known that Reg would offer, and had asked Inspector Monroe if it would be okay for Reg to stay at the hospital. Monroe had said no – he was sorry, but they were short enough on officers as it was, so Reg regrettably would have to return to the beat. June hated to report this, but there was nothing she could do.

"I'm very sorry, Reg – I asked Inspector Monroe and he said that it wouldn't be possible. The hospital will ring through when they have any news, and I promise I'll pass it on straight away. I'll ask the Area Car to stop by St. Hugh's and pick you up."

"Yes, sarge," Reg said miserably.

June's heart went out to him, but there wasn't anything she could do about the order.

Forty minutes later, the phone on June's desk rang again. This time she was pretty certain who it would be.

"Hello, Duty Sergeant speaking?"

"Hi, I'm Mara Keeley, St. Hugh's hospital. I'm just ringing to let you know that PC Taviner is in theatre at the moment."

"Thankyou..." June said, then started asking anxious questions: "What's his condition? And what's being done?"

June wrote down the last few details, thanked the nurse on the other end of the phone and hung up. She then proceeded to read the torrent of information she had scribbled down. In hospital jargon it didn't sound very good, but Nurse Keeley had assured her that corneal transplants were very straightforward and had a high success rate. She phoned Des' sister again and passed on the news, assuring the worried woman that she would phone again when she had more information. The nurse hadn't really bothered to explain much of it, but June decided to pass on what she could to the relief.

She rose from the desk, abandoning the barely started forms, and hurried to the CAD room with the sheet of paper she had written everything on. Sergeant Gilmore heard June enter the room. He looked up and saw June's sheet of paper. He knew what she wanted, so he took off his headphones and handed them to her. June reached across him and pressed the transmit button. The CAD room went quiet as they waited to hear what she had to say.

"All units from Sierra Oscar, I've just heard from the hospital. Des is in theatre – they're not sure how long it will take, but they're going to let us know how the operation went when it's done. He's been given general anaesthetic and a blood transfusion - they're keeping him in overnight for observation, over."

She was immediately hit by a barrage of inquiries.

"How is he, sarge?"

"Any other details?"

"What's being done?"

"Is it bad, sarge?"

"When can we visit?"

"I don't know how he is," June said in response. "They're going to let us know. I don't know when we'll be able to visit, either. He's having a cornea transplant on both eyes, they're trying to get all the glass out of his face...he's had a prolapsed iris, which they said they've fixed, and he's got a foreign body in the right eye, over."

There was silence from the officers out on the beat. June could tell they were digesting the information. She'd told them all she could understand – she didn't want to worry them unnecessarily, and she wanted to find out what a vitrectomy was before she told them any more details.

"Received, sarge," was the eventual mass reply.

June gave the headphones back to the Sergeant, but he didn't put them back on again. He stood and nodded in the direction of the door. June knew what he wanted to talk about and so left the room. He followed. Out in the corridor Craig looked around to make sure that there were no eavesdroppers, then started talking in a low voice.

"I was going to go to your office to tell you this," he said. "I couldn't ring you because everyone in the room would've been listening, and I don't want them to take this and spread it around the station – the fewer people who know about this, the better. The relief might get the wrong idea and decide to launch a man-hunt or something."

June was puzzled. Craig was a cautious person, but he appeared to be taking things to the extreme.

"You've looked at the security tapes?" she inquired.

"Y...es..."

"There isn't anything on them?" she asked, disappointed.

"Well, there is...I took the tape out and took it to the briefing room to look at. I can't believe that nobody noticed it on the monitor. Monitor Seven gives the view from cameras Four, Five and Six along the east wall – the view changes every thirty seconds. Mind you, it was very busy at the time. It still is, or I'm sure someone would've noticed it before I switched it off just now."

"Craig, just tell me who you saw on the tape."

"That's just it – there wasn't anyone! I'll tell you the view from camera Four, which is the only one that covers the ground in front of the east wall of the canteen. Bearing in mind that we've only got static cameras: at the side of the canteen there's a hedge that separates the station from the bus link between Kerrigan Street and Barnaby Road, then there's a clear area in front of the hedge. Cameras Five and Six can see the same thing as camera Four, but from a different angle – camera Six sees it from the opposite end of the wall and camera Five sees it straight on. Cameras Five and Six work fine. Camera Four had the view I described at about ten fifty-nine pm. The view changed to camera Five, and the next time camera Four's view came up on the monitor it was nothing but interference. I thought the monitor had malfunctioned, but I rewound the tape and it was the same second time around."

June took this in, not quite believing it.

"Someone broke the camera?" she asked slowly.

Craig nodded.

"There's no view of the ground in front of the canteen window – the broken one – from any of the other cameras. I couldn't pick anything up on them. And...I went outside to check all the cameras – someone's had a go at Camera Four with a paintball gun..."

June stared at him, too shocked to reply. Craig confirmed her realisation.

"This broken window wasn't just a random piece of vandalism. It was planned."

To be continued...