Helen padded quickly along the gantry, keeping a wary eye out for prison officers. Her interview with Sarah had been brief, meaning there was a good chance she hadn’t been missed yet. The night shift occasionally carried out cell checks in the dead of night, but such was the level of abuse they copped from those they awoke that mostly they didn’t bother any more. Helen was only a minute or two from home and she hopped briskly up the stairs to Level Two, keen to get back to her cell.
As soon as she crested the staircase, however, she saw movement. A figure darting from a cell at the end of the gantry and disappearing fast around the corner. Such was the speed of its flight that Helen barely took in what she was seeing – it was just a dark blur in the corner of her field of vision. But instinct took over now and Helen chased after the fleeing figure. Had the killer struck again? If so, this would be Helen’s best chance to catch him.
Helen paid no heed to her own safety or the stupidity of getting caught out of her cell at night, she just pounded along the gantry, devouring the yards to the end of the walkway. Her breath was short, her ribs were aching horribly, but still she pressed on. Spinning around the corner, she was just in time to see the swing doors ahead flap shut and she charged in their direction. Barrelling through them she was surprised to see that the corridor was empty. Then she heard footsteps on the walkway above. Immediately she was on the move again, taking the metal stairs three at a time. The muscles in her legs were burning now, her knees protesting, but she drove herself on. Reaching Level Three, the highest in the wing, she scanned to the left and right, before catching sight of a tall figure right at the end of the gantry, wrestling with the access door. If the door there was locked or inaccessible, the fugitive would be trapped – the only way to descend was via the staircase Helen had just mounted.
Helen upped her pace, pursuing the figure. She was getting closer, closer, closer – she could already picture herself crashing into him, smashing his tall form against the heavy door. But suddenly the figure moved, climbing up and over the gantry fence. Helen could scarcely credit what she was seeing and watched in disbelief as the figure leapt off the balcony into the void beyond.
Down, down, down he fell, before crashing heavily on to the suicide net below. The net was made of solid rope and Helen could hear the sound of the impact, as well as the strangled growl of pain that accompanied it. Reaching the fence, she leant over it. To her surprise, the figure was already on the move, scrabbling towards the Level One gantry.
Helen swung one leg over, then another. She was balanced on the edge now, ready to jump. The fugitive, however, had made it off the net by now and was limping away down the gantry.
And now Helen found herself climbing back over the fence. Whether this was cowardice or common sense she wasn’t sure, but suddenly she didn’t like the odds of such a long fall, especially with a busted rib cage. There was still a chance to catch the fleeing figure perhaps, as his movement appeared to be laboured now, so Helen tore down the staircase, leaping the last few steps, before racing down yet another set of stairs to Level One.
She was hoping to cut the killer off, racing to bring this troubling case to a conclusion, but as she reached the lowest level she was dismayed to discover that it was deserted. The cell doors were all closed, the gantries empty, there were no signs of life. Pushing the access doors open, she peered down the corridor. It too was empty and the doors at the far end were still. Helen slumped down to the ground, exhausted and despondent.
Her quarry had escaped.