by Scott Hunter
‘Well, do something for God’s sake.’ Aine’s hand was shaking as she reached for another cigarette.
‘Guv? Bola and Tess are on their way.’
‘OK, thanks. Listen, can you get Caitlin on her phone? I want to keep this line open.’
‘Will do.’
They heard Charlie punch the number into a landline desktop. Then her voice again, slightly fainter.
‘Hello? Caitlin? This is DI Charlie Pepper from Thames Valley. Pardon me–? No, wait. Do not answer it. Caitlin? Caitlin?’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Charlie gripped the handset.
Seconds passed.
George’s lips moved in a series of silent curses as he navigated the app. His iPhone screen stubbornly refused to refresh. All he could see was the entrance lobby.
Caitlin’s voice back in Charlie’s ear, tremulous now: ‘There’s someone outside. He’s wearing a mask.’
‘Caitlin. Listen up. You’re on the ground floor. Your window opens onto the internal quad, right?’
‘Yes. He’s banging something on the door. Can you hear–?’ Caitlin’s voice was a tense whisper.
Charlie and George exchanged glances. They could both hear the sound of a determined assault on the door.
‘Yes I can hear it, Caitlin. You’re double-locked and the door is solid. You have time. Please be calm and listen.’ She turned aside and muttered to George. ‘Where are Bola and Tess?’
George held up his hand, spreading the fingers.
‘Five minutes is too long. Yes – yes, I’m here Caitlin. Go to the window in the living room. It’ll probably have a security catch.’
‘Boss?’ George held up the iPhone for Charlie’s inspection. The image showed an internal corridor. Odd numbers, three to fifteen. Someone was battering at one of the apartment doors with a fire extinguisher. The hoodie was pulled back; the head was enclosed in an eye-socketed balaclava. They watched as the intruder stepped forward and slammed the metal container against the wood. They felt the silent impact.
The door held.
Charlie was still speaking to Caitlin. ‘You found the catch? Good. Now there’ll be a way to open it fully.’
‘He’ll be through the door any minute, It won’t hold. Oh God…’
‘It’ll hold. Concentrate, Caitlin. My officers will be in the building very soon.’
‘All right. The window’s open. I’m climbing out–’
Charlie heard banging and scraping. The apartment door shaking under a fresh assault. She held the phone to her chest, muffling the mic.
‘George, can you get me a visual on the quadrangle?’
‘Trying.’ George stabbed at the iPhone, scrolled up and down. ‘Hang on. Ah, got it.’
They examined the screen. Caitlin was visible in the central space, running from door to door, trying each, looking for a way out.
George stabbed the screen with his forefinger. ‘There. Service door. Looks ajar.’
Charlie spoke into the handset. ‘Caitlin? You see the narrow door to your right? By the corner? It has a short ramp. Yes. There. It looks open.’
They watched as Caitlin lunged for the service door. She glanced back and her face froze in shock. ‘He’s at my window. Climbing out.’
She wrenched the service door open and disappeared from view. Seconds later the intruder appeared, something long and metallic in his right hand – a rifle, or a shotgun, maybe. He traversed the quad and went through the service door.
‘Hello – he’s carrying.’ George was back on the app. ‘ARU job.’
‘Where does it lead George? Come on.’
George’s radio sprang into life. ‘George? We’re here. Status update please.’ Tess sounded breathless.
George spoke quickly. ‘Caitlin Hannigan is on her way down to the car park. There’s a garage door by the canal. I’m calling up ARU. There’s a guy in there and he’s armed. Do not engage. Repeat do not engage.’
‘ARU won’t get here, George. I’ve got to get that girl out.’ Tess spoke matter-of-factly.
‘No – wait. Is Bola there?’
‘Yes, he’s here.’
Charlie glanced up. George’s face was pained. ‘Look, just stand by, Tess.’ She held the phone up to her ear again. ‘Caitlin? Caitlin are you there?’
‘Yes. I’m here.’ A whisper.
‘Where Caitlin? What can you see?’
Barely a whisper now. Then, ‘I’m in the car park. In the bins area. He’s coming.’
‘Sit tight. We’re going to get you out of there.’
DC Bola Odunsi was a good cop and he knew it. He’d had a few wobbles, sure, particularly after Detective Sergeant Steve Banner’s murder and the ensuing DCI Wilder debacle, but he’d got over that. He was on the good guys’ side now, and proud of it. He and Tess worked great together, and Bola had a lot of time for his tenacious but talkative partner. Thing was, there was an armed guy in the building and his sense of … well, rightness wouldn’t allow him to rank Tess lower than himself in the safety and due diligence stakes. That meant she stayed outside while he went in for the girl – if there was a way in. But it wouldn’t be easy. Tess wasn’t one to hang fire and he’d have to insist.
They were at the rear of the apartment block, by the concrete ramp which led down to the electronic car park door. Which was shut.
Their heads were close together. Bola said, ‘You can open these from inside. Button to open, button to close.’
Tess looked the metallic slats up and down. ‘Helpful.’
Bola made a frustrated face. ‘What I mean is, if she can get to the door, hit the button, she’s out.’
Tess shook her head. ‘He’s in there, close. He has a gun. He’ll pick her off as soon as she breaks cover.’
‘Maybe he won’t shoot her. Maybe he just wants to put the frighteners on her.’
‘We don’t know enough about what’s going on here, Bola.’
‘Do we ever?’
‘Point taken. But we can’t risk it.’
‘So what, then?’
‘I’ll talk to him.’
Bola shook his head. ‘Uh uh. No way.’
‘Then we’ll check with the boss.’ Tess thumbed her radio.
Charlie’s voice: ‘Go ahead, Tess.’
‘George, there must be another way in,’ Charlie said. ‘Let me take a look.’
‘Just what’s on the screen, boss. That’s it.’ George proffered the iPhone.
Charlie peered at the small screen. Garage door, closed. Refuse service door to the right. Locked – combination. Electrics – door to the left. No good. She was about to go back to Tess when she gave a cry of alarm.
‘What?’ George grabbed the phone. For a second he couldn’t see any change, then he saw what Charlie had also clocked: a face had appeared behind the mesh of the bins area, pale hands gripping the fencing. Looking for a way through.
Tess: ‘Boss? She’s here. Hang on.’
Tess, and then Bola, came into view. Tess was up close, talking to the girl. Bola was trying the door, getting frustrated, pulling at it. No go.
A voice, harsh and metallic. Moran now, on the other phone, patience exhausted. ‘Charlie? Update, please.’
At that moment there was a flat, backfiring sound through Charlie’s phone speaker and Tess screamed, staggered back. They all recognised the sound – a shotgun discharge.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘He’s got her, guv.’ Charlie’s voice was flat, but Moran knew that to be a poor indicator of his number two’s emotional condition. When Charlie reached her point of highest tension, she switched into ice-woman mode.
Except when she rammed her car into a shopfront, seriously wounding a suspect, a small voice reminded him. But that was a while back, and Charlie had had an extended convalescence. She was over that. The shrinks had given her the all-clear.
‘Anyone hurt?’ Moran’s patted Aine’s shoulder, as reassuring a gesture as he could make. He felt her flinch and withdrew his hand. She moved to the far
side of the room, chewing her finger.
‘Negative, guv. It was a warning shot. Made a mess of the wire fencing but Caitlin’s OK. For the moment.’
‘Tess and Bola?’
‘Shaken, stirred, but intact.’
‘Good. What’s ARU’s ETA?’
‘That’s the problem, guv. Reading’s a mess this evening. Gridlocked. Last ETA was ten minutes; that was three minutes ago.’
‘Has George still got a visual?’
Moran heard Charlie ask the question and George’s gruff response.
‘Negative. iPhone’s not playing ball.’
‘So much for hi-tech,’ Moran said. ‘The roof, then.’
‘Guv?’
‘There’ll be some kind of service ladder. Bound to be. You might find a rooftop service door open.’
‘They have to do something. Tell them they have to–’ Aine was at his side, pale and trembling.
Moran’s hand went up. ‘A moment, Aine. Charlie?’
‘Here, guv. We checked. No ladder.’
‘OK. ARU’ll cover front and back. When they get there. Keep Tess at the rear and Bola covering the front for now. Any uniforms in the area?’
‘Called them up. Any time now.’
‘Right.’ A siren wailed somewhere outside. Moran went to the curtain, drew it back. All clear. Someone else’s problem. For now. He sat on the armrest of the faded sofa and tried to picture an empty building, a desperate gunman and a frightened girl. Outside, two unarmed detectives. It could end badly. He said to Aine, ‘It’ll be fine. Try to relax.’
Aine blew smoke, forced a smile.
‘Guv?’
‘Yep.’
‘Caitlin’s mobile phone is still on. She must have put it in her pocket.’
‘Can you get a fix?’
A pause. Then, ‘Not yet. Sounds like they’re back in the main building. On the move. No echo. I can hear Caitlin. She’s talking.’
‘Bola in position?’
‘Affirmative, guv.’
‘Brendan?’ Aine was at the window. ‘Gardai.’
‘Hang on, Charlie. I have a problem.’
A quick glance through the curtain confirmed Aine’s warning. Hell. Where was O’Shea?
The gardai vehicle came to a halt at the top of the street and two uniforms got out. Not Buchanan or his buddy. Moran watched them approach the first terrace. Door-to-door. Old school.
‘Guv? Everything all right?’ Charlie still sounded calm.
Moran returned his thoughts to the drama unfolding in Reading. ‘I think so. For a while,’ he told her. ‘But I may have to relocate in a hurry; if I drop out, I’ll come back to you when I can.’
‘Got it. ARU have arrived. They’re deploying down the side street and–’
The line went dead. ‘Charlie? Hello? Hello?’
Moran glared at the mobile. Damn. ‘Dropped signal,’ he muttered.
Two hefty clatters on the door. Moran froze.
Aine motioned him upstairs. ‘I’ll answer it.’
‘You’re in no state – and you’re a missing person. If you want to stay missing, probably not a good idea.’
‘They’re not looking for me right now, Brendan, are they?’ Aine cocked her head as she replied.
Moran nodded. She had a point. ‘They might search the house,’ he said, ‘if they smell a rat.’
‘Just get up there, Brendan. Leave it to me.’
Through the letter box: ‘Hello? Gardai. Open up, please. Open up now.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘Donal. Come in.’ Geileis moved to one side and caught a waft of stale alcohol as her brother ducked his head under the beam. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’
‘It’s Jerry.’
Donal had never been one for preamble, and as he collapsed into an armchair Geileis felt a zigzag of shock as she caught a first glimpse of his pale, drawn face and heard the agitation in his voice. This was going to be bad. She took a deep breath. ‘What about Jerry?’
‘He’s dead, Geileis.’
‘What?’
‘He’s dead. They found him in Brendan’s boot.’
Geileis’ hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh God … but where’s Brendan?’
Donal passed a brawny hand over his eyes. ‘That’s the thing. The gardai took him, but he’s disappeared.’
‘I need a drink.’ Geileis went into the kitchen and returned with two glasses, each a quarter full. She offered one and Donal took it gratefully.
The spirit did a little to dispel Geileis’ shock. She composed herself and sat on the settee. ‘Jerry’s dead? I can’t believe it. Why? I mean, who?’
‘Not Brendan, that’s the only certainty in my mind.’
Geileis looked down at her glass. Her stomach was unsettled again today and she had been about to make herself a hot chocolate to calm it. She sipped the unplanned whiskey and grimaced as it found its way to the root of her discomfort. She cleared her throat, coughed.
‘Brendan went to the Blasket. To find O’Shea.’
‘He did what?’ Donal shook his head angrily. ‘Sleeping dogs should be left well alone. What the hell is he trying to stir up?’
‘It was already stirred, Donal. This isn’t Brendan’s doing.’
‘I thought he’d gone inland. Then maybe to Dingle.’
Geileis shook her head. ‘Jerry told him about O’Shea. I didn’t want him to. But … well you know what Jerry’s like – was like – after a drink, and Brendan was very insistent. Jerry said O’Shea would know what was going on. With himself, I mean, and his … wider family.’
Donal frowned. ‘What’s O’Shea got to do with Aine?’ A pause. ‘Is there something I should know?’
Geileis looked away. A fine drizzle was spotting the leaded windows of the cottage. A blackbird perched on the ledge for a moment, fluttered its wings and was gone.
‘You know something, don’t you?’ Donal’s voice was low, but his disappointment was loud and clear.
‘I didn’t want to say anything.’ Geileis spread her hands. ‘In case … you know, in case it was nothing.’
‘One of my oldest friends is dead. Another’s missing. Aine’s still missing. Hardly qualifies as nothing.’
‘Don’t be angry, Donal. I’ve been so worried.’
Donal’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know where Aine is, Geileis?’
‘No! Absolutely not.’
Donal was on his feet now. ‘I’ll talk to this fella O’Shea myself, if he’s the man with the answers.’
‘No. Donal, please, leave this to Brendan.’
Donal leaned in close, his nose an inch from hers. ‘Brendan’s my guest, Geileis. I invited him here. If he’s in trouble, I’ve got to help.’
Geileis put her arm on his. ‘Be careful, Donal. Keep an eye on Padraig.’
‘Padraig? What’s the boy got to do with this?’
‘Nothing, it’s … nothing. Just take care of yourselves, that’s all.’
Donal gave her a long, penetrating look, slammed his tumbler on the table and in two strides was at the front door. He turned as if to speak, changed his mind and clacked the latch open.
‘I’ll ring you if I hear anything,’ she called after him. ‘I promise.’
The door shuddered on its hinges.
Geileis downed her whiskey in one and set the heavy tumbler onto the mantelpiece. She covered her eyes, fighting back tears. ‘Pull yourself together, woman. Do something useful, why don’t you?’ she said aloud. Her voice sounded weak and frightened in the sudden silence of the cottage; the thick walls and low ceiling absorbed her words, flattening their bravado.
She went into the kitchen, took her coat from behind the door, wrapped a scarf around her neck and selected a hat from the dresser drawer. She checked herself in the mirror. Not bad. A little puffy around the eyes, maybe, but he probably wouldn’t notice. A moment’s hesitation. Could she do this? And the answer came back.
Yes. You have a part to play in this.
Geileis
carefully locked the front door, took a deep breath, and began to walk towards the village.
Jerry’s was closed, shutters down. No sign of life. It would be the other bar, she knew, at the far end of the village. It was a bar frequented by a certain type, predominantly male, with an air of exclusivity about it. It wasn’t the sort of place a woman on her own would be drawn to. But he’d said that’s where he’d be found, if ever she was looking. At the time she’d thought. ‘Right, and that’ll be never.’ But she’d kept her counsel, because she knew things about him already. His name was Liam Buchanan and they’d got talking at a local dance a while back, just after she’d moved into the cottage. He was ten or maybe fifteen years younger, but that hadn’t stopped him making advances. She’d been having a good time up to that point; she’d been introduced to a few of the locals she’d not yet met, had enjoyed the music and atmosphere. And the dancing. They were a friendly bunch, by and large. But she’d always known that would be the case – it was very much part of the reason she’d come home. Anyway, Liam had chatted, given her a dance or two, made his loyalties clear. He wasn’t bad looking, but he wasn’t her type, not that she was in the market. He was way too fond of himself to be in with a chance that she would find him attractive in that sense. They got on all right though, had a bit of a craic together, plenty of banter. It’d been fun. She’d run into him on a couple of other occasions including one lunchtime session which had turned – inevitably, given the backgrounds of those in the bar at the time – to politics. She’d mentioned the old days, her youth. Maybe a reference to a few people she’d known who’d been involved in various … initiatives. Drink talking, probably. But then he’d opened up as well, started bragging about who he knew, some big stuff that was still going on.
And it had frightened her, so she’d made her excuses and left.
And then Aine had disappeared.
Geileis nodded a greeting to one or two folk she recognised as she made her way through the narrow streets. The community had seemed a safe place to her, a refuge from the madness of London. Now it felt secretive, oppressive.
