“Go home, get some rest. I want all of you back in the station at 1.00 am, even those who will be staying behind, you'll be the ones liaising with uniform.” DCI Llewelyn put a hand on Yvonne's back. “Thank you, DI Giles.”
56
God, I hope I've got this right,” Yvonne sighed.
She and Dewi had stayed on at the station after the others left. They were about to greet Tasha's mother and father, and her partner Kelly. Yvonne had arranged it via the family liaison officer, who'd been keeping them informed ever since Tasha's disappearance. It was their wish to come to Wales. This meeting, and the possibility of ballistics getting back to them tonight, had meant the DI and Dewi would be getting any rest they could in the office.
Yvonne held Tasha's mum's hand. A green-eyed lady with greying-red hair in her early fifties. She had a quiet grace about her. When she spoke, the DI could hear the fear, barely held in check. Although Tasha's voice was her mother's, Yvonne mused that her friend's looks were definitely inherited from her dark-haired father. He, too, was greying, with a proud, square jaw and a cleft in his chin. He shook Yvonne and Dewi's hands, his face full of questions.
It was he who introduced the detectives to Tasha's partner.
“Detective Giles, this is Kelly...”
“Please,” Yvonne smiled gently, “call me Yvonne...I'm pleased to meet all of you.” She motioned to her detective sergeant. “This is Dewi Hughes.”
“Pleased to meet you.” He sounded tired, and a little hoarse. He coughed to clear his throat. “I'm sorry it's under such circumstances.”
Kelly was just as Yvonne had imagined her from Tasha's description. She looked every inch a strong business woman. Seemingly fiery and incisive, she had been on her mobile phone for almost the entire time she had been in the room. It was clear, from the snippets of conversation the DI had overheard, that she was busy organising and doing deals, even now. To Yvonne, it felt at odds with the situation. She mentally shrugged, it was none of her business. Anyway, police stations were not like hospitals. Innocent civilians could use their phones, if they needed to.
All was peaceful, even serene, as Yvonne and Dewi approached Lake Vernwy, from the direction of the new village of Llanwddyn. They passed a few walkers with their sticks and backpacks; a cyclist; a dog walker. Nothing unusual. And yet they knew an armed response unit was on its way from North Wales, a helicopter was on standby just over the border, and a surveillance crew, including members of their own team, were scattered around the lake, and could be any of the people they had seen on their way in.
They swung a left onto the bridge, over the dam walls. The dirty-grey, lichen-stained Victorian architecture stood stark against the rolling hills, the forests and the watery expanse of the lake.
They were casually dressed, wearing jeans for one of the very few times in their careers. A distinct chill in the air meant the hats they wore to hide their earpieces didn't look out of place. No-one gave them a second glance as they left their car outside of the Vernwy cafe.
“I hope I'm right about this being the intended place, Dewi.” She scanned the woods at the edge of the roadway, the bare trees scaffolding a mean-looking sky. Rain, though threatening, had so far failed to follow through. “If I've got this wrong...”
Dewi took in the worry lines, creasing her forehead. “This is the best chance she's got, ma'am, and it's down to your detective work.” He rubbed his rumbling stomach. “They're advertising a hot chocolate in there, shall I get us a take out?”
“No, Dewi, let's go in: check who's around.” She felt a relief of sorts, now that they had actually arrived at the lake. At least they could do something.
She shook her foot in an attempt to remove a clump of rotting leaves from her boot. “I hope he hasn't hurt her.”
“I hope not, ma'am.”
Yvonne took a seat at a round table, by the window. She could see who was coming and going outside and observe the few people already sat inside the cafe. She thought it unlikely the killer would come in here but, if he wanted publicity, he may be capable of anything. Whatever his intention, they were nearing his end-game.
She remembered what Dafydd Lewis' brother had said about Dafydd not wanting to work the family farm. Was that the sole reason he had entered the church?
The hot chocolate was thick with calories, smothered with marsh-mallows and whipped double-cream. She blew on the top, to enable her to take a sip. It was good. The sick feeling, in the pit of her stomach, had prevented her from having breakfast. The drink would, at least, help to raise her blood sugar enough for her to be useful. Dewi left, to avail himself of the men's room. She watched the pony-tailed girl who had served him wipe a spill from the counter-top and straighten the tins of exotic teas at the end nearest the window.
An older guy, with the air of being the boss, said something which the DI didn't quite catch, and the girl headed away from the counter and towards the back of the cafe. Yvonne's gaze moved on to a middle-aged couple eating toast and sipping on mugs of steaming beverage, a Collie sitting patiently on a lead beside them.
As Dewi returned, their earpieces kicked into life.
“The ARV is on-site, you now have armed back-up.” It was Inspector Garside, from the Ops team. “Remember, the code word is RED.”
Yvonne pursed her lips. 'RED' would be their confirmation he'd been spotted. Once that happened, she would have joint operational control, along with Inspector Garside of the Ops team. A trained negotiator was also on the way, and the DI was thankful for that. She tapped her mike. Dewi flinched. She turned her unit down a touch, grimacing at him. “Sorry...”
He looked almost as pale as the mug he set down on the table, and there were pronounced bags under his eyes, but her DS read her mind, rising with her as she left her seat.
“Are you okay, Dewi?” she asked, before opening the door.
“Right as rain, ma'am.” He smiled, and stood to his full height. She heard his back click, but he didn't flinch. They walked out into the chilly, damp, November air.
To their left, stood a long, wooden cabin, comprising a bird hide. Ahead of them was the car park and, to the left, the road rose up, splitting right to go over the dam itself, and left to go around it. They were surrounded by trees. Yvonne turned towards the hide.
They entered the long cabin, fronted with glass windows, giving an almost uninterrupted view of the drop beneath. In front of the windows ran a row of seats and, to their left, a young German couple were holding hands and talking as they looked out. The DI put her forehead against the glass. A variety of birds were availing themselves of the feeders, and ground-lying tidbits on the small patch of horizontal ground out front. Yvonne peered down through the trees on the steeply falling bank, but saw nothing, save more mud, leaves and water. She felt a rush of impatience.
Dewi, taken by surprise, almost tripped as he saw her head for the door and turned to follow her. She stood in the car park, turning round and round, a frown furrowing her skin, her mouth open, billowing clouds of vapour. Finally, she walked towards the road, followed by her DS. They headed past the entrance to the dam bridge to their right, and the Lake Vernwy visitor's shop to the left, walking on for about a thousand yards to a small lay-by above the lake.
They walked to the edge of a little promontory to look out across the lake. A small cabin-boat sat on the water below and, on the bank to the left, stood a wooden hut - not that dissimilar to the one they'd just left. This one, however, had a red door and was obviously a boat house: a small row boat and a couple of lime-green canoes were tethered outside. The boat-house windows were small and impossible to see through from where they were standing, being around a thousand metres away.
Behind the boathouse were conifer trees and, beyond those, out in the lake rose a couple of towers, looking almost as though they'd been stolen from some French château, their conical roofs glinting with rain-reflected sunlight.
Vehicles were constantly coming and going, and many more walkers thronged ar
ound the cafe area. Yvonne sighed, the killer could be in any one of these cars. The easiest thing would have been to cordon off the whole area, but that would have alerted Tasha's kidnapper.
Walking back towards the road, she spotted a battered-looking pick-up truck parked partially on the verge. It peaked her curiosity and she walked over to Dewi and took hold of his hand, grinning at his raised eyebrows. “Just in case he's watching.” She spoke low, through clenched teeth. Dewi smiled back, gave her hand a squeeze and swung her arm, as they headed towards the truck.
The pick-up was empty, save for a puddle of water in the back and a few odds and sods in the front: a flask, a sandwich box and pair of binoculars. Nothing of any note. They walked on, standing to the side whenever another vehicle passed. Yvonne could feel the cold beginning to penetrate every layer of her clothing, and found herself grateful for the warmth in Dewi's hand.
It was then she saw a figure below them, close to the boathouse. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rising. “Who's that, Dewi?” she asked, fighting to relax her stomach muscles, willing the panic to stay away.
Dewi peered down, craning his neck to get a better view. “It's DC Clayton, ma'am.”
She breathed again, DC Clayton was a member of her own team.
“CODE RED, CODE RED.”
The call sent Yvonne's heart into orbit, he'd been spotted. Just as she was about to ask for confirmation and position, she saw a figure leaving the cabin in the boat below. She looked down to her right and saw DC Clayton standing stock-still, staring at the boat, his hands raised.
“Oh no, Dewi, he must have a gun...”
“No, ma'am.” Dewi had already started to climb down the embankment to get a better look, and was breathless as he called back, “He's got a captive, and he's holding a knife to their throat!”
Yvonne caught up with Dewi, he having gone as far as he could towards the water, without falling in. She could see the hooded captive, which had to be Tasha, and, even though the killer was wearing a thick woollen hat, she knew immediately who he was. In control of the situation unfolding below, was Dafydd Lewis, the bishop of St. Asaph.
Yvonne grabbed the nearest branch and threw up down the bank, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Everyone, stay back,” she ordered via her microphone. “Where's DI Garside and the negotiator?”
She wasn't sure her last words had been heard, as there was a flurry over the radio. Garside was shouting instruction and calling for the ARV team to stand by.
Dafydd Lewis gesticulated from the boat, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. She saw DC Clayton wading out, towards the boat, stopping within metres of it. He threw something. Yvonne caught her breath.
Blue lights flashed at the far entrance to the dam and, from the wall itself, a loudhailer announced the presence of armed police, and ordered the hostage-taker to lay down his weapon. Like he was going to do that when he had the upper hand, Yvonne thought, but procedure was procedure.
They still didn't know what Clayton had tossed into the boat, but the bishop stood in the cabin-doorway, his knife still at his victim's throat. More flurry over the radio as Yvonne's ear piece started cutting out.
“Dammit!” She searched frantically in her bag for another earpiece. “Dewi, what's happening?”
Dewi concentrated on the flurry.
“Dewi?”
“One of the ARV squad reckons he has a clear shot, ma'am.”
“Tell them no...”
“It's all right, Garside's telling them to hold their fire, to stand by and keep him in their sights.”
“The man's got sense at least.” Yvonne breathed again.
DC Clayton was making his way back up the bank, his feet slipping in the mud. Garside's car screeched to a halt in the layby, followed by two more vehicles. In the distance, Yvonne could hear a chopper on its way, and sirens echoing across the water.
“DI Giles?” DI Garside towered over her, but Yvonne was glad of his presence - not only because it made her feel less lonely in command, but Tasha was her friend, and she couldn't entirely trust herself to be objective.
“Yes, DI Garside?”
“It's Paul,” he said, nodding towards the female heading towards them along the bank. She was far from suitably dressed for the conditions, her heels catching on rocks and tree roots. DI Garside continued. “This is...”
“I know who it is.” Yvonne recognised the familiar features of Dr. Rainer, the occupational psychologist. “You're a trained negotiator? I didn't know...” She shot the words at Dr. Rainer, not meaning them to sound like an accusation.
She hoped the doctor hadn't spotted her white knuckles, or the shake in her offered hand. She turned her attention back to the man in the boat, and to the trussed and hooded form of her friend. She didn't know if Tasha was conscious or even alive.
DC Clayton joined them, still dripping, and shuddering from the cold. Dewi went to fetch blankets from the police vehicles on the bridge.
“He caught us off guard, ma'am.” Clayton had a resigned look in his eyes. “Armed officers were only just arriving when he appeared in the boat. I was nearest to his position but I couldn't get there fast enough...the boathouse keeper had sworn the boat was empty and the cabin locked.”
“How did he catch us off guard?” Yvonne struggled to hide her impatience. “There were officers dispatched just after midnight...”
“It's a huge perimeter,” Clayton was frowning. “We were looking for the obscure places, sure that he'd pick a blind spot.” He flicked his head in the direction of the boat. “But he chose the most bloody obvious place. I could kick myself.”
The DI relented. “It's okay, you're not to blame. We all appreciate your efforts. You've been out all hours, in less than ideal conditions, with little or no sleep. What did you throw to him?”
“He's got my phone, ma'am.”
Dewi arrived back with blankets, flasks of tea and hot soup. He almost dropped the flasks and Clayton ran over to save him. Dewi began pouring from one of the flasks. “Ma'am?” he asked, offering a mug to Yvonne.
She shook her head. “Not just yet, Dewi.” She still couldn't face anything. Even though she was cold, she wouldn't even accept the offer of a blanket. It seemed traitorous for her to accept comfort, or sustenance, when her friend was down there, fearing for her life.
Yvonne checked that the position of the boat hadn't changed and rejoined Rainer and Garside, who were deep in conversation. After consulting with DC Clayton, Rainer punched some numbers into her mobile. The phone, on loud speaker, rang for several seconds before it was answered. Yvonne's hands were clenched, the knuckles white the entire time.
“Finally!” The Welsh lilt of the bishop was unmistakable on the other end. He was ready to do battle, Yvonne shifted between supporting legs.
“Do you need anything?” Dr. Rainer sounded calm, confident even, but the DI could see a light tremor in the hand holding the phone.
“What have you got?” The reply sounded, unsurprisingly, sarcastic.
“We've got blankets, sandwiches, soup?”
“None of the above.”
Yvonne was straining to hear. “Can you ask him what he wants?”
Paul Garside nodded his support for the question.
Dr. Rainer paused, then: “If you change your mind, let me know.” She was staring out at the occupants on the boat, as though wanting to see the bishop's expression. It wasn't readable from their position. “What is it you want, Bishop Lewis? Why are we all here?”
There was a moment or two of silence, then the sound of scuffling. Something was happening on the boat. It sounded like a struggle but, if it was, it was rapidly stifled.
The bishop's voice crackled out of the phone. “Are you Welsh?”
Dr. Rainer's voice was soft. “My grandfather was Welsh...”
“See?” His volume increased a notch. “I bet most of you up there are English. Everywhere I turn, this land, these people, all overtaken.”
�
��You're angry with England?”
“I'm angry with the way our land and our people have been bled dry. A God-fearing people. An honest people. Lambs led to the slaughter.”
“Why don't you let your hostage go? We can talk about your grievances.”
“Talk? Since when did talking ever change anything? I've been talking all my life. Lately, less and less people have been listening. It's all gadgets and technology. It's not about individuals any more, and the rot started here, with these dams. With the whole industrial takeover driven by the English.”
DCI Llewelyn was now in attendance, looking the most dishevelled she had seen him. Yvonne asked whether she might be allowed the phone. He shook his head emphatically. Through her earpiece, she heard a member of the ARV team assert, once again, he had a clear shot. It was her turn to vigorously shake her head. This time, the DCI and DI Garside nodded in agreement with her. DI Garside ordered his team to hold their fire.
She still felt shut out. Wasn't she the joint lead on this mission? It certainly didn't feel that way. Llewelyn and Garside were now so huddled together, she felt at any moment they would go down for a scrum. She waited for Llewelyn to break away and then dove in for the challenge.
“You're shutting me out...”
“Yvonne.” The DCI sighed. “We're not shutting you out.”
“You are, you know you are.” Her eyes were two black pools.
“Look, I know how close you are to Tasha. It'll be hard for you to stay objective.”
“Bullshit.”
“It's not bullshit, Yvonne. Dr. Rainer knows what she's doing. If anyone can get the right result, she can. You have to trust her.”
Yvonne had to admit she was still bitter about the enforced counselling with Rainer. She knew it was perverse, but she hadn't forgiven either the DCI or the psychiatrist. This seemed an invasion too far by the latter, and, yes, she was desperate to save Tasha.
“What would you like to see change?” Rainer continued.
DI Giles BoxSet Page 41
