“The point is, Sadie,” said Allen, ‘you might try to help him.”
She spun around to face him.” For Pete’s-bloody-sake! I want to help him. That’s the whole point of the exercise.”
Allen smiled his thin smile. “You might try and help him get away, Sadie. If you were with him, he’d have an extra hostage, extra bargaining… and you’d be a hostage we could never be sure was on our side.”
“You’ve got to trust someone, Inspector.”
“Forgive me, Sadie, if I can’t trust you. You can talk to him on the phone if you like. We’ve got a direct line through. Try and persuade him to release the hostages and then come out with his hands up.”
She nodded her agreement. Allen clicked on the loud hailer. “Stan. Go down to the phone. Sadie’s here. She wants to talk to you.” Stan’s voice shouted out into the darkness. “Are you really there, Sadie?”
“Yes, Stan,” she shouted back. “I want to talk.”
She took the phone and waited for her husband to go down the stairs with the hostages. Allen stepped back, and when he was well out of earshot he raised the radio to his mouth and very quietly called Special Units 3 and 4. Once Eustace was distracted by the phone call, he wanted to try and sneak some men inside the house. When he had issued his instructions he moved back. Sadie was speaking to Stan.
“Stan, it’s me, Sadie. You’ve got to give yourself up.”
“And spend the rest of my life in the nick for something I didn’t do?”
“But Stan…” A movement caught her eye. Allen appeared to be signalling to someone in the back garden. She turned her head. Three men, one with a revolver, were inching forward toward the back door.
“There’s one thing I should mention, Stan,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “There’s a cop with a shooter creeping up to the back door.”
Allen spun around, furious, his eyes blazing. He made a chopping motion for Emms to cut the connection. At that instant there was a splintering of glass as a gun barrel smashed through the downstairs window. The blast of the shotgun split the darkness, and a small shrub to the right of the approaching armed policeman disintegrated.
“Get back!” bellowed Stanley. “The next shot goes into the hostages.”
The three policemen scuttled back.
Allen, white with anger, turned to Sadie, “You stupid cow.”
“You stinking bastard,” returned Sadie, equally furious. “You used me, you bugger.”
Mullett charged over. “What happened?”
“He fired at one of our men.” The walkie-talkie buzzed. Allen raised it to his ear. “But he’s OK, sir, not a scratch.”
“Right,” said Mullett. “We sit tight. We play it cool. We make no more moves.”
Ingram called Allen over the radio. “Eustace is back in the top room with the hostages. The kids are crying, the woman looks as if she’s passed out.”
“And what is Eustace doing?” asked Allen.
“Keeping well back, sir, pacing up and down. I think I could get a shot at him, sir. He’s away from the others.”
Allen could see Sadie, ears straining, listening to every word. He lowered his voice. “We’re playing it cool for a while. But be prepared.”
Sadie moved off into the darkness.
Frost had been talking to the drug pushers. A right pair of sullen charmers who were determined to say as little as possible. They wouldn’t enlarge about the sovereigns. They stole them and that’s all there was to it. They were vague about the details, both apparently unable to remember where in the house they had found the coins. And as far as the quantity was concerned, if the old girl said there was more, then the cow was lying.
Webster had been dispatched to check with Lil Carey. She had no doubts at all about the number of sovereigns. Why, thought Webster, was Frost making such a meal of it? They’d caught the thieves and they’d got a confession.
There was no reason for the men to lie about how much they had stolen; the sentence for the theft would be trivial compared with their sentence for pushing drugs, and it would run concurrently anyway.
But Frost kept niggling away at it, chewing it over and over. It was a welcome diversion when Wells stuck his head around the door.
“Lady to see you, Mr. Frost,” said the sergeant in his official voice.
“I’m not undressed yet,” said Frost. “Who is it?”
It was Sadie Eustace. She looked a mess. She’d been crying and her hair was in disarray. She declined the offer of tea but accepted one of Frost’s cigarettes. “They’ve got Stan holed up in a house in Farley Street.”
“So I hear, Sadie. Nothing I can do about it, I’m afraid.”
“The bastards are out to kill him, Jack. They’ve no intention of letting him come out alive. You’ve got to help.”
Frost folded his arms and leaned forward on his desk. “It’s not my case, Sadie. It’s Mr. Allen’s. He may be a bastard, but he’s straight. He won’t let anything happen to Stan.”
“Look at me, Jack. I’m bloody desperate.” She held up her face, which was drawn and tear-stained. “Get him out of there, please!”
Frost opened his door and yelled to Sergeant Wells. “What’s the latest on the siege?”
“Stanley’s now threatening to kill the hostages one by one if his demands aren’t met by midnight.”
“He doesn’t mean it, Jack it’s just a bluff,” Sadie blurted. Frost waved her to silence.
“And what are his demands?” he asked Wells.
“A fast car, fully tanked up, no pursuit, and one of the hostages to go with him. There’s no way we’re giving him that.”
Frost closed the door. It was half past eleven. He retrieved an opened packet of salted peanuts from his in-tray and shook a few into his hand. There was nothing he could do for Stan, nothing at all. But he wished Sadie wouldn’t look at him like that. He sighed and shot the salted peanuts into his mouth.
“All right, Sadie, what exactly do you want me to do?”
“Get Stan out of there alive, Jack, and name your price.”
“My price is 20 for a short time, 50 for all night, but I’m willing to do it for free if you treat me gently.” He stood up.
“You’ll do it?” gasped Sadie.
“If I can, love, but a lot depends on Stan. If he blasts my brains out as I come up the stairs, then I might have to let you down.”
“No chance of that, Jack. He trusts you.”
“Then he’s a bigger fool than I take him for.”
He unhooked his mac from the coat peg, then slowly wound the scarf around his neck, hoping that Wells would come crashing in at the last minute, like the United States Cavalry, to announce that Eustace had given himself up.
“I’m going to get myself into trouble, son,” he told Webster as he fastened the final button. “If you want a laugh, come with me. If you want to keep your nose clean… stay here with Sadie.”
“I’m not bloody staying here,” said Sadie defiantly. “I’m going with you.”
“What’s your plan?” asked Webster.
“Plan?” said Frost. “Since when did I ever make plans? I shall just barge in and hope for the best.”
Webster reached for his coat. “I’ll come with you.”
“You’re a bloody fool, too!” said Frost.
The situation at Farley Street had suddenly worsened. Eustace was showing signs of cracking up. Allen’s last attempt to talk to him had ended with the gunman screaming abuse, waving the gun wildly, and showing all the signs of losing control. There was now serious concern for the safety of the hostages. Indeed, Eustace had reiterated his threat to kill them one by one if the car wasn’t ready and waiting at the stroke of midnight.
Allen was now pinning his hopes on a plan to get some men inside the house by hacking a way through to the roof space from the premises next door. This was proceeding very slowly, as the task needed to be performed silently, and the midnight deadline was fast approaching.
And as
if there wasn’t enough to worry about, he now had that half-wit Frost to contend with. The man had barged in with some harebrained scheme involving his getting inside and talking Eustace out.
“No way, Frost. I don’t want any bloody heroes, thank you. The man’s trigger-happy and cracking up. He’s itching for an excuse to kill someone.”
He moved away and radioed the men working on the roof space for a situation report. “We’re getting there slowly,” he was told, ‘but we keep hitting snags. There’s pipes and steel joists all over the place.” When he turned around again, Frost had gone;
“Where’s Mr. Frost?” he demanded of the constable guarding the entrance to the back of the garden.
The constable pointed. “In the garden, sir. Trying to get to the house.”
“Why the hell didn’t you stop him?”
“Stop him, sir? He said you had given permission.”
“Mr. Allen!” Ingram was calling over the radio. “I can see someone in the garden, sir.”
“I know. It’s that bloody fool Frost!”
Frost was flat on his face, inching toward the back door. Stan wasn’t a killer. He knew he wouldn’t fire, just as he had known that doped-up kid at the bank wouldn’t fire, the one who had put the bullet hole through his cheek.
He was crawling through wet grass and wished he had never started this. Something tugged at his neck. He froze, then, very slowly, looked around. A rose bush had snagged his scarf. He unwound it from his neck and left it behind.
Inspector Allen was aware of someone hovering at his side, trying to attract his attention. “I’m busy,” he snapped. Then he saw the gleaming silver. “Sorry, Superintendent… didn’t know it was you.”
“What’s the position?… Is that Frost? You surely haven’t allowed Frost…?”
Allen cut him off. “I told him not to, sir… specifically told him not to. He disobeyed my order and now I’m wasting my time trying to prevent him, and the hostages, being killed through his own stupidity.”
Mullett’s jaw set. This was intolerable. This was the last straw. He could feel the nerve in his forehead starting to pulsate. “Get him out of there,” he snapped.
“We can’t, sir,” replied Allen. “He hasn’t got a radio. If we yelled out to him, it would attract Eustace’s attention.”
“I don’t give a damn about that,” said Mullett. “If he wants to risk his stupid neck, that’s his lookout, but I’m not having him risk the lives of the hostages. Call him back.”
Allen sighed but reached for the loud hailer and raised it to his lips. A car door slammed in the background. His radio paged him. He clicked it on and listened, then turned to the Superintendent. “The Chief Constable is here, sir… on his way over to us.”
Mullett pushed down the hand holding the loud hailer. “Hold it, Inspector. I don’t want the Chief to know we have dissension in the ranks.”
Allen put the loud hailer on the ground. Mullett began flicking invisible specks from his uniform and smoothing down his moustache. Allen ruffled his hair and loosened his tie. He thought the Chief Constable would be more impressed with a police officer who looked as if he had been working than with an immaculate tailor’s dummy.
The Chief Constable marched briskly over, slapping his gloves against his leg. “A quick update please, Mr. Mullett.” Mullett had just started to explain when the Chief caught sight of Frost. “Good Lord! Is that Inspector Frost?”
Frost, his body wet with sweat and all his limbs aching, had reached the back door. He stretched up until his hand touched the door handle. Tentatively he turned it. The handle turned, but the door was double-bolted from the inside. Stan wasn’t stupid! He wished he’d worked out the problem of how to get inside before he took this mad plunge. A fine bloody fool he’d look if, without even getting over the first hurdle, he now had to worm his way back and face Allen’s wrath.
The next thing to try was the kitchen window. Pressing tight against the wall, he eased himself up and edged toward it. It was an old-fashioned sash type, and by pressing his face against the pane he could see the catch was fastened inside. To unfasten it he would have to break the glass, but could he break it without attracting the attention of Stan and his shotgun? He looked around him for something to use. In the flower bed at his feet was half a brick. He pulled it out and slipped off his mac, which he wrapped around it.
Allen, squinting through night-glasses, couldn’t make out what Frost was up to. It was Ingram, radioing through, who gave him the answer. “He’s going to break the window, sir.”
The bloody idiot! As soon as Eustace heard the glass break, he could take it out on the hostages. He might even lean from the window and shoot Frost… The temptation to let this happen was quickly dismissed, and Allen felt ashamed for even considering it. They would have to provide a distraction and quickly. He radioed through to all surrounding units. When he gave the signal they were to sound their horns and their sirens and keep them going until ordered to stop. This, he hoped, would drown the sound of breaking glass, or at least divert Eustace long enough for Frost to get inside.
The field glasses to his eyes, Allen watched. Frost had the wrapped brick balanced in his hand. “Allen to all units… Stand by.”
Frost shut his eyes, turned his head, and swung back the brick..
“Now!” screamed Allen. The cacophony shredded the night air into a thousand pieces.
“Stop that bloody noise!” screamed Eustace, dragging the woman again to the window.
“Off,” said Allen. Abruptly the noise stopped.
The contrasting silence was so tangible it could almost be touched.
Gritting his teeth, Frost slipped his hand through the broken windowpane and reached for the catch. A needle of broken glass slashed his wrist. Damn. He felt warm blood trickling down. He flicked the catch back, then scrabbled for the bottom of the window, which creaked peevishly as he raised it. Up with his knee to the sill, the jab of more broken glass, then he was over and inside the dark kitchen.
“He’s inside,” cried Allen. They now had no contact with him. All they could do was wait and see.
“Well done, Mr. Allen,” said the Chief Constable.
“Yes… well done,” added Mullett hastily.
From his vantage point across the road, Ingram again called Allen on the radio. “Sir. I have a clear, uninterrupted view of Eustace by the window. Permission to fire?”
“No, damn you,” snapped Allen. “Only at my specific command.” He turned to the Chief Constable. “I’m trying to bring this to a successful conclusion without a single shot being fired by the police, sir.”
“I quite agree,” said the Chief Constable, nodding.
“All the way,” echoed Mullett, feeling rather left out of things.
Frost crouched in the darkened room and wished the gash on his wrist would stop its sticky trickle. It felt as if gallons of blood were pumping out and it reminded him of the way ancient Romans committed suicide. His knee felt wet, sticky, and gritty from embedded chunks of glass. All in all he had made rather a mess of his spectacular entrance.
A door faced him. He limped over to it and cautiously pushed it open.
He could make out carpeted stairs leading to the upper rooms. Good. The carpet should deaden the sound of his approach. His impromptu plan was to creep into the room, get behind Stan, and throw him to the ground so he couldn’t use the shotgun. He fought several different versions of this encounter in his mind, but somehow they all seemed to end up with Stan on top of him and the shotgun barrel rammed halfway up his nose. But this was no time for pessimism.
He padded to the foot of the stairs and listened. All seemed quiet above. He tried the first stair, carefully placing his foot well to one side to avoid any creaking. Then the other foot. A splash of blood plopped to the stair carpet, marking his progress. He paused and listened. Nothing!
The next stair, then the next. His approach was absolutely soundless.
The SAS couldn’t have done it
any better.
He raised his head for the final stair and his heart suddenly stopped. The terrified face of a woman was staring at him. An arm encircled her neck. Jammed under her chin, the barrel of a shotgun. Behind her, a twitching Stanley Eustace, his finger quivering on the trigger.
“Shit!” said Frost. “I didn’t think you could hear me.”
“One move out of turn, Mr. Frost,” said Stan, ‘and I’m pulling this trigger.” And he pushed the barrel even more tightly under the woman’s chin. “Now, come up!” Frost had never seen the man as uptight as this before. He was a hairbreadth from breaking point.
“All right, I’m coming,” said Frost. “Don’t do anything daft.”
Pulling the woman back, Stanley led Frost into the bedroom. On chairs against the wall were two terrified young boys.
Eustace took the gun from the woman’s throat and pushed her away from him. “Go and sit down with your kids and not a move, do you hear? Not a move and not a word.” He swung the gun around to cover Frost.
“Sadie sent me,” said Frost. “She said you’d be pleased to see me. I wouldn’t have come had I known it would be like this.”
“I want a car,” said Eustace. “A getaway car. And they’ve got to promise not to come after me.”
“Sadie said if I came up here, you’d let the hostages go,” said Frost.
“No. I need them!” His finger kept touching the trigger then moving off.
“You don’t need them, Stanley. If you want a hostage, you’ve got me. Besides, you haven’t the slightest intention of harming them, and those kids ought to be in bed.”
Allen put down the phone. “Eustace says he’s letting the woman and the kids go, but Frost remains.”
“That’s excellent news,” said Mullett.
“Is it?” muttered Allen. “All we’ve done is swap one set of hostages for another. We’re back to where we started.”
“Jack Frost will get Stanley to come out, don’t you worry,” chimed Sadie. “He won’t let you bastards kill him.”
PC Collier, watching the garden, called out excitedly to Allen. “The hostages are coming out now, sir.”
Frost was reaching for his cigarettes. “Stan, if I take out a fag, will you promise not to blow my head off.”
A Touch of Frost djf-2 Page 37
