The Stranger You Know (Maeve Kerrigan Novels)

by Jane Casey

  “What did you do, Lee?” Derwent’s voice was sharp. “Did you shoot her?”

  “Sometimes you’ve got to stop talking and start doing. She never listened. I warned her about it and she never changed. Anyway, what do you care?” He held up the gun again, pointing it straight at Derwent’s chest. “Fucking stop moving or I’ll shoot you, too. I told you before, go away.”

  “Not going to happen, mate.” But Derwent had stopped. “I’m not going anywhere. She needs help and you need to put the gun down.”

  “I want my son. That bitch took him away from me. She poisoned his mind against me. She made him say he didn’t want to see me. Me! His daddy.” Lee was shaking his head, incredulous. “It broke my heart. If no one’s going to listen to me, and people like me, it’s time to take control. It’s time to do something that can’t be ignored.”

  “This isn’t the right way to go about getting him back,” Derwent said. “This is going to fuck up your chances something chronic unless you stop shooting and start thinking. Give me the gun and let’s get an ambulance for the lady.”

  “She’s a whore and she deserved what she got.”

  I was close enough now to see that the weapon was not a handgun, which made sense because they were illegal and hard to come by on the street. It was a modified starter’s pistol—still illegal but much cheaper and easier to get hold of. It would be unpredictable even in an expert’s hands, and risky to use. His aim would be rotten. There was a very good chance he’d have bent the firing pin with his first shot, making the gun useless. Then again, he might not. I doubted he was using heavy ammunition, but at close range a small projectile could kill. I wished I could see more of the woman on the ground. I took out my phone and murmured a report to the operator, telling the paramedics to expect at least one gunshot victim.

  “This isn’t going to help,” Derwent said again. “This was a bad idea and you need to start thinking about how you’re going to walk away from it.”

  “This is what I was driven to do. The courts don’t listen to men. They don’t listen to honest, straight-talking people. They don’t value fathers, except as a source of income for lazy sluts like Marianne.”

  Marianne, I assumed, was the woman lying on the ground.

  “You sound like Philip Pace,” Derwent said. “That Dads Matter guy.”

  “Philip Pace is the only person willing to stand up to the feminazi left-wing cunts who are running this country.”

  I tried to think of a woman of any political persuasion with real power, currently, and failed. Somehow, I didn’t think Lee was in the mood for a discussion about it.

  Proving that he was the worst negotiator possible, Derwent was getting annoyed. He dropped the all-in-it-together matey tone and spoke in his usual trenchant way. “Pace is an egomaniac. He’s in it for the attention and the fame. He doesn’t care about you.”

  “He’s the only one who cares. The only one.”

  “Mate, you are fucking deluded. But then again, you must be if you’re standing in the middle of a playground waving a gun around.”

  “Have you got kids?” Lee asked. “Do you even understand what I’m trying to do here?”

  “I don’t think you even know what you’re trying to do. This was never going to go well, was it?”

  “I don’t care what you think. It’s none of your business.”

  “You’ve made it my business. I don’t give a flying fuck through a rolling doughnut about your marriage problems, but I do want to see everyone make it home in one piece.”

  “It’s a bit late for that now.”

  “It’s not too late. It will be when the firearms officers turn up and shoot you because you’re armed and dangerous. They don’t mess about. They will kill you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Course you do. You want to see your little boy grow up. That’s what this is all about, according to you. You can do that if you put the gun down and give yourself up.” The thud-thud-thud of a helicopter sounded overhead, approaching fast. Derwent spoke louder to be heard over it. “You’re about to get into a world of shit, mate. I reckon you’ve got about three minutes to get this sorted. The thing about firearms officers is that they spend their lives training for this moment, and they’re trained to shoot to kill. Head, chest, boom. You know they’re going to take the shot if you give them the opportunity. Be smart about it.”

  “Are you a copper?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why aren’t you in uniform?”

  “I’m CID. An inspector. So I know what I’m talking about.”

  I decided that was my cue and moved forward. “These women and children have nothing to do with you. It’s time to let them leave.” They would have to walk past him to get to the gate, unfortunately. The railings around the park were designed to keep people out. They were high and not climbable.

  The gunman looked at me for the first time, then swung around to check on the group huddled behind him. The screaming had stopped but someone was sobbing, a dry and terrible sound that made my stomach contract. “They’re not going anywhere.”

  Derwent shook his head. “Not helping anyone, my friend. Buy yourself some time. Let them go.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t need them. They’re just one more thing to think about.”

  I risked a look over my shoulder and saw that the promised backup had arrived, though I couldn’t yet see the distinctive blue boiler suits and body armor of the Met’s firearms unit, SO19. I could see three officers from where I was standing, all more or less camouflaged behind cars, which meant there were a lot more I couldn’t see, but they would have tasers at best. Too far away to help at the moment.

  And the only consolation was that if they had been armed, I’d have been standing in the middle of their field of fire.

  “I want to take a hostage,” the man said. “One of them has to stay.”

  “Not a chance. Move toward them and I’ll have to stop you.” Derwent sounded very sure of himself. The helicopter hovered overhead, not so low that we could feel the wind from the rotors, but low enough that it was necessary to shout.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I’d have to.”

  “I’ll shoot you,” Lee promised, pointing the gun at Derwent again. “You know I will.”

  Derwent took a step closer, getting into position. “Get them moving, Kerrigan.”

  I went past the two of them quickly, not even acknowledging the possibility that it might be dangerous, though fear was a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach. I was less afraid for myself than for the children. And Derwent, who hadn’t the sense he was born with, who lived to be a hero.

  I chose an older woman who looked calmer than the rest and had two little girls by the hand. “Walk, don’t run, and small groups. You three first.”

  She nodded and led them across the playground toward the gate, not running but not dawdling either. I sent another two after her, and then four, watching to make sure they made it. The first woman crossed the road and disappeared around the corner and I knew the officers were directing them from their hiding places behind the cars, sending them out of sight to safety. Another four. Three. Five together, taking a chance but they were all holding hands, two women and three children. The group was dwindling now and as I got down to the last few they were getting more agitated. One of them was holding a squirming little boy. She was on the verge of hysterics.

  “I can’t do it. I can’t.”

  “Calm down.” I put a hand on her shoulder and held on while I sent another two women to safety, carrying their children. “You’ll walk with me.”

  “Don’t make me. Please.”

  “It’ll be all right.” Her panic was starting to affect the others who were left: two women who looked like a mother and daughter and a little girl who was clinging to the younger woman like a koala. “You’ve seen everyone else do it. It’ll be fine.”

  Derwent was talking to the gunman all the time, hi
s voice low and calm. I knew he wanted me to hurry up: I could practically hear him thinking it. I made myself be patient.

  “All right, ladies. We’ll all go together. No crying, no screaming, no running. Let’s not frighten the children.”

  “But I’m scared,” the panicking woman wailed, and I saw Lee turn around. Derwent leaned forward, still talking, trying to get his attention back, but he was focused on us now.

  “Walk,” I said through gritted teeth and took her by the arm, marching her toward the gate as if I was taking her into custody. I took the side closer to Lee, shielding her from him as I strode past, but he leaned forward and saw her.

  “Izzy, you cow. This is all your fault.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me back so he could reach her, lifting the gun to point it straight at her head.

  I still had a firm hold on Izzy and I dragged her with me, turning away from the gun so I was between the two of them, staring at her terrified face and the small head of the boy she was holding against her, his face buried in her shoulder. I was glad I couldn’t see the gun any more and I was glad I wouldn’t have any warning when he fired. Everything seemed to have gone quiet and I felt detached from gravity, floating in the moment.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a movement: Derwent charging the last few feet to grab for the gun. Too slow. Too late.

  When it came, the shot sounded like the end of the world. Izzy dropped to the ground and I went with her, sprawling on the rubberized surface. Behind me, Derwent staggered, off balance. I could see his lips moving but I couldn’t hear anything because my ears were ringing from the shot, and I couldn’t tell if I was hurt or Izzy was or God forbid if the boy was injured. I checked them both and found they weren’t shot after all and the sound was starting to come back as if someone was turning up the volume, the low tones of the helicopter first, and screaming, and a voice shouting instructions to the gunman.

  I looked around and saw Derwent still on his feet but only just, stepping back and back, trying to remain upright and failing. Falling. It seemed to happen in slow motion, and I’d never thought I’d see him defeated but his face showed it: resignation. He hit the ground hard, falling back onto one shoulder, his head smacking a paving slab that was concrete, not the soft, yielding surface of the playground. I had no time to think about him because I was still turning and saw Lee, his face the color of ice, and he lifted the gun again even as I looked up at him, pointing it at my face. He’d swapped hands, I saw. Blood was dripping from his right hand. Even money the gun had misfired that time. It was probably wrecked. Useless. He’d be right-handed, at a guess, and his reactions would be slower when he was using his left. I could rush him. Grab the gun. Disable him, as Derwent had intended to.

  I couldn’t move.

  Behind me, Izzy scrambled to her feet and ran, holding her boy. I counted her steps, visualizing the path to the gate, to the pavement outside, the sanctuary of the police cordon. They would help them.

  No one could help me.

  “No shot, no shot.” Pure frustration: between the playground equipment and the civilian coming through the gate with her child, the armed officers were at the wrong angle to take Lee out. A shout came in response, and a bit of basic training resurfaced at just the right moment. I got low, wrapped my arms around my head and waited as something rushed past me quicker than any human being could move, flying through the air with one intention. To kill.

  And I heard Lee scream as he hit the ground with eighty pounds of Belgian Malinois on top of him.

  It was moments before the handler caught up with his dog, followed by what seemed to be the entire SO19 team, but it felt like forever. I uncurled myself and remained wary, remembering the question one of my fellow recruits had asked of the dog handler the day we got our training in working with canines.

  “How do they know not to bite police officers?”

  “They don’t. They’ve got a high prey drive. To them, we all look like legitimate targets.”

  “Can’t you train them not to bite people in uniform?”

  He had shrugged. “Why bother? Keep your distance. They like doing their jobs. They get excited. Get in their way and they’ll bite you.”

  Lee was the ultimate legitimate target and on this occasion the dog was taking great pleasure in teaching him a lesson. One of the firearms officers retrieved the gun as the rest of them kept a respectful distance. The handler tried, not very hard, to persuade the dog to let go of Lee’s arm.

  “Come on, Bruiser. Good lad.”

  Bruiser wagged his tail ecstatically. His jaws remained clamped on Lee’s biceps. Lee was still making a fair amount of noise, but it was terrified moaning now, not screaming or invective. It made a nice change.

  I didn’t stay to watch the show. I was more worried about Lee’s victims. The paramedics were crouching around the woman who was now on her side in the recovery position. The ground where she’d been lying was saturated with blood but she was talking to the paramedics and it was her left shoulder that was injured rather than any vital organs. I ran over.

  “Marianne? Where’s your son? Where’s your little boy? Is he all right?”

  She looked up at me, huge-eyed. “I told him to hide. I didn’t want him to see Lee like that.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In the ladybird.”

  I looked around wildly, then saw what she meant: a big red plastic ladybird with steps up the back and a slide down the front. It was hollow and there was an opening in the side to a space underneath.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Alfie.”

  I went over and crouched beside the ladybird. “Alfie? You can come out now.”

  “I’m playing hidey seek. Wiv Mummy.”

  “That game’s over. It’s time to come out. Mummy’s waiting.”

  “You have to count.” A furious face appeared at the opening: his mother’s eyes, his father’s mouth, white-blond hair. He was three or four and he was livid. “I been waiting for her. For ages. If you want to play, you have to count.”

  One of the paramedics came and crouched down beside me. He was a fatherly type, mid-forties and he winked at Alfie before muttering to me, “I’ll take care of this. I think you’re needed over there.”

  I looked where he was pointing and went cold. Derwent was still on the ground, with another team of paramedics gathered around him, and uniformed officers standing behind them, looking grave. I flew across the playground and shouldered my way through the sightseers, dropping to my knees beside Derwent’s head. He was awake, sheet-white and quivering with pain.

  “What happened? Where did he get you?”

  “He’s been shot in the thigh,” a young woman replied. She was a doctor, according to her high-visibility jacket, and she was preparing a syringe. “This will help, Josh.”

  “What is it?” he ground out between gritted teeth. “Morphine? I don’t want it.”

  “It will help with the pain.”

  “I can cope with the pain.” Typical macho Derwent. He was sweating.

  “You don’t have to cope with it. We can take it away.”

  He waved a hand at her, very definitely saying no, and looked at me. “What a fuck-up.”

  “You took one for the team,” I said.

  “It fucking hurts.” He grabbed my hand and held on to it, digging his fingers in. “Sorry. It helps.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I can’t believe he shot me.”

  “He did warn you.”

  “Yeah, but I thought he was faking.” He looked up at the sky. “You win some, you lose some. How does it look?”

  I glanced down at his leg. They were holding a pad over the entrance wound and had slipped another under his thigh, so I couldn’t see how bad the damage was, but it looked nasty. I kept my voice light. “I think your trousers have had it. You’ll probably keep the leg, though.”

  “Of course he will.” The doctor glowered at me. “It’s a through and through. I think the bu
llet grazed the bone which is why he’s in so much pain.”

  “Did you get that?” I asked Derwent, who had shut his eyes.

  “Every word.” He squeezed my hand again. “Sorry I didn’t do a better job.”

  “You were amazing.”

  “If I had a pound for every time a woman’s said that to me…”

  “You’d have a pound,” I finished.

  “Got it in one.” Derwent winced. “Jesus God.”

  “Just have the morphine. You’ve done enough heroics for one day.”

  “One lifetime.” He shook his head. “No, thanks. I don’t like morphine. It makes me say what I really think.”

  I regarded him with awe. “You mean there’s usually a filter? I can’t imagine what you stop yourself from saying given the stuff you come out with.”

  “Just as well.” He lifted his head up and eyeballed the doctor. “I mean it. Put the needle down. I’ll survive.”

  “Yes, you will,” the doctor said crisply. “But we need to move you now.”

  I let go of Derwent’s hand.

  “Hey,” he said, protesting. “Come back, Maeve.”

  “There’s no room in the ambulance,” one of the paramedics told him.

  “I’ll see you at the hospital,” I promised.

  “You’d better.”

  I watched them lift him onto a stretcher and wheel him to the waiting ambulance, and I was so busy staring at that I completely missed the black Mercedes stopping beside the park. Godley was standing beside me before I registered he had arrived.

  “What’s going on? What happened? What was Josh even doing here?”

  I looked up at Godley. “He called me Maeve. He never calls me Maeve.”

  Then, to my eternal shame, I burst into tears.

  WEDNESDAY

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Christ, you look worse than I do.”

  “That’s debatable,” I said, dropping my bag on the end of Derwent’s bed and perching beside it. “Anyway, why wouldn’t you look well rested? All you’ve had to do for the last twenty-four hours is lie in bed.”