Where the Silence Calls

by M J Lee

  ‘Charlie?’

  ‘She couldn’t give us an ID of him, boss. Didn’t look at the face, just noticed the walking stick.’

  They marched towards the block of flats. Both ends of the street had been blocked and they showed their warrant cards to the constable guarding entry. Ridpath stared up at the orange-clad building towering above him.

  ‘The block was constructed four years ago. That’s when they added the cladding. To make it look prettier, someone said. Still looks like a tower block to me.’

  ‘Which one is 2E?’

  Caruso pointed to a window at the south-eastern corner. We’re just checking who lives there now.’

  ‘Have you requested an Armed Response Unit?’ asked Ridpath

  The chief inspector looked at him for the first time. ‘On its way. ETA four minutes.’

  ‘Good, well done, Lorraine. Push the cordons further out. I don’t want anyone to come close. We’ll set up HQ here. Where’s the incident commander?’

  ‘Over there.’ Lorraine pointed to a man in a bright yellow fire helmet. Ridpath recognised him as Dave Greene, from the fire at Joseph Brennan’s flat.

  ‘Have we tried to call Charlie?’

  ‘He’s not answering his mobile, boss.’

  ‘Get a telephone number for the flat. We need to talk to him before he does anything stupid.’

  ‘Yes, guv’nor.’ Caruso hurried off to organise her team.

  The incident commander marched up to them. ‘It’s you again, Ridpath, you turn up like a bad penny at these things.’

  ‘Hi, Dave, there’ve been a few recently.’

  ‘Are your men ready, Commander?’ asked Trent.

  ‘Ready for what?’

  ‘Ready for anything and everything. We know there’s at least one man in the flat. He could be planning to set this whole building on fire.’

  ‘Shit.’ Dave Greene’s worst nightmares flashed before his eyes. ‘We surveyed this building six months ago. Its panelling is potentially worse than at Grenfell. It could go up like a bonfire.’

  ‘How long do we have?’

  ‘Once a fire starts? If Grenfell’s anything to go by, about ten minutes. But this stuff is even more flammable.’

  ‘How could they build this crap?’

  ‘That’s what the fire service has been saying for years. But nobody was listening.’

  Caruso reappeared with the head of the Armed Response Unit, James Fenton, and handed her boss a phone. ‘We’re dialling the landline in the flat now, boss.’

  Trent listened to the ringing tone for twenty seconds. No answer.

  She handed the phone back. ‘Keep trying, Lorraine. If Charlie is in there, we need to get in touch with him.’

  She turned to the ARU officer. ‘We need to get in there before he starts a fire. Are your men ready?’

  He nodded. ‘We’re ready.’

  Ridpath could almost smell the adrenaline on the man. He glanced down at Fenton’s black calf-length boots. The officer was shifting weight from one leg to the other like a runner desperate for the starting gun.

  Dave Greene stepped forward. ‘We need to evacuate the building before you send your men in. If he starts a fire, with this cladding it could spread out of control in a few minutes. You could have another Grenfell on your hands.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Evacuate the building now.’

  Trent frowned. ‘It may cause a panic and spook our fire-starter.’

  Ridpath glanced at the hive of activity and flashing lights. ‘If he hasn’t been spooked already…’

  Trent thought for a moment. ‘You’ve got ten minutes to get everybody out of there and then we go in.’

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Tenants began to stream out through the entrance of Bruton Place. Some were carrying their possessions: teddy bears, photographs, bedding, even an old bike. Others had nothing except the clothes they were wearing. Most were calm and collected, but some were agitated.

  ‘When can we go back?’

  ‘I need to go back to bed before my shift.’

  ‘What about my dinner?’

  Two old people, with their arms around each other, were looking tired and confused. ‘Where are we going? What do we do?’

  Ridpath detached himself from the group of officers surrounding Claire Trent. ‘This way, come this way. The community centre is open, you can go and get a cup of tea there and a biscuit.’ A PCSO ran up to help him.

  ‘But we’ve never been to the community centre,’ said the old woman.

  The PCSO held out his arm for the woman to take.

  ‘Where are we going? Is there a war on?’

  ‘No, ma’am. There’s just a problem with one of the flats. The police are evacuating everybody for their safety.’

  ‘It feels like when I was a young girl and the Germans were bombing Manchester. Such terrible fires then…’

  ‘Come along and have a cup of tea. There’s some biscuits too.’

  The three of them slowly walked to the community centre as Ridpath watched them go. He hurried back to Trent.

  ‘We’ll be ready to go in five minutes. Are your officers in position, James?’

  The man in charge of the ARU nodded. ‘We have snipers positioned overlooking the flat. A team will go in as soon as you give the order, ma’am.’

  ‘Is everybody out, Dave?’

  Ridpath glanced back to the entrance. A few stragglers were coming through the open doors, chivvied along by firemen and the police. One large, rotund man wearing a United shirt was shouting at the top of his voice. He was pushing against a uniformed sergeant.

  ‘This ain’t right, this ain’t. You can’t stop me from going into my flat. I know my rights.’

  ‘It’s for your own good, sir. You’ll be allowed in as soon as we deem it safe.’ The sergeant was trying to keep him moving away from the building.

  ‘Safe? It’s not safe? We told the council about the cladding two years ago and nothing was done. Now you’re telling me it’s not safe?’

  ‘Please move along, sir. The community centre is open.’

  ‘I know my rights, you can’t stop me…’ He tried to dodge around the sergeant and another officer.

  The sergeant moved in front of him. ‘You have a choice, sir. You either move along or I arrest you for obstruction. You can either spend some time in the community centre or a night in the cells. It’s up to you.’

  The man looked around for support and found none. ‘Right, I’m going down the pub to write a letter to my MP. You can’t treat people like this.’ He stormed off in the direction of the King’s Arms.

  The sergeant ran across to the group around Trent. ‘The building is clear, ma’am.’

  ‘All the flats are empty?’

  ‘As far as we can make out. We knocked on all the doors but there was no answer in some.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant Harris.’

  ‘Are your men ready, Dave?’

  ‘The pumps are manned and the ladder is ready. We’ll move in as soon as you give the order. But the safety of my men must be my priority.’

  ‘Understood, Dave.’

  ‘James, get your men into position.’

  ‘Aye, ma’am. We’ll move in at 6:30 p.m. exactly. That’s in three minutes.’

  ‘I want whoever is in there taken alive, if possible.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘But remember, Charlie Whitworth is an ex-police officer and has received firearms training.’

  ‘I understand, ma’am.’

  ‘Charlie won’t be armed. He would never use a gun against another officer.’

  ‘We don’t know that, Ridpath,’ said Trent curtly. ‘You have your orders, James, carry them out.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Can I go with them, guv’nor?’

  Trent thought for a moment.

  ‘I know Charlie and he knows me. If he’s in there on his own, I can talk to him, get him to come out.’
<
br />   ‘Right. James, have you got an extra vest?’

  ‘Of course, ma’am’

  ‘In you go, Ridpath, but you’re under the command of Fenton. You obey his orders, understood?’

  ‘Yes, guv’nor.’

  Fenton took his arm. ‘This way, we’ll suit you up.’

  A shudder went down his spine. He didn’t have a good feeling about this operation.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  James Fenton, the commander of the Armed Response Unit, adjusted his bulletproof vest, pulling it down over his stomach. It was a little tighter than it used to be. Either he had put on weight or the vest had shrunk. He was sure it wasn’t the latter.

  He gathered his five-man team around him. ‘Listen up, there is one man, possibly two in the flat. At least one of them has received firearms training and is an ex-copper. Our call sign is Team Alpha, with me as one and the rest – two, three, four and five. And six.’ He gestured to each man as he numbered them off, ending with Ridpath. ‘I’ll be on point with Trev as my second. When we get to the door, I’ll be in first followed by Simon. Ridpath will be third. The living room is straight ahead with a bedroom and bathroom on the left and a kitchen on the right. Steve and Mike will go left and myself and Simon will go right. Once they are clear, we will go on to the living room. Is that understood?’

  Each man nodded in turn.

  ‘Only open fire if your life is being threatened. Understand?’

  They all nodded again.

  He checked his watch. ‘We move in thirty seconds. Check your equipment. Be careful, people.’

  All the men went through the ritual of adjusting the straps of their matt black helmets, pulling down the edges of their black ski masks to cover the tops of their jumpsuits and Nomex undergarments, tightening their stab vests and checking the safety catch on their Heckler & Koch rifles.

  Ridpath stood there watching them, admiring the casual professionalism of their movements.

  ‘Ready? Move.’ Fenton raised his arm and pointed it in the direction of the lobby.

  Like the well-drilled team they were, they entered the building in a long line, each man checking to his right and left, sighting along the barrel of his rifle. They reached the bottom of the stairs and began to climb, looking up at the flight above in case they were attacked. They moved quickly and silently up the stairs, their rubber soles making no noise on the tiled floor.

  Ridpath stayed in the middle, following exactly in the footsteps of the man in front.

  Fenton reached a fire door and stopped. A large red 2 painted on the wall next to his head. He gestured for Trev Davis to be point going through the door and for Ridpath to get behind him.

  He listened for a moment.

  Nothing. Just the creaking of the building.

  He opened the fire door and peered out along the corridor.

  Empty.

  The target flat was at the end of the corridor on the right.

  He beckoned his men forward, with Trev leading, and silently they flowed through the door, separating into two groups, hugging opposite walls of the corridor.

  Ridpath took the left side, sliding along the wall, keeping pace with the man in front.

  Halfway along, a child’s red fire engine had been left in the middle of the floor. Fenton gestured towards it, indicating his men should not touch it.

  They carried on moving.

  The silence was deafening now. An eerie silence in a building that should have been full of life and noise.

  Fenton reached the door and hugged the wall next to it. He took three deep breaths and checked the men were all with him.

  Ridpath looked down at this watch. Only thirty seconds had gone since they started. It felt like thirty hours.

  Fenton shifted position, leaning closer to the door to listen for movement inside.

  No sound.

  For a second, the words ‘as silent as a grave’ flashed through Ridpath’s head, but he quickly shook them off.

  Focus. Concentrate.

  Fenton called Trev Davis forward. Trev was their biggest officer so he was in charge of the Enforcer, known as the ‘Big Red Key’.

  Silently the man positioned himself in front of the door. He raised the battering ram and waited for his team leader’s signal.

  Fenton listened once more.

  Ridpath leant in to listen too.

  Nothing.

  Three deep breaths and Fenton raised his arm, bringing it down in a swift chopping stroke.

  Trev crashed the Enforcer into the point where the door lock met the surround. The door crunched and smashed open wide.

  ‘Move. Move. Move,’ shouted James Fenton.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Outside the tower block, Claire Trent looked across as the snake of Armed Response Unit officers vanished into Bruton Place, Ridpath an incongruous figure in the middle. She wished she were with them, it would be so much easier than being stuck out here.

  She glanced over at Lorraine Caruso. Her DCI was standing still, not a trace of emotion on her face, her forehead uncreased, unworried. Only the set of her jaw betrayed her tension. In her hand, an Airwave relayed the sounds of the operation.

  The last words of James Fenton before they began to move.

  The breathing of the man as he climbed the stairs.

  The creak of the fire door as it opened.

  Next to her, Dave Greene crossed himself, moving his hand quickly across his chest.

  The rest of the team, including Caruso, just stood and watched.

  To the rear, the noise of the crowd was getting louder behind the police tape. Off to the right a reporter was interviewing the man wearing the United shirt on camera, in front of a white van with a large satellite dish on top.

  Other reporters and their photographers had decamped off to the left, hoping to get a better view of the action.

  The light was still perfect and, for once, Manchester had decided this was not the time for rain.

  As one person, the team around Trent shifted its gaze to the window on the south-eastern corner of the building.

  The radio in Caruso’s hand still relayed the sounds of the operation.

  More breathing.

  The soft swoosh of rubber soles against tiled floors.

  The thud of a body landing on a wall.

  Followed by a loud crash and the shouted words ‘Move. Move. Move.’

  The door crashing against a wall again.

  Shouts of ‘Three. Bathroom, clear. Over.’

  A few seconds later, ‘Five. Bedroom, clear. Over.’

  More banging. A shout. This one louder and from Fenton himself. ‘One. Kitchen, clear. Over.’

  Then a slight pause, punctuated by heavy breathing. ‘Going in.’

  Then Ridpath’s voice. ‘Jesus Christ.’

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Ridpath stood at the entrance as the ARU teams flowed to the left and right, checking the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom.

  ‘Three. Bathroom, clear. Over.’

  ‘Five. Bedroom, clear. Over.’

  The banging of the door at the end of the corridor, followed by a loud shout at the end of the corridor, this one from Fenton himself. ‘One. Kitchen, clear. Over.’

  The team assembled in the short corridor that led to the living room. Fenton beckoned Ridpath forward and positioned him directly to his rear. Then he whispered, ‘Going in’ into his Airwave and inched his way forward. Ridpath followed close behind. On the opposite wall, Trev advanced so he was level with them, his Heckler & Koch pointing the way.

  Fenton stuck his head round the corner and immediately jerked it back. He pulled Ridpath close to him, whispering, ‘One person, sitting in a chair, his mouth is covered. Is it your man?’

  Ridpath edged forward in front of Fenton. ‘Charlie, is that you?’ he said calmly.

  A muffled sound was the only response.

  ‘Charlie, it’s me, Ridpath. I’m going to come forward slowly. Don’t do anything rash, Charlie,
we don’t want anybody to get hurt.’

  As Ridpath moved forward, Trev, the ARU man, inched level with him, the Heckler & Koch covering his every move.

  ‘I’m going to look round the corner now, just so you can see it’s me.’

  More muffled noises from inside.

  Ridpath took a deep breath. His heart was beating so fast it was ready to burst out of his chest. His legs felt weak and his mouth was dry. ‘I’m looking now, Charlie.’

  He counted to three and leant slowly out so he could see round the corner.

  Charlie was sitting in a chair, his mouth bound with flesh-coloured masking tape. His wrists were handcuffed to the metal arms and his legs bound with more tape. His eyes seemed to be imploring Ridpath to do something, to help him. He struggled in the chair, muffled sounds coming from his mouth.

  ‘Is anybody else here, Charlie?’

  The man violently shook his head.

  On Ridpath’s right, Trev took a step forward, covering Charlie all the time with his rifle.

  Then another step.

  Suddenly the whole room erupted with noise. A wall of orange flame headed straight for Ridpath, throwing him backwards into Fenton and onto the floor.

  Trev, who had stepped forward, was thrown up into the air, coming down on his back against a wall.

  Ridpath’s ears were ringing and a strong smell of burning meat assaulted his nostrils. He shook his head, trying in vain to get rid of the smell.

  Inside the flat, a scream of pain cut through the noise and sound and smell.

  Ridpath tried to pick himself up but his legs were like jelly.

  Through the noise, he heard Fenton shouting, ‘Back, back.’

  A pair of strong arms pulled him out through the door and down the corridor, away from the screams, away from the smell of burning flesh.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Trent stared up at the window of the flat.

  A ball of orange flame suddenly erupted like a fireball from the middle window of the flat. The windows shattered, sending shards of glass falling to the ground below.

  ‘Shit,’ shouted Trent. She snatched the Airwave from Lorraine Caruso. ‘What’s happening? Fenton, are you OK? Come in, Fenton…’