by GB Williams
Piper swallowed, answered in a whisper. ‘DS Carlisle’s in there, he’s wearing a mike and he’s under strict instructions not to intervene unless there’s an actual threat to life.’
‘That was not part of the plan I approved.’
‘No, sir, last-minute addition. Carlisle’s idea.’
‘That boy’s too gung-ho, trying to prove himself.’
Piper had to agree with the gruff denouncement. Carlisle had potential, but there was something about him that meant he was never going to be a great officer. He was a touch too hotheaded; not over the top, but enough to bubble to the surface just when Piper didn’t need it to. He missed Bell’s level-headedness at his side. Not that Charlie had ever been one for sticking rigidly to the rules, but Piper had always known what he was up to, to the point where he had privately warned Charlie not to do something, knowing full well that he was still going to do it anyway. Like going to Phillip Mansel-Jones at night to rescue a little girl.
Piper stepped forward to get a better view as the bank door opened. The first thing they saw clearly were the man’s hands, open and up—assuring the viewing world he was unarmed—a scrap of paper held safely between his fingers. A smart-looking man stepped into the light. His hair was greying, his face and poise exuding an air of intelligence and strength.
‘Get on the ground!’
Piper wasn’t entirely sure who had shouted that order, but the released man stopped as he stepped off the wide pavement and into the road. His expression suggested he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Piper understood that, too.
‘Now!’
‘Oh for God’s sake!’
This voice Piper recognised as Lawson’s, the respected voice of reason throughout the station.
‘He’s a hostage, for crying out loud! Don’t treat him like a suspect.’ As the PC spoke, he pushed his way through the others and stepped into the no-man’s-land of the cordoned-off area. He stopped roughly a metre in front of the man from the bank. ‘Sir,’ Lawson said loudly, ‘I’m sorry to have to ask this, but I need to do a quick pat-down to make sure you aren’t armed in any way.’
The man gave a single nod. ‘Of course.’
Piper suspected that the man was used to command situations. He also suspected he was used to being in command and in business rather than the military. He stretched out his arms and moved his legs to a wider stance, standing still and patient as Lawson did the necessary checks. The PC paused only once to take something clearly heavy from the inside pocket of the man’s overcoat. Lawson asked, the man answered, but their exchange was too muted to carry. Lawson returned the item to the pocket and then turned, guiding the hostage through the lines of police and towards Piper and Broughton.
‘Are you Piper?’ the man asked Broughton, who stood erect and vaguely menacing in his uniform—the obvious figure of superiority.
‘I’m DCI Piper,’ Piper explained, ‘this is Superintendent Broughton. And you are?’
‘Brandon Hickson,’ the man replied and held out the paper to Piper. ‘This is for you.’
Piper took the paper, but didn’t immediately look at it. ‘Come this way please, sir.’
He pointed towards the temporary incident room inside the hairdresser’s. As they went in, Piper glanced at the two women at the rear of the shop. Apparently, they weren’t leaving. Piper would have to get that dealt with, but for now, he looked at the note. Obviously, it was a mobile phone number. He had the oddest feeling he recognised it. Chances were, it belonged to Teddington. Sitting together in a corner, Hickson proved clear and concise as he was debriefed, every fact matching what they knew so far and with welcome additional detail.
‘The woman who gave that number,’ Hickson said, ‘called herself Ari. One of the gunman recognised her as prison warden.’
Piper felt the death ray glance from Broughton fall upon him and he tried not to react. He also held back on advising Hickson that despite what the general public seemed to think, a prison warden was an American equivalent to ‘governor’ and it was more likely that the woman in question was simply a prison officer. Definitely was if his suspicions were correct and that was Ariadne Teddington. Had to be, really.
‘What do you know of her?’ Broughton asked.
Hickson turned to the older man. ‘Only what I’ve seen. She’s intelligent, courageous, and she’s prepared to put herself between the innocent and a loaded gun.’
Broughton was frowning. ‘Or is that an act? Is she working with them?’
‘No!’ Hickson was suddenly on his feet, equalling the height of DCS. ‘She’s trying to calm the situation, she’s trying to keep the people—the hostages—in there alive, but she’s in just as much danger as the rest of them, possibly more.’
For a moment, tense silence smothered the air as the two men glared at one another.
As a throat was cleared near the door, Piper turned to Siddig. ‘Yes?’
‘Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you’d like to know that the Press Liaison Officer has arrived. As have several TV crews, and the Police and Crime Commissioner.’
8
Teddington was overly aware of two things; the pain in her leg, and the one growing in everyone’s necks. Lucy was crying again. Her inescapable upset was in turn upsetting others. As irritating as Lucy was, it was Presswick’s tutting that was getting to Teddington.
Man’s an arse.
Mr Pink was pacing again, the two guns rattling at his side. His identity was no clearer in her head, but whatever his past, his present was the problem. His tension, like Lucy’s, was ratcheting her own tension. She didn’t need that. None of them did.
Teddington looked round. Her fellow hostages all looked pale, misery cast over every feature. Despite the cold, she could smell the sweat, the fear. She felt it too. But they had been here a while now—though she had no idea how long, having forgotten to put her watch on after changing the locks—and the fear level was declining. Silence was a suffocating shroud over them all. Teddington shifted, hung her head, felt her spine bowing under the weight. The waiting was a burden she didn’t want.
She heard a tut and a snap like a pinged rubber band. Looking up, she saw Brown was removing a latex glove to scratch heavily at his palm.
‘Mr Brown?’ White barked.
Mr Brown responded by removing the other glove and showing his hands. They were blotchy and looked a little swollen. Latex allergy. She looked at the others. They were, as far as she could tell, wearing latex gloves.
‘Make sure you don’t touch anything.’
The look in Mr Brown’s eyes suggested that he wasn’t that stupid. Even as he scratched, he turned back to the view outside.
Latex allergy. That made Teddington frown. Allergies were noted in prisoner files. That should narrow things down for her, but it didn’t. They tended only to take note of food and medicine allergies. A latex allergy wouldn’t be that big a deal, other than for cavity searches, in which case the prisoner would be asked at the time of the search anyway. Of course, latex condoms did make it into the facility. There might be rules against inmate sex, but it was stupid to imagine that it didn’t happen, and some of them needed a prophylactic to avoid the spread of infection.
‘What’s taking them so long?’ Mr Pink muttered.
Teddington switched her attention and found Mr Blue’s eyes upon her. He still seemed chilled out, relaxed. Smiling right at her, he reached into his pocket. She froze as his hand bunched inside, his fingers moving inside the brown leather.
Does he have another weapon?
Her heart was thumping, her mouth slack, as his hand slowly withdrew. His fingers shifted, a stick of gum appeared and he popped it straight into his mouth. His grin broke as he started to chew.
Bastard.
She glared at his cold amusement before she turned back to the front of the building, deliberately ignoring Mr Blue’s faint chuckle.
‘Mr Brown?’
Mr Brown turned his head slightly at Mr White’s call, but he co
ntinued to watch the road as he answered. ‘They’ll be asking the guy questions. How many? Who? Where? Getting a general sit-rep so they can make plans before calling.’
‘Plans?’ Mr Pink picked up. ‘What plans?’ He stopped pacing and stood glaring up at Mr Brown.
Mr Brown drew in a big breath as he turned to Mr Pink. ‘No idea.’
Mr Blue stepped forward, and whispered something to Mr White.
Again, the painful lull. A strained silence fell. Teddington controlled her breathing and heart rate. There was nothing worse than waiting.
A guitar stroke shook the air.
The opening riff of Highway to Hell with drum accompaniment powered across the room, making everyone jump.
Teddington shifted to take her phone from her coat pocket, flipped the phone case open, swore and refused the call.
Pain exploded through her side, air rushed from her lungs. Her torso slapped to the floor. She was twitching in pain, sprawled and unable to speak or control her body.
‘What’d ya do that for, you stupid bitch?’
Tears blurred her vision. She heard movement. Holding her side, she struggled to catch her breath. Hands were moving around her. Strong but careful, their grip sending spears of pain through every muscle as whoever it was helped her to sit. Thankfully the tight boning of the corset hidden beneath the bulky coat helped keep her body from misaligning too much, acting almost like a cast. The phone remained clutched tightly in her hand as she realised that Carlisle was helping her. He manoeuvred himself to sit behind her, letting her lean against him. Though every movement hurt like Mr Pink was kicking her all over again, she took shallow breaths and looked up, blinking her eyes dry. She focused on Mr White.
‘It was my mother,’ she gasped. Her breathing was ragged, and despite her efforts, tears were starting down her cheeks. When she tried to shift, her breath caught and she sagged, leaned completely against Carlisle, unable to support her own weight.
A collective breath went around the room as other mobiles started to ring.
‘Hand them over,’ Mr White ordered the close-gathered knot of hostages.
Mr Blue stepped forward. ‘Phones and wallets,’ he demanded. Teddington trembled as she turned her mother’s ring tone to vibrate only.
‘Yours?’ Mr Blue demanded, putting a gun to Samuel’s head.
‘We… we’re not allowed them.’ The man’s voice quivered in fear like the rest of his body. His lip was split and his chin swollen, starting to bruise.
‘We have to leave them in our lockers,’ Zanti explained as Samuel sobbed.
‘You?’ This time Mr Blue was focusing on Carlisle.
Carlisle passed the man a couple of folded bills from his back pocket.
‘Where’s your phone?’
‘Left it in the car.’
Teddington pulled out her purse. There wasn’t much cash inside, but there was one thing she couldn’t afford to lose. She opened the purse.
‘Leave the cards, they can’t save you.’
She didn’t care what Mr Blue said, it didn’t change her actions. ‘You can have all of that. They won’t do you much good anyway.’ She pulled the picture out and held the purse up to Mr Blue.
‘What is that?’
She glanced at the baby picture, longing to see that face again. ‘My daughter.’
‘Give it to me.’
‘No.’
A ripple of wordless disbelief ran though the bank.
‘Hand it over. You can take another.’
‘No, I can’t.’ Teddington unzipped the top three inches of her coat. ‘Sasha died two days after this was taken.’ She slipped the small image down her skin inside her top. ‘You can take my money, but you take this picture over my dead body.’ She underlined her statement by ramming her zip back up at, the last second pulling it forward so the zip didn’t bite her neck.
His gun moved closer. ‘Maybe I will.’
She dragged a breath in. With his gun pointed at her, she noticed that unlike Messers White, Pink and Brown, Mr Blue wasn’t wearing gloves. It was odd. ‘Maybe. But not right now. I’m still too valuable to you.’
‘Don’t expect that to last.’
She didn’t, but he was backing off and she wasn’t stupid enough to goad him further. She had the picture of her little girl. That was enough.
Mr Blue turned away and started taking batteries from handsets. He left everything in a pile on the counter. With the various metal casings, fingerprints were likely, but that wasn’t her problem. If anything, it was a bonus. She frowned as she saw him pull another wallet from his pocket, brown leather and anonymous. That was added to the pile.
That makes no sense.
With Mr Blue back in place, Mr Brown leant down slightly to speak in Mr Pink’s ear. Teddington strained to hear it.
‘The more damage you do to her, the more you do to us. Leave her alone.’
9
Piper followed in Broughton’s wake, heading towards the commissioner as she stepped from her car. He was aware of Andrews following them, standing to the rear.
Paula Sheldrake was a solid woman. Her hair might once have been naturally blonde, but it wasn’t now. If she’d been a man, Piper would have likened her to a prop forward. As a woman, the most terrifying nanny ever written into a Victorian gothic horror.
‘Commissioner.’ Broughton didn’t offer a salute to the elected post holder, so Piper didn’t either.
‘Chief Superintendent.’ She nodded towards Broughton, and her glance sliced coldly across Piper. ‘Chief Inspector Piper?’
They hadn’t met before and he wasn’t wearing uniform to give her any clues. He wasn’t pleased she knew, or had guessed, who he was. Top brass knowing your name was usually indicative of one of two things: either you were a rising star, or you were in serious trouble.
He knew he wasn’t a rising star. ‘Miss Sheldrake.’
‘It’s Mrs, but just use my surname.’ She turned back to Broughton.
‘We’ve set up a field office this way.’ Broughton led the way, Sheldrake by his side, Piper and Andrews following. ‘All calls are being routed to a central incident room at the station.’
Inside, she greeted Leigh Young, the Press Officer. The briefing was swift and accurate while politically minded.
Sheldrake turned to Andrews. ‘Men in position?’
Andrews nodded. ‘Ready and waiting.’
‘Good, but it seems the press are too.’ She looked to Young, who was already tapping something into the tablet she carried, nodded in satisfaction that all was ready. Sheldrake turned to Piper. ‘This contact name we have, Ari. What do we know of the woman? Sounds Arabic.’
‘According to Hickson,’ Young answered, ‘her accent’s pure English.’
‘So was Jihadi John’s, did it make him any less dangerous?’
‘No, ma’am, but—’
Sheldrake turned to Piper. ‘What makes you sure that she’s a customer and not a member of the gang?’
Piper chose his words carefully. ‘There’s nothing to indicate a connection.’
Sheldrake watched him with a cool regard. He figured she should’ve been a police officer: she’d have been fantastic in the interview room with glares like that. Suddenly she turned. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen.’ As she headed out, Young scurried behind.
Piper only withheld the groan long enough for Sheldrake’s determined stride to take her out of earshot.
‘Whatever you may think of her,’ Broughton half-whispered as he, Piper and Andrews moved outside and stood together watching the interview set up and start, ‘she’s very good at all this public relations stuff.’
‘True.’ She’d done a fine job controlling the media after the HMP Blackmarch riot.
‘Excuse me,’ Andrews said and headed back to the surveillance van.
‘Knows bugger all about policing though.’
Piper’s lips twitched but he controlled the smile. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’
Brought
on’s chuckle was low and short-lived. ‘Finally learning to play politics, Piper?’
‘Sir.’
‘She did have one very good question though.’
Piper held his silence but he knew what was coming. It would have come earlier if they had been alone. Politics. He wove his fingers together behind his back, holding his tension there as Broughton folded his arms.
‘Ari.’
It sounded more like a statement than a question.
‘Please tell me we’re not talking about Ariadne Teddington.’
No avoiding it now. ‘I’ve no proof, but I believe so.’
‘So…’ Broughton rose on his toes then rocked back on his heels. Piper knew this was not a good sign. This was Broughton unconsciously acknowledging his annoyance. ‘Bell informs of a bank raid, and it just happens to be the branch where his girlfriend banks, and she just happens to be in there when the raid takes place?’
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Piper tried to frame an answer. ‘Awkward, I agree, but a couple of points. One—It’s a popular bank around here. I’m with Invicta, lots of people are. This is my branch. Even the Mansel-Jones family banks here. Two—Charlie didn’t plan it, Simon Lincoln did. Charlie didn’t know what bank or when until this morning. Three—’
‘Three? You said a couple, that’s two.’
And that level of pedantry belongs in the school yard. Piper had learnt enough politics not to voice that particular sentiment. Or maybe he just didn’t want to piss off the boss.
‘Three—Teddington is not Bell’s girlfriend. They haven’t been in contact since his release from prison. In fact, as far as I can tell, the only contact they’ve had since the riot is when she opened the prison door to let him out.’
‘He told you that, did he?’
‘No,’ Piper said easily, ‘she did.’
‘When?’
‘Last week in the court, while we were both waiting to give evidence against Len Robbins and Peter Jones.’
As Broughton considered that, they watched Sheldrake being interviewed.
‘…secured the release of one hostage already.’
