The Doll's House

by Tania Carver

  ‘Oh yeah?’ said Sperring, gearing up for an argument. ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘You,’ said Phil.

  Sperring was taken aback. Phil explained to him what he wanted. As he did so, Sperring’s face was split by a wide grin.

  Conversation over, he ended the call, looked across the table at Parsons, then at Khan.

  ‘Your lucky day, Nadish,’ he said.

  Khan looked up, eyes dazed. ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Sperring stood up. Khan, taking his cue from the older officer, did likewise. Parsons looked between the pair of them.

  ‘What about me?’ he said.

  Sperring stopped, turned. Gave the old gangster his full attention.

  ‘Know any good solicitors?’

  100

  A

  nni’s first thought about the building was: it’s so different from the one I’m used to.

  Southway station in Colchester looked like an eighties prison. Or a hospital designed by someone who didn’t want the patients to get well. This one, she thought, looked like a Gothic castle.

  Nice. Wish I worked here.

  She walked through the main doors, straight up to the desk. The sergeant looked up from the notes he was writing. She held her warrant card up to the glass.

  ‘Detective Constable Hepburn,’ she said. ‘Anni Hepburn.’

  He was young and anonymously blond, she thought. Good-looking in a bland way. She saw a squash ball on the counter before him. Must practise his wrist-strengthening exercises during his shift, she thought, and didn’t know if that was a good thing, keeping healthy, or just too narcissistic.

  He smiled at her, looked at the card, then back to her. ‘Bit far off your patch, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’ve been visiting an old friend,’ she said. ‘Something came up while I was doing it.’

  She looked at the figure standing next to her. So did the desk sergeant. Hugo Gwilym stood there looking dishevelled in his old clothes and beanie hat.

  The desk sergeant frowned, leaned in towards Anni. ‘He looks like that bloke off the telly,’ he said, out of earshot of Gwilym.

  ‘You mean,’ she said, ‘he looks like that bloke who used to be on the telly.’

  ‘Eh?’

  Instead of elaborating, she turned to Gwilym. ‘Come on, over here.’

  He moved forward obediently. He looked broken, like he no longer had the strength to argue any more. Like the fight had left him. He stood next to her at the desk. She looked at him. He stared back at her, eyes red-rimmed.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  He didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  ‘Haven’t you got something to say?’ she prompted.

  Still he didn’t speak.

  She leaned in to him. ‘It’s over, Gwilym,’ she said. ‘Finished. You’re finished. If you don’t do this now, you’re only putting off the inevitable. You know that.’

  He sighed. Opened his mouth. ‘My name’s Hugo Gwilym,’ he said.

  Anni saw the light of recognition in the desk sergeant’s eyes.

  ‘And why are you here, Hugo?’ said Anni, as if she was leading a recalcitrant small child.

  ‘I’m… here to… to turn myself in.’

  The desk sergeant waited, looking perplexed. Anni leaned in once more, prompted again. ‘And why are you here to turn yourself in, Hugo?’

  He looked at her. One last, long, despairing, pathetic look. She stared back at him. As empathic as a rock. Realising that this really was the end, knowing he had no choice, he turned back to the sergeant.

  ‘I’m here to… turn myself in because…’ he sighed, ‘I’m a rapist…’

  The desk sergeant’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

  Anni smiled. ‘And get him a doctor for his head. Wouldn’t want the bastard suing us.’

  101

  ‘

  H

  ere we are…’

  Grant Parsons pulled tight on the rope binding Marina to a chair. Her hands were still behind her back, still in the same restraints. Her arms and legs were now tied up too. And she was still gagged.

  ‘I thought of putting the blindfold back on,’ he said. ‘But then I thought, no. Let her see what’s happening. Hate you to miss the fun.’

  After smashing her phone and gagging her, he had pulled her up the stairs with him, Maddy screaming as she was left behind. He dragged her along what seemed like endless corridors until they had emerged in what at first she took for a living room. She soon realised it wasn’t real. With its pink walls and matching furniture, it seemed more like a stage or film set, like a doll’s house room made human size.

  Parsons dragged her over to an armchair by a dining table set for dinner, tied her to it. Then he left the room, came back with armfuls of files and papers. She noticed that the research material he had taken from Gwilym was amongst them. Gwilym’s laptop, now smashed into uselessness, was also there. He piled everything up on the table, then pulled the chair she was tied to into the centre of the room, positioning it so that she faced the door.

  She heard sounds going on, liquid, wet sounds. She tried to turn her head to see what was happening, but her restraints wouldn’t allow it. She smelled something. The air took on a chemical tang.

  ‘Hubby’s on his way,’ he said from behind her. ‘My dad called to let me know. From the police station. Called me instead of a solicitor. Maybe he’s not so bad after all. So, with that in mind, I’ve had to take precautions. You see that door? There. Ahead of you. That’s the way your hubby’s going to enter. The only way in. And the first thing he’ll see will be you.’

  She heard something being thrown to the ground. It clanged emptily. Parsons walked round until he stood in front of her, looking at her. He wiped his hands on his jeans. Knelt down so his face was at her eye level.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘that’s not true. The first thing he’ll see will be the fire, over there.’ He gestured behind her. ‘All the files about this place, about me, about everything I’ve done, they’re all there on that table. And they’re all going up in smoke. He’ll look at that first. And then he’ll see you. And he’ll not be able to move. He’ll stand there staring, struck immobile by indecision. Because he knows he’ll only be able to save one thing. You, or the evidence. And it might be too late for the evidence.’ He laughed. ‘Might even be too late for you by then.’

  Marina closed her eyes. Unable to move, to speak, all she could do was think. She tried to will herself away, be anywhere but here. Phil was on his way. He had to be. If he wasn’t and Parsons was lying…

  No. She couldn’t think about that. He had to be. He had to be.

  What if he didn’t know where she was? What if he couldn’t find her? What if…

  She kept her eyes tightly closed. But it didn’t work. The tears still ran down her face.

  ‘Crying?’ Parsons laughed. ‘That’s nothing. Wait till the smoke starts. You’ll be crying plenty by then. But at least you’ll have done your job. You’ll have stopped them getting further. Stopped them reaching me.’

  He walked to the door, turned, looked at her. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I should have a speech prepared, but really, I just want to get out of here and away. Bye.’

  He slammed the door shut.

  She heard the fire before she saw it or smelled it. Crackling, like white noise eating up everything in its path. She tried to scream, but the gag wouldn’t let her. She pulled at the restraints but they were too tight.

  She sat back, trying not to give in to panic. Trying desperately to find a way out.

  There wasn’t one.

  No, she thought. It can’t end here. It can’t…

  102

  T

  he circus had arrived at Digbeth.

  The mobile operations van was parked a block away in the rubble-strewn grounds of a low-roofed sixties-built derelict factory. The armed response vehicles, unmarked Audis with the rear seats removed and gu
n safes in their place, were parked up next to them. The operational support unit had arrived. Sergeant Joe Cass and his team of seven officers. Tooled up, ready.

  The street had been closed, the area evacuated.

  Phil looked over the road at their target building, on the corner of Burchall Street and Cheapside. It looked like nothing from the outside, just another derelict factory or warehouse building with mesh and metal plates up at the windows, blackening brickwork. The double front doors were old and heavy-looking. Red paint had faded to flaking and peeling pink and it looked like they hadn’t been opened for decades. There was no sign of life from within the building. Overhead, a helicopter circled and swooped, its beam lighting up the street as if they were at a film premiere.

  Beside Phil were Sperring and Cotter.

  ‘You have any more information on those hostages? Name of the second one?’ asked Cotter.

  Phil shook his head. ‘She might be a lecturer. That’s as much as I know.’

  ‘This isn’t the way I wanted to do this.’ Cotter turned back to the building, sighed. ‘Just… We’d better not mess this up.’ She went back inside the mobile unit. Phil made to follow her.

  ‘Can I have a word?’

  Phil turned. Sperring ground out the stub of a cigarette under his heel.

  ‘Only take a minute.’

  Phil waited.

  ‘You know who the other one is, don’t you?’ It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘Yeah, I do.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell the boss?’

  Phil’s voice dropped. ‘Because it’s my wife.’

  Sperring’s eyes widened.

  ‘She went round to Gwilym’s house. There was something she wanted to…’ He sighed. ‘Parsons took her…’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t be heading up this team. And you shouldn’t be going in.’

  ‘I know.’ He looked Sperring square in the eye. ‘Do we have a problem here?’

  ‘Is it going to get in the way of you doing your job as a copper?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Sperring kept staring. Deciding. ‘Then we don’t have a problem. But if that changes, I knew nothing about it. We never had this conversation and you’re on your own.’

  ‘Thanks. That’s fair.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Sperring, rubbing his chin. He looked embarrassed. ‘If it was me, I dare say I’d have done the same thing.’ He laughed. ‘Not with my ex, though. I’d have left the cheating cow to rot.’

  Phil laughed. It felt incongruous but good. ‘You ready?’

  ‘One more thing. Why did you phone me about this? Tell me first?’ said Sperring. ‘You could have called Imani Oliver; you seem to be getting on well with her. Why me?’

  ‘You’re next in line,’ said Phil. ‘And like I said, I wanted someone I could trust.’

  ‘And you think you can trust me?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Phil, ‘I do. We might not have a lot in common, but I’m not asking you out on a date. I’m asking you to back me up. You’re a good copper. I know you’ll do that.’

  Sperring looked like he didn’t know what to say. Phil didn’t give him the chance.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we’ve got a raid to organise.’

  He went back inside the mobile operations unit. Elli was sitting at her laptop.

  ‘What have you got?’ he said.

  ‘I’ve got the plans up for the building, but they’re old. I’m sure it doesn’t look like that in there now. And I’ve got the thermal images from the helicopter. Look.’

  She pressed a button, showed Phil. Yellow and red blobs stood out against the blue/grey screen.

  ‘There are people inside, but not many. One looks to be motionless, stuck in a room in the middle of the building. The room seems to be getting warmer.’

  ‘What about the rest?’

  ‘There’s movement towards the back of the building. Looks like two people. There are other heat signatures around too. They seem to be positioned at the entrances.’

  ‘Good.’ He turned to Sergeant Cass. ‘Your team ready?’

  ‘Say the word,’ he said.

  ‘OK, then. Sperring? You good to go?’

  ‘Bostin.’ Sperring nodded. A look passed between them.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’ He looked round once more. The armed response unit were ready and in place. Phil hated working with them. He never felt safe. He knew they were well trained and would not discharge their weapons unless they had to, and then only after giving prior warning, but it just took one mistake… He knew how much people played with a new phone when they bought one. Imagine what that was like with a gun.

  The teams had all seem the thermal images, had sorted out the entrances. They knew where they were going. All Phil had to do was give the word.

  ‘Boss.’

  Elli was at the door of the unit, looking at him worriedly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That room that I said was getting warmer. It’s very hot now. I think there’s a fire in there. As well as a person.’

  Phil turned to the team.

  ‘Go.’

  103

  M

  arina couldn’t see. Smoke was clouding out her vision. She was having difficulty breathing, the gag stopping her from getting enough air into her lungs. She was beginning to feel lightheaded.

  And hot. Very hot.

  Like Bonfire Night. Like the ones she had gone to as a child. Standing too close to the flames, the heat coming off warmer than a hot summer day. Ready to take off her coat and scarf; why did she need them? Then a step away and you’re back in the cold November night. And you’re glad of the coat and scarf. Just like that. Except she couldn’t step away now. Couldn’t step anywhere. And the heat was getting closer.

  Her mind slipped back again and she was in the present. She struggled, squirmed, tried to pull her arms free of the ropes, just succeeded in making them tighter. And all the while, the heat increasing, increasing…

  Still seated, she tried to pull herself forward, towards the door, away from the flames. It was like trying to jump in the air wearing lead diving boots. But she had moved about a centimetre. She tried it again, grunting and gasping. Another centimetre or so. Then again. She had to stop, rest. It was so much effort. Even from that small amount of movement her stomach muscles hurt. Her head felt even lighter as her exertions depleted further the amount of oxygen reaching her brain. She was gasping, gagging.

  The flames were still as intense. She didn’t know how long she had.

  Images flashed into her mind. She saw Phil’s face. Smiling at her. Felt a knife twist inside her as she realised she would never see him again. Her daughter, Josephina. The tears started.

  Screaming against the gag, she tried to push herself forward once more. Another centimetre. Then another. Then…

  She lost her balance. The chair fell sideways. She felt a searing pain in her arm as she landed on it. She tried to move. Couldn’t.

  This is it, she thought.

  This is the end.

  104

  P

  hil stood back as the OSU prepared their battering ram. They brought it back, hammered it at the double doors. The doors didn’t want to give. The OSU weren’t going to take no for an answer. Eventually, with a creaking and splintering of ages-old wood, the doors opened.

  ‘Move! Move! Move!’

  They rushed in. Phil ran in with them. All was suddenly noise and commotion. The OSU surged into the building. Phil looked round. The inside was completely different to the exterior. The walls were stripped back to the bare brick, the floors polished concrete. It looked more like the entrance to a suite of Shoreditch artists’ studios or some hipster internet company. Like the rest of Digbeth, thought Phil.

  He tried to take bearings, decide where to go.

  ‘Elli,’ he said to his earpiece, ‘I’m inside. Where should I go?’

  ‘Straight ahead,’ she replied. ‘That’s where the heat’s coming from.
’

  ‘OK.’ He set off down the corridor in front of him.

  There were doors off on both sides. An indication of what was inside was given by the decoration around the frame. One had chains cemented into place. He glanced into the room. It looked like a prison cell. Or the stage set of a prison cell. The floor was flagged stone. The dried blood looked real enough.

  Back into the corridor again. Looking round.

  ‘It’s on the first floor, I think,’ Elli said. ‘Head towards it.’

  Phil did so. He passed other doorways. The next one along had rusted circular saw wheels pinned up. He didn’t want to see what went on in there. The one after that a dried snakeskin. He focused. Kept going. Found a set of stairs at the end, took them two at a time.

  ‘Are you still registering heat signatures?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes, but it’s getting much warmer.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘There was just one. There’s that many people in the building now, it’s hard to tell.’

  He didn’t need Elli to tell him where the heat was coming from. He felt it himself now. He ran towards the far end of the corridor. There was a door in front of him. Doll’s heads of varying sizes all around the frame. This was it. He pulled it open. And immediately felt and heard the roar of the flames.

  He looked round, hand over his face. It was the room from the DVD. McGowan’s living room writ large. He looked down. Marina was lying on the floor.

  ‘Shit…’

  His heart was hammering as he knelt down, began to pull her out. She was near to being unconscious. He tried to untie her, realised it was futile. He dragged her, chair and all, down the corridor.

  ‘Get an ambulance!’ he shouted into his earpiece.

  ‘What have you found?’

  Phil didn’t reply straight away. He couldn’t. He waited until he was far enough away from the flames, then looked at Marina.

  Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead…

  He reached round behind her head, wrenched off the gag. She gasped a breath. Opened her eyes. She looked round in panic. Then saw who it was.