Inside they passed through a large office into an even larger control room with TV monitors banked up an entire wall. There were several people here, including Wield and DI Rose. And Ellie.
She saw her husband and came to him in a rush. They embraced like lovers on a sinking ship, each other’s last hope in a disintegrating world.
Dalziel said, ‘Situation?’
He spoke to Wield, not to Rose.
The sergeant said, ‘There’s four of them. They’re on the top floor, back of the building, lingerie department.’
‘Lingerie!’
‘No significance. Just happens to be the section you arrive at if you keep heading up towards the roof, which was what they were after, I reckon. It’s a flat roof with several fire escapes. By the time they showed there, we’d got the escapes covered, though. DI Rose’s quick thinking saw to that.’
For the first time Dalziel looked at the South Yorkshire DI.
‘Stan, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Stan the Serpent. How do you see things, Hissing Stan?’
Poor sod, thought Wield. He’s tracked dirt on to Andy Dalziel’s carpet and he’s going to have his nose rubbed in it.
Rose said, ‘We’ve got an Armed Response Unit in position, all exits covered, Inspector Curtis in charge, he’s out there doing a recce at the moment.’
Pascoe and Ellie had broken apart now.
Pascoe said, ‘What about contact? Have they made any demands?’
He was still looking like shit, thought Dalziel, but not such bad shit. Nothing like being at the front to stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.
‘Not yet. There’s a phone up there. We keep on ringing but no one’s picked it up yet.’
‘Can we see anything on the closed circuit?’ asked Pascoe, staring desperately at the wall of screens.
‘Sorry. Those two there, B3 and 4, cover that area of the top floor.’
‘Shot them out, did they?’
‘Don’t think so,’ said a man in a black suit. ‘I’m Kilroy, Head of Security for Estotiland. I think they’ve got someone who knows his electronics. I think they simply disconnected them.’
Ellie said to Pascoe, ‘But they saw them arrive before the monitors went. Rosie was with them, she looked OK, isn’t that right?’
She was asking for a repeat reassurance for herself as much as for her husband.
One of the security men monitoring the screens turned round and nodded reassuringly.
‘Yeah, she was walking with one of them, he was holding her hand, but she didn’t look distressed or owt. In fact she seemed to be talking away ten to the dozen.’
‘That’s my girl,’ said Dalziel. ‘She’ll be grand.’
Ignoring him, Pascoe said, ‘Any other hostages? The place must have been packed with people.’
‘We sounded the fire alarm,’ said Wield. ‘Got everyone out double quick. We’d no idea where they were headed and it seemed best just to clear the whole complex.’
‘Drills worked a treat,’ said Kilroy. ‘Everyone safely out in eight and a half minutes.’
‘Nice to know your fire drills work so well,’ grated Dalziel. ‘Likely you’ll get a bonus.’
‘Sir, one of Mr Kilroy’s men’s in hospital, critical,’ said Wield warningly.
‘Is that right? I’m sorry for it, Mr Kilroy.’
The radio Wield was holding crackled into life.
‘Control to Serpent 5.’
Dalziel seized it and said, ‘Fuck serpents. Dalziel here. What?’
‘We’ve got all four now, sir. You know we picked up the first two when they dumped the security van …’
‘Don’t waste my time telling me things I bloody well know!’ roared Dalziel.
‘Sorry, sir. The pair in the transit spotted the arrest and took off. Pursued them for fifty miles, then crashed on the A1, no serious injuries.’
‘More’s the pity. That it?’
‘Just hearing from Sergeant Bowman and the team that went round to interview Mr Belchamber. Bit odd.’
‘I like odd,’ said Dalziel. ‘Patch me through. Bowman, Dalziel here. What’s the situation?’
‘We’re outside Belchamber’s house. His car’s here, open. There’s a bag in it with a bunch of money and a plane ticket for Malaga. OK to break the front door down, sir?’
‘With a bulldozer if you like,’ growled Dalziel.
He looked at the others. He could see on the Pascoes’ faces the thought that this was an unnecessary diversion. He wasn’t about to tell them it was necessary for him, to give himself time to work out what the hell to do next.
‘Sir, Bowman here. We’re inside. We’ve found Mr Belchamber. He’s wearing fancy dress. Some sort of Roman soldier’s outfit, I think. And he’s got a sword stuck in his belly. Ambulance on the way.’
‘Not dead then?’ said Dalziel.
‘Not yet, but it don’t look like it’s going to be long, sir.’
‘Oh, tell him to take as long as he likes,’ said Dalziel. ‘Keep me posted.’
He tossed the radio back to Wield and said, ‘All right, Mr Kilroy, you’re the on-the-spot expert. How do you see the situation here?’
‘From the point of view of containment, we’ve got them bottled up,’ said the security man. ‘No way out. But no easy way in either to take them by surprise. Defensively, they’ve picked the best spot in the complex.’
‘He’s right,’ said a new voice.
The door had opened and a man in ARU gear had come in.
‘You Curtis?’ said Dalziel.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So what’s the problem? There’s only four of them, right?’
The newcomer, a crop-haired man who looked like he worked out between work-outs, glanced frowningly at Ellie.
‘It’s all right,’ said Dalziel. ‘You can talk in front of Mrs Pascoe. She’s one of us.’
Meaning, thought Wield, if I could think of any way of getting her out of here, I would, but I can’t, so let’s get on with it!
‘Four’s enough, depending on how many of them are armed,’ said Curtis.
‘Only saw one weapon,’ said Wield.
‘You want to bet money they don’t have more?’
Wield shook his head.
‘Me neither. The point is, where they are there’s no windows. There’s an office with one door on to the retail floor. Behind the office there’s a series of stock rooms with a service lift. They’ve immobilized the lift, so our only approach is full frontal on the office door across the display area, which we reckon they’ve got full CCTV coverage of.’
‘All retail sections have their own monitors for on-the-spot surveillance for shoplifters and so on,’ explained Kilroy. ‘All they had to do was disconnect our link.’
‘We could cut off power, but the one thing we’ve heard from them was someone yelling out, “Anyone touches the electrics and we come out shooting with the little girl leading the way.”’
He glanced apologetically at Ellie.
‘So they can see us but we can’t see them? Bloody marvellous,’ said Dalziel. ‘So what are your recommendations. Inspector?’
‘Limited options, I’m afraid. Either the long game or direct assault full frontal …’
‘You mean stun grenades and CS gas?’ said Ellie. ‘Andy, for God’s sake, tell them!’
‘It’s OK. We’ll do nowt that will risk harming Rosie,’ assured the Fat Man. ‘What about listening devices? Photo optics? We need to know what’s going on in there.’
‘We’re working on it,’ said Curtis. ‘Like I say, it’s hard getting any kind of access.’
‘He seems to be managing,’ said one of the security men before the monitors.
Everyone looked. On one of the screens a figure was striding boldly through a display of men’s outdoor clothing towards a line of lifts. A man in plainclothes intercepted him and spoke. He took something out of his pocket, showed it, said a few words, then entered one of the lifts and the doors closed behind him.
‘He’s one of mine,’ said Rose, pulling out his mobile.
He did a quick dial. The man on the screen took out his phone and put it to his ear.
‘Joe,’ said Rose, ‘that guy you just let get into the lift …’
He listened then said, ‘He says it was DCI Pascoe. He showed him his warrant.’
Pascoe slapped his hand to his pocket.
‘Shit!’ he said. ‘The bastard had hold of my jacket.’
‘Where’s he going?’ said Dalziel.
‘There he is, top floor. Looks like he’s heading for the lingerie department,’ said Kilroy.
‘We’ll soon stop him,’ said Curtis, raising his radio.
‘No!’ cried Ellie.
Curtis looked at her, looked at Dalziel.
‘Andy,’ said Ellie, ‘he’s doing something. Nobody else is.’
The Fat Man said, ‘Pete?’
Pascoe rubbed his hand across his face. Pale before, now all colour seemed erased by the movement.
He said, hopelessly, ‘Let him go. Why not? Perhaps … Let him go.’
‘Inspector, tell your men not to get in his way,’ ordered Dalziel.
‘Your decision, sir,’ said Curtis, in a tone which said just as clearly, And your career.
He spoke into his radio. They watched as Roote walked off the edge of the monitor.
‘He’s into the area covered by the dead cameras,’ said Kilroy.
Curtis, his radio clamped to his ear, said, ‘Sir, my men have him in sight. He’s standing looking towards the door of the stock area like he wants to be seen. Now he’s walking across the display area. He’s at the door. It’s opening. He’s gone inside.’
‘So what do we do now?’ said Stan Rose.
They all looked at Dalziel.
He scratched his left buttock like the Count of Monte Cristo beginning to work on the walls of his cell.
‘We wait,’ he said. ‘Pete, lad, you always said yon Roote could talk a rabbi into sharing a packet of pork scratchings. Let’s hope that for once you’re right about the sod!’
Franny Roote! It really is you. Here, what do you think?’
Mate Polchard was sitting behind a desk on which he had placed a travelling chessboard with magnetic pieces.
On the floor, seated against an open packing case, was Rosie Pascoe, eating a chocolate bar. On her head rested a cirque of gold in the form of two snakes. She glanced at the newcomer, decided he didn’t look much fun, and returned her full attention to the chocolate. Nearby a short squat blockhouse of a man in blue overalls was watching a couple of security screens on which the lingerie retail floor could be seen in its entirety. Of the other two gang members, there was no sign.
Roote advanced and looked at the disposition of pieces on the chessboard. It was an early middlegame situation, the pieces developed, no losses yet on either side, but Black had a bit of a problem in the centre.
‘Samisch – Capablanca 1929,’ he said. ‘Black’s knackered.’
‘Bit early to be saying that, isn’t it?’ said Polchard, frowning.
‘That’s what Capablanca thought. Played on for another fifty moves. He still lost,’ said Roote. ‘He’d have done better to give in gracefully and go off for a bit of shut-eye.’
‘That’s how it looks to you, is it?’
‘That’s how it is, Mate,’ said Roote. ‘Like you once said to me, the thing about chess is it teaches you to see things that have happened before they’ve happened.’
‘I said that? Must be true. How’ve you been, Fran? Never came to see me in Wales.’
‘You know how it is,’ said Roote. ‘Out on licence, they see you associating with the king of crime, they don’t listen when you say we’re just playing chess. Then, later on, I got a new life going. I’m an academic now. A teacher, sort of.’
‘I know what a fucking academic is,’ said Polchard.
‘Do you? Wish I did,’ said Roote placatingly.
‘Much money in it?’
‘If you know where to look.’
‘That’s the secret, isn’t it? Knowing where to look. That kid there, she’s got more money on her bonce than you’ll ever see, I’d guess.’
‘I get along,’ said Roote with a serene smile. ‘You know who she is, do you?’
‘She keeps telling us her dad’s some VIP and he’s going to come along and whip our arses. She can certainly talk, I’ll give her that. Couldn’t think how to shut her up till I found that whoever uses this desk is a chocoholic. Fancy a Mars Bar?’
‘No thanks. She’s DCI Pascoe’s daughter.’
‘Is that right?’ said Polchard indifferently. ‘Bad choice then. Could have been worse, though. Could have been that fat bastard’s lass.’
‘Still not good, Mate. The security guard that got shot’s still alive, by the way.’
‘Glad to hear it. Nothing to do with me though. You can’t get the help these days.’
‘No? This the same mad bastard who topped the kid in the canal?’
‘You know a lot,’ said Polchard, looking at Roote speculatively. ‘That was definitely nothing to do with me. What are you doing here anyway?’
‘Helping out a friend. Two friends, if I include you, Mate. Think about it. Good lawyer, few years improving your chess, no sweat.’
‘Good lawyer.’ Polchard smiled wanly. ‘Used to have one of those. Reckon I might be needing another now. What you got in mind for the endgame, Franny?’
‘I walk out of here with the girl, tell them you’re coming out too. Couple of minutes later, you show; the hard men with guns do a lot of shouting but no shooting, and before you know it, you’re nice and comfy where you don’t have to worry about the taxman.’
Polchard bent his head over the board for a long moment. Then with his forefinger he flicked the black king off its magnetic base.
‘Off you go then,’ he said.
‘Right,’ said Franny. ‘How about the guns? You want I should take them too?’
Polchard laughed.
‘There’s only the one, and I knew nothing about it till it went off. No, Franny, leave the gun to me. I really don’t think you want to hang around and try to persuade your old chum to hand it over to you, do you?’
‘My old chum?’ said Franny, puzzled.
For the first time Polchard looked surprised.
‘You don’t know? Well, well. And here’s me thinking you were really brave! He’s wandering around looking for a way out.’ Polchard glanced towards the stock-room door and lowered his voice. ‘I’d push off before he comes back if I were you.’
‘But who … ?’
‘Go while you can!’
When Polchard spoke with that degree of urgency, even the screws at Chapel Syke had jumped.
He went to Rosie and offered her his hand. She stood up. Her mouth was stained with chocolate. The serpent crown which was too big for her slim head slipped to one side. She looked like a tipsy cupid.
‘Your dad sent me,’ he said.
She looked at him assessingly. He had seen the same expression in her father’s eyes. This time it was followed by belief and acceptance, which had never happened with Pascoe.
They walked hand in hand to the door. He opened it slowly and stood there a moment just to make sure the watchers on the far side of the display area registered who it was.
It was a moment too long.
‘Roote! It is you! Roote, you fucking bastard! I’ve been waiting a long time for this! Bring the kid back inside.’
Franny’s brain, always hyperactive behind that calm front, had already worked out who Polchard had to be talking about. It wasn’t hard. All he had to do was run a finger down the list of people he’d met in the Syke, looking for the kind of madman who’d disobey even the great Mate’s instructions and smuggle a gun on a job and use it.
He reached down and took the serpent crown off the girl’s h
ead and said in a low voice, ‘Rosie, when I say run, run! But not straight. Run right. OK?’
‘OK,’ said the little girl, deciding she’d been wrong and maybe he was fun after all.
Slowly Roote turned and faced the man who stood in the stock-room doorway.
He was big, very big. He had a black woolly hat like a funeral parlour tea-cosy pulled very low over his brow. And he was holding a shotgun.
Seeing he had Franny’s full attention, he took one hand off the weapon and tore off the hat to reveal a bald head tattooed with an eagle whose talons were poised over his eyes.
Roote’s face split in a broad grin.
‘No, Dendo, you didn’t … it’s real, is it? You got yourself tattooed in loving memory of poor old Brillo! Now that’s really touching. You make a great tombstone!’
‘Get inside! Brillo would want this to be slow!’
‘Of course he would,’ said Franny Roote, stepping forward so that his body was between the gunman and the girl. ‘He needed everything slow, didn’t he, the poor bastard. Run!’
Rosie set off right. Roote sent the serpent crown spinning towards Bright then hurled himself left. The first shot ripped along his shoulder but he kept running. Bright came to the doorway, his face mottled with such rage it was hard to see where the tattoo ended and unsullied flesh began. And then a fusillade from the waiting marksmen punched a new and final pattern into his body. But he still managed to get off one more shot.
Roote felt a blow in the middle of his back. It didn’t feel all that much, the kind of congratulatory slap one overhearty sportsman might give another to acknowledge a good move. But it switched off the connection between his brain and his limbs and he went down like a pole-axed steer.
Men in police combat gear carrying guns came running across the floor to the stock room. Rosie Pascoe leapt into Ellie’s arms with such force they both collapsed to the ground and already, even as they lay there locked together, the girl was describing her wonderful adventure. Dalziel took possession of an unresisting Mate Polchard. Wield stepped over Dendo Bright’s body like it was a dog dropping and stooped to pick up the serpent crown. He saw nothing of its beauty. To him it was a bit of bent metal which wasn’t worth the loss of a single second of Lee Lubanski’s life.
Death's Jest-Book Page 52
