Heatwave

by Jane A. Adams

  “Can you recall a name?”

  They looked at one another as though dredging a collective memory,

  “Hebden,” the father said finally. “Like in Hebden Bridge?”

  His wife nodded confirmation. “I’m sure that was it and I think he was a Brigadier. Yes, he was, because Megan wasn’t certain what one of them was.”

  “Was it common to have customers that favoured certain cashiers?”

  “Customer Advisors,” Mr Barron corrected him. “They do more than count cash, these days.”

  “Quite.”

  “Audrey did,” her husband said. His voice choked, thick with tears he tried hard to keep in check. “She’d been there so long she’d watched some of their children grow up and open their own accounts. She had a lot of favourites. You couldn’t walk down the street without someone talking to her.” He sounded half irritated, half proud of this fact.

  “Dorothy Peel,” Emily announced. With a suddenness that focussed everyone’s attention.

  “She was a regular, Monday morning. Dad used to hide in his office until after she had gone. “

  “Did he say why?”

  “Audrey got on fine with her.” Mr Shields informed. “Said she was a tough old bird, but fine provided you were firm and gave as good as she did.”

  Emily smiled wryly. “Dad’s always said he was a manager not a diplomat,” she said. “He always reckoned he kept Audrey available for that.”

  Mr Shields smiled back, a brief moment of lightness passing between them that Alec was reluctant to interrupt. Then the smile faded and Mr Shields moved to look at him.

  “You will get her out, won’t you.”

  “Our aim is to get everyone out, safe and sound,” Alec told him. He looked up as DC Andrews returned with yet more coffee. “Constable Andrews, here will be your point of contact. He’ll be asking me for regular updates until this is over. We’ll do all we can to keep you in touch with developments.”

  Alec left them then after a few more questions. As he closed the door he could hear Andrews, calm and placating, rock steady, soothing the rattled nerves and the frayed tempers and suggesting that at a time like this they should be a support for one another.

  Some hopes of that, Alec thought, seeing the disparate personalities present in that room, though if anyone could convince them otherwise it would be Andrews, an outstanding community policeman with absolutely no ambition to be anything else, he had found his niche and filled it to capacity. Alec pitied anyone foolish enough ever to try and prize him out.

  Two names then, and neither of them Smith or Jones or anything else as commonplace, so traceable, he hoped. It put the hostage count up to six, so far.

  Alec wondered how many more.

  CHAPTER 10

  When Alec returned to the incident room above the greengrocers shop it was to find Hemmings and Sarah Milton plotting points on a large map that had arrived in his absence.

  Blue pins for the robberies, Sarah told him. Red from the location each car had been stolen from and yellow for the places the cars had been found, burned out.

  He could see what they meant about the tight radius. “All the cars were dumped in rural areas,” he commented. “Middle of nowhere. Look, two on the edge of Morton Park and the rest in small side roads.”

  “Which implies,” Hemmings added,” That they had someone waiting for them with a second car.”

  “Also backs up the idea of local knowledge.”

  Alec nodded and pointed at the map. “I know this place,” he said, indication the site at which the car had been left after the second robbery. “It’s a single track lane leading to a hamlet. Even the locals don’t use it much. Last time I was out there, it had grass growing through the tarmac.”

  “We’re pretty sure the driver never entered the bank,” Hemmings said. “So, either the car was left at some time before, which is risky. It would only take one concerned member of the public to report it and they’d lose their second vehicle.”

  Alec shrugged. “I’d still think it a relatively safe bet,” he contradicted. “Joe Public is, frankly, pretty unconcerned by anything that doesn’t get up and hit them in the face.”

  Hemming’s grinned. “My but we’re cynical. Been doing this job a bit too long, Alec? But no, point taken. My bet though, is that they had a second car and a second driver and that, maybe, that second driver is our fourth man In this little caper.”

  “Why bring in someone else, anyway?” Sam Hargreaves asked. “I mean, this was no bigger job than the others, was it?”

  Hemmings shook his head. “Quite the opposite, in fact.” He glanced at his watch. “Quarter to five,” he said “and not a move from inside. Sam, surely this isn’t healthy?”

  “It’s within normal parameters,” he said, “but I’ll admit it’s bordering on the unusual and the lack of communication together with the potential violence we’ve seen both today and on the tapes, does give me cause for concern.”

  “So, what’s our next move. I’m reluctant to let you stand in the street with a bull horn, but if that’s what it takes, we can kit you up with a vest.” He glanced at Alec as though just recalling that Alec was the boss here.

  Alec nodded. They’d discussed this earlier, but Sam had been reluctant. Loud hailers distorted the voice and the message, no matter how hard you tried to avoid that. They were inherently aggressive in both tone and volume. Sam had suggested they wait, fully expecting some first move from the raiders. They had, periodically, tried the phones again, but to no avail. Now it seemed there were few options open. “If that’s what you advise, Sam. To a large extent, we’re in your hands here.”

  Sam Hargreaves shook his head. “Wish that were true,” he said, but the truth is, we’re most definitely in theirs.”

  ***

  Five o clock saw Sam Hargreaves fitted with a vest and officers on roof and cordon put on high alert. Sam, equipped with loud hailer, stood alone in the middle of the road. Alec winced as the horn squeaked as soon as he began to speak. He saw him pause and make some adjustment before trying again.

  “My name is Sam. You spoke briefly to my associate earlier on today. I’d like to have a chat to whoever’s in charge in there. See if we can’t sort this out.”

  Sam was right, Alec thought. It’s very hard to sound calm and reasonable through something that distorts your voice and makes it sound as though you’re yelling at the moon, though, all in all, he was doing a reasonable job.

  Sam paused, then tried again. “No one wants this situation. Not you, not us, not the people you’re holding in there. There are families who’ll be suffering too. Yours and theirs. If you open the door and come out, we’ll sit down and talk and see what’s best to be done.”

  Silence. Not a move in the breathless air. Alec, standing in the shadowed shelter of the grocer’s awning, glanced down the street towards the cordons. Quite a crowd had gathered either end. The air was so still that in the silence that followed Sam’s announcement, Alec could hear the sound of camera shutters.

  Sam lifted the horn to try again. Then paused. There was movement behind the tiny, clear glass window on the right hand side of the door.

  Sam tensed, jerked his chin upward just a fraction. Alec looked to where he had indicated. He raised the horn again. “My name is Sam,” he repeated. I’m hoping to speak to…” He was interrupted by the sound of smashing glass. The little window shattered by a hard blow from the inside, fragments of glass spraying outwards, some landing close to the negotiator’s feet. Sam Hargreaves took a step back but otherwise stood his ground. Beside him, Alec felt Sarah Milton’s increased tension and heard her swiftly in-drawn breath.

  “We want to talk.” A voice from inside the bank.

  “Good,” Sam approved. He took a few steps closer. Far too close, Alec thought. The loud hailer hanging at his side now. “You can hear me ok?”

  “Yeah, I can hear you. We want to strike a deal. We want…”

  “Like fuck!” A second v
oice.

  Sam glanced over his shoulder at Alec then turned his attention back towards the window.

  “I don’t like this, Sarah whispered.

  “No more do I,” Alec agreed with her. “Sam!”

  Sounds of a scuffle and a crash sounded from inside the bank. They were faint and indistinct, but a moment later the second voice returned. “I’m giving you three seconds to get your arse off the street before I shoot. One, two…”

  Sam dived for cover just before he got to three. Alec reached and pulled him into the shadows. Shrapnel from road and glass and stone followed him as the bullet hit the ground inches from where he had been standing.

  “You get my meaning?” the voice shouted.

  “We get you,” Alec shouted back.

  “Good. Any of you make a move I don’t like, I’ll shoot again, and next time I won’t miss and let me tell you this, Sam, or whatever your frigging name is, think of storming the building and I’ll take it out on the hostages. Remember, Mr Policeman. They’re not so lucky as you are. They don’t have the option on running away.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Sam seemed remarkably relaxed for someone who’d just been shot at, Alec thought. They had returned to the upstairs incident room and Alec stood looking down into the street. From his vantage-point, he could see the front doors of the bank and both cordons but no one in the bank could see him from their one little window. Had he had any doubts about that, he’d have chosen his lookout a little more carefully.

  Hemmings came over and handed him tea. The British panacea.

  “They’ll have had nothing to eat since morning,” Hemmings observed. “There’ll be water available, but there’s no guarantee they’ll have given the hostages any.”

  Alec nodded. He was watching the cordons. There’d been a flurry of activity following the shot. Reports swiftly made. Two television vans had arrived during the afternoon so no doubt this would be breaking news on a cable channel somewhere.

  There’d been a smattering of phone calls, so Andrews had told him, from relatives who’d heard about the robbery and thought family members might possibly have been inside the bank. Since then, follow up calls had ensured that most of these missing persons were safe and well and somewhere else. No doubt there’d be far more such calls as the evening wore on and people didn’t come home and as news broke that another shot had been fired.

  The phone rang. It was Andrews. He’d located the son and daughter in law of Dorothy Peel and was calling from their home. They confirmed their mother’s habit of sorting out her banking on a Monday.

  Alec introduced himself and explained the situation, confirming what Andrews had already told them.

  “Do you want us to come over? ”Ian Peel asked. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” Alec told him. “And until we confirm that your mother is definitely in the bank…”

  “No, quite. I do see. PC Andrews said that some of the other relatives have got together. We could, perhaps, be useful?”

  He sounded calm and very collected, Alec thought, though he could hear the underlying anxiety. “Talk to PC Andrews about that,” Alec told him. “He’s in a much better position to judge. Tell me, Mr Peel, how is your mother likely to react in a situation like this?”

  To his surprise, Ian Peel laughed. “Politely but firmly, I would think, Inspector. Just as she’s reacted to everything else in her life so far. Myself included.”

  “I see,” Alec replied carefully.

  Ian Peel took a deep, calming breath. “Inspector, my mother is a remarkable woman. You needn’t worry about her falling apart or getting hysterical. I’ve never known a moment in her life that she didn’t take control of. Neither have I known her be intimidated or back down, whatever the circumstances.” He paused again and said more seriously, “I don’t suppose that’s quite what you wanted to hear, is it?”

  Silently, Alec agreed. Aloud, he replied, “at least she won’t panic. That’s good news. Panic can be a dangerous thing in itself.”

  A few further questions were asked and comments exchanged and then Alec rang off.

  “Well?” Hemmings demanded.

  “According to her son, Dorothy Peel is close kin to Margaret Thatcher in one of her more stubborn moods.”

  “Just what we need.” Hemmings groaned.

  “Could go one of two ways then, “Sam was more thoughtful. “The gunman might respect her nerve. See her as an authority figure. Someone he can deal with on equal terms. He might well despise those he intimidates.”

  “Might well do so, “Sarah agreed, “but that doesn’t mean he knows how to handle an equal. He could see her as a major threat.”

  Sam nodded. “That was my other possibility,” he said.

  ***

  Inside the storeroom the heat was unbearable and no one wanted to talk much anymore. They’d been taken to the toilet in the mid-afternoon, escorted by the armed men, taken in twos and threes and they’d been given water. Naomi had heard Napoleon yip happily when he caught sight of her, but had not been allowed near him. The young man who’d spoken to her before had told her not to worry. That he’d keep him safe and, somehow, Naomi had trusted him on this. Since then her mind had been working furiously as to how she could take advantage of his consideration. Then, there’d been that sudden crash and the sound of shouting. They had all speculated as to what it might presage, but silence had been restored in the other room and they had been able to reach no further conclusion.

  That had been two hours ago and Naomi’s mouth was dry again.

  “Mummy, I’m thirsty. I want to go home.”

  “We all do darling. We will soon, I’m sure.”

  She sounded anything but sure, Naomi thought. The child fell silent and Naomi knew she wasn’t fooled either.

  “I wonder if anyone will water the allotment for me,” Harry mused. His allotment, a recent acquisition, was a major source of pleasure.

  “I’m sure Billy’ll do it for you,” Patrick reassured him. “You do his when he can’t.”

  Naomi smiled. She sometimes found it hard to believe that Harry and Patrick were father and son, they seemed so opposite but they were devoted and considerate of each other’s peculiarities. Patrick had originally lived with his mother after the divorce. She had remarried a man with two other boys and gone back with him to live in Florida. It hadn’t suited Patrick, though he was actually close to his stepfather and half-brothers. It was his mother he couldn’t handle.

  Naomi had known Harry since childhood. He’d been big brother to her best friend, Helen and was now somewhere between big brother and alternate romance for her. Much as Patrick liked Alec, she knew he wished that Naomi would dump him in favour of his dad. Regardless of how she might feel about Harry – and Naomi was never totally sure how far her affections might go in the future– the thought of playing step mom to Patrick was one that Naomi couldn’t handle with any seriousness. She saw Patrick pretty much as an equal, despite the difference in age and experience. The two of them had been good friends since they first met some eighteen months before, when the investigation into Helen’s death had been so abruptly reopened. Helen, Naomi’s best friend, had been murdered nearly twenty years before.

  “Was Mari expecting you to call?” Naomi asked. Mari was Harry’s mother.

  “Yes, but not till later. She knew we were going to Morton Park. She’ll see this on the news. I wonder if…”

  “My husband will realise I was here, “Alice’s mother spoke up. “I had a meeting with Mr Machin here this morning. I was early, as usual. He’ll know I’d have been early.”

  “My son will put two and two together, eventually,” Dorothy Peel added. “I’m here nearly every Monday.”

  “Our families will be worried sick, “ Megan James said. “You think Maria’s ok?”

  “I’m sure she is,” Brian Machin told her, his voice full of overly hearty conviction. “Emily, that’s my daughter, she’s just come back t
o live at home. Came back a week ago. Not much of a homecoming, is it?”

  “How old is she,” someone asked.

  “Twenty four. It’s only until she gets somewhere of her own. She was offered a job here, you see. I’ve been glad of the company though,” he laughed uncomfortably.

  “Divorced or widowed?” Dorothy again. Naomi winced at her lack of tact.

  “Oh, Widowed. Last year.”

  “Same for me,” Dorothy told him. “Five years now. Never thought anywhere could feel so empty as the house did that day after the funeral. Everyone went home, and there I was. Nothing but a big empty space and the freedom to do whatever I wanted without consulting anyone else.” She snorted angrily. “Fat lot of use that is to anyone.”

  “I’m divorced,” the slightly tremulous voice of Holly and Megan’s mother.

  “How long ago,” Naomi asked, not because she was really interested, but it was something to say.

  “Nearly four years. He’s remarried, got another baby, pays child support as and when he feels like it.”

  “I thought they had some organisation that chased errant fathers,” Dorothy queried.

  “We had an agreement before. I thought it would be better for the children if we could be amicable, but he just took me for a ride, so, yes, I’ve had to get my solicitor and the CSA involved now, all of that.”

  Dorothy made what might have been sympathetic noises. Their earlier fight about Dorothy taking her children to the lavatory seemed temporarily suspended.

  Naomi tuned them out. Others had joined the conversation, swapping stories about divorce settlements and the rights and wrongs of the Child Support Agency, taking refuge in the ordinary, everyday scandals that were worlds away from this.

  “I’ve got Alec’s number, programmed, “ Patrick whispered. “I could try and text him.”

  “No,” Naomi told him firmly. “Later, maybe, when people have gone off to sleep.” The thought that someone might give him away and Patrick be punished had made her very cautious about using this link to the outside. Patrick had hoped an opportunity might arise when they had been taken to the bathroom, but the men guarding them had told them to leave doors half open and hurried everyone up. There had been no chance.