by Simon Hall
The investigation uncovered the curious insight that most people who wore glasses would remove them before jumping.
And in this case, a bullet in the back of the head was surely preferable to the last living second of witnessing it tearing between your eyes.
‘I’m not turning around,’ Claire said. ‘If you’re going to do this, you do it face to face.’
‘Very well, Ms Reynolds. If that is how you wish it.’
Outside, through the glass panels of the door, Dan thought he could see a marksman. But the movement was fleeting and he couldn’t be sure.
To his side he heard Claire draw in a sharp breath. Adam let out a low murmur.
Dan could sense the revolver raising. He wondered who would be shot first. If it was him, at least he wouldn’t have to suffer the sound of the bodies of his comrades falling and that horrendous wait for his own death.
Another movement at the door. Dan was almost sure it was edging open.
But then again, if he was the first to be killed it would mean no chance of salvation. No time for the marksmen to storm the courtroom and disarm the judge. And something was happening outside.
A loud click made Dan cringe. It sounded like the twitch of a trigger, but it was the Newton’s Cradle. Templar had set those silver spheres in motion once again.
Click, clack, click, clack…
‘This is your final chance to turn around,’ the judge announced.
‘No,’ Claire replied.
‘No,’ Adam repeated.
More thunder boomed overhead, more pounding rain. Dan tensed his body, wondering if he would live long enough to know how the burning passage of a bullet felt. He waited for the shot.
But it didn’t come.
The door to the court was opening.
***
So much Dan may have expected then. A rifle barrel, the red dot of a laser sight finding a target on Templar’s chest and killing him in an instant. Perhaps a negotiator, dressed in helmet and body armour, edging through the door.
Maybe stun grenades, smoke, tear gas filling the air. Shouts, a tumble of armed police flooding the court, pinning down and protecting Adam, Dan and Claire, and overpowering the judge.
But instead the door opened to reveal Katrina.
She stood in the doorway, just stood. Arms by her sides, not threatening, not fearful, simply calm.
‘Hello, Judge Templar,’ Katrina said in a gentle voice, but which carried easily across the courtroom.
‘Ms Harper,’ he replied, with similar composure. ‘It is a pleasure, as ever. But you arrive at a critical point in the proceedings. Hard though this is to say this to one as engaging as you, it may be better if you left.’
She took a step into the room and let the door ease shut. ‘I don’t think so.’
Templar allowed the revolver to lower from targeting Adam. He rested the gun on the bench, but his fingers were still firm on the handle and his expression intensely watchful.
Katrina paced further into the room until she was level with the edge of the public gallery. ‘I hope you don’t think ill of me, but I was listening at the door,’ she said.
‘Then you will have heard all I said. I have nothing more to add. My case rests.’
He lifted the gun again and ran a finger over the grooves of the chamber. ‘I do, however, suspect those gathered here may have been suffering from a misapprehension which I must correct. They were never at threat. I am a man who believes in justice, not murder.’
Templar guided the gun back and forth through the air, as if conducting an orchestra, and placed the barrel carefully against his temple. With his other hand he adjusted the black cap so it was perfectly square upon his head.
‘It is time for sentence to be carried out.’
‘No, it is not,’ Katrina replied, emphatically. ‘There’s one more submission for the court to hear. It’s my appeal. And if you believe in justice, you have to allow for an appeal.’
She walked further into the courtroom, every step a challenge. The footfall fell in time with the click, clack of the cradle. She was level with Adam.
Templar watched every movement, but said nothing.
‘Your Honour, I heard your – closing speech, may I call it?’
‘You may.’
‘I found it very powerful. Very moving.’
The judge inclined his head. ‘Thank you, Ms Harper. Coming from one as eloquent as you that is a compliment which I appreciate.’
‘And I agreed with much of what you said. As I believe would many people.’
Adam was trying to catch her eye, warn her of the danger they were facing, how quickly the man’s mood could shift. But Katrina was focused only on Templar. Dan glanced down at his satchel. The little red dot on his phone was still alight.
If they got out of this alive, all would be well. But, as he had thought so many times before; if, if, if…
Templar nodded slowly. ‘Thank you again Ms Harper, but I fear I fail to see the point you are trying to make.’
She stepped past the dock, her elegant figure reflecting in the glass, and rested by the witness box.
‘Why not make your point to the whole world?’ Katrina asked.
‘In what way?’
‘The most effective way – in person. Every word argued powerfully to a watching public. I believe they would find it compelling.’
‘I believe I already have.’ A disdainful finger pointed to Dan. ‘That is why I summoned the media here.’
‘Yes, Your Honour, but he’s only one journalist. Why not a whole court full? And not just that, but solicitors and barristers, a judge, a public gallery? The case would attract international attention.’
Click, clack, click, clack…
Templar considered her words, a hand tapping on the wood. ‘You are suggesting I give myself up and submit to a trial?’
Katrina stepped forwards again. She was almost at the bench. Dan could see Adam assessing the distance between her and Templar, calculating whether she could reach the gun before he had time to shoot.
‘You could represent yourself,’ she said. ‘You were such a fine advocate.’
Templar reached out and stopped the silver spheres. The room felt strangely empty without their rhythmic sound. Even the rain had eased, to just a gentle spray pattering on the skylights.
‘And why should the court grant your request?’
‘For several reasons.’
Katrina began to climb the steps to the bench. She eased open the small wooden gate that led to the great chair where the judge sat. He made no move to stop her, but kept the revolver pressed to his head.
‘Careful, Ms Harper,’ Templar warned. ‘This court requires sound arguments, not ill-advised heroics.’
She stopped and held up her hands. But she was only feet from Templar.
‘Your Honour, I believe you still want to live. The plan you put together to set off the explosion, the way you provided alibis for yourself and Jonathan Ivy, that was brilliant. It’s clear you didn’t want to be caught.’
The barrel of the revolver was drooping.
‘And then there’s the rest of your life,’ she continued. ‘What about your memoirs? And you were looking for another partner, weren’t you? That’s not the way of someone without hope. There are so many women who would love to know a man as principled and engaging as you.’
‘Visiting me as I spend the rest of my days in a tawdry prison cell, like some common criminal?’
‘I don’t believe so. Given your skills as an advocate, along with the emotional trauma you’ve suffered, a murder charge could never be proved. A jury would have sympathy with you, as would the rest of the world. You could be the catalyst for reform of the legal system – in exactly the way you’ve spoken so passionately about wanting.’
In the distance, more thunder rumbled. Katrina moved forwards once again. She was standing above Templar now. He had lowered the gun to the bench, but it was still in his hand.
Dan, Claire and Adam all watched, all wondering what she would do. Katrina was much younger and fitter than Templar. She could easily end this. Grab the revolver and give them the few seconds they would need to restrain the man. He would be carried away in handcuffs, the case finally over.
But all she did was stand there, staring down at the old man wearing the black cap and grey wig, his face as soft as an opium dream.
Katrina reached out her arms. Templar looked up and found those beautiful eyes.
Slowly, laboured with a great weight of emotion, he released the gun and cuddled into her.
Chapter Forty-Five
The storm battered the city anew.
From the vista of the bay window Dan watched, Rutherford at his feet. Fork after bolt of lightning flickered and struck, the great percussion of the heavens following in their wake. The rain cascaded down, beating on the trees and plants of the garden and the protective shield of the double glazing, distorting the world in a flood of water.
Darkness had fallen early tonight. It was an omen of the shorter, colder days to come.
‘No run for us,’ Dan told Rutherford. ‘But we’ll do one tomorrow, I promise old friend. I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I? Are you ok just to sit here and chat tonight? There’s lots I want to talk about and you’ve got the short straw of listening, as ever.’
The dog rested his chin on Dan’s thigh for a gentle stroking, his manner of a graceful acceptance.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever had a day like it,’ Dan continued. ‘So, where to begin? Perhaps some refreshments?’
In the kitchen, he found a tin of beer at the very back of a dark cupboard, and tried to ignore the urgent requirement to do some shopping.
‘You’d think a man of my age would have learned to look after himself by now, wouldn’t you?’ He asked Rutherford, as they returned to the lounge.
They settled back to watching the storm. It was moving out to sea, carried on the changing wind. The city was quiet tonight, few car headlights moving, the people cowed into shelter by the onslaught of the skies.
Dan gave Rutherford a biscuit and positioned his water bowl in a corner of the bay window to give the dog less opportunity to make his traditional mess.
‘Where do we start? Well, let’s be a good hack for once and begin with the headlines. They go like this. Firstly, we’re safe. Adam’s still in his job and has been praised for cracking the case. And I’m still in mine, too. That little exclusive I brought back for Lizzie means all is well. It was bloody close, though.’
***
It was just after five o’clock by the time Templar had been disarmed and arrested. Dan ran out to find a taxi and headed back for the studios, urging the driver to a frenzy of haste. On the way he called Lizzie to explain what had happened, put the engineers on standby to help and sent a quick text message to Phil.
As can be the ruthless way of news, a programme running order that had been nurtured for hours was discarded in an instant. The story Dan brought would dominate to the exclusion of all else.
‘I want as much as you can do, I want it fast and I want it good,’ Lizzie demanded. ‘And after you’ve done all that, I want a word. No, I want several.’
The first task was to listen to the recording of Templar’s confession and the moment of his arrest. The quality of the sound the phone had picked up wasn’t brilliant. But it gave the viewers a very clear and dramatic understanding of the final minutes of the case.
As Dan expected, Roger Newman’s attack was dropped. The story of the day was a judge, a man appointed as a guardian of the law, committing murder in the name of his personal vision of justice.
It must, by Dan’s recollection, be his longest studio appearance. He introduced segment after segment of Templar’s speech. Phil had been disappointed, to say the least, that the story he was carefully cutting about Newman’s press conference was dropped. It was the lad’s break, a chance to show what he could do. But the text message of earlier had done its work.
In one hasty discussion, twenty minutes before Wessex Tonight took to the air, Dan said, ‘What we could really do with is some background on Templar, to get a flavour of the man. His biggest cases, that sort of thing.’
‘Good point,’ Lizzie replied. ‘But there’s no time now.’
‘Hang on – Phil, weren’t you looking at Templar’s career because you had that great idea for doing a profile when he retired?’
‘What?’
‘You were, weren’t you?’ Dan insisted.
‘Err, yeah. Sure.’
‘So you’ve got all you need – his history, the works? All researched and ready to go.’
‘Um – yes.’
‘You’re on!’ Lizzie snapped. ‘Don’t just stand there, get writing.’
But Phil, either in a brave or misguided mood, insisted he had one more angle to add. He’d discovered that Amy Ailing, the young woman who was injured in the gas explosion, had recovered well. She was expected to leave hospital tomorrow.
Lizzie accepted the offering as another flourish in what would already be an impressive sequence of reporting. She bathed him in the warmth of a rare ‘well done’. The young man’s strides were long and light as he went about preparing his contribution.
After the broadcast Dan traipsed the long walk to Lizzie’s office where she raised the comments Roger Newman had made.
His face was never built for an expression of cherubic innocence. But Dan looked as blameless as best he knew how.
He suggested Newman must have witnessed his closeness to the investigation – purely as a reporter doing his job, naturally – and come to the wrong conclusion.
A knowing stare was the reply, but no more was said. Dan quickly took his leave and made for the flat.
***
Rutherford had never been bothered by a storm, unlike many of his kind. The dog scratched busily at his ear and lay down.
‘I got a call from Adam earlier,’ Dan told the contented Alsatian. ‘He’s going to charge Templar tomorrow. He’s got another commendation for solving a “highly complex and immensely demanding case”, in the Deputy Chief Constable’s words. So we blunder onwards to fight another day, whatever that may bring.’
The central heating rumbled into life. It was that dreaded time of year when it had to be switched back on. Rutherford lifted his head and shifted position closer to the radiator.
‘Here’s something that will interest you, hound. It’s about Claire.’
At the sound of the sacred name, the dog was back on his feet.
‘Between you and me, she was magnificent in the case,’ Dan continued. ‘I don’t think I appreciated just how brave she is. It really is about time I sorted myself out with her.’
Rutherford, unsurprisingly, didn’t reply. But he did somehow manage a look that was laced with more than a hint of reproach.
‘Anyway, we had a quick chat earlier. We agreed we’re going to have a walk at the weekend. That’s all three of us naturally. It won’t be a summit, or anything heavy like that, but we will try to talk about, well… you know…’
The dog’s look appeared to change to one of expectation.
‘Oh, do I really have to say it? All right then, we’re going to try to talk about – the future.’
Together they sat in silence, watching as another fork of lightning played over the sea.
‘There’s something else I’ve got to tell you,’ Dan said, when the display had calmed. ‘You won’t be surprised to hear it’s about Katrina.’
***
In his limited experience of the phenomenon of the woman, Dan had come to think that dealing with Katrina was like trying to lay hands on a cloud. So before he made the call, he planned out what to say.
‘Congratulations,’ was the opening gambit.
‘On what?’ she asked, with an element of wariness.
‘Is there more than one thing?’
‘In my life there could be many.’
‘I’m talking abou
t persuading Templar not to shoot himself, or anyone else for that matter – particularly me. It was clever the way you played him, making it sound like a court case.’
They talked a little more, on the safe ground of the tension of those final moments in the courtroom, before Dan said, ‘Actually, you’re right. There was something else I wanted to congratulate you on.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’m not sure quite how to say this, but try – how to commit a crime by remote control.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I think you put Templar up to it.’
A silence filled the line, before Katrina said, ‘What in the world might make you think that?’
‘Just the obvious. That you were close to Annette, so you had the motive. That you knew Templar, and better than you let on, I think. It was apparent when you were talking in the court. You had that meeting with him after Annette killed herself, which you yourself set up. I can’t help wondering what you might have said there. There’s also the fact you were well aware Templar was more than a little unbalanced. And you know exactly how to manipulate people.’
‘Which all sounds like your wonderful imagination working even harder than usual. It’s all entirely circumstantial, if that even.’
‘Which is exactly how you’d make it look, of course. Which, in turn, is why I’m surprised you left a clue.’
And now there was a coldness in her voice. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’
‘You couldn’t resist going to have a look, could you? To see if the idea you planted about the gas explosion might just have come to fruition.’
She chuckled, but without humour. ‘It’s a lovely idea, but I didn’t leave my hotel that night.’
‘Which is absolutely true. The CCTV shows that, as you knew it would. You could hardly turn up at Homely Terrace without it looking suspicious, could you? So, you popped up to the hotel roof instead. You knew you’d see the aftermath from there.’
Katrina sighed. ‘What a terribly suspicious mind you have. It must be the journalist in you.’ She paused, before adding, ‘I hope you haven’t shared this strange fantasy with anyone else. You’d make yourself a laughing stock.’
