PANIC BUTTON
A gripping crime thriller full of twists
CHARLIE GALLAGHER
Langthorne Police Book 2
First published 2017
Joffe Books, London
www.joffebooks.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.
©Charlie Gallagher
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THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH AND POLICE SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.
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An edge-of-your-seat crime thriller starts with a vicious stabbing of a pretty teenage girl and her boyfriend on a local bus. She happens to be the mayor’s niece. It’s the final straw for the community. The police are desperate to get results and decide on a risky course of action involving undercover infiltration of the notorious Effingell Estate.
Detective George Elms knows this hellish place extremely well, and his sharp investigative mind is put to work to solve the crime. The police are under immense media pressure and conveniently a local lowlife confesses to the attack. But George is not convinced. There are many layers of criminal and police motivation, and few people are what they seem.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Author’s Note
PREFACE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHARLIE GALLAGHER’S LANGTHORNE SERIES
FROM CHARLIE GALLAGHER
VOCABULARY
CHARACTER LIST
Dedicated to all those who put on a uniform and run towards what the rest of us are running away from.
No matter what, no matter when.
Author’s Note
I am inspired by what I do and see in my day job as a front-line police detective, though my books are entirely fictional. I am aware that the police officers in my novels are not always shown positively. They are human and they make mistakes. This is sometimes the case in real life too, but the vast majority of officers are honest and do a good job in trying circumstances. From what I see on a daily basis, the men and women who wear the uniform are among the very finest, and I am proud to be part of one of the best police forces in the world.
Charlie Gallagher
PREFACE
Police Personal Radio (PR) System: Instruction of use Q&A.
Section 9.4: EMERGENCY BUTTON
Q. Where is the emergency button located on the Police radio unit?
A. The emergency button is located on the top of the handheld unit. It is coloured a bright red and is raised to allow easy and fast access when required.
Q. When should I press the red button?
A. In any situation when you require emergency assistance.
Q. What happens on the radio network when I press my red button?
A. When the emergency button is activated, that call takes priority on the network giving the user an open microphone for a ten-second period followed by a locally defined time for the control room to respond. All personal radio units set to the same channel will also vibrate and provide an audible alert to each user to the emergency button being pushed.
Q. What happens if I press my emergency button when the airwaves unit is switched off?
A. When the radio unit is switched off pressing the emergency button will still be effective. Please be aware that the emergency button function WILL NOT be effective if the battery is removed.
Q. Does the GPS system still assist with finding my location when the emergency button is pressed?
A. When the emergency button is pressed the Global Position System immediately increases in signal strength allowing the control room to accurately identify your position.
CHAPTER 1
It was 2:45 p.m. and the heat was still unbearable. It was nearly the end of the shift and Police Constable Matthew Riley was regretting his decision to step out of the air-conditioned interior of his police vehicle. He reached for the radio strapped to his chest, depressed the long button on its side and held it in front of his mouth. ‘Charlie Bravo One, One, Control, can you TA me Canterbury Road please?’ Riley received a tinny confirmation and twisted the button at the top to turn down the volume. The heat was thick, tangible almost, weighted down like an extra layer over the uniform that clung to the damp patch on his back. Riley pushed at the gate. It sprang shut with a sudden loud noise as he passed through and made his way up the steps to the door of number 17.
The place was unremarkable, set in a row of identical terraced houses. They were connected at the top, with interior space on the ground floor lost to narrow alleyways that gave access to the back gardens. These mostly harboured rubbish bins. Number 17 was presentable, the front garden was well kept and the thick hedge flourished, with recently trimmed and squared edges. Riley knocked twice on the blue wooden door. He pressed the doorbell and turned back towards the garden, where flowerbeds ran away from the house, full of colour. The dull roar of passing traffic sounded beyond the hedge.
Riley stood facing into the sun. His thick duty trousers, heavy stab vest and equipment belt absorbed the heat and spread the various damp patches. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he once again pushed the transmit button on his radio.
‘Control — confirm the address the caller gave please.’
The reply was instant: ‘Charlie Bravo One, One from Control, 17 Canterbury Road.’
‘Received that, Control. I’ve got no reply here. Go again with what was said on the call.’
‘Bravo One, One, it’s an abandoned three nines I’m afraid with very little information. We had a call asking for police, saying they were at 17 Canterbury Road, Langthorne and to come quick. The line was then cut. We’ve tried calling the number back but it’s straight to answerphone and the number isn’t linked to anyone on the system here.’
Riley exhaled. Another waste of his time. He stepped back from the house and peered up at the closed blinds in the top windows. At the side of the house was an alley that led through to the back with a gate at the far end blocking access and light. In c
ontrast to the bright sunlight it was a dark tunnel. He tugged a bin out of the way and advanced a couple of feet into the gloom, where he stopped to allow his eyes time to adjust.
‘Thank God you’re here!’ A voice. It was gravelly, as if the man had been waiting to speak for some time. Riley jumped a little. He heard movement. A man stepped out in front of him, he was just a shadowy shape.
‘Was it you that called the police?’ Riley asked.
‘Yes. Keep your hands out to the side where I can see them.’
Riley was confused. ‘Do what?’
‘Keep your fucking hands out!’
Riley slowly lifted his arms out until he could feel the rough texture of the brick walls against his hands.
‘Keep them there.’ The tone was calmer now but still assertive.
‘I came here to help, that’s all.’
Riley was unfazed, confident of his ability to talk to people in all kinds of emotional distress. There was a six foot gap between them, the light wasn’t sufficient to make out the man’s features.
‘Stay very still,’ the man said. The gruffness in his voice indicated tension. The man was in his thirties, Riley guessed, certainly no younger, and had a local accent.
‘I’m no threat, okay? You called me here. Tell me how I can help you.’
Without replying, the man began to lift something. Squinting, Riley could make out an extension lead. In an instant a bulb directly above Riley crackled into life, giving off a weak amber glow and revealing the man in front of him.
It also revealed the oversized pistol in his hand. He raised it, pointed it directly at Riley’s forehead, where the sweat had now run into his eyes, making them sting. Riley put his hands out in front of him in a gesture of submission, his palms towards his aggressor, his body open.
‘Keep your fucking hands against the wall!’ The voice was stronger now. The man was wearing a black balaclava revealing just the smallest amount of white skin around eyes that looked at him steadily.
Riley returned his hands to the wall and tried to take his eyes away from the pistol. ‘Look. I came here to see if someone needed help. I’m no threat to you, I just wanted to make sure everyone’s okay.’
He noticed the man’s mouth move behind the balaclava, as if he had licked his lips.
‘You need to do exactly what I say if you want to stay alive. Do you understand?’
‘Okay,’ Riley said.
‘When I tell you, and only when I do, I want you to press your emergency button on your radio, you understand?’
‘Okay.’ This suited Riley fine. He couldn’t think of a time when he had wanted to press it more.
‘When you press it, you have ten seconds to broadcast to your colleagues. You will read this out, word for word.’ The man lifted a piece of white, A4 size paper with three lines written across it, in large letters. ‘If you deviate from what is written on here I will shoot you in the face. Do you understand?’
Riley nodded. He focused on the paper and ran the words through his mind. He looked to where the sun leaked through gaps in the gate at the end of the alley. He longed to step back out into its warmth.
The man shifted his stance. ‘Do it now!’ He raised paper and pistol towards the officer. ‘With your right hand, press the button then read the words slowly and clearly.’
Riley’s movements were deliberate. He moved his hand to his radio, strapped to the left side of his chest. His eyes were wide and unblinking. His finger felt for the raised button on the top of the radio and he pressed it hard.
* * *
The police based at Langthorne covered an area of more than fifty square miles. A mix of motorways, towns, villages, and deep rural locations all had their own demands and problems. A team of eight response officers were responsible for its protection. The early turn, with the exception of Riley, had just gone off duty, and the late turn team were sitting in their briefing room at Langthorne Police Station. Pictures of the area’s most wanted adorned the walls, along with their cautionary notices and types of criminality. Maps of the area were pinned to whiteboards, highlighting areas of concern or points where break-ins or assaults had taken place.
Sergeant Tim Betts sat at the front of the room. The police veteran with twenty-two years’ service was trying to control the laughing hubbub of his team of eight, who were busy stuffing themselves with cake. Punishment for one of the group daring to have a birthday.
‘Right!’ Betts peered at the computer screen in front of him and selected the latest intelligence briefing. Projected onto a screen behind him, loomed a larger version of Langthorne’s most wanted male, who had recently won a small victory in a chase with the traffic police. The picture was in close-up against a bright, white background. The face formed the main light source in the room, with the blinds shut against the heat and the lights turned off.
‘Right. Listen in.’ Betts fought down a laugh as he looked at one of his officers who was scraping fresh icing off his glasses.
Suddenly, each radio emitted a double beep and vibrated against their chests. Like everyone else in the room, Betts knew that emergency button activations were rare, mainly because they represented the point where a police officer had lost control, and immediate assistance was needed. Some of the officers got to their feet, picking up the car keys they had just been given by the departing early shift. Others sat up in their seats, dropping cake onto the table. They all had a tight feeling in their stomachs. Sergeant Betts bent over his radio and listened intently to the transmission. He twisted the volume button, unclipped his radio from its holder and lifted it to his ear. The occupants of the meeting room waited.
Next door, in the canteen, a tactical team had convened for a cup of tea. Having successfully completed a raid on a cannabis factory, they were putting off the inevitable paperwork that would follow. Now they focused their attention on their radios. The newest member of the team, who was responsible for the tea, had stopped the bubbling urn mid-flow. His cup was half full and he held it under the tap as they waited for the caller to begin.
Upstairs, the area commander was sitting in her office. Largely unused, her radio sat in its charging cradle. It shook and beeped, and the display glowed red. She dropped her pen, straightened her back and stared at it.
On a busy road, a firearms team passing through the area had stopped a young lad in a Citroën Saxo. He had been conversing on his mobile phone so intently that he had failed to see the marked patrol vehicle driving alongside him. He stood now on the hard shoulder, apologetic, shrugging his shoulders, but he was no longer the focus of attention. Both officers standing with him had bent their heads close to their radios, and one had jammed a finger in his ear in an attempt to block out the traffic noise. They waited.
* * *
At the force control centre, Sally Hennessy had been slumped in her chair — a position her chiropractor had told her to avoid. She lifted her headset and rubbed beneath the rubber pads over her ears. It had been a long shift and all three of her screens had been worked hard. The government cuts imposed on the police service meant that she was looking after a far larger area than ever before, including more police officers, each of whom was very much used to having their orders obeyed. She’d had just about enough of being bossed about and was looking longingly at a clock on the wall facing her. Another minute ticked away and then all three of her screens suddenly flashed bright red, and an audible alarm confirmed that someone had pressed for assistance. Off to her right she was aware that the control room inspector had turned towards her station. Sally’s middle screen revealed the source of the call as PC Riley. The GPS system had already confirmed his exact location. Sally sat up straight, replaced her headset, and waited.
There was something unusual about this transmission. Normally, pressing the “panic button,” as it was often referred to, would provide just that — a panicked update from an officer grappling with an offender, giving chase, or being chased. It would often be breathy, with the officer unsu
re where they were or in what direction they might be travelling, and it would be down to the control centre to pick up the pieces after the ten-second transmission and direct in all the available resources. This transmission, however, was clear and unhurried, as if the officer was standing still, pronouncing every word with deliberate care:
‘A man is standing in front of me with a gun. He has a message for us all. He says that he will come for us. He will come for all of us one by one. Until it is finished.’
There was a pause. The screens on all the radios returned to black, their lights extinguished. The ten seconds had elapsed and officers across three towns tried to put a meaning to the words. Still nobody moved.
* * *
‘Press it again.’ The man dropped the paper and his hand moved to support the one holding up the weapon.
‘And say what?’ Riley stammered. Now he was afraid. The meaning of the words he had just read out had begun to sink in.
‘Press the fucking button!’ His tone had hardened. The man took a step towards him but Riley did not move away, he was frozen to the spot. His finger found the red button and he pushed it again.
* * *
All over Langthorne and in the surrounding areas radios shook, then hissed as the microphone stayed open. At force control centre, three screens flashed red. The voice this time was very different, it carried fear and uncertainty. It was quieter, the words directed away from the microphone. ‘What do you want me to say now? I’ve done what you said!’
At the sound of the gunshot, Tim Betts jumped in his seat. Sally Hennessy emitted a yelp and knocked over her pen pot. The area commander stared wide-eyed at her radio. On the A20 dual carriageway, two officers looked at each other. In the canteen, half a cup of boiling water fell and shattered on the floor. When the second shot sounded, Betts closed his eyes, and lowered his head. For a few moments, Langthorne’s entire police force froze.
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