by Ian Robinson
‘Mr Buchanan, I can’t give you what you want as it’s not my gift to give. I do have someone here who can listen to you though. He’s also a police officer and is of a rank that can get things moving,’ she said.
‘Who?’ Buchanan demanded.
‘He’s an inspector who’s specially trained to help people like you.’
‘What do you mean people like me? Scum, pondlife…?’
‘People who mustn’t be ignored,’ she replied.
Ivers nodded to himself at the line and filed it for future use, and inclusion in a commendation report he intended to write for PC Roberts’s benefit.
‘Would you like to meet him?’ she asked.
‘No, fuck him. You’re all right and that’s good enough for me. I don’t reckon anyone can ignore you when I’m stood here with this bird and a scalpel. A taxi must be here in an hour or I start carving. We’re in a hospital so she might get lucky, but let me tell you, I’m fucking swift when I have a blade and know where to cut to end things quick,’ Buchanan said.
Diane’s muffled breathing increased in volume. Buchanan left his hand across her mouth as he drew her body closer into his. Diane felt how much he was enjoying the show and made a decision not to move for fear he’d enjoy that too.
Ivers had heard enough and stepped up to the desk where PC Roberts sat. He wore a white shirt with dark epaulettes on the shoulder that supported two pips as they were known. Enough to reassure Buchanan he was police and of rank, but not enough to scare him.
‘Where’d you come from?’ Buchanan barked as he stepped back from the open door to the room, taking Diane with him – the scalpel held close to her throat.
Ivers took a deep breath and prayed it wouldn’t puncture her skin.
‘Easy, Mr Buchanan. I’m here to help you as this officer said. PC Roberts needs a break. She’s been here for some time now and she deserves a drink at least. Would you like a drink, Mr Buchanan?’ Ivers asked.
‘Yeah, yeah, I would. A tea. Don’t think about putting any drugs in it as she’ll be tasting it first,’ Buchanan said, nodding at Diane.
He sat down on the edge of a hospital bed and maintained his hold of Diane. Diane squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remain as calm as she could, thankful that Buchanan was sat back enough that her bottom rested on the edge of the mattress, and not against him. She focussed on her breathing as PC Roberts had suggested they all do. Buchanan was having none of it, but PC Roberts had succeeded in calming Diane’s mind as much as was possible, given the circumstances. Ivers continued.
‘I’m going to let the officer leave and I will have some drinks brought in,’ Ivers said.
‘No. The copper gets them and comes back. If she’s not back here in five minutes then it’s game over,’ Buchanan said.
Ivers had expected as much and was glad of the suggestion Buchanan made, as was Roberts. She got off the desk slowly and walked towards the door to the ward and left. The doors shut and remained unlocked behind her. Hospital security had overridden the electronic door lock.
Roberts rotated her neck and massaged the back of it as she left. She became aware of a weakness in her legs and rested against a wall. She bent over and placed her hands against her aching quadricep muscles as she massaged them and made the most of the limited time she had before going back in. Back in. She wished the thought hadn’t arisen. She knew it was her job and that she would return with the drinks and re-enter the ward, but she felt so drained from lack of sleep she hoped she’d remain of use. She thought of Diane and that was enough to invigorate her.
A nurse approached and took her by the arm. She led her around the corner into the corridor that was eerily empty. Roberts realised the disruption Buchanan was causing to peoples’ lives. An entire ward had been shut down and patients reallocated to corridors a floor up, as there wasn’t the space anywhere else. This gave her a second wind and a determination to go back and wrap this up, so treatment could continue, and the hospital could return to normal and Diane could get the care she needed.
The nurse directed her to a staff room and as she entered, Roberts felt like she’d been transported to a military headquarters. Armed officers clustered in groups as they looked at maps of the ward and the entire wing of the hospital. Others ate and drank. As she entered, they all stopped what they were engaged in and turned to face her. One officer got up and passed Roberts his seat.
‘He wants tea,’ she said. ‘I don’t have long to bring it back or he’ll react.’
The same officer that had offered the seat left and went to a large hot water urn and began dispensing teabags into four cups. He placed these on a tray along with milk, sugar and a plastic spoon. He handed Roberts a chocolate protein bar from a fabric lunch bag on the table.
‘Here, you need this more than me. Teas are all good to go. Eat this first. The inspector will keep matey busy for a bit,’ he said.
Roberts smiled, but got up and took the bar. She collected the tray, and the door was held open for her to leave. There were no questions as to how the situation was unfolding and she reached the ward door as quickly as she could.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
‘Sorry to throw a curve ball into the arena, Pip, but it seemed like an ideal opportunity,’ Moretti said.
He sat on the two-seater sofa in her office while Nash moved steadily from side to side in her chair, rattling a pen in her teeth and looking at the protected CRIMINT log Moretti had uncovered. Nash knew exactly what the number pertained to. It was one she’d bought from the mobile phone shop for another operation with DS Harris’s mob. She couldn’t disclose to Moretti what the operation was, but it was all above board.
‘So, Sally manages to find this number that’s associated to me, on both victims’ phone data?’ Nash asked.
‘Exactly. Do you recognise it?’
‘Yes. It’s from another UC job. I bought it from the phone shop I always use,’ she mused.
‘So how do you think it’s ended up on both victims’ call data?’ Moretti asked.
‘That’s the million-dollar question, Nick, as neither of the victims have been associated with my work until now.’
Nash put the printout down. She’d looked at the intelligence log on the CRIMINT system. It had revealed nothing out of the ordinary. She’d put the phone number on a secure server that only she could see and access. All done in the knowledge the intelligence log would flag up if the telephone number was ever searched as well as for disclosure. She’d protectively marked it as sensitive so it wouldn’t be disclosed if it was ever asked for, unless a judge said so. The operation the number related to and its purpose was classified.
Moretti watched as Nash sat in thought. He assumed she was working out how this number was coming into their investigations. Nash wasn’t coming up with anything. Moretti was left with a dilemma. He trusted her but he had a duty of care to the victims and their families, and to see that justice was done. Regardless of Nash’s covert work, she had to account for this anomaly. There was no question of burying it under the auspices of sensitive intelligence. A number associated to her had been used to call both their victims and she was denying it was her who’d called. A number she’d acknowledged from the intelligence entry was hers and was so sensitive the log entry couldn’t be read by anyone other than her.
‘What about the SIM card, Pip?’
Nash snapped out of her thoughts as Moretti fired the question.
‘What about it?’ she replied, rather tersely. She hadn’t intended to but that’s how she came across.
‘Hey, don’t get the arse with me. This is serious shit, and we need to bottom it out,’ he said.
Moretti rubbed his face in his palms and sat back in his chair, legs out, arms behind his head as he cradled his skull. Nash sat with her head in her hands and looked up at him, her fingers gradually coming away from her hair and across her face as she sat back.
‘Sorry, I’m as confused as you are and was deep in thought when you spoke,’ she
said. ‘I bought both the phone and the SIM card from the same phone shop. It would’ve been one of the first times I used the place though, looking at the date of the operation I purchased the setup for. I’ll draw up an action for me to establish that.’
‘You?’
‘Yes, me.’
‘Do you think that’s ethical in the circumstances?’
Nash leaned forward, her eyes wide at Moretti’s assertion.
‘I don’t like what you’re implying, Nick. You may not like my covert role or approve of undercover operations as is obvious from your lack of interaction with the source unit, but if you’re hinting at corruption then you’re way out of line,’ Nash said.
Nash remained unflustered. Moretti had expected her reaction to be this. She had a volatile streak that surfaced at any hint of injustice and especially when it involved her team. He knew that was why she’d sent Matthews and Jonesy home. She wanted them to be out of touch from DI Richards for as long as she could engineer. For no other reason than she knew her team better than Richards, and she wanted to afford them time to account for their actions with honesty, having been given space away from a police environment to reflect and assimilate what must have been a fast-moving scene.
Moretti nodded at her and got up. There was nothing to be gained by remaining in her office. He had work to do and she most definitely did. He left her to her own mind, returned to his desk, and awaited the questions and opinions that he knew would soon fly around the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Iver’s head turned as the swing doors to the ward opened and PC Roberts swayed in with the tray in an effort to ensure she didn’t slop any of the teas. Her hands displayed a slight tremor and this reflected a lack of sleep and sugar. She had no fear of the situation. It was all under control. She was old enough in service to realise once a negotiator arrived, the hostage taker was either turning themselves in or being carried out covered in a black bag. Either suited her as long as she could see it through and Diane would recover from the ordeal.
Ivers helped her with the last stage of the tray’s carriage. He placed it on an area of the desk he’d cleared in anticipation of its arrival. He glanced over at Buchanan who had his eye on the prize that Ivers had no intention of giving up without a fight. If Buchanan wanted it, he could come and get it – or even better, send Diane. Even Ivers knew that thought was never going to occur but it didn’t do him any harm considering it as an option. An option he put in his back pocket as Buchanan pressed the blade against her throat and nodded his haggard face at the tray.
‘Bring it in here and place it on the floor. If you try anything stupid, she dies,’ Buchanan said. He raised his chin in Ivers’s direction and licked his lower lip in anticipation of the brew.
Ivers wiped his hand over his bald head and then down the front of his trousers. The heat on the ward was becoming oppressive but he’d decided that he’d use it to his advantage. If he was feeling the heat then Buchanan was too. Ivers remained seated as he addressed his adversary.
‘Can I not have a sip of mine first? It’s been a testing morning already and I’ve got a slaker on,’ he taunted as he reached for the tea.
Buchanan’s eyes squeezed tight and Diane breathed in deeply as she felt Buchanan’s body react to the absurdity of the response from Ivers.
‘Bring the fucking drinks in here now! This is my show and the sooner you start acting like it is, the better it will be for all of you,’ Buchanan yelled.
Ivers held up the palm of his hand and with the other he lifted the tray.
‘No, not you, her,’ Buchanan said, nodding at PC Roberts.
Roberts looked at Ivers who raised his eyebrows as he nodded in the direction of Buchanan. She hesitated. She was aware that it was unusual to offer another potential hostage. She shrugged it off and did as directed. Roberts took the tray and began the short walk to the side room.
Ivers observed and waited. Behind him he adjusted the Tazer that nestled at the base of his back. He was too far away to use it now, and Buchanan was too volatile to consider following Roberts into the room. He’d bide his time and wait. His job was to negotiate not retaliate. At times like these he was controlled and measured. The fact he had a Tazer was only due to his operational deployment as the duty inspector. Buchanan watched closely as PC Roberts entered the side room.
‘Hey, Diane, I made sure it was just as you like it, milk and no sugar, right?’ Roberts said.
‘Shut it with the chat and leave the tray on the floor. Step back out the room.’ Buchanan sprayed spittle, as he barked his instructions.
Ivers shifted in readiness to respond should Buchanan make a hostile move. He’d taken a risk he felt was a calculated one. By letting Roberts take the tray, as Buchanan had demanded, he was letting Buchanan believe he was in control, which he wasn’t. An armed team were in the next corridor, working through tactics, and in readiness to deploy.
He couldn’t control PC Roberts, though, who was now entering the next stage of fatigue.
‘You know what? You’re one complete and utter arsehole. Have you no shame putting this woman through more than she should ever be going through? Ever questioned why she might be here with police? No, of course you haven’t. You just decided your day was shit so why not infect someone else’s in the same way.’
Roberts picked up a tea and started to walk towards Diane who was still being held by Buchanan.
‘Come any closer, I’ll do her. I’ll fucking do her.’ Buchanan pulled Diane in close and the edge of the blade hovered against her throat.
Roberts stopped and held the tea out towards Diane.
‘Just let her have a drink, will you? We can carry on with whatever you want, it’s a tea not a bomb for fuck’s sake,’ Roberts said.
With all the commotion, Buchanan hadn’t noticed that Ivers had moved. Buchanan’s attention was directed towards PC Roberts, as she stood defiantly and held out the Styrofoam cup while she threw a look of reassurance in the direction of Diane. Her breathing, Roberts noticed, had begun to steady. Buchanan was at a loss. His mind span unsure of what action he should take next. It was still a standoff but Roberts had shifted the dynamic and he didn’t like it. Either he let Diane take the tea and risk losing her in a grab by Roberts or he took it himself. Either way he’d have to let her go and Roberts knew this too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Nash sat and stared at a mobile phone. It was on top of a mound of paperwork on her desk she really needed to work through but couldn’t summon the energy or concentration to do so. It was the very same phone that contained the number that was now causing so much derision and confusion. How did the number that only she knew and had access to, aside from DS Harris, enter the murder enquiries she was investigating?
She got up and turned on a radio that had its home on her window ledge. Someone had changed the station to Classic FM as a joke. They all knew she was a Radio X fan. Barber’s Adagio for Strings filtered through the speaker. She shook her head as she looked out over the parade ground at a fresh batch of recruits as they prepared for the final pass out parade. The last thing she needed was thoughts of Elias in the throes of death on the killing fields of Vietnam. She turned it off all together. Music wasn’t going to help her think today.
She’d sent Moretti away to oversee Matthews’s section and ensure all other intelligence leads were being maximised. She sat back down and opened her decision logs. She started to work back through the early entries she’d made. Had she made an error of judgement? Had she missed something obvious with all the plates she’d been spinning? No. She was blessed with a mind that stored and retrieved information easily and enjoyed the retention and gameplay that came with every investigation. The gameplay being to outsmart the killer and shut every door he or she opened.
She grabbed her car keys and jacket. She’d had enough of being indoors and it wasn’t helping her mind. As she scanned her desk for her warrant card, there was a cough at her door. The cough belonged
to DI Richards from Professional Standards. The message to his department about her DCs hadn’t got through, she mused, as he blocked her exit.
‘They’re not here. I’ve sent them home. You’ll have to wait,’ Nash said as she scooped the warrant card’s lanyard up from under a plain docket and placed it in her bag.
‘You know that should be displayed at all times while in a police building?’ Richards retorted.
‘The bag or the warrant card? Look, I know you have your job to do but so do I. Their welfare is important as are my investigations and yours. Let’s face it, Richards, the two armed robbers survived and will in all likelihood refuse to talk to you,’ Nash said.
‘You can’t wrap your detectives in cotton wool and expect me to ignore the fluff. I will be speaking to them either here or at home, and you had better get used to that,’ Richards replied. ‘All I’ve experienced from your team is obstruction. Now I see where they get their direction, it all makes sense. I can be damaging to careers, Detective Inspector. I have the ear of many senior management, very high up the chain.’
He hooked his thumbs over the top of his frayed trouser top. Nash inhaled deeply and Richards smiled as though the message had finally sunk home. How wrong he was.
Nash stepped towards him and stood face-to-face with someone whom she saw as no more than a beachball with a badge that had entered her property for the last time and wouldn’t get thrown back inflated.
‘I’ve met many men like you in the job. Men who think they can swan into my domain, as though I’m sat at the wrong desk, and give the same sermon expecting me to drop to my knees and show my appreciation. Well, let me give you a message you can take back to your chums in whatever Lodge you’ve crawled from. Fuck you. I will lead as I always have. From the front. Now shift your arse out of my office. I have murders to investigate. Go and see traffic section and drool over the scene photos from your job. I’ll call you as soon as my officers have returned to duty.’
