The Secrets of Strangers

by Charity Norman

  The negotiators are forcing down plastic sandwiches from a local bakery. Ashwin’s looking slightly less stressed than he was earlier, perhaps because he’s made some progress.

  ‘I can add to our profile of Ballard,’ he says, dunking a biscuit in his mug. ‘I’ve just talked to someone who used to be a neighbour, a retired farmer called Appleton. I didn’t give him any information about what’s happened. He’s known the Ballard family forever. Knew Sam’s father, took over the farm after he died. He reckons Sam Ballard is …’ He turns a page in his notebook. ‘A fine lad, conscientious, first-rate farmer. Says Sam dotes on his little daughter, takes her absolutely everywhere with him—or did, until she was hauled off to live elsewhere. Appleton didn’t have much to do with Robert Lacey. He doesn’t like Nicola Rosedale one little bit. He thinks she’s a gold-digger. Out for whatever she could get. Everything had to go her way.’

  ‘Sounds like a loyal friend of the Ballard family,’ says Paul.

  ‘Yes—and maybe he’s got rose-tinted specs on when it comes to Sam. He was the referee for his gun licence years ago. He swore to me he’ll eat his hat if Sam Ballard has ever—ever—discharged a shotgun unsafely.’

  Eliza pulls the ring on a can of diet Coke. ‘Oops. Time to look up hat recipes.’

  ‘I also tracked down Sam’s only aunt, Monique Bond.’

  ‘Father’s sister?’

  ‘Mother’s. She’s an accountant, lives in Manchester. Big fan of Lacey’s, reckons he’s a saint walking this earth. She’s not so fond of Sam. According to her he was nightmare as a child—spoiled … deluded … unhinged … evil on legs—ruined the Laceys’ wedding by deliberately messing up a poem he was meant to read and moping about like a wet Wednesday. He had it in his head that Lacey killed his father. Her theory is that he’s got some kind of Oedipus complex. She hinted darkly about incestuous obsession.’

  ‘Heart-warming stuff,’ says Eliza. ‘Good old Aunty Monique.’

  ‘She says he has ADHD, diagnosed thanks to Lacey. If true, that might account for some poor impulse control? She told me this weird story about a puppy.’ Ashwin pauses to take a bite of sandwich. ‘D’you think this is meant to be food? I’ve eaten cardboard boxes with more flavour.’

  Paul has got to his feet and is updating the whiteboard.

  ‘’Fraid the best café in this neighbourhood is closed today,’ he says, without turning around. ‘Unforeseen circumstances. What’s the puppy story?’

  ‘So … Lacey bought the kid a very cute, very expensive puppy as a peace offering. Sam took one look and threw a world-beating tantrum. Screamed, trashed the house, almost killed the poor animal. Lacey had to give it back to the breeder. He was very shaken and phoned Monique Bond to cry on her shoulder. She assured him she wouldn’t blame him if he left her sister.’

  ‘Nice,’ says Eliza. She’s taken a strong dislike to Aunt Monique. ‘Nothing like a bit of disloyalty to hold a family together.’

  ‘She also says … erm …’ Ashwin’s scanning his notebook. ‘Lacey put up with what she calls Harriet’s “neuroses”—a whole host of insecurities and an eating disorder which began after their marriage and continued right up until Harriet’s death last week.’

  ‘Did she have a single good thing to say about her only sister?’

  ‘I don’t think they were very close. Monique didn’t make the journey down to the funeral. She had a long-awaited knee reconstruction booked and decided not to cancel it. Without any prompting she asked me whether Sam has killed Robert.’

  Eliza narrowly avoids spitting out a mouthful of Coke. ‘What?’

  ‘I didn’t tell her what’s happened today, but she came out with … hang on, I made a verbatim note, ’cos this was startling. Has Sam attacked Robert? He’s wanted to kill that man since he was eight years old.’

  Paul has turned away from the whiteboard. He’s frowning, his burly arms crossed.

  ‘So the aunt—Monique Bond—really believes this was Sam’s childhood ambition? To murder his stepfather?’

  ‘That’s what she said. If she’s right, Lacey’s death is starting to look planned. Ballard brought a shotgun all the way from Sussex. This was an execution, not a catastrophic breakdown. Nicola could well be next on the list.’

  The sandwiches really aren’t worth the effort. Eliza abandons hers and stands up.

  ‘Where exactly is Nicola hiding? Do we know?’

  ‘We do. I’ve taken over text contact with her.’ Ashwin pulls out the floor plan and the three of them lean over it. ‘She’s under this sink, here. It’s a back kitchen, used mainly for storage and as a staff cloakroom. She’s terrified—not surprising, given there’s an armed man wandering around looking for her. It’s cold and cramped in her cupboard and she keeps sneezing. There’s only a swinging fire door between her and the café. One loud sneeze and the whole thing blows up in our faces.’

  ‘And where’s Julia right now?’

  ‘Day care. Arrangements are being made for her after that. There’s a court battle ongoing.’

  ‘I suppose there’s no way to smuggle Nicola out through the back?’

  ‘Nope. I double-checked with the barista. Hang on …’ A text has arrived on Ashwin’s mobile. ‘The boss wants our input on the next press statement. Any thoughts on that? How d’you want to play it?’

  The three spend several minutes discussing their approach. The media may very well be broadcasting straight into the café, so the press statement is a useful tool—perhaps a way of getting a message to Sam as well as to the hostages.

  ‘Talk about how there are children trapped in there,’ suggests Eliza. ‘How young they are, how their families are terrified. I think Sam’s feeling guilty about them. After all he’s a father himself, he’s been kept from his own daughter. There must be relatives of hostages downstairs?’

  ‘A guy just phoned to say he thinks his wife and two-year-old daughter were going to Tuckbox this morning with an elderly friend. Paige Johnson, seven months pregnant, and Lily. The descriptions fit. He’s a tube driver, got the news at work when they were told not to stop at Balham. He’s on his way here now.’

  ‘Could you get a quote from him for the press release? Sam’s daughter Julia is a very similar age to Lily. There has to be some leverage there.’

  Once Ashwin has headed downstairs, Eliza stands at the window for perhaps the hundredth time today. There it all is: the café, the colour-spangled Christmas tree, the three anxious dogs and—just visible—an SCO19 team, armed to the teeth, who must be running out of enthusiasm by now.

  ‘Why?’ she asks Paul. ‘Sam Ballard’s never been in trouble before. His neighbour clearly respects him. Why would he suddenly run off the rails so spectacularly?’

  ‘He’s just lost his mother. A grieving mind is wounded, it can malfunction—sometimes a grieving mind will play tricks on people.’

  ‘Yeah, but murder and hostage-taking?’ She’s rolling her shoulders, trying to release an ache in her neck—until her gaze sharpens.

  ‘Hey, Paul, take a look,’ she murmurs urgently, reaching for her binoculars. ‘I think something’s happening. Could be an escape attempt.’

  She hears his chair tip over backwards, hitting the carpeted floor. Seconds later he’s joined her at the window. They both lean close to the glass.

  The street door of Tuckbox has opened. It swings outwards just a foot or two, enough for a person to slide through. All three dogs are alert and facing that way. The smallest one begins to bark.

  Other pairs of eyes are watching. Eliza trains her binoculars on one of the firearms officers, who is observing developments from around the edge of his hiding place. He motions to others behind him, and they immediately fall into position.

  Yes. A diminutive figure is emerging through the narrow opening of the door. A woman. She moves onto the street, holding both hands high up in the air. She’s wearing a puffer jacket, a beret on her head. She stands for perhaps ten seconds with her arms up, turning from one side to ano
ther. It looks as though she’s shouting something.

  Others follow her out: a second woman, very pregnant, with a small child balanced on her hip. The woman’s arm is wrapped around a stooped man in a pale coat. He’s leaning on both her and on a walking stick, wisps of white hair blowing in the wind. Judging by the woman’s posture, Eliza suspects she’s carrying much of his weight.

  And now there’s a boy with an old-fashioned satchel. He emerges last but hurries to hold on to the first woman’s puffer jacket with both his hands. He’s wearing an anorak with fur around the hood. As Eliza watches, he throws some objects towards the dogs—one, two, three. They immediately stop barking and begin to eat. The door of Tuckbox closes again.

  ‘Has that child just fed the dogs?’ Eliza asks, handing Paul the binoculars.

  He takes a look. ‘Mm. Pies, I’d say.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  The nearest firearms officer is beckoning to the hostages from around his sheltering doorway, but it seems that the elderly man is unable to walk, even with the support of the two women. Progress is desperately slow until a couple of officers sprint out to meet them.

  Eliza is still transfixed by the scene when the negotiators’ phone rings.

  ‘Incoming,’ she gasps, hurling herself across the desk.

  Her caller is using the café phone. It’s not Sam, though. This is a female voice, low-pitched and unhurried. She has a marked accent but there’s no difficulty in understanding her.

  ‘Hello? Hello? Yes … This is Mutesi Nkunda. You need to send an ambulance right away. As close as you can get it, please.’

  ‘Okay. Have you—’

  ‘Please, just listen. I can’t answer any questions. The man who has just left is in need of urgent medical attention. Tell them he’s eighty-seven years old with a history of heart disease. He has pain in his chest and breathing difficulties. His pulse is extremely fast and weak, he cannot walk unaided. His name is Arthur Beaumont.’

  ‘Right,’ says Eliza. ‘We’ve got an ambulance on standby. It should be with him within a minute.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s all I can say.’

  Eliza speaks fast, words tumbling out of her. This is too good an opportunity to waste.

  ‘Mutesi—wait—are you still there? Please thank Sam from me. That’s important. Thank Sam from me.’

  Mutesi seems almost to be singing. ‘Yes—yes! I will tell him.’

  And she’s gone.

  The siege is entering its seventh hour. The remaining hostages must be exhausted as well as terrified. Yet Eliza is left with the strange conviction that the woman she’s just spoken to was smiling.

  Mutesi

  ‘Yes—yes! I will tell him,’ she agrees cheerfully, just before Sam takes the phone out of her hand.

  ‘You look happy,’ he says.

  ‘I am happy. You have done a very good thing. She asked me to thank you.’

  Sam wasted no time, once he’d made up his mind to release the five. He was like a different man. He and Abigail rapidly moved the tables before ushering Brigitte out, followed by the others. Brigitte insisted on going first, in case there was any accidental gunfire.

  ‘Pronto,’ Sam kept urging, ‘pronto, pronto, before the snipers work out this door is open.’

  It was he who had the wonderful idea of feeding the abandoned dogs. He ran to the cabinet, grabbed three pies and gave them to Emmanuel.

  ‘Chuck these to the dogs,’ he suggested, putting them into the little boy’s hands. ‘They might be hungry.’

  Emmanuel hung back. ‘What about you, Grandma?’

  ‘I will stay a bit longer,’ said Mutesi, giving him a gentle push towards freedom. ‘But I’ll follow you soon.’

  And now the ambulance is coming for Arthur, and Abigail is helping Sam to drag the tables back into place in front of the door—just as she promised she would. Neil’s in the storeroom, looking for a defibrillator. Of course there won’t be one, and anyway Arthur has gone now, but Neil still hasn’t come back. Maybe he’s found a secret door and has run away! Ha! Good for him! Mutesi wants to dance—she could take this curly-headed young murderer by the hand and make him jive with her. She could kiss him on his beaten-up forehead—why? Because Emmanuel is safe, Emmanuel is safe! What does it matter if she is a hostage? What does anything matter?

  ‘They had an ambulance ready,’ she says. ‘If you go to the window I am sure you’ll see it.’

  Sam looks at her with amazement, as though she’s got two heads. ‘You think I’m going to press my nose against that window? Some bloody crack shot will blow it right off.’

  Mutesi laughs aloud. ‘I expect they’re equally afraid of the crack shot in here.’

  ‘I’ll look out of the window, Sam,’ says Abigail, pulling down one of the slats in the blind. ‘You can stand behind me if you want, so you’ll be safe. Hey, Mutesi’s right. There’s the ambulance—they’ve parked out of range behind that porch, but you can just see the back corner, and the lights flashing.’

  Sam takes cover close behind her. The pair of them are craning their necks in their efforts to watch.

  ‘I think they’ve shut the back doors,’ says Abi. ‘Yes—hear the siren? They’re off.’

  ‘Will that old bloke be all right?’ asks Sam.

  Mutesi is dancing as she moves into the kitchen.

  ‘Yes, I think he will,’ she assures him. ‘With medical help, and with the grace of God.’

  ‘Hope so.’

  ‘Tea?’ suggests Mutesi, rubbing her hands together. ‘Come on, Sam, drink tea with us. What else is there to do?’

  ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘Probably.’

  He looks suspicious. ‘How do I know you’re not going to slip me a mickey finn?’

  ‘Slip what?’ It takes her a moment. English is her third language and sometimes the idiom still baffles her, though she’s lived in London for well over twenty years. Then she remembers.

  ‘Oh! A mickey finn. I know. You mean a sleeping pill or something?’

  ‘You work in a nursing home. I bet you’re always dropping tranquillisers in the old folks’ tea.’

  ‘Well, no. I do not like to drug my friends. Not with tranquillisers in their tea at least. Maybe Risperidone in their yoghurt. Sam, I don’t carry medicines home. I would be sacked if I did. Look—’ laughing, she holds her arms out to each side ‘—you see? No pockets at all! You’re welcome to search my bag and my jacket and even look down my socks.’

  In order to reach the shelf of white teapots, she has to lean across Robert’s body. It doesn’t bother her. She’s seen plenty of those in her time. Plenty of blood, too. Plenty of murder.

  And anyway, Emmanuel is safe.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Sam

  As soon as he looked into the old guy’s face, he knew he was in serious trouble. He recognised the Blu-Tack.

  If someone had been awake when his father’s heart faltered and stalled, especially someone experienced like Mutesi, maybe he would have lived. But life and death are totally arbitrary. Every day is a roll of a dice. Sam learned that when he was almost as small as Emmanuel. One moment Dad was fixing the mower, happily planning all the fun they’d have in the school holidays. Night, son. By three o’clock the next morning, for no reason at all except some misfire of the electrics in his heart, he was dead. Two weeks later he wasn’t just dead, he was non-existent. He’d been burned to nothing but ashes in a furnace. They’d put him in a green plastic tub with a screw-top lid. Mum, Granny and Sam were setting him free.

  Mum waited for a windy day because she wanted Dad to be able to fly. Bouncer and Snoops came too. Those poor dogs had worshipped Dad and they were lost without him. They seemed to understand that the three humans were doing something very solemn. Even Sundance joined in the procession, walking along with his nose butting on Granny’s shoulder. Mum chose a place by the spinney in Sundance’s field, because Dad had loved this spot so much. For a while they all stood and waited for a
good strong gust of wind. When it came, Mum held up the green tub and turned it upside down.

  Sam wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he was surprised when a stream of very fine dust came pouring out of the mouth of the tub and billowed around in a cloud. He tried to catch some of it in his hand, but Granny shook her head.

  ‘Don’t, Sam,’ she said. ‘Don’t keep him. Let him go.’

  So he stood and watched as the wind caught the ashes. They flew and tumbled, swooping across the field like a swarm of bees before merging into the summer blue. He imagined it was Dad’s spirit. He wanted to fly with him.

  ‘Bye, Angus,’ said Granny.

  ‘Bye, Dad,’ said Sam.

  Mum didn’t say goodbye. She stood with the plastic tub in her hand and sobbed—quietly at first, then louder and louder until her sobs sounded like yells of pain. Sam put both his arms around her waist and his cheek against her tummy and hugged her as hard as he could, trying to comfort her, but she didn’t seem able to stop. She got down on her knees and washed the green tub in Sundance’s trough, to make sure Dad was all gone. She was still sobbing while she did that.

  ‘Come on,’ murmured Granny, putting her arm around Mum and taking Sam’s hand. ‘Home. Tea.’

  •

  For a while, they kept the plastic tub on a shelf in the larder.

  ‘I can hardly put Angus’s urn in the recycling, can I?’ asked Mum. ‘I’m not sure what to do.’

  Robert offered to take care of it, and she was so grateful. Oh, Robert, would you? He smiled, carried it away and shut it in the boot of his car. Sam was ready to bet he dumped it in the nearest rubbish bin on his way home.

  Not long after they scattered the ashes, Mum said she was ashamed of making such a scene in Sundance’s field. It wasn’t fair on you, Sam. She announced that it wouldn’t happen again, and she succeeded in her mission. Sometimes Sam heard her crying in her bedroom at night, but by the next morning she’d be cheerful again.

  So his father was alive and well one day, and two weeks later he was a cloud of dust. Sam tried to keep him alive. He stared at shadows and imagined they were Dad’s. One night he looked out of his bedroom window and almost—almost—saw Dad in the orchard, stooping to pick up apples to give to Sundance. He was wearing his floppy canvas sunhat—Mum said the hat was ridiculous, but she liked it really—and his baggy overalls with their smell of straw and engine oil and soap and sometimes cowpats.