by Adam Carter
Heading back to the station, Hart thought about how she would prepare for the arrival of Clarissa’s boyfriend. Turning the station into a death-trap would have been a good idea, and she thought back to the old cartoons with Roadrunner or Tom and Jerry. Even if such would feasibly work, the preparations would have taken far too long, and she knew she was going to have to settle for something far less grand. While she walked, she considered the idea of setting up a wire fence and running a current through it, but doubted that would even be legal.
“Liz.”
She had not noticed Stoker coming the other way, and she waited for him so the two of them could head back to the station together. He quickly informed her of everything that had happened with Father Bishop; then she told him everything she had herself done. Stoker did not seem particularly happy with the way she had handled things, which was somewhat crass considering he was the one helping her.
“Well, it’s done now anyway,” she said. “So we have to get back to the station and fortify it before we receive company.”
“Liz, you’ve invited a gang of murderers to your doorstep.”
“To familiar territory. What would you prefer, that the two of us head off into the woods and we have it out there?”
“We need reinforcements.”
“This is Barrowville. We don’t exactly have paratroopers on hand. Out here we work with what we have. I’ll call Rob and get him away from the crime scene. I can’t imagine what’s left of that snowman’s worth guarding any more anyway.”
“I hardly think Constable Manson’s going to tip the balance if it comes to a shoot-out.”
“Then you haven’t seen him shoot.”
“He can use a gun?”
“Well, no. I was being metaphorical.”
“Metaphorically, we’re like a beetle under someone’s foot, without anywhere to fly.”
“No, that’s a simile.”
Stoker shook his head and Hart tried hard to think of when this had become a game of one-upmanship.
“I had to make a spur-of-the-moment decision,” she said. “Anyway, at least I’m doing something. So come help me fortify the station or something.”
Hart was still angry when they arrived, although she fully intended to put that anger to good use. The police station was not built to withstand a siege, but Hart knew how to improvise. The first thing she did was move the Christmas tree so it wouldn’t get ruined; then she set about saving their lives. Together they moved any furniture they could find, positioning it so they could force the killers to come a specific way. Hart and Stoker were tucked away behind the main desk, where they had a full view of anyone as they entered. So long as the killers did not have any firearms, they would have no room to manoeuvre and Hart could tackle them one at a time. As formidable as this Dominic may have been in hitting someone in the face with a hammer, Hart had training in how to take down aggressors with her extendable truncheon. If it looked as though she was getting in trouble, she would drop to the floor and Stoker would blast the offender in the face with pepper spray.
It was a well-thought-out plan, and one which even had a fair chance of success.
Crouched behind the desk, they waited in silence for someone to show.
Twenty minutes later, Hart was beginning to feel her legs cramping.
“When I was six,” she whispered, “I had a party. No one turned up. This kind of reminds me of that.”
“I can’t believe you weren’t a popular kid, Liz.”
“I looked after my sister a lot, I didn’t get to socialise too much. And I guess I grew up quickly and saw my school-friends as … well, a little childish.”
“You were six. You’re allowed to be childish.”
“Technically I was five. It was on my sixth birthday they didn’t come.”
“If you kept correcting them over things, it’s no wonder they didn’t turn up.”
Hart could hear the tension in his voice. Stoker was worried. He did not like this plan and he was afraid. She had never seen Stoker afraid before today, had never really thought he could have been. He always approached a situation with such calm detachment for which she had always striven. It was strange, finally being on the job with him, but she had the feeling he would not appreciate her gushing in his presence.
“Tell me about Sue,” she said instead.
“Sue?”
“I get you want to protect me because of what happened to your daughter. I just … I’m not her, John.”
“No, you’re not.”
She did not know how far she should push him, but she was insanely curious. He had never once mentioned his daughter, not in all the time she had known him. It was as though he had tried to forget her, as though that was the only way he found he could cope with losing her. It was a terrible thought to have, but one she honestly felt was true. And if his dwelling on his daughter was going to affect his actions here, she felt she needed to know. That and she was nosy.
“Sue was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Stoker said. “And then she died. There’s not much more to say.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?”
“There’d been a bank robbery. Nasty business, two people put in the hospital. I was investigating the case and knew it was going to end badly. Sue got a lead and she looked into it without waiting for backup. I guess she wanted to impress me, I don’t know.”
“You daughter was on the force?”
“Constable. A bobby on the beat. I told her she should progress through the ranks but she was happy where she was, dealing with the public: being the face of the law.”
Hart knew the feeling. While it was true she was a detective, her most satisfying aspects of the job came through her interaction with the public. Wisely, she did not say as much. She had a feeling Stoker saw her enough as his daughter as it was.
“They caught her snooping,” Stoker continued. “So they took her. Then they started making demands, as though they actually thought they were going to get anything. They threatened to shoot her if they didn’t get what they wanted, stuck a gun to the side of her head and expected us to back down.” His voice drifted off and Hart thought she might have lost him. He continued as though she was no longer even there. “They took me off the case, of course, and not just because I was related to her. I wasn’t trained to deal with hostage situations, so I left it to the professionals.”
“They couldn’t get through to the bank robbers?” Hart guessed.
“I don’t know what happened. I never did find out, but it doesn’t matter. Shots were fired inside the building where they were holed up, so the armed police moved in. Officially, the shot that killed Sue came from one of the gunmen, but I had a friend in ballistics who told me otherwise.”
“Good Lord,” Hart said. “She was shot by a police officer?”
“That doesn’t look good in the media. Bad enough a constable dies, but that she was killed by one of the people who went in to rescue her?”
“Was there an investigation?”
“Probably. Likely someone was reprimanded, maybe even sacked for it. I didn’t want to know, because I didn’t want to find out the name of the person who killed my daughter. I knew I wouldn’t be able to trust myself if I ever found out.” He inhaled deeply. “So I threw it all in and retired. Brenda and I came to live here, in Barrowville, where bad things don’t happen to good cops.”
She could feel his eyes on her and wished he would understand she wasn’t his daughter. But the more she thought about that, the more she realised that was the role she had been unconsciously trying to fill. She had always wanted to impress Stoker and had taken this as her opportunity to do so. She felt a sudden shiver to think she might well end up dead, and knew Stoker would take it terribly.
Hart opened her mouth to speak, but her heart leapt as a shrill noise blasted through the room. Forcing down her panic, she reached for the phone sitting on her desk. “Detective Hart,” she said.
“Hart?” It was Fathe
r Bishop.
“Father, what’s wrong? You sound upset.”
“Hart, I have Tony here with me. The silly fool warned his sister off.”
“He did what?”
“Says he didn’t want to betray her: he’s a right mess now. Anyway, that’s not the point.”
Hart felt her entire body go numb at the very thought of what Bishop might say next. If Tony had warned his sister of the trap, it meant Dominic would know the police were onto him. And that meant he would be about to do something desperate.
“They’re here,” Bishop said. “They’re here at the church. I don’t know what they want, but I don’t think they …”
There was the sound of a scuffle and the line died. Hart did not bother to shout Bishop’s name.
“That was bad,” Stoker said, “wasn’t it?”
“Dominic’s at the church. He’s taken Bishop and Tony hostage.”
“As they can’t get out of the village, it’s a logical step.”
“How can you be so calm?”
“Because when cops get emotional, they barge in and people die.”
Hart reached a decision. “I’m going in alone. I’m not having you there with me, John, no arguments.”
“Well I’m certainly not letting you walk in there alone, Liz.”
“No arguments,” she insisted. “You can wait outside, but I go in alone. This is still my investigation and thank you for your help but your part in this is over. Now it’s time for me to go do my job.”
“Hostage negotiation isn’t the job of a detective.”
“Out here it has to be. John, please don’t fight me on this.”
He clearly wanted to argue, but Stoker merely grunted. She had no idea whether that was acceptance of her decision, but she had made up her mind regardless. The situation had turned about as bad as it could go and now it was time for her to solve the problem entirely. Steeling her nerves, Hart prepared herself for having to talk to a gang of murderers and convince them to turn themselves in.
If this was what life in the big city was like, Hart at last decided she didn’t want any part of it after all.
CHAPTER NINE
She knew the people of Barrowville, she knew the church and she knew the entire village was depending on her to protect them. Detective Felicity Hart kept repeating these things to herself as she approached the church but knew none of it would make any difference. She was still a small-time cop dealing with big-time criminals. But she would do her best and pray it was good enough. Inside the church, perhaps her prayers might even do her some good.
A crowd was forming outside the church by the time she got there. Apparently, the strangers had been seen entering the church and had kicked out anyone who was in there at the time, taking the priest hostage in the process. The news had shot through the village in minutes and the crowd was worried and afraid. It fell to Hart to calm them down, but all she could really tell them was that she was going to sort the problem and get their priest out of there. They also confirmed what Father Bishop had said over the phone: that they also had Tony with them. Some of the crowd thought Tony was working with the criminals, others did not seem too certain. Hart suspected assumptions were being made, but she would not vilify Tony Millar until she had more proof against him.
Before going inside the church, she asked about the strangers. There were three, aged somewhere in their thirties, and one of them had a beard. She was given such a variety of descriptions that she figured the best way to be certain of what these men looked like was to wait until she confronted them.
Wishing she had more time to think of a better plan, Hart walked to the church door and entered.
The first thing she noticed was the noise. Hart had spent a great many hours in this church and always had its silence been impressed upon her. Even when Bishop was speaking, there seemed to be a quiet ambiance which listened intently to every word he spoke. Now there was tension in the air, angry shouting and commotion. Hart absorbed the setting as much as she could, knowing at any moment things could turn nasty. Bishop and Tony were seated on the pew at the front of the church. They were not bound but sat in such a way which denoted they had been ordered not to move. Clarissa was standing nearby, leaning against the pulpit, her arms crossed. She looked nervous, but had an air that she was trying to seem as though she was still in control of herself. Hart surmised she was worried about her brother: perhaps a threat had been made against him. Also, this situation was far beyond anything Clarissa had ever imagined and she was probably having trouble being so far outside her comfort zone.
It was the other three men upon whom Hart focused the most.
She had never seen any of them before. They were dressed in jeans, which reminded Hart they had not expected to stay here through a snowstorm. Two of them looked just as nervous as Clarissa, although the third, the one with the beard, had manic eyes and was in Hart’s opinion on the verge of snapping. Whoever these people were, wherever they had come from, they had a carefully laid plan which had been disrupted by the snow and their leader was at breaking point.
Hart could see no firearms, of which she was grateful, but all three men were armed with long knives and baseball bats. Hart had not been aware baseball bats were even available to buy in England.
“Hands where I can see them,” the man with the beard said. Something told her this was Dominic.
“Detective Hart,” she said, slowing her approach but not moving her hands at all. “You’re under arrest. I’d advise you to come quietly.”
“I said hands.”
Hart ignored him and looked to the prisoners on the pew. “You two all right?”
They nodded slowly, uncertain what game she was playing.
Dominic laughed. “You’re not what I expected, Hart. Clarissa said you’d be a pushover.”
“Did she now?”
Beside the pulpit, Clarissa shifted uncomfortably.
“All right,” Dominic said, “now you’re here and can see we’re serious, it’s time to lay down our terms.”
“There are no terms of surrender. You hand yourself in and it goes better for you.”
“Terms of our walking out of here. Don’t push it, Hart. I like your bravado, but I have a temper.”
“And a hammer,” Hart said. “Unless you were clever enough to toss it in the river.”
He grunted. Hart was not all that certain what the sound in this instance even meant.
“You’re not getting out of here,” Hart told him. “And, before you explode at me, that’s not me being difficult. The roads are still blocked, so unless you’re prepared to walk a very long way, you’re as stuck as you were before you murdered Joe.”
Dominic stiffened and Hart realised she probably should not have mentioned Joe’s name. If Dominic thought she had any way of identifying any of them, he might not be so amenable in this negotiation.
“I can get you a helicopter,” she relented with a deep sigh.
“You can?”
“No, leave off.” She looked at the three men and tried to put her training to use. During hostage situations it was always best to make the criminal think he was in control. However, in poker the winner was usually the one who held chip power and the air of authority. If she could project confidence, she would disarm her adversaries and their resolve would falter. In theory. Of course, having such an honest attitude to life, she had never been any good at poker.
“I wouldn’t play games with us,” Dominic said.
“No offence,” Hart replied, “but what do you actually hope to gain here? I can’t get you any form of transport to take you out of Barrowville. You’re holed up in a church and the snowstorm’s not showing any signs of letting up. About all you can do here is confess your sins and pray for forgiveness.” Her eyes flitted to the other two men and noticed with rising hopes that they were already faltering. She imagined they were not happy about what Dominic had done to Joe and knew either of them could be next. They could also likely see the
hopelessness of their situation, even though they still did not want to accept it. If she could point things out to them as clearly as possible, she might be able to get them to turn on their leader.
“I want a tractor,” Dominic said. “One of the ones with big wheels. That’ll get us out of here.”
Whatever Hart had been expecting, that certainly had not been it. “A tractor?” she asked flatly. “Are you serious? You’re going to escape the law on a tractor? Do you have any idea what the top speed for a tractor is?”
“I don’t care. We’ll get past all the snow and ditch the thing before the cops show.”
“I am a cop.”
“I mean the real cops.”
Hart narrowed her eyes. “I can think of a few flaws in your plan there.” She glanced again to his companions to make sure they were still wavering. She decided to hold up some fingers. “One: I’m not sure a tractor would get you through the snow; two: you’re assuming the snow’s confined to Barrowville like we’re the village that time forgot or something; three: I’m not giving you a tractor.”
Dominic held his knife before him. Hart could see his arm was far from steady and feared the situation had unnerved him. His eyes were wild, but his mind for the moment was still lucid. “You’ll do what I tell you,” he said.
“Why did Joe have to die?”
“What?”
The question had thrown him, so Hart pressed it. “Poor Joe, he didn’t stand a chance, did he? Is that what happens when you get angry, Dominic?” She made a conscious decision to throw in his name: it might help convince the others to surrender if they thought she knew all about them. “Sorry, I forgot,” Hart continued, “Rob fell, didn’t he?”