by Helen Harper
I kept my eyes peeled for a florist’s van, just in case, and that was why I spotted the small boy dressed in denim dungarees and the woman by his side who was checking her phone in a distracted fashion. When the football he was hugging slipped from his arms and bounced across the road, I shouted in panic. But I was too late. He ran forward at the exact moment as a car appeared.
The accident; there had been an accident that had blocked this very road. That’s why it had taken me so long to get to the Talismanic Bank the first time. Right now, I was witnessing that accident in real time.
While I watched helplessly from too far away, the car clipped the boy’s body. There was no way the driver could have stopped in time. The child was thrown up into the air, spinning helplessly as his mother let out a bloodcurdling scream when she registered what was happening.
I forced myself forward but I was already pushing myself to the limits of my physical capability. By the time I reached them, the car had already screeched to a halt and the boy was lying face down in the middle of the road. He wasn’t moving.
I skidded to a stop and whipped out my phone, dialled 999 and breathlessly called for help. The mother was still screaming as she knelt at her son’s side, her fingers clawing at his body. People from every direction were rushing over to try and help. But the boy’s neck was at an unnatural angle and his body looked lifeless. With sinking horror, I knew any efforts to resuscitate him would be too late.
I was numb from head to toe. Towards the end of the road, the ball was still dribbling along the gutter. I knew there was nothing I could do, and that more horror that I might be able to stop might be happening at this very moment less than a half a mile away. With a heavy, reluctant heart I ripped myself from the scene. That boy was dead. Oh God. That poor little boy was dead. I blinked back tears and started running again.
***
By the time I arrived, panting, at the imposing façade of the Talismanic Bank, the crowd on the pavement told me that I’d arrived too late. Again. It was becoming the story of my life. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that the bank robbers had been and gone.
The only silver lining was that Pralk had taken me at my word. Steel shutters had been dropped in front of the bank’s doors and the robbers hadn’t been able to get in. That meant that seven, maybe eight, people who should have been dead were still alive and well.
I pushed my way through the shocked onlookers. Right in front of the bank’s steps, lying on his back, was a single corpse. It was a man wearing a black hooded top and black jogging trousers. He’d been shot in the face, causing most of his face to be obliterated. Blood was smeared on the pavement around his body.
I stared, wishing for a moment that I was anywhere else but here, then I pulled myself together and grabbed the disposable gloves I always carried. I knelt down, and fumbled with his hooded top. It took some effort but I managed to roll up the sleeve enough to reveal the tattoo on his arm: a barbed-wire heart, Adam, Jane. Huh. This was the same human who’d ended up with a bullet in his face inside the bank yesterday. Or today. Or whenever it had been.
I looked around, searching the expressions of the witnesses. ‘Did anyone see what happened?’
For a moment nobody spoke then an elderly woman shuffled forward. She must have been in her eighties. She was wearing a brightly coloured, tent-like, pink dress that smothered her diminutive body. Her eyes were such a striking cornflower blue that I knew immediately that she was a pixie. I wondered if she was related to the pixie who’d been killed inside the bank the first time around.
‘There was a van.’ She spoke with a London accent. ‘A small white van. It was driving along the road down that way,’ she pointed behind her, ‘when it sped up without warning. I was sure it would hit some poor pedestrian. Then that young man ran up from the same direction – he looked as if he was heading for the bank. The van stopped suddenly, the window rolled down and someone shot him. I didn’t see what happened next. I was hiding. Everyone was.’ Her head dropped sadly. ‘But that poor boy didn’t make it. One minute he was sprinting and the next…’
‘Thank you,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ll need you to make a statement later.’
‘I can do that. My name is Esmeralda Strom and I live right over there.’ She pointed to a black door not far down the other side of the street. She clicked her tongue. ‘It’s because of the bank, isn’t it? It’s a wonderful institution that does a lot for our community. What is society coming to when people are gunned down outside it in broad daylight?’
What indeed?
I stood up as my phone started to ring. I answered it distractedly, most of my focus still on the unfortunate Adam. It was DSI Barnes yet again. She didn’t bother with any niceties.
‘Would you like to explain what on earth is going on, DC Bellamy?’ she snapped. ‘I’m told that you abandoned the scene at the London Eye without lifting a finger to help, and that you ignored my order to go to Tower Bridge. PC Hackert is there. He can’t deal with this sort of incident on his own. And what is this I’m hearing about a murder in front of the Talismanic Bank? You told me about the bank but you mentioned it before anything happened there. You need to explain yourself, Bellamy! Where are you?’
‘I’m in front of the bank now.’ I gestured at the gawking onlookers to move back. ‘What’s happening on Tower Bridge is a hoax.’
‘What?’ she barked. ‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘I can’t explain right now.’ I glanced up and down the street. I didn’t know where the gang was but I knew where they were going. I hissed through my teeth. I needed a vehicle.
‘You’re on your own,’ Barnes said. ‘I suppose it’s understandable that you’re out of your depth.’
‘I’m not out of my depth,’ I lied.
‘Whether that’s true or not, other police officers are on their way to join you. It was fortunate I took you at your word earlier and arranged for CID to send a squad to the bank.’
‘That’s no longer necessary. I have everything under control. Please don’t…’
‘It’s out of my hands. CID is heading your way now.’
‘Let me guess,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘A team headed by DI Collier.’
‘How did you know that?’
Annoyed, I shook my head. ‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘I’m leaving the scene. I think I know where the gang that’s orchestrated this is heading.’
‘What? DC Bellamy, I need you to—’
I hung up. It wasn’t fair on DSI Barnes, and I knew I’d cop hell for it later on. but I wasn’t in a position to give her any answers. And I had to get to that disused tunnel.
‘I need a car,’ I called to the crowd. ‘Which one of you has something I can borrow?’
The elderly pixie shook her head and there was a discontented muttering from the other watchers. An angry-looking werewolf with a yellow zeta tag on his arm pushed forward. ‘You’re going to leave? There’s a dead body lying in the middle of the street and you’re going to steal one of our cars and walk away as if nothing’s happened?’
Why was it that I always ended up with the werewolves with attitude?
‘CID are on their way,’ I said calmly. ‘I think I know where the perps are heading. I need to get there before they do to have any chance of catching them.’
‘What? How do you know that?’
I didn’t bother answering, I simply gave up on the argument and stepped into the middle of the road. A small red Smart car approached, stopped and the white-haired lady behind the wheel blinked at me. I flashed my warrant card. Her wide, frightened eyes drifted down to the crossbow I was still holding loosely in my right hand and she rolled down her window. ‘What’s going on? Is that a dead body? What’s happening here?’
‘I’m with Supe Squad, ma’am,’ I said politely. ‘I am commandeering this vehicle.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘What? You can’t do that!’
‘I certainly can. Posse comitatus. Power of the county. I am l
egally entitled to make use of any help or equipment required.’
She continued to stare at me.
‘Get out of the car,’ I ordered.
Shakily, she obliged. I took her place and checked the petrol gauge. The tank was full. Perfect. ‘Your vehicle will be returned to you later,’ I said. ‘Thank you for your service to your country.’
While both the woman and the crowd stared at me in astonishment, I drove away.
***
As I got close to the old electrical tunnel, I kept my eyes peeled for any signs of smoke. My foot was pressed to the accelerator but the little Smart car was no Ferrari – it wasn’t even as zippy as Tallulah – but it was better than nothing.
I overtook a slow-moving lorry with great difficulty and debated what to do if I reached the gang before they swapped vehicles and made their escape. They were armed to the teeth; supernatural prowess or not, I had no chance against them. And I already knew how determined they were to avoid arrest. The best I could do was to follow them to their destination and call in the cavalry. This time they wouldn’t have the chance to set up snipers beforehand.
I smiled grimly. I still wasn’t sure how this strange repeat had occurred, but I’d make the most of it. I’d foiled the robbery; now it was time to bring the perpetrators to justice.
It seemed like an age before I saw the turn off for the tunnel. There was no evidence of a burning van and I allowed myself a tiny fist pump; I’d made it in time. All I had to do was find somewhere to stop where I had a clear view of the action, then I could identify what kind of vehicle the gang had moved to and I’d have them.
Spotting a layby, I indicated hastily and pulled in. I got out and turned, shielding my eyes from the sun’s glare. There: from this vantage point, I could just make out the scene below me, less than a hundred feet away. There was the tunnel and there was the florist’s van. There was also a battered old family saloon – and a group of angry-looking people standing between the two vehicles and yelling at each other. There were three of them: one blonde woman; one dark-haired, heavily-built man, and one sandy-haired bloke with glasses. Gotcha.
I heard a loud toot. A moment later a car pulled into the layby behind me and a man about my age got out. ‘Hi there!’ He raised his hand in friendly greeting. ‘Are you having car trouble? Let me help you.’
Fuck off. I forced a smile. ‘I’m not having trouble, I’m absolutely fine. You can continue on your way.’
He grinned at me. ‘Feminism in the twenty-first century,’ he declared with a dramatic click of his tongue. ‘There’s no shame in asking for help, you know. You can’t be expected to do everything on your own. Be grateful that I stopped. It’s not every day that you get a knight in shining armour coming to your rescue. What is it? A flat tyre?’ He stepped in front of me, blocking my view of the gang.
‘Get out of my way,’ I hissed. I tried to move to the side so I could continue to watch but he moved into my path.
‘Well,’ he huffed, ‘if you don’t want my help…’
‘I don’t.’
He threw up his arms, clearly annoyed at the vagaries of women, and walked to his own car. Praise be. ‘Screw you!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘I was only trying to help!’
I waved at him then glanced back at the gang. The woman had a phone to her ear and was gesticulating with sharp, frantic movements. Who the hell was she talking to? I glanced to the right. Oh no. The other two had stopped arguing, opened the rear door of the florist’s van and were hauling out a struggling woman. I focused on her face and my stomach dropped as I recognised her face. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been on a slab in Laura’s morgue. It was Margaret Wick, the unfortunate woman who’d been hit by a stray bullet from inside the bank. Her luck obviously hadn’t improved; this time she’d been taken hostage.
It was no doubt a move born out of panic rather than planning when the van had stopped in the middle of the street. Once they’d discovered the bank was shuttered against attack and they’d killed Adam, at least one of their number had freaked and assumed someone had tipped off the police. They’d grabbed Margaret Wick as insurance against what might happen next. The elderly pixie who’d witnessed the shooting hadn’t mentioned anything like this.
I watched the scene, panic shooting through my veins. My plan to hold back then follow the gang to their hideout flew out of the window. The last thing they’d want right now was a human hostage, so her life was being measured in seconds. I couldn’t stand by while they shot Margaret Wick in the head.
I moved like lightning. As the would-be Good Samaritan finally started his engine and drove away, still glaring at me, I leapt to the Smart car and grabbed the crossbow.
I spun around, checked it was ready and took aim. Thanks to the lessons I’d received from Kennedy, I was far more adept with it than I’d been a few months earlier but that didn’t mean I was an expert marksman. I’d have to be careful. I couldn’t use the crossbow against anyone who wasn’t supernatural – that was against the law – and this gang appeared to be human. But a woman’s life was in real danger so I had to do something. I focused on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Then I pressed the trigger.
The silver-tipped bolt flew out, zipping through the air. I released my breath when it hit its intended target and embedded itself in the concrete exterior wall of the tunnel, right in the centre of the faded graffiti.
The gang scattered, dropping Margaret. Two ran for the family saloon and dived inside. I could already hear its engine starting. The other figure darted behind the florist’s van. I flicked my gaze to the hapless Margaret Wick, who wasn’t totally witless – she was scrambling away, one shoe on and one shoe off. She ran for the tunnel’s entrance without once looking back. Good move, I decided. She was safely out of the way. That meant…
Something slammed into my shoulder. I was thrown backwards against the side of the Smart car while the shot echoed and sharp pain flooded my body. I’d erred by taking my eyes off the gang to check on Margaret. It had only been a moment – but it was enough.
I staggered up and looked over again, tears of agony blurring my vision. I glimpsed the figure emerging from behind the van and strutting towards the saloon car. The hip sway made it clear that she was female. She glanced towards me and I knew that, if I could have seen beyond her mask, I’d have seen her smile. It had taken her seconds to work out that I was alone. She got into the front passenger seat and I heard the engine start.
A lorry swept past me, its horn blaring. I lost my footing and stumbled yet again. With a great effort, I clawed my way to the driver’s seat of the Smart car and fell in. Wiping my eyes, I straightened up. The saloon was already pulling out of the exit and joining the road in front of me. I swallowed and started the engine. I was in no fit shape to drive but I couldn’t stay here. I had to try to follow them.
I revved the little car as hard as I could and took off. The saloon was already fifty metres in front of me. I tried to change lanes, almost hitting another car in the process, and cursed. My left arm was all but useless; changing gears and steering at the same time was almost impossible. I gritted my teeth and fought through the pain. Come on, Emma. Bloody come on.
Even in the best of circumstances, I’d have never managed it. No matter how hard I pushed the little Smart car’s engine, it wouldn’t do what I needed it to do. In less than a minute, the saloon had vanished. I had no number plate and no way of catching them up.
The gang had gone. And I’d failed again.
Chapter Thirteen
I called Fred from the side of the road as blood continued to leak from the wound in my shoulder. I’d bound it as best as I could, somehow managing to peel off my T-shirt and wrap it round the bullet hole but that was doing little to stave off the bleeding. My bra was already soaked red. Any normal person would have done the sensible thing, called an ambulance and gone to the nearest hospital. Alas, I wasn’t normal.
‘Boss!’ Fred said, his words coming in a rush. ‘I’
ve been trying to reach you. So has Liza. I’m at Tower Bridge but I heard something went down at the Talismanic Bank. Where are you? What’s going on?’
It took a great effort to get the words out. ‘You need to put out an all-points bulletin,’ I said. ‘Family saloon car. Volvo. Three people inside, armed and dangerous.’
He sucked in a breath. ‘Number plate?’
‘I don’t know. It was last seen heading north on the Westway towards Wormwood Scrubs. Dark blue. There’s also a woman hiding in an old tunnel.’ I gasped out the details about Margaret Wick.
‘I’ll get someone there now.’ He paused. ‘You don’t sound very well. Are you alright?’
Another wave of pain assailed me. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I muttered. One way or another. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘What the hell kind of craziness is going on today? I’ve never seen anything like this shit.’
He took the words right out of my mouth. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Be careful out there, Fred. These people don’t care who they kill.’ I hung up; I had to go while I still had some shreds of consciousness. It was high time I got some answers.
***
I pulled up in front of Devereau Webb’s tower block and slumped against the steering wheel. I’d done most of the journey in a daze. I’d been as careful as I could to avoid any bumps or potholes that might cause more damage to my bleeding bullet wound, and taken care not to get close to any other road users and endanger them. The driver’s seat was now sticky with blood. It wasn’t a good sign. I needed to speak to Webb before I blacked out completely. I heaved myself out of the car and staggered to the tower block’s main entrance.