by Simon Hall
And tomorrow, not so far away now, delicious normality would resume. At least for as long as ever it did in his ridiculous life.
***
Adam put a hand under Ivy’s arm and began guiding him towards the door. But the usher was a dense weight as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other. He was whispering something, but too faintly to hear.
“Come on man, enough of your stalling!” Adam barked. “It’s over. We’ve got you and in a few minutes we’ll go and get Newman.”
Still Ivy’s lips were trembling as he tried to find the words.
“What’re you bleating about?” Adam snapped. “This is your last chance before I have you carried out.”
Ivy looked up. His face was a study of misery, crumpled and sodden with tears.
“Roger,” he managed. “Why poor Roger?”
“What?” Adam said. “What’re you talking about?”
“Roger… why have you arrested poor Roger?”
Adam stared at him, looked harder, penetrating the man’s mind. There was no deceit: that was far beyond him now, no space for doubt. Ivy was genuinely baffled.
“Shit!” Adam yelped, and sprang for the door.
Chapter Forty-One
Adam tumbled out of the room. At the end of the corridor, the security guard was feigning interest in a couple of maritime watercolours. It was as convincing an act of innocence as a bloated cat sitting by an empty fishbowl.
“Are you alright, sir?” the man asked.
“No, I’m bloody not. Who gave us that room?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Why were we using Templar’s office?”
“Because His Honour offered. He’s out working on some big legal thing. He heard you were coming to do an important interview and wanted to help.”
Adam swore with sufficient velocity to make even the guard grimace. He led the man into Templar’s chambers.
“What’s your name?”
“Collet, sir. Tom Collet.”
“Ivy’s under arrest and you’re going to stand here and guard him. He’s going nowhere until we come back to get him, understood?”
The usher had taken the opportunity to slump back onto one of the visitor chairs. With the gown falling around him, he resembled the debris of a human loosely wrapped in black cotton. Tom Collet drew himself up to his full and imposing height.
“He’s going nowhere,” Collet proclaimed, in a voice of which a regimental sergeant major would have been proud.
Dan stared from Adam to Ivy and tried to make sense of what was happening. From sailing full speed aboard a luxury liner, he now felt shipwrecked and castaway.
The case had been over. Ivy and Newman were under arrest. In a stroke of inspiration – if he did say so himself – Dan Groves, amateur investigator of note, had uncovered their conspiracy.
He had even begun rehearsing for the Wessex Tonight broadcast.
Tonight, we can exclusively reveal who the police believe killed Martha and Brian Edwards, Craig would intone. Our crime correspondent, Dan Groves – who was integral in the breakthrough, as I hope he won’t mind me saying – joins us now to tell us more…
And now what?
“Come on,” Adam ordered and began running towards the stairs.
It was all Dan could do to force his legs to start moving and trail bewildered in the detective’s wake.
***
Claire was waiting in the lobby by the court’s main doors, trying to ignore the admiring looks of the two security guards. Her hair was tussled from the rain and she wore it well.
Outside, the storm unleashed its venom. A waterfall poured from the small shelter of the entranceway. The trees in the plaza were being battered incessantly.
“Are you alright, sir?” she asked Adam, who had grown so disheveled he was beginning to resemble an explorer emerging from a jungle expedition.
“I wish people would stop asking me that,” he grunted.
A couple of people stopped to watch the strange scene, but Adam didn’t even register them.
“Where’s Templar?” he barked at one of the guards.
“His Honour?” the man corrected.
“Whatever. Where is he?”
“He’s gone out.”
“No shit. Did he tell you where?”
The man smiled, revealing teeth which had encountered far too many cigarettes in their unhappy lifetime.
“You know, he did. He made a little joke with us. His Honour likes his jokes – well, sometimes he does. I don’t know—”
“Where,” Adam cut in, forcefully, “did he say he was going?”
“To the car park.” The man pointed across the plaza. “The multi-storey, over in the corner.”
Adam swore again. He made to head for the doors, but stopped. “And what the hell was funny?”
“Oh, it wasn’t that. It was what else he said.”
“Which was?”
“You won’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
“He said he had a gun. That was very funny, I thought. He had a gun, he was in a mean mood and to be sure to tell that to anyone who came after him. Can you imagine it? His Honour with a gun? Now, that’d be some scary form of justice, wouldn’t it?”
***
Without a hint of hesitation Adam headed out of the doors and into the rain, beckoning Dan and Claire to follow.
It was like walking into a weatherborne assault. Hissing droplets beat into their faces. Their hair, coats, jackets, trousers were pulled wildly around. The whipping of the air made it difficult to catch a breath. They ran down the steps and onto the plaza, bent over against the onslaught.
The wind was tormenting the young trees, bowing them one way then another. The concrete was slippery with a patina of sodden leaves. Puddles were everywhere, deep and distorted with the waves of the pounding weather.
Within seconds, the rain had soaked them through to the skin.
“What’s going on?” Claire gasped to Dan.
“No idea. I thought the case was sorted.”
A car drove past, sending a cascade of water over them. It made no difference. They could have been swimming and stayed drier. They jogged around a line of benches, the rain sounding a tattoo on the wooden slats.
Adam reached the car park and stopped in the lee of its shelter. He leaned on the doors, tried to gather his breath.
“What the hell is going on?” Dan gasped.
“We got it wrong,” the detective replied. “You got it wrong.”
“What?”
“Wrong! Who offered us the loan of that room?”
“Templar, according to the guard.”
“And what did we hear at the end in there, when we were arresting Ivy?”
To the east, a flash of lightning lit the sky. Dan waited for the thunder to abate. “A thud. But that was just someone next door dropping something, wasn’t it?”
“Was it? What if that was someone who’d been listening in? And then deciding it was time to get away?”
“Well, I mean… I suppose it’s possible,” Dan flailed. “But – who? Why?”
A strange noise, a kind of low groan came from Claire. It was the sound of painful realisation.
“You’d better tell him,” Adam said. “It might be easier, coming from you.”
Claire abandoned her usual diplomacy and did, hard and direct. “It’s not Newman.”
“What’s not Newman?” Dan gaped. “Not Newman what?”
“Not Newman who killed the Edwards.”
“What? But I had it all worked out.”
“It’s not Newman,” Adam interrupted. “Will you please get that into your head?”
A spray of rain swirled around them, flying leaves spinning in the vortex.
“If it’s not Newman, who the hell is it?” Dan asked.
Adam gave him an exasperated look. “Think man!”
“Well, it can only be… Templar?”
“Brilliant! You got it. Well done
you! He offered his chambers so he could listen in to the interview with Ivy.”
“But we had it all worked out. How Newman and Ivy killed the Edwards.”
“Almost,” Claire said. “Except – substitute Templar for Newman.”
“But Templar’s got an alibi. Those emails he sent. To the Ministry and—”
“And he more or less told us how he did that,” Adam snapped. “Remember he was going on about managing to book a round of golf at St Andrew’s, despite being in court? He set up some program to send the emails at a specified time.”
And all Dan could do was repeat his word of the moment.
“But—”
“But nothing,” Adam yelled. “Just get it into your head. It was Templar and Ivy. Templar did the breaking in. He knew everything he needed because he presided over that bungalow explosion trial. He was the ringleader. He got Ivy to go along with it and set off the car alarm. While Ivy did that Templar was back at home phoning his bank, establishing the rest of his alibi. When Ivy was blubbing after we arrested him he kept saying, ‘But he said it was perfect, he said we couldn’t be caught’. The ‘he’ wasn’t Newman. It was Templar.”
Dan leaned back against the concrete of the car park wall. The world has shifted and he was struggling to cope.
“Shit,” he whispered. “And I was so sure. So – what do we do now?”
Adam nodded grimly to the doors. “Let’s see if we can prevent it becoming a hat trick of jumpers, shall we?”
***
Adam was about to reach for the door handles, but Claire stopped him.
“Sir, the guard said Templar may be armed.”
“So?”
“So, we’d better think about how we handle this.”
“He was bluffing to stop us following. A judge wouldn’t have a gun.”
“Just like we thought a judge wouldn’t commit murder?”
Adam took his hand from the door. “What are you saying?”
“That we ought to at least consider the possibility he’s armed. We should get the firearms teams here.”
“There’s no time. He’d jump.”
A man of action as ever, Adam wasn’t to be deterred. He reached once more for the doors, but Claire barred the way.
“All right, we’ll face him. But one thing first…”
“What?”
She looked deliberately at Adam’s left hand. “You’re a married man with a teenage son. Whereas Dan and I…”
She let her eyes slide over to the crumpled, downcast and unusually quiet journalist who was propping up the car park wall.
“We don’t have anyone else.”
Adam shook his head. “No way. I’m the senior officer. I wouldn’t let you take the risk. It has to be me.”
“But sir—”
“No! That’s my final word. Now, come on. We’ve wasted enough time.”
Claire studied him and smiled. It was a look filled with respect and fondness, even through the wind and rain.
“I thought you’d say that. Ok, sir, you win. But before we go up there, I need a quick word – in private.”
She opened the door and ushered Dan into the car park. Claire turned back to Adam and with remarkable speed and strength shoved him away. He stumbled under the surprise of the attack and she darted through the doors.
From her jacket, Claire produced a pair of handcuffs.
“In case I needed to arrest Katrina,” she explained. “I was quite looking forward to it.”
Quickly, Claire locked one cuff around each of the handles of the double doors. From outside came an angry hammering. The doors rocked back and forth, but the handcuffs held them firmly closed.
“Sorry sir, but you didn’t leave me any choice,” she shouted at the wood.
Claire beckoned to a dazed Dan and began jogging up the stairs.
Chapter Forty-Two
Something in Dan’s expression must have given him away, and probably with some panache. He’d always prided himself on being able to adopt a decent poker face, as the expression had it, although Botox face might be more appropriate for the modern world.
A reporter often required such a talent for dealing with people whose views may be irritating or even abhorrent, and equally so for the agreeable. Neutrality was the course a good hack had to sail.
Dan took in the cramped and smelly stairwell and saw it roughly this way. Outside the doors, securely locked by handcuffs, was the platinum path to safety. There also was the man he had followed through many an ordeal and unspokenly come to think of as his protector.
Up the stairs was a land Dan had long tried to avoid, one known as mortal danger. It was quite possibly occupied by a man who was not only seriously unbalanced, but also armed.
And on the steps, waiting for him, was a woman about whom he didn’t know what to think.
All this must have registered as plain as semaphore, because Claire gave him an understanding look and said, “I know you’re not the bravest. But now’s a chance to redeem yourself.”
“Err – in what way?”
“In my way.”
Dan made no move whatsoever for the stairs. He might as well have grown roots.
“You know I’m right,” she added. “We don’t have anyone else. Mr Breen has a family.”
“I’ve got Rutherford.”
“I’ll look after him if you’re killed.”
“Who looks after him if we’re both killed?”
“We’ll worry about that later,” she replied, with a logic which would have impressed even the most dogmatic of politicians. “Now come on! We don’t have long before the boss works his way up the ramps.”
She hopped down a couple of steps, found Dan’s arm and began to pull. But still he resisted. Claire let her grip ease, took his hand in hers and gently pulled again.
***
One by one, Dan counted off the levels. Details of the floors lingered in his vision.
The allotment of chewing gum blossoms of Level One. It must provide a meeting place for youngsters with nowhere else to go. And if that was the location of choice, they really were short of options.
Level Two boasted a ticket machine, its cheerful lights flashing a slow rhythm. It was designed like a tank to repel the inevitable attacks of the criminals, vandals and angry motorists.
“Any progress on sorting out your feelings yet?” came Claire’s voice from over her shoulder.
“Not really.”
“Not really?”
“Ok, not at all then.”
“You’re going to have to sometime.”
Dan thought he would concentrate on conquering the stairs and didn’t reply. The human brain could commonly only cope with one powerful emotion at a time and fear was the current resident.
A sudden and discomforting worry nagged. What if Claire was deliberately leading him into danger, as a punishment for Katrina?
Dan ushered the thought away. It was scarcely helping.
Level Three was the most nondescript. A small black patch of an oil stain dirtied one corner. Its heavy smell lingered in the fetid air. The thick plastic coverings of the lights made the stairwell dim and tinged with green.
Outside the storm was still grumbling, but further away. Dan thought he could hear sirens. The fire brigade would be on the way again, but this time accompanied by police firearms teams. His clothes were soaked through and, despite the warmth of the day and the exertion of climbing the stairs, Dan shivered.
Level Four was a gallery of graffiti, an accident of colour.
“How’s Rutherford?” came Claire’s voice again.
“What?”
“Your dog, remember? How is he?”
“Is now the time?”
“Just asking.”
“He’s fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Fine.”
“How’d you feel about me popping round and us taking him out for a walk sometime?”
“If I’m still alive, gladly.”
Two more floors to the roof. Dan noticed his legs were starting to move more slowly.
“Come on,” Claire encouraged from somewhere above. “We’re almost there.”
“Exactly,” Dan muttered.
Level Six was the Floor of Signs. Visitors were advised about a range of prohibited behaviours in the dictatorship of the car park. They included, improbably, a particularly strident ban on camping.
Above, a door slowly opened. Daylight spilled into the stairwell. A breeze ran down the floors. They were almost at the roof.
***
Claire was waiting inside the door. She’d crouched down and pushed it open with an extended arm. Dan hesitated, half way down the steps.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Seeing whether he was going to take a shot as soon as we appeared,” she replied.
Dan sat down heavily on one of the concrete steps.
“Come on,” she said. “You can do this.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Do I have to take your hand again? Are we going out there hand in hand? How’d you think that would look?”
“I don’t think I care.”
“I do. Come on. It’s important not to show fear in situations like this.”
“I’m not sure I’ve got that option.”
“Dan!”
He got back to his feet and joined her. Together, with Claire taking the lead, they edged out onto the roof.
***
Dan braced himself for the gunfire, but there was nothing. Just the sound of the rain, beating on the tarmac and the wind, magnified by the height and whistling around them. It was like a tempest in their faces.
There were only four cars on the level. A modern Mini, close to them, a couple of older cars further along and a large, black Jeep. It was in the corner where Annette and her father had jumped.
“That’s where he’ll be,” Claire said. “But we’ll have to check the other cars first. We don’t want him jumping us from behind.”