by Jack Probyn
‘Sorry to have put you in this position, Jake, but you’re the one closest to this. You know more about The Crimsons than the rest of us.’
Pemberton took a step back and pointed at a photograph of three individuals dressed in red coveralls, holding guns, on the corkboard behind her. Jake instantly recognised the picture. It was from the HSBC Bank in Oxford – the same one he’d been inside when The Crimsons last attempted a robbery. ‘Can you please tell us what you know, and whether we could be dealing with a copycat.’
As soon as Pemberton finished speaking, Jake seized up. He looked down at his feet and scratched the scar on his cheek before readjusting his tie, pulling it away from his neck and easing the tension it impacted against his throat. Everybody’s attention was trained on him, and he sensed their judgemental thoughts crawling over his skin: that he was a nobody, a rookie, somebody who didn’t even deserve to be in the building, yet somehow was the one in the limelight, at the forefront of the investigation.
‘I… er…’ He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t feeling confident that the robbers were in fact The Crimsons; something wasn’t right about Bridgewater Jewellers. In all of The Crimsons’ previous heists they had never fired a bullet – there had never been a spent casing found at any of the crime scenes – and had never taken any hostages – except for him, of course, but that had been a different situation. But now they’d done both, and it filled Jake with dread at what might be next.
The ABC principle was simple. It meant that police officers should always assume nothing, believe no one and check everything. And Jake had fallen victim to the first one. He’d assumed it was The Crimsons from the outset, and he was backtracking. But he couldn’t declare his reservations, could he? How would that make—
‘Jake…’ Pemberton insisted. ‘Are we looking at a copycat, yes or no?’
Jake went with his gut. ‘No, I still think it’s The Crimsons, but they’re going into uncharted territory, and I don’t like it. They’re doing things they’ve never done before, and I don’t know where they’re going to stop.’
Pemberton turned to Bridger and gave him a smug look before addressing the rest of the room.
‘I still want you all to keep an open mind. At least until we get forensics reports and any other intelligence… Understood?’
Everyone in the room nodded. Jake was beginning to warm up to Pemberton. She was authoritative, commanding and intelligent. She knew what she was doing, and more importantly, she knew her team – she knew how they worked and what made them tick.
In the distance, the double doors to the MCT opened, and a few seconds later, a woman wearing a blazer appeared in the Investigation Room’s doorframe. She looked flustered and her exasperated breath echoed over the silence that had befallen them. In her hand she held a piece of paper.
‘Ma’am, had a ping on an ANPR camera go off. It matches the vehicle reg used in this morning’s robbery. And we’ve had more eyewitnesses reporting seeing it on the road, driving erratically,’ she said as she handed the sheet to Pemberton.
‘Where?’ Pemberton asked, still keeping her gaze fixed on the officer.
‘Farnham.’
‘Where’s that in relation to?’
‘Candice Strachan’s house is just down the road from the ANPR ping, ma’am.’
| EPISODE 1 |
CHAPTER EIGHT
CELEBRATIONS
The never-ending, winding, bending country roads caused chaos in Luke’s stomach and his knuckles whitened as he clung to the leather upholstery of Candice’s Mercedes GLC. Before leaving, they had stolen the keys from her, changed the number plates using a set they’d already prepared in the back of their van, and hijacked the vehicle. For the next part of their operation, they needed to be in something more inconspicuous, something that wasn’t wanted by the police, even though they all knew that, soon enough, with all the technology and knowledge that the police had, the GLC would become a very expensive beacon that would point towards them from every direction. But, for now, it would suffice until their next swap.
In all of their previous heists, The Crimsons would slip away from the crime scene unnoticed, swap cars several times until the trail was long enough for them to be confident that it wasn’t being followed, and then they would trickle back into civilisation as serving members of the population. Now, however, things were different. There were three of them, following Danny’s plan. And different didn’t always mean good.
‘Slow down,’ Luke said, massaging his forehead to alleviate the nausea bouncing around his skull. ‘I’m going to heave in a second.’
‘Do it on the back seats – I don’t care. This ain’t my car, you get me?’
‘But I—’
‘Look at the cars in front of us or something. That usually helps. We’ve got a couple of hours to go. You’re a big boy – I’m sure you can last that long,’ Danny said, throwing his hands in the air. ‘Or you can start putting the diamonds in the bags, if you want?’
‘Do you want me to pass out? I’m no use to you if I’m unconscious, am I?’ Luke replied, swallowing hard, fighting to allay the bile that rose in his throat.
Without warning, Danny slammed on the brakes, launching Luke forward in the seat. The seat belt holding him into position dug into his shoulder. Luke grimaced. ‘If you don’t slow down, we’ll get pulled over. The cops’ll be all over this car soon, remember?’
‘Yes – thanks, Luke. I have done this before. I know what I’m doing; I don’t need a kid like you telling me what to do,’ Danny said. He gripped the wheel harder and rolled his knuckles back and forth.
Michael chimed in. ‘A moment ago, you said he was a big boy, and now you’re—’
Danny pointed his finger in Michael’s face and then punched him in the arm. ‘Don’t start, Micky. Now’s not the time.’
‘Never seems to be a good time with you recently. You’ve been uptight the past few days. Why? You should be fucking buzzing!’ Michael twisted in the seat and grabbed the open gym bag beside Luke in the back. ‘We’ve just taken – how much do you reckon? Hundred grand? Two? Three?’
‘Easy five,’ Luke added.
‘Exactly! You should be pumped. We don’t want to miss out on a famous Danny Cipriano Celebration. Not on our last heist, eh, Luke?’
Just as Luke opened his mouth to respond, Danny beat him to it.
‘As soon as we get on that boat,’ he said, ‘I’ll be able to celebrate. Until then, we keep our heads cool and remain alert. Nothing’s changed from the last four times – except that we’re a man down, but that isn’t going to have an effect on us, is it, Luke?’
| EPISODE 1 |
CHAPTER NINE
TICK TOCK
Candice awoke drearily. For a moment she wondered where she was, but then as her surroundings gradually came into view, she realised. She was lying on the floor, her legs and arms sprawled in every direction. Her face had frozen to the solid marble that her husband had insisted on purchasing, and she groaned as she peeled her skin away. Her body felt weak. Her breathing. Her muscles. Her bones.
Her arms shook in an attempt to support her weight. And then she remembered why.
The collar bomb.
It was heavy, weighing her down, slowly beginning to suffocate her.
As soon as she realised what it was, panic set in again. The envelope of unconsciousness hadn’t afforded her an escape from reality. It hadn’t been a dream; it was indeed very, very real. In her head she heard the invisible sound of the countdown ticking down.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.
Seconds were passing her by rapidly, and she was doing nothing about it. She had no idea what time remained on the countdown. It could have been three hours. Two. One. Twenty minutes. Candice couldn’t afford to wait around for someone to come and save her. If she was going to get out of this situation, then she was going to need to get herself out of it. She had never been defeated by anything else thrown a
t her before, so why should she start now?
Candice looked around her. Her eyes took in everything but focused on nothing. She stared at the spot where the man had been – the same one who had left her in the middle of her house. The same one who had left her to die. Before she could unleash a torrent of abuse directed at him for abandoning her, the white letter on the floor flashed in her eyes.
The instructions.
Her instructions.
Candice reached over, grabbed the paper and inspected it. She needed to read it again – the panic had stripped the details from her mind – but her hands shook violently, and she struggled to decipher the dancing letters on the page. The document felt thin in her hands, as though it had been ripped out of a notebook purchased at Poundland. That even the slightest abrupt movement would rip it in two and destroy any hope she held of finding the first key.
Eventually, she managed to hold it steady enough and read through what it said.
THE FIRST KEY: WHERE CLOTHES ARE LEFT TO HANG AND DRY LIKE OLD FRIENDS.
That was good. Very good, in fact. It was closer than she thought. She was sure she had seen one of her attackers disappearing off upstairs somewhere. Feeling a new lease of energy and adrenaline, Candice started up the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her. She held on to the banister for support, lest her knees buckle under the weight of the device and send her cascading down the steps.
At the top of the stairs, Candice tore into the master bedroom – the place where she’d spent every evening for four months mourning the loss of her husband. It was the first place she thought to check, and every time she entered this room, it reminded her of him. The side of the bed that he used to sleep on. The family heirloom alarm clock that he’d owned for half a century and repaired more times than they’d had sex. The slippers that he placed on the floor that were ready for him every morning after he’d swung his legs out of bed. She hadn’t had the heart, or the courage, to move any of it then, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now. Since his passing, Candice had slept in the only room that faced the driveway, which was also much smaller. Perhaps it was because she felt safer there, as if the close proximity of the walls could protect her. Or perhaps it was because she was frightened that, every time she went to sleep, there would be someone trying to break in. Not that she would admit it.
A four-poster king-sized bed rested in the centre of the master bedroom, with bedside tables either side of it. To her left, on the other side of a beige door that matched the painted walls, was her walk-in wardrobe.
Candice approached it rife with apprehension. More than three quarters of the stuff inside was her husband’s, but she banished thoughts and images and memories of him from her mind and began to tear at the clothes and shoes and jumpers and jackets and underwear inside the shelves and boxes and drawers. She overturned everything, searching each item of clothing first for the key before launching it to the ground. She poked her fingers into the nooks and crannies of the carpet and ran them over the skirting boards. After she’d overturned everything inside, she screamed. She’d found nothing.
Dejected, and becoming increasingly aware that time was running out on the invisible clock, she moved into the hallway to decide which room to inspect next. There were three more to choose from, including her own. In the end, she tried her room. It was the only logical location that had another wardrobe in use.
She stormed into the room, flung open the wardrobe doors and thoroughly searched inside. After decanting the contents onto the bed, she stopped. Panting. Her chest heaving. There was still no sign of the key.
‘Where the fuck are you?’ she yelled, gritting her teeth, small bits of spittle landing on the carpet. She sounded demonic, almost possessed. ‘This is ridiculous!’
Her heart raced, and she became more irate and impatient with every passing second, and just as she was about to leave, the gravel in her driveway crunched. Candice clambered onto the dust-covered windowsill and stared ahead. In the distance, the gated entrance to the house had been left open. Four armed police officers, wearing Kevlar, helmets and carrying assault rifles stalked around the outskirts of the path that led to her house. They kept their bodies low, and their weapons fanned from left to right as they scanned the horizon, like flags gently swaying in the wind.
This was it! They were finally here! They had finally come to help her.
Candice charged downstairs, heedless of what effect it would have on the device; she was just glad to have someone there who could save her. She skipped down the steps and bounded to the door. Her foot caught on a small piece of vomit, and she bashed her shoulder into the door. It hurt – a lot – but now wasn’t the time to acknowledge the pain. She needed to let them in. All of them.
Candice fumbled for the handle, found it and then yanked the door. She breached into the open and fell onto the front doorstep. The armed officers, at the sight of her, screamed, ‘Armed police!’ and ordered her to place her hands in the air.
Candice didn’t hear a word of it. Her adrenaline drowned out the noise.
‘Please!’ she screamed. ‘You have to help me! I’m going to die!’
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| EPISODE 2 |
CHAPTER ONE
MOTHER OF GOD
‘You have to help me! I’m going to die!’ came an ear-piercing scream from across the driveway.
The firearms team was the first to arrive in front of Candice, keeping their distance to fifty feet. Their orders for her to remain still with her hands raised quickly filled the air. Jake watched on from Pemberton’s car just outside the driveaway gates. He observed the armed officers saunter closer towards Candice’s mansion and the blacked-out van that was used to kidnap her, with their weapons raised and eyes trained on her and the surrounding area. The sound of Jake’s beating heart echoed around his head, and the sweat on his back multiplied.
The device strapped round Candice’s neck filled him fear. What was it? He’d never seen anything like it before. It was some sort of collar. Metallic. Clunky. Thick.
Beside him was Pemberton, holding a radio in her hands. Static and distorted voices spoke to her over the frequency.
‘The vehicle is clear. Approaching the property now, ma’am,’ one of the voices said. Despite being a short distance from an unknown and potentially dangerous device, there was a high measure of calm in the firearms officer’s voice.
‘Understood. Approach with caution,’ Pemberton replied, holding the radio against her lips.
In the distance, on either side of the road, a flurry of uniformed officers was setting up a cordon, cutting off street access. Directly next to them was the vehicle the firearms team had arrived in. Standing at the front of the vehicle was an officer holding a police dog on a lead.
Jake turned his attention back to the house. And then a few minutes later, they received the all clear from the armed officers.
‘House is clear, ma’am. Safe to proceed.’
As soon as she received the order, Pemberton turned her attention to the officer holding the police dog. She wandered over to him and discussed something, just out of earshot. Moments after, she returned.
‘We’re sending in the dog,’ Pemberton explained.
‘What do you mean?’ Jake asked.
‘We don’t know what that thing around her neck is. But we need to be able to communicate with her so we can help her and find out what it’s for.’
Just as she finished speaking, the officer with the police dog arrived by her side. The dog was a German Shepherd. Jake’s favourite. His family had owned one once, when he was a child, and it ha
d been his best friend. But, due to the upkeep of the animal, Jake’s parents were forced to get rid of it. They were gorgeous animals, loyal, trusting, and Jake owed his life to them for reasons not many people would understand. He longed to have another one ever since. One day, he told himself.
Attached to the dog’s back was a small radio device that was frequently used in hostage negotiation. The dog’s task was simple: give the radio to the hostage and come back. That way they could open up a two-way communication with the abductor and begin a negotiation. But this wasn’t a negotiation in the traditional sense. There was no madman holding a gun to Candice’s head making incredulous demands. Instead, there was an invisible enemy with no demands. Everything about the situation was unprecedented. And everyone was beginning to sense it.
Pemberton gave the order. The officer led the police dog through the gates, across the gravelled driveway and over to the perimeter that the armed officers had set for themselves. As they arrived at the firearms team, the officer bent down and let the dog off the leash. The animal bound towards Candice in a flash and stopped by her side. As soon as Candice picked up the radio and held it to her face, the dog hurried back.