And then I nearly jumped out of my skin. Someone poked me in the shoulder. But rather than the police (who I had been half-expecting to steal into the interview room at any moment) it turned out to be Mason.
“What are you doing back here?” I hissed. “You’re supposed to be outside - until we can get your mum out! Go on! Bugger off! Do as you’re told!”
“I just need to…” he began. But then he jerked his head towards the open exit door where every few seconds came the staccato blurp of a police car’s siren.
“S’alright, Rebecca. The police are comin’ in now anyways. But they said they need to ask you somethin’ first. So’s you need to go and talk to them. They said it were dead important.”
He jerked his blonde buzzcut towards the exit. Baby-blue, eager eyes.
“They said go and get that Rebecca out, ‘cause we need ‘er ‘elp. C’mon!”
Looking back, I should have seen through that little story straight away. It was hardly likely that the police would send an eleven-year-old boy back into close proximity with a hostage situation. But Mason had caught me off-guard. Vinnie seemed to be on a climbdown and my nerves, my logical brain was jumbled. And Shaun – well Shaun was still alive. Plus, Mason had delivered the trump card; tell Rachael Russell that someone needs her help. So, I stood up and turned to go, moving over to the exit with a grumpy throwaway comment;
“Okay. But, Mason - can you at least try and remember that I’m not called ‘Rebecca?’ It’s really rude to keep calling someone by the wrong name when they’ve been told so many times…”
Then I realised. Mason wasn’t following me.
My head snapped round as I saw him flipping over the deadlock, throwing the interview room door open and racing back into the hall.
I legged it after him - without any thought of guns or borderline-insane ex-soldiers or whether this was the stupidest thing that I had ever done in my life - and in a split second we were back in the hall. Mason ran towards Vinnie, his arms outstretched. Vinnie, caught by surprise, nearly lost his balance as Mason hurtled towards him. I stopped, frozen. Wondering what Vinnie’s reaction would be on my own return to the hall and feeling utterly confused. What the hell was Mason doing? Why had he run to hug Vinnie, rather than to see what condition his mother was in?
And then there was another flash of action, as Michael lunged at Vinnie. Vinnie had been knocked off-kilter by Mason's embrace and Michael was seizing the opportunity. The two men dropped to the floor, Michael seemed to be trying to both restrain Vinnie and attempting to seize the gun from him. It was a blur of fists, elbows, knees, tank-tops and dodgy footwear. Mason dived on top of them both – and now it was three males wrestling along the hall floor in a free-for-all – with Mason inadvertently being kicked away by Michael. Struggling, shouts, expletives - and screams from Erin Mayo
And then the gun went off.
I hit the floor once more, landing on top of Shaun’s legs.
The seconds ticked by.
CHAPTER 30
And then came an eerie calm as I lay against Shaun.
There were no more sounds of fighting. No more anything. I glanced up at him. His face was bleached white and his nostrils were pinched. A rasp came from his throat. My hair was wet with his blood.
‘Shaun?’ I whispered, touching an always be-stubbled cheek. ‘How bad does it…?”
His eyes were locked onto mine, but he didn’t reply. His pupils were dilated and then his gaze broke contact, moving over to the scene behind us. Like he was trying to drink in the horror of the scene. It was the same expression that he had had on his face when we had watched the Twin Tower footage together. Perhaps the very same how-does-this-compute countenance that a certain little boy had adopted some forty-odd years ago, amidst the detritus of the Birmingham pub bombings.
Vinnie was cocooned. He lay nestled in a tangle of pink, punctured bouncy castle. Soaking in a shallow bath of blood; legs buckled and twisted beneath him. A couple of yards away lay the squished remnants of what had once been the chocolate sculpture.
I was less than ten feet from him, but I could see that he was already dead. His eyes were fixed, staring towards the end of the hall. Perhaps I should have run to him, should have attempted to dredge up the remnants from one of those archaic first aid training courses, should have carried out some out-of-date version of CPR. But I didn’t. As far as I was concerned, the guy was gone. His blood flowed in wide crimson ribbons along the rivets of the plastic. And then two of the yellow and pink stripy turrets collapsed inwards, flopping onto his body.
Done and dusted.
I stood up – I had to steady myself after a bit of a wobble – and took in the macabre scene. It was as though a massive pink, faux-Disney spider had opted to take out Vinnie in a final act of giant arachno-vengeance.
Michael was a few yards away, with Mason and Dawn. At first I had to do a double take. I thought that the boy was covered in brown paint. But it was just chocolate. Chocolate in his hair, smeared down his face, and there were great lumps of it all over his t-shirt. He must have landed on top of the Sisters’ Space sculpture. He was crying as he stroked his mother’s hair. His tongue kept flicking out the sides of his mouth; unconsciously searching for more chocolate-flavoured salty tears.
Michael told him;
“Your mum’s still breathing. But we need to get her to the hospital fast. Stay right here with her and talk to her. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He ran out of the hall and I moved to crouch down again with Shaun. The wound was much higher up on the right hand of his chest than I thought it had been – it was more towards his shoulder. I was hardly an expert on this kind of thing but I hoped that this might be a positive sign. He had been trying to stem the blood flow with his hand and his jacket sleeve, but he hadn’t been able to do much and the blood was still flowing freely. I looked around, grabbed a coat that had been dumped by a panicking member of the public and pressed it firmly under Shaun’s jacket where the wound seemed to be. He grimaced;
“God, that hurts! Getting me back, are you?’
“What for?” I pressed a bit harder and he jumped;
“Fuck - ow! Yeah, for all those years of. Whatever. With me.”
I considered those black on black eyes of his. Freaky alien-eyes, I used to call them. The pupils were more dilated than they were usually, so I decided not to get into a conversation and instead just shrugged, giving him a grim smile. He coughed and winced again. I looked around. Mason was cradling his mother’s head, trying to reassure her. Erin hadn’t moved, but she was still face down and was sobbing;
“I’ve been hit! I’ve been hit!”
Shaun managed to croak over at her;
“For God’s sake woman, you bloody haven’t.”
“I have! There’s blood – everywhere!’
“That’s mine, you daft cow. Jesus Christ…”
The effort of talking caused him to cough. I told him to lie still and to shut his gob. I grabbed the lucky dip tub from the nearby stall and emptied out the sawdust and the crappy prizes and then dragged it over to Shaun, propping his feet up on it. Then I moved back to Mason and to Dawn.
Not one to feel the cold, Dawn had been wearing a skimpy, little top. She had a huge gash across her chest and along one of her arms from where Vinnie had repeatedly hit her with the barrel of the gun and where she had been trying to protect her head. But it was her face that horrified me the most; a sickening swirl of dried, clotted and fresh blood. It had pooled into her eyes, lending the macabre look of a death’s head mask. Mason was rocking to-and-fro – keening - a quiet howl of anguish (“Mum, no - don’t… Please!”)
But at last we heard a stampede of feet, the jabber of voices. A dozen uniforms plunged into the hall; armed police wearing bullet-proof vests, along with paramedics who divided themselves between Vinnie, Dawn and Shaun. Michael was with them, heading straight for Dawn as he described to the professionals what had happened to her.
Erin Mayo was
shrieking;
“Over here! Over here! Don’t forget about me! He tried to shoot me – I’m think I’m bleeding too!”
She’s bleeding annoying, I thought.
It took less than a minute for someone to throw a sheet over the mess that now remained of Vinnie. I let my gaze linger there for only a second and then my attention was straight back to Shaun, where a male paramedic had asked him his name and was quickly assessing his injuries, telling me;
“You did all the right things for him, love. Especially given the circumstances. Right. Come on, Shaun, lad. Let’s get you straight to A & E, quick smart, and do some proper patching up. I think you’re gonna be alright, mate.” Two other ambulance men began to lift him gingerly onto a stretcher. They joked that he would be too big to fit onto it.
I took a deep breath. The relief flushed through my veins and it was reflected back at me from Shaun’s eyes. Because surely, you’re going to be okay, if the paramedics say so? If they’re having a bit of banter with you?
Another paramedic was kneeling next to Erin Mayo;
“It’s not your blood, love. It looks like it belongs to your big pal here. What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she whined. “Well, he… he was going to shoot me and then this other guy here sort of moved in front of me.”
“Right. So, it looks like he tried to protect you – and he got hit instead of you?”
“Maybe… No – I - Yes, maybe.”
I looked at Shaun. Sweat glistened on his upper lip. I raised my eyebrows. Did you?
“Maybe,” he mouthed back.
And then a hand clenched my shoulder, followed by;
“How do.”
It turned out to be Detective Inspector David Garratt. We had worked together on many occasions over the years; usually liaising over the more serious cases of domestic violence that occurred in Medlock and across Manchester.
“Dave.”
“Bloody hell, Rachael! Don’t you think that you see enough of the action and violence during your usual working week? Do you really have to spend your weekends in a hostage situation as well? I mean… Some people…”
I smiled at him. Sans humour. He nodded at the blood-covered hall.
“I mean… Jesus, Mary and Joseph. So, were you present throughout? What the hell went down here?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I was. But it was all so… so mad. It got really confusing towards the end and… hang on a minute. Shaun?” I called over to his stretcher, which was now following Dawn’s hurried exit out of the hall, “Shaun, did you see what happened exactly? After I fell on top of you?”
“She fell on top of you?” one of the paramedics joked. “Lucky you. You didn’t tell us about that – you little tinker! Best not mention it to your wife either, heh heh.”
Shaun just laughed feebly.
“No. Enough of that,” DI Garratt put his hand up, halting the conversation. “No offence,” he called over to Shaun, who he also knew from our former days of social housing, drug dealers and evictions on various Manchester housing estates, “but you both know the procedures - the deal. Keep it schtum for now, if you don’t mind.”
I apologised. He brushed it off with;
“No problem, flower. You’re usually seeing it from the other side of the fence, as it were. Now. I’ve got to have a quick once-over of me laddo here,” he nodded towards the sheet, cradled in the latex pond of blood. “And then I’ll be back with you, pronto.”
Michael had moved away from a group of police officers and other official looking people and was now striding towards me. Trevor was by his side and another man too - the same beefy build as Trevor and Brian, but wearing a checked shirt and jeans. I recognised Ross - the ‘blend into the crowd’ bodyguard for today. Both men looked grim and Ross couldn’t seem to stop shaking his head. Michael reached me and put both arms round me. The gesture – given the number of people surrounding us - took me by surprise. He asked me if I was alright and I nodded - enjoying the now familiar scent of the nook of his neck - but uncomfortable with such intimacy in front of others. Perhaps he could sense this, as he moved away again, hastily;
“Now don’t hug me too tightly – I'm pretty sure I've cracked a couple of ribs. Done that several times before,” I glanced at his face; he had several gashes on his cheek.
“Oh. You’ve broken a tooth!’”
“Ha. Politics. Risky business.”
One of the paramedics was soon on his tail and began a quick assessment. I shook my head when they asked me if I had sustained any injuries myself. I was close to saying something a bit glib - about the only damage for me being a half-trashed workplace and an overspend on my salary budget thanks to the inevitable overtime for Jules the cleaner - but for once, the words wouldn’t come.
DI Garratt and his companion threw the sheet back over Vinnie’s body and strode over to us. Dave, yet again, was all very polite but firm.
“Ever so sorry, Mr Chiswick - but I’d prefer it if you two don’t speak to each other until everyone involved on the scene has been interviewed. I’m sure that you’ll understand that we all have to follow procedures correctly.”
Michael tried to joke;
“Even government ministers?”
DI Garratt shot back;
“Especially government ministers — ”
“Surely we can at least have a few moments together to — ”
“I'd really prefer it if you didn't, sir. You know how these things can pan out if we don't...”
Michael acquiesced and the DI nodded to two of his colleagues, telling me that the pair would escort me to the station. That he would need to interview Michael first and then it would be my turn. I was filled with a sudden rush of indignation, so I shook my head.
“Actually, Dave. Do you know what? I’m not happy with this. It’s like… we’re the guilty ones here. And not Vinnie. He’s the one who…”
“Come on, Rachael. You know it’s not like that. This is just the usual procedure. The way it…”
I dug my heels in.
“No. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve seen my children. My parents. My… oh my God!” I suddenly remembered. “My sister - Vicky! How the hell did she get out of the hall in time – without getting hurt? She’s on crutches. I mean - they were all here.”
The DI sighed and shook his head.
“Look, Rachael - they’re all fine. Everyone who got out of the hall is fine – no problems whatsoever. They’ll all be a bit shaken of course, but they’re fine.” He stuck his hand in the air, beckoning a young female police officer over;
“Jenny, love. Can you go back outside and locate Rachael Russell’s family? Let them know that she’s okay and no injuries or anything and that she’ll be back home in a few hours.” The woman nodded briskly and headed back out of the building.
I frowned at him. Still feeling the need to warn him.
“Right. Well. So long as this interview thing is quick. I’ve got to get back to my kids, they’re bound to be…”
He cut me off and gesticulated with a;
“Ta-dah!” pretending to give me a fanfare; “Ah yes! Your kids. I’ve already had the pleasure of encountering your children. Your little boy was involved with an incident outside, involving a runaway fire engine. A rather large, twelve-tonne, bright red vehicle being driven by children… that very nearly ran me over in fact. And so, what with all of the fun of that… I can totally reassure you that your own offspring hardly even noticed that you were stuck in here with the likes of Rambo. So, as I said. Don’t worry about them.”
This all sounded so ridiculous, that I knew instantly that it was highly plausible. Only Matthew could have become involved with ‘a fire engine incident’. So, I reluctantly headed out of the building, accompanied by two police officers as we followed Michael and Dave Garratt. Michael looked over his shoulder towards me, gave me a reassuring smile and winked, mouthing;
“Call you later.”
The DI and two other senior detec
tives interviewed Michael first. It took them less than thirty minutes; I had expected it to last longer. I made good use of the time, washing my hands and face in the ladies’ room. I could scrub Shaun’s blood off my skin at any rate, even if my hair was still matted with it. I watched the pinky pigmented water swirl down the plughole. And then it was my turn to be led into a stuffy, little windowless room. It was unusual for more senior members of the police force like DI Garratt to carry out interviews and I realised that all of this was probably because of Michael’s involvement; that there would be issues of national security to consider. My interviewers seemed to find it quite useful that I had watched most of the events through the spyhole, but I felt frustrated that I couldn’t tell them exactly what had happened after I landed on top of Shaun. They didn’t linger for too long on that aspect of the incident – how the siege was ended. But I knew that it would be important to them. Half way through the interview, when they let me nip to the loo and the recorder was turned off, the DI had told me;
“Can’t fault your security in that building, Rachael. You actually make the station here look pretty shitty in comparison. So, don’t you be blaming yourself for some nutter who manages to get inside with a gun.”
This made me feel slightly less anxious that I – we – had done something wrong at the centre. But I knew that there would still be a lot of issues for the police to unpick. At the end of the interview, when the tape recorder had been switched off again, I stood up to leave them, but then thought of something;
“I do have one question for you lot actually. How on earth did Mason - an eleven-year-old lad - manage to get past you and back into the building? I got the three of the kids outside - specifically for the police to protect them.”
The DI looked at the other two officers. Too much eye contact. They were deciding whether to tell me something or not. The older man finally said;
Cuckoo in the Chocolate Page 32