Walk On By: DI Ted Darling Book 7

by L M Krier

  ‘I have a hard training session with my martial arts instructor this afternoon. The idea is that it will help me to be on top form tomorrow. Knowing him, I’ll be lucky if I can still walk.’

  Ted’s suggestion that he should swing by his mother’s house to pick up Green had met with biting scorn.

  ‘Did you sleep through all of the training sessions I gave you, Gayboy? Or were you too busy playing with yourself to concentrate? Text me a time to meet up and I’ll tell you where. And try not to get followed, or run off the road.’

  Ted took it from him because he was the best there was and he knew he was right. It was a sloppy suggestion. He shouldn’t have made it. He had paid attention through training. Green knew perfectly well that he had passed with the highest overall mark on one of his courses. But it was his job to keep him on his toes. Ted knew he was in for a rough time as soon as they got to the dojo. It would do him good, but he just hoped he would be in a fit state to return to work afterwards.

  Unsurprisingly, Marston wanted a briefing before the following day’s operation, which he was still determined should go ahead. He’d called one for the afternoon but the Ice Queen had come to Ted’s rescue. She had explained that she had personally sent him on a training course for the afternoon to ensure he was on peak form. As SIO on the murder enquiry, and the one with the SFO training, he was an essential presence at the briefing, so it had been put back to early evening.

  The club he was taking Green to was one he used infrequently. It was rough and there were no rules. Ted usually emerged black and blue but feeling better for it. The members were hard cases. It was only Ted’s technical skills and speed that got him out in one piece. Tough as they were, they had never seen anything like Green.

  He was the highest graded Krav Maga instructor in the country, and held black belts at high level in other martial arts. Travelling light as he was, he didn’t have his kit with him so the other members had no idea what they were about to confront when they saw the medium-sized older man in his tracky bottoms and washed-out Springbok rugger.

  They soon started to realise what they were up against once he began tossing even the biggest and best of them around the mat. After a taster, most of them were quite happy to back away and leave him to concentrate his efforts on Ted. In all the time they’d known one another and trained together, Ted had only had Green down twice and the second time had been through sheer desperation.

  Because of the sort of club it was, Green was not being particularly careful about whether or not any blows landed. Ted was now going to have to turn up to the briefing sporting the beginnings of a black eye from getting careless. He could just imagine what Marston would make of that. But the hard, intense workout was just what he need to focus and he felt better for it.

  As they started the return journey over the Pennines, Green unzipped his kit bag and pulled out a brown paper envelope, which he stuffed into the glove compartment of Ted’s car.

  ‘That’s the money I owe you, and the keys to your mother’s house. You can drop me anywhere here. It’s time I moved on.’

  Ted had long since learnt not to expect any fond farewells from Green. He wanted to thank him for his help but knew it would not be well received. It had been quid pro quo for putting him up, no more than that. He pulled over to the side and watched as Green went on his way, his kit bag slung over his shoulder, with the familiar loose-kneed rolling gait of someone used to yomping for miles under a heavy pack.

  In a strange way, he would miss having him around. He had contact details for him in dire emergencies but it was a messaging service, not a direct line, with no guarantee Green would return his call. He didn’t expect the mobile phone number he’d used recently to still be in service after Green left. But right now, Ted urgently needed a shower, a clean shirt and something to eat before the briefing.

  They went up in the Ice Queen’s car, with her driving. Cutbacks meant no drivers available for non-essential weekend trips, and as they had no idea how long they would be, it seemed a waste of resources to have a driver sitting waiting for them.

  ‘I see Mr Green was on form,’ she remarked at the sight of the red swelling on Ted’s right cheekbone, already causing his eye to puff up underneath. She had also experienced some of his training methods during her time in firearms. ‘I hope he’s left you in a fit state for tomorrow. Is he still around?’

  ‘Moved on, once he’d finished knocking the stuffing out of me. The bits that aren’t bruised are still functioning, though. And I still say we’re moving too fast, without proper intelligence.’

  ‘I agree, up to a point. But we can’t just leave Bacha sitting there indefinitely. And as soon as we have him safely in custody, we can get forensics on to the Astra, once it’s found, looking for traces of the victim’s blood, and we’ll have his clothing for testing.

  ‘With Bacha out of the way, it allows us to go after Kateb and the rest of the gang and hopefully wrap up Croesus with some positive results. For which, of course, Mr Marston will take all the credit whilst you and I just go back to our day jobs.’

  Ted smiled to himself. They were gradually becoming easier in each other’s company. She was starting to let her guard down more often than before.

  Marston was clearly itching to make a sarcastic comment about Ted’s face when they arrived at the briefing. His style was cramped by the presence of the ACC, there to sign off on the relevant orders for the operation to go ahead, so he contented himself with saying, ‘I hope you’re fully operationally fit for tomorrow?’

  ‘Perfectly, sir,’ Ted assured him.

  The ACC was more relaxed about it. He knew about Ted’s SFO training and martial arts skills.

  ‘Looks painful, Ted. Is the other bloke worse?’

  ‘Not this time, sir, but it was a useful training session. I’m ready for action.’

  ‘Right, you all have the final reports,’ Marston cut in, his tone impatient, pushing things along, despite the presence of a senior officer. ‘I think we need to take this time to go over every last detail, to make sure there is no margin for error. I’ve got forensics on stand-by for the car and the house search, and the warrants have been issued. Once Bacha is arrested, he can be taken to Stockport, and you organise from there who’s to interview him, Darling. We need to get him to start talking and naming names as soon as possible, then we can look at rounding up the rest of them.’

  The briefing dragged on. Ted suspected Marston was making a show of covering all bases, in front of the ACC. There would be a command post vehicle close to the scene of the raid, with Ted, the Firearms inspector, Alex Porter and Marston in it. The ACC would be on call but not attending, with Superintendent Caldwell and Neil Smith from Fraud monitoring from the control room. It was unusual for an officer of Marston’s rank to attend the scene. It confirmed the suspicions he was determined to grab any glory going, especially if any press cameras turned up.

  ‘I’m sensing you still have reservations?’ the Super asked Ted as they drove back together.

  ‘You can’t tell me you don’t have any yourself, with your own background and training? It bothers me that we don’t know for sure about possible firearms in the house.’

  ‘Unfortunately, we won’t know that definitely until tomorrow. I’ll see you then. Let’s hope it all goes well and there are no nasty surprises in store for us.’

  ‘How was the shopping trip?’ Ted asked, as he went into the kitchen, where Trev had his TEFL papers strewn everywhere.

  Trev looked up, then frowned as he saw his partner’s face.

  ‘Ouch. That looks sore. Is the rest of you all right?’

  He stood up to plant the gentlest of kisses on the developing bruise.

  ‘I’ll live,’ Ted smiled. ‘Is there any food? I’m quite hungry now. Tell me about your day.’

  ‘Bizzie’s great company. We shopped until we dropped and she bought me lunch. I hope her date goes well. I’ve got some supper on a low light for us. I haven’t eaten yet, I
was too full after the lovely lunch. Let me just clear the table. I’m doing lesson plans for my next teaching sessions.’

  ‘You’re a great teacher. Look how well you’ve managed getting me, of all people, to ride horses. I’m sorry I’m working this weekend. I’m quite looking forward to taking old Walter out for a gentle jog sometime soon – words I never thought I’d hear myself say.’

  ‘This job tomorrow. Is it going to be dangerous?’

  Trev looked at him directly as he asked, wanting to see whether Ted was telling him the truth when he replied.

  ‘For me? No. I’ll be tucked up in the command post, out of harm’s way, trying not to punch Marston’s lights out if he gets above himself. It could get dodgy for the Firearms team going in, though, so try not to worry if you see anything about it on the news.’

  ‘Phone your mother.’

  ‘It’s getting a bit late for that. She’ll probably be getting ready for bed.’

  ‘Phone your mother,’ Trev said, more firmly. ‘If anything did happen to you and I hadn’t made you call her, she’d never forgive me.’

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen to me. Apart from a possible disciplinary for thumping a senior officer. All right, all right,’ he went on, seeing Trev’s face. ‘I’ll phone her.’

  ‘Then eat your supper and take me to bed. I’ll be gentle with you, because of the bruises.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Early Sunday morning on the quiet Stretford side streets. Barely a soul was stirring. Curtains stayed resolutely closed, putting off confrontation with the outer world on a weekend day.

  Last minute intelligence had been gathered from all available sources. The Vauxhall Astra, with the false plates, had been found a few streets away. It had been clamped and immobilised and was under observation. If it was the car Bacha had used, there was no way he could drive off in a hurry in it, if he should somehow manage to slip through the closing net of Authorised Firearms Officers surrounding the property.

  The surveillance team opposite the house had reported no signs of life. All the curtains were currently closed and there were no sightings of Bacha.

  ‘I’m still not happy we have sufficient intelligence to proceed, sir,’ Inspector Porter told Marston.

  ‘Objection duly noted, Inspector, but the risk assessments have been signed off. All appears to be quiet and you tell me your teams are experienced. So let’s do this.’

  Porter had deployed two squads of four AFOs, each headed by a sergeant. His most experienced officer, Sergeant Julie Hawkins, would lead her squad in through the front door, once it had been broken open for them. The second squad would go round the side of the house to cover the rear in case Bacha decided to make a break for it through a back window.

  ‘Bravo Zero One, we have visual on the AFOs now, just moving into position outside the target property. All is quiet.’

  It was the call sign of one of the surveillance team members in the house opposite. Then the same voice continued, with a note of tension this time.

  ‘Cancel previous. The curtains in the small upstairs room just twitched. There is a possibility the AFOs have been clocked.’

  ‘Alpha Zero Two to all units, stand by,’ Porter ordered.

  Marston glared at him as he barked, ‘If we delay now, we blow the operation.’ Then, into the radio, ‘Alpha Zero One, on my authority, go, go, go.’

  Porter slammed his hand down on the table top and said a resounding, ‘Shit.’

  Ted agreed with him, but decided it was wiser to keep his counsel. Marston had just ordered the squad to go in, not knowing what fire-power they were facing, and with the suspect now possibly on alert for their arrival. It was potentially their death warrant.

  ‘Charlie Zero One, confirmed. Going in.’

  Julie Hawkins’ voice was calm and measured as she prepared to do the job she and her team were trained for.

  ‘Bravo Zero One, AFOs approaching the front of the property. Enforcer deployed. Door is open. Team going in.’

  The Firearms team had radios on for contact with the command post. Ted, Marston and Porter could hear the familiar shouts of, ‘Armed Police,’ as the four officers burst into the house and started to make their way up the stairs.

  Ted’s heart was in his mouth and he knew Porter’s would be, too, thinking of the difficulties of going up those stairs with their target above and behind them, before they could make the turn on to the landing at the top. Both knew, from operational experience, how difficult that would be to cover.

  Then they heard an unidentified male voice screaming in evident panic, ‘Keep away! Keep away or I’ll kill her. Get back!’

  There was momentary confusion; so much noise and so many voices all at once.

  ‘Armed police! Drop your weapon!’

  ‘Get back! I’ll kill her, I swear.’

  ‘Daddy, daddy, help me! Please! Mummy! Someone help me!’

  ‘Armed police! Put the knife down and let the girl go.’

  Julie Hawkins’ voice, trying to alert the listeners to the situation and the weaponry involved.

  Then a man’s voice, muffled, roaring in a foreign language, and more screaming, female voices.

  ‘Alpha Zero Two. Sitrep, someone, for fuck’s sake. What’s going on?’

  In his concern for his officers, Porter abandoned all radio protocol in demanding answers.

  ‘Charlie Zero Two. Boss, suspect has a young girl in his room and is using her as a human shield. Charlie Zero One can’t get near. He’s armed with a knife. That’s all we can see.’

  ‘Jesus H. Christ. What’s he doing with a girl in his bedroom? Filthy bloody pervert,’ Marston spat.

  ‘That’s the least of our worries right now,’ Porter told him angrily. ‘We need to get her and the other civilians out of there alive.’

  ‘Can they not get a shot off?’ Marston asked him.

  Ted was already on the radio to the Ice Queen asking for a trained negotiator as a matter of urgency. Porter didn’t bother dignifying Marston’s question with a response. He was too busy talking to his officers.

  ‘Charlie Zero One from Alpha Zero Two. Back away if you can, Julie, just keep him in view. The rest of you, take control of the other civilians. The last thing we need now is any heroics from the father to make things any worse.’

  ‘Charlie Zero One. Boss, there isn’t room for anyone to get past me to the bedroom where the parents are. I’ve told them to stay there, and so far they are doing. But the father is doing his nut, understandably. We can get the other girls out to safety. Their room is directly opposite the stairs. But we need a negotiator in here urgently, boss. He looks off his face and appears unstable.’

  Ted got to his feet and took his suit jacket off. He put his Kevlar vest on, then hung his photo ID round his neck. He didn’t want to be fishing in a pocket for his warrant card.

  ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going, Darling?’ Marston demanded.

  ‘Anything could happen while we wait for the negotiator. I’m not trained for that, but look at me. How much of a threat do I look? An unarmed short bloke in shirtsleeves? Let me go over there and see if I can at least assess the situation at first hand. I am SFO trained, don’t forget, so if I can get near enough, and get the girl out of harm’s way, there’s a chance I can disarm him. If you don’t want to take responsibility for the decision, sir, ask my Super. Or the ACC. I’m sure they’d both agree.’

  Marston was hesitating and there was no time to. Ted fixed his radio to his vest and switched it on. He was going, whatever the Chief Super said.

  ‘Thanks, Ted,’ Porter told him gratefully.

  ‘Do it,’ Marston spat.

  ‘Get the road sealed off from both ends and don’t let anyone near to spook him. I’ll let you know the situation from inside as soon as I can.’

  ‘What about gas?’ Marston had one last try at managing the operation himself.

  Ted ignored him and left the vehicle, jogging up the road to the target house
. One of Sergeant Hawkins’ team was ushering two frightened teenagers down the stairs and into the front room on the ground floor, where they would stay with them to prevent them trying to rush to the aid of the rest of the family. A wise decision had been made by the AFOs on the scene that any move to evacuate the family into the road risked distracting Bacha and making him even more dangerous.

  The staircase went up towards a wall, then made a right-angle turn with a wider step, then up two more stairs to the landing. One of the team was standing at the top of the stairs and pressed back against the wall to allow Ted to pass. The sergeant was at the end of the landing. There was a closed door to her left and an open one straight in front of her, through which Ted could see the suspect, holding a knife to the throat of a clearly terrified young girl wearing pyjamas.

  ‘Dorian? My name’s Ted. I’m a police officer, but I’m here to see if I can help you. To calm the situation down a bit. It’s bad, but if we all just calm down and take a breath, we might be able to stop it from getting any worse. I’d like that and I’m sure you probably would, too.’

  A man’s voice was shouting continuously from behind the closed door. A foreign language, the tone alternating between evident menace and entreaty. A woman was clearly arguing and pleading with him. Ted hoped the man would have the sense to stay where he was and not escalate the situation any further.

  Sergeant Hawkins still had her sights trained on Bacha, looking for the slightest opening to get a shot off when she received authority. She never moved her head but she just had Ted in her peripheral vision. She’d been informed by radio that he was coming, but nothing more about him. If she’d been hoping for the cavalry, she seemed disappointed in this short, slight man with the quiet voice and no visible firearm.

  ‘Sergeant, could you take half a step back, please. To allow me to come a little closer? Dorian, is that all right, if I just come a bit nearer? You can see that I’m not carrying any weapons, and I’ll keep my hands up where you can see them.’