Justice Mirror

by Simon Hall

  ‘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 ease. ‘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 so, 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.’

  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 had shifted and he was struggling to cope.

  ‘Shit,’ he whispered. ‘And I was so sure. So, what 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.’

  Adam 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. 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.

  ‘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.

  He took in the cramped and smelly stairwell and saw it roughly this way. Outside the doors, securely locked by handcuffs, was the beautiful path to safety. There also was the man he had followed through many an ordeal and 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 he didn’t know what to think about.

  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 chewing gum blossoms of Level One. It must be a meeting place for youngsters with nowhere else to go. And they really had nowhere else, if this was their best choice.

  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 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 male brain could only cope with one powerful emotion at a time, and fear was the current resident.

  There was also the continual nagging of a discomforting worry. 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.

  Outside, the storm was still grumbling, but furth
er 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 effort 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.’

  She continued climbing the stairs. A small pile of discarded newspapers filled the corner of the stairwell of Level Five. Some showed evidence of an attempt to start a fire.

  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 strictly prohibited behaviours. They included, improbably, a 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, 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 ambushing us.’

  She began walking, step by careful step, towards the Mini. It was spotless, had the shine of a showroom, even in this weather. Claire knelt down to look under the car, checking for signs of anyone hiding on the other side. She inched her way around the bonnet, treading silently, before turning to Dan, putting a finger to her lips and shaking her head.

  They moved on to the next car. It was an old, red Ford, streaked with rust. A blast of wind hit them. Claire paused and then began carefully pacing around the faded silver of the front bumper.

  Something moved. Fast and darting, running through the rain. Claire sprang back, arms outstretched, ready to fend off the blow.

  More rain, more wind, pummelling into them, spraying chaotic patterns in the puddles on the tarmac. The doors to the stairwell banged under the assault.

  Claire and Dan spun round. There was nothing, just the ghost of the wind. From the side of the Ford a seagull appeared and danced across the tarmac. Claire shook her head and continued round the car.

  There was no one, nothing.

  She ruffled her hair and held up a couple of fingers. Two more cars to go. But to Dan, it was obvious where Templar was hiding, as evident as if a great neon arrow was pointing down from the sky. He was behind the jeep, watching them, quite possibly tracking every movement with the barrel of his gun.

  Dan’s mobile rang. He jumped, fumbled for it and switched it off. It was a withheld number, the newsroom again. Lizzie demanding to know where he was and what was going on. The answer to both those questions he preferred not to think about.

  The time had slipped on to ten past four. If they could find Templar, if they could persuade him not to shoot, if there was no siege, if he would submit, if he would confess, all would be well. Dan’s career would be saved, Adam’s too. But first, there was a daunting course of ifs to navigate.

  Next was a battered, green Renault. Claire approached, crouched down, checked underneath, warily circled the bonnet. Dan hung back, peering through the opaque greyness of the weather.

  She disappeared round the car, then quickly stood and held up a thumb. Nothing.

  They began making for the final vehicle on the roof. The bunches of flowers that had been left in Annette’s memory climbed the low concrete wall around the jeep, a few scattered by the wind.

  ‘I’m going to need your help,’ Claire whispered.

  ‘Err – how?’

  ‘You’ll have to go round one side, I’ll do the other.’

  Dan wasn’t surprised by the faintness of his voice. ‘Me?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Do you really want to know?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Dan gulped.

  ‘It might make Templar hesitate. It means he won’t know which of us to shoot first.’

  Claire smiled and, for what must have been the first time in his life, it wasn’t a look Dan found anywhere close to being reassuring.

  ‘Come here,’ she said, and kissed him gently on the lips. ‘That’s for luck.’

  She looked him in the eyes and kissed him again. ‘And that’s for you. Now, come on.’

  ***

  Below, a line of fire engines had parked along the street. The yellow bags were being inflated once more. Police cars had cordoned off the plaza. Dan thought he spotted men with guns running across the expanse of concrete but he looked away before he could be sure.

  He followed the low concrete wall, step by step, silently, towards the jeep. A few metres to his side Claire was peering at the corner.

  There was no movement, no sign anyone was there. Just the odd swirl of the incessant wind and rain.

  They were twenty metres away. Claire slowed her pace, gestured to Dan to do the same.

  The jeep was a big, silver box, parked slightly askew in the rectangle of white lines. It made for good cover, plenty of space to hide behind. It was spattered with mud, the green and white of a small Devon flag proudly positioned within the back windscreen.

  Flowers flapped in the wind. A chip of gravel crunched under Dan’s foot.

  He stopped. Claire did the same. But there was nothing. No movement, no reaction, no attack.

  They stepped onwards. Fifteen metres now.

  Claire edged a little further away, to get a better angle to see around the jeep. More thunder rumbled in the distance, but the rain was lighter now.

  Ten metres.

  Still no movement from the jeep.

  Claire stopped. She crouched down, then kneeled, angled her head, her cheek close to the tarmac. She scanned under the chassis, stood again and shook her head.

  But those wheels were plenty big enough to hide a pair of legs. And a man, one who was waiting patiently, nursing a gun. Biding his time until he knew he couldn’t miss.

  They paced on, their steps even slower now. They were only five metres from the jeep.

  Once more, Claire stopped. She mouthed, ready?

  Dan took one very long, very deep breath, hoped it wouldn’t be his last and nodded. Claire held up her hand, four fingers and a thumb outstretched, and counted down.

&nbs
p; Five, four, three, two, one…

  In unison they lurched forwards, ran for the jeep. Dan headed for the boot, Claire the bonnet. They reached the target at the same time.

  Dan expected the levelling of a gun barrel, turning to point between his eyes, a blinding, burning blast, an explosion of roaring, deafening sound. And then the black oblivion of death, the instant plunge from light to darkness.

  But there was nothing. No one. Only the fading flowers, ruffling in the wind.

  ***

  They found Adam on the plaza, standing outside a police van, impervious to the rain. His hair, usually springy and carefully styled, had become a mat of dark moss and his suit was black with saturation.

  Dan caught a glimpse of himself in one of the van’s windows and grimaced. Even Claire had the decency to look a little dishevelled. No one was at their best in the appearance stakes today.

  ‘Sir, about what happened outside the car park,’ she said to Adam. ‘I apologise, but I thought it was for the best. I fully expect to be disciplined, of course.’

  Adam looked her over and did his best to put together an expression of disapproving authority. But it largely failed.

  ‘Then consider yourself disciplined,’ he said, fondly. ‘If you’d been killed, I’d have been furious. But as you’re ok, forget it. So, where’s Templar?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘He’s outthought us again. He’s probably miles away. What he told the security guard about going to the car park was a lovely diversion. It gave him loads of time to escape.’

  ‘And now he could be anywhere,’ Claire added. ‘But we’ll find him.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Adam replied. ‘But not in time to save me, or Dan.’

  As one, they checked their watches. Dan’s said it was twenty past four, which meant probably around half past. Deputy Chief Constable Flood would be arriving at Charles Cross at any moment.

  Back in the Wessex Tonight studios, Phil would be editing the story of the day. Roger Newman’s outspoken attack on the police and the journalist with the extraordinary arrogance to presume he could play an important role in the investigation. The funeral requiem was being readied.

  ‘Haven’t we got enough to save ourselves?’ Dan asked, trying not to sound desperate. ‘Now we know who killed the Edwards?’

  ‘Nowhere close,’ the downcast Adam replied. ‘In fact, it’s worse. Newman’s attack still stands and we’ve let the mastermind escape. I’m going to look even more stupid than before.’