Daddy's Girls

by Sarah Flint

  The news was just concluding and the weather forecast warned of impending stormy conditions and heavy rain. Moodily, she switched the programme off, recalling the problems they’d had with Karl Ferris. A thunderstorm would be all she needed.

  She stared down at the printed image of Houghton in her lap, mentally picturing him with or without hair, clean-shaven or bearded, concentrating on the contours of his skull, his eyes, his long straight nose and prominent bone structure. His custody record described a large mole on the left side of his neck and several one-inch scars dotted about his body, but the distance would preclude them from view. In essence, the task before her was daunting enough, without the possibility that Houghton could have changed his appearance – and they had no way of knowing whether he had.

  She checked her watch as the minute hand clicked on to four-fifteen. Four-fifteen and on POETS day too. The majority of the Met would be pissing off early.

  ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday,’ she said, finishing the phrase under her breath.

  ‘What?’ Hunter asked, from his position in the passenger seat.

  ‘Just thinking it’s not a great time for an armed operation.’

  ‘When is it ever?’

  ‘True, but we don’t know whether we’ll be here for minutes, hours, or all night.’ She sank down morosely into the driver’s seat. ‘Although I’ve nothing better to do.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Hunter ignored the bait. ‘In fact, it gets me out of seeing the in-laws, so I’m happy to stay here all night. Or until Mrs H gets hold of me, that is.’ He grinned mischievously and picked up the radio. ‘Is everyone in situ?’

  The question was met with a chorus of positive replies and Charlie brightened. The plan was to isolate Houghton before he entered the building and arrest him outside. If that could be done, it would all be worth it. She just had to correctly recognise a total stranger!

  A bolt of lightning brought her from her reverie, followed almost immediately by a clap of thunder. At the same time, the clouds opened and rain began lashing down, any view from the windscreen being lost within seconds.

  ‘Standby all units,’ Naz’s voice came across the radio, from where she was parked further along the main road. ‘Houghton’s Civic has just passed us, turning left, left, left into the venue.’

  ‘Shit!’ Charlie pressed her face against the driver’s window, as a scruffy white Honda Civic pulled into the driveway, its wipers speeding back and forth against the rain. There was no way she would be able to see the driver.

  Another flash of lightning lit up the sky, bouncing off every murky window in the building. Rather than driving to the car park at the rear, as they’d expected, they watched as the car slewed to a stop directly in front of the main entrance.

  ‘Shit!’ She opened the window, straining to get a view, the sleeves and shoulders of her jacket saturated. ‘I can’t see a bloody thing.’

  The driver’s door on the Civic swung open and a hooded figure jumped out, his arms thrown up high, shielding his head from the rain.

  ‘I can barely make out whether that’s a male or female,’ Charlie shouted over the roar of thunder. ‘Never mind say whether it’s Houghton.’

  They watched as the person disappeared through the communal door and into the shadow of the large house.

  Hunter had his radio to his mouth. ‘Stand down,’ he commanded. ‘It’s a negative, negative re ID on Houghton at present. Suspect straight into venue.’

  He picked up his mobile and phoned the direct number for the inspector in charge of tactical firearms advice to discuss a change of plan. They already had a warrant and a full sketch plan of the building. The armed units would be moved forward in readiness, and Paul, dressed as a pizza delivery man, would conduct a cold call on the room to establish Houghton’s presence. It wasn’t ideal, but then jobs like these rarely went perfectly to plan.

  ‘Visibility was non-existent. There was nothing we could do,’ she heard him say, the knowledge that she’d failed as heavy on her shoulders as the wet jacket she now wore. Another wave of rainwater splashed the side of her head and she brushed her soaking hair to one side and took a deep breath, refocusing on each window in the building.

  She could hear the storm directly overhead, the electricity fizzing and crackling all round them.

  Hunter shoved a pair of binoculars towards her, completely undaunted.

  ‘Keep watching,’ he instructed. ‘We’re following Plan B now, and we can’t afford to fail.’

  *

  Emma was lying on her sofa bed when her dad entered. Her eyes were scratchy and sore from crying and her head throbbed painfully, the upset of her fallout with Kelly, the previous evening, still taking its toll.

  ‘Nice to see you,’ she said, half sarcastically and half truthfully.

  ‘It’s nice to see you too.’

  Her father looked genuinely pleased to see her and she softened towards him. Water was pooling on the bottom of his chin and dripping off the ends of his hair onto his jacket. He reminded her of a naughty child, vulnerable and lost, receiving unexpected praise from his teacher.

  ‘Here, take this.’ She pulled at a pile of laundry and held a towel out towards him. ‘You’re soaked.’

  Thomas took the towel, rubbing it over the ends of his hair and neck. As he did so, a flash of lightning lit up the dark sky and his expression changed, blazing as brightly as the bolt of electricity.

  ‘I always used to love storms,’ he enthused, over the sound of the thunder which now crackled overhead. ‘Your mother did too. I used to tell her about when I was a boy and we lived in a large house at the top of a hill. My bedroom was in the attic. I used to believe that I actually lived inside the clouds sometimes.’ He smiled towards her. ‘In a storm, the whole room would rumble and vibrate.’

  Years seemed to fall away as she watched her father speaking. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time, glimpsing him as her mother had, in the beginning: young, excited, enthusiastic for life… a man with whom Catherine had shared her life and who had been trustworthy and reliable. Now, as she gazed at his sudden exuberance, Emma realised how cruelly life had dealt their hand. Her mother had lost control of her body – and her father had lost his way.

  Thomas was still smiling as he moved across to the window, hauling it wide open and taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes, gulping in the fresh, clean air, clearly in awe at the way in which the storm washed away all traces of the dirt and grime from the city. A crackle of lightning took him by surprise. He stumbled backwards, hanging the towel round his neck, before returning to the open window a few moments later, no doubt lured by the promise of the next lightning fork.

  ‘What the…’ he stopped speaking abruptly, the look of contentment replaced by shock.

  ‘What’s up?’ She could hear his sudden panic.

  ‘There’re police everywhere.’

  She ran to join him at the window, staring down as several armed police officers edged down either side of the building. They were coming for her father. There was no doubt in her mind, and he seemed to have sensed it too.

  ‘You’ve got to get out of here now,’ she shouted, as another clap of thunder threatened to drown out her words. ‘Is there anyone in another room who can hide you? You won’t be able to leave the house. They’ve got it surrounded.’

  She ran to the bedsit door, cursing her stupidity in confiding her worries to Kelly. Her so-called friend had obviously followed through on exactly what she’d threatened. There could be no other reason for the police to be here today, and armed to the teeth. The hallway and stairwell were quiet, with only the normal muffled sounds of bedsit life resonating round the landing. There were no cops inside as yet, but it might only be a matter of seconds before they were swarming up the stairs towards their room.

  Her father was by her side now, unsure of what to do, alarm still plastered across his face. Suddenly, the thought of losing him was too much to bear. She threw her arms round him and kissed his pale
cheek, before pushing him firmly out on to the landing.

  ‘Hurry up and go. Find somewhere to hide. You can’t be here.’ Her voice sounded strangely strangulated. ‘Phone me from a call box later if you get out.’

  She nudged him forward again, trying to inject him with a sense of urgency. It was all her fault. She should never have spoken to Kelly, and she never would again. Her father needed help. He was sick, and if he could only escape this predicament, she would be the one to provide it. It was only right. It was just the two of them now against the world.

  For a few seconds, he waited, caught in the moment, but then he lifted his hand to his cheek, softly brushing the spot that she had kissed.

  ‘Thanks, Emma,’ he said simply, launching himself forward and down the stairs.

  *

  Charlie stared silently as the armed units moved forward. The order to attack had been taken within seconds of Thomas Houghton appearing at the open window. Seeing him there had been a godsend. For a full minute, he had stood stock-still, with his eyes closed, in full view, and with the binoculars further enhancing her vision, she was totally convinced. He looked just as he had in the photograph, his hair hanging lank against his collar and only a dusting of stubble on his face. It was him.

  Everything was go, go, go.

  Paul, ready in pizza uniform, was stood down and the armed units brought forward, but they would have to be quick. It was possible they’d been spotted when he’d returned to the window, this time joined by a young woman, most likely his daughter Emma, also shown living at the address.

  The police were by the entrance now, every corner of the house surrounded. In a matter of seconds, they would have the room secured and their first forensically identified suspect under control.

  Charlie held her breath as the house was lit up by another bolt of lightning, as if caught in the beam of a giant searchlight. The officers were poised ready by the front door. As the thunder thudded and rumbled all around, the front door was breached and the first wave of armed police flooded in.

  *

  Emma ran back over to the window, shielding herself from view behind a curtain. The police were swarming inside the lobby. A clap of thunder crashed across the sky, but above the noise of the storm, she could just make out further loud crashes.

  Suddenly she remembered the gun. It would still be hidden in the drawer. The clatter of boots on the wooden floorboards of the entrance hall was getting louder as she stood gripped with fear. What if they found it? Would she be arrested?

  The noise of the footfall increased, the sound prompting her to move. She ran to the drawer, pulling at the clothing, but the gun was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t there. Her father must have returned when she was at Kelly’s and moved it, but what if it was still in the room, concealed elsewhere?

  There was no time to think. She could hear them outside the door now, the floorboards creaking under their weight. All she could do was hope it had gone completely. For a second, everything went silent, then, with a deafening boom, the door splintered into pieces in its frame and the room was filled with uniforms, guns and shouting.

  ‘Armed police, armed police. Stand still. Don’t move.’

  But they needn’t have shouted. She couldn’t budge anyway. Too petrified to move a limb, she stayed rooted to the spot as officers took hold of her roughly, pulling her arms to the rear and handcuffing her.

  ‘Where’s the man that was here?’ one of them shouted. He took a step towards her and repeated the question directly into her face.

  ‘What man?’ she stammered. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

  Other officers were searching the room, upturning the beds, pulling the wardrobe open, checking in any place large enough to conceal a person. Within a few minutes, the initial check was complete and they stood, taking deep breaths from the exertion, evidently satisfied no one else was hidden in the cramped bedsit.

  More police were moving around in other parts of the building now. She could hear doors slamming, conversations being held. Behind her back, the cold metal of the handcuffs dug into her wrists, as she crossed her fingers and prayed that her father would not get caught.

  For a moment, she imagined him squatting behind a door, squashed into a small space holding his breath, listening, watching and waiting. Then a thought crossed her mind, too awful to entertain; one that filled her head, her heart, and her soul – and made every limb, every sinew, in her body freeze with terror.

  What if he had the gun with him? What might he do if he was cornered?

  *

  Charlie climbed the stairs two at a time and entered the small, shabby bedsit. She was to be rewarded for her efforts with the arrest of their suspect. A young girl, almost certainly Emma, stood to one side, staring at her feet, her arms behind her back. Her complexion was pale with shock and her body slumped in defeat. For the briefest of moments, she wondered whether sick bastards like Thomas Houghton gave a shit about the impact of their actions on their families, but then she realised that Houghton was not there. No one else was there.

  ‘Where’s our suspect?’ she directed her question at the armed sergeant standing with Emma.

  ‘There was no trace of anyone else here,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘Just the girl.’

  ‘What do you mean no trace? He must be here, I saw him at the window.’ She didn’t care that he was senior in rank.

  ‘Well, he’s not here now.’ The sergeant seemed to be deliberately belligerent. ‘Perhaps if you’d identified him before he entered the house, as you were supposed to, we’d have got him.’

  She paused, frustration boiling over. This could not be happening. ‘Well, perhaps if you’d got to the room a bit quicker,’ she started, before stopping abruptly at the thunderous expression on the sergeant’s face.

  He took a deep breath and leant towards her.

  ‘Now, stop right there, young lady. Perhaps you just made a fuck-up with your identification, or he nipped out to have a shit while you were making your mind up. I don’t know, but he’s not fucking here.’

  Hunter walked in as she was about to reply. She shut her mouth instead, inwardly seething at his words. The man was obviously making her a scapegoat for their failure, and their spat, conducted as it was in front of their suspect’s daughter, was getting more and more unprofessional. Houghton wasn’t there, that was the end of it.

  She could hear the sergeant talking to Hunter and ignored his criticism, instead turning her attention to where their suspect might be. It had definitely been Thomas Houghton at the window, so he must still be in the building.

  Turning tail, she left the room, immediately bumping into Naz, who was standing at the closed door of another bedsit. Naz turned and grimaced, before thumping hard on the door, evidently having come to the same conclusion. She stopped when there was no reply.

  ‘I heard he wasn’t there. So he must be in one of these other rooms.’ Naz banged on the door again. ‘The trouble is, these bastards all hate police and without a warrant for each individual bedsit, they know that we can’t enter. All Houghton has to do is bung them a few quid and then sit tight and wait. None of them would say a word. They’d rather be sitting inside with a fucking evil rapist, laughing that they’ve had us over, than say anything.’

  ‘And leave him free to do the same again when we’ve gone.’ Charlie bit her lip, tempted to wish it on one of their relatives, but at the same time not wanting to inflict his violence on any other woman. ‘Well, thanks for trying anyway.’ She turned away. ‘I’m going to see what his daughter has to say.’

  The armed sergeant was just leaving the room when she returned.

  ‘Sorry we missed him,’ he said rather sheepishly. Hunter had clearly put him in his place.

  She exhaled wearily, ignoring the girl, and walked across to the open window just as a low-loader reversed in, preparing to remove Houghton’s vehicle.

  Hunter came across to where she stood, keeping his voice low. ‘I’ve pulled t
he surveillance team off Ferris for the time being. They’re going to mobilise here for the night. There weren’t any other teams available, and I thought it was more important to go for Houghton, now he’s been positively identified.’

  She nodded her agreement, but even that news failed to lift her spirits. Better to have a team following each suspect than confined to one. And Karl Ferris needed monitoring, but there was nothing they could do. Resources in the Met, like everywhere these days, had been slashed. They did what they could.

  The rain was still falling, but the thunder had passed on and what was left of the downpour was sporadic and without any real force. The storm was over and the last remnants of its anger were fading, much as Charlie’s mood, and the police operation was scaling down. A small number of officers remained waiting as the Honda Civic was lifted on to the truck and the last few members of the armed unit milled around, just in case Houghton should re-emerge, but they all knew this was unlikely. He was holed up and would remain so until all trace of police activity had gone.

  After a few minutes, she turned towards the girl, walking across and unlocking the handcuffs that had, until then, remained fixed in place.

  ‘Emma Houghton?’ she asked.

  The girl nodded.

  ‘Emma, do you know why we’re here?’

  The girl nodded again.

  ‘So, as you can guess, we’ll need to search this room thoroughly, and you’ll have to leave while we do this. You can pack a few items that you need, but the rest will have to wait until after we’re done.’ She was sure that the girl must have assisted her father and was not feeling unduly sympathetic.