by GB Williams
She didn’t want to say anything, but she had to. She dragged in another breath, her hand automatically going to her side, pressing the kick site and holding herself together when she felt like she was closer than ever to falling apart. ‘You should consider sending someone else. Someone who isn’t your most volatile gang member. Send someone you trust to behave, who’s not going to jeopardise your place here. Send him.’ She pointed at Mr Blue.
‘Stand up.’
‘Please don’t send me.’ There were tears in her voice but not her eyes.
‘How foolish of me. I thought I was sending someone non-volatile.’ His cold look challenged her. ‘Stand up.’
This time Teddington obeyed, her knees knocking. She felt sick, lowered her head and eyes to the floor. Her breathing wasn’t normal and her sniff was too wet. She tapped Carlisle on the shoulder with her phone and passed it down. It was the only link they had to the police outside. She had to leave it with someone who could be trusted.
Mr White indicated she should head to the door. Apparently he’d decided to do the face-to-face himself. That was a relief. Teddington felt the trembling judder through her. She palms were sweaty, so she wiped them on her leggings. Moving to the door, she looked up at Mr Brown. There was no expression on his face. It’s not him, it can’t be.
‘We want that van here, out the back, in thirty minutes,’ Mr White was saying. ‘If we don’t get it, I’m going to start killing people.’
That meant he wasn’t going to step out himself.
‘Understand?’
Not sure that she did, Teddington turned, and found Mr White wasn’t talking to her, he was concentrating on Mr Brown. Turning back, she decided Mr Brown didn’t exactly look comfortable.
‘Mr White?’ he asked.
‘You’ll go out there, do the face-to-face. She’s your shield. Anyone tries anything funny, one of the remaining hostages dies. Understand now?’
All too well. She saw Mr Brown nod, just once.
‘Thirty minutes, out back.’
Since there was no other choice, Teddington stood quietly as Mr Brown shifted his gaze to her.
‘Take off your coat.’
She looked down at the bulky, padded jacket she’d picked to protect her against wind chill. She didn’t want to take it off. She knew what was below it.
‘I said—’ Mr Brown pressed his gun to her forehead, ‘take your bloody coat off.’
Carefully, reluctantly, she drew down the zip and shrugged the coat off, letting the cumbersome garment drop to the floor, Brown kicked it out of the way, it stopped by the wall. She tried not to be affected by the way the gang and hostages stared. Her corset had over-shoulder straps which covered the scar on her right shoulder where she’d been shot, but it was otherwise fairly revealing. Mr Brown’s eyes seemed to have fallen into the trap of her cleavage.
‘The camera’s going to love that,’ Mr White commented.
‘Lack of that bulk just makes my job easier,’ Mr Brown declared.
Teddington stood tall and as still as her quaking body would allow as Mr Brown side-stepped. His gun was in his right hand, so it was the left that moved around her. She gasped both from the movement and the jolt to her ribs as he pulled her up against him. She could taste the fear in her throat, the copper-tinge of the fight-or-flight response. The worst of it was knowing she could do neither. Rumble or run, the result would be the same: someone else would pay for her mistake. She couldn’t live with that.
She felt him move, his cheek now rested against her head, his mouth by her ear. His breath was warm over her skin. Memories of another time and place were inappropriate and tamped down. The gun came up to press against her neck, just below her ear. She swallowed and tried to breathe as normally as she could. It wasn’t easy. He was moving her forward.
‘Open the door.’
Automatically, she raised her left hand. It couldn’t go far, trapped as it was beneath his arm. Instead she had to use her right hand, which for a leftie was rather awkward. For a moment she held the door open. Those inside the bank were silent; outside, the whole world seemed to be holding its breath. Though the door opened into a recess, the air was suddenly colder. Goosebumps jumped across her skin. Mr Brown stepped them into the doorway. The glass door fell shut behind them, the world lay in front. For a moment they were in their own space, a separate dimension from the bank and from the outside world. The man behind her shifted, bringing his cheek against her left temple.
‘God, I’ve missed your apple scent.’
Teddington lost control of her knees. She’d have fallen if he hadn’t had such a tight hold on her.
‘Charlie?’
She didn’t want to believe it. Prosthetics. That was why they weren’t wearing masks—they’d changed their faces so they’d never be recognised. Charlie’s hold slackened, became more of a caress. His head moved minutely, she felt his lips—
‘Don’t,’ she warned.
18
Don’t. She was right, he shouldn’t. Now wasn’t the time or the place.
But damn it all he wanted to do was kiss her. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. She should never have been here. How cruel could fate be to put the very woman he wanted right in his way at the worst possible moment?
‘Nice corset.’
‘At least it binds my ribs, otherwise your mate might have broken them.’
That put a new and unwelcome twist on it.
‘I can’t believe you’re doing this,’ she hissed the words between clenched teeth. ‘I thought you were a better man.’
Ice washed through his veins. There was so much he wanted to tell her, no time or freedom to explain. He was as trapped as she was. And right now, he had a job to do.
Ahead he could see the police cordon, people crowding the limits to see what was happening. The camera crew—crews, he realised—were focusing on them, jostling each other to get the best position.
At last he saw Piper, moving through the ranks, ducking under cordon tape. The DCI looked rumpled in his customary suit. Piper came a few steps inside the exclusion zone before he stopped.
He’s trying to draw us out.
Charlie took half a step forward, putting Teddington into the open beyond the shop front, while he remained in the recess. The black gun at her throat was the perfect counterpoint to the white of her porcelain skin. That should keep the cameras happy.
‘Mr White?’ Piper called.
Charlie pressed the gun harder to Teddington’s throat. Her head moved up and to the left as he burrowed his face into her hair. No one was about to recognise him, but he wasn’t going to give them the chance. She got the scared act just right.
‘This isn’t Mr White,’ she called with a quake in her voice.
A glance down showed Charlie that she was breathing too shallowly and even with his grip nowhere near a pulse point, he could feel her heart racing. He spoke more out of hope than attention to the evidence, easing the muzzle pressure against her neck. ‘This fear’s an act, right?’
‘No,’ she squeaked back. ‘Don’t forget your accent.’
It was true—his hint of Geordie had slipped away. Thank God she’d reminded him. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he whispered his words through her hair, dragging the apple scent into his nostrils and lungs.
‘You already did.’
Her words robbed him of his lungful.
Piper came forward; there was a murmur from the crowd. Every footfall echoed, an ominous toll. On the edge of the pavement, Piper stopped, settled into a casual stance. It was one Charlie remembered from his own negotiation training. To appear open and seemingly relaxed, stand with feet parted, knees unlocked, hands relaxed and open, away from the body and never in pockets. Piper might be uncomfortable but he was carefully doing everything by the book. With Sheldrake and the press on his back, he couldn’t afford to do anything else.
‘My name is Matt.’
Charlie had to think before he spoke. Had to keep the ac
cent going. ‘We want that van you promised. You’ve got thirty minutes or we start shooting hostages.’ To emphasise his point, he pressed the gun harder into Teddington’s throat. The move turned her face even more intimately against his. The thought of kissing her, unbidden and inappropriate, filled his head. As he pushed the image away, he was glad of the heavy prosthetics obscuring his face, his blushes. ‘Get the van to the back of the building.’
‘Wheels are in motion, but these things take time. Half an hour’s not enough. I need an hour at least.’
‘Mr White says half an hour or he starts shooting hostages.’
Piper looked strained. There was a tension around his eyes that Charlie recognised. Chances were Piper was between a rock and a hard place. Piper took a careful step forward. ‘He can’t.’
‘He can,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s a very live threat.’
‘Yeah, just ask the ceiling, two very obvious bullet holes.’ Teddington added.
‘But he hasn’t hurt anyone as yet, has he? I need to know that the hostages are alright.’
‘They are,’ Teddington answered when Charlie didn’t.
‘Really, Ari? You’re looking rather pale.’
‘I’m cold.’
Charlie felt the truth of that in her shivers, in the obvious goosebumps pulled up by the chill of the sunless afternoon.
Piper obviously wasn’t convinced. ‘You sure that’s all?’
This time her voice was stronger, if not louder. ‘Matt, I’m a prison officer being held by criminals. They’re not happy with me. But thank God, I’m just a serving prison officer, imagine how they’d react to a serving police officer in there.’
The point was clearly rammed home to Piper. He swallowed and considered. ‘Ari, be careful, this is starting to look like you’re working with them.’
‘Really?’ She risked the sarcasm she hadn’t dared earlier. ‘What makes you think that? The gun at my head, maybe?’
The silence was awkward.
‘They know who I am and what I do, Matt. The chances of me surviving this are small enough as it is. Cooperation is my only stalling tactic.’
For a moment, Piper closed his eyes. Charlie knew the feeling, but with at least half a dozen guns aimed at him, he couldn’t afford to look away. Worryingly of course, Teddington was right. She had the lowest chance of all of them of getting out of this alive. When Piper opened his eyes again, he was clearly back in control.
Piper turned to Charlie. ‘We’ll get you a van, but you know how this works: you have to give us something. Release one of the hostages.’
‘No.’ Charlie pulled Teddington closer. She winced.
Piper considered her. ‘Just how badly hurt are you?’
She drew another breath, swallowed, easing some of the air back out before she answered. ‘Bruised but not broken. They already gave you a hostage.’
‘You’ll get them all when we get the van,’ Charlie growled. The need to play the role made this easier. ‘And no more face-to-face. Phone contact only. You have twenty-five minutes left.’
‘I’m trying.’
‘Try harder.’
19
Try harder.
Teddington’s words echoed through Piper’s soul as he walked back behind the line, where Sheldrake and Broughton were waiting for him. He felt the weight of every eye on him; he was overly aware of the young journalist pushing her way around the cordon. He ignored her and focused on Sheldrake, and the concise report he had to make.
‘Nothing’s changed,’ Sheldrake was quick to pronounce, his report done.
Except that they’re threatening to start shooting hostages. But there was no point reiterating that. Sheldrake had listened closely enough.
‘They haven’t shot anyone yet, Inspector.’
Apparently she was a mind reader. ‘Yet,’ Piper underlined in a tight growl as Sheldrake headed away.
‘Inspector Piper!’
His already tense shoulders tightened further as he looked across to the keen young reporter. She was eager, and when he turned to her, she stilled, the neutral expression she wore for bad news stories wasn’t quite so neutral now, but it reminded him who she was. ‘That’s Chief Inspector.’
‘Chief Inspector.’
Her smile was too barracuda to be ingratiating. ‘What can you tell us about the robbers’ demands?’
Not a lot. ‘A statement will be made in due course, Miss Dowling.’ The rest of her questions he ignored as he and Broughton followed Sheldrake. Before they entered the hairdresser’s, he turned back to see Dowling back with her cameraman, whispering urgently. Broughton sensed Piper’s interest and stopped a step ahead. She was up to something. Whatever she was saying to the cameraman he looked interested too, and unusually, they both pushed through the crowd, this time away from the cordon. ‘What are those two up to?’
‘God knows.’ Broughton managed to sneer the words with next to no facial movement.
Inside they joined Sheldrake. She didn’t look happy when she regarded Broughton. ‘Why exactly did you defy my orders and get a van ready to hand over?’
Piper was impressed not only that Broughton had defied orders, but he didn’t turn a hair at being called on it.
‘Eventually, ma’am, we may need to change our stance on that. I merely want to be ready if the time comes.’
‘Unlikely,’ she returned. ‘According to your paperwork, your informant said that the bullets would be blanks.’
‘Makes little difference,’ Andrews put in as he joined them. ‘Even a blank can do serious damage at close quarters. Fire a blank against someone’s temple, you’ll still kill them. And they’ve demonstrated a willingness to hurt. We know Samuel Frankford was punched and Ari has been attacked in some way. I think we have to err on the side of caution here and assume that the bullets aren’t blanks, and that yes, they might kill someone.’
‘The bullets aren’t blanks,’ Piper said as he pushed back his hair and ignored the pain in his gut. ‘Teddington mentioned two bullet holes in the ceiling.’
‘You don’t,’ Andrews stated, ‘get those from blanks.’
The statement was met with dread silence.
‘What’s that?’ Piper asked pointing to the paper in Andrews’ hand.
‘Oh, this is the best image we could get of the man who stepped out of the bank.’
Piper took it and realised that the toner in the van printer was nearly out. There was a strip not printing and the bottom was greyer than the top. The image itself was more interesting. Ariadne Teddington was looking pale and scared. Who could blame her for that when a man was pushing a gun to her throat. Even if she knew the man, which she clearly did given their exchange, there was no way of telling that from the evidence in front of him.
‘Well that’s not Charlie Bell.’
Broughton’s statement was part relief to Piper.
It was patently obvious to him that he’d been speaking to Charlie Bell, but if his colleagues couldn’t identify the man, there was still a chance he could get out of this. For a moment Piper closed his eyes. Working in shades of grey was one thing, but he wondered how far he was going to have to wade into those murky waters.
‘He doesn’t match the descriptions of any of the men our informant said was involved,’ Andrews continued, ‘and he’s not tall enough to be Bell. I’ve sent the image to Control. They’re running a picture match, but with what’s basically a third of a face, I doubt it’ll do much good. Talking of which, Hickson couldn’t identify any of our suspects and could only suggest that there were a couple of possibilities in the books, even those he wasn’t sure about.’
Piper continued to stare at the image. Whoever did that work was a damn fine make-up artist. It was a hell of a cover-up. Was he going to be able to do so good a job? If he attempted and failed, he’d kiss his career and his pension goodbye.
‘Piper.’
Piper pulled back and turned to Broughton. ‘Sorry, sir?’
‘I said this doesn�
�t add up.’
‘No, sir.’ Piper rubbed his hands over his face, struggling to bring everything together.
‘What have we missed?’ Andrews asked.
‘Nothing,’ Piper stated, as he re-joined them. ‘We’ve seen precisely what they wanted us to see.’
‘Piper!’ One of the DCs called his attention to the TV in the van. He glanced to Sheldrake, who dismissed him with a small inclination of her head. Piper stepped over to watch the TV. They were streaming a live broadcast and what he saw chilled him to the bone.
Teddington was unsure if her shivers were from the cold of the air, or from knowing that Charlie Bell was beneath the overhanging brow of Mr Brown. Her legs had barely held her as she returned to the chair. She was vaguely aware that Carlisle had had to guide her down, that he’d spoken to her when he’d put the phone back in her hand. She gripped it now like a lifeline.
Charlie Bell. Here. The man of her dreams taking a starring role in her current nightmare.
Obviously the other gang members knew who he was, but did they know of her connection to him? She thought about what Mr Pink had said. No. He couldn’t know, or he’d have shot her by now. As long as they didn’t know, she’d be okay. At least she could kid herself she’d be okay.
‘…this reporter recognised Prison Officer Ariadne Teddington.’
The woman’s voice penetrated Teddington’s mind and she looked up to see a young woman doing a piece to camera just before her own picture flashed up, a hideous work photo of her in uniform, which made her look like something Frankenstein would have rejected for being too ugly.
‘Officer Teddington made headlines last May when she was shot during the funeral of Oscar Bell and Baby Hamilton.’
The screen changed again. This time showing the footage of the funeral. Footage that, until that moment, Teddington had managed to avoid. Now she stared up, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. In the footage, Richardson and Sanchez were on the ground. She stood beside Charlie, handcuffed to him, looking stunned. Then she was down.
The rest of the world disappeared and she was there in that dreadful moment. She felt the force against her shoulder knock her off her feet. The rapid pulse of heat that radiated through her body, so quickly followed by Arctic cold. The pain as Bell unceremoniously pulled her up, extending the damage in her shoulder. Explosions at his feet showed he’d had no choice but to run, and with the handcuffs he’d had to take her with him.