by Leigh Barker
Shaun heard the call as he was driving down The Mall on his way back from Saint Bart’s hospital and knew at once that it had to be Patrick. Who else would be the cause of gunshots in Mayfair? He cut through Green Park, round Hyde Park Corner, bypassed Berkeley Square, and was outside Patrick’s apartment in under ten minutes. Nice driving for Central London.
He parked halfway down the quiet street and looked up at the building where Michael Collins lived, except he’d been dead since 1922. He reached for the car door handle, just as three police cars passed him with their lights flashing and sirens blaring. Great, here come the boys in blue to totally screw things up. He released the handle and waited. There would be lots of running around and shouting first, so he might as well wait for them to make sure the shooters had gone, no point sticking his neck out unnecessarily when there were so many eager-beaver volunteers. Anyway, he needed a drink and pulled a bottle from beside the seat and unscrewed the top, but sat and looked at it in the flashing blue light as his promise replayed in his head. What the hell? It was a promise to a god that had dumped him decades before, stuff it. He lifted the bottle towards his lips and stopped. But what if? Right now Danny was hanging on, but it was close. The promise was made in the heat of the moment, with his best friend bleeding out in the rain. Sure, but he lived when he should’ve died. So maybe… bullshit, a promise to nobody under those conditions doesn’t count. So okay, now promises and your word get measured by who was listening? He screwed the top on the bottle and got out of the car. Later would be soon enough for a drink, right now he needed his wits. Yeah, right.
He half expected to find DCI Gardener on the scene and still bleating on about the report that was supposed to be on his desk days ago, but he wasn’t; it was just a clone.
“I know you,” DCI Faulkner said as Shaun approached the entrance to the building and ignored him. “Hey, stop right there!”
Shaun stopped on the steps and even thought about turning round, but was just too tired to bother with all this crap. “Yeah, sir, and I know you too.” You pompous little shit.
“O’Conner, isn’t it?”
Shaun glanced over his shoulder at the police chief inspector standing under the entrance lights. He was wearing medals, for Christ’s sake, what had he ever done to get medals? Probably hundred-metre backstroke. “Yeah, and you’re DI Facker,” he said with a little nod of welcome.
If Faulkner had flushed any redder, it would have merged nicely with the blue light to turn a lovely shade of purple. “Detective Chief Inspector Faulkner,” the DCI said without moving his jaw. “What are you doing at my crime scene?”
Shaun could have explained that it was part of an on-going investigation, or that the gunfire was in his brother’s apartment, but this DCI was a dick, and so were these ass-kissers in blue. He walked up the steps and into the foyer with Faulkner looking left and right as if he expected an apocalypse, or at least a horseman or two. By the time he recovered, Shaun was already pressing the button in the lift and had his eyes closed anyway, as he just couldn’t watch any more of these histrionics.
He came out of the lift and walked slowly down the short corridor to Patrick’s apartment door, which was open and guarded by a police officer, who nodded when Shaun showed him his ID. He stopped for a moment and looked back down the corridor at the door to the other apartment where Harry and Bob where hiding. Then he turned the other way towards the shattered window and tried to see what was causing the itch on the back of his neck. He should have had that drink, everything seemed clearer after a drink. He walked into the apartment and saw the bodies and the three police officers doing an impression of Hawaii Five-O as they checked the other rooms for gangs of armed assailants.
“Clear!” shouted one of them.
Sweet mother of God, he was getting too old for this shit.
He crossed to where Grady sat in the armchair, broken glass on his lap, three holes in his shirt and a look of surprise frozen on his face. He crossed to where O’Brian lay flat on his back next to the dresser, looked at the empty safe and frowned. If this was a robbery, then he was a hang-gliding nun from Budapest. It was a hit, except the intended target was not among the recently deceased, so Patrick had… had what? He looked to his right and saw the panic-room door open. Yeah, that would be Patrick’s style, save himself and to hell with everyone else.
“I help you with anything, sir?” a sergeant said, who had finished his sweep of the three-roomed apartment and was now walking all over the physical evidence.
“No,” Shaun said, heading for the door. “Looks like you guys can screw this up on your own.” He closed the door behind him, but still heard the sergeant’s response, and smiled.
He went to the end of the corridor and looked out of the shattered window. Nothing, just a steep slope over tiles to a rainspout and a low wall. So why was the window blown out?
Harry was also looking out at the sloping roof and the low parapet, but from the other apartment, and only in search of an escape route. From his angle he had a different view and saw the red coat hood hooked up on a bent metal bracket sticking out into a gap meant for a drainpipe. He didn’t need to be a detective to realise that the coat was taut, and that meant something heavy was hanging from it.
He stared at the red hood for several seconds, as he tried to deny what his eyes were telling him. “There’s a kid hanging off the bloody roof!”
Bob leaned past him. “I see it, a coat.”
Harry pulled him back and started to climb out of the window, grimaced as his leg stretched over the sill, and fell back against Bob. “Help me over,” he gasped against the pain.
“Why? So I can watch you fall right over the edge?” Bob said. “I don’t bloody think so.”
Harry leaned out and looked along the roof to the other window, turned and headed for the door.
“Whoa!” Bob said, catching his arm. “Have you forgotten the cops are swarming all over the place?”
Harry pulled his arm free. “That hood’s not going to hold long, and when it goes, so does the kid.”
Bob nodded. “Okay, but leave that,” he said, pointing at the handgun. “The cops aren’t going to ask questions if you start running around a murder scene with a gun sticking out of your belt.”
Harry threw the gun onto the sofa and opened the door. “You stay here, no point us both getting banged up.”
The officer guarding Patrick’s apartment saw him come out of the apartment and watched him carefully as he strode past him and down to where Shaun was standing by the broken window. He had no trouble stepping over the low sill this time, but as soon as he braced himself on the treacherous tiles, he grunted in pain.
Shaun leaned on the window frame and watched the madman for a few seconds until he heard the cry of pain. Okay, enough. He caught Harry’s arm and steered him back through the window with no more than token resistance. “What the hell are you doing?” he said, as Harry put his hand against the wall for support. “If you’re trying to commit suicide, do it someplace else. Someplace I’m not.”
Harry pointed down the roof. “There’s a kid hanging off the roof.”
He was going to say how, but Shaun was already climbing out onto the wet tiles.
“Say hi to the kid as you fly past,” Harry said helpfully and then looked around for something to help the cop get down without killing himself. One of those fire hoses on a reel would have been just the job, but there’s never a tidy red hose reel when you really need one.
Shaun felt his smooth-soled shoes start to slip and sat down quickly. Great, now he had a wet arse. He slid the remaining ten feet down the tiles until his feet hit the low parapet supporting the ornate brackets that had hooked the coat’s hood. He looked across to where the kid had gone through the gap left for drainage down pipes. God, I hate heights, he thought. Why me? What have I done? Why couldn’t it be one of those young woodentops doing all this hero shit? From all the creeping fear of heights, a strand of reasoning emerged. What was a kid do
ing up here in the first place? Patrick’s apartment. Jesus! Holy Christ! Debbie!
He slid on his backside across the tiles, sidestepping against the parapet, moving as fast as this method would allow. “Hold on, kid,” he called. The alternative being what, exactly? Okay, but he had to say something, while he braced his feet on either side of the two-foot drainage gap.
“Who’s there?” a child’s voice said from the darkness.
Shaun caught his balance, licked his lips, and leaned out over the six-storey drop to the pavement. “Hi, kid. Don’t worry, I’m a good guy.”
“Are you a policeman?”
“Kind of, yes.” He thought about telling her he was her Uncle Shaun, but they’d never met, and he was sure she’d have been warned about creepy uncles, so decided to keep it professional.
“If you’re a policeman, show me your badge.”
“What?” He flinched as the strain of leaning out over his flexed legs began to tell on his thighs, put his hand on the parapet, and slid down until he was lying in the spouting. Great, icy water in his pants, lovely.
“Show me your badge,” Debbie said from a distance.
“Or what? You’re going to run away?”
“I’ll scream.”
“Jesus. Hang on.” Shaun put his hand into his jacket, but ripped it out again as he started to fall towards the gap — which is what happens when your only support is used for something else. He braced his knee against the brickwork and finally got the process working. “Here’s an ID,” he said, thrusting his warrant card out into the darkness. “I don’t have a badge. Satisfied?”
“How do I know it’s not a fake?”
“Jesus, are you nuts?”
“You shouldn’t keep swearing. I’m just a child,” the distant voice said.
“Yeah, all right, sorry.” He looked down to the pavement again, which was pretty stupid, being afraid of heights. “So, okay, why would I climb out here to fall to my death just to show you a fake ID?”
“I’ve seen it on TV. People have fake things.”
Shaun was cold and wet, in places where cold and wet is far from pleasant. “Okay,” he said irritably, “you’ve got me. I’m going home.” He exaggerated the sounds of him moving, but went nowhere.
“All right,” Debbie said, with more than a hint of alarm.
“So you believe me?”
“You hadn’t gone, had you?”
“No,” Shaun said with a shrug that was kinda wasted.
“Then that was a lie.”
“A white lie,” he said, as he slid along the gutter a little more so that he could reach through the gap.
“My mom says a lie is a lie and colour doesn’t count.”
“Bit of a smarty-pants, then, your mom?” he said, as a holding pattern while he set up to pull the kid in.
“I’ll tell her you said that. She gets cross.”
“Got to come up first.”
“I want to see your badge.”
“Jesus.” Shaun sighed loudly. Fed up, cold, and embarrassingly wet. He began to wonder if the kid was worth saving. Okay, it was his niece, but hey, he’d never actually met her, so it’s not like he’d miss her or anything. “Look, kid, you’ve already seen my ID.”
“I mean, when I come up,” Debbie said, with a slightly exasperated tone, which was a neat trick, bearing in mind her predicament.
“Oh, good,” Shaun said, equally exasperated, “you’re coming up, then?”
“If you like.”
“How heavy are you, kid?”
“My name is Debbie.”
Shaun shook his head. “Okay, how heavy are you… Debbie?”
“Don’t know, haven’t weighed myself for ages.”
“I thought girls weighed themselves all the time?”
“Why? I don’t.”
“Pity,” he said with another sigh. “So, okay, how much did you weigh… the last time you weighed yourself?”
“About thirty kilograms, I think.”
“Oh, great, how much is that in English?” he said to himself. “Okay, two point two pounds to a kilogram…”
“About sixty-six pounds.”
“Smart kid.”
“I’m not a kid, I’m ten.”
“Okay, you’re a smart ten-year-old, who weighs sixty-six pounds.”
“So what?”
“I don’t think I can lift sixty-six pounds with one arm.”
“You’re not very strong, are you?”
“Thanks. Look, kid…”
“I told you,” she said, her voice a little louder. “My name is Debbie.”
“Look, Debbie, I’m going to pull you up by your coat, but—”
“It’s a new coat,” Debbie said sharply.
“I’ll try not to rip it.” He leaned a little more over the drop. “If it rips, you won’t care,” he added quietly.
“Why not?”
Smart and good hearing, great. “Look, kid—”
“My name is Debbie.”
“You said. Look, Debbie, when I pull, you’re going to have to push with your feet against the wall. Can you do that?”
A scuffling sound came from below, and the coat’s hood made an ominous ripping noise.
“Whoa! Not yet!” The scuffling stopped. “Okay, I believe you can do it, but this time do it when I say. Are you ready?”
“I’m not doing anything else, am I?”
“How old did you say you are, kid?”
“I told you,” Debbie said, in that old exasperated tone. “I’m ten. And—”
“Yeah,” Shaun said tiredly, “your name is Debbie. So Debbie do you want to reach eleven?”
“Yes, of course, why?”
“Then stop making smart-arsed comments and push.”
“You talk a lot, don’t you?” Debbie said, not pushing. “Are you married?”
“I could just drop you, you know?” Shaun said, gripping the hood and jiggling it just a little.
“That would be murder, and they would hang you.”
“Maybe they would just think it took you a long time to land.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Debbie said, a little afraid.
“Can’t say the feeling is mutual. Are you ready to come up now?”
“Yes, it’s cold.”
“On the count of three,” Shaun said, taking a strong grip on the coat hood. “One, two, three… push!”
He jammed his knees into the parapet and pulled with every ounce of his strength; the coat pulled back and began stripping his fingernails from the nail beds. He could hear Debbie desperately pushing against the wall with her feet, but a part of his mind he wouldn’t listen to told him it wasn’t going to be enough, and he could feel his body tipping forward off the slope. They were going to go together because there was no way in hell he was going to let her go alone. His body rose a few more inches as the weight dragged him off the roof. Ah well, it was a shit life anyway.
Suddenly he was going the other way, back onto the roof at the very instant he passed the point of no return. An arm appeared under his and shared the grip on the coat, while another wrapped around his waist. One more pull and Shaun fell back onto the wet roof, his eyes closed and his breath coming in painful gasps, but the kid was still in the coat, and the coat still gripped in his fist.
He opened his eyes and saw Harry sitting just above him on the roof, his legs open and Shaun’s head on his crotch. Motivation enough for him to sit up quickly. “Thanks,” he said and pulled Debbie up to his side and away from the edge. “You all right, kid… Debbie?” His cramped arm muscles screamed at him, and he rubbed them with his other hand. “Are you sure you weigh only sixty-six pounds?”
“No,” she said, trying to look at her hood. “I told you, I haven’t weighed myself for ages.”
“Weigh yourself soon, kid.”
“Has the man with the gun gone?” Her voice betrayed real fear.
“Yeah,” Shaun said, pushing himself up onto his knees, “come on, let’s
go.”
“Go where?” Debbie said.
“Come on, kid,” Harry said, using the experience he’d gained from having two sisters, “let’s get off this roof.”
“My name’s not kid,” Debbie said, glaring at him. “My name is Debbie.”
Shaun laughed. “Welcome to my world.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, “I heard. Now can we go? I’m freezing my arse off.”
Debbie shook her head and eased away a little. “I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.”
“Hi, Debbie, I’m Shaun, nice to meet you.”
Harry chuckled. “And I’m Harry.”
“That’s silly, I still don’t know you.”
“Do you want to stay on the roof, then, until we all get to know each other?” Shaun asked, starting to shiver.
“No, not really. I’m cold.”
“How did you get down here, anyway?” Shaun said, looking back up the slope.
Harry caught his eye and also looked up the slope. Yeah, that was a problem yet to be resolved. Slippery slope, little kid, and an injured hero.
“I slid,” Debbie said.
“Well, yes, I see that,” Shaun said. “I guess you slid down the roof after you fell out of the window.”
Debbie glared at him, and the yellow light from the apartment made her look scary, even for a ten-year-old kid. “I certainly did no such thing!”
“Okay, then. How did you get down here?” Harry asked as a diversion while he tried to work out how the hell they were going to get back up. They could shout for help, but then they’d look like total twats.
“I ran through the window,” Debbie said.
“That was careless, wasn’t it?” Shaun said, also scouring the roof for a ladder, or a rope, or even a knotted sheet, but there’s never a knotted sheet in real life.
“The bad man was shooting at me with a gun.”
“Probably thought a bow and arrow would be too clumsy,” Harry said. He patted Shaun on the arm and pointed up at Bob leaning out of the shattered window.
Bob hadn’t got a ladder, rope, or knotted sheet, but he had stripped up the hallway carpet runner and was pushing it through the window. Cool. It rolled down the roof and stopped at the parapet a few feet from where they knelt. Just the job for a wet roof crawl.