Behind Closed Doors

by Elizabeth Haynes

  Ryman said, “DS Sam Hollands, this is Richard; he’s acting as number two for Mick Lister, who’s out there talking to your Scarlett. He’s the one who is going to pass on communications between us and Mick. Sam, does Scarlett know you? How’s she likely to react to you being here?”

  “We’ve become . . . I don’t know . . . friends, I guess. I don’t know how she’ll react, though. She sent me some text messages this morning and I never had a chance to reply.”

  “What did they say?”

  Shit, Sam thought. “Oh, just that she couldn’t sleep, she was worrying about everything . . . she said—oh, God—she said she thought she would have been better off staying dead . . .”

  “Take your time,” Ryman said gently. “She’s not moved yet; we’re doing okay at the moment. Anything happening, Richard?”

  “She’s not said a word so far. Not a word.”

  “Wait,” Sam said. “Scarlett left these letters, for me and for her sister—I haven’t had a chance to look at them yet.” She pulled the two crumpled envelopes out of her back pocket.

  Ryman looked at her. “You’d better have a look,” he said. “Richard, can you let Mick know what we’ve got? We can see if there’s anything here that’s useful before we continue the briefing.”

  Richard jogged back up the ramp toward his colleague.

  “It’s so cold,” Sam said. “How can she bear to sit there like that? It’s freezing. Can I not just go and talk to her? She might listen to me.”

  John Ryman put a hand on Sam’s upper arm. “We might consider using you as a third-party intermediary at some point, but for the time being you can help us a lot more by telling us everything you can about Scarlett. We need a reason for her to come back down. You’d better read those letters.”

  Scarlett’s First Letter

  Dear Juliette,

  I’m so sorry about everything. I’ve let you down again, my beautiful, precious sister. I wasn’t there for you for all those years while you went through hell. I thought I could help, I thought I could take you away from it all, but I think you need to be around decent people who can take good care of you, who can give you a new life, a better life. If you went with me, sooner or later it would all go wrong. Everything I try to do goes wrong, and you deserve better, my darling girl.

  Sam is a good person, she will look after you and make sure nothing bad happens now.

  Be brave and strong, you can get through this. Don’t be scared.

  I love you lots xxxxx

  Scarlett xxxx

  SCARLETT

  Tuesday 5 November 2013, 10:24

  “Scarlett?” the man said. “That’s your name, isn’t it? Scarlett?”

  She had been drifting off for a moment, as she had done throughout her life when things got too difficult. Whereas once she had dreamed of Mark Braddock, or of Nico, later she’d dreamed of getting a good night’s sleep in a clean bed, clean clothes, being able to walk on a beach, being able to eat something she’d cooked herself, even just home and a normal life, whatever such a thing was.

  “Scarlett? I can see you’re getting cold there—you’re shivering a bit. Do you want me to see if I can find you a blanket? Or a hot drink, a coffee maybe? Just while you decide what you want to do . . .”

  She opened her eyes for a moment and saw the expanse of gray concrete below. Why were there no buses? She hadn’t seen one for a while, and yet at this time of day there should be plenty of them. There was nothing: no traffic, no people below. It was as if the world had fallen silent.

  Please just piss off.

  She wanted to say it out loud, but speaking to the man was like the first step in admitting that he was going to win. While he went unacknowledged she still felt in control; all she had to do was lean forward, push off the wall with her cold, numb fingers, and she would fly for a second and then everything would be peaceful.

  “I know you’ve had a really bad few days, Scarlett. I know you must feel as though this is the only way you’re going to get out of it. But I can tell you for definite that it’s not the only way. It’s not even the best way.”

  How did he know? How did he know what had happened to her? He must have been talking to someone. . .

  For the first time, she turned her head and saw the man face-to-face. He was young, younger than his voice suggested, an unlined face and fair hair lifted away from his forehead in the breeze. Blue eyes. He gave her the beginnings of a smile.

  “My name’s Mick,” he said again. “I really want to help, Scarlett. Do you think you can tell me a bit about why you’re here?”

  Another man was standing a pace or two behind him, another young lad, twenty or so, dark-haired. Under other circumstances they would have looked like two lads on a night out. The sort of men who would have hung around outside her window waiting for her to let them in, arguing over who went first . . . She turned away again, closing her eyes. She did not want to see them.

  “This is Rich,” Mick said. “He’s here to help too; there are lots of people here who want to help make things better, Scarlett. We’ve got someone who’s talking to Juliette right now. She’s really worried about you, Scarlett; she’s terrified she’s going to lose you all over again.”

  Scarlett remembered meeting Reg at the café a month before the police raided the flat in Carisbrooke Court. He’d been bricking it, shit-scared of his new boss Darren because he hadn’t managed to retrieve the gear and prove his loyalty; even more shit-scared of his old boss Lewis because he’d accidentally hit Carl too hard while trying to get the drugs back and had had to get rid of the body in the woods, trying to make it look like a robbery gone wrong. McDonnell didn’t know who’d killed his mate McVey yet—didn’t know who it was who’d deprived him of his chief money launderer and three of the best dealing sites in town—but he had to have his suspicions. It wouldn’t be long before one or other of them decided Reg was way more trouble than he was worth. All he’d wanted to do was rewind a few weeks to before all the mess had started. “I should never have done it, Katie, I should never have bloody gone with Liliana and pissed off Lewis; I never done it before. If I’d just stayed with Lisa, none of this shit would have happened . . .”

  She saw it in that moment as clear as anything.

  “You need money, to get away,” she had said. “I can help you.”

  And that was it—the plan. They were going to burgle the house while her family were on holiday, at the end of October. Reg would get enough money from that to move away with Lisa, make a fresh start somewhere. Juliette would make sure the jewelry and stuff was left somewhere they could find it, would give Scarlett all the PINs and security details for Clive’s bank accounts. They would clean them out. And in return . . . well, Reg already had one violent offense stacked against him; it didn’t seem much effort to add another couple. And since they deserved it, deserved to be taught a lesson, why not? And he had no motive, so they wouldn’t look at him for it in any case, would they?

  Then, just as they had been about to put the plan into action, the raid had happened, and Scarlett, who had been safely, comfortably dead, was suddenly very much alive again. And suddenly she was being looked after by police officers, and asked question after question . . . Reg had been beside himself, as she found out when she’d called him from the Travel Inn, using the phone Sam had given her. The next night she’d waited until Sam had left the bus station, then caught the last bus to Park Hill. Lisa had already gone to bed, thankfully, leaving the two of them to discuss properly what had happened, and to change their plans. By the early hours, it had all seemed foolproof. What could possibly go wrong?

  “Juliette is very scared, Scarlett. Can you imagine how she’ll feel if she hears you’ve killed yourself? She’ll be devastated . . .”

  Shut up shut up shut up. . .

  SAM

  Tuesday 5 November 2013, 10:27

  “This is how it works. Richard is going to go up there and swap places with Mick, so Scarlett will have someone wi
th her all the time, while we bring you out. We don’t leave her alone. Mick’s going to come down here and give you a quick briefing, then you’ll go back out there with him. You stand a couple of meters behind her, and Mick will stand just behind you. He will have a hand on your coat at the back, holding on to you. You need to be aware that we have a “no grab” policy. That means if she jumps, if she falls forward, you have to let her go. You don’t go leaping for her, whether she’s moved or not. So you stay a couple of meters behind her and you don’t get any closer than that. Mick holding on to your coat will remind you, if you forget. Understand?”

  Sam nodded. Ryman was talking and she was trying to focus, trying to stay with it.

  “We have three priorities. We want to save a life. We want to gain intelligence, listen out for things she might say to you that might help get her to turn around and come back to a place of safety. And we want to buy time, so we don’t want to rush her or provoke her or try and push her into doing anything. Three priorities, in that order—clear on that?”

  A few minutes ago, Sam had spoken to Lou on the phone. She had retreated to the stairwell, away from the rendezvous point where Ryman was debriefing the control room inspector by phone. Richard and Mick were out there with Scarlett. Nothing had happened, and yet Sam was disintegrating slowly.

  “I’m downstairs,” Lou said. “I’m trying to get them to let me come up so I can talk to you. Don’t worry, Sam. I’m coming.”

  But Lou couldn’t help either. Nobody could.

  When Sam had ended the call, she’d gone back over to Ryman and shaken off all the fear and doubt. “I want to help,” she’d said. “Let me talk to her. You’re not getting anywhere; I might as well try.”

  He had been reluctant at first, but then Richard had come back down the ramp to tell them all that Scarlett still had not said a word, but she was shivering and was starting to look distressed and uncomfortable. It felt as if they were running out of time.

  “So while you’re out there, Mick will be your number two,” Ryman went on. “He’ll stand behind you and coach you, basically, giving you ideas of things to say if you get stuck. Don’t challenge her. Don’t lie to her either: don’t make promises about what will or won’t happen when she gets down. But give her reasons to live.”

  Give her reasons to live. . .

  Richard had gone back out to stand behind Mick. Sam watched from the edge of the ramp, saw the two men, heads together, conversation as easy as if they were standing outside a bar talking about the weather. Mick was nodding. Then he looked toward the ramp and held up a finger. Wait.

  “He’s going to tell her what’s happening,” Ryman said.

  SCARLETT

  Tuesday 5 November 2013, 10:32

  “Scarlett? There’s someone here to see you, someone who wants to come and talk to you.”

  Scarlett didn’t move. She tried to turn her head slightly, but all she could see was the blond guy—Mick—and the other one, just behind him. The cold was getting to her, the cold and the discomfort and the wishing that she’d already done it. If she’d just jumped in the first place she would be dead by now and this nightmare would be over, along with all the others. She didn’t want an audience. She didn’t want them to see.

  “The thing is, I need to try to protect them as well as you. I don’t want you to do anything you’re going to regret, Scarlett, I don’t want you to hurt any more than you are already. But also I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, too. So, if I bring someone out here, I don’t want them to have to watch you kill yourself. Can you imagine what that would do to someone, to see someone they care about die?”

  I can imagine, Scarlett thought. As she did regularly, she saw Yelena running across the tarmac, hair flying behind her. Yelena, whose only life was an invented life.

  “So I’d really appreciate it if you could just give me an indication that you’re happy for this person to come out. Can you do that, Scarlett?”

  Do it do it do it jump now. . .

  “Can you do that, Scarlett?”

  “Who is it?” she whispered.

  “It’s Sam,” Mick said. “Sam’s here to see you. She’s really worried about you, Scarlett. Will you talk to her?”

  She felt a wave of relief at hearing Sam’s name. “Yes.”

  “If you’re going to talk to her, if I’m going to bring her out here, will you just do me a favor and swing your legs over this way, just so I know you’re not going to jump while she’s here? Will you do that? I don’t want Sam to be scared about you jumping while she’s here.”

  “I won’t jump.”

  “That’s good to hear, Scarlett—I’m really relieved. In that case, please just swing your legs over because I wouldn’t want you to fall. I really don’t want you to fall. Can you do that?”

  She didn’t move. She couldn’t move, because just then a wave of fear so intense it felt like pain washed over her, and her fingers constricted around the rough surface of the concrete wall. If she moved, she would fall. And suddenly she didn’t want to fly anymore. Not yet, anyway.

  I’m so tired. . .

  LOU

  Tuesday 5 November 2013, 10:35

  It had taken a lot of persuasion for Lou to be allowed up to the top floor of the car park and onto the RV point. In any normal circumstances this would not have been an issue she would have pressed; people had jobs to do, and this wasn’t one of hers. She had the greatest respect for the negotiators, who were trained and dedicated and unbelievably professional. They dealt regularly with pressure of the kind that most police officers saw infrequently, if ever. Lives were in their hands. If they fucked up, someone died. No greater pressure than that.

  But this was no normal circumstance. Lou felt a crushing level of responsibility for the two people on the roof, for Scarlett and even more for Sam. She had to be there.

  When she arrived, escorted up in the lift by one of the patrols, Sam was being briefed by the coordinator, a man Lou recognized.

  “That’s my boss,” Sam was saying to him. “Can I just have a quick word?”

  “Sure,” Ryman said, clearly pissed off at having the process interrupted. “Be quick.”

  Sam went over to Lou. “I’m going to go and talk to her. They’re just briefing me about how it works.”

  Lou had never seen Sam looking like this, so pale, her eyes wide. There was a lot going on behind those eyes, but the one thing Lou could see was that Sam was afraid.

  “You don’t have to, Sam,” Lou said. “They’re trained . . .”

  “I know that,” Sam said quickly. “I know, I know. But they’re not getting anywhere and I can’t just sit here and wait, I can’t, I have to try—”

  “Alright,” Lou said. “I’m right here.” Awkwardly she gave Sam a hug, gripping her tightly. In her ear she whispered, “You can bloody do this. I know you can do it.”

  And then Sam was gone, striding boldly up the ramp, accompanied by a fair-haired young man.

  SAM

  Tuesday 5 November 2013, 10:37

  Sam was walking across the car park, a few steps behind Mick. Up here, away from the shelter afforded by the concrete and the car ramp, the wind whistled and tugged at her clothes, blowing unpredictably from every direction.

  She was getting closer to Scarlett now, and it took all her strength not to break into a run. She could see the girl’s back, that enormous coat pulled tightly around her, her hands pressed into the concrete wall.

  Richard was talking to Scarlett, but if there was a response Sam couldn’t hear it.

  Mick said he had tried to get her to turn around. He said he was worried that she was so cold she was seizing up, that she might not be able to move very easily. He had told Ryman to call for an ambulance.

  And then she was there, and the handover was taking place.

  “Mick and Sam are here, Scarlett,” Richard said, and then he retreated back the way they had come.

  Sam moved forward a few steps. One of the men had drawn a line
with the toe of a shoe, a line drawn in water from the puddle across the pale gray concrete. No further than this. Don’t cross the line.

  Scarlett was motionless, facing away. Sam could just about see the side of her pale cheek, her short dark hair blowing wildly. And now she saw the point of the strong grip on the back of her coat, by Mick just behind her, because without it she would have moved forward, touched Scarlett’s arm, tried to pull her away from the edge. It was hypnotic, the girl against the swirling sky.

  “Hey, Scarlett,” she said. Fighting to keep her voice steady.

  Scarlett’s head lowered. And then she turned her face toward Sam.

  “Hey, lovely girl. What are you doing up here?”

  Scarlett was crying too. She was mouthing something.

  “What is it? Tell me, talk to me.”

  She was mouthing, I’m so scared.

  “I know, I know. But it’s not so bad. You’re not on your own anymore, Scarlett. You’ve got friends. You’ve got Juliette.”

  One of Scarlett’s hands fluttered to her mouth as if to hold in a cry.

  Mick flinched at the movement, tightened his grip. “Try and get her to come over,” he whispered urgently.

  “Scarlett, I really want you just to turn around properly. Please, just while we’re talking.”

  Scarlett was shaking her head. Her hand dropped into her lap. She was mouthing the words, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.

  “It’s okay, it really is. Please come over the wall, Scarlett. I want to get you somewhere warm, where we can talk properly. We can go and get a drink and warm up a bit. You just need to move over this way.”

  Scarlett moved suddenly, big, unexpected, jerky movements, and Sam gasped. She moved forward in a rush and Mick pulled her back, away from Scarlett, who let out a single cry.

  “Sam!”

  LOU

  Tuesday 5 November 2013, 10:45