Shatter

64

There are shouts and people running. Veronica Cray is yelling orders above the commotion and police officers are heading for the stairs and the lift. I can’t hear what she’s saying. A detective almost knocks me over and mumbles an apology as he picks up my walking stick.

‘What’s happened?’

He doesn’t answer.

A shiver of alarm swarms across my shoulder blades. Something is wrong. I hear Julianne’s name mentioned. I yell above the voices.

‘Tell me what’s happened.’

Faces turn. They’re looking at me, staring. Nobody answers. The soft wetness of my own breathing is louder than the ringing phones and shuffling feet.

‘Where’s Julianne? What’s happened?’

‘One of our officers has been seriously injured,’ says Veronica Cray, hesitating for a moment before continuing. ‘He was guarding your wife’s hotel room.’

‘Guarding her.’

‘Yes.’

‘Where is she?’

‘We’re searching the hotel and surrounding streets.’

‘She’s missing?’

‘Yes.’ She pauses. ‘There are cameras in the foyer and outside on the street. We’re retrieving the footage…’

I’m watching her mouth move but not hearing the words. Julianne’s hotel was near Temple Circus. According to Oliver Rabb, that’s the same area that Gideon phoned me from at 3.15 a.m. He must have been watching her.

Everything has changed again, shivering and shifting, detaching from my conception like a fragment of sanity jarred loose in the night. I close my eyes for a moment and try to picture myself free, but instead witness my own helplessness. I curse myself. I curse Mr Parkinson. I curse Gideon Tyler. I will not let him take my family from me. I will not let him destroy me.

The morning briefing is standing room only. Detectives are perched on the edge of desks, leaning on pillars and looking over shoulders. The sense of urgency has been augmented by disbelief and shock. One of their own is in hospital with a collapsed windpipe and possible brain damage from oxygen deprivation.

Veronica Cray stands on a chair to be seen. She outlines the operation- a mobile intercept involving two-dozen unmarked vehicles and helicopters from the police air wing.

‘Based on previous calls, Gideon will use a mobile and keep moving. Phase one is protection. Phase two is to trace the call. Phase three is contact with the target. Phase four is the arrest.’

She goes on to explain the communications. A radio silence will operate between the cars. A codeword and number will identify each unit. The phrase, ‘Pedestrian knocked down’ is the signal to move, accompanied by a street and cross street.

A hand goes up. ‘Is he armed, boss?’

Cray glances at the sheet in her hand. ‘The detective guarding Mrs O’Loughlin was carrying a regulation sidearm. The pistol is now missing.’

The resolve in the room seems to stiffen. Monk wants to know why it’s an intercept and arrest. Why not follow Tyler?

‘We can’t take the risk of losing him.’

‘What about the hostages?’

‘We’ll find them once we have Tyler.’

The DI makes it sound like the logical course of action, but I suspect her hand is being forced. The military want Tyler in custody and know exactly how to apply pressure. Nobody questions her decision. Copies of Tyler’s photograph are passed from hand to hand. Detectives pause to look at the image. I know what they’re wondering. They want to know if it’s obvious, if it’s visible, if someone like Tyler wears his depravity like a badge or a tattoo. They want to imagine they can recognise wickedness and immorality in another person, can see it in their eyes or read it on their faces. It’s not true. The world is full of broken people and most of their cracks are on the inside.

From across the incident room comes the sound of a toppling chair and the clatter of a wastepaper bin being kicked through the air. Ruiz comes raging between desks, stabbing his finger at Veronica Cray.

‘How many officers were guarding her?’

DI Cray gives him an icy stare. ‘I would advise you to calm down and remember who you’re talking to.’

‘How many?’

She matches his anger. ‘I will not have this discussion here.’

Around me, the detectives are transfixed, bracing for the clash of egos. It’s like watching two wildebeest charge at each other with lowered heads.

‘You had one officer guarding her. What sort of three ring bloody circus are you running?’

Cray launches into a spluttering, head-shaking tirade. ‘This is my incident room and my investigation. I will NOT have my authority questioned.’ She barks to Monk. ‘Get him out of here.’

The big man moves towards Ruiz. I step between them.

‘Everyone should calm down.’

Cray and Ruiz glower at each other in sullen defiance and in some unspoken way agree to back down. The tension is suddenly released and the detectives dutifully turn away, returning to their desks and making their way downstairs to waiting cars.

I follow the DI back to her office. She clicks her tongue in annoyance.

‘I know he’s a friend of yours, Professor, but that man is a prize-winning pain in the arse.’

‘He’s a passionate pain in the arse.’

She stares fixedly out the window, her face fleshy and pale. Tears suddenly sparkle in the rims of her eyes. ‘I should have done better,’ she whispers. ‘Your wife should have been safe. She was my responsibility. I’m sorry.’

Embarrassment. Shame. Anger. Disappointment. Each is like a mask but she’s not seeking to hide. Nothing I can say will make her feel any better or alter the violent, rapacious longing that has infused this case from the beginning.

Ruiz knocks lightly on the office door.

‘I want to apologise for my outburst,’ he says. ‘It was out of order.’

‘Apology accepted.’

He turns to leave.

‘Stay,’ I tell him. ‘I want you to hear this. I think I can make Gideon Tyler stop moving.’

‘How?’ asks the DI.

‘We offer him his daughter.’

‘But we don’t have her. The family won’t co-operate, you said so yourself.’

‘We bluff him just like he bluffed Christine Wheeler and Sylvia Furness and Maureen Bracken. We convince him that we have Chloe and Helen.’

Veronica Cray looks at me incredulously. ‘You want to lie to him.’

‘I want to bluff him. Tyler knows his wife and daughter are alive. And he knows we have the resources to get them here. If he wants to talk to them or see them, he has to give up Charlie and Julianne first.’

‘He won’t believe you. He’ll want proof,’ says the DI.

‘I just have to keep him on the line and make him stay in one place. I’ve read Chloe’s journal. I know where she’s been. I can bluff him.’

‘What if he wants to talk to her?’

‘I’ll tell him that she’s on her way or that she doesn’t want to talk. I’ll make excuses.’

DI Cray sucks air through nostrils that pinch and then flare as she exhales. Her jaw muscles are working under her flesh.

‘What makes you think he’ll buy this?’

‘It’s what he wants to believe.’

Ruiz suddenly pipes up. ‘I think it’s a good idea. So far Tyler has had us running around like our butts are on fire. Maybe the Professor’s right and we can light a fire under him. It’s worth a try.’

The DI pulls a packet of cigarettes from her drawer and glances dismissively at the NO SMOKING sign.

‘On one condition,’ she says pointing an unlit cigarette at Ruiz. ‘You go back out to see Helen Chambers. Tell her what we’re doing. It’s about time someone in that bloody family stood up to be counted.’

Ruiz steps back and lets me leave the office first.

‘You’re crazy,’ he mutters, once we’re out of earshot. ‘You can’t really think you can bluff this guy.’

‘Why did you agree with me?’

He shrugs and gives me a rueful sigh. ‘Ever heard the joke about the nursery school teacher who stands up in front of the class and says, “If anyone feels stupid, I want you to stand up.” Well this little boy, Jimmy, gets to his feet and the teacher says, “Do you really feel stupid, Jimmy?”

‘And Jimmy says, “No, miss, I just didn’t want you standing up there all alone.” ’