‘I’ve noticed that Jaguar passing by the house once or twice lately, a woman driving and those two happy-looking children in the back – Bracken Collegiate blazers,’ the man said.
‘She was new to things,’ Iles said. ‘She hadn’t learned proper practice. Or not how important it is.’ ‘Who?’ the woman said.
‘We can’t really blame her for that. She’d come from what you called “another way of life”,’ Iles replied. ‘There are special requirements here.’
‘Do you mean it was wrong to drive up or down this terrace?’ the woman said.
‘Sometimes it was right, sometimes it was wrong,’ Iles said.
‘But surely she should be able to drive where and when she wishes, as long as it’s legal,’ the man said.
‘Yes, she should,’ Iles said. ‘I repeat, we’ve failed you. And failed her and the boy.’
‘I’ve heard people say the police have lost control of the streets,’ the man replied.
‘It hurts Mr Harpur, ‘Iles said. ‘He’s a street person.’
‘That would suggest some other … well, some other force has taken them over, an evil force,’ the woman said. ‘This is not civilization as we used to know it.’
‘Civilization has always been a bit hit-and-miss,’ Iles said. ‘Think of Adolf. Enjoying lieder one minute, fixing piano wire toppings the next.’
‘But the little girl is all right, isn’t she?’ the man said. ‘We watched from the window when she was lifted from the car.’
‘A brave child,’ Iles said. Two police photographers arrived and entered the tent. Iles and Harpur moved out into the middle of the terrace. ‘The old lady saw the significance of this, Col.’
‘In which respect, sir?’
‘Civilization. Its break-up,’ Iles said. ‘That “evil force” she spoke of. It invades, assaults, knocks down their little sheltering walls.’
‘We’re here to shelter them,’ Harpur said. ‘We’re a police force. We haven’t been knocked down.’
‘Often in my prayers, Harpur, I say, “Thank you, God, for Col and his stupid fucking optimism.”’
‘What does He say?’ Harpur’s phone rang again. He told Iles the message: ‘Three of our cars have cornered a silver Mondeo in North Bewick. The driver, white, male, late twenties or early thirties, abandoned the car and ran to a charity shop. He carried a machine pistol. He’s still inside the shop. Possible hostages.’
‘Is it the charity where you get your garments?’
Chapter Eight
2007
As a matter of fact, Manse Shale first met Naomi the day after Denz Lake’s funeral. Obviously, this helped cheer him up following a definitely sad occasion, no matter what a vile two-timer Lake had been. Funerals were funerals and bound to be a bit morose around the edges. Shale spoke for a while there with Denz’s parents at the after-party, as well as them conversations with Egremont and Lionel-Garth. By praising Denz and his work for the firm, and for Manse personally, he tried to comfort Mr and Mrs Lake. He regarded this as a considerate thing to do, and Shale often liked to act with kindliness, even to their sort. Also, he said how guilty he felt for never seeing what inner suffering Denzil must have been battered by, suffering that would lead him to suicide.
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ Mrs Brenda Lake said. ‘Denzil always spoke so well of you. Cornelius will confirm this.’
‘I would never have believed he was the type to do it,’ her husband said.
‘None of us can know fully what others might be going through mentally,’ Shale said.
‘He was a sensitive boy,’ Brenda Lake said.
‘True,’ Shale said. ‘This is what I mean by hidden inner suffering. Some are too sensitive for this life.’
‘It’s the only one we fucking got,’ Cornelius replied. He was crafty-faced, mid-height with thick grey hair, flimsy-looking spectacles, about sixty, his body a bit twisted to one side, like he’d been put on the rack in one of them old castle torture chambers somewhere and as an extra joke they hadn’t quite equalled up the stretching.
‘If he’d but shown he needed help I or one of his pals might have been able to bring support,’ Shale said. ‘Would certainly have tried. Also the firm’s Personnel Department will sometimes employ a counsellor at an hourly rate, but free to staff.’
‘Denzil never liked to complain,’ his mother said, ‘even as a child.’
‘“Stalwart” is a description I and others would apply to him,’ Mansel said. ‘Yet below that steady surface who knew what turmoil? Perhaps only Denzil himself.’
‘Were the pigs on to him for something?’ Cornelius Lake replied. ‘This can upset many, them bastards banging the door with their sneers and questions and bright white sergeant’s stripes in the middle of the night. You got to learn how to deal with that. I’ve told him, time and again. “Denzil, get unemotional,” I used to advise him. The point is, kill yourself and they’ve had a little victory, haven’t they?’
‘I know he would regard it as a wonderful tribute that you should travel so far to say goodbye today,’ Brenda Lake said.
‘What else could I do?’ Shale said.
‘Or some women giving him a rough time?’ Cornelius asked. ‘Spreading themselves via the night-spots, while pretending he’s the only one, and he finds out. Heartbreak. He’s got the Astras handy. He’s down, down, down. He wants the end of it all.’
‘Your staff are so fortunate to have such a leader,’ Brenda said. Bulky, erect, mild-voiced, she touched Manse’s arm for a moment in congratulation.
‘Colleagues like Denzil made leadership easy,’ he said. ‘Their loyalty, skill and strengths.’
‘I don’t say all women are slags,’ Cornelius replied. ‘Think of Brenda here or … well, there are definitely other unflighty ones about. But things have changed from when we were young, no question. Women are looking around for what will give them a perfect future. That’s what I mean by spreading themselves, including abroad, the Commonwealth. They feel entitled. That’s a word heard a lot these days – “entitled”. They’re making up their mind. To some of them, Denz might not have looked like the best they could do once they got to know him, and found out more about him, especially if he was catching shit from the law and due to catch more. All right, he had the big job with you, but some women are funny. She could be thinking, how long’s it going to last if the police are already on to him? He’ll be celled for maybe years and she’ll have to start it all over. So, try someone else now. Things like this might build up in Denz’s mind, and that’s when he gets the Astras out of the drawer.’
‘Often Denzil would speak in a very worried, concerned way about the behaviour of Sybil, your wife,’ Brenda said. ‘I trust you don’t mind me speaking of this.’
‘Spreading herself,’ Cornelius said.
‘And Denz praised your determination to give the children, Matilda and Laurent, sort of double love, so as to make up for what was missing from their mother,’ Brenda said.
‘She didn’t do anything with Denz, did she?’ Cornelius said.
Mrs Lake gave a small nod towards Shale’s shoulder: ‘Cornelius and I take it as a true mark of respect and, yes, affection, that you’re carrying only a very small calibre pistol today. Likewise your thug.’
‘It’s the least we could do,’ Manse said.
‘Not Astras, are they?’ she said.
‘That would get up your nose I should think,’ Cornelius said.
‘What?’ Shale replied.
‘If she was giving it to Denz,’ Cornelius said. ‘This could make you very angry with both of them. Any man would feel the same, his wife banging an associate. I could understand that.’
‘I gather she’s more or less settled now – shacked up in North Wales, Rhyl way?’ Brenda asked.
‘The children loved Denz,’ Shale replied. ‘They were very upset when they heard he’d taken that route. They’d have such fun together sometimes. Jigsaw puzzles, French cricket, darts. He had a lot of toleranc
e.’
‘And not at all vain,’ she said.
‘The reverse,’ Shale said.
‘He’d come up from only a very lowly job in your organization to such a brilliant spot, yet he remained at heart the same, approachable, ordinary guy,’ she said.
‘Well, yes,’ Manse replied.
‘The sensitivity we’ve spoken of – perhaps it made him secretly despair for the state of the world,’ she said. ‘The ice-cap melting and obesity problems in some countries, yet starvation elsewhere.’
‘No note from him,’ Cornelius said.
‘This is what makes it deeply tragic,’ Shale replied. ‘It is as if he felt himself so much alone – nobody to explain himself to.’
‘We haven’t been told very much about the people who found him,’ Cornelius said.
‘Friends. An awful shock for them,’ Shale said.
‘That’s another word. It covers quite an area,’ Cornelius Lake said.
‘Which?’ Shale said.
‘“Friends”,’ Cornelius said.
‘Members of our company,’ Manse replied. ‘We like people to feel they are more than just workmates – that there is a bond between them. A community.’
‘This would be pushers, enforcers, lookouts, that kind of thing?’ Cornelius asked.
‘Such a bonding of staff is perhaps the greatest asset any firm can possess,’ Shale replied. ‘Priceless. It is at least as important as money in the bank.’
‘Did he have trouble with the bank?’ Cornelius said. ‘He could be a bit of a spender.’
‘Generous. Unstinting,’ Brenda Lake said.
‘Them banker bastards – they pile it up for theirselves in all sorts of dirty ways, but jump on anyone who got even a small problem with his account,’ Cornelius said.
‘Sybil’s living with an industrial door manufacturer, isn’t she?’ Brenda said.
‘That kind of thing,’ Shale said.
‘And you – you don’t think of a new partner?’ Brenda said, with a gentle smile.
‘But I suppose there’s not many women industrial door manufacturers about,’ Cornelius said.
The pub where the get-together took place when Denz had gone was pretty good, in Shale’s view – dark wood panelling, small, shaded lights fixed to the wall as well as main overheads, tiled floor near the bar, easy to swab, and booths. In fact, Manse did not mind Hackney as a district too much at all. He recognized that people had to live somewhere, and this made Hackney and such a pub necessary. It seemed to him the right type of place for Denz to come from, and the right type of place for his family to live now, such as Cornelius. You wouldn’t want this brigade in some of the other more famed parts of London, except on days out. And, he’d admit it to himself, Manse did feel quite glad late in the afternoon to leave Hackney and its crew.
Luckily, there was an exhibition of Pre-Raphaelite paintings in a private Mayfair gallery, and tomorrow after lunch he’d get to that. He and Hubert would stay in London overnight. Manse wanted to see his lawyers in the morning, to do with the divorce and his will. Clearly, these were connected now Syb seemed to have been content somewhere else for nearly a year. Manse always used London lawyers for his specially important business. They were most probably the best. And he would of hated to reveal any of his exceptionally personal matters to a solicitor he might play golf with at the club back home.
Chapter Nine
2009
One of the other notable things about Iles was that for a while in a crisis he would generally follow the proper, official, OK’d routine for coping, but might then suddenly and inexplicably chuck this and take to methods of his own. Often, these were extreme and/or crazed and/or doomed and/or dangerous. Harpur wondered from the start whether this might happen at the charity shop siege.
Oh, God, yes, he’d wondered. He knew Iles. He’d watched the career of Iles, paralleled the career of Iles. Recurring streaks of frantic egomania would probably help stall him for ever at Assistant rank. This was very high –one big notch higher than Harpur’s – but not the top. He’d never make Chief. Harpur thought Iles probably recognized it. He needed somebody to control him, or try to. He needed a context, but not one created by him. He needed a hierarchy, where he could figure at second or third, but not first. Of course, the Home Office prized originality in a Chief and even some ego, though maybe not the kind offered by Iles. Occasionally, he would murmur his title to Harpur, giving all the creepy, hissing serfdom of the ‘s’ sounds : ‘I am the very model of a modern Asssssissssstant to His fucking Eminence, Col.’ Iles hated Chief Constables, of course, but couldn’t do without one.
The guidance for running a hostages and siege situation was detailed, graphic, founded on previous cases here and overseas, and concerned above all with patience, psychological subtlety, communication: supremely, with patience. ‘I am Gold,’ Iles told the armed response teams’ chief inspector who’d commanded the charity shop siege until now. Harpur and Iles had driven over from Sandicott Terrace. Whoever ran an incident took the code name ‘Gold’. It meant, What I say, you do. It meant Supremo. It didn’t necessarily go to the most senior officer present. Iles might have been ready to observe only, leaving the chief inspector as Gold to get on with it. Or he might have told Harpur to take Gold.
But this was Desmond Iles. He didn’t know how to observe only. He did know how to delegate, but wasn’t keen on that if the job looked big. The charity shop job looked big. Iles would regard it as a natural and inevitable move for him to go Gold on arrival, as it was a natural and inevitable move for a caterpillar to turn butterfly.
Chief Inspector Clive Lyndon gave his summary. ‘We had two officers after him running when he quit the car but he grabbed a woman on the pavement and put the machine pistol to her head, then dragged her into the shop. We stopped pursuit, for her safety. We think possibly four hostages, sir, the woman, the manageress, plus a voluntary worker, female, and perhaps a customer, we think male, spotted by Sergeant Pardoe through the window during the chase on foot. Fifteen officers in place, six front, six back, three on the roof opposite, all armed. The roof contingent and two officers front and back have sniper rifles, the rest Glock pistols or carbines. We don’t know his ammunition state, nor whether he has an additional weapon, weapons, under a topcoat. There’s an intermittent telephone link and the negotiator has talked to him twice. Or listened to him. It’s mainly threats to the hostages and a demand for uncontested exit for him and one hostage. He says he’ll release the rest immediately then and the other one later. He doesn’t quantify “the rest”. Our estimate of four as total is not confirmed. He’s pulled two display rails of clothes across the window to obscure what’s happening inside.’ They stood behind Iles’s car. ‘Accent?’ Harpur said.
‘Not local. Could be Lancashire – Manchester?’
‘A famous hire-for-the-day hitman agency there,’ Iles said. ‘Its sales slogan, “We aim to please.”’ Two ambulances, two dog-handler vans, a fire engine, a catering wagon, and more police cars pulled in.
Lyndon said: ‘The manageress, early fifties we’re told, sensible and cool, married with teenage children. Mrs Beatrice South. The woman he took from the street, thirties, jeans, denim jacket, desert boots, holding a carrier bag –perhaps out shopping. The gunman, thin, about five foot nine, maybe late twenties or a bit older, dark jacket, fair-haired – a lot of it – brown cowboy boots. The car was stolen in Preston a week ago. Nothing aboard to give us an identity.’
‘He’s shed the balaclava, has he? We keep on talking, Clive,’ Iles said. ‘Do nothing to scare or anger him. Don’t press for a name. Offer food and drink, to be delivered by an unarmed officer. Attrition, gradualness – essential here. Almost all similar previous situations prove it. He’ll probably know he’s messed up – hit the wrong people, including a child. He might feel he can’t do any worse. So, why not knock off a hostage or two? Don’t panic him into that sort of neat, slaughterous logic.’
‘We’re offered use of a psy
chologist, sir,’ Lyndon said.
‘Oh? Not some twat called Andrew Rockmain, is it?’ Iles said.
‘It could look very negative later if you’ve rejected him, sir,’ Harpur said.
‘What do you mean, “later”?’ Iles said.
‘Later,’ Harpur replied.
‘If people get killed here?’ Iles asked.
‘Later,’ Harpur said. ‘We should try everything.’
‘Rockmain?’ Iles said
‘Including Rockmain,’ Harpur said. ‘You don’t want a Guardian headline, “Police chief spurned psychologist help in fatal siege.”’
‘I’m not the Chief,’ Iles said.
‘Journalistic licence. You’re head of Operations. This is an operation. You’re Gold.’
‘I agree with Mr Harpur, sir,’ Lyndon said.
‘Who the fuck asked you?’ Iles replied. ‘Rockmain has a green corduroy suit.’
Chapter Ten
2007
In the morning after Denz’s funeral Shale went to see his lawyers at their offices near Lincoln’s Inn. He left Hubert to get on with whatever he wanted to and gave him a couple of hundred for expenses and so on. You had to be thoughtful with them. Bodyguards operated at special closeness to you. They could be fucking dangerous.
Manse often used to think that if he hadn’t chosen a career in commerce he might have liked to be a lawyer himself. The many big volumes they had to keep handy to remind theirselves of old cases must be very heavy, but Manse knew a lad who could have put up extremely strong shelves, using sapele wood and Rawlplugs. What impressed him about lawyers was they knew there was not just one kind of truth. They realized it had a lot of aspects. They was not tied down and stuck on to one narrow sort. It was their job to look after the side of truth that suited their client best, because the client was paying them.
Of course, the other side’s lawyers would be doing the same for their client. Truth depended on where you was looking at it from. The lawyers looked at it from where their client wanted to look at it, and would be ready with many arguments, in court or by letter. This could be very helpful for a client. Manse believed absolutely in being helpful to people when it was not stupid to be helpful to them, and if you was their lawyer, obviously it would not be stupid to help them. This could get your partnership well known and make it a success. To be helpful to them was why you was their lawyer, wasn’t it?