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  Alec managed a false laugh. “Oh, not very, “ he said. “I keep asking her to marry me, she keeps telling me maybe. That kind of close.” He shut his eyes. “Don’t even think of telling me I should go,” he said.

  Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Fortunately for me,” he said, “I don’t have to make that request. It looks as though the food’s arrived, we should get the delivery organised.”

  “Good, “Alec approved. “Good, I’ll see to that.” The strangest thing was, he thought as he left Sam, was this crazy jealous feeling that he couldn’t shake even though he knew it made no sense. Harry was in there, going through this with her when he, Alec, was shut outside.

  CHAPTER 15

  Three officers with riot shields gave cover as Alec, laden with pizza and soft drinks, made his way across the road. Hemmings had not been happy about him doing this, but Alec didn’t feel in the mood to argue.

  It was almost dark now, the Summer evening finally giving way to night, though yellow streetlights distorted the colour of the sky and hid the first stars.

  Alec stood at the foot of the steps, feeling foolish and vulnerable, aware of the eyes watching at either end of the street, eyes from the windows of the incident room and in all probability, from the inside of the bank.

  “I’ve brought food,” he announced. “And drink. For all of you and a phone in case you want to talk.” He remembered, belatedly, that Sam had advised him not to mention the phone, but simply to leave it and see what transpired. To draw attention to the fact that they wanted to communicate, might, Sam had advised, be counter-productive.

  Alec bent down and placed food and drink down upon the top step. He balanced the phone on top of the pile of pizza boxes and then took a pace back, wondering if he should wait for a response, or just get the hell out.

  “Sir, we should be moving.” One of the armed officers made the decision for him. Alec sighed. His momentary reluctance, he realised, was nothing to do with the uncertainty about response but had everything to do with the knowledge that Naomi was inside.

  “Sir. Now, sir.”

  Alec turned and allowed them to escort him back across the street. He stood in the ever deepening shadows of the shop doorway and waited for what seemed like forever, then, slowly, the bank door opened and a hand reached out and pulled the boxes, then the bottles inside.

  “Good,” a voice announced.

  Alec jumped. He’d been so intent on watching the door that he had not even noticed Sarah there.

  “You OK?” she asked. “I mean as OK as you can be under the circumstances.”

  “I think so. Yes. I take it you think that’s promising, the fact that they’ve accepted food.”

  “It’s a start. Lord knows, we need a start. Tom’s been working on a press release. He wants you to look it over, then he’ll go and talk to the gathered masses.” She smiled and gestured towards the cordon at the end of the street.

  “Tom?” Alec looked stupidly at the woman. “Oh, you mean Hemmings.”

  “You two not on first name terms?” He could hear the laughter in her voice.

  Despite his anxiety, he responded to her tone. “Never thought of him as anything but Hemmings.” He confessed. “How long before we get some word from them, do you think? And can we be sure they’ll feed the hostages?”

  “The answer to the first is, I don’t know and to the second, probably. Why wouldn’t they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Look, they’ve got a manageable group now. Four of them can easily control seven, so, chances are they’ll be a lot less jumpy and food is a social thing. It reminds people of their basic needs. Their essential humanity. “

  She moved to go back inside. Alec followed reluctantly, hoping he could believe her.

  ***

  Tom Hemmings’ statement was brief.

  “About an hour ago, at 11.15 pm, a number of the hostages were released. We have reason to believe that there are seven remaining, held by four gunmen. Food and drink have just been delivered and taken inside and we have high hopes that this signals a new phase in our negotiations. The families are being kept informed and we have officers on standby to take statements from those released. As a precaution, they’ll all have medical checks and then be reunited with their loved ones. We will keep you informed as new developments arise.”

  A barrage of questions bounced off Hemmings’ broad back as he turned and walked away. In truth, no one had expected more than had been given and, as it became clear that they would get nothing else, the crowd dispersed a little, taking their mobile phones to call in with the latest details.

  Simon watched as a woman journalist from one of the cable networks did her piece to camera. Most of the terrestrial groups wouldn’t break this until morning, a few of the papers would manage to reset the front page, but by and large it was too late for anything but the twenty four-hour carriers. The analogue world would hear of the hostage release in the early morning.

  Simon stepped away from the others and found Alec’s number in his mobile. He’d been shocked to the core to see Napoleon and could only guess at Alec’s reaction. He was trying to think of a way of playing this story that would both give him an inside track and not betray a friendship, or put Naomi and the others in danger. There was no way of knowing if the robbers had access to radio or telephone or other form of outside information – hence the conciseness of Hemmings statement.

  Alec answered on the third ring.

  “Well?” Simon asked

  “You heard the statement. I can’t tell you anymore.”

  “Does Mari know?”

  Alec hesitated. “We’re in the process of informing the families,” he said.

  Simon nodded, then said. “I’ll see you over there. Half an hour. Don’t worry, I won’t tell her anything until you get there.”

  “I thought you claimed to be a friend!”

  “I am a friend, Alec. Half an hour.”

  Simon rang off and switched the phone on to silent, guessing Alec would try to ring him back. Professionally, Simon had had a run of bad luck lately, he could do with an exclusive and if his editor got wind of the fact that he’d got a chance getting one with this and that he’d passed it up…well, he was already on probation…trouble was, he cared about Naomi and Alec and the rest and, right now, Simon didn’t have clue how he could square these two demands.

  ***

  “Trouble? “ Hemmings asked.

  “Maybe. Look, hold the fort here. I’m going to let Mari Jones know about her son and grandson. It’d be better coming from me. Naomi’s family are on holiday and I can’t for the life of me remember exactly where they’ve gone. Somewhere in Spain. Dorothy’s son and daughter- in-law will need bringing up to speed. Andrews can take care of that. We still don’t have anyone for the Brigadier?”

  Hemmings shook his head. “Neighbours reckon he lives alone and has done for years. They’re out at work all day, so don’t notice if he’s there or not half the time or what visitors he might have.”

  “Right, well try again tomorrow. Meantime, chase up those witness statements. I want them here for when I get back.”

  “And that will be?”

  “Hour, two tops. Anyone that can be relieved, send them home for a couple of hours sleep. I want them back here for six. Try and make everyone else as comfortable as…well, you know.”

  “It’d be a shame to wake the Super tonight, so I think we’ll bring him up to scratch on the Naomi problem after morning prayers,” Hemmings said casually.

  “Thanks,” Alec said gratefully. Morning prayers, he thought. He’d not heard the daily briefing called that since his probationary days. “Any developments…”

  “And you’ll be the first to know. Now, go!”

  Alec slipped out the back way into empty streets. Earlier that day, a handful of journalists had figured out that the police were using the rear entrance to the shop and camped briefly outside the wooden gates that led into the tiny yard. A paramedic cr
ew had been on standby, but other than that, there’d been little to see and the paramedics, knowing nothing could only join them in the speculation game. They’d drifted off around tea time. Back to the cordon or to get background in one of the local pubs, Alec supposed. Right now the street was empty. A second crew of paramedics sat in their vehicle with the windows open to the inadequate evening breeze and glanced at him as he passed.

  “Any news?”

  “Nothing much. We took them food and they’ve accepted that. Other than that, it’s all quiet.”

  The man nodded. “Well, I suppose that’s something.”

  “Hopefully so,” Alec agreed. He walked on, reflecting that he’d just fuelled a further hour or so of speculation and a little kudos back at base when they revealed they’d known this before the radio news. He reached his car, fired up the engine, wincing at the growl that echoed through the quiet terraced street. Mari lived a scant half mile away, and he’d thought of walking. Decided against, purely in case something should break and he needed to get back fast. He glanced at the dashboard clock. It was a quarter to one. Nearly thirteen hours.

  Simon was waiting for him outside Mari’s door, sitting on the low wall separated by few tiled squares of frontage from the house. Mari lived alone now. Widowed for several years, though Alec had rarely known her to actually be alone when he visited. The Jones's had lived on this little street all their married lives and so, it seemed, had half the other residents. There was a feeling of community here that Alec had rarely met with elsewhere.

  Harry and Patrick had moved in briefly when the reinvestigation into Helen’s death had brought them back to Ingham, but last winter they’d bought a place of their own on the edge of town. Several nights a week, Patrick would stop off at Naomi’s after school and Harry would collect him from there. Otherwise, he’d call at his grandmothers. Patrick was more settled this term, Alec had noticed. He’d even taken to going out with friends from time to time, but he was still something of a loner, preferring adult company to that of his peers and finding it hard to communicate on a normal teenage level. Shy and awkward, upset by the breakdown of his parents’ marriage and the shadow cast by Helen’s death, he’d had a bit of a rough time of it, Alec knew. It was his Birthday soon. Alec prayed he’d be out to celebrate it.

  “It’s all dark, “Simon commented, bringing him back to the present.

  “It’s late. Ok, let’s get this over with. You shouldn’t be here. You know that?”

  Simon ignored him and rang the bell. Mari emerged a few minutes later rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she peered around the edge of the door. She’d put the chain on, Alec noted with vague approval.

  “Alec? Simon?” She shut the door again so she could release the chain, then opened it wide. “What’s wrong? Come inside.”

  She ushered them into the little sitting room, pulling her old pink dressing gown around her and tying the belt. “Tell me,” she demanded. “It can’t be anything good that brings you here at one o clock in the morning, so tell me now.”

  “It’s Harry and Patrick, “Alec told her. “Naomi too. They got caught up in that bank raid this morning. Mari, I’m sorry, but they’re still inside.”

  She stared at him for a moment, taking this in, then frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “Because we didn’t know. Some hostages were released a little while ago and we got the names of those remaining from them. Until then, no one knew anything about numbers or identities. I’m sorry Mari, I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t know.”

  It was typical of Mari, Alec thought that her first concern thereafter should be for him. “Oh, you poor love,” she said. “You must be worried sick. Now tell me everything and let me know what I can do.”

  Gratefully, Alec sank into the nearest chair and Mari turned her attention to his companion. “And what brings you with him?” She asked. “Business or friendship?”

  “Bit of both to be truthful. I’ve got to cover the story. Someone has to.”

  Mari let it go and turned her attention back to Alec. “So, what do you know,” she demanded. “Tell me everything Alec, I need to know.”

  ***

  The storeroom stank of unwashed people and sweaty feet – his sweaty feet, Patrick admitted – and now, stale Pizza. It had been a relief to have food, though the sugar in the Coke seemed to have gone straight to his head and he felt slightly giddy. Beside him, Naomi had gone to sleep, curled up with her head on his father’s jacket. His dad was lying on his back, snoring slightly. He needed a shave and his prematurely greying hair stuck up at odd angles that Harry, who liked always to be tidy, would never normally allow. He too had kicked off his shoes. His socks were darker across the toes where his feet had been sweating and the normally immaculate white shirt was creased and smeared with tomato sauce where it had dripped. Harry normally looked as freshly pressed at the end of a day as he did at its newly ironed beginning and he never ate pizza with his fingers, always cutting it into neat bites with a knife and fork. It had amused Patrick tonight that he’d fallen upon the messy food with as much enthusiasm as the rest of them, even taking off the bits of pepperoni with his fingers to give to Patrick, something the everyday Harry would not have dreamed of doing.

  Patrick smiled, a sudden rush of affection for his slightly uptight dad flooding through him. He didn’t recommend being taken prisoner as a way of losing your inhibitions, but maybe once broken down, they might stay that way?

  Thinking about it, Patrick wasn’t sure this was either a likely or desirable state of affairs. Harry’s sense of order, though it sometimes bugged him, also gave Patrick a sense of predictable security that he both liked and needed.

  Everyone was sleeping. The two cashiers, Tim and Megan had curled up together and Patrick wondered if they were an item. Dorothy had slumped down in the corner and the Brigadier had arranged himself next to her. Funny, he thought, that such a simple thing as food can change your perspective, but it had transformed a room full of very miserable people, sagging from the heat and the disappointment of not being released, into a gathering that generated an almost party atmosphere.

  He wondered if they’d still be here on his Birthday. Maybe they’d send in a cake. The image of hostages and captors singing happy birthday and Patrick blowing out his sixteen candles while they all cheered almost caused him to laugh out loud. He smiled.

  “Funny thoughts?” Dorothy asked.

  “Oh. I thought you were asleep.”

  “I dozed. At my age you don’t sleep a lot. Or I don’t anyway. She gestured that he should come and sit beside her and, not wanting to be rude, Patrick did as he was told.

  “So, she asked him. Can you use that little phone of yours to call out, or would that be too much of a risk, do you think?”

  “What?”

  “Yes, dear, I saw you and I read Naomi’s reaction. My husband was deaf, you see, I picked up the habit from him, I suppose. He had this habit of listening to music and watching television with the sound turned down.”

  Patrick laughed. “My gran does that, but she has the subtitles on. I don’t know about using the phone. Dad’s dead against it. I thought about sending a text message.”

  “Is there someone who could help us and who’d have the sense not to try to call you back?”

  Patrick nodded. “Alec. He’s Naomi’s boyfriend.”

  “Oh?” Dorothy was surprised. I though she and your father…”

  Patrick shrugged. “No such luck. They’re best friends, but my dad doesn’t seem to get his act together enough to ask her out.”

  “Well, if she’s already got a boyfriend. I suppose that wouldn’t be right,” Dorothy commented.

  “I suppose.”

  “And what’s he like, this Alec?”

  “Oh.” Patrick hesitated. “Actually, I like him a lot too, which makes it difficult. If I could hate him, it would be almost easier, you know what I mean?”

  “I do indeed.”

  Patri
ck frowned. He had no idea why he should be admitting any of this to Dorothy Peel.

  “How old are you?” Dorothy asked.

  “I’ll be sixteen in three days’ time.”

  “Oh, well I hope we’re in a better place for celebration. It would be a bit grim to be still in here.” She laughed. “It’s a long time since I was sixteen. Does that mean you’ve been taking exams, or is that next year?”

  “No, I took them already. I’m the youngest in my class. At least that means I can retake and not be behind.”

  “And will you have to retake? That’s not a very hopeful view.”

  Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. He’d made progress this year but there were still his difficulties with writing and spelling – though put a pencil in his hand and let him draw and he’d be happy for hours. He was planning on repeating the year, do a BTEC or GNVQ or something, which he reckoned would bring his results up to an acceptable standard and which was all project based.

  “And what do you want to do with your life?”

  It was such a typical adult question, Patrick thought and he was used to the rather patronising reaction his reply generally earned him. He sighed. “I might become a photographer,” he said. “I started that this year as a one year GCSE. I should actually get that one OK. And I want to do an art and design course. Something like that.”

  Dorothy nodded. “I met Lord Lichfield once,” she said. “I was at a wedding and he was taking photographs.” She smiled. “It was a very upmarket wedding. That was years ago, of course. Now, are you going to contact this Alec, or not?”

  Her change of tack surprised him, but he was glad to have the emphasis lifted from his personal ambitions – which, so far, only Naomi had really taken seriously. Naomi and the photographer he’d met. Tally Palmer. Though he wasn’t sure any more that she counted, seeing as she was now in jail for killing someone.

  “I ought to ask my dad,” he said.

  “If you feel you must.”

  “I do. “

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Harry told him. He sat up and glared at Dorothy. “I’ve been lying here listening to you and, to be frank, I’m not sure I like the way this conversation’s going. It’s bad enough that Patrick kept the blasted thing. I told him, he should take the opportunity to chuck it out of the toilet window rather than risk being found with it on him. But to use it, that could be really dangerous.”