Bad Boy (35 page)

Gervaise sipped the strong coffee that Winsome Jackman had brought her, but it didn’t seem to do much good. Now they were well into the morning, her tiredness was beyond coffee. Still, at least the taste and warmth of the dark liquid kept her at subsistence level consciousness, though she still felt like one of those zombies out of the movies her son liked to watch so much. Winsome sat opposite her, at the other side of the large desk. She seemed fine, Gervaise thought; but then she was twenty years younger and far more used to the hours.

“I’ve just had Dirty Dick—I mean Commander Burgess—on the phone, ma’am,” said Winsome.

“My, my, you two
are
getting familiar. Be careful. That man sounds like a walking toxic waste dump to me,” Gervaise said. “What did he say?”

“Still nothing from the two suspects about The Farmer’s involvement.”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” said Gervaise.

Winsome smiled. “But the one thing they did give up—rather, Darren Brody gave up—was the location for the meet.”

“Justin Peverell with Jaff and Tracy?”

“Yes. Hampstead Heath, near Highgate Ponds.”

Gervaise thought for a moment. “That means McCready’s probably still on his way. And he was being extra careful just in case someone had located Peverell’s house.”

“But he can’t have bargained for what actually happened.”

“No. I’m sure he doesn’t know, or he’d be heading as fast as he could in the other direction. Maybe he is.” Gervaise shook her head. “I don’t know, Winsome. What the hell are we to do?”

“Commander Burgess suggested organizing an armed reception committee for McCready at the Heath.”

Gervaise snorted. “He would. What about Tracy Banks?”

“He said he thought he could keep it low-key enough, that McCready wouldn’t spot what was happening until they were on him.”

“I doubt it. We know how easily these things go pear-shaped. Where’s DCI Banks, anyway? He’s been gone ages.”

“I don’t know,” said Winsome. “He’s not around here, that’s for certain.”

Gervaise frowned. “Where did he
say
he was going?”

“To meet with an informant, I think. I don’t really know where. We were all so busy talking about what had happened to Justin Peverell and his poor girlfriend.”

Gervaise checked her watch. “Whatever it was, it shouldn’t have taken him this long. Especially given his concern over Tracy. Try his mobile, Winsome.”

Winsome keyed in Banks’s mobile number. “It’s turned off, ma’am,” she said.

“That’s not like him. Why would he turn off his mobile at the crucial point of an investigation that involves him personally?” Gervaise felt her brain springing to life, though it was a chaotic sort of life, sparks flying everywhere, but none of them lighting up the bulbs they should, or making the connections they were aiming for. Her thinking felt like a badly played game of pinball, but something was definitely happening. “Help me out here, Winsome. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” said Winsome. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless DCI Banks was…
lying
about the informant.”

“Don’t sound so horrified at the thought. People do. Sometimes for good reasons.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Winsome, tight-lipped.

“So, if Alan was lying, or making an excuse—he did go into the corridor to take the call—then perhaps it was Tracy. He would certainly lie for her.”

“It could have been McCready.”

“Either way, he might be in trouble.”

“It’s McCready I’d be worried about,” said Winsome. “He’s had a lot of trouble with transport. Perhaps he needs DCI Banks to drive him to Hampstead.”

The neurons were firing a lot better now, and the pinball score was racking up. “Look,” said Gervaise, “let’s find out which car Alan signed out from the pool and see if we can access Automatic Number Plate Recognition control, find out where he is. If you’re right, he’ll
be on his way to London, to Hampstead Heath, and we should be able to track his progress.”

“Should we alert all the motorway patrol units?”

“Not yet. We don’t want a car chase on our hands. Not if Alan and Tracy are in one of the cars and McCready is armed. Let’s keep it low profile for now, until we know what’s happened. If they’re still on their way to Hampstead we’ve got a while yet to work something out. Get on to Burgess again, too. Try to persuade him that softly softly’s the way to go for now.”

“Do you have a plan, ma’am?”

“I wish to God I did, Winsome. I wish to God I did.”

BANKS WAS
also desperately trying to work out a plan as he drove down the M1 with his silent passengers and loud music. He had already figured out that Jaff’s mood shifts were volatile. Perhaps the pressure of being on the run was getting to him, and he had also been snorting cocaine in the car. So much had gone wrong so far that he had to be becoming increasingly worried about making it. Whatever plan Banks came up with, he knew he would have to take great care and choose his moment.

Separating Jaff from his gun was the key. Without it, he was nothing. The gun was in the hold-all; of that Banks was certain. There was something about the way Jaff held it close to him all the time, often thrusting one hand inside it for a while, gripping something that gave him comfort and confidence, that made it obvious. It wouldn’t be easy to get it away from him, and there was no way it was going to happen if he dropped Jaff and Tracy off at King’s Cross. He couldn’t let that happen.

“I need to go to the toilet.”

It was Tracy, speaking up from the back. Banks turned the music down. More Miles:
Someday My Prince Will Come
. “What was that, love?” he asked.

“Well, you can’t,” Jaff cut in. “We’re not stopping.”

“It won’t take five minutes,” Tracy argued.

“I told you. We’re not stopping.”

“What do you expect me to do? Piss in the car?”

“I expect you to wait.”

“I
can’t
wait. I’ve been crossing my legs for the past half hour. I can’t wait anymore. There’s a services coming up soon. I need to go to the toilet.”

Jaff’s hand dug deep inside his hold-all. “I told—”

Tracy turned to face him. “What kind of a person are you? What harm’s it going to do? Do you think I’m going to make a run for it across the car park after you’ve told me what you’ll do? When you’ve got my dad here, too? Do you think I’ll run away if you’ve got your gun on him? What are you scared of? What do you really think I’m going to do? Start shouting out that you’ve got a gun so you can shoot a few more innocent people? For Christ’s sake, get a grip, Jaff. I need to go to the toilet. Simple as that.”

There was a short silence after Tracy’s outburst. Banks held his breath, admiring his daughter for her guts, but uncertain about which direction it would tip Jaff’s erratic brain.

“Fine,” Jaff said eventually. He tapped Banks on the shoulder. “I could do with a cup of coffee, myself. You heard the lady, James. Next services-.”

Banks thought furiously. Could this be his best opportunity? How could he do it? Throw a cup of hot coffee in Jaff’s face, snatch the hold-all, toss it to Tracy, take on Jaff hand-to-hand? It was a possibility, maybe the only one.

Jaff stared out of the window, tapping his fingers on his thighs. He was working it out, Banks knew, figuring out every angle, every moment, every move that could possibly go wrong for him, like so many had before. He would be at his edgiest, his most unpredictable and dangerous from the moment they left the car. As Banks turned onto the slip road, he looked for the silver Honda hatchback in his rearview mirror, but he couldn’t see it. Maybe he’d been imagining things.

THE CAR
park was only about half full. As soon as Banks had pulled into the spot Jaff had chosen for him and turned off the engine,
he
opened the door and felt the wind on his face. It had just started to drizzle.

“Not so fast,” said Jaff. “We need to set a few ground rules before we go anywhere.”

Banks closed the door again.

“Hurry up,” said Tracy. “It hurts.”

“We stick together, right?” Jaff said. “Francesca by my side, you in front. And I’ll have my hand on the gun the whole time, so don’t even think of making a break for it. And both of you remember this: If one of you’s out of my sight, the other isn’t.”

Banks wanted to question Jaff on whether he would really start shooting in a public car park, but he didn’t bother. First of all, Tracy was desperate, and Banks wanted them all out of the car as quickly as possible to increase his chances of taking control of the situation. Secondly, he suspected that at this point Jaff was so wired that he probably
would
start shooting. Banks had noticed him snorting more lines of coke in the back of the car, seen how twitchy he was becoming.

“It’s your call,” said Banks, pulling the door handle again.

They all got out and started moving across the car park and the open space to the toilets and restaurant. There were a few amusement machines near the entrance, and a convenience store opposite. Next to the store were the ladies’ and gents’ toilets.

“So how are we all going to stick together now?” Banks asked, looking at the flow of people coming in and out of the toilets.

“Don’t be a clever bastard. Obviously we can’t. Francesca goes in. We stay here.”

“But I need to go, too,” said Banks. “And her name is Tracy.”

“I know that. I prefer Francesca. You can wait your turn. Go on, Francesca. And no tricks. Don’t try borrowing anyone’s mobile or trying to pass any messages. Remember what I told you. Your dad’s out here with me.”

Tracy dashed inside the ladies’. Jaff stood close to Banks, with his hand inside his hold-all, eyes on stalks, twitching in all directions.

“You’re not going to get away with this, you know,” Banks said casually, trying to discover just how far he could push Jaff.

“What do you know?”

“You could stop it now. It would count for you in court.”

“Rubbish. I shot a copper.”

“But you didn’t kill her.”

“I can’t do time in prison. I’d never survive.”

“There’s no way around that.”

“So we just do as I say.” He glanced at his watch. “She’s taking a long time.”

“She’s a woman,” said Banks.

Jaff actually laughed. It was a slightly mad laugh, and one or two passersby glanced curiously at him. Luckily, Tracy came out immediately after the comment, and Jaff gave her instructions to wait exactly where she was while he and Banks went. When they came out, she was still there, rooted to the spot.

“So far, so good,” said Jaff. “Let’s get something to eat.”

They went upstairs to the takeaway section and bought coffee and sandwiches, which Jaff directed Banks to carry, no doubt so he could keep a firm grip on his gun. The food was in a bag, which would make it more difficult for Banks to remove the top from the coffee unseen and toss it in Jaff’s face. But it was a long walk back to the car. Banks had had no time to talk to Tracy alone, to make her aware of what he might try. He had to depend on her survival instinct and her quick grasp of the changing situation. She would have to follow his lead.

Slowly they walked back, Banks slightly ahead, as he had been told, Jaff with his hand in his hold-all, Tracy beside him. Banks didn’t like walking blind to his adversary’s exact position and movements, but he thought he could shield the bag slightly with his body as he reached inside with his free hand and felt for the top of the coffee container. He knew that some of it might splatter on Tracy if Jaff was sticking close to her, but that couldn’t be helped. He would try to be as accurate as possible given the circumstances.

They made their way through the parked cars, sometimes having to walk in single file through a narrow space, getting closer and closer. Banks got the top off, and the hot black coffee scalded his fingers. He grimaced in pain but managed to avoid shouting out. He must have stumbled a little, though, because Jaff told him to turn around. There
weren’t any people nearby, though Banks could hear the cars whizzing by on the M1 and wondered if that was the last sound he would hear.

He turned, the coffee cup in his hand, spillage burning the stretched webbing between his thumb and forefinger. Jaff had the gun out of his hold-all now, and he was pointing it at Tracy’s head. As Banks let go of the coffee and let the whole bag of food fall to the ground, a woman shepherding her two kids back to a car about four rows away screamed. Jaff turned to face the direction of the sound, but she had already dragged her children down behind their parked car.

Jaff turned back to Banks and pointed the gun toward him, his arm around Tracy’s neck. There were more screams, the sound of people running, car doors slamming, engines starting. Jaff’s face contorted in anger and confusion. He was losing it, Banks thought; he was going to shoot.

As Banks steeled himself to take the bullet, the upper right quadrant of Jaff’s head disappeared in a reddish-gray mist. The gun clattered to the tarmac. Jaff shuddered like a marionette out of control, spread his arms wide and lost his grip. Tracy threw herself forward into Banks’s arms. Banks dropped to his knees and held her close to his chest, shielding her from the sight behind her. He felt her arms around him, clinging on tightly for dear life, her face buried in his shoulder, her little voice crying daddy, daddy, daddy how sorry she was through her tears.

T
HERE WASN’T ONE SMILING FACE AMONG THE SIX
people sitting around the polished oval table in the boardroom, under the equally unsmiling portraits of Yorkshire wool barons in their tight waistcoats, with their roast beef complexions and whiskery jowls. Banks was beyond tiredness now. He didn’t even know what time or day it was, except that it wasn’t dark. But it was getting there. It had been a long, long day since the incident that morning at the motorway services. Tracy was out at Banks’s temporary accommodation, sleeping under a mild sedative administered by the police surgeon—at least he hoped she was—with Winsome watching over her. But there was dirty business to be done behind closed doors at the Western Area Headquarters. At one time, Banks would probably have been worried about the outcome, but now he didn’t care what happened. He just wanted it to be over so he could get on with putting his and Tracy’s lives back together.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, Officer Powell?” asked Mike Trethowan, Firearms Cadre superintendent, and Nerys’s immediate boss.

“Using my initiative, sir,” said Nerys Powell. She had changed from the tracksuit bottoms and hoodie top into jeans and a crisp white blouse and black wind cheater, and she was managing to put a brave face on things so far, Banks thought. She looked scared, but she had been un
shakable in her conviction that she had done the right thing. If she had to go down, she might try to take a few of the enemy with her.

Chambers gave a “God save us all from initiative” sigh. “All right,” he said, “why don’t you just start from the beginning?”

Nerys glanced at Banks, who tried to keep a neutral expression on his face. “I overheard DCI Banks taking a call on his mobile, sir,” she said. “When he was out in the corridor. I was in one of the empty offices opposite, just hanging around and waiting.” She gave Chambers a dirty look. “There’s been a lot of pointless hanging around with this investigation going on. You never know when they’re going to call you back in to go over some minor detail again. They never tell you anything. Anyway, I couldn’t hear what the person at the other end was saying, but DCI Banks mentioned his daughter’s name and repeated the name of a school in Harehills, and he seemed nervous and furtive. DCI Banks, I mean, sir. He seemed upset, and at one time he threatened the caller. I knew that his daughter was missing, and that the man suspected of abducting her was armed.”

“Did you know the location of this school? Did it mean anything to you?”

“No. But I grew up in Leeds. I know where Harehills is.”

“Yes, yes, we know where you grew up,” said Chambers. “Go on.”

“DCI Banks left hurriedly, and I suspected he might have made some…er…private arrangements to help his daughter. Not that I’m blaming you, sir,” she said to Banks.

“I’m relieved,” said Banks dryly.

Nerys narrowed her eyes at him, as if she couldn’t make up her mind whether he was acting as a friend or enemy. Banks wasn’t too sure himself. He needed to listen to all this, Nerys’s side especially, before he planted his feet down firmly anywhere. “Anyway,” she went on, “as I said, I knew that Jaffar McCready was armed and DCI Banks wasn’t. I also knew that DCI Banks wouldn’t call in the FSU because of his daughter, that he’d want to try and settle this himself, somehow try to take advantage of the situation, overpower McCready, if possible. I thought it involved an incredible risk, sir, so I…well…”

“You decided to ride shotgun,” said Trethowan.

Nerys glanced from Chambers to her boss. “I suppose so, sir.”

“What do you mean, you suppose so? How else would you describe what you did?”

“Well, sir, I was following my gut instinct, taking an initiative. Here was an unarmed man, a fellow police officer, going up against someone we already knew had no qualms about pulling the trigger on a cop.”

“This wasn’t anything to do with revenge for what happened to DI Cabbot, was it, Officer Powell?” Trethowan asked sternly.

Nerys blushed deep red. “I resent that, sir.”

“Whether you resent it or not isn’t the issue. Was DI Cabbot on your mind at all when you went chasing after DCI Banks?”

“I won’t say I didn’t think of what McCready did to her. But you’ve got no—”

“If your sexual feelings for Annie Cabbot clouded your judgment,” said Chambers, with obvious relish at the image, and a hard glint in his piggy eyes, “then we have every right to question your actions and motives. You had a crush on her, didn’t you?”

“Ladies, gentlemen,” said ACC McLaughlin, holding up his hand, “this line of attacking Officer Powell on the basis of her sexual preference will get us precisely nowhere in our unofficial adjudications, and nor should it. Whether the officer in question had feelings for DI Cabbot or not isn’t the issue here, nor is the nature of those feelings. The issue is what she
did
and what we’re going to do about it. Carry on, PC Powell.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Nerys. Sufficiently chastised for the moment, Trethowan and Chambers slumped into a sullen silence as she took a sip of water and went on. “I followed DCI Banks to Harehills, and there I observed his daughter Tracy and Jaffar McCready get into the back of his car. It seemed as if McCready was clutching a gun in a hold-all he was carrying.”

“But you couldn’t actually see the firearm?” asked Trethowan.

“Not at that point, no, sir. But I knew he was—”

“Very well. That’s all I need to know.” Trethowan looked to Chambers. “Go on.”

“How did you know who they were?” Chambers demanded.

“Well, I didn’t think he was picking up hitchhikers,” said Nerys.

Chambers reddened.

“That’ll be enough of that,” said Trethowan.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” She glared back at Chambers, who was the first to avert his gaze.

“Did you have any idea at this point what you were going to do?” asked Detective Superintendent Gervaise. “Had a plan of any kind formed in your mind?”

“No, ma’am. All I knew was that McCready was armed, that he’d shot Ann—DI Cabbot—and that he had DCI Banks and his daughter hostage.”

“And wouldn’t it have made perfect sense right then and there to call me?” said Trethowan. “Or someone in authority? There are procedures to be followed, you know. Protocol. Why didn’t you call me, or Superintendent Gervaise, with your suspicions about DCI Banks’s course of action?”

“I know I should have done, sir,” said Nerys, “and I have no excuse. But sometimes you just have to think on your feet, and think fast. In my judgment, there wasn’t time for protocol, for getting the necessary wheels in motion. I didn’t have my mobile, for a start, and I would have lost them if I’d stopped to fill in all the necessary forms. Calling in the cavalry would have alerted McCready that we were on to him. I considered him armed and dangerous, and the last thing he needed was to feel that he was surrounded by armed police. There was always a chance that drugs were involved, too. They tend to make people jittery and unpredictable, as turned out to be the case.”

“He’d been snorting cocaine on the journey,” said Banks.

“So you discharged your weapon in a public parking lot,” said Trethowan, ignoring Banks. “A motorway service station. Risking injury to God knows how many innocent men, women and children.”

“I targeted Jaffar McCready, sir. I’m a good shot. The best in the unit. You know I am. And my weapon is accurate up to nearly a thousand yards. I was only three hundred yards away, at most.”

“And after you hit your target? Did you have any idea where the bullet would end up?” Chambers asked.

“I was at the top of a hill. From the angle of my shot, sir, I judged it would lodge itself in the body of the car behind McCready, which it did. Do you want to charge me with damaging private property, too, now, sir? I’ll see if my insurance will cover it.”

Trethowan thumped the table. “I’ve told you, Officer Powell. That’s enough of your bloody insolence. This is a very serious matter. Your career’s on the line. You’re not doing yourself any favors. Sarcasm won’t get you anywhere. Not with me and not with Superintendents Chambers or Gervaise or ACC McLaughlin. And we’re the ones holding your fate in the balance. Remember that. One more remark like that, and I’ll have you on disciplinary charges no matter what the outcome here this afternoon. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Nerys mumbled, head down.

“What happened when you got to the services car park?” Gervaise asked, pouring oil on troubled waters.

“I parked my car, ma’am. I’d checked out the surrounding area as best I could on my way in, and there was a slope just across the slip road. I could lie down just behind there unseen and get a direct line on DCI Banks’s car, and a good line of shot if it came to that. I wasn’t planning on shooting anyone. I didn’t want to alarm the public.”

“So that’s where you went?” asked Chambers. “The grassy knoll?” He beamed at his little joke, but everyone else ignored it.

Nerys bit her lip. “Yes, sir.”

“With the intent of shooting Jaffar McCready as soon as you thought you had a clear shot?”

“With the intention of protecting the lives of DCI Banks and his daughter, sir, should the DCI make any foolish or desperate moves. I could tell McCready was wired when they first got out of the car.”

Banks raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not saying that making foolish moves isn’t entirely out of character for DCI Banks,” said Chambers with a self-satisfied grin, “but how could you know that he would do such a thing in this instance?”

“I didn’t. Not for certain. But I would have done, if I were him. It was his best chance at McCready. Out in the open. If he was going to try anything, I calculated that would be his opportunity.”

“With other people around?”

“His daughter’s a person, too, sir. So is DCI Banks himself.”

“I’m quite aware of that,” said Chambers.

“Let’s move on,” Gervaise interjected.

Chambers seemed exasperated, but he went on, “Are you saying you knew DCI Banks was doomed to failure if he acted?”

Nerys shrugged. “I knew there was a possibility of failure. And that McCready had a gun he wasn’t afraid to use. I just wanted to be prepared, that’s all, to give the DCI an added advantage.”

“I suppose now you’re going to tell us that it all happened so fast you don’t remember the details, that you’re not responsible for your actions?” said Chambers.

“On the contrary, sir. Time slowed right down. I knew exactly what I was doing. I took my time pulling the trigger, squeezed it slowly, making certain of the accuracy of my shot, and I take full responsibility for my actions. I stand by them.”

That reduced Chambers to a reluctant silence, and Gervaise gently picked up the slack. “Tell us what happened.”

“They were walking back to the car, the three of them. DCI Banks was in front, and I could see him fiddling inside the food bag. I couldn’t know at the time exactly what he was doing, of course, but it seemed suspicious, like he was preparing to do something, and it would certainly look suspicious from behind, to McCready, who was already acting jumpy as hell.”

“So you saw DCI Banks fiddling with the paper bag?” Gervaise went on.

“Yes.”

“And what did you do next?”

“Nothing, ma’am. I watched and waited.”

“Through the sights of your gun?” asked Chambers.

“Through my scope, yes.”

“The sniper’s rifle you just happened to be carrying with you?” He glanced down at his notes. “A Parker-Hale M85, if I’m not mistaken. Not exactly standard issue. Where did you get it?”

“It was my father’s, sir. I keep it locked in a special compartment in the boot of my car. I practice with it sometimes. In my opinion, the Park—”

“Is that where you’re supposed to keep your weapon, Officer Powell?” asked Trethowan. “In the boot of your car, like some American redneck?”

Nerys turned away. “No, sir. The Firearms Cadre has proper storage facilities, as do our transport vehicles, but—”

“Carry on,” said Trethowan. “We’ll deal with that infraction later.”

Nerys swallowed again, as if her mouth was dry. She still had a glass of water in front of her, Banks noticed, but this time she didn’t touch it. She probably didn’t want them to see her hand shaking. “I was watching them walk toward the car. DCI Banks pulled a face and flinched. I thought maybe he’d burned himself or something. That gave me an idea of what he might be about to try.”

“And?” asked Gervaise.

Nerys looked directly at Banks. Her gaze was unnerving. “In my opinion, he wouldn’t have succeeded, ma’am. His awkward movements had already alerted McCready that something was going on. DCI Banks was going to try and throw hot coffee in his face, but he must have burned himself getting the lid off, and he flinched. McCready noticed, knew something was wrong.”

“Is this true, Alan?” asked Gervaise.

Banks nodded.

“What did McCready do then?” Gervaise asked Nerys.

“He took the gun—the Baikal with the silencer—out of his hold-all. He’d had it in his hand all the time they were walking, but now he pulled it out into full view. One or two of the people around them in the car park noticed and screamed. I could see that if it went on like that, there was going to be a panic, and that would only make McCready more volatile. But at that moment, there weren’t many people in that particular area, certainly nobody really close.”

“Where did McCready point the gun?”

“First he pointed it at Tracy Banks. At her head. I surmised that he was threatening her father that he would shoot her if he tried anything.”

“And then?”

“McCready was edgy, ma’am. Erratic in his behavior. He said something to DCI Banks, and then pointed the gun directly at him.”

“By this time DCI Banks had turned around?”

“Yes. He was facing McCready, who was using Tracy as a shield.”

“And how did you respond?” Chambers cut in.

“I shot McCready, sir,” Nerys said dispassionately. “In the head. It was the best shot I could get. Luckily, he was quite a bit taller than DCI Banks’s daughter.”

“You killed him,” Chambers said.

“Yes, sir. A head shot is usually…” She noticed the storm brewing on Trethowan’s face, then turned back to Chambers. “Yes, sir.”