Fletcher
kept his foot on the accelerator, staying only a few feet away from the rear
bumper in front of him, as the police car shot down the wrong side of the road,
lights blinking, sirens blaring. The policeman in the passenger seat used his
loudspeaker to warn the pursuing vehicle to drop back, but Fletcher ignored the
ultimatum, knowing they wouldn’t stop. Seven minutes later both came to a
screeching halt at a police barrier outside the school; where a group of
hysterical parents was trying to find out what was going on. The policeman in
the passenger seat leaped out of his car and ran toward Fletcher as he slammed
his door closed. The officer drew his pistol and shouted, “Put your hands on
the roof.” The driver, who was only a yard behind his colleague, said, “Sorry,
Senator, we didn’t realize it was you.”
Fletcher
ran to the barrier. “Where will I find the chief?”
“He’s
set up headquarters in the principal’s office. I’ll get someone to take you
there, Senator.”
“No
need,” said Fletcher, “I know my way.”
“Senator...”
said the policeman, but it was too late.
Fletcher
ran down the path toward the school, unaware that the building was surrounded
by military guards, their rifles all aimed in one direction.
It
surprised him to see how quickly the public stood to one side the moment they
saw him.
A strange way to be reminded that he was their
representative.
“Who
the hell’s that?” asked the chief of police as a lone figure came running
across the yard toward them.
“I
think you’ll find
it’s
Senator Davenport,” said Alan
Shepherd, the school’s principal, looking through the window.
“That’s
all I need,” said Don Culver. A moment later Fletcher came charging into the
room. The chief looked up from behind the desk, trying to hide his “that’s all
I need” look, as the senator came to a halt in front of him.
“Good
afternoon, Senator.”
“Good
afternoon, chief,” Fletcher replied, slightly out of breath. Despite the wary
look, he rather admired the paunchy, cigar smoking chief of police, who wasn’t
known for running his force by the book.
Fletcher
gave a nod to Alan Shepherd, and then turned his attention back to the chief.
“Can you bring me up to speed?” he asked as he caught his breath.
“We’ve
got a lone gunman out there. It looks as if he strolled up the main path in
broad daylight a few minutes before school was due to come out.” The chief
turned to a makeshift ground-floor plan taped to the wall, and pointed to a
little square with art room printed across it.
“There
appears to be no rhyme or reason why he chose Miss Hudson’s class, other than
it was the first door he came to.”
“How many children in there?”
Fletcher asked, turning his attention back to the principal.
“Thirty-one,”
replied Alan Shepherd, “and Lucy isn’t one of them.”
Fletcher
tried not to show his relief. “And the gunman, do we know anything about him?”
“Not
a lot,” said the chief, “but we’re finding out more by the minute. His name is
Billy Bates.
We’re
told his wife left him about a month ago, soon after he lost his job as the
night watchman at Pearl’s. Seems he was caught drinking on duty once too often.
He’s been thrown out of several bars during the past few weeks, and, according
to our records, even ended up spending a night in one of our cells.”
“Good
afternoon, Mrs. Davenport,” said the principal, rising from his place.
Fletcher
turned to see his wife, “Lucy wasn’t in Miss Hudson’s class,”
were
his first words.
“I
know,” said Annie, “she was with me. When I got your message, I dropped her off
with Martha and came straight over.”
“Do
you know Miss Hudson?” asked the chief.
“I’m
sure Alan has told you that everyone knows Mary, she’s an institution. I think
she’s the longest-serving member of staff.” The principal nodded. “I doubt if
there’s a family in Hartford who doesn’t know someone who’s been taught by
her.”
“Can
you give me a profile?” asked the chief, turning to face Alan Shepherd.
“In
her fifties, single, calm, firm and well respected.”
“And
something you left out,” added Annie, “much loved.”
“What
do you think she’d be like under pressure?”
“Who
knows how anyone would react under this sort of pressure,” said Shepherd, “but
I’ve no doubt she’d give up her life for those children.”
“That’s
what I feared you’d say,”
said
the chief, “and it’s my
job to make sure she doesn’t have to.” His cigar was no longer glowing. “I’ve got
over a hundred men surrounding the main block and a sniper on top of the
adjacent building who says he occasionally gets a sighting of Bates.”
“Presumably
you’re trying to negotiate?” said Fletcher.
“Yes,
there’s a phone in the room which we’ve been calling every few minutes, but
Bates refuses to pick it up. We’ve set up a loudspeaker system, but he’s not
responding to that either.”
“Have
you thought of sending someone in?” asked Fletcher as the phone on the
principal’s desk rang. The chief pressed the intercom button.
“Who’s
this?” Culver barked.
“It’s
Senator Davenport’s secretary, I was hoping...”
“Yes,
Sally,” said Fletcher, “what is it?”
“I’ve
just seen a report on the news that says the gunman is called Billy Bates. The
name sounded familiar, and it turns out that we have a file on him-he’s been to
see you twice.”
“Anything
helpful in his case notes?”
“He
came to lobby you on gun control. He feels very strongly on the subject. In
your notes you’ve written “restrictions not tough enough, locks on triggers,
sale of firearms to minors, proof of identification.”“
“I
remember him,” said Fletcher, “intelligent, full of ideas but no formal
education.
Well
done, Sally.”
“Are
you sure he isn’t just crazy?” asked the chief.
“Far
from it,” said Fletcher. “He’s thoughtful, shy, even timid, and his biggest
complaint was that no one ever listened to him.
Sometimes
that sort of person feels they have to prove a point when every other approach
has failed. And his wife leaving him and taking the children, just when he’s
lost his job, may have tipped the balance.”
“Then
I’ve got to take him out,” said the chief, “just like they did with that guy in
Tennessee who locked up all those officials in the revenue office.”
“No,
that’s not a parallel case,” insisted Fletcher, “that man had a record as a
psychopath. Billy Bates is a lonely man who’s seeking attention, the type that
regularly comes to see me.”
“Well,
he’s sure grabbed my attention, Senator,” responded the chief.
“Which
could be precisely why he’s gone to such extremes,” said Fletcher. “Why don’t
you let me try and speak to him?”
The
chief removed his cigar for the first time; junior officers would have warned
Fletcher that meant he was thinking.
“OK,
but all I want you to do is to get him to pick up the phone,
then
I’ll take over any negotiations. Is that understood?” Fletcher nodded his
agreement. The chief turned to his number two and added, “Dale, tell them that
the senator and I are going out there, so hold their fire.” The chief grabbed
the megaphone and said, “Let’s do it, Senator.”
As
they started walking down the corridor, the chief added firmly, “You’re only to
step a couple of paces outside the front door, and don’t forget your message
needs to be simple, because all I want him to do is pick up the phone.”
Fletcher
nodded as the chief opened the door for him. He took a few steps before he came
to a halt and held up the megaphone. “Billy, this is Senator Davenport, you’ve
been to see me a couple of times. We need to speak to you. Could you please
pick up the phone on Miss Hudson’s desk?”
“Keep
repeating the message,” barked the chief.
“Billy,
this is Senator Davenport, would you please pick up
. .”
A
young officer came running toward the open door, “He’s picked up the phone,
Chief, but he says he’ll only speak to the senator.”
“I’ll
decide who he talks to,” said Culver. “No one dictates to me.” He disappeared
through the door and almost ran back to the principal’s study.
“This
is Chief Culver. Now listen, Bates, if you imagine...” The phone went dead.
“Damn,”
said the chief as Fletcher walked back into the room. “He hung up on
me,
we’re going to have to try again.”
“Perhaps
he meant it when he said he would only speak to me.”
The
chief removed his cigar again. “OK, but the moment you
We
calmed him down, you pass the phone over.”
Once
they’d returned to the playground Fletcher spoke over the megaphone again.
“Sorry, Billy, can you call again, and this time I’ll be on the other end of
the line?” Fletcher accompanied Don Culver back to the principal’s study to
find Billy already on the speakerphone.
“The
senator’s just walked back into the room,” the principal assured him.
“I’m
right here, Billy,
it’s
Fletcher Davenport.”
“Senator,
before you say anything, I’m not budging while the chief has all those rifles
trained on me. Tell them to back off if he doesn’t want a death on his hands.”
Fletcher
looked at Culver, who removed his cigar once again before nodding.
“The
chiefs agreed to that,” said Fletcher.
“I’ll
call you back when I can’t see one of them.”
“Right,”
said the chief, “
tell
everyone to back off, except for
the marksman on the north tower.
There’s
no way Bates could spot him.”
“So
what happens next?” asked Fletcher.
“We
wait for the bastard to call back.”
Nat
was answering a question on voluntary redundancies when his secretary came
rushing into the boardroom. They all realized that it had to be urgent as Linda
had never interrupted a board meeting before. Nat immediately stopped speaking
when he saw the anxious look on her face.
“There’s
a gunman at Hartford Elementary
. .”
Nat
went cold, “dis. and he’s holding Miss Hudson’s class hostage.”
“Is
Luke
. .”
“Yes
he is,” she replied. “Luke’s last lesson on a Friday is always Miss Hudson’s
art class.”
Nat
rose unsteadily from his chair and walked toward the door. The rest of the
board remained silent. “Mrs. Cartwright is already on her way to the school,”
Linda added as Nat left the room.
“She
said to tell you she’ll meet you there.”
Nat
nodded as he pushed open a door that led into the underground parking garage.
“Stay by the phone,” was the last thing he said to Linda as he climbed into his
car. When he nosed up the ramp and out onto Main Street, he hesitated for a
moment before turning left instead of his usual right.
The
phone rang. The chief touched the speaker and pointed to Fletcher.
“Are
you there, Senator?”
“Sure
am, Billy.”
“Tell
the chief to allow the TV crews and press inside the barrier; that way I’ll
feel safer.”
“Hey,
wait a minute,” began the chief.
“No,
you wait a minute,” shouted Billy.
“Or
you’ll have your first body in the playground.
Try
explaining to the press that it only happened because you didn’t let them
inside the barrier.” The phone went dead.
“You’d
better go along with his request, Chief,” said Fletcher, “because it looks like
he’s determined to be heard one way or the other.”
“Let
the press through,” said Culver, nodding to one of his deputies. The sergeant
quickly left the room, but it was several minutes before the phone rang again.
Fletcher touched the console.
“I’m
listening, Billy.”
“Thank
you, Mr.
Davenport,
you’re a man of your word.”
“So
what do you want now?” barked the chief.
“Nothing
from you, Chief, I prefer to go on dealing with the senator. Mr. Davenport, I
need you to come across and join me;
that’s
the only
way I have a chance of getting my case heard.”
“I
can’t allow that to happen,” said the chief.
“I
don’t believe it’s your call, Chief.
It’s
up to the senator to decide, but I guess you’ll have to sort that out among
yourselves. I’ll call back in two minutes.” The phone went dead.
“I’m
happy to agree to his demand,” said Fletcher. “Frankly there doesn’t seem to be
a lot of choice.”