Bad Boy (3 page)

Getting no response to their shouts, the AFOs used a battering ram on the door, which splintered open, and the two officers rushed inside, making as much noise as they could. Within seconds they had disappeared from view, and after a brief silence Annie heard a muffled shout and then a clicking sound, like some distant cicada chattering in the trees, followed by a scream and a lot of shouting and banging about.

She and Gervaise jumped out of the car and dashed for the garden, but Superintendent Trethowan, outside the house, raised his hand to warn them to stay back, then he went inside. Annie could hear the other two officers breaking in at the back, then more shouting, the sound of a chair or a table crashing over, and finally another loud scream, a different voice this time.

Annie felt her heart beating so hard and fast that she thought it would explode inside her chest. She was shaking all over. For what seemed like ages, nothing happened. The house fell silent again, apart from the sounds of the team walking about inside, doors opening and closing. Finally, Trethowan came out with two officers, and the three of them walked toward the van.

“What happened?” Gervaise asked as they passed by.

But Trethowan simply shook his head. Annie couldn’t see his expression because of the protective headgear.

About thirty seconds later someone shouted the all-clear, and another officer came out carrying a small item wrapped in a tea cloth. So that was what it was all about, Annie thought. So tiny. So deadly. And from what she could see as the man passed right by her, the tea cloth had a map of the Yorkshire Dales printed on it. A moment later the final two armed response officers came out, dragging between them a struggling and screaming young woman in rigid handcuffs: Erin Doyle. Then came the sound of an ambulance speeding toward them down Market Street.

“Oh, shit,” said Gervaise. “Here we go.”

R
IGHT
,”
SAID ACC RON MCLAUGHLIN WHEN EVERYONE
was seated in the boardroom of Western Area Headquarters. “We’ve got the house on Laburnum Way locked down. Erin Doyle is in custody, and Juliet Doyle is at the hospital by her husband’s bedside. I hardly need to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that we appear to be looking at a cock-up of gigantic proportions.”

McLaughlin had called the meeting to make some sense out of what had just happened and to determine what should be done next, and by whom. The room was crowded and the atmosphere tense. Though no media had arrived at the station yet, Annie could sense the vibrations thrumming through the ether, hear the tom-toms beating in the distance and see the smoke signals curling into the sky.

In plain gray T-shirts and combats, the AFOs looked as if they had just come from the nearest fitness center. Annie saw that she was right about one of the team being female. She had seen the woman around County HQ at Newby Wiske on the few occasions she had been there, and they had exchanged brief and polite greetings, but she hadn’t known the woman was a trained AFO. Luckily, Western Area hadn’t had much use for their services lately. There were few enough women in the force, and Annie reckoned that this one must be very good if she was a member of the AFO team. Training was tough and standards were high. The female officer had closely cropped spiky
dark hair over a heart-shaped face with large eyes, a small mouth and an olive complexion. She was short, with a barrel-shaped muscular upper body, as if she lifted a lot of weights. Annie caught her eye and gave her a smile of solidarity. She gave Annie a grim, shy smile of understanding back, then turned away.

One of the team members, a youngish-looking fellow whom Annie didn’t recognize, seemed paler than the rest and was chewing on the end of a Biro. The hand in which he held it was shaking, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that he was the shooter, the one who had dashed out of the house and thrown up in the herbaceous border. He didn’t look any older than eighteen, but Annie knew that he had to be in his mid-to-late twenties to have completed the training and psychological testing necessary to be an AFO.

“I think you all know the drill,” McLaughlin went on once everybody had a coffee in front of them. “I’m going to hand over to Superintendent Chambers from Professional Standards now, to get the ball rolling. Once we’ve got the general picture, we’ll try to make some decisions on how best to proceed. Reg?”

Chambers cleared his throat, leaned back in his chair and put his pen down on his notepad. The buttons on his waistcoat stretched tight across his chest and belly. Annie thought he had the faintly ridiculous air of a Dickensian character. She had once worked with Chambers for a few weeks herself, and had quickly come to understand why the Internal Affairs Department was always referred to as the “Rat Squad” on American television programs.

“Thank you, sir,” said Chambers. “Let’s just get a few facts straight, first of all, shall we? Who called in the FSU?” He had a Home Counties accent, which he seemed to think made him sound posh.

“I did,” said Gervaise. “We had information that an illegal firearm had been discovered in Erin Doyle’s bedroom at her parents’ house on Laburnum Way. Miss Doyle had remained there in the custody of her father while her mother reported the weapon to us.”

“Admirable.” Chambers jotted something down, then asked Gervaise, “Was there any reason to suspect that anyone in the house was in danger?”

“None,” said Gervaise.

“Or that the firearm was a threat to anyone at all?”

“A loaded firearm is always a threat. But there was no reason for us to assume that either Erin or Patrick Doyle intended to use the weapon, either on each other or on anybody else. They were both aware that the mother, Juliet Doyle, had gone to the police station to report finding it. They were expecting us.”

Chambers scratched the edge of his nose and coughed. “I understand that the daughter was quite upset and angry when the gun was discovered in her room?”

“Naturally,” said Gervaise.

“But you don’t think she was afraid of the consequences, was likely to use the weapon to effect an escape?”

Gervaise took her time before answering. “I don’t think she was even aware of the consequences,” she said finally. “Most people in her position aren’t. They don’t really think they’ve done anything wrong in simply giving house room to a gun, no matter how they came by it. After all, they haven’t used it. I doubt that she even realized she was committing a serious crime. She probably expected to be thanked for keeping it off the streets. If she even knew about it.”

“What do you mean?” Chambers demanded.

“I’m just pointing out that at this stage in our inquiries, we have absolutely no evidence whatsoever that Erin Doyle had any connection with the gun found by her mother on top of her wardrobe.”

“Are you suggesting that someone else put it there?”

“I am simply saying that we don’t know,” said Gervaise. Annie could tell she was holding back her irritation.

“I understand from Sergeant Haggerty on the reception desk that Mrs. Doyle asked to see Detective Chief Inspector Banks?” said Chambers, shooting Annie a sly glance. Annie knew that Chambers and Banks didn’t get on, had crossed swords on more than one occasion since the reorganization, in which Chambers’s department had been relocated to County HQ.

“DCI Banks is one of my best officers,” said Gervaise. “As it happens, he’s on holiday.”

“Gardening leave, is it?” Chambers asked with a smirk. “We all know he’s been off his medication lately.”

“A well-deserved holiday,” said Gervaise, tight-lipped. She looked over at Annie. “According to DI Cabbot, Mrs. Doyle did first ask for DCI Banks, yes. Your point is?”

Chambers turned to Annie. His eyes narrowed. “So it’s true?”

“Yes,” said Annie.

“Any idea why this was?”

“Apparently they used to be neighbors and have remained friends since DCI Banks left the neighborhood.”

“Why do you think she asked for him by name?”

“Because she knew him. I think she expected that he would accompany her back to the house, pick up the gun and bring it in to the station.”

“Rather than follow correct procedure?”

Annie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I think that DCI Banks’s first priority would have been to defuse the situation,” she said, “and to make sure that no harm came to anyone.”

“And our priority—the correct procedure—wasn’t likely to achieve that?”

“With all due respect, it’s not my place to comment on procedure, but I’m certain that whatever DCI Banks
would
have done would have been well within acceptable bounds.”

“I wish I could share your confidence,” said Chambers, his upper lip curling.

“Well, we’ll never know, will we?” said Annie. “Because he wasn’t here, and it’s all mere speculation.”

“That will do, DI Cabbot,” said Chambers. Annie gave him a contemptuous look.

“So, in fact, what Erin and Patrick Doyle were expecting,” Chambers went on, “was for an old family friend to come knocking at their door, give their daughter a stern talking to, then disappear from their lives forever with the gun? Problem solved.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” Annie argued. “I don’t know what they were expecting. There are no grounds whatsoever for assuming that DCI Banks would in any way interfere with the law, or try to protect Erin Doyle from prosecution for any offense she
might have
committed.”

Chambers sneered. “Well, we’ll never know now, will we, DI Cabbot? He wasn’t here.” He had the kind of face that seemed to be wearing a perpetual expression of distaste, Annie had noticed, as if he had just smelled or swallowed something unpleasant. She also felt his eyes undress her every time he looked in her direction. His complexion was like the shiny pink plastic of a child’s doll, and his lips were fleshy, wet and red. Annie felt like sticking her tongue out at him, but she managed to restrain herself. That would be childish. Instead, she gave him a sweet smile and sipped some bitter, tepid coffee.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere, Reg,” cut in McLaughlin, who, Annie suspected, was well aware of Chambers’s shortcomings. “What might have happened under different circumstances isn’t our concern here. Certainly not at this point.”

“No, sir,” said Chambers, with a quick glare at Annie. “Forgive me. I was simply trying to get a general sense of events. Did anyone telephone the Doyle house, try to talk to the father and assess the situation?”

Gervaise paused. “We felt that a telephone call might cause too much consternation, given that Erin’s mother had already told us that her daughter was distraught, and that Erin and her father were expecting DCI Banks to be in touch.”

Chambers raised his eyebrows. “Though that
is
standard procedure before sending in the cavalry, isn’t it?”

“Let’s move on to the incident itself, Reg,” McLaughlin said.

“By all means.” Chambers turned to the young AFO. “Constable Warburton, would you care to tell us briefly, in your own words, what transpired at Laburnum Way? Just stick to the facts and keep it simple. Don’t embellish.”

“Yes, sir,” said Warburton, sitting to attention, if such a thing was possible. He went on to describe how the team had waited while the local police knocked on the door and announced themselves.

“But no one answered, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long would you say transpired between the first officers announcing themselves and your forced entry?”

“It’s hard to say, sir,” said Warburton. “Time can behave very strangely in circumstances like that.”

“I acknowledge that one’s perception of time can be affected by stress,” said Chambers, “but surely you can give me a rough estimate? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?”

“A few minutes at most, sir.”

“Minutes? Very well. A minute can be a long time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And during that time did you hear anything?”

“Hear anything?”

“Yes, from inside. Any sounds? An argument or anything like that.”

“I thought I heard voices at one point, sir. People talking.”

“Arguing?”

“Impossible to say, sir. They were muffled.”

“But could they have been raised?”

“I suppose they could. I couldn’t tell.”

“Very well. What happened next?”

“When it seemed apparent that no one was going to answer the door, we thought it necessary to force entry. That is, WPC Powell and I did. Anything could have happened since the first reports. The girl could have been holding her father at gunpoint. She could even have shot him.”

“Nobody’s arguing with your judgment, son,” said Chambers. “Though the press might take a slightly more jaundiced view of things.”

“I feel that I acted in accordance with the law, sir, and with my training. I’d do the same—”

“Yes, yes. All right. Spare us the self-justification, PC Warburton. What happened when you entered the house? You entered from the front with Constable Nerys Powell, am I correct?” Chambers glanced at PC Powell, and it was clear to Annie, even from such a short look, that he disapproved of the presence of a woman on the team. They both worked at County HQ. Perhaps they had clashed before.

“Yes, sir,” said Warburton. “We entered the building as instructed, WPC Powell and me.”

Nerys Powell gave him a sad smile of encouragement. “What happened next?”

“The hallway was very long and dark. It was daytime, but there was no direct source of light.”

“Did you have a torch?” McLaughlin asked. “Yes, sir, on my belt.”

“Did you switch it on?”

Warburton paused before answering. “No, sir,” he said. “There was just no time. It all happened so quickly. I did flick a light switch on the wall as we entered, but the bulb blew.”

“Tell me what happened next.”

Warburton drank some water and rubbed his face with both hands. “Just as we entered the hall, by the bottom of the stairs, a door at the far end opened, to the right. I knew from my briefing that this was the door to the kitchen, and the kitchen was where the…. where Mr. Doyle and his daughter were said to be waiting. And the loaded firearm. I heard a creaking noise. Then there was a figure in the corridor, just a silhouette, really, and I could swear he was waving a sword or some such weapon at me, about to rush us. Like I said, it was still dark in there. Our eyes hadn’t had a chance to adjust, and we didn’t have time to get out our torches. But we knew there was a loaded weapon on the premises, and I…I just reacted as fast as I could, sir, the way any officer would.”

“So you fired?”

“I discharged my Taser, sir, yes. As we are instructed to do when faced with someone brandishing a sword or a knife.”

“Yet as far as you were concerned, the weapon you were there to recover was a firearm, and it had been found in the possession of Erin Doyle, not her father?”

“That’s correct, sir. But he could have taken possession of it.”

“And just decided to shoot a policeman for the hell of it? Stick to the facts, constable. You mentioned a sword, not a gun. And this sword was actually a walking-stick.”

Warburton swallowed. “Well, yes, sir. Strictly speaking. But I—”

“‘Strictly speaking?’ I’d be interested to know how else you would put it? Were you aware of any reason Mr. Doyle might have had for attacking you with a sword? Or even a walking stick, for that matter?”

“No, sir. We…I…simply reacted to the circumstances, did the
right thing, as per training. There was no time to speculate. Perhaps he had decided to try to defend his daughter? Perhaps he’d realized since the mother went off to see the police that the girl would be sent to jail? Perhaps he felt under threat because things hadn’t turned out the way he had expected? I don’t know, sir. I just reacted.”

“Are those the thoughts that passed through your mind at the time, or are they explanations you have thought up since?”

“I can’t say I really had time to
think
of anything like that, sir. Not at the time. In action, you just sort of fall back on your training. It’s not like thinking, finding reasons. That’s for later.”