I Am Gold (9 page)

‘Which things?'

‘The situation.'

‘How would you describe that, Olly?'

‘The situation? Tense but manageable.'

‘Manageable by you and yours, you mean?'

‘With your cooperation, obviously, John. Your family would wish you to cooperate. I feel sure of that. It's why I asked about them.'

‘Oh, I thought it was so you could get an identification.'

‘They'd be able to make a more detached judgement on this stand-off.'

‘Well, yes, that's because they're not in the shop, isn't it, Olly? It would be difficult for those in the shop to be detached, wouldn't it?'

‘We both have to work towards a resolution.'

‘Me, free and safe, regardless of Sandicott and the damage?'

‘A resolution
is
possible, John. We mustn't allow things to turn out unfavourably, must we?'

‘What does unfavourably mean?'

‘We must focus on getting a resolution, wouldn't you say?'

‘“Unfavourably” means me dead and maybe others, doesn't it, Olly?'

‘No situation is unresolvable. I believe that absolutely or I wouldn't have gone in for this kind of work.'

‘I know what you'll be wondering, and what your boss will be wondering.'

‘What?'

‘How can I keep this conversation going with no noise or interruption from the people here. So, are they really OK?'

‘Yes, are they really OK?'

‘That's what you're bound to ask yourself.'

‘Well, actually, I was asking you, John.'

‘It's a worry, isn't it, Olly?'

Chapter Twelve

2007

When Geoff had gone from the Pre-Raphaelites with his wife and two sons after those difficult few minutes, Mansel Shale felt things changing between himself and the woman in front of Prentis's
Remembrance
. For instance, they spoke. This would be the most obvious new feature. And the talk came very naturally, not some creepy, greasy-lips, pick-up chatter. It concerned art, which seemed to Manse totally right for a gallery, Pre-Raphaelite or other. And the great fact was,
she
began it. ‘When it comes to pictures, people's tastes
are
various and unpredictable,' she'd stated as soon as Manse returned from Geoff. Only a loony would disagree, so a useful start had definitely been made. He noticed the way she put real strength on that
are,
as if to back up Manse's remark to Geoff's wife, although Manse had meant it as piss-taking, of course.

The woman turned her head away from
Remembrance
and towards Manse when she said this, giving it an undoubted personal touch of some value, he thought. And Manse was able to reply at once that his mother used to comment, often in quite a non-snotty fashion, ‘There's no accounting for taste.' This, also, would be accepted by most people as very true. Therefore, the atmosphere near the Prentis became really enjoyable. He thought a mention of his mother and one of her remarks helped because it showed he had been brought up in a good, homely style, and that his flair for gutting loud slobs like Geoff via one or two confidential words – ‘throat,' for instance – was only one aspect of Manse, though handy. Not everyone had a mother who could come out with advice on general life. She would use these words about people's clothes, or furniture, or moustache, or carpets, or choice of music, and once about Syb after he'd brought her to meet his parents for the first time.

But it wasn't just the conversation that proved there had been a development between the woman and Manse. Previously, he did not think it right to consider himself ‘with' her. He was standing not far from her, yes, and he'd imagined a sort of communication linking the Prentis, her and him.
Imagined.
Hoped for. The two of them were not together, though, not in that full sense of ‘with'. Now, partly because of Geoff, Manse began to feel he
was
with her, in that full sense. Anyone looking at them would have believed they came to the exhibition as a pair. At exactly the moment she seemed to decide she'd seen enough of the Prentis, Manse decided the same. Surely this could be regarded as a sign of true closeness. They moved to the next picture, a William Holman Hunt. She said: ‘I don't hate this one.'

‘Hate? No, indeed.'

‘Some of Hunt's stuff I detest. How about you? This is OK, just some yokel under a tree. What's your name, by the way? I'm Naomi.'

‘Mansel.'

‘Don't you loathe that religious rubbish Hunt did sometimes, Mansel –
The Light of the World
?'

‘Well, he was one of the original Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, Naomi,' Shale replied.

‘I know. That doesn't mean he couldn't turn out crap, though, does it? I don't think I've ever known someone called Mansel before.'

‘My parents liked to branch out quite a bit. They were famed for it where we lived and even beyond in many directions.'

‘My name is in the Bible,' she replied.

‘I don't think the name Mansel is. At Sunday school we used to do quite a lot of Bible reading. Although your name is there, and very important in the Book of Ruth, you don't like religious paintings. Strange. The Sunday school teachers loved
The Light of the World
.'

‘Well, they would, wouldn't they, Manse? All that hocus-pocus and bogus intensity.' It shook him quite a whack to hear her slaughter a holy painting, where Jesus is holding a lamp and knocking on a door. Manse thought it most likely referred to a text in Revelation, ‘Behold I stand at the door and knock' – meaning if you open up you'll see the light and be saved. He had the idea it would take him a while to get used to some London women, such as Naomi and Joan Fenton, the lawyer. They seemed to say whatever they wanted to regardless. ‘Did you come to town especially to see the show?' she said.

She seemed to know he wasn't a Londoner. ‘Well, no, not exactly.'

‘You fitted it into some other programme?' she asked

‘That kind of thing.'

‘What was it?'

‘A funeral.'

‘Anyone near to you?'

‘In a way near, yes.'

‘Which way?'

‘A work relationship.'

‘But something else going on? Near
and
dear? A woman?' ‘No, no, he was called Denzil. A colleague, that's all.'

‘Old?'

‘Not very.'

‘Shall I tell you what I suspect?'

‘I'd be interested in that.'

‘I get the notion he let you down somehow,' she said.

‘I have to say, yes. Regrettable, but yes.'

‘It can happen.'

‘There was definitely good sides to Denzil as long as you was patient.'

‘Many would decide that if someone had seriously let them down they would not go to his funeral. This seems to me a very generous and considerate act on your part. What did he die of?'

‘I thought to myself like this, Naomi – Denz had quite a few pressures in the last months of his time with us, and these might of affected his behaviour. I arrived at a plan: let's try to forget his faults and deceptions and give respect to his good and positive talents, which he certainly had.'

‘The family would have been very grateful to see you there, I should think. Where in London was it?'

‘Some duties cannot be dodged. That's my view.'

‘What did he die of?'

‘There was several long, heartfelt conversations with some of his relatives afterwards – a brother and a cousin, for example – and the warmth of these one-to-ones proved to me I'd been so right to attend.'

‘That's the main thing, your own reaction. Congratulations. Sometimes at funerals the family can be awkward, or worse. What sort of people were they?'

‘When we come to Hunt's
The Light of the World
, Naomi, we got to note he gives a message that most in this country can understand straight off, perhaps less so abroad if it's Islam.
The Light of the World
is not like what's known as abstract, where you get a mixture of all sorts in one picture, such as a Trident submarine, cheetahs, percolators, elbows, JCBs, boxing rings. Obviously, that kind of painting can also appeal to many on account of unusualness. One abstract painter went crazy and people said his pictures became even better afterwards. This is a great advantage of abstract – getting Alzheimer's, or something like that, doesn't matter. My belief is there's room for all sorts and William Holman Hunt certainly had a real go in plenty of his works, no messing.'

‘And did you have any other London visits to make after the funeral?' she replied.

He didn't want to mention Joan Fenton, though. It would sound big-deal to say he always used a London lawyer. And, in any case, Naomi might start to wonder whether he'd been discussing divorce stuff. Naomi was a clever one. He'd soon spotted that. She got them notions, and they seemed sharp. Questions were a natural for her. She had auburn hair cut very short giving a total view of her face, but this didn't stop her quizzing. Manse wouldn't like Naomi to regard him as somebody divorced who hung about galleries alone, maybe on the pull, and able to terrify any twerp who niggled him. He felt he'd possibly stumbled once or twice in grammar with her, although he'd been trying to concentrate, so talk about his classy lawyer might make Manse seem like a jumped-up prole with loot but not much education, except from Sunday school. Although this was correct he'd rather Naomi didn't realize it, yet. He said: ‘I think I'm going to have to try to persuade you to like
The Light of the World
.'

‘It will take you for ever.'

‘I'll work at it.' He was going to say, ‘I wouldn't mind that at all,' but saw this would of been obvious, cheap and flirty, and dropped it.

Chapter Thirteen

2009

Harpur listened to Iles and Andrew Rockmain talk and decided he'd better get into the siege shop alone and at once. He was unarmed but thought surprise would help him neutralize the gunman before he could start firing. Harpur wished he knew the shop interior better: location of doors, stairs and corridors, size of rooms. They'd sent for plans of the building inside and out from city council records, but he would have liked actual familiarity. He'd always found it hard to remember maps and drawings. His elder daughter, Hazel, once described his brain as ‘rubbish with visuals, brilliant with verbals,' where ‘verbals' meant a suspect's words invented or rearranged by police to prove guilt. Hazel doubted police ethics, not especially Harpur's but Harpur's included. Iles had hinted Harpur should know the shop layout because he bought his suits there. But that was only a joke, just a traditional, insulting Iles jibe at Harpur's clothes.

Rockmain had analysed the gunman's conversation and come up with an elaborate professional estimate of his mind-state. He reckoned that ‘John' would crack very soon. Therefore, he recommended continuation of the siege, with more telephone talk, and no intervention – no assault. Harpur interpreted the conversation differently, but could see Iles agreed with Rockmain. This might be one of those occasions when the ACC would accept advice, although in general he loathed Rockmain, found him farcical. The point was that Iles
wanted
above all to be told he should hold back and avoid violence. He hated risking his people. A while ago he sent an undercover detective into a gang, and the officer was rumbled and murdered.
^*
Iles never properly recovered from the mess-up. He would always and obsessively seek the safest method of tackling a crisis. This hesitance and crippling motherliness might be another feature that helped keep him eternally from top command.

He'd argue with Rockmain now because Rockmain was the pathetic Rockmain and Iles the Golden Iles, but Harpur could tell he'd been persuaded – and three-quarters persuaded before Rockmain gave his lecturettes. Harpur had guessed Iles wouldn't want to send in an attack, but suspected the ACC might try something individual. Once Rockmain offered his views, though, even this seemed to Harpur unlikely. And Harpur decided he ought to do something individual himself.

For the last twelve minutes there had been no talk with John. He'd put the receiver down and left it down. In the command caravan with Rockmain, Iles and Harpur, the negotiator sat ready to resume. It was very unusual, against most precedent, for the negotiator to be under the same roof as the operational officers, but Rockmain wanted it like that. He said: ‘Well, let's see what we've got, shall we, Desmond?' Rockmain had commander rank in the Metropolitan Police, equivalent to a provincial assistant chief constable. This entitled him, or so he thought, to first-name Iles. Harpur saw a little shiver of resentment, revulsion, go through Iles, but he didn't head-butt Rockmain or spit, not to date.

‘What I'd like you to notice is the way John repeatedly takes up the exact words of the negotiator,' Rockmain said. He looked at his notes. ‘The negotiator tells him he'd like to make things easier and more natural. John's answer? “Things are
not
fucking natural, are they? What's natural about this? I'm stuck in a charity shop. You're out there with a carbine contingent.” The negotiator replies: “They are only a precaution, believe me.” John says: “Yes, I believe you. They're only a precaution in case you want to shoot my head off.” The negotiator mentions that he aims to “establish a kind of closeness”. John states: “I don't want closeness. I want you to fuck off.”

^*
See
Halo Parade

‘Later from the negotiator comes: “We're concerned about the people with you,” and all credit to him for avoiding the term “hostages”. John ripostes: “I
want
you to be concerned. It's very wise of you to be concerned. I want you to be so concerned you don't come blasting.” And then, elsewhere the negotiator says, “I wondered if you could put Mrs So-and-so on the line.” John: “You wondered, did you, Olly?” Or, negotiator: “Your sense of humour is remarkable, in the circumstances.” John: “Yes, in the circumstances.” Negotiator: “You have in mind the event in Sandicott Terrace, do you, John?” John: “Yes, the event, I have it in mind.” Negotiator: “As a matter of fact, I wondered if you'd let some of these people go now, John.” “As a matter of fact you did, did you, Olly?”