‘Is he armed?’
‘Unknown.’
I hear a woman scream and turn back, trying to identify the source of the sound. It came from the lower floor of a nearby house, a Georgian terrace with three floors. I relay the information to the control room.
‘Hold your position,’ says Horgan. ‘We’re five minutes away.’
The woman screams again and I hear a child crying. Five minutes is too long. It’s time enough to bleed out or to suffocate or to be raped.
I approach the house. A child’s scooter has toppled over and prevented the main door from shutting properly. A woman’s handbag is lying nearby, the contents scattered across the entrance hall. He must have attacked her as she was opening the door.
Unholstering my Taser, I move inside, glancing up the staircase. There are three flats on the ground floor. One of them has a splintered lock. I can hear voices. A woman pleading. A child crying.
‘Three minutes away,’ says the dispatcher.
Holding the Taser in both hands, I nudge the door with my foot. I’m looking along a narrow hallway to a kitchen. Fisher’s eyes meet mine. He grabs the woman, wrapping his left arm around her neck and holding her body against his chest, using her as a human shield. A small boy of three or four is clinging to her leg.
‘Police,’ I yell, holding the Taser in front of me. ‘Let her go.’
‘Back off, bitch!’ spits Fisher. He has a knife in his right hand, the blade pressed against her side. He drags her backwards, until he’s standing against the sink.
‘Nobody has to get hurt,’ I say, edging closer. ‘Put down the knife.’
‘I’ll stick her. I swear.’
Pointing the Taser at the ceiling, I tell him to calm down. ‘I’ll put this away,’ I say, lowering it towards my holster.
‘No. You drop it.’
‘I can’t do that.’
He tightens his chokehold. ‘You drop it, or I stick her.’
I activate my radio, recording the conversation. The back-up teams will know I’m inside … and that he’s armed.
Fisher has his back pressed against the bench and is keeping the pine table between us. His forehead is glistening with sweat and there are perspiration rings beneath his arms.
‘It’s Aldous, right?’
Surprise in his eyes. He didn’t expect me to know his name.
‘Can I sit down?’ I ask. ‘I’m knackered. You should try running in all this kit.’
The woman is in her early thirties, dressed in smart casual wear, as though she works in an office. She has quietened down, but her little boy is still clinging to her leg.
‘I can’t breathe,’ she croaks.
Fisher loosens his hold, giving her more air.
‘What’s your name?’ I ask.
‘Lucinda.’
‘And your little boy?’
‘Oliver.’
‘Can you send Oliver over to me?’ I ask.
My shoulder radio crackles with static.
‘Turn it off,’ says Fisher.
I turn down the volume, but it’s still recording our conversation.
‘Hey, Oliver, how about you come over to me,’ I say, leaning forward and holding out my arms.
His wet brown eyes look impossibly large as he shakes his head. He’s dressed in a Thomas the Tank Engine T-shirt and oversized shorts. His red trainers have little lights that blink when he walks.
‘My name is Phil,’ I say. ‘Can I see your trainers? They’re very cool.’
Oliver shakes his head, unwilling to let go of his mother.
‘The police will be outside by now. You can’t get away,’ I say.
Fisher’s eyes jitter back and forth.
‘If you put down the knife and let her go, I’ll put that in my report. I’ll say you cooperated.’
He motions to my Taser. ‘Give it to me.’
‘I can’t do that.’
He tightens the grip on Lucinda’s neck. She gives a squeal of alarm.
‘OK. I’m putting it down.’
I lay the Taser on the slate grey floor and slide it towards him, but only halfway. If he bends to pick it up, he’ll have to let Lucinda go, or lower the knife. I might get an opening.
‘Let’s make a trade,’ I say. ‘Release Lucinda and take me instead.’
He doesn’t move.
‘I’ll take off my vest and my belt. You can use me as a hostage.’
Fisher is too agitated to think clearly. He glances at the door behind me and the window at his back, desperately looking for a way out.
‘Or you could leave,’ I say. ‘Through the garden. You could jump the fence.’
Horgan will be covering both entrances. Fisher won’t get more than fifty yards before they bring him down.
‘But you have to go now,’ I say. ‘Time is running out.’
Suddenly, he releases Lucinda and shoves her across the kitchen. She stumbles over Oliver and I catch her before she falls on him. In that moment, Fisher crouches and picks up the Taser, which he points at my chest. Lucinda and Oliver scramble past me.
‘Unlock it,’ he says, motioning towards the patio door, which leads to the garden. I do as he asks. He waves the Taser and tells me to back away. I take a step.
‘Further.’
If I could get closer, I could kick out his legs, or knock the Taser from his hand. But a moment later, he’s gone, racing across the garden, leaping at the back fence and scrambling over the top.
I yell into the radio. ‘He’s running. The road behind eighty-seven.’
Lucinda and Oliver are outside on the pavement being comforted by neighbours. I expect to find police cars, but the road is empty.
I radio, ‘This is Delta Four. Where is my back-up?’
‘They’re at the address.’
‘No.’
Confusion. Corrections. Accusations. A few minutes later, the van appears and skids to a halt. Horgan has a face like thunder.
‘Where is he?’
‘He went over the back fence. I thought you had it covered.’
‘You gave us the wrong address. You said Cleaver Street.’
‘No, sir. I said Cleaver Square.’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’
‘No. I just … I don’t … I’m sure …’
Horgan turns his back on me, barking orders, organising a search of the surrounding streets. Officers take off on foot, while the minivan circles the block, but Fisher will be gone by now.
Could I have made a mistake? It was dark. I was running.
Horgan comes back to me and demands to know what happened. I give him the bullet points.
‘You handed over your weapon?’
‘He was holding her at knifepoint.’
‘You allowed him to get away.’
‘I negotiated the release of a hostage.’
He doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’ve fucked up. I want to argue that he failed to cover the balcony at Cornish House, but it’s not my place to question a senior officer. A gust of wind cuts through my sweat-soaked clothes, making me shiver.
‘Go back to the station, Constable. Write up your report.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I move towards the building.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I wanted to check on the mother and her son.’