Simon Beckett - Owning Jacob - SA

His mouth was dry. He went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Even that had to be forced down. He poured half of it away, and as he put the tumbler in the sink his hand caught the edge of the draining rack. The glass slipped from his fingers and smashed.

He mechanically bent down and began picking the pieces up. The smaller fragments were scattered across the kitchen floor. They reminded him of something. It hovered at the brink of recognition. He stared down at them, unaware that he’d stopped moving as it came to him.

The shattered windscreen in the road. The damaged police car. The bumper from Kale’s battered Escort. Where would Kale go?

“Oh, Jesus.”

He ran to the phone, dialled Norris’s number. A policewoman answered. Ben’s voice shook as he asked to speak to the inspector. His urgency must have convinced her. She told him to hold.

Norris came on, sounding tired.

“They’re at the scrapyard,” Ben said.

The drive to Tunford, the second in twenty-four hours, was both the fastest and the longest. The roads were empty and he kept his foot flat on the accelerator once he reached the motorway. The car rattled. He could feel the vibrations through the steering wheel as he appealed to a God he didn’t believe in, offering deals, making promises.

Let him he all right. I’ll believe.

Take me instead.

It fell into the empty air.

He hadn’t told Norris he was going. He hadn’t planned it himself. The inspector had promised to check out the scrapyard, but it had been impossible simply to sit and wait.

He was certain that Kale had taken Jacob there. With Kale’s own scrap collection out of bounds, there was nowhere else for him to go.

It was inevitable.

He resented having to slow down once he came off the motorway. The roads were unlit, and once he instinctively stabbed at the brake as something darted from a hedge in front of him. The flowing tail of a fox disappeared through a fence on the other side. He crashed the gears and accelerated again.

A police cordon blocked the road. Beyond it he could see the scrapyard’s walls, illuminated by a forest of flashing lights.

Oh God. He wound down the window as a policeman came towards him.

“What’s happening?”

“Sorry, sir, the road’s blocked. You’ll have to turn—”

“Have you caught Kale?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to—”

“Tell Inspector Norris that Ben Murray needs to see him! Please, it’s urgent!”

The policeman grudgingly went back to his car. He crouched down and picked up the radio handset An age past before he straightened.

He waved Ben through.

Police cars and vans lined the road outside the scrapyard, canted at crazy angles. Two waiting ambulances stood amongst them. The flashing lights gave the scene a fairground appearance.

He pulled in as soon as there was room and left the car without locking it.

Uniformed police surrounded the yard’s walls from behind the cover of their vehicles.

Most of them carried guns. One of them saw him and hurried over. Ben preempted any questions by asking for Norris. The policeman regarded him suspiciously and told him to wait.

Ben looked towards the yard’s tall gates. They were closed, but parked in front of them was Kale’s Ford Escort.

He felt sick.

The policeman came back and led him through the confusion to what could have been the same white trailer that had been outside the Kales’ that morning. It seemed much longer ago than that. Norris stood by its steps, talking to a tall man in a bulletproof vest. Their breath steamed in the cold air. He broke off when he saw Ben.

“Mr Murray, I don’t think—”

“Are they in there? Is Jacob all right?”

Norris drew a breath as if he was going to argue, then let it out as a sigh, “Kale’s car’s here, so we’re assuming he is. We don’t know any more than that. The owner’s on his way with the key to the main gates.”

“Can’t you go over the wall?”

The tall man broke in. “It’s topped with broken glass and barbed wire. I’m not sending anyone over that when there might be someone waiting with a shotgun on the other side.”

His scalp showed through his cropped blond hair. He didn’t attempt to hide his antagonism at a civilian presence.

“This is Sergeant O’Donnell,” Norris said. “He’s in charge of the Tactical Firearms Unit. Now if you don’t mind, we’ve got a lot to do, so—”

“If Kale’s in there you might need me,” Ben said, quickly. “I know him.”

“I don’t think—”

“Please. I won’t get in the way.”

Norris considered. “I’ll tell the superintendent you’re here. He might want the negotiator to talk to you.” He went up the steps into the trailer.

The policeman called O’Donnell detached himself and walked away without another word. After a moment the trailer door opened and Norris beckoned Ben in.

The light inside was bright, the atmosphere foul with coffee and cigarettes. The small space seemed full of activity.

A heavily-built man with a moustache and bloodshot eyes was perched with one meaty thigh on the corner of a desk. A small cigar burned down between his thick, nicotined fingers.

The man next to him had sandy hair swept sideways to cover his bald scalp like a groundsheet at Wimbledon. Neither wore uniforms. Both looked tired and crumpled.

Norris said, “Mr Murray, this is Detective Superintendent Bates and Detective Inspector Greene. Inspector Greene is our negotiator. He’ll be handling communications with Kale. Assuming he’s in there,” he added, dryly.

“He is,” Ben said.

The superintendent was the heavily built man. “Let’s hope you’re right,” he said, with the air of a man who didn’t like being roused in the early hours. “Ken, see where the bloody owner’s got to, will you? He should be here by now.”

Norris quickly left. The man he’d introduced as the negotiator turned to Ben. “What can you tell us about Kale?”

Ben tried to assemble his thoughts. “Uh, he’s... he’s unstable. Unbalanced. Violent, very fit, except for his leg. He got shot when he was in the army. In Northern Ireland.”

An irritable sigh from the superintendent stopped him. “We’re not interested in his CV. We want to know what his state of mind’s like, so we know what we’re dealing with.” He ground out his cigar with an expression of barely concealed impatience.

Ben tried again. “He’s obsessed with his son. Nothing else matters to him. I think...” The words had to be forced. “I think he’d kill both of them rather than let anyone take him away again.”

The negotiator nodded, calmly. “What’s your relationship with him like? Do you think he might listen to you?”

Ben felt them all looking at him. “I’m the reason he’s in there.”

He told them, as clearly as he could, his role in Kale’s madness.

“So he’s not going to chuck his gun out of the window at your say-so, then, is he?” the superintendent commented when he’d finished.

Greene looked annoyed but made no comment. The trailer door opened and Norris put his head inside.

“’Scuse me, sir. The owner’s arrived.”

The superintendent heaved himself to his feet and went out. The negotiator gave Ben the first friendly smile he’d had all night. “It’ll be all right if you wait in here. We’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“What happens now?” Ben asked, struck with a fresh fear at the prospect of action.

“When we’ve got the gates open we’ll see what the situation is inside. If Kale and his son are in there, we’ll establish a line of communication. Get him talking, find out what he wants, reassure him.”