Mo Hayder - Poppet

The team aren’t the first on the scene: the place is crawling with vans and marked cars, lights flashing. Inside, it’s a fair approximation of pandemonium. She takes her men down to the containment area on the ward called Myrtle and, with her right-hand man, Wellard, assesses the door. It’s going to take under ten seconds to get through it with the ram, but they have to wait for the nod. She agrees their radio protocol then leaves Wellard in charge and makes her way back down the glass corridor to the security centre.

The main players have congregated in the room that leads to the security pod. It’s a sort of recreation area for the security staff, with a fridge, a TV and a coffee-making machine. The boss of the show – the so called ‘silver’ commander – is a tall, gentle-faced guy Flea has worked with before. With him is his tactical advisor and the bronze commander. Hovering in the glass-walled pod itself are the hospital security supervisor, one of his staff, and the most senior member of the nursing staff, a guy in a suit who is introduced as AJ LeGrande.

LeGrande is good-looking and he’s very nice – Flea sees that right away. He’s sweet-natured and kind, and totally out of his depth. He is walking around the room, swinging his arms, clapping his hands together, shooting glances at the monitor in the pod. The screen is a steady, unchanging grey-hatched pattern. The hostage taker – Isaac Handel – has covered the lens with duct tape. It’s been three quarters of an hour and no one has any idea what is going on in there.

‘Do you think you should be sitting down?’ Flea murmurs under her breath when AJ is close enough. ‘You don’t look too good – no disrespect.’

He glances at her. His eyes are very dark brown.

‘No,’ he says. ‘But thanks all the same.’

There’s more to this than meets the eye. There’s something personal in this for him – maybe something to do with the female hostage who is locked in the containment room. Flea can’t help herself, she turns her eyes to the monitor with the blank, hatched image. AJ sees her reaction instantly.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘Horrible, isn’t it? I’d rather see anything than that.’

‘Anything?’

‘God, yes. I know when that comes off it’s going to be like opening Pandora’s box, but it has to happen eventually.’

Two trained negotiators arrive. One is the national negotiator – the senior of the two – and the other is a local Negotiator Support Officer, introduced to Flea as Linda. She has been appointed to conduct the negotiations and she shakes everyone’s hands efficiently as if to say, OK, relax, I’m in control now . She’s a small woman in her thirties with shiny chestnut hair. She wears jeans and a long striped cardigan with sleeves she keeps pulled down over her wrists as if she is cold.

All six of them stand in a huddle, discussing strategies. When it comes to Flea’s turn she explains how long it will take to effect a forced entry into the seclusion room. ‘But,’ she says, eyeing Linda, ‘I’m assuming that’s our last-hope scenario.’

‘Of course. And look, Sergeant, whatever steps are being taken to put containment on that room, can you not tell me? If the commander decides that’s where it has to go, just do it – don’t inform me first. If I know the team’s about to storm the place it’ll come out in my voice. That sort of thing can completely smash rapport – I’m better off not knowing.’

‘Hear that?’ the commander tells the assembled team. ‘All tactical conversations stay in this room. And keep the volume to a minimum.’

‘I’d like to be able to speak to them too,’ AJ says suddenly. ‘Would that be possible?’

Linda gives the commander a dubious look. ‘A TPI?’ she says. ‘That OK with you?’

‘What’s a TPI?’

‘I’m sorry, sir – that’s like a third party. An intermediary. No reason he can’t speak, if there’s a place for him.’

‘Well?’ the commander asks AJ. ‘Is there a place for you?’

‘Definitely. I’m the senior member of staff here, I know the unit inside out. I’ve been here four years, and known Isaac all that time. I know him well – I really do. He’s not always as straightforward as he seems.’

Linda scrutinizes AJ. ‘Uh, sir,’ she addresses the commander, not taking her eyes off AJ. ‘I won’t argue with this, but he’ll need to be properly briefed and, obviously, I want primacy.’

‘She must take the lead,’ the commander says. ‘If she needs your input, she’ll ask for it – understand?’

‘I understand.’

In the security pod the senior negotiator begins arranging a workstation for Linda, complete with laptop, a microphone and a notepad. Flea stands in the lounge area, her radio at the ready. The moment she gets the nod from Silver she’ll relay it to Wellard down on Myrtle Ward. Linda is talking sternly to LeGrande, reeling off a long list of what he can and cannot say. Everything has to be done with a nod from her or the senior negotiator. Then everyone withdraws into the staffroom, leaving Linda alone in the pod, seated in front of the monitors. AJ stands in the doorway between the two rooms, shoulder to shoulder with the senior negotiator, who holds a notepad – ready to convey information between Linda and the command team.

A signal from her senior and Linda begins to speak. ‘Hi, Isaac. Sorry, don’t want to make you jump in there, but my name’s Linda and I’m a hostage negotiator.’ She smiles. ‘That sounds a bit grand, doesn’t it, but actually my role is just to talk to you – to find out what’s going on, what’s brought you to where you are now.’

On her laptop a spectrogram of her voice fluctuates in one half of the screen. On the other half a stopwatch app clocks up elapsed time. Beneath it neon-blue sand runs through an egg timer.

‘Isaac? Would you like that? Would you like to talk?’

Everyone bends slightly, straining their ears for a reply to come through the speakers. On a screen that has been turned so it can be viewed by the commanders, but not by Linda, Flea’s men can be seen in the corridor, ready. From time to time one of them glances at the camera – sends a reassuring thumbs-up. Meanwhile, the image that Linda has in front of her doesn’t change: it’s the hatched greyish pattern of the tape on the lens inside the room.

The egg timer flicks itself over to show one minute has elapsed. Linda switches the mic on again. ‘I’ll just say that again – sometimes these microphones aren’t very clear. My name is Linda and I’m here today to try to understand what’s happening to you. I am here for you, Isaac. If you’ve got a mobile phone I can give you my number. You can call me on it. Then it’ll be just you and me speaking – no one else needs to hear what’s going on. Just you and me.’ She pauses. ‘I am here for you, Isaac – I am.’

Silence again. Nobody seems agitated. Only AJ. He keeps flicking helpless glances over his shoulder at the senior negotiator, as if to say, Do something. Make something happen .

Linda switches on the microphone and gives her mobile number in a very clear, calm voice. She does this three times, then says, ‘Isaac, you’ve been without a proper place to sleep for days now. You must be tired. Wouldn’t it feel better if you just had a quick chat to me? I want to help you, but I can only do that if I understand what’s going on with you.’

There is still no answer.

It’s been an hour now. Who knows what has happened behind that door.

JONATHAN IS A fragile greyish-white, and dark-brown circles have appeared like bruises under his eyes. He eases himself around to face Caffery, his face creasing with the effort.