Mo Hayder - Poppet

‘I’m listening,’ Caffery says pointedly. ‘Waiting.’

Keay takes a long, tired breath. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

‘You’re going to tell me how all the hallmarks of what happened in Rotherham came to be circulating Beechway unit. Ultimately resulting in two deaths and—’

‘ Two? ’

‘Yes. One in 2009—’

‘Pauline Scott.’

Caffery hesitates. ‘Pauline Scott. Yes. You were at Beechway when it happened.’

‘Yes, but what’s the second death?’

‘Zelda Lornton. She died almost a fortnight ago. At the moment it’s an open verdict from the coroner.’

‘ Zelda? ’

‘Yes. You knew her, obviously.’

There’s a long silence. Jonathan scans Caffery’s face as if he’s looking for the answer to something very painful. Then he gives a long shaky sigh and swivels the chair away. Folds his arms across his chest. At first Caffery thinks he’s going to start tapping away at the computer; it takes him a while to realize Jonathan is crying. Silently, helplessly, his shoulders jerking and heaving convulsively.

IT’S BEEN AN hour and a half and AJ cannot, cannot, keep still. He stands in the security pod shaking, but so far only two people have noticed. One is the Big Lurch, who has put a hand on AJ’s back – left it there just long enough to say: I know, mate. I know what’s happening to you. And though I’m not going to acknowledge it publicly, please believe I’m with you on it . The other is the support-group sergeant, a woman with wiry blonde hair and very blue eyes. Although she is dressed for business in a bulletproof vest that bristles with equipment and radios, she’s sensitive enough to have noticed. He’s felt her eyes on him. She knows.

On screen, men in black uniforms and riot vests are trying doors, checking cameras, doing risk assessments and scrutinizing the blueprints of the building and its fire-response system. When they stand still, they do so with their legs slightly apart as if to suggest their limbs are so muscled it’s impossible to close them properly. Their shoulders and noses and arms are so wide and strong that AJ feels completely inadequate.

The other screen shows the grey canvas tape. Nothing has changed. The volume of the speakers has been turned up in the team’s attempts to catch every nuance of what is happening in the seclusion room. But it’s just silence bearing down on them – a complete and utter lack of noise.

The egg timer flicks itself over again. And again. Maybe it helps Linda concentrate. All it reminds AJ of is the sort of thing Mum would instinctively shield her eyes from – knowing it would trigger an epileptic episode. Each time it tips over, another minute has passed in which Isaac Handel has had carte blanche to do whatever he wants to Melanie. And there will be lots of things – AJ is sure of that. He recalls the way Handel used to watch Melanie going through the corridors. His eyes narrowing to slits in his face. He’ll be playing out all those things he’s thought about doing.

AJ hopes and prays his imagination is better and crueller than Handel’s.

DI Caffery is out of signal range. AJ would feel so much better if Caffery was here. I am so so sorry, I’m so sorry , he mouths to the screen with the tape on it. Melanie, I am so sorry …

Suddenly Handel removes the tape he has used to muffle the microphone. The sound is deafening, startling everyone. The security supervisor comes in and hastily leans across Linda to flick the volume down. The team hold their breath. Next to AJ, the senior negotiator lowers his face, touches his finger to his forehead. Linda puts her hand over her mic – as if she doesn’t want a single whisper or movement feeding itself to the hostage and the hostage taker. AJ leans silently against the wall, hoping the people behind him haven’t noticed that his legs are shaking again.

Then the tape is removed from the screen. There’s a blinding glare of light as the camera adjusts to the sudden brightness. Then the image of the room flashes up.

Melanie is sitting on the floor, her back to the wall, her head bent. AJ leans forward and scans her frantically, taking in the details. She is dressed. She is wearing the clothes she was wearing when she came in. Nothing is ripped or torn. Although her shoulders are drooping, she is alive. Breathing. From this angle he can’t tell if she is injured.

Handel stands in the corner of the room, his head made larger by the foreshortening effect of the lens, the holdall on the ground in front of him. He is stepping from foot to foot, convulsively wiping his hands, his eyes roving restlessly from Melanie to the door to the camera. His jeans are too big for him, they hang around his skinny frame – but they are, at least, AJ notes, zipped up. And there’s no sign of blood on his clothing.

In the doorway the senior negotiator leans into the staffroom and conveys all this to the commander in a whispered voice. AJ hears snatches of what they’re saying: Give it time – see what develops – implement delivery plan . He tries to control his breathing – keeping it silent. It takes a monumental effort of will not to make a sound.

Melanie lifts her head and looks at the camera. Her face is unharmed, there are no bruises, no blood. But her eyes are like black holes.

‘Can you hear me?’ she says.

Linda switches on the mic, draws close to it. ‘I can hear you. My name’s Linda.’

Melanie nods. ‘I know. We’ve been listening to everything you said.’

‘So,’ Linda says. ‘Am I talking to you or to Isaac?’

‘You’re talking to me,’ says Melanie. ‘Are you police, Linda?’

‘Actually, you know what – technically, I am. But that’s not my role at the moment. I’m not here as a police officer, I’m here to help you and Isaac. I know at this point we may be a long way off you coming out, but my job is just to talk to you and discuss how that will happen. So Isaac, if you were thinking about coming out, I’m the one who can discuss it with you.’

‘That’s OK,’ Melanie says. ‘It’s all going to be straightforward.’

In the corner, Isaac nods fervently. He is getting more and more agitated, rubbing his hands together faster and faster.

Linda shoots a look at AJ. It was the word he used earlier. Isaac’s not always as straightforward as he seems .

‘Straightforward?’ she repeats into the mic.

‘That’s right.’

‘OK, Melanie,’ Linda says slowly. ‘Tell me a little more. We’re all working towards you and Isaac coming out of there happy so we can put this behind us.’

‘Yes.’ Melanie nods slowly. ‘And all you have to do is listen.’

‘That’s what I’m doing.’

‘And who is there? Who else is listening?’

‘Do you want to make this more private? I can ask them all to go, if you want.’

‘No. I just want to know who’s there.’

‘OK, there’s me and I’ve got a colleague here from London. There’s two members of your security team. There’s …’ She looks at the commander, who stands next to the door, arms folded. He gives his head a quick shake. ‘And then,’ Linda continues, passing over the commander and his tactical advisor with barely a hesitation, ‘there’s your ward coordinator.’

‘AJ?’

‘Yes. AJ.’

‘Hi, AJ.’ Melanie raises a hand to the camera, does a solemn little wave. ‘Hi.’

AJ looks at the senior negotiator. Opens his hands to say, What do I do? Do I answer? The guy nods and AJ crosses the room, bends to speak into the mic. He can smell Linda’s perfume he’s so close – she’ll probably be able to hear his heart thumping.

‘Hi, Melanie. I’m here.’ He pauses, his eyes on the screen. Then, instinctively, he says. ‘Hi, Isaac.’