Michael Robotham - Shatter

I motion to her. She circles the desk on tiptoes, as if frightened of bruising her heels. I cover the mouthpiece and silently mouth the words I want her to say.

Then I raise my hand to Oliver, giving him a countdown by closing my fingers one at a time. Five… four… three…

Chloe takes the handset and whispers, ‘Hello, Daddy, it’s me.’

…two… one…

I drop my arm. Through the window Oliver presses a button or flips a switch and a dozen mobile phone towers are silenced.

I can picture Gideon staring at his handset, wondering what happened to the signal. His daughter was right there but her words were snatched away. Fifteen police units are within a hundred and fifty yards of his last known location, near the Prince Street Bridge. Veronica Cray has gone to join them.

Chloe doesn’t understand what’s happened.

‘You did really well,’ I say, taking the mobile from her.

‘Where’s he gone?’

‘He’s going to call back. We want him to use another telephone.’

I glance through the window at Oliver and Lieutenant Greene. Both seem to be holding a collective breath. It has been two minutes. We can’t keep the phone towers blacked out for any longer than ten. How long will it take Gideon to find a landline?

Come on.

Make the call.

One of the few lessons I remember from physics class at school is that nothing travels faster than the speed of light. And if a person could move at light speed for long distances, time would slow down for them and even stand still.

I have my own theories on time. Fear expands it. Panic collapses it to nothing. Right now my heartbeat is racing and my mind is alert, yet everything else in the incident room has the stillness of a hot Sunday afternoon and a fat dog sleeping in the shade. Even the second hand on the clock seem to hesitate between ticks, unsure whether to go forward or stop completely.

In front of me, the desk is clear except for two landlines attached to the station switchboard. Oliver Rabb and Lieutenant Greene are sitting in the comms room next door. Helen and Chloe are waiting in Veronica Cray’s office.

Picking at a patch of flaking paint on the chair, I stare at the phones, willing them to ring. Perhaps if I stare hard enough I can picture him calling. Through the earpiece, I hear Oliver count down another minute. Eight have gone. My chest rises and falls. Relax. He’ll call. He just has to find a landline.

It takes me a moment to realise the phone is ringing. I glance at Oliver Rabb. He wants me to let it ring four times.

I pick up.

‘Hello.’

‘Where the fuck is Chloe?’

‘Why did you hang up on her?’

Gideon explodes: ‘I didn’t hang up. The line went dead. If this is some fucking stunt…’

‘Chloe said you hung up on her.’

‘There’s no signal, arsehole. Look at your mobile.’

‘Hey, yeah.’

‘Put Chloe on the phone.’

‘I’ll send someone to get her.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Next door.’

‘Get her.’

‘I’ll put the call through to her.’

‘I know what you’re doing. Get her on the line now!’

I glance at Oliver and William Greene. They’re still trying to trace the call. It’s taking too long. My left side is trembling. If I keep my leg on the ground, I can stop it shaking.

Ruiz ushers Chloe into the room. I cover the phone.

‘You OK?’

She nods.

‘I’m going to be listening. If you get frightened, I want you to cover the phone and tell me.’

She nods and picks up the second phone.

‘Hello, Daddy, it’s me.’

‘Hi, how are you?’

‘Good.’

‘I’m sorry we got cut off, baby. I can’t talk long.’

‘I lost a tooth.’

‘Did you?’

‘The tooth fairy gave me two bits of money. I left the tooth fairy a note. Mummy helped me write it.’

Chloe is a natural at this. Without even trying, she’s holding his attention completely, keeping him on the line.

‘Is your mum there?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Is she listening?’

‘No.’

Beyond the glass, Oliver turns and raises both thumbs. They’ve traced the call. Chloe has run out of things to say. Gideon is asking her questions. Sometimes she nods rather than answers.

‘Are you in trouble?’ she asks him.

‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘Did you do something wrong?’

In the background I hear the wail of approaching sirens. Gideon has heard them too. I take the handset from Chloe.

‘It’s over,’ I say. ‘Where are Charlie and Julianne?’

Gideon screams down the phone. ‘You cocksucker! You scumbag! I’m going to rip you a new arsehole! You’re dead! No, your wife’s dead! You’re never going to see her alive.’

There are more sirens, along with screeching brakes and car doors opening. Glass breaks and a gunshot echoes through the handset. Please, God, don’t shoot him.

There are cheers from the incident room. Fists punch the air. ‘We’ve got the bastard,’ someone declares.

Chloe looks at me, bewildered, terrified. I’m still pressing the phone to my ear, listening to the sound of at least twenty weapons being cocked. Someone is yelling at Gideon to lie on the ground, to put his hands on his head. More voices. Heavy boots.

‘Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?’

Nobody is listening.

‘Can someone hear me? Pick up!’ I scream down the line. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’

Suddenly, there’s a voice on the end of the line. It’s Veronica Cray.

‘We got him.’

‘What about Charlie and Julianne?’

‘They’re not with him.’

Gideon Tyler looks different. Fitter. Leaner. He is no longer a stuttering confabulator and constructor of deceits. There are no invisible mousetraps on the floor. It’s almost as though he can physically transform himself by taking on a new persona, his real one.

Some things are the same. His thin blond hair hangs limply over his ears and his pale grey eyes blink at the world from behind a pair of small rectangular glasses with metal frames. His hands are cuffed and placed palm-down on the surface of the table. The only signs of stress are the circles of perspiration beneath the arms of his shirt.

Strip-searched and examined by a doctor, his belt and shoelaces have been confiscated along with his watch and personal effects. Since then he’s been alone in the interview suite, staring at his hands as if willing the metal cuffs to break and the door to open and the guards to dissolve.

I am watching him through an observation window- a one-way mirror into the interview room. Although he can’t see me, I sense that he knows I’m here. Occasionally, he looks up and stares into the mirrornot examining his own features as much as looking beyond it, imagining my face.

Veronica Cray is meeting upstairs with a brace of military lawyers and the Chief Constable. The army is demanding the right to interrogate Gideon, claiming it has national security concerns. DI Cray isn’t likely to cede ground. I don’t care who asks the questions. Someone should be in there now, demanding answers, finding my wife and daughter.

A door opens behind me. Ruiz steps from the darkness of the corridor into the darkness of the observation room. There are no lights. Any luminosity could leak through the mirror and reveal the hidden room.

‘So that’s him.’

‘That’s him. Can’t we do something?’

‘Like what?’

‘Make him talk. I mean, if this were the movies you’d go in there and beat the crap out of him.’

‘Perhaps in the old days,’ says Ruiz, sounding genuinely nostalgic.

‘They still arguing?’

Ruiz nods.

‘The military are sending a chopper. They want to take him to an army base. They’re scared he might tell us something. Like the truth.’