Stephen Leather - Cold Kill

‘And you disarmed him?’ She handed back the warrant card and Shepherd slid it into his wallet.

‘That sounds more dramatic than it was,’ he said. ‘We grappled and I took it off him. I don’t know which of us was more scared. Look, this is absolutely my fault, Mrs Hale-Barton. I shouldn’t have had the knife in the house. I should have handed it in straight away but it slipped my mind. I’ve a lot on my plate at the moment, not that that’s any excuse. I promise Liam will never do anything like this again – he’s a good boy generally, isn’t he? He’s never been in trouble before?’

‘He works hard and behaves well,’ said the headteacher. ‘Especially when you consider what he’s been through, losing his mother.’

‘He’s a great kid,’ said Shepherd, and gestured at the knife. ‘He just made a mistake with that. And it’s not one he’ll repeat.’

The headteacher picked up the knife and grimaced. ‘What a horrible thing,’ she said. She pressed the button and flinched as the blade sprang out. ‘And the mugger was trying to stab you with this?’ she asked.

Shepherd nodded. ‘He was just a teenager. Only a few years older than Liam.’

The headteacher shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to,’ she said. ‘Violence within our school is very rare, but I wonder how well we’re preparing our pupils for life in the real world. You must see it all the time, doing what you do.’

Shepherd smiled. ‘I’m not really in the firing line,’ he lied, ‘but you’re right. Gun crime is at an all-time high. We have drive-by shootings and stabbings and all the other things we used to associate with American cities. These days there’s more violent crime in London than there is in New York.’

The headteacher pressed the blade with the palm of her hand, trying to get it back into place.

‘Let me,’ said Shepherd. He took the knife from her, depressed the chrome button and clicked the blade back into its safe position.

‘The council has a facility for disposing of knives, so perhaps I should take care of it,’ said the headteacher. She held out her hand and Shepherd gave it back to her. She put it back in the drawer. ‘As I said, we have a policy,’ she said. ‘Zero tolerance.’

‘I understand. But I don’t see that excluding Liam is going to change anything. He made a mistake. He wasn’t carrying a knife out of badness, just curiosity. And I really do blame myself for having it in the house in the first place.’

‘Can I ask you something?’ she said. ‘Do you keep a gun at home?’

‘Generally it’s the armed-response teams of SO19 who carry weapons,’ said Shepherd, ‘and they’re locked away at the station when the men are off duty.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie, he thought. He’d just evaded the question. He did keep a gun in the house, but not anywhere that Liam would find it. Sue had always been insistent that he stored any gun under lock and key and that Liam was never to be aware of it.

‘Do you think we’ll ever get to the stage where our policemen carry guns as a matter of course?’

‘Probably,’ said Shepherd. ‘There are just too many guns in the hands of drug-dealers and the like, these days. You can’t expect unarmed policemen to give chase down a dark alley blowing their whistles as they did in the days of Dixon of Dock Green. The world has changed, and the police have to change with it. It’s like patrol cars – the villains drive faster vehicles so we have to upgrade our transport. There’s no point in ours having a top speed of a hundred if the villains are roaring along at a hundred and twenty.’

‘I suppose not,’ said the headteacher. She sighed. ‘Anyway, that’s beside the point, isn’t it? We have to decide what to do with young Liam.’

‘He’s very settled here,’ said Shepherd. ‘I really, really don’t want to have to move him. So much of his life has changed recently that he needs the stability school offers him. My wife was killed and then he stayed with his grandparents for a while. Now at least we’re a family again.’

‘I do understand, Mr Shepherd.’ She chewed her lip, then nodded slowly. ‘You’re right, of course. Excluding him will do more harm than good. I’ll speak to him and make it clear that he’s had a lucky escape. But you must talk to him too, Mr Shepherd, and there has to be some sort of punishment.’

‘His PlayStation and the television set in his room will go. And he’ll do housework until it comes out of his ears.’

The headteacher smiled. ‘That should be enough,’ she said. She stood up and offered her hand. Shepherd shook it over the desk. ‘We haven’t seen you at any of the PTA meetings, have we?’ she said.

‘I’ve been busy,’ said Shepherd, ‘but I’ll make time in future, I promise.’

‘Excellent,’ said the headteacher. ‘And perhaps one day you could come in and give a talk to our pupils – a career in the modern police force, something like that.’

‘Sure,’ agreed Shepherd, although he doubted that the headteacher would appreciate him giving her pupils a rundown on life as an undercover officer. He’d been shot at more times than he cared to remember, and he’d lied, cheated and conned his way into the lives of numerous villains so that he could put them behind bars. Shepherd loved the job and relished its challenges, but it wasn’t the sort of profession that a seventeen-year-old should be nudged towards. And the way the police were going, he wouldn’t recommend any youngster to sign up straight from school. Police pay wasn’t great, while political correctness and mounting paperwork meant that the job was as much about protecting your back as it was about putting villains away. The only way to make a decent career was to go in as a graduate on the fast-track promotion scheme, but then it was more about climbing the greasy pole than it was about fighting crime. Shepherd had always been happier at the sharp end. As a soldier he had wanted to be where the bullets were flying. As a police officer, he wanted to be head-to-head with the bad guys. But explaining that to a group of impressionable schoolchildren probably wasn’t what the lovely Mrs Hale-Barton had in mind.

‘Liam’s still in class,’ she said. ‘School finishes in ten minutes. I can have him brought here or you can wait for him at the gates.’

‘No problem, I’ll wait outside,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m really grateful for you giving Liam another chance.’

He waited at the school gates until he heard the bell ring. Thirty seconds later the doors banged open and pupils flooded out, laughing and shouting. On the road a line of four-wheel-drives stretched into the distance as far as he could see, engines running. Shepherd stood with his hands in his pockets, wondering what he should say to Liam. Discipline was the part of parenting he hated most, but kids needed boundaries: they needed to be told what their limits were and kept to them. They had to be taught the difference between right and wrong, and when they did wrong they had to be punished. Shepherd hated punishing his son. He’d never laid a finger on him. Never had and never would. He’d always left the disciplining to Sue when she was alive. Good cop, bad cop. She’d administer the punishments, and Shepherd would flash his son a sympathetic smile when she wasn’t looking. It was only after she had gone that Shepherd had understood how much she must have hated the bad-cop role.

Shepherd saw Liam among a group of youngsters, all with their ties at half-mast and their shirt collars open. A grin broke across Liam’s face, which vanished when he realised why his father was there. He slowed and stared at the ground, avoiding Shepherd’s baleful stare.

He muttered something as he got close.