Бен Ааронович - Lies Sleeping

There was another exterior-style door at the other end, but when I headed towards it Foxglove wouldn’t follow. She hovered in the doorway with her eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

‘Just a little bit further,’ I said. ‘And we’re away for ever.’

She gave me a lopsided smile, hoisted her art case over her head as if to keep off the rain, and let me take her hand and lead her to the door. Which was also locked, but not for long.

There was an access road on the other side. Lined by high garden walls on the left and the dark square bulks of early 1980s light engineering units on the right. Ahead there was a traffic barrier and a main road. I trotted towards it, pulling Foxglove behind me. She was making little distressed hissing sounds and still holding the art case above her head, but she easily kept up with me.

A wise man once said that when fleeing it was always important to focus on ‘away’ rather than worrying about what was behind you. It’s sage advice, as demonstrated by the way I nearly got myself creamed by a number 45 bus while checking over my shoulder for pursuit.

I stopped to orientate myself and spotted a street sign – Coldharbour Lane. I’d been in bloody Brixton the whole time. Effra was going to be pissed off when she found out, but at least I now knew where I was.

Foxglove had a painful grip on my arm and her face buried in my shoulder, as if she couldn’t bear to look. My warrant card was long gone and I couldn’t be sure that Lesley or Chorley or minions weren’t right behind us. I wanted off the street, but didn’t want to put a random homeowner in danger. Instead we ran left towards the train station.

After less than a hundred metres Foxglove was showing signs of serious distress and I felt her stumble a couple of times, but we’d reached the shopping parade by then and fortunately the Nisa Local was still open. A nervous black girl of about fifteen who was manning the tills gave us a weary look of disgust as we rushed in. Then got all confused when I told her I was a police officer and that I needed to use a phone.

‘You have to ask the manager,’ she said.

‘I know you’re carrying one,’ I said. ‘Hand it over.’

She mumbled something about not being supposed to carry them on the shop floor but handed over her HTC OnePlus 2. I retreated with Foxglove into the corner where we’d be hidden by the shelves and called Guleed. I probably should have called CCC first, but I didn’t want to take the chance that Chorley still had access to a leak.

Foxglove, who seemed much less panicky now she had a roof over her head, was staring with fascination at the dental health section we were hiding behind. She took down a packet of mint floss and sniffed it.

‘Behave,’ I said.

Guleed picked up and I told her where I was, and where Chorley’s lair was, and let her get on with it. She said she’d pick me up personally. Which I took to mean she was worried about leaks, too.

A thin, overworked, middle-aged white woman appeared at the end of the aisle and nervously asked if we were really police. I said that I was, in my brightest reassuring-the-public voice and handed back the phone.

‘This is a witness. I’m afraid there’s been a serious incident, but there’s no need to worry. My colleagues will be here soon.’

‘Can I help?’ she asked

I told her we were fine – only to discover that Foxglove had been squirting hand sanitiser on the floor behind me. The woman smiled madly and backed off – no doubt to dial 999 as soon as she thought we couldn’t hear her.

Foxglove showed me an air freshener and gave me a quizzical look.

‘Later,’ I said, and made her put it back.

Guleed arrived three minutes later, coming through the front door with her extendable baton in her hand – at which point the manager ran off and locked herself in the staff loos.

Guleed put it away when she saw us, and looked me up and down, then peered around me to smile at Foxglove, who was using me as a shield.

‘Nightingale’s setting up a perimeter,’ she said. ‘And who’s this?’

‘This is Foxglove,’ I said. ‘Foxglove, this is Sahra – a friend of mine.’

Foxglove reached around me to shake Guleed’s hand.

‘Nightingale wants to know if it’s safe to breach,’ said Guleed.

I said I didn’t know, but anyway we had to put Foxglove somewhere before we could raid my former prison. Since the only safe place I could think of was the Folly, that meant Nightingale had to tool over to the Nisa Local to inspect her first. He arrived just before the area manager did and Sahra had to escort him to see the manager.

When the cop cars come screaming to a halt outside a bank robbery, the bit the films don’t show is the two hours of us milling about as we all sort out who’s going to do what to who and under what legislation.

And that’s not counting the risk assessment.

I felt Foxglove tremble at Nightingale’s approach, but he was careful and patient and we all got through the introductions without anyone biting anyone. I briefed him on what I knew about the layout of what had indeed turned out to be a former factory and on my best guess of the likelihood of booby traps (high) or minions (low). We had two options – raid the premises immediately or wait to see if Chorley and Lesley returned.

‘I definitely heard them moving a second bell,’ I said.

‘The longer we wait, the greater the risk of squandering this advantage you’ve bought us,’ said Nightingale immediately. ‘I’ll lead the raid in now to deal with any booby traps. Sahra will come in behind me with her team to make any necessary arrests and secure for a search.’ He looked at me and then at Foxglove – tilting his head slightly to the side. ‘You can accompany Foxglove back to the Folly and stay with her.’

We couldn’t risk leaving a former associate of Chorley unsupervised – not least because we didn’t know how Molly would react.

‘Dr Walid will meet you there,’ said Nightingale. ‘Any questions?’

‘Sahra has a team now?’ I asked, and glared at Guleed, who gave me a smug smile.

Nightingale shook his head. ‘Off you go, Peter. I’ll let you know as soon as the area’s secure.’

Me and Foxglove rode home to the Folly in the back of a pool car. Foxglove spent the journey staring excitedly out the window although she flat out refused to put on her seatbelt.

For obvious reasons, I didn’t want Foxglove’s arrival at the Folly to be through the tradesman’s entrance. So I had the pool car drop us off at the Russell Square entrance. Then I took her hand and led her inside. I hesitated in the lobby to see whether the famous ‘defences’ had any objection to Foxglove, who had immediately been drawn to the statue of Isaac Newton.

Nothing zapped anybody, so obviously the ‘defences’ weren’t against the likes of Foxglove. What had those, justifiably paranoid, wartime wizards been worried about?

There was nobody in the visitors’ lounge or even the atrium. The police staff would have headed home so I supposed everyone one else was out raiding chez captivity.

I called out for Molly.

‘I’ve brought someone to see you,’ I said.

There was a terrible crash and I turned to see Molly sweeping towards us, having dropped her tray on the tiles behind her – a milk jug on its second bounce and leaving a spray of white behind it.

Before I could move, Foxglove ducked around me and rushed to meet Molly. They both stopped suddenly, facing each other, centimetres apart. Molly’s hand rose as if to touch Foxglove’s face and hesitated. But Foxglove seized it with her own and pressed it to her cheek. Molly’s face crumpled into an agonised shape and I thought I saw tears before she buried it in Foxglove’s shoulder.