‘You might have been killed.’
‘So might you,’ Tash said. ‘You didn’t have to come and save me.’
Hannah was still trying to catch her breath. ‘What else could I do?’
Tash blinked away tears. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have exposed you to danger.’
‘At least we’re both still in one piece.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Back off and call for help. I’ve had my ration of excitement for the time being.’
She called the control room and told them where she was. ‘We have a firearms situation here. Can you get a couple of ARVs over soonest? Along with dog patrols?’
Tash said, ‘ARVs?’
‘Armed response vehicles.’
‘Why dogs?’
‘We don’t want anyone hurt. Or any thing.’
Tash raised her eyebrows. ‘But if he does shoot again, it’s better for a dog to stop a bullet?’
Hannah grunted. Tash had a knack of putting her at a disadvantage. ‘I don’t want to lose one of my fellow officers.’
Tash paled. ‘I guess you’re right. Tom’s crazy, I’ve thought that for a long time.’
Hannah glanced over her shoulder. In the distance, Simon Dumelow was edging along the path that led to the Hall. He should be safe; not even an SAS veteran could shoot round corners. An unworthy thought flashed into her brain: does it matter to him?
Nick Lowther was approaching. He must have deserted the sheep handling facility on hearing the shot. The ambulance and a police car had pulled up nearby and their occupants were clambering out. She put up a hand to show that she was all right, then waved him back. He still had a job to do with the SOCOs at the crime scene and she didn’t want him to stray into the line of fire.
‘Listen, Mrs Dumelow. I need to keep you out of harm’s way, but we’ll also need information from you, just in case this mess doesn’t sort itself out as quickly as we’d hope.’
‘Anything,’ Tash said. ‘What do you need to know?’
‘The layout of the farmhouse. Apart from the front and back doors, are there any other exits? And what sort of arsenal does Allardyce have in there?’
‘You only need worry about the two main doors. Unless he takes his life in his hands and climbs out of the landing window on to the roof of the lean-to. As for guns, I’d guess he has a stockpile.’
‘Jesus.’
‘He owns a rifle, I think it’s a.22. I remember him showing it off to me.’
‘For killing vermin?’
‘That’s his excuse,’ Tash said. ‘He has a Kestrel shotgun as well, for rabbits and pheasants. But I’m sure he has several other weapons he’s never told us about. He loves just holding them. Caressing them almost, I’ve always found it creepy. It’s like other people collect antiques. Of course, he won’t have them licensed. But I don’t have a clue what might be stashed away inside the house.’
Hannah cursed under her breath. A peaceful backwater in rural Cumbria, and she was facing someone who might possess more firepower than a vanload of Yardies in the East End of London. And who had the training to make use of it. She scanned their surroundings, assessing the available cover between the farm and Brack Hall. The good news was that there was plenty. The bad news was that most of it was soft cover: rhododendrons with their last purple flowers and the spiky hawthorn hedges lining the track between the farm and the Hall. From the first floor of the farm, Allardyce might not be able to see someone hiding behind the greenery, but that wouldn’t stop a stray bullet from doing a lot of damage if you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Apart from a scattering of sycamore and horse chestnut trees, hard cover was scarce between the barn and the Hall.
At her side, Tash Dumelow was shaking. Her skin was taut over her cheekbones and she looked as though it was a long, long time since she’d been a pin-up model. Hannah put her arm on the other woman’s shoulder, felt her tension. Why trust to luck? It wasn’t worth the risk of making a dash for it. The first ARV would be here in another ten minutes, fifteen at the most. They would tough it out until the cavalry arrived.
The tubby cyclist screwed up his eyes and squinted across the fields towards Brack Hall Farm. ‘If you ask me, the shot came from the farmhouse.’
The combination of rifle fire and the sirens had prompted a small crowd to gather at the end of the lane leading to the farm. People were gossiping with perfect strangers, relishing the camaraderie. Daniel felt a stab of embarrassment as he lingered; they were worse than rubber-neckers slowing down to gape at a motorway pile-up. Of course, he ought to keep on walking into the village to perform his errand at Tasker’s. But he was worried about Hannah Scarlett and it would require more self-discipline than he possessed to tear himself away. A drama was being played out at the farm and he couldn’t imagine what was in the script or how the final act would end.
A harassed woman who was failing to calm a neurotic Jack Russell terrier said to nobody in particular, ‘You’re not safe anywhere, these days, are you?’
‘Who lives at the farm?’ the cyclist asked.
‘Tom Allardyce,’ an elderly man in walker’s kit replied. ‘Surly bugger. Take it from me, he’ll be behind this. That feller’s made trouble all his bloody life.’
The woman shushed her yelping dog again and murmured, ‘It’s all gone very quiet over there.’
‘Too quiet,’ the cyclist said solemnly.
Daniel decided that he couldn’t bear much more of this. He detached himself from the little group and wandered along the road towards a gap in the hedge. From there he could see both the emergency vehicles. Beyond, police officers and paramedics were conferring. Allardyce was nowhere to be seen; nor was Hannah Scarlett.
The silence was ruptured by another shot.
‘Are you all right?’ Tash hissed.
‘Fine,’ Hannah said.
All she’d done was to bob her head round the corner, to see if she could still make out the bulky shape of Tom Allardyce at the upstairs window. The movement had provoked him into firing against the wall of the barn. The roar as the shot ricocheted off the brickwork was deafening.
No wonder he’s twitchy, she thought. Nothing seems to be happening, but he’ll be starting to fear the worst. If he carries on like this, it’ll become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
If only she had a clear sight of him. What if he moved, or decided to come out of the house? She was tempted to edge back into the farmyard. Perhaps she could try to initiate a dialogue. Not about his wife’s murder, far less that of Gabrielle Anders, just in an attempt to persuade him that he had nothing to gain from a stand-off, and a great deal to lose. But that was madness. Bargaining with an armed criminal was a job for a particular kind of person. A few years ago she’d flirted with the possibility of becoming a negotiator, had studied the literature about the training on offer at Hendon. When she confided in Ben Kind about her idea, he was quick to talk her out of it.
‘You’re not boring enough.’
What he meant was that a negotiator confronted with potential suicides or hostage situations needed infinite patience. An ability to sustain endless, monotonous, soothing conversation was a key part of the job spec. Once he’d pointed out the pitfalls, she didn’t need much persuading that she was better off with real detective work. In the CID, if a tricky interview wasn’t going well, you could terminate it there and then. No such option when you were negotiating over life and death.
She said to Tash, ‘Promise me you’ll stay out of the line of fire.’
Tash closed her eyes, seeming to collect her thoughts. When she opened them again, she said, ‘You saved my life.’
‘It’s not an issue. I just don’t want you to…’
Tash put up her hand. ‘I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t know what prompted me to challenge him. It was stupid.’
‘It was pretty brave, actually.’
