‘So what are they likely to do?’ Mitchell lowered his voice still further. ‘What’s normally the plan with things like this?’
‘There isn’t one,’ Helen said.
‘Oh… OK.’
‘It’s always different and there isn’t any set… protocol. They’ll wait and see what happens.’
Mitchell seemed to take this on board, the idea that, in all probability, nothing would happen quickly. But Helen could see that he was far from reassured and she could hardly blame him. Aside from Akhtar unlocking their handcuffs, opening the shutters and letting them walk out of there, anything that happened was likely to be dangerous for all concerned.
She sat back and listened. Akhtar had stopped moving around, but then she heard the tell-tale sound of pages being turned.
‘He’s reading the paper,’ Mitchell whispered. ‘Looking through the paper like nothing’s happening.’
Helen was still trying to decide how Akhtar himself was handling things, how he was coping. She knew it was important. Could this man who held a gun as though it were a poisonous snake really be that calm? Or was he making as much effort as possible to appear that way?
Whatever the truth was, and whatever Tom Thorne was up to on the outside, they needed Javed Akhtar to remain calm if they were going to stay safe. She and the man from the bank would need to do everything they could to keep him relaxed.
They stiffened when the newsagent appeared suddenly in the doorway. He raised a hand, as though apologising for worrying them. Then he calmly laid the gun down on the desk and asked if they wanted tea.
Thorne was in the playground, on the phone.
He had already called Brigstocke to bring him up to speed and to ensure that all the paperwork pertaining to the suicide at Barndale be sent across to his office at Becke House. He had also requested that a copy of the post-mortem be faxed to Phil Hendricks as soon as possible. Finally, Thorne had told Brigstocke to make contact with whoever had led the original inquiry into Amin Akhtar’s death and ask the officer to call him immediately.
To his credit, DI Martin Dawes had called back within ten minutes.
‘Did you not think it might be a good idea to let us know what had happened to Amin Akhtar?’ Thorne asked.
‘It wasn’t connected with your manslaughter case.’
‘Just as a courtesy, then.’
Dawes was clearly not the type to give ground. ‘So you always need to know what’s happened to everyone you’ve put away, do you?’
There were a few – the ones who had genuinely scared him – that Thorne would always keep a close eye on, but Dawes had a fair point. Besides, Thorne did not have time for a pissing contest.
‘Can you run me through it?’
Dawes told Thorne that Amin Akhtar had killed himself with a drug overdose two months earlier, that he was found dead in Barndale’s hospital wing. His body had been discovered first thing in the morning and he had been pronounced dead at the scene by the YOI doctor.
‘What was he doing in the hospital wing?’
‘He’d been assaulted four days before by another boy. Had his face sliced open, basically.’
‘Enough reason to suddenly top himself?’ Thorne asked. ‘I mean he’d already been in there, what, seven months?’
‘He’d also been raped,’ Dawes said.
‘In the hospital wing?’
‘Could have been. The pathologist couldn’t be sure exactly when the rape had taken place, but the CCTV camera that should have been covering the area the kid’s room was in had been moved the week before, so anything’s possible.’
‘Why?’
‘Why was he raped? How the hell should I know?’
‘I meant why was the camera moved?’
Dawes laughed. ‘Sorry… apparently there’d been a lot of stuff going missing from the dispensary, heavy-duty painkillers or what have you, so they stuck the camera on that instead. Akhtar probably knew where the camera was. Knew nobody would be watching when he started popping his pills.’
Thorne thought about that. ‘No other cameras?’
‘One on the entrance to the wing and one inside another of the private rooms. Bugger all on any of them.’
Looking across the playground, Thorne could see Holland talking to Sue Pascoe by the main doors into the school. Holland said something and Pascoe laughed.
‘What’s the big drama anyway?’ Dawes asked. ‘Your DCI was a bit vague.’
Thorne guessed that Brigstocke had simply been in a hurry, but saw no reason to keep Dawes in the dark about what was happening. He gave him the highlights.
‘I’d love to say I was surprised,’ Dawes said.
‘Sorry?’
‘The father always looked to me like he was close to the edge. You know what I mean?’
‘Why don’t you tell me?’
‘Well, for a kick-off he went a bit mental after the inquest, shouting and screaming at the coroner. At anybody who would listen, basically. Going on about a cover-up, telling us we’d got it wrong, all that.’
‘When was this?’
‘A couple of weeks ago. Yeah, he was definitely cracking up, I reckon.’
Pressed for time as he was, Thorne was not about to let this one go. ‘Again, you didn’t think it might be worth picking up the phone and letting us know?’
‘Letting you know what exactly? That some newsagent was losing the plot? You’re being stupid.’
‘You’re an idiot,’ Thorne said. Dawes started to protest, but Thorne hung up, and went to meet Donnelly who was coming towards him across the playground.
‘The wife’s arrived,’ Donnelly said. The superintendent nodded towards the main gates and Thorne turned to watch a WPC helping a middle-aged Indian woman out of a squad car. ‘Nadira.’
Thorne remembered her. The woman looked every bit as dazed, as lost, as she had the last time he’d seen her. The day her son had been sent to prison. ‘I could really do with talking to her,’ Thorne said. He looked at his watch. It was more than half an hour since he had spoken to Helen Weeks and she had relayed Akhtar’s instructions. ‘Why don’t I do it on the way to Barndale?’
Donnelly thought about it. ‘What if we need her here? Sue Pascoe thinks she might be able to use her. Get her to talk to her husband.’
‘So send a car to follow me and bring her back afterwards,’ Thorne said. ‘I only need ten minutes.’
They both looked up at the sound of a helicopter overhead. Thorne was impressed at the scale of the police operation until he saw the Sky logo on the aircraft’s side. He looked at Donnelly.
‘It was only a matter of time,’ Donnelly said.
A few seconds later, Chivers came marching through the gates and across the playground. He was pointing angrily at the circling helicopter. ‘You need to get them out of here now,’ he said.
Donnelly muttered something about the freedom of the press, but Chivers was having none of it.
‘Listen, we’ve not got a clue about what our target is up to behind those shutters, right? But if he’s got a TV in there, thanks to those idiots he’s going to know exactly what we’re doing. Do I make my point?’
Donnelly nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘So, what about the wife then?’ Thorne asked.
Donnelly looked flustered. It was clear that Chivers hadn’t finished with him yet. ‘Ten minutes,’ he said.
Thorne walked towards his car, beckoning Holland away from his conversation with Pascoe as he went. When Holland had caught him up, Thorne told him to get back to the office as quickly as he could. ‘Get Yvonne Kitson on this. While I’m at Barndale, I want the two of you looking at anyone who might have wanted Amin killed. You might as well start with Lee Slater’s family, they’ve got a decent enough motive, then talk to the other two kids who were with Slater the night Amin was attacked. We’ll stay in touch by phone, OK?’
