already unlocking the gun-holder.
Rose took one of the MP5s and Shepherd followed him to the uniformed constable. At the far end of the road there were two more police cars, blue lights flashing. One had saucer-sized yellow stickers in the corner of the windows, which showed it was an ARV. Half a dozen uniformed policemen were kneeling behind the cars, watching the front of the building. Two had MP5s aimed at it.
‘Where’s the OIC?’ asked Rose.
The uniformed constable indicated an estate agent’s office. ‘Chief Inspector Cockburn,’ he said.
Shepherd looked up at the rooftops as he followed Rose across the road. The street had shops on both sides, with two floors of brick-built apartments above them. On the roof of the apartments opposite two policemen were scrutinising the pizza place, one through high-powered binoculars. Rose and Shepherd went into the estate agent’s. A uniformed sergeant and two constables were standing by the window. Chief Inspector Cockburn was sitting at a desk, a transceiver in front of him next to his cap. His right hand was drumming on the desk and sweat glistened across his bald scalp.
‘Keith Rose, sir. SO19. This is Stuart Marsden.’
‘Any sign of the Specialist Firearms team?’
‘On its way from Leman Street, sir. What’s the story?’
‘We’ve a customer bleeding to death on the floor and two nervous young men with shooters. They were on their way out when they saw the local ARV. They took a couple of shots at it, then ran back in. I’ve two men on the roof opposite who can see inside. Someone’s trying to stem the bleeding but it doesn’t look good.’
‘Where do you want us, sir?’
‘We’re going to have to move quickly, Sergeant. I know I’m supposed to wait for a negotiator, but if we do, that customer could die. Do you have any suggestions?’
‘Is there a back entrance?’
‘There’s a fire exit that leads into the kitchen and we have two armed officers outside. I doubt you could get in without the robbers hearing you, though.’
‘Have you spoken to them?’
‘The negotiator’s on his way. We’re just keeping a lid on it until then.’
It was the right thing to do, Shepherd thought. Hostage situations could easily go wrong and had to be handled by experts.
‘I could get two of my men above the shop,’ Rose said.‘They could drop down outside, on ropes. They wouldn’t see them coming. Your men on the roof opposite can tell us when we’ve a clear run.’
‘Okay, Sergeant. Get them in position, but wait for my say-so.’
A constable had pinned a large sheet of paper to one wall and a young man in a grey suit was helping him draw a ground plan of the pizza place. There was a large kitchen at the back, with a counter in front of it. There was a toilet and washroom to the side, but it was for staff only and was reached from behind the counter. There were a few stools and a shelf where customers could eat but it was more of a home-delivery operation than a restaurant.
Rose turned to Shepherd. ‘How are you at abseiling, Stu?’
‘It’s been a while but I can handle it.’
‘You and Mike see if you can gain access to the roof across the way.’
Shepherd hurried over to the car, opened the boot and took out two nylon ropes, karabiners and nylon harnesses. ‘Sarge wants us up top,’ he said. He slung the carbine over his shoulder and jogged to a door between a chemist and a travel agency. Sutherland followed him.
‘They should try Kylie,’ said Shepherd.
‘Kylie?’ said Sutherland, frowning.
‘There were these drugs guys holed up with hostages in South America, I forget where, and the local cops got them out by playing Kylie Minogue singing “I Should Be So Lucky” non-stop for three days.’
Sutherland chuckled. ‘Urban myth, right?’
‘True as I’m standing here, Mike.’
‘I’ll let you pitch it to the sarge.’
To the right of the door there was a rusting intercom with two buttons and Shepherd pressed both. There was no reply. ‘I’ll get the Enforcer.’ He went back to the Vauxhall and opened the boot. It was packed with equipment, including a first-aid kit, Kevlar ballistic blanket, ballistic shield, a firearms make-safe kit, to preserve weapons for forensic analysis, a ballistic bag for safely unloading weapons, and the red hammer-like ram nicknamed the Enforcer. Shepherd grabbed it and returned to the door.
‘I’ll do the honours,’ said Sutherland. ‘The paperwork’s a bitch but I’ve got the forms in my desk.’ He took the ram from Shepherd and slammed it into the door by the lock. The wooden frame splintered and Shepherd finished the job with a hard kick.
Beyond the doorway was a narrow staircase. On the first floor a door led to a flat and the stairs twisted to the left up to the second floor. Sutherland was about to use the ram on the second-floor flat when Shepherd pointed to a hatch in the ceiling.
Sutherland propped the Enforcer against the wall and nodded at Shepherd to give him a leg up. Shepherd grinned. ‘Mike, I’m ten kilos lighter than you and about six inches narrower around the waist. If you get stuck in that hatch we’ll be all day getting you out. I’ll go first.’ He put the ropes and his carbine on the floor. Sutherland made a step with his hands and pushed Shepherd up to the ceiling. The hatch was just a piece of plywood painted the same colour as the ceiling and lifted easily. Shepherd wriggled through. The walls were bare brick covered with cobwebs, there were dusty wooden beams supporting tiles, and thick layers of yellow fibreglass insulation padding between the floor beams.
Shepherd lay down on a beam and took the equipment from Sutherland, then leaned down and pulled up his colleague. It was indeed a tight fit but Sutherland got through. He wiped the dust off his overalls and grinned. ‘See? I didn’t even need to take the vest off.’
Shepherd handed him his MP5 and picked up a rope. There were two windows in the roof, encrusted with pigeon droppings. Shepherd tried to open one but it had been painted so many times it was jammed tight. The second was looser and he slid it open. He clicked his transceiver to transmit. ‘We’re in, Sarge,’ he said. ‘We have a window to get on to the roof.’
‘Get above the pizza joint and sit tight,’ said Rose. ‘The Specialist Firearms team’s arrived and we’ve got two snipers moving into position across the road from you.’
‘Will do,’ said Shepherd. He stood to the side so that Sutherland could go through the window first. ‘What did I say wrong earlier?’ he asked.
‘About what?’
‘About the sarge having kids.’
‘Rosie’s daughter’s sick,’ said Sutherland. ‘It’s not something he talks about, and you being the new guy and all . . .’
‘Shit,’ said Shepherd.
‘It’s okay – we should have warned you. We ask him how she’s getting on but it’s not good.’
‘Poor guy.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it.’
‘What is it? Leukaemia?’
‘Some sort of tumour on her spine. Inoperable.’
‘Christ.’
‘Yeah. She’s a sweet kid, too, Kelly. Cute as a button. Seven years old.’
‘And she’s dying?’
‘Don’t let Rosie hear you say that – he’ll tear you a new one.’
‘Sorry. Thanks for setting me straight.’
Sutherland pulled himself through the window and Shepherd pushed him up, then handed him the ropes and followed. A lead-lined rain gully ran the length of the roof, below a waist-high brick parapet. Sutherland knelt down and looked over at the buildings opposite. Shepherd joined him. Down below, close to the road block on their left, was the black high-sided van of the Specialist Firearms team. A tall thin man with close-cropped bullet grey hair was standing with an MP5 slung over his shoulder, talking to a uniformed constable. ‘That’s Ken Swift, the inspector
