when the armed police had charged out of the van. And now she was dead. Not only that, she’d killed herself because of the position he’d put her in. It had been Hargrove’s plan, but Shepherd had forced her into a corner with only one way out. Except that Angie had found another option. He swore under his breath. Her husband had killed her, as surely as if he’d put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.
Shepherd was drinking a polystyrene cup of strong tea when the call came in over the main set. An IC One male with a handgun in Maida Vale. He tossed the cup out of the window as Sutherland started the car. Rose entered the address, a council estate off the Harrow Road, into the computer while Shepherd checked it in the street directory.
‘Indian country,’ said Rose. ‘The locals aren’t averse to taking pot-shots out of spite.’
The three men listened as a female officer relayed the details of the incident over the radio. ‘Neighbour saw a man with a gun enter number twenty-eight. He forced his way in. Occupant is a Sharon Jones, estranged from her husband Barry. He has convictions for assault and there’s a restraining order against him.’ Rose scribbled on his clipboard.
‘Anyone confirm that it’s the husband in the house?’ Rose asked.
‘Negative,’ said the female officer. ‘We have no description other than IC One.’
‘Can you confirm that Barry Jones is IC One?’
‘Affirmative,’ said the female officer.
Rose pulled a face. ‘It’s like pulling teeth sometimes,’ he said.
‘I hate domestics,’ muttered Sutherland. He flashed the main beams and cut in front of a double-decker bus. ‘Give me a Yardie with an Ingram any day of the week. You know where you are with a Yardie. Guy with a grudge against his wife can do anything. Shoot her, shoot himself, shoot us. It’s like trying to second-guess a rabid dog.’
‘Nice analogy,’ said Rose.
‘You know what I mean,’ said Sutherland. ‘Criminals with guns, you can generally figure what they’ll do. Citizens are just plain dangerous.’
They reached the Harrow Road and Sutherland killed the blues and twos. The traffic was light and there was no point in announcing their arrival.
They pulled up in front of the housing estate. There were no police cars, no paramedics. A middle-aged man was sitting on a small patch of grass in front of number twenty-eight. Rose frowned and asked the control room who else was attending.
‘A local car is
‘Shit, we’re first on the scene,’ said Rose. ‘Come on, break out the big stuff. Mike, you stay on the main set.’
‘Will do,’ said Sutherland.
The man on the grass was sitting perfectly still, his hands in his lap.
Shepherd unlocked the Hecklers and handed one to Rose, then a magazine. ‘Don’t you think these’ll spook him?’ asked Shepherd.
‘My experience, amateurs take one look at an MP5 and throw their hands in the air,’ said Rose.
‘Or panic and do something stupid,’ said Shepherd. ‘It could go either way. He’s got something in his hand and I reckon it’s a gun.’
‘We have to contain the situation,’ said Rose.
‘Let me talk to him,’ said Shepherd.
Rose shook his head emphatically.‘No bloody way,’ he said. ‘You’re not trained in hostage negotiation.’
‘He doesn’t have a hostage,’ said Shepherd.
‘Same difference,’ said Rose. ‘There are guys trained to talk to these psychos, and guys trained to shoot them. We wait for a negotiator.’
‘Sarge, the way I see it, one of two things is going to happen. He’s going to pull the trigger or he’s going to start waving that gun around. Either way, he’s leaving here in a body-bag.’
Rose stared at Shepherd. ‘You done this sort of thing before?’
‘A couple of times,’ lied Shepherd.
‘If he even looks like he’s going to point his weapon at you, I’ll take him out,’ said Rose.
‘I’d want you to,’ said Shepherd.
Rose nodded slowly. ‘Keep out of my line of fire.’
‘Will do.’
‘And if I tell you to get out of there, you do it.’
‘Cheers, Sarge.’
‘I just hope you know what you’re doing.’
Shepherd put the MP5 into the boot of the Vauxhall and reached for his Glock.
‘You’re not going in without a gun,’ said Rose.
‘I want to show him I’m no threat.’
‘So leave it in your holster.’
‘If it’s holstered, I won’t have time to draw it anyway,’ said Shepherd.
‘You do understand why they call us armed police, don’t you?’
‘If he sees a gun, be it an MP5 or a Glock, he’ll panic.’
‘Take the Taser, then.’ The ARVs were equipped with Taser guns capable of firing electrode-tipped wires up to twenty-one feet and delivering a debilitating 50,000-volt electric shock that would drop a man in less than a second.
‘Any sort of weapon could set him off,’ said Shepherd. He made the Glock safe and put it into the ballistic bag in the boot with his CS spray and retractable baton. He took a deep breath. ‘Into the valley of death,’ he said, then winked at Rose. ‘It’ll be fine, Sarge.’ He turned and walked towards the house, his arms out at his sides, palms open to show that he wasn’t carrying.
Jones was sitting cross-legged on the grass. As Shepherd approached, he lifted the barrel of his handgun and pressed it against his right temple. Shepherd stopped a dozen paces in front of him. ‘Barry, I’m going to need you to do something for me,’ he said quietly.
‘Fuck off,’ said Jones. He looked as if he hadn’t washed or shaved for several days and Shepherd could smell the man’s body odour.
‘Listen to me, Barry. I need you to keep that gun exactly where it is, jammed up against your head.’
Jones frowned. ‘What?’
Shepherd nodded at Rose.‘See that guy over there? If you start waving that gun around, he’ll shoot you.’
‘He’ll be saving me the trouble.’
‘Just so you know,’ said Shepherd. ‘As long as you keep the gun where it is, we’ll all be okay.’
‘Just piss off and let me get on with it,’ said Jones.
‘You want to tell me what’s made you so angry?’
‘What are you? A shrink?’
‘I’m the guy who’s going to have to write the report if this turns to shit,’ said Shepherd, ‘and I hate writing reports.’
Jones stared at him.‘You’re wasting your time establishing a rapport with me. I’m not interested.’ His finger tightened on the trigger. The gun was a Chinese knock-off of a Colt .45. It was old but it was in good condition and the barrel glistened with fresh oil.
‘Where did you get the gun from, Barry?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Using my first name isn’t going to win me over,’ said Jones.
‘Just curious,’ said Shepherd. ‘You don’t see too many of those. Practically a collector’s item.’
‘I brought it back from Afghanistan. Souvenir.’
‘You were in the army?’
‘Sort of. Look, piss off and let me get this done, will you?’
Shepherd sat down slowly, taking care to make no sudden movements. ‘I need to take the weight off,’ he said. ‘Been on my feet all day.’ He stretched out his legs.‘The missus giving you grief,is she?’he asked.
‘Ex-missus. As of yesterday.’
‘And what’s this about? Winning her back?’
