Chapter Eleven

Lewis hated meetings at the best of times, but when there was a murder enquiry on the go, and instead he was kicking his heels listening to some administrator prattling on about the cost of paperclips his distaste for them reached new depths.

A faint vibration in his pocket caught his attention, and he found himself hoping desperately that Hathaway had come up with an effective way to release him from the torment he was in. Discretely he rose from the desk, causing the man talking to stop in the middle of his sentence, his expression affronted.

"Sorry Ma'am," he muttered, wincing at her expression of stern disapproval, he'd be in for it later, "Hathaway. Might be important ma'am."

She didn't argue, just waved him out of the room. Hathaway didn't used to be the type to deliberately bail people out of meetings, but then things had changed since his paring with Lewis, and he'd revealed a hidden troublemaking streak a mile wide.

By the time Lewis had managed to extricate himself from the meeting room the ringing had stopped, and the screen displayed a voicemail message. Lewis cursed, this handset seemed to take it upon itself to hide messages for its own amusement and on more than one occasion he had been forced to rely on his sergeant to locate them.

After a few moments of helpless clicking he finally heard his sergeant's deep voice,

"Hello sir, I wondered if you could meet me at the scene, with a warrant for Mr Thompson's house. I have a feeling we might find he owns some..."

The message ended abruptly – possibly a signal problem, there were some notorious black spots in Oxford, usually wherever Lewis found himself needing to make a phone call. But there was something in the message that made him think twice, the slightly strangled tone in Hathaway's voice in the last couple of words, as though he had just had an unpleasant surprise. It could be nothing, but knowing his Sergeant's talent for trouble he wouldn't, as the old saying went, bet the farm on it. Straightening his shoulders, he went to talk to Innocent.

Hathaway found himself being bundled back into Thompson's office and shoved unceremoniously into a chair, the gun, held in trembling hands, covering his every move.

"People know I'm here," his voice was level, despite his rising unease, "They're expecting me back at the station any minute."

"Liar!" Thompson spat, furious, "You were leaving a voicemail getting someone to meet you. They might not pick that up for hours! Gives me and the girls plenty of time to get away from here."

His eyes were wild with fury, and Hathaway found himself wondering how his first impression of Richard Thompson had been so wide of the mark. He'd been confident then, he supposed, no leads in the killing of his ex-mother in law and his ex-wife about to be arrested and charged, back then it had all been going to plan.

"I can't let you do that," Hathaway told him.

"How are you going to stop me?" Thompson waved the gun, illustrating his point.

"It's not fair on the girls is it Richard?" James asked gently, "We aren't going to just let you go! As soon as you're gone they'll be looking for you."

"Why?" Thompson sneered, "You might not be in a position to tell anyone anything."

James swallowed down his fear and hoped, prayed, that Lewis found his abruptly aborted message odd. Thompson was clearly desperate now, and left with very little to lose.

"You can't hide two little girls forever Richard," Hathaway pointed out, "What would you do? They wouldn't be able to go to school, to ballet lessons, play outside. What sort of a life is that for them?"

Thompson seemed to deflate slightly.

"They'd be with me," he told Hathaway, "That's all I wanted, you see. Christmas with my girls, just one year. But no, she said she wanted them for the day – had everything planned out and I could have them on Boxing Day as usual. All I wanted was something to keep her out of the way for a bit – so I tried to get the spare keys from her mum's house. I didn't mean to kill anyone, not Vera and the girl... but it all seemed to get out of hand, and none of it worked. Then after all that, she started talking about moving away – nothing to keep her here now her mum was dead she said! Like I didn't matter! What else was I meant to do?"

Hathaway had no answer to that.

Lewis was arguing his case to an unyielding DCI Innocent when the constable from dispatch knocked on the door. Innocent called her in sharply, muttering something about it needing to be important.

"Sorry Ma'am," the young officer was hesitant in the face of her two seniors, "Had an odd call in. A lady saw a man leave her neighbour's house, ring someone and then he seemed to get forced back in. She said she wasn't sure but she thinks there may have been a gun. Should we alert the Armed Response Unit?"

Lewis was questioning her, before Innocent could get a word in edgeways.

"Where was this?"

"Summertown sir."

"Lewis..."

"Any description of the man?"

"Young blond man, she said. Wearing a suit."

"LEWIS!"

Innocent was almost shouting now to attract her senior inspector's attention. The young constable flinched at the raised voices.

"Ma'am?" he snapped, already certain that his sergeant was in danger.

"Get down there," she ordered after a moment's thought. There was a time when she would have waited, seen how things panned out, before spending public money on an over-reaction. Now years of experience and gut instinct had taught her when to act on the bare minimum of information. "Don't do anything stupid. I'll alert the ARU." She paused, "Is there anyone else in the building?"

Lewis looked at her, his face full of horror.

"Two kids, ma'am," she reached for the phone in a hurry, waving him out the door.

By the time he arrived at the address he had already forgotten the drive there, all he was aware of was his panic and his relentless racing heart rate. He was getting too old for this, racing through the streets of Oxford, chasing his sergeant. It was nearly Christmas for heaven's sake, he should be at home watching re-runs of terrible war films and taking up quiet, gentle pursuits like fishing and gardening.

The Armed Response Unit were parked around the corner from the house, out of sight of its large bay windows and Lewis pulled his car in behind them. One of their officers, decked out in an array of bullet proof gear had already gone to survey the property, and was reporting over the radio in hushed tones. Lewis listened in for new of his sergeant.

"Two males, front right room, one seated one standing, standing man armed, one handgun visible, aiming at seated male."

"Dear God," Lewis prayed almost instinctively, "please let him be alright, he's a good lad, might not have become a priest but stuck up for you when I wasn't sure anymore. Please, just let him be ok."

The report over the radio continued,

"Two children, female, back left room, clear exit through back door, kitchen radio is on to cover noise."

The ARU commander nodded, and began signalling to his team.

"Get round the back of the property, quietly," he ordered, sternly, "Let's get the kiddies out of there, then we can concentrate on the poor sod in the front room." The men nodded, and crept silently around the corner.

"That poor sod, is DS Hathaway," Lewis pointed out, his voice stiff with anger and worry.

"Aye, I know" the officer, a burly Yorkshireman, confirmed, "He'll be right, sir. But you know we have to get the kids out, sir. He'd want us to get them safe first anyhow."

He and Lewis crept around the corner, taking care to remain out of Thompson's sight. In the meantime the squad had successfully, and silently, opened the back door and were now slowly and carefully escorting the two children towards their seniors, encouraging the girls to place their fingers on their lips to keep them silent.

Olivia, the five year old, was too young to understand much of what was being asked of her. She had been playing quietly with her dolls when strange men had appeared at the window and whispering, had made them promise to be very quiet. She was confused, Daddy had told her never to with strangers, but they had whispered that they were policemen, although they didn't look like the one's in her story books. As they reached the street, having used the neighbour's drive and bordering hedge for cover she turned to face her house, and asked in a clear carrying voice,

"But what about my Daddy?"

There was a horrified moment of stillness.

They all saw Thompson stiffen, and take a step toward the window, peering out from behind a net curtain to see his two children in the company of the police team. A look of grief and horror, unmistakeable, even at a distance, crossed his face.

Another long moment of silence.

Then the Armed Unit burst into movement, wrestling Lewis and the two children to the ground, as the sound of gunshots echoed twice around the street.