Wallace saw two shapes from the corner of his eye. Maybe a hundred metres off, moving quickly. About fifteen seconds to make up on him. He accelerated. Traffic was stopped on Coldharbour Lane at the lights and he headed straight across into the next road towards the hospital. Glanced over his shoulder, couldn’t see them yet. Ran to a low wall bordering the car park, hopped across and crouched beside a four-by-four. He’d probably be on camera but there were more important things right now. Stay calm, no time for emotion. Breathe. Plan. Glanced up to the entrance of King’s College Hospital. The road parallel to the main entrance was rammed with vehicles, teeming with people. Patients, family, staff. Old and young, coming and going. A mob. Perfect.
He took off his hoody. Removed the cap from its pocket and pulled it low over his brow. Rolled up the hoody, stuffed the ball under his T-shirt and tucked it in. Did his belt one notch tighter. Leaned against the car, eyes flicking from person to person outside. Saw what he needed. Stooped and walking slowly, he advanced on the smoking area. One geriatric guy with a tube up his nose was puffing away, eyes shut, oblivious. Wallace stole up behind him and lifted the dressing gown he’d slung over the bench. Pulled it on and tied the cord around his new belly. Across the path, a patient was being transferred from her wheelchair at the side door of an NHS minivan. Two crutches were stacked against the rear doors. Wallace swiped both and slipped around the far side of the vehicle. Jammed them into his armpits, began limping. Merged into the mass of humanity milling around the steps. Didn’t look back as he entered the building. People even made way for him. Knew the giant corridor made an L-shape to A & E on Denmark Hill. Kept moving, now just another body in the crowd.
* * *
Jones and Malik had radioed to say they thought Wallace had taken the main road into King’s College Hospital. Boateng found it blocked by stationary vehicles on each side and a third line up the middle queuing to park. He swore again, reversed and took the parallel one-way street against the traffic flow. Slalomed an ambulance and two more cars coming at him, hands working quickly to manoeuvre the hefty BMW X5. Connelly had already drawn his Taser and jumped out as they halted, running for the buildings. Boateng cut the engine and followed. Picked out Jones and Malik in their black stab vests jogging between groups of people around the hospital steps. Boateng signalled and made eye contact with them in turn. Each shook their heads. He jabbed a finger towards the entrance, motioning his team inside.
For a second he stood alone, grimaced. Knew it was probably too late.
* * *
Wallace emerged from the Denmark Hill doors next to A & E. Three taxis sat outside. They’d be pre-booked but he had to chance it. Shifted himself on crutches over to the first and popped the door.
The driver turned. ‘No, mate, I’m here for…’ Checked his tablet. ‘Mrs Gupta.’
Wallace shut the door without a word. Glanced around, checked the exit. Heard a siren in the distance. Approached the next car.
The cabby put down his paper. ‘Mr Henderson?’ he beamed.
Wallace nodded. Opened the door.
‘I can help,’ the driver got out.
The siren grew louder.
‘It’s OK, I’m good,’ Wallace waved him away.
The driver got back in as Wallace threw his crutches inside and slumped into the seat. Opened the robe, checked his jeans pocket. Few hundred quid, the rest was back at Jas’s with the tools. Bollocks. She’d got her money after all.
Cabby glanced in the rear-view. ‘East Street, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ Good enough.
They pulled out. Wallace sunk lower into the upholstery as a Met Police van screamed past and into A & E. Smiled to himself.
Chapter Fourteen
‘You did the right thing.’ Jones laid a hand on Fletcher’s arm. ‘Took a lot of courage to make that choice.’
Fletcher’s cheeks were slick with tears and mascara. Jones gave her a tissue and she wiped her eyes with a shaking hand. ‘“Game over”, that’s what he said.’ She gave a juicy sniff. ‘He’s gonna kill me. Reece too. My son.’ Another spasm of grief screwed up her face.
‘We’re doing our best to find him,’ Jones said gently.
‘Bit fucking late now, isn’t it?’ Fletcher produced small gasps between her words.
Jones swallowed. ‘Sorry.’
Boateng knelt on the carpet next to Reece, who was rolling a toy car back and forth, staring at it. ‘Are you OK, Reece?’ The boy nodded. Zac got closer. ‘It’s going to be alright.’ He was no longer sure if that was the truth. Wallace, Parker, Fletcher, Harris. Amelia, Thompson, Two-Ten. Him and Etta. Any of it. His head bowed as if pulled by a huge invisible weight. He gazed at a point on the floor, guilt creeping in again. Responsibility for failure was his. He was senior officer on the ground. The arrest tactics had been his call. OK, Wallace must’ve clocked the squad cars before they arrived, but he’d requested them with no briefing, no plan. Couldn’t blame the PCs who just happened to be closest when they’d radioed. The tip from Fletcher was real-time, but that was the nature of police work. Should he have waited for Tactical Support, held off altogether and staked out the flat? He’d need to explain every choice to Krebs soon. She wouldn’t like the bad press one bit.
For now, they were doing what they could. Connelly was briefing the unit from Brixton who remained on standby. Malik was in with security personnel at King’s College Hospital, reviewing the footage, trying to work out how the hell their target had vanished. Boateng had underestimated Wallace. The ex-con nearly twenty years younger had outsmarted him, outmanoeuvred them all. Maybe if he’d been more focused…
A knock at the door made everyone start. ‘Scene of crime officer,’ called a female voice outside. Boateng walked over, checked the spy hole before letting her in. The SOCO was head to toe in black, including her stab vest and gloves. ‘Where shall I start?’ she chirped, opening the briefcase and removing a camera.
By being less cheerful, Boateng thought.
He turned to Fletcher. ‘Jasmine?’ She pointed under the sofa. They dragged out the canvas holdall. The SOCO removed, photographed and dusted a mallet for prints. Repeated the process with two chisels, an angle grinder, electric drill and a box of nails. Boateng took a nail, held one up. ‘These what your handyman uses?’
Fletcher sniffed. ‘I couldn’t tell you then, I was scared.’
‘And now it’s too late,’ he retorted. Instantly wished he hadn’t. ‘Sorry. I know he threatened you and Reece. I’m just frustrated.’
‘We all are, Zac.’ Jones glared at him.
‘You’re right. My bad.’ Boateng pulled himself up: time for action, not blame. Then his gaze alighted on the angle grinder, a small handheld one. The image of Harris strapped to the chair came to him. Severed fingers. Blood pooled on the carpet under his hands. ‘Could you match that blade to a cut on a body?’
The SOCO stuck out her lower lip. ‘In a lab, maybe.’
Boateng glanced at Jones, his spirits lifting. ‘Could be just what we’re looking for.’ Took out his mobile and hit Volz’s number.
* * *
They rode in silence. Boateng driving, Jones alongside. He stared ahead, she sideways at the Peckham shops flashing past. It was just the two of them; Malik was still at King’s and Connelly had joined him to take witness statements.
‘Do you think it’s about empathy, in the end?’ she said without turning.
‘What is?’ He fiddled with the stereo, tried to find a decent station. The speakers hissed.
‘The Job.’
‘It’s about solving crime. And preventing it.’
‘Yes, but can you do that if you don’t empathise with the victims?’
His eyes flicked to her. ‘Is this about Jasmine Fletcher? I know I was a bit heavy-handed, fair enough. But she could’ve made that call to us earlier, then we’d have our man and she’d be safe.’
Jones snorted. ‘The only reason she called us at all is because I bothered to relate to her, build some kind of trust.’ She paused, swivelled in her seat. ‘Sorry, boss. Didn’t mean to—’
‘Oi.’ He raised a palm at her. ‘Speak your mind. I want people in my team who tell it like it is. Within reason,’ he smiled briefly. ‘Everyone gets it wrong sometimes. I did today.’
‘Zac, you couldn’t have—’
‘The kid. Not even started school yet and what has he seen so far in life?’