Bloody Mary (41 page)

Next door, in the semi attached to Harry’s pleasant home, the old couple had been enjoying a tame, lacklustre meal at the small table, watching the television as they ate, its frivolous topical programs full of excitement, and replacing the need to converse with each other. When they’d heard the first bang they’d assumed Harold and Mary, who they knew were having family over, had bought some heavy duty party poppers. The second bang had worried them a little, but not enough to talk to each other, but as the third explosion shook the picture on the party wall, Dora laid her cutlery down on the table. “Daniel. I think something might be wrong next door.”

“You and your imagination, woman.” He piled another forkful into his mouth.

“I think those might have been gunshots.”

“Don’t be daft. We’re in Derby, not Las Vegas.” Specks of food littered the table as he spoke, and he swallowed the half-chewed food.

“I’m going to phone the police.”

“You’ll do no such thing, woman.” Another mouthful.

Sedately, she rose and strolled to the phone, found the number of the local station in the telephone directory, and dialled. “Hello.”

Juan was shocked at the sight of Sophie, her face red and bloated, tears still glistening on her cheeks, and he instinctively reached over to hug her. “Get your bloody hands off my wife, you arsehole.” Juan jumped, not expecting to see Darren, and especially not expecting to see the weapon in his hand, aimed at Sophie’s head. “Get in the house and join the others.” Juan followed Sophie, completely confused, and Darren bolted the door. As he entered the living room and saw the bodies and blood, he raced over, he was trained to save lives and maybe he could do something to help. “Leave them. They’re dead.”

Juan, the severity of the situation dawning on him, sat beside Sophie on the floor. “What’s going on?”

Darren sneered, he hadn’t been expecting his replacement in Sophie’s affections to be so swarthy, and he had instantly hated him on sight. “We’re having a little Christmas party, what does it look like!”

Harry shifted, his aging joints beginning to seize uncomfortably. “Your glass is empty, Darren, why don’t you pour yourself another drink?”

“Yes, I think I will. I enjoyed that last glass, it’s good stuff, that. Oh, by the way, I know you’re thinking that if you get me drunk you’ll be able to overpower me, but rest assured that won’t happen. You’ll all be pumped full of lead before I lose control.” Darren seated himself on the sofa again, brandy in one hand, the gun in the other, having replaced the spare in the tool belt, and his temper began to fray with Jaimee’s incessant wailing. “For god’s sake, will you shut that little brat up. If it doesn’t stop that bloody noise soon I’m going to have to pop it.”

“No!” Sophie was surprised at how loud her shriek was, how overwhelming the urge to protect her baby was, and using any force needed. “She needs feeding, she’s hungry. And she’s your child too, you wouldn’t kill her, she’s your flesh and blood.”

“It’s no child of mine. In fact, looking at fuckwit next to you, I reckon he’s probably the father.”

“How can you say that? I was always faithful to you, you know I was!”

“So why is it, whore, that you’ve been getting laid by him when we’re still married? Wouldn’t you consider that to be adultery?” The doorbell halted the conversation again, and Darren rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, who is it this time?”

Harry Harry shook his head, resigned and forlorn. “I’ve no idea. We’re not expecting anyone else.” The visitor was hammering on the door now.

A movement in the garden turned Meena’s head, and, peering through the patio doors she saw a colleague she recognised enter through the back gate. Darren followed her glance, and snarled. “Who the fuck called the police? Who’s got a mobile phone?” The four adults glanced at each other, shrugging, shaking their heads. “Get up. Go upstairs. Leave the brat here, I can’t stand the fucking noise any more.”

“No! She’s terrified, I’m not leaving her.” Sophie clutched Jaimee tightly.

It was the first time he’d shouted since his arrival, and the tone was terrifying. “Drop the fucking brat or I pump it full of lead.” Fresh tears rolled to join the wet patches on her mottled cheeks and chin. She set Jaimee in the car seat, strapping her in, apologising quietly, and followed the others to the stairs.

The policeman had reached the patio and could see the screaming child, and he radioed the find through to his workmates. As he got their attention he moved slightly, and his stomach lurched when he spotted the three bodies behind the armchair, the blood all over the fireplace and carpet. He briefly managed to radio the scene before leaning over and retching up his lunch, heaving with disgust at the image.

The hostages reached the bedroom, the room that had been Sophie’s when she was growing up, and Darren forced them into a corner, positioning himself away from the window. He was intently listening to the noises outside, not interested in speaking until he assessed what the police presence was about. However, the two constables who’d responded to the call reporting possible gunfire had been instructed to find a place of safety and await the armed response team, who were suiting up in body armour as they travelled in the riot van towards the house, and they, and the patrol car, were nowhere to be seen.

Sophie could hear Jaimee’s frantic wailing from downstairs, and her heart reached out, a desperate urge to pacify her, cuddle her frightened tears away. But her own tears had ceased, dried up, her face tight from the salt, and she waited, nervous yet patient, for Darren’s next move.

It had been quiet for a while outside, and Darren carefully stepped to the edge of the window and peered through the net curtain, scanning the street, the paths, for any sign of a blue uniform. He couldn’t see a sign of anything untoward, no police, no squad cars, and he heaved a sigh of relief. The horrified group in the corner realised that their chance of help had gone, and they exchanged fearful glances, possibly their last ever alive. Darren stepped back to his place of safety, away from the window, and waved the gun. “You,” the question was directed at Meena, “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.” Meena, by far the tiniest of the four adults, was no doubt the strongest, professionally trained in martial arts, incredibly fit and agile, and an expert with guns, and she knew that her knowledge and ability was the best, if not the only, hope of survival for the hostages. But she also realised Darren was behaving erratically, that he could potentially take them all out on a whim, and she couldn’t risk their safety by making any sudden moves. She had to stay calm.

Darren was chuckling to himself. “You’re a cocky little bitch, aren’t you? I think we should play a little game, me and you. Get up. Stand up.”

“Why should I?” She couldn’t help herself, she hated these cowards with guns, high school shootings, street shootings. They were weak, take the gun away and they were nothing.

“Because I told you to.” Meena remained seated, confidently upright, not allowing her mind to wonder to Steve, his life expired, slumped downstairs, she had to remain in the moment, grieving could come later.

“You defiant bitch.” He spun the barrel of the gun, yellow eyes glinting with evil, aimed at her head, and cocked the hammer. She winced inwardly, not allowing her fear to show. “In that case, how do you fancy your chances today? This Magnum holds six bullets, I’ve shot three. So you now have a fifty percent chance if I pull this trigger.”

“Wow, you can count as well, you are a clever boy!” The other three looked at her in disbelief, and, angry, Darren fired. It was her lucky day, and she slowly, quietly, let her breath out.

Jaimee’s screaming had now reached fever pitch, and Sophie couldn’t stand it any longer. “Darren, please let me get Jaimee, I’ll make sure she doesn’t cry, really, but she’s too young to be left on her own. Please.”

Darren briefly mulled the suggestion. “So you think I’m stupid enough to let you go downstairs on your own, try and get help, catch somebody’s attention, whatever scheme you’ve got going on in your head.”

“No, there’s no scheme, I’m just worried for her, she’s going to make herself sick if she keeps crying like that. Please.”

His rage erupted, saturating the cheerfully decorated room with hatred. “You always thought you were cleverer than me, made me out to be the dumb one. But you’re not, who’s the leader now, hey? Who’s in control now? I wish I’d finished off the job earlier this year, got rid of you for once and all. I hate you so much. Taking away my right to have a son, that was a cruel thing to do, Sophie, cruel.”

“It wasn’t my choice, it was nature, I would have liked a boy first too.”

“First! First!” He was incredulous. “You mean you honestly thought I’d have another child with you after presenting me with that dumb thing down there.” Meena could see he was losing his beloved control, his emotions were clouding his judgement, and she adjusted her position ready to pounce if the right opportunity arose.

But in an instant he’d restrained himself, and his cackle rang out. Meena sighed and relaxed back down. “”Oh, I see what you’re doing, trying to get me angry, that’s what. You were always good at that, you with your perfect vowels, and your arrogant way. Fuck off am I falling for that one. The fucking baby stays down there. If it chokes on its’ spit, then who gives a shit!”

Harry’s mind was in the same place as Meena’s, knowing his grief for me and his sons would have to wait, he had a daughter and a granddaughter to protect right now, somehow. He stepped in to the altercation, his tone peaceful. “Can I make a suggestion, that you go with Sophie to get Jaimee, then you’ll be able to watch her.”

“Oh, like I’m going to leave you three up here to plan some kind of escape.”

“There’s some …”

The voice on the megaphone silenced them all. Keeping the weapon pointed at the captives, Darren began to pace, avoiding the area near the window.

The house was surrounded, the SWAT Team’s sniper rifles aimed at every window and doorway. The road had filled with squad cars, and a crowd of onlookers was building up around the edges, eager to see some bloody action on Christmas Day, far more fun than the tedious television programs.

“We have you surrounded, come out with your hands in the air, I repeat, we have you surrounded, come out with your hands in the air.”

Using the cover of the tall hedges that lined the immaculate back garden as protection, several armed officers were quietly and swiftly making their way towards the patio door, which led to the death scene that was once a homely living room. One tried the door and, as expected, it was locked. He spoke quietly into his radio. “No access at the back. Do you want me to blow the lock?”

The voice of Team Commander Officer James Ellis crackled through. “Negative. Stay there.”

The extensively trained Team Negotiator, Officer Rob Barnes, had set up camp on the roadside and he waited until James nodded to give him the go ahead with his skilled task. He held the megaphone to his mouth. “My name’s Rob Barnes, I want to discuss what’s going on. Can you open a window so we can talk?”

Darren sat on the carpet, he had no intention of opening a window, they’d blow his head off, but he hadn’t considered this scenario when he had planned the revenge, and he had to come up with some way of getting out of this.

Negotiator: “How many people are with you?”

Damn them! Why did they have to turn up and ruin things? His mind whirred, searching for a solution, but every option seemed to end with his death, and he had a good life ahead, an apartment in the sun, sex with holidaymakers whenever he felt like it, a well paid job, cheap booze. Booze. He could really do with a drink right now, and there was that second glass of Corvoisier waiting for him on the drinks cabinet. Why the hell hadn’t he grabbed it before coming upstairs? If he went down, they’d probably be at the back door and that would end in death.

Negotiator: “Like I said, I’m Rob, would you like to tell me your name?”

How on earth was he going to get that drink? If he sent one of his captives down, they’d probably let the police in. The amber liquid in the delicate crystal was all he could think of, the craving intense. Think! Find a solution.

Dora’s life was so tedious that the best part of her days were spent watching the neighbours at their business through the front window, and gleaning as much gossip as possible by eavesdropping on conversations held in the open. When the policeman had arrived on her doorstep asking for her knowledge of the neighbours, she had been pleased to impart the information she’d gained during the day, and the Christmas plans I had happily chatted about over the past few days. Harold and Mary lived next door, they weren’t married but were planning to be. She knew that they were hosting Christmas that year. Their two sons, Alan and Steve, and one daughter, sweet young lady, Sophie, and her baby Jaimee, were all coming to stay. Two men had arrived since, one was Sophie’s ex-husband, Darren Delaney, and he’d turned up before the gunshots. The other man, very handsome, she’d seen him before a couple of times, but didn’t know his name. She thought perhaps he was Sophie’s new man. Well, he’d arrived after the shots.

PC Goldsmith radioed the commander. “I think it’s a domestic, it’s likely that the aggressor is an ex-husband named Darren Delaney. There’s a possibility of eight hostages, one is a baby, about six or seven months old.”

Every time Darren tried to forget the drink, it reappeared in his thoughts seconds later. He had to find some way of getting it. “Harold, do you have any rope?”

“It’s in the garage. Do you want me to get it?”

“Don’t try and be smart, it doesn’t suit you.” Drink. Brandy. All that alcohol down there and he was stuck in the bedroom, thirsty and craving a hit.

Negotiator: “Darren Delaney?”

Drink. “I’m going to go out of the room and lock the door, Sophie, you’re coming with me, you can get your stupid brat. But if it keeps screaming, I’m popping it.” He took the key from inside the door, and Sophie followed him onto the landing. He locked the door and checked the handle, before they headed down the stairs.