I Am Gold (10 page)

‘Now, you're going to say he takes up these words of the negotiator merely in order to reject them, Desmond, mock them, bin them. You'll claim his responses show only that he remains hostile, combative, resistant.' Rockmain chuckled for a few seconds. He was not tall, thin, his neck flimsy, but his chuckle had quite a bit of resonance and boom. This chuckle could have come from someone with a fatter neck, perhaps someone fatter altogether, and happy with his fatness. Although he might be a skinny little prat this chuckle had true amplitude. Harpur wondered whether he'd been on some sort of social communications course which would include chuckling.

Now, Rockmain resumed speaking: ‘Well, on the face of it – on the face of it – that is a totally understandable reaction from you, Desmond. I would certainly never call it superficial or simplistic. Never. You are not a professional psychologist but a very successful professional copper, lavishly possessed of the skills required in that calling, but, perhaps, not familiar with the more complex interpretations of human behaviour. Why, I ask, should you be? You, no doubt, have specialist flairs that are sadly lacking in myself – say, how to bash in the front door of a suspect's home at 2 a.m. while yelling “Armed police!” Nobody should undervalue such basic and necessary knacks. There is a place for them. But psychology and what we term “forensic linguistics” – the study of words and syntax – require a slightly different kind of approach and training. I won't say subtler. I won't say more profound.'

‘I'm glad you won't say subtler or more profound,' Iles replied.

‘The last thing I'd wish to seem is patronizing, Desmond.'

‘I'm glad it's the last thing you'd wish to seem,' Iles said. ‘What's the first thing you'd wish to seem?'

‘I'll concede that on the face of it – on the face of it –John's belligerent way with what the negotiator said appears to mean he's in the very opposite of a surrender mood,' Rockmain replied. ‘But let's probe somewhat deeper into the tone and significance of his phrasing, shall we? Let us apply some of that aforementioned forensic linguistics. Yes, I think so. That, after all, is why I'm here, isn't it? Oh, definitely. I get an emergency call to say I might be of use at this siege. I'm asked whether it's convenient for me to attend immediately. My reply? My reply is: “I will
make
it convenient. If I am needed, I'm needed and must – must – go.”

‘What we have to notice, Desmond, is that his phrasing is often entirely dependent on the negotiator's. Admittedly, he will frequently reverse the sense of it. He'll dispute “natural”, for instance, and give a variant meaning to “precaution”. But these contradictions are not very relevant.

Here's the
real
point, Desmond, Colin – yes, here's the main point: by sticking so doggedly, so slavishly, indeed, to the line proposed by the negotiator he implicitly recognizes who has control. He feels compelled to attempt rebuttals of what the negotiator says, and in doing so accepts that the negotiator establishes the route they both must take. If I may stoop to jargon, he allows, encourages, the negotiator to “set the agenda”. I hear a kind of rhythmic inevitability about the negotiator's statements and John's adjusted echo of them. The negotiator puts a word into the air and John takes it, imparts his personal commentary and sends it back. I feel a fugue-like progress, don't you, Desmond, Colin?'

‘He agrees with the negotiator by disagreeing?' Iles said. Harpur thought this came over as reasonably sharp and dismissive, but not sharp and dismissive enough – not the full sharpness and dismissiveness Iles was capable of and lived by. His voice sounded more than half won over, as though Rockmain had conferred a revelation on him. The paradox – with agree and disagree equated – seemed to intrigue Iles, enthral him. He wouldn't openly admit this, though. Rockmain had, or had had, a green corduroy suit. Iles couldn't confess to imbibing revelations from someone of that fruity flavour.

Rockmain said: ‘John would like to think it is he who has control – through his power over the hostages, a power that constrains us as well as them, so far. But his words show he is not confident of this, show, in fact, the opposite. In due course, and quite soon now, he will most probably relinquish all pretence at control. He will capitulate. We must wait for this frailty to disable him.'

He held up a tiny, skeletal, childlike hand, as if attempting to ward off protest. ‘But you'll say, Desmond, “His voice still sounds strong and good.” Granted his voice sounds strong and good. There's a showman side to him. He can keep up a pretence, act out a pretence. But not for ever. Or even for very long. Acute stress elements discomfort him.

He has to manage what we believe to be four people. Even though he's armed and they aren't this is a tricky task. If he continues, he'll need to sleep and become off-guard. You'll send in food and drink, but he'll fear this might disguise the start of an onslaught.

‘And this brings us to what I'm sure we all recognize as the most significant bit of repetition in the conversations. I refer, of course, to the word “unfavourably”. The negotiator says: “A resolution
is
possible, John. We mustn't allow things to turn out unfavourably.” This constitutes an expert piece of persuasiveness by the negotiator. The word “resolution” is positive, wholesome, and a clever way of cloaking what it actually means to John: defeat. One can imagine a proud battleship named HMS
Resolution
. And then the “we” –“
we
mustn't allow things to turn out unfavourably” – the “we” suggests they are partners in dodging an unfavourable outcome: mates, buddies, joined together by exemplary good sense. It's as though Olly and John have the same purpose and will plan it jointly. But John isn't having any of it. The fudge factor doesn't work for him now. He answers: “What does unfavourably mean?”

‘Dread forces him to see through the carefully vague terms used by the negotiator. “Unfavourably means me dead and maybe others, doesn't it, Olly?” Reality is about to overwhelm John. He feels he must retaliate somehow. He must dominate. He is pushed by this urge into absurdity. He suggests the besiegers might fear the hostages are already dead since there is “no noise or interruption from the people here”. But this notion, this tease, this attempt to scare and horrify, drastically weakens his position, doesn't it? Living hostages are the only appreciable weapon he has. If the hostages were dead his own security would be finished. He'd have no bargaining resources left. It recalls that formula we hear now and then from the peace process in Northern Ireland. He would have put his armament “beyond use”.

‘Such a consummate error in his logic and instincts and tactics tells us he is coming apart, is already a near wreck. I believe, on the evidence of these conversations, that he is intelligent and quick-witted enough to acknowledge this to himself soon, and to seek to end things in some other way than “unfavourably”, i.e. by submission and release unhurt of his prisoners. You'll point out, Desmond, Colin, that submission itself is for him an unfavourable outcome and one he has so far resisted.' Rockmain went into another chuckle, though briefer. Then he said: ‘Yes, submission will mean matters end unfavourably for him, but not as unfavourably as if he is hugely outgunned and designated a target.'

Rockmain did a fair job at mimicking Iles's voice. ‘“This is Gold. Shoot him.” John might not be aware of the full damage he caused in Sandicott Terrace, but he will know he opened fire and hit the Jaguar. He'll understand that if police kill him now because he won't yield there'll be no public or judicial outcry. Everyone will accept he was an all-round active menace and had to be made safe. He will have opted to be made safe by getting wiped out. He won't opt for it.'

Chapter Fourteen

2007

Obviously, Manse Shale knew he had to be careful about what he said to Naomi and how he said it. When he concentrated at full power he reckoned he got most of his grammar fairly OK. He certainly did not regard grammar as just something fancy. He believed it was sensible to have as much of it as you could by listening to people who already had it and noticing the way they put it all together. You might not get it all at once, but a few very small errors might happen to anyone, known as slips of the tongue. Think of John Prescott, ex-deputy Prime Minister, who'd been to two universities, not just one, and you would of thought they had lectures on how to stop your tongue slipping, by people whose tongues did not slip, showing students it could be done. But John Prescott sounded like he wanted to kick the language to death with a steel-toecapped boot.

Manse could tell Naomi had no trouble with her grammar. She would notice if he really messed up, though she'd probably be too polite to tell him. If she thought he sounded like an ignorant slob, she might decide he was not right for her. So Manse said to himself, ‘Watch it, Manse!' That was grammatical! He'd met Naomi only an hour ago, but already felt he'd like to hold on to her. He admired slimness in a woman. It wasn't only that they both loved the Pre-Raphaelites, or, for Naomi,
some
of the Pre-Raphaelites. Mansel considered this similarity between them just a sign of something that could turn out deep.

Also, obviously, if this did happen, he'd eventually have to tell her what his type of commerce was. In that kind of relationship it would be wrong to keep such a matter confidential. For one thing, she'd need to be warned about the dangers of the game, not just to him but to her, also, and to Manse's children. Some difficult people worked in this trade. They could get impetuous. He had certainly told Syb about his business and advised her to be watchful. The stress might be one of the reasons she cut loose and went to Ivor, this roofer or chef or vet in North Wales. She'd be safer there. How she'd met Ivor he couldn't tell. For now, Manse couldn't tell either whether Naomi did flits, also, but he wouldn't want to give her too much strain this early. She had the sort of face that shouldn't be given strain.

There was a shop next to the gallery where they sold poster-prints of most of the paintings on show. Naomi picked out
Lorenzo and Isabella
by Millais and an Arthur Hughes. Manse didn't feel certain about the best way to deal with this. He thought it would be forcing things ahead too fast if he tried to pay and make a present of them. When it came to women, money could be a difficult topic. He'd hate it to look like he thought he could buy his way into closeness with her. That would be vulgar and flashy.

Also, he had an original Hughes at home, almost certainly genuine: if Naomi ever came to his house and saw the art there she might feel hurt that he'd thought it enough to give her a couple of mass-produced prints. Of course, he hoped she
would
come to his house one day. So, he didn't offer to pay for her posters, and instead let Naomi hand over her own cash.

Naturally, he watched her face and body for anything that revealed she considered him a tightwad – say the sudden screwing up of her lips or an angry limb-twitch. If he saw either, or both, he'd try to make out he hadn't noticed the sale because he was examining some other shop items. Often he'd found that limb-twitches in women could come from a lot of rage and/or disgust. He had a plan ready. Manse might say: ‘Oh, you must let me get you those. Please! It's a privilege, in truth!'

Manse often found that if he was trying a line with a woman he regarded as a bit above the usual class he'd produce old-time, long-gone phrases such as ‘in truth'. It was like something from an ancient drama about the upper-classes. But maybe it sounded weird and comical to the woman. He had a twenty very handy, to prevent any additional delay in these possible tricky moments. It would be best if he got the money to the shop assistant before Naomi paid. Otherwise, Manse would have to persuade her to take it afterwards. This could be awkward. She'd probably refuse. And, if she didn't, there'd be the matter of change. The posters cost £7.99 each, which meant she'd have to give him back £4.02. He would detest all that carry-on with coins. He'd feel like a shop worker himself. The difficult point was she might not show the anger and contempt at his meanness until after she had paid the assistant. These complications really troubled him.

But, no, Manse spotted nothing to tell him he'd disappointed her, not
before
she paid nor
after.
She acted like someone absolutely used to paying her own way, used to acting independent. Did that hint she had no husband or partner at present? You could tell she was the sort who would have her personal ideas about
The Light of the World
, though many thought it great.

Manse bought a Millais and a D.G. Rossetti poster himself,
Ophelia
and
Beata Beatrix
, using the twenty. He needed to strengthen the idea that he and Naomi had similarities, were a natural pair, but he wouldn't overdo it by buying exactly the same, like naff couples who wore clothes that matched. Obviously, he'd never frame and hang cheapo prints in his residential property. This wasn't the purpose. He wanted Naomi and himself to leave the shop together, each with rolled posters under their arm. In Manse's opinion, this made a kind of bond.

He put the prints under the left arm, keeping his gun hand free. But, as Joan Fenton had said, he was probably safe enough in London, hidden among the crowds. Clearly, it did not matter which arm Naomi carried
her
posters under. Manse didn't think the bond would be weakened suppose she placed them under her right arm. Exact resemblance wasn't vital. If any trouble did come, he'd be able to defend her because
his
posters would not stop him getting fast to his shoulder holster. He considered he had a responsibility for her, even though she didn't know the chief sort of work he earned from and the kind of enemies he might have. Did that Hackney family at the funeral
really
believe Denzil saw himself off, a two-pistol suicide? He hadn't told Joan Fenton about those people.