I Am Gold (19 page)

Once Dodd had gone, Rockmain seemed to sense Iles intended pursuit. Maybe from the moment he joined the siege, Rockmain feared a collapse of patience in Iles. Harpur had feared the same. Come to that, perhaps Rock-main had expected a failure of patience in Harpur himself, also. Harpur had certainly thought about a solo invasion of the shop, and Rockmain's trained psychological asdic might have picked up the signs, so he'd be all-round alert. But now it was Iles – Iles very blatantly about to dog and, if possible, halt Dodd. Near to hysterics, Rockmain took a miniature step or two and grabbed at the Assistant Chief's left arm.

One of the things about Iles was he never got uppity and princely because someone manhandled him, no matter with what violence. For instance, often at funerals of murder victims Harpur had to quell him. Iles would abruptly take over the service and give his own well-meant sermon, blaming the Home Secretary or the Meteorological Office or the Pope or the Prime Minister or the Archbishops of Canterbury and Westminster, or the European Union, or Masons or the Trinity, for letting the country and/or the world get into the sort of condition leading to this particular death. These outbursts sometimes got reported in the local media and on the whole were not helpful. Harpur might have to use quite a slice of force to shut the jabbering sod up, and occasionally drag him down steps from the pulpit so the priest or minister could resume control, as was patently their right. Most probably, they had not been instructed in training how to handle this kind of interruption. When Harpur took hold of him, Iles would fight back, yes, and fight back with all his filthy, cultivated skills and astonishing strength, careless of the setting, but he would not pull rank about it, though he'd be in his magnificent blue ACC uniform. He took the scrapping as entirely in the normal run of things. Iles considered that few funerals were complete without an episode of this kind fairly soon after the coffin arrived. Iles rabidly envied all the attention given to the corpse. He hated sharing any spotlight. Also, Iles regarded funerals as ceremonies where emotions should run, and the Assistant Chief had emotions. In its inconvenient way, Harpur found this endearing, but applied the brutalities if timely, all the same.

Now, when Rockmain gripped the ACC's uniformed arm, attempting to detain him in a sort of parody arrest, Iles escaped from this hold at once, naturally, but didn't then pick up Rockmain and chuck him against the wall of the caravan, or kick his feet away and knee and gouge him on the floor. Iles seemed to recognize, as Harpur did, that Rockmain might be entitled to salvage the approved siege pattern he'd created, if he could – in fact, was duty-bound to try. His little soul lived and took its shape and health from those ruses. Although he detested Rockmain, Iles would see he had professional obligations and, to a degree, the ACC respected these. Now and then the Assistant Chief could become amazingly proportionate.

All he did today was take a handful of Rockmain's shirt near the throat, lift him for only a moment in the air – without any hint of butting, although the two faces came damn close – and then slam him back into his seat near the negotiator, like throwing down an empty rucksack. It was swift. Iles did not speak or whoop or laugh. He knew he should not waste breath. He still had the time and pace to catch Dodd well before he reached the shop.

Harpur thought Dodd's forehead had been shoved forward in a jerking movement and slammed hard against the highway surface when he collapsed with Iles on his back. Dodd was thin, with a long neck as skinny as Rockmain's, which would be liable to such uncontrollable flexing. Although the ACC was not burly, his weight would make that a bad blow for Dodd under him. Harpur saw no movement from Dodd on the ground. He didn't struggle to throw Iles off, or attempt to wriggle free. Dodd must be concussed. Iles remained on top of him, also motionless, but as a shield. Without turning his head back towards the caravan, the ACC shouted, as if into the tarmac, or a roadside rain drain, or Dodd's ear, ‘I am Gold. I, Iles, remain Gold. I await our man's recovery. All of you, stay where you are. I repeat, stay sheltered. I repeat, it is Gold who speaks. I, Iles, am Gold.' The outside audio detector picked up his announcement and broadcast it booming in the caravan. Harpur thought the words had a fine, solemn, Old Testament rhythm, as if the letter l should be dropped out of Gold. There was a chaos of noise. John continued to hurl questions over the Conference telephone: ‘What's happening, you sods?' ‘Who are these people?' ‘Are you attacking?' ‘Is this the start?' ‘Who are they? Who are they?' ‘Do you want fucking war? War is what you'll fucking get, and so will these in here with me.' ‘Who's the talky-talky one in the big-brass uniform? Is he mad?'

‘I'll go and help the ACC bring Dodd in,' Harpur said. ‘He'll have to be carried.'

‘That will be defiance of Gold,' Rockmain said.

‘Yes, technically. I often defy Mr Iles. He expects it. He despises obedience. He'll say things like, “Take a peep at the Atlantic. Not much obedience there I think.” He has his own way of looking at things. It's not quite lateral thinking. Quadrilateral – he sees all sides, one or two of them more or less sane. I'm Gold for the moment,' Harpur said.

‘You can't be Gold while he's still Gold,' Rockmain said. ‘There can be only one Gold.'

‘It's impossible for him to be Gold,' Harpur said. ‘How can he see things overall when he's like that on Dodd?'

‘He explicitly did not hand over Gold status,' Rockmain said. ‘Very explicitly.'

Harpur could part sympathize with Rockmain's objections. Harpur himself loved the clarion nature of that cry, ‘I am Gold' – the certainty, the unquestionable authority and worth, the absence of maybes and but-on-the-other-hands. Rockmain's attitude to Gold, the title, proved its absoluteness. Harpur had, for a moment, queried that absoluteness. Iles seemed incapable of being Gold, spread-eagled over Dodd. For Rockmain, though, Gold was Gold, spreadeagled over Dodd or not.

Yes, Harpur sometimes wished everything could have the bare, declarative strength and power of ‘I am Gold.' So much of life was secrets, half-truths, quarter-truths, non-truths. ‘I am Gold' said what it had to say and said it short, plain and straight, able to enthral even a high-falutin, passably reputable (Cambridge starred First, apparently), arrogant, jargonizing, psychologist cop like Rockmain.

And then Harpur thought, yea, yea, yea. Could you run a police force without secrets, half-truths, quarter-truths, non-truths? Could you run a life without secrets, half-truths, quarter-truths, non-truths? Adultery generally required some secrets, half-truths, quarter-truths, non-truths, didn't it? Hadn't you, C. Harpur, specialized in secrets, half-truths, quarter-truths, non-truths, when you were cuddling up and so on with Sarah Iles, the ACC's wife?
^*
‘I am dross' could have been your cry then.

The negotiator said: ‘Rest easy, John. I note your question: “What's happening?” You asked what's happening, didn't you?'

‘Yes, what's happening?'

‘I thought you'd ask what's happening, John.'

‘Well, of fucking course I'd ask what's happening if something is happening, namely, two men running this way, then hitting the ground.'

‘It is only an incident, John.'

‘I can see it's an incident.'

^*
See
Come Clean

‘I certainly understand that this kind of incident would puzzle you, John. It's only a single, minor incident. It doesn't affect the general situation.'

‘What kind of single, minor incident that doesn't affect the general situation is it? Is one of them lover-boy?'

‘You're bound to ask what kind of one-off incident it is.'

‘And what sort of general situation is it?'

‘The situation in general.'

‘What I think is, a decoy – something to make me look that way when the trouble's coming from elsewhere.' ‘

It's natural for you to think it's a decoy, John.'

‘
Is
it a fucking decoy?'

‘“Is it a decoy?” I can see what you're getting at, John –the implications.'

‘You can see what I'm getting at. I say, “Is it a decoy?” And you say you can see what I'm getting at such as, “Is it a decoy?” Fucking brilliant.'

‘This is another of those questions.'

‘Which?'

‘Questions I'd expect,' the negotiator said.

‘But you're not going to say, “Yes, it's a decoy, John,” are you, because then it wouldn't be a decoy any longer, would it?'

‘You ask would it still be a decoy if I said, “Yes, it's a decoy, John,” because it's vital with a decoy that people don't know it's a decoy, otherwise it's no decoy. The essence of a decoy is that the person or people it's intended to deceive don't realize it's a deception, a decoy. I appreciate your point.'

Harpur said: ‘If John flips and starts firing at Dodd and the ACC we'll have to go in – the full assault team.'

‘Yes,' Rockmain said.

‘I'd have to order it,' Harpur said.

‘Iles could order it from where he is,' Rockmain said.

‘He might not be able to, if John has been firing at them,' Harpur said.

‘It's a long way for a handgun shot.'

‘They might get hit, all the same.'

‘In that case, if Iles were hit and … yes, you'd be Gold,' Rockmain said.

‘It might be too late for Dodd and the ACC then,' Harpur said. ‘I'd be Gold but only because Gold was dead or crippled. I've got to go and get them.'

‘Gold has ordered against that,' Rockmain said.

‘I'll go,' Harpur said.

‘That fucking Dodd,' Rockmain replied. ‘An idiot.'

‘Maybe more than he knows,' Harpur said.

‘What? How?' Rockmain said.

‘John?' the negotiator said. ‘John, are you there?' He couldn't keep urgency, anxiety, out of his voice. That was not typical. He had played calm and repetitive, as the negotiator manuals recommended. John didn't answer. There'd been earlier spells when he refused to reply: the line would stay dead because he'd leave the receiver down. It seemed different now, though. The connection remained open, but John didn't talk.

Over the amplified system they heard sounds Harpur couldn't place at first. He'd been about to leave the van and crouch-run to Dodd and the ACC, ready if necessary to clobber Iles, suppose he offered Gold trouble, and he almost certainly would. But Harpur waited and listened: a couple of thuds, a woman's brief scream, grunting –male – furniture splintering, a man's shout, though no words. Harpur read anger or panic in these shouts. The noise varied in volume, as if the phone at the shop end might be hanging loose on its wire and spinning, so its pick-up field continually changed, a fading, an increase, then the same sequence again. Harpur decided some kind of physical battle had started.

Rockmain said: ‘Have they gone for him in there?'

‘They might need help,' Harpur said.

‘Yes,' Rockmain said. ‘A new phase.'

The main shop window on to the street shattered with a great, very brief, jangling din. The negotiator said: ‘John, John, what's happening? We note the window. Have you noticed the window? A breakage.' Through the caravan's open door, Harpur saw Iles suddenly unhook himself from Dodd and stand. He would have heard the glass break and cascade, and he'd probably agree with Rockmain: a new phase. Dodd remained prone on the ground and still. Iles stood with a leg on each side of him like the victor on an ancient, hand-to-hand battlefield, and yelled, ‘I'm Gold. I, Iles, am Gold.' He waved an arm, urging immediate onslaught. ‘All go, go, go,' he called. Harpur thought the ACC in his pale blue, insignia'd uniform looked glorious, whatever the outcome, and the outcome might be terrible. But this was the kind of moment Iles fitted into so sweetly. Evening sun gave a rich, steely shine to his cropped grey hair. He had no cap on. He'd left it in the van.

The road was empty, of course, cleared but for these two. Iles, fixed there, staring about, his body tense over the other body, had suddenly claimed this piece of land as his realm. Of course, in a sense it had always been his realm, his and Harpur's, part of their manor. They knew all these streets and the buildings and some of the people living or working in them. But it was as if the needs of the siege had grabbed this area of ground away from them. Here was Iles taking it back. The solitariness, except for Dodd, made him epic. Circumstances – the Dodd circumstances –had pushed Iles into a prickly situation, and he emerged from it now aglow with obvious, towering leadership, resolve and dignity. The nuisance at his feet, stubbornly blotto at present, could earlier have fucked up just about everything. Iles had neutralized him and, perhaps, through personal magic, had even converted Dodd's deep lunacy into a gain.

Perhaps, perhaps. As Harpur saw things, and as Rockmain seemed to see things, also, the hostages had possibly turned on John, surprised him, while he was distracted, trying to work out what Dodd and Iles and their short, frantic scamper from the van signified. There'd been that rambling chat about decoys, John's agonized nerves showing throughout. He hadn't known which direction an invasion might come from. Had the hostages been able to cash in on his confusion and try to overpower him?

Something somehow or somebody somehow had burst the window. Who had the gun or guns? There'd been no shooting. Not yet. Iles's finger, pointed stiffly at the target building, seemed to say, ‘Here lies our challenge, our future, and I, Iles, can deal with it, you lucky sods. Yes, it is I who speak: I, Iles, Gold.' Occasionally Harpur remembered lines of poetry he had learned at school and now he recalled the beginning of a verse about some old hero and his followers sighting a coastline and safety after a perilous, long sea voyage. It went, ‘“Courage!” he said, and pointed toward the land.' And it was as if Iles might part echo this: ‘Courage!' he'd say and point toward the shop.