‘Is that Robert Finlay?’
The voice on the telephone was familiar but I couldn’t place it. I was still transfixed by what I was watching on the television in the main Anti-Terrorist Squad office. Bill Grahamslaw had called me up there to watch the coverage being transmitted from Barkingside. And he wanted me in his private office immediately afterwards.
I wasn’t surprised he’d summoned me upstairs, given the subject matter. It was live from the local Magistrates’ Court where armed men were said to have helped the escape of a defendant who had been appearing to face a charge of murder. The reporter, quoting a reliable source, was saying that the escaped suspect was a police officer.
It was Kevin, of that I had no doubt. I racked my brains to see if he’d given me any clue that this had been about to happen. He’d said the solicitor I’d seen him with had ‘everything in hand’ – perhaps that was it. I also thought about his kit, still safely hidden beneath his allotment shed. I’d assumed he’d asked me to move it simply to prevent it being discovered. I now wondered if he’d known all along what was going to happen and if he might attempt contact to try and recover it.
A departmental telephone had interrupted our viewing. The detective who’d answered it had called across that they were asking for me personally.
‘Who is this?’ I asked.
‘It’s Sue Corfield, guv. Do you feel ready to save a life today?’
Ten minutes after receiving the call, I was once again in the back of a police traffic car, sirens and blue lights on, headed north. Grahamslaw had agreed to postpone our talk, on the solemn promise he was the first person I’d come to see on my return. Once again, I was on my way to Kentish Town.
This time I was heading to a section house – an accommodation tower block immediately adjacent to the main police building, where single officers lived in individual rooms. I’d lived in a similar one myself. MacNaghton House it had been called, situated just south of Euston, where it provided very convenient housing for officers, new out of training school, who were posted to the nearby areas of Holborn, Tottenham Court Road and Kings Cross.
Sue had given me a very quick briefing on what I was facing. It was Doug Powell again, the very same PC I had spent an hour with in the police station toilets. Apparently he had turned up at the front counter to the police station in a distressed state, asking to speak to John Southern, the Chief Superintendent.
Southern hadn’t been available, and before anyone had realised what was happening, Doug had run off. A few minutes later, the warden from the section house next door had dialled 999 to report someone standing out on the top-floor ledge.
The local duty officer was, apparently, talking to him, so far without persuading him to climb back to safety. The crisis negotiation team had been contacted and, as soon as they realised who the ‘jumper’ was, they’d made the immediate decision to call me.
From my limited view in the back of the traffic car, everything appeared a blur as we sped past. I was long enough in the tooth not to experience the adrenalin rush my first experiences of ‘blues and twos’ shouts had triggered, but I still enjoyed the thrill of racing along the London streets in the safe hands of one of the best drivers the Met had to offer. Faces turned to watch us, follow our progress for a moment and then turn away as, seconds later, they were left behind.
Once in a while, I caught our reflection in a shop window and saw my own pale face staring out from the rear of the police car. I looked isolated, lonely. The image brought to mind the face of another man, the tortured soul depicted in The Scream, the haunting figure created by Edvard Munch so many years previously, and I worried whether I was up to what was being asked of me. I worried that my preoccupation with Kevin’s situation would distract me, and I worried I might lose focus, let my colleagues down, and that a young man might die because I’d failed him.
Camden Town tube station appeared.
‘Nearly there, guv,’ said the PC in the front passenger seat, bringing my thoughts back to the here and now. He was the radio operator and acted as a second set of eyes to the driver. Probably as highly trained as his colleague, it was his turn to ‘ride shotgun’.
‘Can you kill the siren, please lads?’ I said, straining to be heard above the din.
As the electronic wailing stopped, I told myself to relax. I wanted to get to the scene as quickly as possible, but I didn’t want to turn up like Jack Regan in a scene from The Sweeney. A silent approach, even if it cost us a few seconds, was infinitely preferable to startling a nervous man stood on a ledge and then causing him to either make a decision I was going to try and talk him out of, or worse still, to have him distracted to a point where he lost his footing and slipped.
‘Can you find out which side of the building he’s standing on?’ I asked.
A moment later, the reply came over the radio. West side, overlooking the yard to the police station. That was good news. It meant we could approach from the High Street and our arrival would be concealed by the building. And, it also meant the local press would find it harder to find a vantage point from where they could watch what was happening.
As we slowed to a halt, I saw that blue-and-white tape had been strung across Holmes Road, the side street that gave access to both the police station and section house. On one corner, a McDonald’s restaurant looked to have been closed to allow the area to be cordoned off.
Two PCs, posted at the junction, raised the tape so we could get through. I estimated that only thirty to forty minutes could have passed since the 999 call had been made to alert police. Already, the street was chock-a-block with parked response vehicles including a ‘forward control’ van, complete with satellite phones and a small briefing room, a fire engine and ambulance.
As we came to a halt and I stepped out onto the street, two senior officers in yellow reflective jackets approached me. I recognised both and remembered the name of the most senior, John Southern.
Their greeting was friendly – I might even describe it as warm – but there was no denying the sombreness of the moment and the looks of concern on both men’s faces. I followed them through the foyer of the section house and into the lift.
My briefing started as soon as the door closed.
‘Local uniform inspector has established dialogue and is still talking to the PC,’ said Southern. He asked if I recalled much about him. I said that I did, everything, including his name – Doug Powell.
‘Good. He’s out on the ledge which is concrete and about eight inches in depth. There’s a breeze but, at the moment, it’s not so bad that we fear him being blown off. But he’s very distressed and, from what we’ve managed to glean so far, this is not a cry for help.’
‘Did he ask for me again?’ I asked.
‘No, not this time. He actually asked for Superintendent Mellor from the Complaints Unit.’
‘Did you contact Mr Mellor?’
‘We didn’t. Mike Rogers is leading the negotiation again and he was of the opinion that PC Powell might hold Superintendent Mellor responsible and be intending to commit suicide in a way that shows him he is the cause.’
‘I think I agree with him.’
As the lift doors opened at the top floor, we were met by Peter Hesp, the technician from the negotiation team who I’d first shown the listening device Kevin had found in his home.
‘We meet again, Inspector,’ he whispered as he continued to roll out a length of cable along the corridor. ‘Third door on the left for Mike. Radios off please gents, and no talking in the corridor.’
As we moved silently to the small room where Mike, the Negotiation Coordinator would be waiting for us, I realised I could actually feel my heart beating in my chest. I clenched my fists, stroking my palms with the tips of my fingers. My hands were damp with sweat. I felt completely out of my depth and afraid. Somewhere near me, a young man was standing outside with the serious intention of ending his life. And I was going to be expected to talk to him and to try and persuade him not to.
And I didn’t have the first idea how I was going to do that.