Estuary Echo. A hostage situation in Exeter.
Serpentine Crescent and neighbouring Holt Street have been cordoned off. No-one can go in or out. Residents at home have been told to stay there. Residents who are away have been told to find alternative accommodation until the siege is over. A negotiator has been called.
A man armed with a knife is holed up in Number 24 Holt Street with another man as his hostage. Names have been withheld.
Our information about the knife has been misreported. This isn’t good for Tim.
Mrs Baker brings tea and joins us at the window.
“I keep thinking about Helena,” she says, “living right next door. Wondering how she’s coping. It’s only five years since she lost Electra. Then her brother was murdered … and now this.”
“It’s hard to imagine how the grief and the stress are affecting her,” I say.
“It explains why she hasn’t been herself for a while.”
“How do you mean?”
“She’s always been private,” she says, “but when Ben and Electra started seeing each other, we became closer. Then just before they got engaged …” she stops.
It was Ben who was going to marry Electra. Anita didn’t say!
“Electra … passed away.” Her voice cracks.
I’m in shock and I don’t know how to respond.
“We each kept to ourselves after that,” she continues, getting her voice back. “Just a wave and a smile from a distance. But I’ve seen Helena a few times lately and she’s ignored me completely. Almost as if … she’s forgotten who I am.”
Memory loss, made worse by stress?
And what about Ben? He’s had to deal with the murder of Electra’s father. While I’m the doppelganger of his lost love.
We watch a man in a flack-jacket and helmet arrive. He talks to a huddled group of what must be plain clothes detectives including Ben.
“Why is he dressed like that?” asks Mrs Baker. “Ben’s not wearing protective gear.”
“I think he’s the police negotiator,” Baxter says. “He probably always wears it. They’ll get Tim’s number and he’ll try to talk him down and get him to release Porkie. I’m reading about the five-steps in a hostage strategy.” He nods towards his phone.
Mrs Baker moves to the sofa and opens an e-reader. That’s one way to stop worrying about the real world. It’s why I write fiction.
“What are the steps?” I ask Baxter.
“Step 1: Listen. Like, don’t think you know what the guy wants. Shut down the voice in your own head and pay attention without judgement. Step 2: Walk a mile in his shoes. Or a kilometre which is point 62 of a mile, so a mile gives you more time. Like, put yourself in his place and understand his position. You don’t have to agree but you do have to understand how he feels.”
“This is an insightful list.”
“Yeah. Step 3: Meet him where he is. This is hard because you can’t pretend or it won’t work. You have to show him you’re looking at things the way he is. Step 4: Reframe. Dig deeper with him and find the real problem he was trying to solve by taking a hostage. Like, Tim said he wants Porkie to confess to the crime that he was convicted for. But is Porkie responsible and can Porkie solve it while he’s cable-tied to a chair?”
“Good point.”
“This list is helping me think what I’d do if I had a flack-jacket and a helmet.”
“And Step 5?”
“Determine alternative solutions. He’ll let the hostage go if together you’ve found better ways to solve the problem.”
“These steps,” I say, “make it sound easier than it must be when you’re working with someone who’s highly charged and emotional.”
“And if Porkie confesses while he’s under pressure to say what Tim wants, I don’t think that’s admissible in court. And what about the evidence? Porkie can’t do anything about Tim’s DNA on that bit of broken cup.”
“Then there’s the pressure on the negotiator to make sure Porkie doesn’t get hurt if Tim gets frustrated that the negotiations are taking too long.”
“I don’t think Tim would hurt him.”
But what’s happened to the flying knife?
Baxter takes out his phone and shows me the short recording he made. It started after Tim disarmed Porkie and there’s no knife visible. Tim hooks his leg around Porkie’s to tip him over onto his front, then sits on him while he cable-ties his ankles and wrists. It looks like he’s learned a few tricks in prison.
Outside Number 24, the man in the flack-jacket is talking with a phone to his ear. Is he talking to Tim?
The day creeps on. Raider has the best job, keeping the rug warm. There’s not much to see but Baxter and I keep vigil until Ben starts making his way towards us. There’s a knock and the front door opens.
“Our negotiator says he’s getting nowhere. And Tim Bale is asking for someone called Spectre. I think I know who Spectre is. I wish I didn’t.”
Baxter says, “Spectre is my alias in the pen-friend study. Tim’s alias was Tom-Tom and we were writing to each other. But I accidentally found out his name a few days ago and I had to leave the group.”
“Tim wants to talk to you. There’s no pressure for you to do it or act like an expert but you might be able to help us relate to him because you’re both on the spectrum.”
“OK,” Baxter says. “I’ll talk to him. But I need Tiggy and Raider as my backup buddies.”
Ben looks at Raider then at me as if we’re a bridge too far, then remembers there are lives at stake.
“Only if you agree to control Raider, Tiggy, and keep your mouth shut unless one of the hostage-team speaks to you.”
I swallow a snarky comment. “I agree.”
We thank Mrs Baker and leave.
Another man waiting in the Baker’s front garden fits Baxter out in a flack-jacket, then Ben walks us up the street. Raider and I move back to the fence while Ben introduces Baxter to the negotiator.
“I’m not getting anywhere,” he says. “You’re about his age, Baxter, and they tell me you’re on the autism spectrum and know him a little.”
“Yes,” Baxter says. “We’ve connected through our art. What do you want me to do?”
“He says he’s innocent of the conviction he’s in jail for. And he’s trying to get it overturned by getting Paul Pigford to confess. We think he has a knife so that ups the stakes. But anything Paul says under duress or threat of injury isn’t going to help Tim with his problem.”
“What will help him?” Baxter asks.
The negotiator looks around the group of detectives as if it’s the first time the question has been asked.
“It was the DNA that convicted him,” says an older detective. “Nothing to do with Paul.”
“Can you review the DNA evidence?” Baxter asks. “Can we offer him that if he lets Paul go?”
The detective again. “After Dr Loxton’s forensics team spent a whole weekend sifting through all that rubbish to find it? Good luck with that.”
“Mistakes are made sometimes,” Baxter says. “Dr Loxton knows that. Ring her up.”
Baxter’s clarity cuts through the barrier that’s been holding the negotiations back. I wish Zaylee could hear him and see his quiet strength. More powerful than her barrage of put-downs. A detective gets the nod and makes a call. Everyone waits.
“The DCI has approved it. He’s going to ring Dr Loxton personally.”
I wonder if she’s at home. Would she talk to Tim herself?
“I won’t speak to Tim until we know it’s going to happen,” Baxter says.
More waiting.
Another phone gets answered. “Yes, sir. One of us can escort her.”
“Dr Loxton has agreed to review the evidence but Tim has to let Paul go. She’s at home and she’s going to make the offer herself.”
Two men are sent next door and within minutes, the negotiator is in a huddle with Helena and Baxter.
Then he’s getting Tim back on the phone.
“Tim, you asked us to bring Spectre into the negotiations. He’s with me now.”