37

Fletcher was on the floor of the chamber listening to a speech on subsidized housing when the proceedings were interrupted. He’d been checking through his notes, as he was due to speak next. A uniformed officer entered the chamber and passed a slip of paper to the presiding member, who read it, and then read it again, banged his gavel and rose from his place. “I apologize to my colleague for interrupting proceedings, but a gunman is holding a group of children hostage at Hartford Elementary. I am sure Senator Davenport will need to leave, and, given the circumstances, I believe it would be appropriate to adjourn for the day.”

Fletcher was on his feet immediately and had reached the door of the chamber even before the presiding member had closed the proceedings. He ran all the way to his office, trying to think on the move. The school was in the middle of his district, Lucy was a pupil and Annie was head of the PTA. He prayed that Lucy wasn’t among the hostages. The whole of the State House seemed to be on the move. Fletcher was relieved to find Sally standing by the door to his office, notebook in hand. “Cancel all of today’s appointments, call my wife and ask her to join me at the school, and please stay by the phone.”

Fletcher grabbed his car keys and joined the flood of people hurrying out of the building. As he drove out of the members’ parking lot, a police car shot in front of him. Fletcher pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator and swung into the police car’s slipstream as they headed toward the school. The line of cars became longer and longer, with parents making their way to pick up their offspring, some looking frantic after hearing the news on their car radios, others still blissfully unaware.

Fletcher kept his foot on the accelerator, staying only a few feet away from the rear bumper in front of him, as the police car shot down the wrong side of the road, lights blinking, sirens blaring. The policeman in the passenger seat used his loudspeaker to warn the pursuing vehicle to drop back, but Fletcher ignored the ultimatum, knowing they wouldn’t stop. Seven minutes later both came to a screeching halt at a police barrier outside the school; where a group of hysterical parents was trying to find out what was going on. The policeman in the passenger seat leaped out of his car and ran toward Fletcher as he slammed his door closed. The officer drew his pistol and shouted, “Put your hands on the roof.” The driver, who was only a yard behind his colleague, said, “Sorry, Senator, we didn’t realize it was you.”

Fletcher ran to the barrier. “Where will I find the chief?”

“He’s set up headquarters in the principal’s office. I’ll get someone to take you there, Senator.”

“No need,” said Fletcher, “I know my way.”

“Senator…” said the policeman, but it was too late.

Fletcher ran down the path toward the school, unaware that the building was surrounded by military guards, their rifles all aimed in one direction. It surprised him to see how quickly the public stood to one side the moment they saw him. A strange way to be reminded that he was their representative.

“Who the hell’s that?” asked the chief of police as a lone figure came running across the yard toward them.

“I think you’ll find it’s Senator Davenport,” said Alan Shepherd, the school’s principal, looking through the window.

“That’s all I need,” said Don Culver. A moment later Fletcher came charging into the room. The chief looked up from behind the desk, trying to hide his “that’s all I need” look, as the senator came to a halt in front of him.

“Good afternoon, Senator.”

“Good afternoon, chief,” Fletcher replied, slightly out of breath. Despite the wary look, he rather admired the paunchy, cigarsmoking chief of police, who wasn’t known for running his force by the book.

Fletcher gave a nod to Alan Shepherd, and then turned his attention back to the chief. “Can you bring me up to speed?” he asked as he caught his breath.

“We’ve got a lone gunman out there. It looks as if he strolled up the main path in broad daylight a few minutes before school was due to come out.” The chief turned to a makeshift ground-floor plan taped to the wall, and pointed to a little square with ART ROOM printed across it. “There appears to be no rhyme or reason why he chose Miss Hudson’s class, other than it was the first door he came to.”

“How many children in there?” Fletcher asked, turning his attention back to the principal.

“Thirty-one,” replied Alan Shepherd, “and Lucy isn’t one of them.”

Fletcher tried not to show his relief. “And the gunman, do we know anything about him?”

“Not a lot,” said the chief, “but we’re finding out more by the minute. His name is Billy Bates. We’re told his wife left him about a month ago, soon after he lost his job as the night watchman at Pearl’s. Seems he was caught drinking on duty once too often. He’s been thrown out of several bars during the past few weeks, and, according to our records, even ended up spending a night in one of our cells.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Davenport,” said the principal, rising from his place.

Fletcher turned to see his wife, “Lucy wasn’t in Miss Hudson’s class,” were his first words.

“I know,” said Annie, “she was with me. When I got your message, I dropped her off with Martha and came straight over.”

“Do you know Miss Hudson?” asked the chief.

“I’m sure Alan has told you that everyone knows Mary, she’s an institution. I think she’s the longest-serving member of staff.” The principal nodded. “I doubt if there’s a family in Hartford who doesn’t know someone who’s been taught by her.”

“Can you give me a profile?” asked the chief, turning to face Alan Shepherd.

“In her fifties, single, calm, firm and well respected.”

“And something you left out,” added Annie, “much loved.”

“What do you think she’d be like under pressure?”

“Who knows how anyone would react under this sort of pressure,” said Shepherd, “but I’ve no doubt she’d give up her life for those children.”

“That’s what I feared you’d say,” said the chief, “and it’s my job to make sure she doesn’t have to.” His cigar was no longer glowing. “I’ve got over a hundred men surrounding the main block and a sniper on top of the adjacent building who says he occasionally gets a sighting of Bates.”

“Presumably you’re trying to negotiate?” said Fletcher.

“Yes, there’s a phone in the room which we’ve been calling every few minutes, but Bates refuses to pick it up. We’ve set up a loudspeaker system, but he’s not responding to that either.”

“Have you thought of sending someone in?” asked Fletcher as the phone on the principal’s desk rang. The chief pressed the intercom button.

“Who’s this?” Culver barked.

“It’s Senator Davenport’s secretary, I was hoping…”

“Yes, Sally,” said Fletcher, “what is it?”

“I’ve just seen a report on the news that says the gunman is called Billy Bates. The name sounded familiar, and it turns out that we have a file on him—he’s been to see you twice.”

“Anything helpful in his case notes?”

“He came to lobby you on gun control. He feels very strongly on the subject. In your notes you’ve written ‘restrictions not tough enough, locks on triggers, sale of firearms to minors, proof of identification.’”

“I remember him,” said Fletcher, “intelligent, full of ideas but no formal education. Well done, Sally.”

“Are you sure he isn’t just crazy?” asked the chief.

“Far from it,” said Fletcher. “He’s thoughtful, shy, even timid, and his biggest complaint was that no one ever listened to him. Sometimes that sort of person feels they have to prove a point when every other approach has failed. And his wife leaving him and taking the children, just when he’s lost his job, may have tipped the balance.”

“Then I’ve got to take him out,” said the chief, “just like they did with that guy in Tennessee who locked up all those officials in the revenue office.”

“No, that’s not a parallel case,” insisted Fletcher, “that man had a record as a psychopath. Billy Bates is a lonely man who’s seeking attention, the type that regularly comes to see me.”

“Well, he’s sure grabbed my attention, Senator,” responded the chief.

“Which could be precisely why he’s gone to such extremes,” said Fletcher. “Why don’t you let me try and speak to him?”

The chief removed his cigar for the first time; junior officers would have warned Fletcher that meant he was thinking.

“OK, but all I want you to do is to get him to pick up the phone, then I’ll take over any negotiations. Is that understood?” Fletcher nodded his agreement. The chief turned to his number two and added, “Dale, tell them that the senator and I are going out there, so hold their fire.” The chief grabbed the megaphone and said, “Let’s do it, Senator.”

As they started walking down the corridor, the chief added firmly, “You’re only to step a couple of paces outside the front door, and don’t forget your message needs to be simple, because all I want him to do is pick up the phone.”

Fletcher nodded as the chief opened the door for him. He took a few steps before he came to a halt and held up the megaphone. “Billy, this is Senator Davenport, you’ve been to see me a couple of times. We need to speak to you. Could you please pick up the phone on Miss Hudson’s desk?”

“Keep repeating the message,” barked the chief.

“Billy, this is Senator Davenport, would you please pick up…”

A young officer came running toward the open door, “He’s picked up the phone, Chief, but he says he’ll only speak to the senator.”

“I’ll decide who he talks to,” said Culver. “No one dictates to me.” He disappeared through the door and almost ran back to the principal’s study.

“This is Chief Culver. Now listen, Bates, if you imagine…” The phone went dead. “Damn,” said the chief as Fletcher walked back into the room. “He hung up on me, we’re going to have to try again.”

“Perhaps he meant it when he said he would only speak to me.”

The chief removed his cigar again. “OK, but the moment you’ve calmed him down, you pass the phone over.”

Once they’d returned to the playground Fletcher spoke over the megaphone again. “Sorry, Billy, can you call again, and this time I’ll be on the other end of the line?” Fletcher accompanied Don Culver back to the principal’s study to find Billy already on the speaker-phone.

“The senator’s just walked back into the room,” the principal assured him.

“I’m right here, Billy, it’s Fletcher Davenport.”

“Senator, before you say anything, I’m not budging while the chief has all those rifles trained on me. Tell them to back off if he doesn’t want a death on his hands.”

Fletcher looked at Culver, who removed his cigar once again before nodding.

“The chief’s agreed to that,” said Fletcher.

“I’ll call you back when I can’t see one of them.”

“Right,” said the chief, “tell everyone to back off, except for the marksman on the north tower. There’s no way Bates could spot him.”

“So what happens next?” asked Fletcher.

“We wait for the bastard to call back.”

Nat was answering a question on voluntary redundancies when his secretary came rushing into the boardroom. They all realized that it had to be urgent as Linda had never interrupted a board meeting before. Nat immediately stopped speaking when he saw the anxious look on her face.

“There’s a gunman at Hartford Elementary…” Nat went cold, “…and he’s holding Miss Hudson’s class hostage.”

“Is Luke…”

“Yes he is,” she replied. “Luke’s last lesson on a Friday is always Miss Hudson’s art class.”

Nat rose unsteadily from his chair and walked toward the door. The rest of the board remained silent. “Mrs. Cartwright is already on her way to the school,” Linda added as Nat left the room. “She said to tell you she’ll meet you there.”

Nat nodded as he pushed open a door that led into the underground parking garage. “Stay by the phone,” was the last thing he said to Linda as he climbed into his car. When he nosed up the ramp and out onto Main Street, he hesitated for a moment before turning left instead of his usual right.

The phone rang. The chief touched the speaker and pointed to Fletcher.

“Are you there, Senator?”

“Sure am, Billy.”

“Tell the chief to allow the TV crews and press inside the barrier; that way I’ll feel safer.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” began the chief.

“No, you wait a minute,” shouted Billy. “Or you’ll have your first body in the playground. Try explaining to the press that it only happened because you didn’t let them inside the barrier.” The phone went dead.

“You’d better go along with his request, Chief,” said Fletcher, “because it looks like he’s determined to be heard one way or the other.”

“Let the press through,” said Culver, nodding to one of his deputies. The sergeant quickly left the room, but it was several minutes before the phone rang again. Fletcher touched the console.

“I’m listening, Billy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Davenport, you’re a man of your word.”

“So what do you want now?” barked the chief.

“Nothing from you, Chief, I prefer to go on dealing with the senator. Mr. Davenport, I need you to come across and join me; that’s the only way I have a chance of getting my case heard.”

“I can’t allow that to happen,” said the chief.

“I don’t believe it’s your call, Chief. It’s up to the senator to decide, but I guess you’ll have to sort that out among yourselves. I’ll call back in two minutes.” The phone went dead.

“I’m happy to agree to his demand,” said Fletcher. “Frankly there doesn’t seem to be a lot of choice.”

“I don’t have the authority to stop you,” said the chief, “but maybe Mrs. Davenport can spell out the consequences.”

“I don’t want you to go in there,” said Annie. “You always think the best of everyone, and bullets aren’t that discriminating.”

“I wonder how you’d feel if Lucy was one of the children trapped in there?”

Annie was about to reply when the phone rang again. “Are you on your way, Senator, or do you need a body to help you make up your mind?”

“No, no,” said Fletcher, “I’m on my way.” The phone went dead.

“Now listen carefully,” said the chief, “I can cover you while you’re in the open, but you’re on your own once you’re in that classroom.” Fletcher nodded and then took Annie in his arms, holding her for several seconds.

The chief accompanied him along the corridor. “I’m going to phone the classroom every five minutes. If you get a chance to talk, I’ll tell you everything that’s happening on our end. Whenever I ask a question, just answer yes or no. Don’t give Bates any clues as to what I’m trying to find out.” Fletcher nodded. When they reached the door, the chief removed his cigar. “Let me take your jacket, Senator.” Fletcher looked surprised. “If you’re not concealing a gun, why give Bates any reason to believe you might be?” Fletcher smiled as Culver held the door open for him. “I didn’t vote for you last time, Senator, but if you get out alive, I just might consider it next time. Sorry,” he added, “just my warped sense of humor. Good luck.”

Fletcher stepped out onto the playground and began to walk slowly down the path toward the main classroom building. He could no longer spot any of the sharpshooters, but he sensed that they weren’t far away. Although he couldn’t see the TV crews, he could hear their tense chatter as he stepped into the light of their massive arc lamps. The path that led to the classrooms couldn’t have been more than a hundred yards. To Fletcher it felt like walking a mile-long tightrope in the blazing sun.

Once he’d reached the other side of the playground he climbed the four steps to the entrance. He entered a dark, empty corridor and waited until his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. When he reached a door stenciled with the words MISS HUDSON in ten different colors, he knocked quietly. The door was immediately yanked open. Fletcher stepped inside to hear the door slam behind him. When he heard the muffled sobbing, Fletcher glanced across to see a group of children huddled on the floor in one corner.

“Sit there,” commanded Bates, who looked as nervous as Fletcher felt. Fletcher squeezed into a desk built for a nine-year-old on the end of the front row. He looked up at the disheveled man, whose ill-fitting jeans were torn and dirty. A paunch hung over his waistline, despite the fact that he couldn’t have been more than forty. He watched carefully as Bates crossed the room and stood behind Miss Hudson, who remained seated at her table in the front of the class. Bates held the gun in his right hand, while placing his left arm on her shoulder.

“What’s happening out there?” he shouted, “what’s the chief up to?”

“He’s waiting to hear from me,” said Fletcher in a quiet voice. “He’s going to phone in every five minutes. He’s worried about the children. You’ve managed to convince everyone out there you’re a killer.”

“I’m no killer,” said Bates. “You know that.”

“Perhaps I do,” said Fletcher, “but they might be more convinced if you were to release the children.”

“If I do that, then I won’t have anything to bargain with.”

“You’ll have me,” said Fletcher. “Kill a child, Billy, and everyone will remember you for the rest of their lives; kill a senator, and they’ll have forgotten by tomorrow.”

“Whatever I do, I’m a dead man.”

“Not if we were to face the cameras together.”

“But what would we tell them?”

“That you’ve already been to see me twice, and you’d put forward some sensible and imaginative ideas on gun control but no one took any notice. Well, now they’re going to have to sit up and listen, because you’re going to be given the chance to speak to Sandra Mitchell on prime-time news.”

“Sandra Mitchell? Is she out there?”

“Sure is,” replied Fletcher, “and she’s desperate to interview you.”

“Do you think she’d be interested in me, Mr. Davenport?”

“She hasn’t come all this way to talk to anyone else,” said Fletcher.

“Will you stay with me?” asked Bates.

“You bet, Billy. You know exactly where I stand on gun control. When we last met you told me you had read all of my speeches on the subject.”

“Yes I have, but what good did that do?” asked Billy. He took his arm off Mary Hudson’s shoulder and began walking slowly toward Fletcher, the gun pointed directly at him. “The truth is that you’re only repeating exactly what the chief has told you to say.”

Fletcher gripped the sides of the desk, never taking his eyes off Billy. If he was going to risk it, he knew he needed to draw Billy in as close as possible. He leaned forward slightly while still holding firmly to the lid of the desk. The phone by Miss Hudson began ringing. Billy was now only a pace away, but the ringing sound caused him to turn his head for a split second. This gave Fletcher the chance to jerk the lid of the desk up in a sudden movement, crashing it into Billy’s right hand. Billy momentarily lost his balance, and as he stumbled, he dropped the gun. They both watched it hurtle across the floor, coming to a halt just a few feet away from Miss Hudson. The children began to scream as she fell on her knees, grabbed the gun and pointed it straight at Billy.

Billy rose slowly and advanced toward her as she remained kneeling on the floor, the gun pointing at his chest. “You’re not going to pull the trigger, are you, Miss Hudson?”

With each step Billy took toward her, Miss Hudson trembled more and more violently. Billy was only a foot away from her when she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. There was a click. Billy looked up, smiled, and said, “No bullets, Miss Hudson. I never intended to kill anyone, I just wanted someone to listen for a change.”

Fletcher slid out from behind the desk, ran to the door and yanked it open. “Out, out,” he yelled, his right hand gesturing in a sweeping movement at the terrified children. A tall girl with long pigtails stood up and ran toward the open door and out into the corridor. Two more followed closely behind her. Fletcher thought he heard a piping voice say “Go, go,” as he held the door open. All but one of the children came rushing toward him, disappearing out of sight within moments. Fletcher stared toward the corner at the one remaining child. The boy slowly rose from his place and walked to the front of the class. He leaned down, took Miss Hudson by the hand, and led her toward the door, never once looking at Billy. When he reached the open door, he said, “Thank you, Senator,” and accompanied his teacher out into the corridor.

A loud cheer went up as the tall girl with long black pigtails came charging through the front door. Searchlights beamed down on her and she quickly placed a hand over her eyes, unable to see the welcoming crowd. A mother broke through the cordon and ran across the playground to take the girl in her arms. Two boys followed closely behind, as Nat placed an arm around Su Ling’s shoulder, desperately searching for Luke. A few moments later, a larger group came running out of the door, but Su Ling couldn’t hold back the tears once she realized Luke was not among them.

“There’s still one more to come,” she heard a journalist reporting on the early evening news, “along with his teacher.”

Su Ling’s eyes never left the open door for what she later described as the longest two minutes of her life.

An even bigger cheer went up when Miss Hudson appeared in the doorway clutching Luke’s hand. Su Ling looked up at her husband, who was vainly attempting to hold back the tears.

“What is it with you Cartwrights,” she said, “that you always have to be the last out?”

Fletcher remained by the door until Miss Hudson was out of sight. He then closed it slowly, and walked across to pick up the insistent phone.

“Is that you, Senator?” demanded the chief.

“Yes.”

“Are you OK? We thought we heard a crash, maybe even a shot.”

“No, I’m just fine. Are all the children safe?”

“Yes, we’ve got all thirty-one of them,” said the chief.

“Including the last one?”

“Yes, he’s just joined his parents.”

“And Miss Hudson?”

“She’s talking to Sandra Mitchell on Eyewitness News. She’s telling everyone that you’re some kind of hero.”

“I think she’s talking about someone else,” said Fletcher.

“Are you and Bates planning to join us sometime?” asked the chief, assuming he was just being modest.

“Give me a few more minutes, Chief. By the way, I’ve agreed that Billy can also talk to Sandra Mitchell.”

“Who’s got the gun?”

“I have,” said Fletcher. “Billy won’t be causing you any more trouble. The gun wasn’t even loaded,” he added, before putting the phone down.

“You know they’re going to kill me, don’t you, Senator?”

“No one’s going to kill you, Billy, not as long as I’m with you.”

“Do I have your word on that, Mr. Davenport?”

“You have my word on it, Billy. So let’s go out and face them together.”

Fletcher opened the classroom door. He didn’t need to search for a light switch as there were so many megawatts beaming in from the playground that he could clearly see the door at the far end of the passage.

He and Billy walked down the corridor together without a word passing between them. When they reached the main door that led onto the playground, Fletcher opened it tentatively and stepped into a beam of light, to be greeted by another huge cheer from the crowd. But he couldn’t see their faces.

“It’s going to be all right, Billy,” said Fletcher, turning back toward him. Billy hesitated for a moment, but finally took a tentative step forward and stood by Fletcher’s side. They walked slowly down the path together. He turned and saw Billy smile. “It’s going to be all right,” Fletcher repeated, just as the bullet ripped through Billy’s chest. The sheer impact threw Fletcher to one side.

Fletcher pushed himself up off his knees and leaped on top of Billy, but it was too late. He was already dead.

“No, no, no,” Fletcher screamed. “Didn’t they realize that I gave him my word?”