Good as Dead Read Free Page B

noise from the front of the shop. A loud grind and clatter. Stephen looked at Helen and she raised her voice over the drone. ‘He’s closing the shutters on the shop.’ They listened in silence until the squeals and clanking had finished, which told them that the solid metal shutters were now down, completely covering the shopfront.
    ‘We’re locked in,’ Stephen said.
    Helen was watching the doorway. ‘I think it’s more a question of locking everyone else out.’
    They had been locked in anyway, of course, but something in the lowering of the shop’s shutters, a change in the light perhaps, provoked an increased panic in the man. He began yanking at the cuffs which rattled and scraped against the radiator pipe, grunting with the effort that Helen knew was pointless.
    ‘Don’t,’ she said.
    Stephen just yanked even harder. He moved on to his knees and began swearing and shouting as he used his free hand to try and pull the radiator away from the wall.
    ‘Please don’t—’
    When Akhtar walked back into the room, he could see that Stephen had changed his position but he did not seem concerned. He clearly had faith in the quality of the handcuffs and the strength of his radiator pipes. He spent a few minutes wrestling the heavy metal filing cabinet from against a wall and inching it, corner by corner, across the room until it was pushed up against the back door.
    He was sweating profusely by the time he had finished. He sat down at the desk and wiped his face with a handkerchief, then fished the gun from his pocket and laid it down on the desktop.
    He turned to look at Helen. ‘You have been in my shop hundreds of times,’ he said, ‘but I still don’t know your name.’
    Despite the situation and the fact that her mind was racing as she struggled to make sense of it, Helen felt a peculiar pang of guilt. She told herself she was being ridiculous. Life in a city like London was full of relationships such as theirs. A few words exchanged every day and a necessary distance maintained. Did this man want more than that? Did he feel … slighted? Rejected even? Was he interested in her romantically ?
    ‘Helen,’ she said. ‘Detective Sergeant Helen Weeks.’
    He nodded. ‘My name is Javed.’ He looked over at the man sitting at the other end of the radiator. ‘I’m very sorry that you have been caught up in all this, Mr …?’
    Stephen was still breathing heavily. He did not look up. ‘Stephen Mitchell.’
    ‘I can only apologise, Mr Mitchell.’
    ‘Listen, Javed—’
    Akhtar cut Helen off. ‘What kind of police officer are you, Miss Weeks?’
    Helen was thrown by the question. ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘In which area do you work? Do you investigate robberies, fraud? Murder?’
    ‘I work on a Child Protection Unit,’ Helen said.
    ‘So not murder?’
    ‘Sometimes … ’
    ‘I need to speak to a police officer urgently.’
    ‘So speak to me.’ She was careful to keep her tone even and reasonable. ‘Tell me what it is you want and we can sort all this out. Whatever your problem is, the sooner you let us go, the easier things will be.’
    ‘You don’t understand. I need to speak to a particular police officer, so I need you to help me.’
    ‘I want to help you, but I can’t—’ The words caught in Helen’s throat when she saw Akhtar’s expression change and watched him scrabble for the gun. She could see that, for the moment at least, he was done with being apologetic or reasonable.
    ‘I need you to use your phone,’ he shouted. ‘I need you to call whoever you have to call to get this policeman here.’
    He was waving the gun at them as he ranted and Helen was aware that, next to her, Mitchell was flinching each time Akhtar used the weapon to emphasise his wishes.
    ‘You get him here now , OK?’ Akhtar threw Helen’s handbag back at her and she had to raise her free hand to stop it hitting her in the face. ‘Get him here and I will tell you what to say when he comes.’
    Outside a siren