The Terror Within

by Linda Regan

Genres: Thrillers; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

CAN THEY SAVE THE HOSTAGES BEFORE TIME RUNS OUT? Just as DCI Banham and DI Alison Grainger are about to get married, a policeman is shot and all officers are urgently called to the scene. Banham, a trained hostage negotiator, rushes to the street when he hears his friend, PC Martin Neville, has been injured and taken hostage, along with four others. As Banham tries to negotiate, things go from dangerous to critical, with PC Neville is in a life-threatening condition. Meanwhile Grainger, having been left at the altar, defies orders and is working on the case from the CCTV room. When the pieces begin to fall together, she finds herself in a deadly situation. With time nearly up, the demands of the hostage-takers are yet to be met and lives remain at risk... DCI Banham returns in the latest heart racing novel from critically acclaimed author Linda Regan. This fast-paced and gritty thriller is perfect for fans of Lynda La Plante and Kimberley Chambers.

Release date: December 12, 2019

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 237

Sample

It was supposed to be a simple civic wedding, taking place in the local town hall. Alison had said she didn’t want a fuss. Detective Chief Inspector Paul Banham, having been married before, was in full agreement.

His twin sister, Lottie, however, was having none of it.

Lottie had nine-year-old twins of her own, and argued they should be included if their favourite uncle was getting married. ‘After all,’ she reminded him, ‘they weren’t born when you got married the first time.’

Bobby wasn’t greatly interested in weddings. ‘That’s cool,’ he’d muttered as Lottie excitedly told him the news, his head nodding like a dog toy in the rear of a car. ‘Cool. Yup. Yup. Alison’s cool. She likes football.’

Bobby’s twin sister Madeleine however had been the complete opposite. She had become overexcited, jumping up and down then hurling herself at Alison, wrapping her long arms tightly around the shocked woman’s neck. ‘Will I be a fairy bridesmaid, and get a pink twinkly dress?’ she’d shrieked while clinging and swinging, leaving Alison speechless.

Lottie had quickly come to the rescue, unwrapping the child’s arms from Alison’s neck and placing Madeleine back on the ground. ‘Calm down,’ she scolded her hyperactive daughter. ‘This is about Alison, not you.’

Detective Inspector Alison Grainger had been thrown by the outburst. She hadn’t planned on having any bridesmaids, let alone twinkly fairy ones. She hated pink, but she had grown to love Madeleine, as she knew Paul did deeply. So, as the child clung to her neck, pleading for a pink dress, Alison had remained silent.

If Madeleine was to be dressed like a pink, glittery fairy, then Alison knew the child would talk her into donning a frilly dress herself, and she’d have to grin and bear the fact she looked and felt like a cross between a meringue and a poodle – and in front of half of the murder team that she and her fiancé worked so closely with, which she would never live down. And all because Banham adored little Madeleine and would do anything to make her happy.

As Madeleine had stood, scolded and sobbing, with her back to Alison, Alison caught Banham giving the tiniest of smiles and then a shrug. Both had felt that, despite their wishes, this was a request that couldn’t be refused. Banham, and now Alison, loved Madeleine dearly – so as always, Madeleine got her way.

Now it was the big day. Alison comforted herself with the fact it was going to be a quick service. She had won on that score. Then a meal at the local Italian, with the dreaded itchy and uncomfortable dress removed and placed out of sight. That would be bearable.

And then it was off to Mykonos. That would be just what the doctor ordered. Two weeks alone on a Greek island, with Paul Banham. That would be their time. The wedding ceremony was now all for Madeleine.

Banham’s own beautiful baby daughter had been murdered horrifically, along with his first wife, Diane, thirteen years earlier. The killer had never been found. Alison therefore understood why Banham doted on his niece, and pandered to her every whim. Alison had found it easy to adore her too. She had the same large blue eyes as Banham and his fair hair. So she had let Madeleine talk her into wearing a cream, meringue-shaped dress, trimmed in pink, and accessorised with cream satin high-heeled shoes that she could barely stand up in, let alone wear up the aisle of the town hall. Madeleine had also insisted they wore tiaras in their hair, as all fairies did, and Alison had agreed, but made sure her own was so tiny it was barely noticeable.After the ceremony, when she and Banham were alone, it would all be history, and she would know she had done the right thing by agreeing to marry him. Right now, sitting in the back of the white Mercedes, in between her fat ex-army father and her fidgety, overexcited fairy bridesmaid, doubt was burning into her brain and fast turning to panic. She hated being the centre of attention, and she hated looking like a show poodle.

Why couldn’t they have just set up home together? There hadn’t been any need for legalising their relationship in marriage. Why on earth had she agreed to this pantomime?

As the pink ribbon-adorned Mercedes turned the corner, and onto the road that led to the town hall, she was seriously thinking of asking Barry, her police colleague and driver, to stop the car so she could get out and leg it. Deep down she knew that not only could she not run in the ridiculous satin stilettos, she loved Banham and wanted to be with him.

Or did she?

Yes, she did – it was the marriage bit she wasn’t sure of. So why was she there, she questioned herself silently.

She had been so shocked when he asked her, she had immediately said yes, for no other reason than to get him off his knees in the middle of the police station corridor. When she’d thought about it afterwards, she hadn’t been so sure about actually marrying him – but by then it felt like she couldn’t back out.

Yes, she loved him, but she didn’t need a ring on her finger to prove it to the world. Nor did she want this circus of a celebration – but she did want to keep Banham’s family happy, which is why she had allowed Madeleine to take over and tell her what to wear. She just hoped this wasn’t the state of things to come.

A guard of honour made up of uniformed police should have awaited her outside the town hall. Something else that had been arranged without consulting her. She was relieved to know that it had been cancelled due to the riots the previous night, where every available officer had been called in. Local gangs had started fighting and others had been breaking into shops, pilfering the goods inside. Uniformed police had arrived but found themselves totally outnumbered, so neighbouring stations had been alerted and officers drafted in from nearby stations.

As the fighting had progressed cars were set on fire. When another forty-strong rival gang had read about it on social media, they too had come along, fuelled with drugs and too much alcohol, and all hell had been let loose. Worse fighting had broken out, more windows were smashed, and police vehicles had been set alight as the police themselves became the targets. It had got almost out of control: looting was rife, fireworks and petrol bombs were let off, and weapons were wielded as angry youths turned on the police as they attempted to make arrests. The sound of ambulance, police, and fire engine sirens had echoed throughout the night for miles around – police and civilians, as well as police dogs and horses, were high on the list of casualties.

Still it continued. The last Alison had heard, the Home Office had been alerted with a request for water hoses and the army to stand by. Armoured police vehicles too were now out in force. The station cells were full to overflowing and still the fighting and rioting was going on. A large number of the serious crime team from Alison and Banham’s department had cried off from attending the wedding after the shout went out that all available officers were needed.

Alison was relieved at that news, at least it meant most of her work colleagues wouldn’t see her in this ridiculous outfit. She was a respected DI in the force; it was the last thing she needed. It was bad enough in front of her few personal friends, and her own and Banham’s families. They’d all just think it was lovely, as little Madeleine did. The child was in her element, sitting next to Alison in the back of the car. She kept touching her glittering, sequinned pink dress, smoothing it with her tiny hand, which also twinkled with glittering silver nails and the shiny body gel she had smothered over her hands and arms.

Alison thought the child looked like a beautiful rosebud doll, and was delighted Madeleine was bouncing with happiness, even if it meant her looking like a poodle. She would cope, she told herself, it was just for a few hours. Madeleine was about to be her niece, and she intended to be a really good auntie – and that started here. She had even bought the child glittering pink wings to attach to her dress, so Madeleine really could be the pink fairy princess she had dreamed about, for a day.

Alison had won a small victory about her own dress. No matter how Madeleine had tried to persuade her that pink was the best colour in the world, she had bought a cream dress, but pacified Madeleine by agreeing to trim it with a pink ribbon and pink net. And now she itched, everywhere, from her bra down to her hideous shoes. She was a boyish dresser normally, happiest in jeans worn with oversized, bland-coloured jumpers. It went with her job. She had to chase criminals, and she needed comfortable clothes for that, with the added practicality of flat shoes. Already, the four-inch satin shoes were giving her jip, not to mention blisters, and the day had hardly started.

As the Mercedes pulled up outside the town hall, she took a deep breath, pulled a smile, winked at Madeleine, and turned and took her father’s arm to help him out of his seat and into his wheelchair.

Did someone say this should be the happiest day of her life? Well, they were wrong. This was just another day, just a short and sweet service, she reminded herself, then it would be all over and she would be off sipping cocktails in the sun – but still she wondered why she had ever agreed to a marriage commitment.

Banham was already inside, in his best grey suit with his hair freshly cut. He was nodding welcoming greetings as guests spilled into the registry office to take their seats. Beside him was tiny Detective Sergeant Colin Crowther, who he had chosen as his best man.

DS Crowther couldn’t dress properly if his life depended on it. He was a first-class detective, but had been at the back of the queue when style and tidiness were handed out. The man had agreed to have his mass of overgrown black hair cut for this event, but it now looked as if it didn’t fit his head properly. Previously his hair had been a mass of dark curls, usually gelled and standing alert like a hedgehog hung on a washing line. Today, the shorter curls were still gelled, but lay flat against his scalp, like a game of noughts and crosses with all noughts.

Banham was just relieved to see the sergeant was wearing the suit he had been hired for the occasion, even if Crowther’s hands were completely covered by the sleeves of the jacket. And Banham was even more relieved to have checked that his sergeant had the rings, though Lord only knew how he intended handing them to the DCI when the moment came, with those sleeves in the way. Banham had rather hoped the man would have the presence of mind to at least turn the cuffs back a few inches. It had been impossible to find a decent hired suit that would fit Crowther: the man was only five foot four inclusive of the hidden lifts inside his shoes. Still, Banham had the greatest respect for this Tom Thumb of a man. As far as detective work went, there was none better.

Banham too was feeling edgy and nervous. He was also doubting his decision to get married. He thought back to the day he’d stared at Diane’s butchered body, lying by the blood-splattered and mutilated corpse of their eleven-month-old daughter Elizabeth. Murdered in their own home, his home too, at a time when he should have been with them instead of taking the overtime. He had sworn to them at that devastating moment that he would find the killer and bring them to justice. He had promised he would never stop looking until the killer was found.

The years had gone by, and with no forensics or other evidence to go on, the murders slowly faded as a police priority. Eventually the case file, along with Elizabeth’s yellow Baby-gro and Diane’s blood-stained bedding and the remains of her nightdress, was boxed up and housed with all the other unsolved cases, in the basement of the police station.

Banham had moved into CID, and when Alison Grainger was seconded into the department, they had started working together. They had been friends for many years, then gradually the friendship had grown into a relationship, his first since the death of his beloved family.

Now, standing in the town hall registry office, waiting to marry again, he thought of that promise to Diane, and a knot formed and tightened in his stomach. He loved Alison, that wasn’t in doubt, but guilt was eating at him, making him question his right to move on with his life. The memories had flooded back. He wondered how Diane would look today, and how little Elizabeth would look; she would be fourteen by now, settled in secondary school. Maybe even courting. And what would Diane think of him not tracking down their killer? Wasn’t that the main reason he had joined CID and become part of the murder team? He had let her down. But he also knew he had to move on.

Alison stepped out of the car. She then found she couldn’t take another step. It wasn’t even the bloody awful cream satin heels, it was the fact that her father, who was twenty stone and currently sliding his way, sideways, out of the car, still sat on the edge of her dress. She had felt him sitting on it on the journey, but now as she opened the door and scrambled out of the back of the vehicle to stand up, she heard a rip. The net trimming on the satin underskirt had given way under her father’s weight. She took a deep breath; it was only a bit of netting, and hardly the time, or place, to start cussing. As long as it didn’t start Maddie crying.

‘No worries,’ she said to him, winking at Madeleine. ‘Nothing that will show.’

Major Grainger was completely wheelchair-bound, so Alison had to organise putting the wheelchair out on the pavement by the car so he could haul himself, with help, into it. Philip, one of the police team who had been meant to meet them at the venue, had been assigned the job of pushing the major down the short aisle beside his daughter, so he could officially give her away – but Philip had been sent to help with last night’s riot control. So Barry hurriedly left the driver’s seat to help.

Madeleine too was out of the car and jumping up and down with excitement, attempting to arrange Alison’s frock. Her wings were flapping around behind her, nearly in Major Grainger’s face. He had to flick them away as he settled into the wheelchair.

Alison bent over to check his blanket was comfortable, and another ripping sound came as she trod on the loose netting from the last mishap. She inhaled a deep breath of air, then realising she had stuck the heel of one of her God-awful shoes through the hem of her dress as well, she rolled her eyes to heaven. How was she ever going to keep her temper in check and get into the building if this bloody dress got under everyone’s feet and wheels? She wanted to pull the bloody thing off and sling it in the nearest bin, but knew to keep her famous temper under control. Madeleine always started to cry if Alison swore, and she couldn’t let that happen.

It was a grey day: no rain, but everywhere was still damp from the downpour of yesterday. Autumn leaves had started to fall. She mentally noted them along the pavement. She’d have to walk carefully, the path would be slippery, she couldn’t afford to go arse over tit. She had a child’s hand to hold, flapping fairy wings to avoid, and more importantly, if she skidded on leaves she would over-balance onto her father who was being wheeled on the other side of her. She wasn’t an elegant walker at the best of times, and it would be easy to slip. The wheelchair, herself, her father, and her fairy princess bridesmaid would all go flying. The thought of it suddenly made her smile.

She tottered on carefully, and lifted her head high as she prepared to enter the town hall. Then a pin dropped out of the French pleat that she had carefully rolled her waist-length auburn-brown hair into.

Then, as another hairpin hit the ground, a small wisp of hair touched her cheek and then fell to her shoulder where it hung. She let Maddie’s hand go for a second while she flicked the stray wisp behind her ear. Perhaps the congregation would think it was meant to look like that, she comforted herself. Besides, could she really care? Just get through the next few ghastly hours, she told herself, and then you can rip the dress up, kick the shoes off, and throw them both in the nearest bin. She would be back in her comfortable jeans, carrying a suitcase full of beachwear and sun lotion, and she and Banham would be heading for the airport and that luxurious villa in Greece.

She paused as they reached the door of town hall. She could hear the chatter of the congregation. She turned and smiled at her excited niece, and then winked at her father.

As Barry was about to open the door and lead them in, and as if on cue, his radio bleeped twice. The emergency call.

‘All units urgent,’ the voice followed. ‘PC down. Shots have been fired at police on duty. Henry Street. Assailants are armed, shots fired at officers. Emergency. Emergency. All available units. Officer shot and taken hostage. All spare officers needed to help.’ The voice was urgent. ‘Armed SC019 unit on way. Backup urgently requested. We need a trained hostage negotiator urgently, DCI Banham is on leave. Can anyone help?’

As Alison turned to Barry to tell him to go, DS Crowther shot out of the Town Hall, closely followed by Banham.

Alison looked at Banham, then herself.

‘A police officer has been shot,’ Banham told her urgently. ‘There’s a hostage situation. And I’m the only trained hostage negotiator around at present.’

‘Go. Go,’ she urged him. ‘It’s fine. This will wait.’ She wanted to go too. It was what she did. A colleague had been shot and her unit needed her – but dressed as she was, it wasn’t a possibility. ‘I’ll follow you,’ she shouted as Crowther and Banham, both suited and booted, jumped into a car and shot off in the direction of the riots.

She turned quickly to Barry, who was still hovering by the wheelchair, uncertain what to do. ‘Go. You go too. Go with them,’ she shouted at him. ‘I’ll sort this and I’ll meet you all there.’

She turned and noticed the registrar had arrived beside her, and was looking bewildered.

‘Sorry,’ she said, waving her hand dismissively. ‘We’re police. There’s an emergency. We’re putting this on hold. Can you tell the guests to go to the restaurant and enjoy themselves.’

The bemused registrar nodded her head.

Madeleine started to wail.

A cacophony of emergency services sirens, all growing in volume, could be heard as Banham and Crowther sped into Burton Street, then Beacon Street, where the rioting was one street away – and which was parallel to Henry Street where hostages were being held.

Crowther had driven in record time, at one point his speedometer had hit nearly a hundred miles an hour. His BMW was practically on two wheels as he swung into the side road adjoining Beacon and Burton Streets. From this small road they had a good vision of Henry Street and the surrounding roads, which were overflowing with angry youths hurling stones, lighted sticks, and even eggs at police officers and the horses and dogs that had been seconded in. Some of the rioters were still smashing their way into shops on a mission to grab anything they could lay their hands on.

Crowther pulled up sharply. Banham leaned forward and took in a deep breath.

‘You OK, guv?’ Crowther asked with a wide grin, noticing Banham’s flat and tense palms pushing against the dashboard.

‘Fine,’ Banham said. ‘I just hadn’t expected to be travelling at that speed, that’s all – and I was expecting to be in an aeroplane.’

Jim Carter, head of the SC019 gun unit, immediately took their attention as he rapped on Banham’s passenger window.

‘Can’t be a hundred per cent sure of anything,’ he said as Banham wound down the window, ‘but we believe there are two guys, with firearms, inside the disused warehouse building on Henry Street. They shot one of ours, how badly we don’t know, and they’ve dragged him along the pavement, taken him hostage, along with others.’ He pointed to the large building at the end of the road. ‘They’re in there.’

‘How many hostages, do you know?’ Crowther asked.

Carter shook his head. ‘We haven’t been here long. I didn’t see the incident, so I don’t know anything yet, for sure. We need to talk to officers who were here when it happened. There’s a trail of blood outside in the road, we know that’s our officer’s.’

‘Do we know who the officer is? Banham asked.

‘We believe it’s PC Martin Neville, as no one has seen him for a few hours, but as I say, sir, no one is sure of anything.’

‘Anyone see it happen? Any of our boys?’ Banham pushed.

‘They’re short on manpower out here, very stretched, and it’s been a very tough night from what I hear and see. We don’t know if it is Neville, or where he took the bullet, or how bad he is. Rumour has it there are more of ours taken hostage, plus civilians. But, as I say, at this moment no one can confirm anything for sure.’

‘Right,’ Banham said, opening his door and hurrying out. ‘We need to find out which officers aren’t on the street, then, and how many civilians are in there,’

‘And what the gunmen want,’ Crowther added.

‘It’s been chaotic all night,’ Carter repeated. ‘These men are exhausted. Things were calming down, but then this happened. We’re still waiting for the army and hoses to be approved.’

Banham nodded as he and Crowther hurried on. As they turned into Henry Street, they saw for themselves the burned out cars and the burning sticks flying through the air.

‘I don’t envy our boys if this is calm,’ Crowther said. ‘It’s still mad out there now. If this is calmed down, then God knows what it was like last night.’

‘Doesn’t look good, I agree,’ Banham said, turning to indicate the angry shouts coming from the crowds and the sirens still shrieking around them. ‘I’ll bet our boys have taken a few knocks.’

‘Lots of very low morale out there,’ Carter told him. ‘Everyone is well shaken up with the guns materialising. Priority now, guv, has to be to get Neville out of there and to hospital. We can’t hang about on this one. Judging from that blood trail, that boy could be in a bad way. My team are in place on the roofs opposite the warehouse, and there’s another team in the alleyway by the warehouse. I am happy to give the go ahead to go straight in and take the gunmen down. I believe this would be for the good of Neville’s life.’

Banham cupped his cheeks and rubbed his hand across hi. . .