Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Read online

  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 a