DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

the kerb and an officious looking swine strode out. “Who’s in charge here?”
    “I am,” snapped Allen. “Who are you?”
    “Detective Inspector Emms, Communications. What’s the situation?”
    “The situation,” said Allen, ‘is that we have a police killer armed with a shotgun holding a woman and two children hostage in the top back room of that house over there. He’s threatening to kill them all if we don’t meet his demands - a Concorde to take him to Rio or some such rubbish.”
    “Have you made contact with him?”
    “Only through the loud hailer. He won’t let us get near.”
    “You’ve got to make voice contact,” said Emms. “You’ve got to establish rapport.”
    “You’re not teaching a bunch of bloody rookies,” snarled Allen. “I know what we ought to do. At the moment we can’t do it.”
    Emms looked up to trace the direction of the overhead phone lines. “There’s a phone in the house. I can wire you into it. If he picks up the receiver, he’ll be directly through to you.”
    “The phone is downstairs. Our man is upstairs. I can’t see him trotting down just to see who’s ringing him, but wire it in anyway.”
    “Right,” said Emms, pleased to have the chance to show off his expertise. He disappeared into the back of his van.
    Allen’s walkie-talkie paged him. “Reporter from the Denton Echo would like to talk to you, Inspector.” Allen’s first thought was to tell the man to go to hell, but, on reflection, it wouldn’t do him any harm to get his name in the papers. “Send him over,” he said.
    The communications expert emerged from the van. In his hand he held a telephone on a long length of cable which trailed behind him. “It’s ringing,” he announced proudly, offering the handset to Allen.
    “When I want you to ring him, I’ll bloody well tell you,” said Allen, snatching the phone. He listened. The ringing tone, on and on and on. He looked for someone to take the phone over. “You . . . Constable!”
    PC Collier came forward. Allen pushed the phone at him. “Listen to this. It’s ringing in the house. I don’t suppose he’ll answer, but if he does, keep him talking and let me know immediately.”
    A man in a duffle coat ran down the street toward him. “Mr. Allen? My name’s Lane - chief reporter Denton Echo . What’s the story?”
    “The man with the gun is Eustace, Stanley Eustace, but I don’t want his name published. There are other, more serious, charges pending.”
    The reporter lifted his pencil from the page. “What charges?”
    “Strictly off the record, Mr. Lane, the charge will be the murder of Police Constable David Shelby, but that is not for publication at this stage.”
    Lane nodded. Nothing linking the armed man with any other of fences could be printed as it could prejudice the chances of a fair trial. “Who are the hostages?”
    “Mrs. Mary Bright, thirty-four, separated from her husband, and her two children, Bobby, seven, and Scott, eight.” Allen looked over Lane’s shoulder to Collier, still holding the phone tightly to his ear. “We’ve got a direct line through to the house. It’s ringing, but he won’t answer. I’ll try the loud hailer again in a minute.”
    Allen squinted as car headlights hit his face and another car pulled up. Parley Street was starting to look like a public car park. He was about to yell for it to be moved on when he saw Mullett climbing out.
    Mullett marched briskly over. He nodded to Allen, then raised an inquiring eyebrow at the reporter.
    “Mr. Lane, chief reporter, Denton Echo ,” Allen told him.
    Mullett clicked on his professional smile. “Mullett - two 'l's and two ‘t’s - Superintendent Mullett, Commander of Denton Division.” While the reporter was writing that down he asked, “How do you intend to play this, Inspector?”
    “As long as the hostages are in no danger, sir, we’re prepared to sit tight and hang it out. We hope to commence a dialogue with Eustace soon, when I’ll try and get him to release the children. Our aim is for a peaceful conclusion.” Allen said this loudly for the reporter’s benefit and was pleased to see his words being taken down verbatim.
    “It might be better,” Mullett told the reporter, ‘if you put that down as if I had said it. It’s my directive, and Mr. Allen is acting in accordance with it.” Allen fumed inwardly.
    “He’s still not answering the phone, Inspector,” said Collier, whose ear was starting to