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school year, but I started to work through them: maths, literacy, spellings, a history project and a news book. The first page of the news book made me smile. Ben had drawn a picture of a huge bed, which filled the entire page. In it was a small stick figure. Underneath it he had written, I spent the hole weekend in bed. There was a comment beside it in red ink: Are you sure that’s all you did, Ben? I expect you did something else. The drawing of the bed is nice. It even made me smile, because it was nonsense, and I thought simply: this is the world I want to be in, the imaginative, funny world that’s my son. I knew then, with perfect clarity, that if Ben didn’t survive this, then nor could I.
JIM Five of us turned up: me, and four men in full gear. Black clothing, bullet-proofed jackets, caps that hide your eyes, and shoes with soles that were thick enough to do damage. All my men were armed. All of us wore earpieces, to keep in radio contact. I was leading. It was 0500 hours. It was dark. Early morning hush was settled over the neighbourhood like a blanket. We parked quietly around the corner, killing the car engine quickly, and when we got out we didn’t talk, communicating with gestures only. Three of us stayed at the end of the driveway, in the shadows and out of sight, and we waited there silently while I sent two around the side of the property. We didn’t want anybody slipping out of the back. Streetlights revealed that the bungalow was in bad condition, in contrast to the neighbouring properties, which were immaculate, their front gardens displaying neatly trimmed lawns, and tended borders, containing closely clipped shrubs like shiny suburban trophies. The flowerbeds in our bungalow’s garden were overgrown, and the lawn was muddy and unkempt, but the metal gate at the side of the house had shiny black paint on it and its latch didn’t squeak when my two DCs opened it and sidled through it. My guess was that its decline was recent. There was a single garage to the side of the bungalow; its door was shut but in good nick, and the driveway had been expensively relaid at some point recently. There was no crunchy gravel to give us away. There was also no vehicle in the driveway, no curtains drawn at the front and no lights on in the house, and I hoped to God the place wasn’t empty. On my signal, two of the men approached the front door and stood either side of it, tucked in, so that they weren’t visible through the frosted glass in the door, not until they were ready to be. There was a security light above them, but it didn’t come on. They had a battering ram with them, a black metal cylinder, so that they could break down the door if necessary. They didn’t look at me. They were focused on the door, waiting to hear my voice in their earpieces. ‘Go,’ I whispered into my radio. I knew the command would transmit loud and clear, and they didn’t hesitate. They rang the bell, hammered on the door, shouted through the letter flap: ‘Police, let us in. Police!’ The noise ripped through the pre-dawn stillness. By the time a light came on in the hallway of the bungalow the other properties around us were lit up like Christmas trees and we were about to bash the door in. A woman opened it, just an inch or two at first, suspicious eyes peering through. She looked as though she’d been asleep. She wore tracksuit bottoms, plastic clogs and a nurse’s tabard. My men pushed past her. I followed. ‘Where is he?’ I said. She pointed towards the end of the hall opposite. One of my men was already down there; the other had gone into the front rooms. I ran down the hall, but even before I’d travelled those few paces I knew it had gone wrong when my man said, ‘In here, boss,’ and his voice sagged. He stood in the doorway just ahead of me and his body language had relaxed, adrenalin gone. There was no threat. As I pushed past him, he said, ‘He’s not going anywhere.’ In the middle of the room was a hospital bed. In the bed lay a man, his eyes wide balls of fear. He was underneath a white sheet that he’d pulled up to his neck with fingers that scrunched the material
- Page 192 and 193: RACHEL When I got back inside Nicky
- Page 194 and 195: JIM On the night of Wednesday, 24 O
- Page 196 and 197: DAY 5 THURSDAY, 25 OCTOBER 2012 You
- Page 198 and 199: RACHEL I slept the night in Ben’s
- Page 200 and 201: individuals closest to Ben, and he
- Page 202 and 203: ‘What about their son, Charlie Bo
- Page 204 and 205: He took another sheet of paper from
- Page 206 and 207: more imperfect than any version of
- Page 208 and 209: JIM Addendum to DI James Clemo’s
- Page 210 and 211: JC: She said she was knackered. She
- Page 212 and 213: It led swiftly to the fourth state.
- Page 214 and 215: Quick response appreciated, obvious
- Page 216 and 217: WEB PAGE - www.whereisbenedictfinch
- Page 218 and 219: I didn’t know what to say. I look
- Page 220 and 221: RACHEL Zhang agreed to come and giv
- Page 222 and 223: sensation. Then she spoke to him of
- Page 224 and 225: abstract shapes floating within it,
- Page 226 and 227: JIM I got one of the DCs to pick up
- Page 228 and 229: RACHEL This time, I made no attempt
- Page 230 and 231: dog, black and white like Skittle,
- Page 232 and 233: FM: I’m not intending to. That’
- Page 234 and 235: everything that had happened. But I
- Page 236 and 237: JIM We worked closely with John Fin
- Page 238 and 239: DAY 7 SATURDAY, 27 OCTOBER 2012 An
- Page 240 and 241: RACHEL In the early hours of the mo
- Page 244 and 245: tight. A hospital band was visible
- Page 246 and 247: cancer himself. The whole family, w
- Page 248 and 249: Another page. A different drawing:
- Page 250 and 251: ‘The blog.’ I was slow; I didn
- Page 252 and 253: told him to fuck off. ‘Tell Frase
- Page 254 and 255: ‘Stop asking me to be patient. Ho
- Page 256 and 257: JIM In the incident room the blinds
- Page 258 and 259: swing. ‘So what are we thinking?
- Page 260 and 261: ‘She’s drunk?’ I asked when h
- Page 262 and 263: JIM Addendum to DI James Clemo’s
- Page 264 and 265: JC: Fine. He coaxes his lips up int
- Page 266 and 267: JIM It was Emma who I thought of al
- Page 268 and 269: DAY 8 SUNDAY, 28 OCTOBER 2012 The P
- Page 270 and 271: RACHEL When dawn came there was no
- Page 272 and 273: JIM Nine o’clock Sunday morning,
- Page 274 and 275: RACHEL The hospital receptionist se
- Page 276 and 277: JIM Addendum to DI James Clemo’s
- Page 278 and 279: RACHEL My cab driver on the way hom
- Page 280 and 281: tall bear of a man, with very dark
- Page 282 and 283: ‘To be honest, I assumed Nicky wo
- Page 284 and 285: He actually put his hand over his h
- Page 286 and 287: ‘Cool,’ my avatar said. ‘New
- Page 288 and 289: me wants you here to run the invest
- Page 290 and 291: I behaved in an arrogant and disgus
school year, but I started to work through them: maths, literacy, spellings, a history project and a news<br />
book.<br />
The first page of the news book made me smile.<br />
Ben had drawn a picture of a huge bed, which filled the entire page. In it was a small stick figure.<br />
Underneath it he had written, I spent the hole weekend in bed. There was a comment beside it in red<br />
ink: Are you sure that’s all you did, Ben? I expect you did something else. The drawing of the bed is<br />
nice.<br />
It even made me smile, because it was nonsense, and I thought simply: this is the world I want to be<br />
in, the imaginative, funny world that’s my son.<br />
I knew then, with perfect clarity, that if Ben didn’t survive this, then nor could I.