“What did the others look like?”
“The other man was Maori, short with dark curly hair. I didn’t think he looked very happy. But the girl looked a very nice person. She was tall with short brown hair and glasses and she was driving that car.” She pointed to the black Ford Cortina parked on the road outside. She looked anxiously at the police cordon. “We’ve never had one of those here before. I hope everything’s all right.”
Matthew managed a half-truth. “The police are pursuing enquiries about a certain person, and there’s a report that he may be coming here. The cordon is just to protect you in case he arrives.”
“Thank you so much, Sergeant,” she said gratefully, and disappeared into the church.
At 7 p.m. the organ stopped, then began again shortly accompanied by the sound of thin but energetic singing. It appeared that the service had started.
Matthew had realised that the formation of a cordon would cause problems with the public. A too-obvious police presence often drew attention to a situation, raised tension and made negotiations more difficult. But the vicar’s uncooperative attitude gave him little choice.
His fears were soon realised. Passing motorists, curious about what the police were doing outside an Anglican Church during a service, were stopping outside and a sizeable group of people was gathering. As people approached him, he tried to keep the situation relaxed and low-key.
“We are acting on information received…. We are still receiving reports… In the meantime we are just ensuring that the public and the church members are not inconvenienced.”
He kept in touch on his car radio as the situation developed. “The media must have got a story out of the hospital,” said the inspector at base. “They’ve got the idea that the patient is violent and are asking about the Armed Offenders’ Squad. I’ve threatened to cut them out if they publish anything before we get the full picture. But they’re very pushy. They sense a juicy story with the church involvement. Are you sure you don’t want any help?”
“No, the cordon is already creating too much interest.”
He whistled when the base gave him the name of the owner of the Ford Cortina. “Any criminal record?”
“Clean.”
“Any licensed gun, pistol or rifle?”
“No.”
“Any spouse?”
“Not advised.”
“What’s the connection with Corbishley?”
“None as far as we can ascertain.”
“She’s an accountant, I believe.”
“We’ve checked with her firm. They say she’s on holiday and believed to be doing advocacy work for the huia sanctuary.”
“Her Ford Cortina is right here. I’ll keep one of my men posted by it just in case they try to make a getaway.”
A red MGB and a black Triumph TR2 came to a stop just outside the church. The doors flew open and the occupants leapt down. They were young, strong-looking men in jeans and football jerseys.
Matthew instinctively looked for the registration numbers, but found that two of the group were standing in front of the plates. I wonder what they’re up to.
The men, six in number, were approaching the police cordon and heading purposefully for the front door of the church. Leading them was a tall, well-built, bronzed young man with fair curly hair.
“Just a moment, sir!” Matthew moved quickly and placed himself in front of the leader. “Are you attending the service? If not, would you kindly remain outside the police cordon.”
The curly-haired man squared up to the policeman and grasped the lapel of his uniform with his right arm. In doing so his sleeve fell down, and a muscular forearm was exposed. His followers stood around belligerently with their fists clenched. “We know what’s happening. What the hell are the police doing! There are terrorists in there and the church is supporting them. If you’re not going to do anything, we will!”
Matthew motioned to the police who moved forward. “Thank you, sir, for your offer of assistance, but we are not permitted to enter the church.”
The other suddenly changed his tune. “Right, men, we can’t go to church today.”
There were guffaws and a low snigger, “bloody hori”, which Matthew pretended not to hear. The group fell back into the watching crowd, but he saw that they were talking to people, several of whom were shaking their hands. He had been trained to assess the mood of a crowd. He did not like what he saw.
20:00 hours. The singing had stopped, the front door of the church opened, and the vicar appeared on the porch in his long white robe. Some worshippers also appeared and looked nervously at the police cordon and the crowd beyond.
“Terrorists! Kidnappers! Lock them all up!” came voices from the crowd.
The vicar nodded pleasantly at Matthew. “Excuse me, Sergeant. Would you mind allowing my parishioners to leave safely?”
Matthew realised that he was going to be involved in protecting the congregation as well. “Archdeacon Mountjoy, I ask you to hand over immediately the patient from Glenfern Hospital and to identify the people who have removed him so that I can take them to the station for questioning.”
“Of course, Sergeant. Just coming.”
Now there was a stir in the crowd. A man who appeared to be around thirty emerged from inside the church. He was short, slightly stooped, had unkempt curly dark hair and looked pale and distraught. He appeared to be of Maori blood. The vicar seized his hand and pumped it enthusiastically.
Matthew nodded quietly to the police squad.
“Archdeacon, we are taking custody of this man to return him to the hospital.”
The vicar continued to shake the hand of the young man. “I hope you enjoyed the service, Tane, and thank you very much for coming.”
“Take it gently,” said Matthew to the police cordon as it drew closer to the porch.
The young man appeared to be embarrassed and tongue-tied at the police and crowd attention. He kept shifting from one foot to another and putting his free hand up to brush the hair from his eyes. At last he could stand it no longer. He wrested his hand from the vicar’s, and bolted like a rabbit down the church steps.
From this moment, things happened with considerable speed. The young Maori man was immediately encircled by the police. Yet quick as the police were, they were forestalled. The group in football jerseys suddenly reappeared and charged forward through the cordon in a kind of rugby scrum formation. In a flash, the nervous young man was whisked from the midst of the blue uniforms and born like a feather swiftly through the crowd towards the road.
The uniformed squad moved immediately in pursuit, but the crowd appeared slow to move aside. When they got to the police van, the onlookers had jammed their cars so close to it that they were unable to move out without much manoeuvring. Matthew got on the radio, but then he realised he hadn’t got the registration numbers of the cars belonging to the young men.
Back in front of the church porch, Matthew and the police squad had to be involved in protecting the departing worshippers from possible physical abuse by the crowd. At the same time they kept a careful lookout for the people answering the description of the kidnappers. But no young people came out. Most appeared to be middle-aged or elderly, and some wore clothes which had long gone out of fashion. A group of elderly women even wore wide brimmed hats, and were so frail that they had to be assisted down the steps.
Some of the onlookers were inclined to be witty.
“They’ll all be dead in a few years – no wonder they’re desperate.”
“The only way they can get a congregation is to kidnap them.”
But what hurt Matthew most were the remarks directed to him personally.