“Don’t worry about us,” Julia cajoled.

“We don’t actually have to lie, any of us,” Roger said. “We just need to play dumb.”

“Yes, well, there’s no problem, then, is there? Because that’s hardly going to be a challenge for any of you!” Zara declared. For once, it wasn’t actually meant as an insult, it just sounded like it.

Anna-Lena nodded thoughtfully at the bank robber.

“Roger’s right. We just have to play dumb. We can say you never took the mask off, so we can’t give a description.”

* * *

The bank robber tried to protest. They didn’t give her a chance. Then there was a knock at the door, and Roger went into the hall and peered through the spyhole, and saw Jim standing outside. That was when Roger realized what the real problem was.

“Damn. That policeman’s out in the stairwell, how are you going to get past him into the other apartment without him seeing you? We didn’t think of that!” he exclaimed.

“Perhaps we could distract him?” Julia suggested.

“I could squirt lime juice in his eyes!” Ro nodded.

“Perhaps we could just try reasoning with him?” Estelle said hopefully.

“Unless we all run out at once so he gets confused!” Anna-Lena said, thinking out loud.

“Naked! People always get more confused when you’re naked!” Lennart informed them, in his capacity as an expert.

Zara was standing next to him, and he was probably expecting her to tell him he was a damn idiot, but instead she said: “Perhaps we could bribe him. The policeman. Most men can be bought.”

Lennart of course noticed that she could have said “most people,” she didn’t have to say “most men,” but he couldn’t help thinking it was a nice gesture on her part to try to be part of the group.

* * *

The bank robber stood in front of them for a long while with the key in her hand, on the brink of telling them about Jim, but instead she said thoughtfully: “No. If I tell you how I’m going to escape, you’d have to lie when the police question you. But if you just walk out of here now and go downstairs, you can tell the truth: when you closed the door behind you, I was still in here. You don’t know what happened to me after that.”

They looked like they wanted to protest (all except Zara), but eventually nodded in response (even Zara). Estelle put some clingwrap over the remains of the pizza and put it in the fridge. She wrote her phone number on a scrap of paper, put it in the bank robber’s pocket, and whispered: “Send me a text when you’re safe, otherwise I’ll worry.” The bank robber promised. Then all the hostages walked out of the apartment. Roger went last, and carefully closed the door behind him until he heard the latch click. Jim directed them to walk down the stairs, where Jack was waiting to escort them into the police cars that would drive them to the station to be questioned.

* * *

Jim was left alone in the stairwell for a while, and waited until Jack came up the stairs.

“Is the bank robber still in there now? Are you sure, Dad?” Jack asked.

“One hundred percent,” Jim said.

“Good! The negotiator’s going to call the phone in there shortly and try to get him to come out voluntarily. Otherwise we’ll have to break the door in.”

Jim nodded. Jack looked around, then crouched down by the elevator and picked up a piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

“Looks like a drawing?” Jim said.

Jack put it in his pocket. Looked at the time. The negotiator made the call.

* * *

It had been tucked inside one of the pizza boxes, the special telephone thingy. It was Ro who had found it. She was very hungry, so she just thought it was odd to find a phone in a pizza box, put it down, and decided to eat first before bothering to think about it. And by the time she’d finished eating she’d forgotten all about it. There was so much else going on, the fireworks and all the rest of it, and perhaps you had to know Ro to understand just how absentminded she could be. But perhaps it’s enough to know that once she’d finished her own pizza, she opened all the other boxes and ate the crusts the others had left. At that point Roger turned to her and said she needn’t worry, he was sure she was going to be a good parent now, because good parents eat other people’s crusts out of other people’s boxes just like that. Hearing that meant so much to Ro that she burst into tears.

So the phone was left on the little three-legged table beside the sofa, as unsteady as a spider on an ice cube. When all the hostages had gone, the bank robber put her pistol down next to the phone, after wiping it carefully first, of course, because Roger had seen a documentary about how the police find fingerprints at crime scenes. She also threw her ski mask on the fire, because Roger had said the cops might be able to get DNA and all sorts of other stuff off it otherwise.

* * *

Then the bank robber went out through the door. Jim was standing alone on the landing. They glanced at each other quickly, she gratefully, he full of stress. She showed him the key. He breathed out.

“Hurry up,” he said.

“I just want to say… I haven’t told anyone you’re doing this for me. I didn’t want anyone to have to lie for me when they were questioned,” she said.

“Good,” he nodded.

She tried in vain to blink away the dampness in her eyes, because of course she knew she was actually asking someone to lie for her, more than he had ever lied for anyone. But Jim wouldn’t let her apologize, just pushed her past the elevator door and whispered: “Good luck!”

She went inside the neighboring apartment and locked the door behind her. Jim was left standing on his own in the stairwell for a minute, which gave him time to think of his wife and hope she was proud of him. Or at least not really angry. With all the hostages safely on their way to the station, Jack came running up the stairs. Then the negotiator made the call. And the pistol hit the floor.

67

Back in the police station, Jim has told Jack the truth, the whole truth. His son wants to be angry, he wishes he had the time, but because he’s a good son he’s busy trying to come up with a plan instead. Once they’ve let the witnesses leave through the back door of the police station, he sets off toward the main entrance at the front.

“You don’t have to do this, son, I can go,” Jim says disconsolately. He stops himself from saying: Sorry I lied to you, but deep down you know I did the right thing.

Jack shakes his head firmly.

“No, Dad. Stay here.”

He stops himself from saying: You’ve caused enough problems. Then he walks out onto the steps at the front of the building and tells the waiting reporters everything they need to know. That Jack himself has been responsible for the whole of the police response, and that they have lost the perpetrator. That no one knows where he is now.

Some of the journalists start shouting accusing questions about “police incompetence,” others merely smirk as they take notes, ready to slaughter Jack in articles and blog posts a few hours from now. The shame and failure are Jack’s alone, he carries them on his own, so that no one else gets blamed. Inside the station, his dad sits with his face in his hands.