by Alex Walters
William's mouth opened, but no sound emerged.
Hoxton allowed Marsh's hand to drop. 'On the other hand, he's not in a good state. Not in a good state at all. I don't know if he'll survive till help gets here. And there might be brain damage.' Keeping the gun trained steadily on William, Hoxton grabbed Marsh's hair and pulled back his unconscious head, lifting the forehead from the rough stone floor.
It took William a moment to realise what Hoxton was preparing to do. 'You can't–'
Hoxton looked up, smiling, at William's baffled anguished face. 'Bit too late to start developing a conscience, boy. You're the one who put him down here.'
'He was… I mean, I thought–'
'He was going to kill you?' Hoxton's smile was unwavering. 'Not young Marshy. He's a gentle soul. Bit obsessive, but wouldn't hurt a fly. You'd no reason to start laying into young Marshy.'
William had backed up against the wall. 'I don't understand. I thought he… I mean, you and he–'
'A bit of a misunderstanding there, I'm afraid, boy. You thought Marshy and me were working together. But that's where you got it arse about face, if you'll pardon my French. Put it bluntly, you got the wrong man.'
'I don't–'
'As I say, a bit of an obsessive, our Marshy. But then so are you, aren't you, young William? You're another one who won't let things lie. In more ways than one. Pity really. From your point of view. You and Marsh should have got together. You'd have stood a bit more chance then. As it is, the only question is how best to tie up the loose ends.' He waved the pistol towards William. 'It's all worked out quite nicely for me, boy. Marshy here's not likely to live to tell any tales. You'll be neatly fingered as the cop-killer. Which should put you even more in the frame for Fisher's murder. I imagine Spooner will be only too happy for you to take the fall for Merriman's killing as well. Neat and tidy.'
It wasn't clear whether William was actually following any of this. He was pressed back into the corner of the barn, his eyes jumping from Hoxton's gun to the prone figure of Marsh spread on the floor.
'Of course,' Hoxton went on, 'it wouldn't pay for you to be too talkative. I don't imagine anyone's going to give too much credence to anything you might say. But it might encourage awkward questions, and all that's probably best avoided.' He peered at William, squinting with the air of an artist sizing up his subject. 'You know, young William, I reckon the best thing would be if you was to rush me. Attack me with that piping, just like you did Marshy. Because then, you see, I'd have no option but to shoot you. There'd probably still be a few sticky questions. Like what I was doing with my old pal here.' He gestured with the revolver. 'But I can be surprisingly plausible when I try. And I don't imagine anyone's going to make too much fuss about a cop-killer, do you?' His smile seemed genuinely humorous. 'So how's about it, boy? You going to give it a go?'
William seemed in no state to move at all. He was watching Hoxton with a mix of horror and bafflement, his body twitching.
'Think that would be the best thing all round, don't you, boy?' Hoxton said. 'Of course, doesn't matter if you don't rush me. No one's going to know how or where you tried to attack me, so I can just shoot you where you stand. But it would add a little realism if you were over here.' He paused, as if searching for the goads that would provoke William into action. 'Those bodies, boy. Smart of you to find them. How did you stumble across them? Must have been Fisher, I suppose. That was his ghost story, was it? He knew about all this, of course. Another one paid and blackmailed to keep quiet. Would have driven the poor bugger to drink if he hadn't been there already. But he knew. He really knew where the bodies were buried and talked to you in his cups. Did he tell you about your old man then?' He looked up, looking for William to react.
William gazed back, dead-eyed. 'I already know about my father. All about him.'
'You're no fool then, William Callaghan, are you? You poor bugger. You're worse than him.' He gestured towards Marsh. 'Chasing your own little ghosts. Out of your depth. I know you contacted the police about them bodies. I know because I made damn sure nothing happened, me and one or two others with more clout. Weren't difficult though. Some anonymous nutter rings up with a story like that, who's going to listen? I can see how that would have driven you loopy.'
William shook his head. It was clear he was beyond provocation.
'Time enough then, lad. Way that rain's coming down, this place'll be knee-deep before long. You don't want to play ball. I'll have to do it my way.' He grasped Marsh's hair, as he had before, and once again raised the head off the rough ground, preparing to smash it down hard on to the stone.
Unexpectedly, Marsh let out a groan, his eyes fluttering. His body twisted in pain and, still no more than semi-conscious, he pulled himself to one side. Hoxton, crouching on his haunches, momentarily lost balance and tumbled over onto Marsh's body.
William, operating more on instinct than reason, took his opportunity and threw himself forward to grab the piping. He grasped it in one hand and swung it hard at Hoxton's head.
Hoxton pulled back and the metal pipe caught him on the shoulder. 'You little bastard–' He fell back into a sitting position, his hand struggling to level the gun at William, finger tightening on the trigger.
As he fired, Marsh, still only half-awake, reached up and grabbed Hoxton's wrist, pulling the gun barrel down towards his own chest.
In the small room the shot was deafening. Hoxton looked down in confusion, and it took him a moment to register that Marsh had been shot, a neat brown-ringed bullet-hole in the centre of his white shirt. A pool of blood was already spreading across the floor from the larger exit-wound in his back.
Hoxton looked at the smoking gun in his own hand, then raised it up towards where William had been standing. But William was already moving towards the doorway. Hoxton fired but the bullet went wide, ricocheting into the roof of the outbuilding.
William stumbled out into the pounding rain, his feet splashing through the deepening pools of water. The surrounding fields were awash, he realised, reflecting the leaden grey of the skies.
Coming towards them, wheels streaming spray, its headlights blazing in the dark afternoon, was a long black car.
Chapter 64
'My god,' Winterman said. 'Look at the state of those fields.'
There were, in fact, no fields visible – only acre after acre of flat grey water. Even in the short time since Brain had returned to the station, the water level had risen to the point where the river had overflowed its notional banks. The water had spread, filling the empty reaches, turning the landscape into an expanding lake.
In itself, that was not a cause for concern. The reaches had been built for precisely that purpose. The low-lying land would accommodate the excess water as the river rose. But the rain was still coming down and the melting snow further up-stream would add to the volume. Already the water was lapping close to the raised edge of the road.
Winterman drove Spooner's police Jaguar with exaggerated caution. Conditions were easier than in the snow, but the roads were awash with surface water. Spooner had made it clear that the low-slung Jaguar, one of the first acquired for police duties, was his personal pride and joy.
'That the place?' Winterman pointed ahead of them through the streaming windscreen. The wipers could barely cope with the wind-driven rain.
'Yes, those buildings,' Brain said.
Winterman turned off the main road. The road surface was still above the water, and he could see where the narrow strip of road angled off towards the higher ground. But, as the afternoon drew on, the route would become increasingly treacherous. Already the buildings themselves were stranded on a narrow peninsula, circled by endless water.
Winterman slowed the car, peering through the windscreen for any signs of life. The buildings were away from the road, an opportunistic use of a patch of higher ground. There was a large barn, apparently long abandoned, its roof sagging, alongside two smaller outbuildings. The black Wolseley was parked at the edge of t
he road, facing the buildings. The driving seat was empty.
Winterman stopped a few yards from the Wolseley. As Brain had described, a second car was turned on to its side, close to the wall of the barn. There was a long skid mark leading from the road to the rear wheels. As far as Winterman could tell in the dim light, the skid-marks were fresh.
'This as you left it?'
Brain nodded. 'Except that Hoxton was in the car. And the water's risen a bit.'
'Come on then. Let's find out what's going on.' Winterman made a move to open the car door. Then his fingers froze on the door handle as a figure lurched out of the shadows, stumbling in a peculiar zig-zag towards them.
At first it was nothing more than a black shape. Then the stark white face was caught in the glare, wild-eyed and terrified. The face of someone running with the devil on his heels.
Winterman climbed out, his boots sinking into the sodden ground. 'William! It's me. DI Winterman.'
He had expected Callaghan to respond with relief, but his pale face showed only confusion. He paused momentarily, then looked back fearfully over his shoulder.
'William!'
For a moment, he thought Callaghan would ignore the call. But Brain was already out of the car and closing in on the young man from the other side. With no options left, Callaghan stopped and moved towards Winterman.
'Come here, man,' Winterman called. 'We're not going to hurt you.'
He intended the comment only as reassurance, but William's expression suggested he took the words seriously. 'You're not with him?'
'With who? We're not with anyone. Get in the car, man, you're soaked to the skin.' Winterman thrust William, barely resisting, into the back seat. Winterman clambered into the driver's seat. Brain fell into the car a moment later.
'They're in there,' William said. 'He's got a gun. I think he's killed him. But I…' The words were barely coherent. William was shivering from the cold and fear, his body convulsing.
'Who's in there? Who's got a gun?'
'Police,' William choked. 'Your man–'
'Hoxton? Is it Hoxton who's got a gun?'
William nodded frantically. 'He shot… he shot the other one.'
'The other one?'
'The other one. Your man.'
It was Brain who said it. 'You mean DC Marsh?'
'Yes. Marsh. He shot him. I think he's dead.'
Winterman felt a cold chill in his stomach. 'Hoxton shot Marsh?'
'Yes…but I–'
'Never mind. You can tell us the detail later.' They needed backup. Winterman had no idea what was going on, but it would be madness to face an armed man without support. But if Marsh was in there, possibly still alive, they had to do something.
He looked at Brain. 'I'm going in. You stay here with Callaghan. See if you can use that thing to get some backup.' He gestured down at the dashboard. Spooner's new car was fitted with a prototype police radio linked back to headquarters, an innovation due to be rolled out to the whole fleet in due course. From his experience of police technology, Winterman had limited confidence in its efficacy.
He pushed open the door and peered through the murky daylight for some sign of life. Seeing nothing, he cautiously climbed out and walked forward a few paces, his eyes fixed on the nearest outbuilding. As he drew closer, he finally saw Hoxton's figure, framed in the doorway.
'Hoxton?'
'Guv.' Hoxton was motionless, his expression impossible to read in the dim light.
'What's going on, Hoxton?' Winterman took another few steps forward.
He had left his hat back in the car, and the rain was dripping from his hair, cold water running down his back, inside his coat.
'We got him, guv. Callaghan. He's the one behind everything. He attacked Marshy. He's the one.'
'Marsh in there?'
Hoxton glanced behind him as if unsure of the answer. 'Aye, guv. He's not in a good way.'
'Who shot him, Hoxton?' Winterman had moved forward again. 'Was that you?'
Hoxton looked almost surprised at the question. He hesitated a second before responding, perhaps considering whether the forensic evidence would expose any lie. 'It was an accident, guv. I was trying to stop Callaghan.'
'Whose gun was it?'
'It was mine. Old service revolver. Long story. Shouldn't have brought it but… you know, self-protection.'
'What about Marsh? How is he?'
'Think he's bought it. He was already in a bad way after Callaghan attacked him.'
'What are you doing up here, Hoxton? What made you come out here?'
'I was looking for Marshy, guv.'
'But why here?'
'Just a hunch. You know how it is.'
Winterman was within a few yards of Hoxton. 'Thought Hamshaw might have told you.'
'Hamshaw? Told me what? Is Callaghan safe in the car, guv? Who's with him? Brain?'
'What did Hamshaw say to you, Hoxton?'
'Don't know what you mean. We should get Callaghan back.' Marsh gestured at the rising floodwaters. 'We haven't got a lot of time.'
'What did Hamshaw say when you called him this morning?'
'Not much. Just routine.'
'You didn't speak to the housekeeper then?'
'Guv?'
'Never mind. What sort of routine?'
'With respect, sir, this isn't the time. We need to deal with Callaghan. Ought to get Marshy moved as well before this lot gets any higher.'
'Brain overheard you.'
'Brain? Don't know what he heard. To be honest, not sure what you're going on about, guv. You feeling all right?'
'I'm fine, Hoxton. Just wet and cold. I want to know what's going on. What brought you up here. Why you shot Marsh. Where that gun came from.' Winterman paused. 'Why Hamshaw lied about your call.'
'Can't speak for Hamshaw. Anyway, who says he lied? This all young Brain's say-so. Nice enough lad, but I wouldn't rely on his judgment.'
'I'm just trying to understand what's going on. You've shot and killed one of your colleagues with what I assume is an illegal gun.'
'Accident, guv. The gun was for self-defence. I know I overstepped the mark there. But Callaghan's a killer.'
'And you knew Callaghan was here? Why did you come up here on your own? Why not get backup?'
'Long story, guv. I'll explain it all later.'
'I hope you will. I'm going to have to take you in, Hoxton, you realise that.'
'You've got to go through the formalities.'
'Not a question of formalities, Hoxton. You're responsible for the death of another officer. You've an illegal firearm. There are other questions that need answering. You and Hamshaw. And the others.'
'Others, boss?'
'The others that Hamshaw spoke to you about. Who are they?'
There was another longer hesitation. Finally, Hoxton moved forward, stepping out into the rain. The revolver was in his hand. 'You know, guv, now I think about it, I'm really not so keen about coming with you. I just want you to let me leave.'
Chapter 65
'Where are you planning to go, Hoxton?' Winterman said.
'I'll just disappear. Won't be the first time. In everyone's best interest.'
'People don't just disappear, Hoxton.'
'You'd be surprised,' Hoxton said. 'Takes a while but people forget. New people get to know you. Think they know you. Think you've been around forever.' He was smiling. 'Bit of money's all it takes. I've got that stashed away. Last resort. Not surprised it's come to it. Thought I'd have a bit more discretion in the timing, that's all.'
'What if I try to stop you?'
'Then I shoot you, sir. But I'd rather not.' He stepped forward, very slowly, the rain bouncing off his balding temples.
'I can't just let you go. You know that, don't you, Hoxton?'
'Your choice, guv. But I can't see you're going to achieve much, given my old pal here.' He raised the gun and pointed it steadily towards Winterman. 'Just let me get to the Wolseley. No skin off your nose, sir, if I mig
ht say so.'
'Except I'm a policeman, Hoxton. We don't do that.'
'That's another thing you might be surprised about, with all due respect. What policemen do, I mean.'
'Give me the gun, Hoxton.' Winterman gestured towards the open door behind Hoxton. 'If that was an accident–'
'It's not really about what happened in there. But you know that.'
'Who are you protecting, Hoxton?'
Hoxton took another step or two forward, the rain pounding on his hat and shoulders. 'Don't know what you mean, guv.'
'You were ready to come and face the music till I mentioned the others. Who are they?'
Hoxton continued to move slowly forward, keeping the revolver pointing directly at Winterman.
'Hoxton–'
The opportunity came unexpectedly. Hoxton, keeping the gun poised, one eye on Winterman, the other on the two police vehicles, stumbled on the frozen rain-soaked grass, momentarily losing his footing.
Winterman jumped forward, trying to force Hoxton back on to the ground. His left hand clutched Hoxton's right wrist, pushing the gun barrel away, wrestling to loosen the other man's grip on the weapon.
It was a desperate attempt, but there was no other chance of stopping Hoxton. For a moment it worked. Hoxton, still unbalanced, toppled backwards, his left hand clawing at Winterman's face.
Then the revolver went off, the sound shockingly loud even over the pounding of the rain, Winterman briefly relaxed his grip, convinced that one or other of them must have been hit.
Hoxton was scrabbling away from beneath him, apparently uninjured, and Winterman realised that he too was untouched. He made a frantic lunge, grabbing the back of Hoxton's raincoat and then the arm that still held the gun. Hoxton struggled forward on his hands and knees, mud smearing his hands and his suit. Winterman hung on behind, half-crawling, slipping on the still-icy earth.
Hoxton gave another heave and stumbled to his feet, leaving Winterman clawing at the air. Hoxton staggered forward, and then was up and away towards the road.
Brain had clambered out of the Jaguar, William close behind. Winterman was scrambling to his feet, unsure whether to be relieved or irritated that Brain had disregarded his instructions to seek help.
