by Alex Walters
Hoxton was heading for the Wolseley. Brain stared at him for a second, unsure how to respond, and then moved to head him off, placing his stocky body between Hoxton and the car. Winterman tried to shout out a warning but the words were swallowed by the rain and wind.
Hoxton slowed, then swerved and changed tack.
Winterman realised what was happening and called out again, still unable to make himself heard. William had also guessed Hoxton's intent and had moved forward but was in no state to intervene. Hoxton pushed him easily out of the way and dragged open the Jaguar driver's door.
Brain had left the engine running, the headlights blazing in the grey, rain-sodden morning. He was running back but it was already too late. Hoxton was in the car, gunning the engine. As Brain reached the vehicle, it spun violently around on the frozen ground, throwing a deluge of spray into Brain's face. Then the car was back on the road and heading towards the village, its red tail lights vanishing into the sweeping gusts of rain.
Winterman reached the road just as the car was pulling away. 'Damn! Spooner's not going to like this at all.'
Chapter 66
In the end, they had abandoned the walk to the school after only a few hundred yards. Until Mary reached the corner by the churchyard, she had not fully appreciated the impact of the night's rain. The fields around the village were already under water, a smooth steel surface broken only by the lines of roads and raised dykes, a few patches of higher ground, the occasional knot of trees. South of the village, where the land rose slightly, was still untouched, but the water continued to rise.
It was an eerie threat, silent but implacable. She had never seen the water rise so fast. Even if the rain were to lessen, gallons of water would still be pouring into the local rivers from upstream. And, for the present, the rain showed no sign of abating.
In the reclaimed land, serious floods came quite literally in waves. As the water rose, it would breach one defence after another, penetrating new areas with unexpected speed and ferocity. At those moments, the slow silent threat would turn into something very different.
She knew that taking the children outside had been the sheerest folly. She had been trying to maintain a semblance of normality. But Winterman was right. She should stay home, keep the children protected.
She hustled them back to the house, explaining the situation to her mother. In the distance, the road heading north was already partly under water, potentially cutting off the village from the neighbouring towns. As they hurried back, she had seen other villagers, clearly of the same mind, urgently taking steps to protect themselves from the rising water. Many local residents, conscious of the risks, kept sandbags ready for such an eventuality, although most had remained unused for years. During the war, there had been a fear that the German bombers, discarding unused bombs on their way back to the coast, might breach a significant dyke, but she was not aware it had ever happened.
Now the threat was real. Her husband had stockpiled his own hoard of sandbags in the coalhole at the rear of the house. She had little expectation that they would provide much protection – the rising waters would assail the house on all sides – but she felt the need to take some action to protect herself and her family.
'Come on, Graham. We need to build a fortress. Keep the water out.'
Graham was gazing at the flooded fields in fascination. 'Are we going to be flooded?'
'Not if we build the walls properly. We need to make this into a castle.'
He was still wearing his wellingtons and his large duffle coat, now sodden with rain. She tightened the belt on her own raincoat and led him back out of the front door. The rain was still pouring down.
'Help me carry out the sandbags,' she said.
He followed to the rear of the house and she found the bags, black with coal-dust. They were heavier than she expected, but she dragged one forward with difficulty towards the door. She started as a large spider scuttled back into shelter.
With some half-hearted help from Graham, she pulled the sandbag slowly around the house, placing it carefully against the front door. She calculated that even two or three bags placed against the exterior doors might help to keep the waters at bay. Beyond that there was little she could do.
They slowly dragged a second bag into position alongside the first, and Mary straightened up, wondering whether she had the energy to bring out a third. Graham offered little real help but she wanted to keep him distracted. She knew from experience that he was much more likely than his sister to worry. Ann would already be playing floods with her dolls, whereas Graham was worrying that they would all be washed out to sea.
She was about to begin on the third bag when she heard a car. Peering over the fence, she saw the pale headlights approaching from the village. Moments later, a large black car passed the gate at speed. She couldn't see who was driving and couldn't imagine where they might be heading. She wondered whether the road to the north was still passable.
The answer to the last question came quickly. After a minute or two, she heard the car returning, pulling to a halt outside her own gate. She looked out, expecting that the driver would be seeking directions.
Instead, she found herself looking through the open driver's window at Hoxton. 'George?'
'How do, lass.' Hoxton jerked a thumb behind him. 'You know anything about that road?'
She peered where he was pointing. The road looked to be under water. She shook her head. 'I've not heard anything, but I can't see that you'll get through there.'
'That's what I thought. Bit of a bugger, really, 'scuse my French. Got some urgent business for Spooner. This is his fancy motor. Need to get back to the office.'
'It looked better to the south. You might be able to get round.'
Hoxton nodded. 'Not sure I've got much choice. Don't want to get stranded though.' He paused, and then beckoned her gently. 'Can I just get your opinion, lass? Just something I'd like you to see. Bring the lad over as well.' He gestured towards Graham, who was huddling against his mother's coat. 'Won't keep you more than a second.'
Obediently, she led Graham into the road. 'What is it, George?'
Hoxton had the door half-open and was leaning out, the revolver in his hand. 'I'm sorry, lass. I'd rather this was anyone but you. But there you are. We don't always get what we want.' He gestured with the gun. 'You and the lad get in the back. If I can't get out this way, I'm going to need you and the lad as an insurance policy.'
Chapter 67
Winterman dragged the other two back into the Wolseley. For a second, he feared they were stranded, but Hoxton had left the keys in the ignition. Winterman looked back at the cluster of buildings, already nearly cut off by the floods.
'We'll have to leave Marsh there. Get a team out to pick him up when this clears.'
It sounded callous, but he had already spent precious seconds checking that Marsh really was dead. There was little to be gained now from trying to collect his remains. But he felt a chill when he considered how long it might be before these floods subsided or what state the body might be in by then.
He still had no idea what had brought the three men to this desolate spot. William was in no state to be questioned, and their priority was to apprehend Hoxton. Whatever this was all about, Hoxton was a dangerous man.
Winterman started the engine and pulled back on to the road. The water was lapping up to the road surface, and would soon begin to wash over it. Before long the road would be impassable. He stamped on the accelerator and headed towards the main road.
'Did you get through to HQ on that radio gubbins?'
'Yes,' Brain said, in a tone of mild wonder. 'She was a bit confused as to who I was. I asked for backup but all the roads north of here are flooded. I suggested she contact DS Spooner at the station.'
Winterman glanced across at the young man. 'So he'll come out just in time to see his own car speeding past him?'
'I suppose so, sir. It was all I could think of.'
'It was the right th
ing to do. Not your fault Hoxton grabbed the other car.'
'Thanks, sir. I hope Superintendent Spooner sees it that way.'
'So do I, Bryan, so do I.'
They were back on the main road, higher above the endless floods. Even here, the respite felt only temporary. It would not take much longer before the floods reached this level.
'If the roads to the north are flooded,' Winterman said, half to himself, 'how's Hoxton going to get away?'
Brain shook his head. 'It won't be easy. If you want to get away from here, you have to go north. Otherwise, it's a long way round to anywhere.'
'So he'll try going through the village first?'
'I should think so. That would normally be the quickest route.'
'We'll go with that then. If he's forced back, we might cut him off. Worth a try anyway. We've no other options.'
They were approaching the outskirts of the village, the school ahead of them to the right.
'There!' Brain shouted, pointing through the windscreen. There was a flicker of lights through the cluster of buildings. Car headlights heading towards them. 'He must have turned round.'
'You know the village. Can we cut him off?'
'Once we get to the church, there's no other way out if the road north's closed. But you need to make sure he doesn't get to the centre of the village. There are a couple of other roads he could take from there.'
Winterman slammed his foot harder on the accelerator, heedless of the road conditions. Seconds later, they passed the police station on their left. There were no signs of any other vehicles – presumably the rest of Spooner's team hadn't been able to get through. He had a brief impression that the station's front door was open. Perhaps Spooner was inside, watching the passing cars with bemusement.
They passed the crossroad by the pub, heading towards the church. Any exit routes were behind them and Hoxton was effectively cut off.
As they rounded the corner, they saw the blazing lights of the approaching car. Winterman picked the point where the road was narrowest, bounded on one side by a wide water-filled dyke and on the other by the churchyard wall. He braked and spun the wheel tightly, pulling the car across the road so that it blocked the thoroughfare.
At first it seemed that the approaching car wasn't going to stop, either because Hoxton had seen the blockage too late or because he was trying to crash through the barrier. At the last moment the car screamed to a halt, skidding for several yards across the wet road surface.
Winterman could see Hoxton's white face staring blankly at them through the windscreen. Behind him, in the rear seats, were two more figures. Through the glass and the streaming rain, it took Winterman a moment to recognise them.
'Christ,' he breathed. 'He's got Mary and her boy in there.'
Even as he muttered the words, Hoxton was slamming the car into reverse and spinning it round.
'Where's he going?' Brain was peering through the passenger window. 'He can't get through that way.'
'Might not stop him trying.' Winterman pulled the Wolseley round into the road again and accelerated after Hoxton. He stuck to the centre of the narrow road, watchful in case Hoxton should attempt another turn. Hoxton was accelerating away, the reflections of his crimson tail lights streaming across the wet road. 'He doesn't know how deep it is. Might decide to give it a go.'
'He's crazy,' Brain said. 'He won't get a car through that.'
'Perhaps he doesn't think he's got a choice.' Winterman was thinking rapidly, wondering how desperate Hoxton might be. The thought of Mary and Graham in the car was horrifying.
The Jaguar had reached the water's edge. To Winterman's relief, Hoxton slowed the car as its front wheels touched the surface. The car moved forward another three, four yards, but it was already clear the water was too deep.
Winterman stopped some yards from the water's edge, angling the car across the road to prevent Hoxton from passing. He was half-expecting that, in desperation, Hoxton might try to ram his way past them to freedom. Winterman was growing fearful for the two passengers in the car, but recognised that, if Hoxton were allowed to escape with them still as hostages, their fate would be equally uncertain.
Finally, with the water lapping halfway up its tyres, the Jaguar came to an abrupt halt. The driver's door opened, and Hoxton clambered out, the revolver in his hand. He splashed into the water, the surface up beyond his knees.
Winterman cautiously eased himself out of the Wolseley, sheltering behind the car-door. 'Hoxton!' he shouted. 'You're not going anywhere. Give it up.'
The rain was still pouring down, sweeping across the surface of the water as the wind gusted from the east.
Hoxton peered at Winterman from under the brim of his hat, and gestured towards the car. 'I've got a little collateral in here. Just let me pass. Half an hour. That's all I'm asking.'
'And you'll release Mary and Graham?'
'Eventually, yes. When you've delivered on your side of the deal.'
'That's not good enough, Hoxton. Let them go now, and you've got a deal.'
Hoxton smiled. 'Really, guv? I thought policemen didn't do things like that.'
'Policemen don't risk innocent lives.'
'Fair enough. But if you let me go without these two, you'll be on the blower in five minutes and every policeman in the county will be alerted.'
Winterman looked at the heavy sky. 'You know as well as I do, Hoxton, it'll be the devil's own job mobilising any support in weather like this. You can see what this road's like. I don't know if the others are any better.'
'Neither do I,' Hoxton said. 'I don't know which roads are open and which aren't. That's why I need to buy some time. I've got more chance of doing that with these two as an insurance policy.'
'You know I can't let you get away with hostages. If I deliver my side of the deal, what's the incentive for you to keep them safe? They'll just be a burden to you.'
'I don't know what you think I am, guv. You think that's my style?'
'I don't know what you are, Hoxton. I don't know what you're capable of. Those children's bodies. Where did they come from?'
'Another long story, guv. I just do a job. A practical type, that's me. Prepared to get my hands dirty when others aren't.' He shrugged. 'But I just do the job and get out. Nothing less, but nothing more neither.'
'And Marsh? Was that necessary?'
'Told you, guv. It was an accident, believe it or not. That's all it was. But that's when things go to buggery. When you're careless. Ought to know that by now.'
'I can't let you go, Hoxton. Not unless you hand over Mary and Graham. If you do that, I'm prepared to do a deal. Give you time to get away.'
'You're a gent, guv. But I think it might not be in your hands anymore.' Hoxton gestured with the pistol.
Winterman glanced behind him and cursed inwardly. Walking steadily up the road towards him, clad in a black oilskin jacket he had presumably found in the station, was DS Spooner.
'It doesn't make any difference, Hoxton. Just hand over Mary and Graham.'
Behind him, Winterman could hear Spooner calling his name. But he had become aware, almost at the same time, of another sound, something almost imperceptible against the endless washing of the rain.
At first, Winterman couldn't understand what was happening. He had thought that, while the rain continued to fall here and upstream, the waters would rise at the same steady rate. But the flood defences added another level of complexity, and another critical point had been reached. As the waters rose still higher, the riverbanks were beginning to crumble under the relentless onslaught. Winterman learned later that adverse tides and winds, as if in a grand meteorological conspiracy, had even hindered the river's usual passage to the sea, further raising the level of the bottled-up waters.
Whatever the causes, the pace of the flooding had suddenly increased dramatically. The waters were already lapping around the Jaguar's doors, a much stronger current sweeping in from the river. Hoxton was thigh deep in the icy water.
'What the bloody hell's going on, Winterman?' Spooner said.
'Hoxton's got Mary and her son in the car,' Winterman said briefly. 'He wants them as hostages to secure his getaway.'
'Like hell,' Spooner said.
'I think we're of one mind on that, sir. The question is how we stop him.'
'And how we stop my bloody car from getting wrecked,' Spooner growled.
It was clear, in any case, that Hoxton was taking matters into his own hands. He was wrestling with the door of the Jaguar, fighting the pressure of the rising waters. He struggled briefly, then banged heavily on the window with the pistol. Mary wound down the window and peered out, her face white and terrified. Hoxton grabbed her arm, indicating that she should climb through the window.
For a moment, her face showed relief. She paused, gesturing that he should help Graham from the car first. Then she realised that the gun remained pointed steadily at her head.
With the pistol against her neck, she clambered onto the car seat and squeezed through the narrow window, Hoxton taking her weight as she dropped into the thigh-deep water.
Winterman could see no way to approach Hoxton without putting Mary further at risk. He took a tentative few steps forward, the water around his ankles, his mind working furiously to find some practical means of engaging with Hoxton.
Then the decision was taken out of his hands. As Hoxton struggled with the weight of Mary's body, she twisted, bracing herself against the car roof, and kicked out furiously. She was still wearing the heavy walking boots she had donned for her aborted walk to the school, and solid leather struck Hoxton brutally on the forehead. She kicked out again, this time catching him on the side of his face, and then she dropped agilely into the water, clutching at the car to regain her balance.
