The Last Laugh

by Tony Nash

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Inside Sam’s hut, the dog was growling and howling, running madly round the small area, tearing and chewing at everything. The interior of the hut was in a mess. The dog had chewed through the rope and had attacked the table legs, then the bedclothes, which were ripped and strewn over the floor. Even the fur on the animal’s legs had been chewed. The dog was foaming at the mouth and patches of saliva, wet and dried, were all over the floor.

  Billy pushed down the latch and opened the door just a fraction, to peep in.

  Mukki twisted round towards the door, growling viciously, and threw himself forward.

  Billy slammed the door shut, terrified, knowing he had made a terrible mistake, not going with Sam.

  The old man had pulled the punt in to the bank and was striding out, intent on getting help for Billy as soon as he could. He could not know, but the front edge of the blue line of searchers was still three miles away from his position.

  He came to a wide dyke, where he knew there was an old substantially built bridge that he needed to cross. The ends of the structure were brick and only the top few inches of the circular water tunnel were visible over the water level, well up after the recent heavy rain. It had been over ten years since the last time he had used it, but he could see that cattle had been over it some time in the past year and the top, made of wooden planks, looked solid enough. There was no handrail.

  Sam stepped onto the planks gingerly, not very sure about the slippery state of them. He was almost halfway across when they gave way. As he fell, his body flipped over, leaving his legs caught on the edge. Both leg bones broke, and he crashed down into the water. He passed out before he could utter a cry.

  He woke minutes later and as his eyes opened, the first thing he was aware of was a shaft of light shining on the water at his side. He was immersed in the water up to his waist, and was shivering. His legs were painful but he didn’t realise they were broken. The cold water had numbed them.

  He looked around, weighing up his options.

  At each end, he could see daylight at the top of the tunnel, but the water level was only about an inch from the top brickwork. If he was to get out that way, he would have to swim underneath the water, and he realised that it would be impossible, in his present state.

  He had fallen into a chamber with inward-sloping sides, made of rotting brick, about eight feet wide and six feet high, with two feet of water at the bottom of the semi-circular drainage channel in which he was partly lying. On either side of the channel there were mud-covered flat ledges.

  Sam had fallen sideways, so that the upper part of his body was out of the water on one of the ledges, leaving his legs and lower body in the water. He tried to crawl out, gasping in agony and almost fainting. He guessed that something was wrong and put his hands down to feel his legs, immediately realising they were both broken.

  He tried again, this time rolling his body and using his arms and hands, not his legs, grunting and moaning with pain. Finally he lay on the ledge, out of the water.

  He looked again at both ends of the tunnel, then up at the roof. He began to struggle to crawl up the wall, hoping to reach the planks, pulling himself up with his hands, making painful, inch-by-inch progress, then inadvertently put his weight on his right leg.

  He gave a yelp of pain and collapsed on the ledge, with his arm out at full length and his eyes closed.

  His hand grappled with the bricks in the wall, as he tried yet again, grunting with pain, his eyes widening with each spasm.

  He fainted.

  His body took over, and drew him into a blessed slumber. Every few seconds his body twitched.

  The sound of a rat, splashing through the water, brought him to consciousness, and he opened his eyes suddenly. He was delirious and began throwing his arms about wildly and shouting,

  ‘Away! No! Get away! Get off! Hah! Think I can’t see you, don’t you? You bin waitin’ fer me, hen’t you? Hah! Long time I cheated you, hen’t I? Ahahahahaha!’

  His wild guffaws of laughter gradually turned to agonised sobs and then quiet crying. Through the sobs came disjointed words, ‘I din’t mean to kill’im…honest…I never hurt no one in my life…’

  He suddenly lifted his head, no longer crying, but with tears running down his cheeks. He spoke in a strong, clear voice, ‘but he shun’t hev said that! He shun’t hev! True or not, an’ that was true! You couldn’t help yourself, Mary – I know that….You allus was a big girl, wi’ healthy appetites….an’ I weren’t a lot o’ good to you, was I?’ He began to sob again, ‘But I loved you, Mary…I loved you. I still do. I meant to tell you one day. Now…now...you won’t never know…’ Heavy sobs racked his body.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ‘You are absolutely sure, Mrs Harsley?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Billy’s trannie. He likes the sound better out of that than his iPod. Carries it everywhere. You will find him, won’t you?’

  ‘I am sure of it, and very soon.’ Somerset wished she were as sure as she sounded.

  She knew that if she rang Transome he would not take her information seriously. She had to go to the Control Centre and she knew he would be mad at her, but what the heck! She knew the Chief Inspector was in the air, but did not know that at that very moment he was only a couple of miles from where she stood. She had promised to keep him informed, so dialled his number.

  Jane Keller answered and Somerset passed on all the information. Jane confirmed that Dyce was flying and that she would pass the message on to him.

  Carole knocked diffidently at the door of the Control Centre, and entered without being asked.

  Transome was incensed at seeing her. ‘I thought I told you to stay at the station!’

  ‘And I thought you needed to know this – the boy and the dog got a lift in a van. The driver brought in the lad’s bag, and his mother has confirmed it’s his. And PC Argyle says he believes the man is no ghost and lives on an island in the middle of Hickling Broad’

  ‘So the boy stole a lift. But what have you really got? Where from? Where to? What does it prove? And you’re back with those ghosts again. Above all, you were given a direct order to stay put.’

  PC Shaw, at the radio, with earphones on, was pretending not to hear the altercation. He began speaking at the same time as Somerset, ‘Roger Foxtrot Lima Four’

  Carole couldn’t help herself. All the weeks of repressed anger burst out of her, ‘I don’t believe it! Of all the megalomaniac…’

  ‘That is enough, Sergeant! Quite enough!’ Transome felt himself shaking with shock and anger.

  Somerset realised she had gone too far and turned pleadingly to the DVO, ‘Sir?’

  The DVO shrugged and lifted his eyebrows, not wanting to intervene between colleagues. ‘Perhaps you would wait outside for a moment, Sergeant?’

  Somerset was about to retort angrily but decided against it, turned on her heel and exited the room, slamming the door behind her.

  The DVO walked over to Transome, who was simmering with anger, and spoke quietly to him, ‘She could have a point, you know.’

  Transome had no option, ‘Agreed, but we can’t divert manpower with nothing more tangible than a fifty-year-old ghost story and half a dozen dog’s hairs. Time enough to start looking under stones if we find nothing by the standard search procedures.’

  ‘But we will mark the island for a special check later, all right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And it would be kind to let Sergeant Somerset know that; she is only thinking of the boy, you know.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  He crossed to the door and opened it. Somerset was looking and feeling belligerent, but remained silent.

  Transome gritted, ‘Okay! You’ve made your point, Sergeant. We will make a special check of the island…when and if the general search fails.’

  She was incensed, ‘But that could be too l…’ The door slammed in her face.

  Chief Inspector Tony Dyce had ju
st spoken to his wife on the radio and had banked away north-westward, looking at the map on his knee. It took him only three minutes to reach Hickling Broad and he flew over it and directly over the island as slowly as he could, cutting back the revs to just tick-over. Turning at the far end of the broad, he flew slowly over the island from the opposite direction. The area of land was tiny, and from above the old man’s abode was invisible. The few trees masked the figure of Billy, asleep on the ground under a bush, with his head resting on his rolled up anorak. His sleep was restless and he was having a bad dream, grunting, twitching his face and moving his limbs. He did not hear the Piper gliding almost powerless overhead, but woke as Dyce opened the throttles as he flew back towards the shore.

  The boy jumped up and ran down to the water’s edge, waving and shouting at the departing aircraft, ‘Look! I’m here! Oh! Look! No! Come back! Come back…’ He fell to his knees and began to cry, sobbing, ‘Come back, please.’

  Dyce keyed the transmitter.

  ‘I’ve flown over twice, Jane, and couldn’t see anything, but there is a small tree canopy, and there could be anything beneath it. I’m going to try to find somewhere close to land, and see if I can find a boat to go over to it. I don’t even know if the helicopter would do any better; there’s nowhere to land, and the trees go right down to the water’s edge, but they could possibly let someone down on the winch to look under the trees. I’ll let them know.’

  Shaw picked up the message and told Transome, who puffed up his chest, feeling justified, ‘There you are, David. What did I tell you? Nothing there.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Sam was sitting up, his legs out in front of him, half leaning against the brick wall, his eye open. He was quite conscious and his mind was clear. He was surprised that there was still a shaft of bright light illuminating his prison. The rain must be holding off, he thought.

  He felt a small piece of wood under his hand and threw it into the water. It drifted very slowly on the current from left to right.

  He had heard a small aeroplane not far away a few minutes before; now he heard a helicopter approaching, muffled by the earth and brickwork around him. He chuckled, ‘Tha’ss enuff to make you spit, in’t it? When I think o’ the scores o’ times I’re dodged you, an’ here I’d give a king’s ransom if you could see me. No chance o’ that, down here. One chance to pay for my mistake an’ I can’t even do that.’ He rubbed his left leg, pain showing on his face. ‘Sorry, Billy, you’re a-gornta die, and tha’ss orl my fault. S’any consolation, so am I – and that damned dog. They’ll find us, don’t you worry – three skellingtons – mebbe a dozen years from now – an’ spend hundreds o’ pounds tryin’ to find out what happened. Well – good luck to ‘em.’

  The helicopter noise sounded very loud indeed, and the shaft of sunlight suddenly disappeared.

  Sam started shouting and waving his arms frantically, ‘Hey…here…down here…look…here…No! Don’t…go…’

  The noise of the aircraft diminished rapidly and Sam slumped back against the wall, ‘Bloody blind buggers!’

  He was not to know that help for Billy was closer than he could imagine.

  Carole Somerset had not gone back to the station, but to the Harsley house, where she had rousted out Billy’s father and mother, got them into her car and driven to the boat hire station on the side of Hickling Broad. They had hammered on the door of the bungalow behind the boat hire staithe until the owner had responded, and were moving up the side of the Broad, with Mr Harsley rowing.

  His wife urged, ‘Can’t you row any faster?’

  ‘What practice do I get? Usually when I’m up the creek I haven’t got any oars.’

  He tried to row faster and caught a crab, falling backwards into the bottom of the boat, onto Somerset’s feet. ‘Damn!’

  The sergeant helped him back up and onto the seat.

  ‘Thanks, must have been trying too hard.’

  Somerset heard a shout from the bank, two hundred yards away. She couldn’t believe her eyes, but told Harsley to turn in. ‘That’s Chief Inspector Dyce. I don’t believe it!’ Behind Dyce she saw his aircraft, parked on the grass of the meadow.

  Dyce himself couldn’t believe it when he recognised her. ‘Sergeant Somerset. Fancy meeting you here.’

  ‘And you, Sir. How come?’

  ‘I flew over the island but couldn’t see anything. I landed on the field here, and hoped I could find a boat to get to the island. And here you’ve come along in the nick of time.’ He could see Harsley was puffed, and told him, ‘Let me row; I’ve had a lot of practice.’ Not lately, he thought, but he had been in the University eight, and he’d bought a small dinghy for the Hall lake, which he’d used a few times lately, fishing for the trout he’d had stocked.

  He was about to dip the oars into the water when Mrs Harsley said, ‘Listen!’

  Very faint sounds of the rabid dog were just audible. The dog had reached that stage in the rabies cycle just before death, and was really frantic.

  Mrs Harsley asked, ‘Did you hear it?’

  They all agreed, and Dyce began rowing as hard as he could.

  In Sam’s hut, everything that could be ripped was torn to pieces. The dog had collapsed and looked dead, its fur gummed up with saliva.

  Billy had listened to the dog’s last frantic barking and then the silence. He carefully unlatched the door and looked in.

  He saw the dog lying near what was left of the table. Going through the door, he crossed to the body, picked it up in his arms and carried it over to what was left of the bed. He laid it down and knelt beside it, crying big tears. He sobbed for some time without speaking, then said to the dog, ‘Why’d’you have to go and die? I never had a dog…till you. I would have loved you,’ He stroked the dog’s head, ‘taken care of you...played with you…but you had to go and die. Why? Why?’

  He heard a noise behind him and thought that Sam had returned. He was astonished to hear his mother’s voice, ‘Billy!’

  He threw himself around, jumped to his feet and almost bowled his mother over, ‘Mum! Dad!’ He buried himself in their arms.

  ‘You’re cold, Billy! Why ever did you come here?’

  His father urged, ‘Don’t scold him, Mother. We’ve got him now. It’s all right, son. You’re all right now.’

  They were so tied up with their own thoughts that they were unaware of Somerset and Dyce, looking at the dog.

  Billy asked, ‘Did Sam fetch you? He went to Potter Heigham to get help.’

  Somerset turned quickly, ‘Sam? The old man of the marsh?’

  Billy nodded. As he did so, Somerset noticed his hand, which was round his mother’s neck. She could see how red and swollen it was, and crossed quickly to take hold of it, so that she could better inspect it. ‘Did…the dog do this, Billy?’

  Billy looked over at the dog and suddenly, for the first time, despite what Sam had said, realised the full implications.

  He screamed and became almost hysterical, ‘I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die!’

  Dyce ruffled his hair, ‘Not if we can help it, Billy. We’ll get you to hospital. They can do wonders nowadays, and rabies is not as dangerous to humans as it once was.’ His pathologist wife, Jane, kept him well up to date with most medical matters, particularly where it might affect his work, and he was au fait with the recent advances in treatment for rabies, but he did not want to tell the boy how painful the treatment was. Time enough when he had to face it.

  Sam was not an unintelligent man; sitting in his tunnel, he had decided on a course of action. The old bricks had long ago lost their mortar and were easy to dislodge. When he had removed two of them, he pulled himself along, in agony, to the end of the bridge where the water was flowing in. He laid the bricks carefully in the water and returned for two more. It would take some time to achieve his object, but time, even if limited, was all he had.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Transome held the receiver in his hand. H
e knew how badly he’d goofed. It was bad enough that he’d not listened to Somerset, but the fact that she had been with the Chief Inspector when they found the boy sealed his fate. He fully expected his next posting to be to Outer Mongolia, with no chance of ever receiving any further promotion. Somerset was right – his ego had not allowed him to credit her with any intelligence. He deserved everything that was coming to him.

  The DVO had said nothing, but Transome could sense the cold shoulder, and he knew that the golf club would in future be a place he would want to stay away from. Without looking round he could feel the icy glance of Constable Shaw, who sat, one earphone off, watching him.