by Vera Morris
‘It was only a few months after I signed the death certificate of the Down’s syndrome boy when I first noticed the signs of my own illness. Divine retribution? Many people would say so. I believed Hager. The man is a killer. Nancy, if it’s you who finds the tape you must go straight to the police. You will need protection until Hager is caught.’
Frank switched off the tape and ejected it. He held it out to Stuart. ‘You must contact Revie. Tell him the details and he must go, with as many men as possible, to Tucker’s house. They’ll need firearms. Keep the tape safe. I’ll take my car and get to Laurel as soon as possible. You remember where the house is?’
‘Yes. Laurel talked about it last night. Frank, I think I ought to go with you. There are two of them and Hager sounds like a professional killer.’
Frank shook his head. ‘She might not be in danger. I can’t understand why Tucker invited her. It isn’t a secret where she is. I might be able to get her out without any trouble and Revie can make the arrests.’
‘I don’t like it.’
Frank grimaced. ‘Not sure I do. Can you see anything I can use as a weapon?’
They scoured the room and went into the hall. There was a cast-iron umbrella stand, in it were two walking sticks and a cricket bat. Frank picked up the bat and gave a swing. He wished he had Laurels’ monster spoon – that had given good service. ‘This’ll do.’
‘Ever played cricket?’
‘Mid-order bat at uni. My cover drive wasn’t bad.’
‘Let’s hope you don’t need to use it. I’ll phone from a neighbour’s, the phones in the house haven’t been reinstalled. I’ll get hold of a car if I have to steal one. I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Good luck, Frank.’ Stuart crushed him in a tight embrace.
Frank felt as if he were going to face a firing squad. He ran out of the house and towards his car.
Chapter 31
Laurel looked round the room. She couldn’t think of any other ways of preparing for a visit by Hager. She and David had piled the heaviest books, along with some LPs, in a pile behind the bed where Hager couldn’t see them if he came into the room. They’d collected containers, mugs, cups, glasses (some held brushes and pencils, which they discarded), and filled them with various concoctions: soap and water, pigments and water, and there were even a few full of urine. They’d giggled over that.
It was pathetic, but it had kept David busy, and she hoped given him confidence.
‘David, what about sharpening the handles of some of your brushes? We could use the stiletto.’
He took a brush from a collection in a pot. ‘You could try. Hey, here’s another one for peeing in!’ He dumped the remaining brushes onto the desk and held up the pot.
‘How did we miss that? Do you think you can fill it?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever pee again.’
She laughed. ‘Me, too. Fill it with some pigment and water. Hager will look like a rainbow by the time we’ve finished with him.’ She picked up the brush and tried to sharpen the wooden handle with the stiletto. After a few strokes she gave up. ‘No good, I’m afraid, I might damage or blunt the dagger. That won’t do, it’s our main weapon.’
He came out of the bathroom, stirring the contents of the pot with a pencil. ‘We could use pencils to stab him. Shall I sharpen some? I’ve got a pencil sharpener.’
‘Good idea. I think we need to take up our positions soon.’ She tugged at her skirt. It was restricting. ‘David, I don’t want you to be embarrassed, but I’m going to take off my skirt and tights. I can’t move freely in them. OK?’ Her high heels had disappeared.
David stopped stirring. ‘That’s a good idea. Would you like one of my tops? It would be better than that blouse. I’ve got some t-shirts.’
Her heart swelled with pride at his easy acceptance of her striptease and his thoughtfulness trying to find better clothes for the job she had to do. ‘Thank you, David. The looser the better.’ She took off her jacket, unzipped her skirt, rolled off her tights, hiding them under the bedclothes.
David pulled several tops from a drawer. She chose an oversized t-shirt with short sleeves. Luckily it covered her knickers.
‘Right. I want you to go to the bathroom and wedge the door as tight as you can.’
David nodded, his face paling. ‘I don’t want to leave you.’
She wished she could pick him up, cast a spell, dissolve the bars at the window, and fly away with him to safety. ‘I know. I don’t want to leave you either. But we have to do this. As much as we’d rather be together, this is the only way we can escape.’
‘I know, but I’m scared. Hager’s a terrible person. I don’t think he’s ever liked anyone in the whole of his life.’
‘Then he’s to be pitied. Remember Hager may never come into this room. My friends will arrive soon. We’re taking precautions. Listen carefully, please. You must do as I say. If you hear shouting or noises like people fighting, you are not to come out of that bathroom. I forbid it.’ She sounded as if she was giving the riot act to rebellious fourth formers. ‘Understand?’
David took a deep breath. ‘Yes, Laurel.’
It was the first time he’s used her name. She wanted to hug him close and tell him it would be all right. ‘Good. Hold the door tightly closed. Push hard if anyone tries to get in. Whatever you hear, even if it’s me shouting for help, you are not to open the door. That’s an order.’
He tossed his head and rolled his eyes. ‘You’ve already said that.’
Teenage rebellion. ‘Sorry to repeat myself but it’s really important. Only open the door if it’s me. If it’s someone you don’t know, ask them their names. If they say Diamond or Elderkin, they’re my friends. Or it might be the police. You know Hager’s and Tucker’s voices. Use your common sense.’
‘Diamond, Elderkin,’ he muttered.
She went to the bathroom and opened the door. She looked in. There were a few books, LPs and filled cups in the bath and on the floor. God knows what use they’d be to him if Hager got to him, but they gave him some comfort. She’d spent a few minutes showing him how to throw LPs for maximum effect. A wave of panic swept over her; she knew the only chance they had if Hager came to kill them, was for her to attack him with the stiletto. All the other preparations they’d made would be as good as the straw house when the wolf came calling.
‘Go into the bathroom and try the stool as a wedge. Is there anything else you want to take in with you? Got any sweets or chocolate?’
He went to a drawer and came back with a bar of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut chocolate and a bag of caramels. He broke the bar in two and gave her half, put some of the caramels in his pocket and gave her the rest. ‘I’ll take my sketch pad and some pencils. I’ll try and draw while we wait.’
‘Good. In you go. See you soon.’ She gave him the bravest smile she could.
‘Thank you for helping me, Laurel.’
They stood looking at each other. She pointed into the bathroom, not trusting herself to speak.
He turned and closed the door.
Sounds of wood against wood. He’d jammed the door.
‘David? I’m going to test it. OK?’
‘OK.’
She pushed against the door. It was holding. It would give her a few precious minutes, perhaps only seconds, to run across the room and stab Hager.
‘You’ve done a good job. I’m getting under the bed. Good luck. Remember what I told you. Don’t come out until you’re sure it’s safe.’
A groan from the other side of the door.
‘Cheeky boy! It’ll be detention for you tomorrow.’
A laugh. ‘Thanks, Laurel.’
She wanted to stay by the door and keep talking. ‘See you soon.’ She walked away before he could reply. The bed was made of pine with a slatted bottom and a ten-inch gap between floor and the slats. She arranged the bedding to hide herself. She eased herself under the bed with her head at the bottom of the bed, her feet at its head. Through the
draped bedclothes she had a good view of the room and the bathroom door. She practised getting in and out a few times. It wasn’t easy, but she would be able to get out without Hager seeing her. She moved the pile of books farther away to give her more room to manoeuvre, and placed the stiletto under the bed. She prayed Frank and Stuart would come soon. But they would be unprepared for Hager. Hopefully Frank’s antennae would be twitching. A terrible thought crashed through her mind. Hager might kill them before they realised she was a prisoner. God, what had she got them into this time?
Chapter 32
Hager stared at the empty hook on which the spare key to David’s room normally hung. Why had Tucker removed it? He had the only other key. Footsteps on the stairs. Tucker was coming down. Hager moved into the hall.
‘Ah, there you are, Hager. All the envelopes checked?’
‘Yes, sir. When will we post them?’
Tucker was carrying two empty canvas bags as well as his briefcase. ‘I’ve decided to take them into Aldeburgh now. I’ll get to the post office with plenty of time to spare before they close. You can get on with the final clearing up. Are you packed ready to leave?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. As soon as I’m back we’ll leave for Dover. No point in waiting for Laurel Bowman’s friends to turn up.’
Tucker was blustering. ‘Why don’t we both leave now? Stop in Aldeburgh on our way to Dover. It would save you coming back.’
The skin under Tucker’s left eye twitched. ‘Yes, that would make sense, but this is how I’ve been ordered to carry out this part of the operation. I won’t be long, although I do need to go into the gallery and collect a few things.’
‘What about the woman and the boy? Shall I make sure they’ve got some food in case no one comes for a few days? You never know, her friends might not be worried when she doesn’t turn up. Perhaps she sometimes goes off by herself.’
Tucker placed the canvas bags on the floor near the envelopes on the hall table. He rubbed his right index finger over his top lip. ‘We can do that when I get back.’ He turned and went into the parlour. ‘I need to check I’ve got enough money for the postage.’
Hager followed him, tensing his muscles, flexing his shoulders, his right hand by his side, fingers in line. Tucker had his back to him, opening his briefcase.
‘Where is the key to David’s room?’ Tucker’s back stiffened. ‘It isn’t on the hook in the kitchen.’ Hager edged towards Tucker, his hand moving from his side.
Tucker turned. In his right hand was a semi-automatic pistol. Before he could aim and fire, Hagar leapt towards him, right arm leading, and with great force hit him a downward blow with the edge of his hand below Tucker’s ear.
There was a gasp of expelling air. Tucker’s knees buckled and he slumped to the floor, the pistol falling from his hand. Hager kicked the gun away, then booted Tucker’s body straight, cursing him as the steel caps of his shoe thudded into flesh and bone. Tucker’s head lolled obscenely to one side. Hager stopped; breathing deeply he rubbed the edge of his hand. Tucker’s lifeless eyes stared at him. As dead as a dodo, whatever one of those was. He picked up the pistol. A Makarov. Bloody useless gun. Heavy and clumsy. Cheap-skate Russians. Give him a Luger any day. Where was the skill and fun in shooting someone dead? He preferred to use his hands. To feel the flesh, the direct contact between him and his victims, and hear the crunch of bones breaking. That’s what turned him on. Shooting someone? No fun at all. He threw the gun onto the floor beside Tucker.
He emptied Tucker’s briefcase onto the sofa. Tickets for a boat from Newcastle to Bergen. His British passport. A wallet of money. He’d been right. Tucker was sodding off leaving him here with the bloody boy and woman. Thinking he wouldn’t be able to get at them because he hadn’t a key and he couldn’t get through the steel door. His heart was beating faster than its normal fifty-five a minute and he felt blood suffusing his face. He looked down at the avuncular face of Nicholas Tucker, his boss for all these years, the man he’d looked up to, and respected. Who’d betrayed him. Lied to him. All the dirty work Hagar had done, all the perverts he’s fed and watered, photographed and scared to death. Tucker had been going to leave him up to the neck in shit. He turned and kicked Tucker’s head until it was a ball of pulp. He looked at his steel-capped boots and grimaced with disgust. Tucker had even made a mess of them.
He gave one last vicious kick into the body on the floor, and smiled as he heard ribs crack. Pity the shite wasn’t alive. He looked again at the contents of the briefcase. Where were they? He bent down and rummaged through Tucker’s jacket pockets. He touched the cold steel of the two keys and smiled in anticipation.
Now for those two bastards upstairs.
Chapter 33
Frank had never missed his Mustang as much as he did now. The Avenger was quick, but the Mustang had been quicker. He wished Stuart was with him. Last September they’d speeded in the Mustang to Dunwich to arrest Nicholson for the murder of several girls and women. Then he hadn’t realised how close Laurel was to being murdered. Now she might be in greater danger. She was strong, but no match for a professional killer.
Coming out of Aldeburgh on the A1094 he floored the accelerator, pushing the speedo up to over eighty. He hoped he didn’t meet a tractor. He braked as he came to the left turn for Snape. Christ, he’d have to slow down through the village, he didn’t want to kill someone. His heart was pounding against his ribs, his mouth dry, tongue cleaving to his palate. He passed through the village and when he got to The Crown, on the outskirts, he speeded up until he was at Snape Maltings. As he passed The Plough and Sail on his left, he slowed down; he didn’t want to miss the turning.
The road forked; to the left to Orford, to the right Tunstall. He took the right fork and then another right fork to Blaxhall. A short distance down this narrow road he should find Tucker’s house. There it was. Should he drive up to it? He decided to leave his car in the lane. He grabbed the cricket bat from the passenger seat, and risking no one was looking out of the front windows, ran towards the house.
There were three cars in the drive. One was Laurel’s. She was still here. She should have left by now. Where was she? The front door was closed. He pushed gently. Locked. He ducked down and edged to the left so he could look in the front windows. The room was empty. It was a dining room. If Laurel had come here for lunch this is where she’d have eaten. There was no sign of anyone and the table was bare, its dark mahogany surface glowing red in the sunlight.
He retraced his steps and moved to the window to the right of the front door. No one there either. Perhaps they’d gone for a walk. Perhaps Laurel was all right. As he straightened up he saw a leg sticking out from behind a sofa. He stopped breathing. It was a clothed man’s leg with a brogue on the foot. He wanted to break the window with the bat and climb in. Instead he ran around the side of the house to the back. He prayed there would be another door and it would be open.
Who did the leg belong to? Tucker? Hager? He hoped it was Hager. He thought he could deal with Tucker, from Laurel’s description of him. But Hager? Sam Harrop had described him as a killer. He, himself, was fit, and not above violence if it was needed, but he didn’t fancy his chances against a trained assassin. He wished he had something more lethal than a cricket bat.
At the back of the house the windows were smaller and there was a central wooden door. He ducked below the windows and grasped the brass door knob. The door opened smoothly. He slid into a tiled passageway, leaving the door open – they might need a quick getaway. Holding the cricket bat with both hands, ready to hit out, he moved slowly up the passageway.
It bifurcated around what was probably a staircase. He took the left turn and came to the main entrance hall. The body of the man was in the left front room. He looked round, all senses on alert. There didn’t seem to be anyone on the ground floor. On a hall table was a pile of large envelopes, nearby, on the floor, two canvas sacks. He glanced at the top envelope. The editor of the Daily Telegraph? W
hat on earth was going on?
The door of the left front room was ajar. Using the bat, he pushed the door wide open and slowly moved into the room. He winced. The head of the body had been beaten or kicked to a pulp. From the body’s size and girth, he thought it must be Tucker. Who’d killed him? Not Laurel. It must be Hager. Why would Hager kill his boss? Where was Laurel? Had she escaped? Was Hager chasing Laurel? He needed to search the rest of the house.
As he was turning to leave the room he saw a gun on the floor next to Tucker. He bent down and picked it up. Was it loaded? It was a make he didn’t know. He’d trained as an authorised firearms officer and knew how to use it, but that was a few years ago. Think. Think. The gun would give him an edge if he met Hager, unless he was also armed. The gun was heavy, about a pound and a half, a semi-automatic pistol. It looked as if you had to pull the trigger hard to fire it. Yes, there was a magazine of bullets in it. He picked up the bat with his left hand and, holding the gun in front of him, moved into the hall and towards the stairs.
Chapter 34
Hager climbed the stairs, his mind red with rage. All his dreams of living like a lord in the Soviet Union were shattered. Shattered by that bastard Tucker. What should he do next? He’d have to get out of this country as fast as possible. Where could he go? The Ruskies would be after him when they found out their plan had failed and he’d killed Tucker. Could he fool them into thinking Tucker had played a double game? That he worked for MI5? Could he risk using the boat ticket to Bergen and then wait for them to contact him? If he did that he’d need to post the envelopes. If their plan worked would they care if Tucker was dead?
