by Hilary Green
‘Look out!’ Reilly gasped, and the other man swung round.
‘What do you want?’ he demanded.
Stone smiled deprecatingly. ‘Heard noises,’ he explained, in the ‘officers’ mess’ voice he had once spent so much effort and anguish in acquiring. ‘Thought you might be having some trouble.’
The Irishman came towards him. ‘No trouble,’ he said and grinned. ‘Just a bit of horse-play.’ He laughed loudly. ‘Horse-play! Get it?’
Behind him Stone could see Leo slumped against the partition, her eyes half closed. The Irishman’s laugh ceased abruptly as Stone’s fist caught him in the stomach and as he doubled over, he finished the job with a karate chop that dropped him like a bullock in an abattoir. The hypodermic syringe flew out of his hand and smashed. Stone jumped over his body and turned to deal with Reilly but as he did so the tail-board of the lorry went down with a rattling crash and Reilly scuttled down it and ran off across the car-park. Stone ran to the back of the box but as he reached it Reilly turned and he saw that he had picked up the gun, which he now levelled in Stone’s direction. Stone ducked back, and when he looked again the Irishman was already among the people making their way into the sale-ring. Stone had no doubt that to pursue him there would result in a shoot-out, with the inevitable loss of innocent lives. He turned back into the box to look at Leo.
She had sunk down onto the bench, breathing fast and shallow through open lips. He ran back to her and knelt by her side. Her sleeve was ripped and through the tear he could see the small globule of blood where the needle had punctured the skin.
‘Leo!’ he said urgently. ‘What was it?’
She swallowed and forced a smile. ‘It’s OK. Just a sedative – and he didn’t get much into me. I’ll be all right.’
He pulled her to her feet.
‘Come on. Let’s get you out of here before Reilly gets hold of the rest of them.’
He half carried her down the ramp but as they crossed the car-park the strength seemed to come back to her legs.
‘It’s OK,’ she said, as he helped into the front seat of the Escort. ‘I’m fine. He half choked me, that was the main trouble.’
As he started the engine she sat up suddenly.
‘Look!’
Following her pointing finger he saw the Range Rover, now without the trailer, heading towards the gate and, in the brief glimpse he had of the occupants, recognized Reilly.
‘That’s them!’ he said.
He let in the clutch and felt the wheels spin as the powerful engine took hold. After the recent rain the ground was soft and he had to nurse the Escort over the muddy track that led to the entrance. The Range Rover, built for such conditions, had gained a good lead by the time they reached the road, but once on firm ground Stone set about closing the gap. He glanced at Leo. Her eyes were wide open and her lips, though cut and swollen from Reilly’s blows, were set firm.
‘You’ll find a gun in the glove box,’ he told her.
She nodded and reached for it. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her check that it was fully loaded and marvelled at the steadiness of her hands. They were on a stretch of open road now, running straight and flat alongside a canal but separated from it by a grassy bank. There were no other cars in sight.
‘We’ll take them here!’ he said, and Leo nodded.
Stone accelerated and moved out to overtake the Range Rover, but as he drew almost level the back door of the other vehicle was flung open and he saw Connor crouched inside with a rifle at his shoulder.
‘Get down!’ he screamed at Leo, but as he spoke a bullet shattered the windscreen and thudded into the back seat between them and, almost simultaneously, another hit his off-side front tyre. Temporarily blinded by the crazed glass of the windscreen he felt the car slew violently across the road, mount the bank and then become, for an instant, airborne. A split second later it landed with a shuddering splash in the middle of the canal.
As the water began to rise around their waists they both fought to free themselves from their seat-belts but, when the car came to rest with a slight jolt on the bed of the canal, they found to their relief that the top foot of the interior was still above water. He saw Leo take a deep breath and duck beneath the surface and a second later her hip thrust briefly against him as she wriggled out through the window. As soon as he was sure that she was free he followed her example.
By the time he had floundered through the muddy water to the bank she had already hauled herself out. As she stood looking down at him, her lips twisted into a lop-sided grin.
‘You know, Stone, we’re going to have to stop meeting like this. I don’t know what it is, but every time I run into you these days, you end up throwing yourself in the river.’
Within minutes they were surrounded by a small crowd of passing motorists, anglers and the crews of two cabin cruisers whose further progress along the canal was blocked by the submerged Escort; but it was almost an hour before they had finished explaining, first of all to them and later to the police, that they had had a blow-out and lost control. By that time it was obviously hopeless to try and pick up Reilly’s trail and, with the radio and the scrambler phone at the bottom of the canal, there was no way of contacting Nick or Pascoe. They accepted the offer of a lift into Nantwich, arranged to have the car dragged out of the canal, and checked into the Lamb Hotel.
The receptionist regarded them with understandable doubt as they approached, still damp and bedraggled from their ducking, but her attitude changed when Stone explained their circumstances. Fortunately, the story of the accident also accounted for Leo’s torn clothes and bruised face. She had remained clear-headed and composed throughout but Stone could see that she was exhausted. Without thinking twice about it he booked her in as Mrs Stone and they went up to their room. As soon as the door closed behind them he took her in his arms and held her tenderly.
‘Listen,’ he murmured after a moment. ‘We’ve both got to have a change of clothes. You stay here and rest. I’ll go out and buy something for both of us.’
She looked up at him, amused.
‘Do you think you can cope with choosing a female wardrobe?’
He grinned. ‘I can’t go far wrong with a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, can I? And the usual under-pinnings, of course. What size?’
‘Thirty-six – twenty-four – thirty-six,’ she told him, ‘and size five feet.’
‘Right.’ He released her and turned to the door. ‘Thank God for plastic credit cards!’ Then he stopped and turned back. ‘Don’t open the door to anyone except me.’
‘I won’t,’ she promised. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’
He found a shop nearby which could supply everything he needed for them both and within twenty minutes he was back. She opened the door to him wrapped, sarong-style, in a bath towel; flushed and damp and smelling sweetly of soap. He kissed her, but she wrinkled her nose at him.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you still have a distinct odour of the Shropshire Union.’
He laughed. ‘My turn for a shower.’
When he came out of the bathroom she was lying under the sheet on one of the twin beds. He thought for a moment that she was asleep and began quietly unpacking the clothes he had bought. After a few seconds he realized that she had opened her eyes and was watching him. He grinned at her.
‘You know, if this case goes on much longer I’m going to end up with webbed feet.’
She shook her head gently. ‘Water on the brain.’
‘Or both, even,’ he agreed.
‘Of course, that being so,’ she murmured, ‘You’ve got all the wrong gear there. That isn’t what you need at all.’
‘Oh?’ he asked, unwisely. ‘What do I need?’
She smiled sweetly. ‘Drain-pipe trousers and a pair of pumps, stupid.’
He picked up a shoe and made to throw it at her, then changed his mind and went round the bed and took her in his arms. Her skin was warm and velvet soft but as she moved to hold him
he felt the smooth glide of the muscles underneath it. It was like embracing a sleepy tigress. He rubbed his face in her hair and murmured,
‘Oh Leo, they knew what they were doing when they christened you!’
At the back of his mind was the thought that he ought to contact Pascoe; but he decided that it could wait till later – much later.
Chapter Eight
It was after two by the time Stone got through to Pascoe. Leo was sitting up in bed finishing off a late lunch of turkey sandwiches and a bottle of chilled Pouilly-Fuissé and he saw her cock an ear and grin as Pascoe came on the line. Even from that distance she could hear the cutting edge on Pascoe’s normally urbane tone.
‘What the hell have you been up to?’ Pascoe demanded. ‘Delta Two called in nearly two hours ago and said he couldn’t raise you and that you’d lost touch with Omega.’
‘Yes, well, there’s no need to worry on that score, sir,’ Stone told him. ‘I’ve – made contact with Omega.’
He heard a sound like a small sneeze, as Leo choked a giggle in her wineglass.
‘Why haven’t you been in touch before this?’ Pascoe wanted to know. ‘What’s been going on? And why are you calling on an open line?’
‘I’m sorry about that, sir,’ Stone replied. ‘I’m afraid my scrambler’s at the bottom of the Shropshire Union Canal at the moment.’
‘And where are you?’
‘Nantwich, sir.’
‘And Omega?’
‘She’s here, with me.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Yes, she’s fine, sir – well, give or take the odd black eye. But I’m afraid we’ve lost our other friends.’
There was a short but eloquent silence at the other end of the line.
‘That makes two of you!’ Pascoe said eventually. ‘Right. Get Omega to Crewe and put her on the first train to London. I’ll send Waller to meet her at King’s Cross. She can fill me in with what’s been going on at your end. You’ll find Delta Two at Hereford police station. Join him there and he’ll put you in the picture. Report back to me when you get there. Understood?’
‘Understood, sir,’ Stone said, and put the phone down. He looked regretfully at Leo.
‘You’re going home. Pascoe wants you.’
*
Three hours later Stone found Nick sitting behind a desk in an office in Hereford police station.
‘That’s a relief,’ he commented. ‘When Pascoe said Hereford nick I thought they might have you shut up in the cells again.’
‘Not this time,’ Nick replied. ‘But I gather from the same source you’ve been up to your old tricks again. Look, I know you’re fond of the girl, but there’s no need to go overboard every time you meet her.’
Stone bared his teeth. ‘If anyone else makes a crack about me and water I shall personally stick one on him!’
The door opened and a man in inspector’s uniform put his head in.
‘Ah’, he said, ‘thought I heard voices. You must be the bloke who tried to navigate the Shropshire Union in a motor-car. Can’t stop, got a bit of a panic on.’
As he moved away down the corridor they could hear him whistling ‘Oh be kind to your web-footed friends…’
Stone lowered himself into a chair opposite Nick.
‘Leo sends her love,’ he said, with deliberation.
‘How is she?’ Nick asked. ‘Much the same?’
‘Oh, well…’ Stone let the word hang in the air for a moment. ‘Rather less of the barbed wire…’
There was a small pause. Then Nick said, ‘I see.’
Stone looked away and suddenly wished he had kept his mouth shut.
‘Where is she now?’ Nick asked.
‘Gone back to London. Pascoe wants her for debriefing.’
‘Filthy old goat!’ Nick muttered, and they both laughed and the moment of tension passed.
‘Anyway,’ Nick resumed, ‘what exactly happened?’
Stone told him. ‘How about you?’ he asked.
Nick grimaced. ‘Much the same story, I’m afraid. I searched high and low for Slattery, but I suppose Donelly or one of the others had warned him off by then. I couldn’t see hide nor hair of him. In the end I went back to the car park to try and call you, and just as I got there I saw a squad car drive in. I hung around a bit and found out that someone had had his Jag pinched about twenty minutes earlier. Well, it was a bit of a forlorn hope but it struck me that if I’d been in Slattery’s position, expecting to meet up with someone who was going to provide me with transport and then finding that the arrangements had fouled up and I was on my own, my instinct would be to nick the first set of wheels that came to hand. I tried to get hold of you and when I couldn’t I called Pascoe, told him what was going on and got his permission to talk to the uniformed boys. When I told them who I thought might have pinched the motor they put out a general alert. I went back to the local nick and waited and about an hour later a call came in to say the Jag had been found abandoned about ten miles away. Then soon after that another report came in. A woman out picnicking with her kids at a local beauty spot not far from where they found the Jag had been held up at gunpoint by a man answering Slattery’s description and forced to hand over the keys of her car – a Peugeot estate, this time. It took her a long time to walk to the main road and flag down another car, so by the time we heard about it Slattery was well away. The only clue we’ve got is that he appears to be heading south, but that could be a bluff, of course. Regional Crime Squad have taken over the whole thing and alerted all neighbouring forces. That’s why I moved down here to the HQ. They’ve set up road-blocks, but with all the country lanes the chances of picking him up are pretty minimal, I’m afraid.’
Stone sighed. ‘You know, my son, I get the feeling that between us we’ve blown this one. Any word from Theta One?’
‘Yes, I called him,’ Nick said. ‘Apparently, Liam Connor drove straight back to the house in Daltry Road and went inside. An hour later he left again, on foot, went into the centre of Birmingham and…’
Stone put his head in his hands. ‘Don’t tell me!’
‘’Fraid so. Went into a newsagent’s shop, Don waited for him to come out – he never reappeared. Must’ve gone out by a back entrance. And no one else has been near the Daltry Road house all day.’
‘God, what a bloody mess!’ Stone muttered. ‘We’ve lost the lot of them.’
A sergeant looked in. ‘’Scuse me, sir, we’ve got something.’
Nick and Stone rose simultaneously and headed for the main operations room. The inspector was waiting for them.
‘We’ve had a report from one of our mobile units. They’ve spotted the Peugeot heading south on the B4214 near Bishops Frome. I’ve told them to keep well out of sight and ordered three plain-clothes patrols to converge on the section of road between Five Bridges and Ledbury. With any luck we should catch them in a pincer movement.’
‘Show me where,’ Stone demanded.
The inspector pointed to a map spread out on the table in the centre of the room. Stone studied it for a moment and then straightened up.
‘Right. We’ll take over here. This man is armed and dangerous. Please instruct your men not to approach him.’
The inspector opened his mouth and then shut it again. Stone met his eyes.
‘I’m sure you realize that, as officers of Triple S, we do have that prerogative’ – he paused fractionally – ‘even if we do have webbed feet.’ He turned to Nick. ‘Where’s your car?’
Nick was already on his way to the door.
Stone was not keen on being driven by anybody, particularly not at speed, but Nick was one of the few people he was prepared to trust – more or less; which was fortunate considering the pace at which the younger man hurled the Capri along the Herefordshire lanes. As they drove Stone kept in touch with the police cars through the control room at the station. At length one of them reported that he had the Peugeot in sight, still heading south at about forty m.p.h. The other
two cars were approaching the same road, but further ahead and closing at a tangent.
‘Shall we block the road?’ the driver of one asked.
‘Not yet,’ Stone replied. ‘I don’t want him alarmed until we’re on the spot. Just keep ahead of him and stay in touch.’
‘How far?’ Nick asked briefly.
Stone studied the map on his knee and did some rapid calculations. Like the other cars, they were approaching the route of the Peugeot at an angle.
‘We should join the B4214 in about two minutes,’ he replied, ‘– if you don’t put us in the ditch first. By then I reckon he will be about a mile ahead of us.’
The first car came back on the air.
‘I think he may have spotted me. He’s accelerating. Doing about sixty now.’
‘Drop back,’ Stone instructed. ‘We’re within two miles of you. We’ll take over.’
The Capri swung onto the B road and as it did so the radio crackled again.
‘Hey-up! He’s disappeared!’
‘What do you mean – disappeared?’ Stone demanded.
‘We’ve just come to a long straight stretch. There’s no sign of him.’
‘Stay there!’ Stone ordered sharply.
The tyres howled as they took a long left-hand bend.
‘There!’ Nick said.
Ahead of them the road ran straight for well over half a mile. About three hundred yards ahead a red Cortina was parked beside a small clump of trees. Nick drew up behind it. Two men were standing among the trees, gazing down a stony track. Stone and Nick left the car and joined them.
‘Stone and Marriot, Triple S,’ Stone said briefly.
One of the policemen pointed into the trees.
‘There it is.’
The track led to the edge of what had once been a gravel pit, now partially reclaimed by gorse and bracken and silver birches. The Peugeot was at the bottom of it, its nose pressed up against the trunk of a young oak, a trickle of steam wavering upwards from under the bent bonnet. It was empty.
