Sandman

by David Hodges

  Hayden was clearly shocked when he telephoned Roscoe and was told about Larry Gittings but he had more on his mind than a crooked policeman, and he came out with it almost immediately. ‘I need a boat,’ he exclaimed, ‘to get to Lowmoor.’

  Roscoe threw a quick glance at DCI Justin Hart before turning back to the phone. ‘I realize that,’ he said, ‘but there’s no way we can risk trying to cross flooded fields in this mist.’ He peered out through the office window as he spoke, frowning at the white clouds of vapour swirling past the glass. ‘It’s pretty bad here too. The fire service were right. It would be much too dangerous because of possible submerged hazards.’

  The DI heard Hayden’s sharp hiss of frustration down the phone. ‘So pull the chopper off its present commitment,’ the DC continued. ‘We can have an armed team in the village within half an hour.’

  Roscoe snorted. ‘An armed team? Grow up, Lewis. We have no grounds for that. Lowmoor is a rural village, not Dodge City!’ He took a deep breath, thinking of his DCI’s intransigence. ‘Listen, I sympathize with your worries – I’m bloody worried too – but we have no real idea where Kate is or if in fact she is actually at risk from anyone—’

  ‘So what about that bent copper, Gittings? What if she’s fallen foul of him?’

  ‘And what if she’s just been delayed or held up by the mist? Her mobile could have died on her and we know the phone lines are down in that part of the country. We’d look bloody stupid if she turned up at the nick after we’d sent half the force down there to carry out a search.’

  ‘OK, so have me dropped off there in the chopper with a couple of plods. We can at least start some inquiries.’

  ‘No chance. The chopper was grounded when it returned from the M5 incident. The bad weather is pretty widespread apparently, with almost zero visibility because of the conditions. They won’t be authorized to take off again until the morning and I’ve already spoken to the DCI and he reckons it’s too early to hit the panic button, especially as your missus has done this sort of maverick “vanishing trick” thing before.’

  ‘So what do we do in the meantime? Play cards?’ Hayden shouted. ‘We have a missing police officer, just in case you needed reminding, sir – a police officer who has been out of contact for four hours at least and who happens to be my wife! She could be in real trouble.’

  Roscoe’s eyes bulged as his slab-like face set in a ferocious scowl. ‘Don’t you think I realize that, you cheeky bastard?’ he snarled. ‘But the decision is out of my hands. So get your fat arse back to this office pronto, do you hear me?’

  And he slammed the phone down with such force that a sheaf of papers on the edge of his desk flew off on to the floor.

  Hart was plainly taken aback, but he obviously subscribed to the view that discretion was a lot better than valour and he said nothing for a few moments, instead studying Roscoe’s belligerent expression and waiting for the over-stressed DI to calm down. It was a good move, for within a couple of minutes Roscoe’s ferocious scowl reduced to a grimace and, as if suddenly making up his mind about something, he snapped to his feet.

  ‘The insolent prick had a point though,’ he growled with just a trace of reluctance. ‘I need to see the boss and finally get something moving on this job.’ He scowled again. ‘And this time Ricketts is going to listen!’

  Hart coughed discreetly. ‘Want me to come in on it?’ he queried.

  Roscoe studied him in the manner of someone about to dismember an insect. ‘Your mess,’ he snarled. ‘That’s about the least you could do!’

  Gabriel Lessing was crying again and he was too terrified to be ashamed of himself. It had to be well over half an hour since the woman police sergeant had left him in the shrubbery and she still had not returned. What on earth had happened to her? Had she been caught by the men who were looking for them – or, more likely, found a way out of the grounds and made off on her own? That’s what he would have done in the circumstances, so it seemed a logical possibility.

  Yes, that had to be it. She had run away and left him to it. The bitch!

  He wiped a sleeve across his tear-stained face. He was on his own and he had to get a grip on himself. Crying and hyperventilating was not the answer; he had to try and think straight.

  Footsteps in the gravel close by and a torch probed the mist swirling among the bushes sheltering him. He froze, biting his fist to stop himself crying out. There was a pregnant pause before the beam of the torch swung away from the spot and was swallowed up in the mist again. The footsteps moved on.

  Lessing forced himself to stay still for what he judged to be another twenty minutes, then slowly stood up, parting the leaves of one of the shrubs and peering into the white nothingness. His legs were shaking fitfully and he was having difficulty getting his breath. But common sense told him he had to move. If he stayed where he was, it would only be a question of time before he was discovered – especially if the mist dispersed and let in the all-revealing moonlight. Well, the logic was OK, but leaving his hiding place was equally risky and he wasn’t particularly keen on that idea either. In fact, it was at least another fifteen to twenty minutes before he finally plucked up the courage to make the move he knew he had to make.

  Even then he wasn’t a hundred percent convinced he was doing the most sensible thing and, feeling the solid surface of the driveway beneath his feet, he stopped short for a few moments, swallowing hard and peering fearfully to his left and then to his right. Nothing but clouds of mist – cold, damp and virtually impenetrable. He took a chance and turned right in the direction of the main gate, well aware from his first disastrous acquaintance with the house, where it was located.

  As he crept through the mist, he couldn’t help thinking about how badly he had managed things and how stupid he had been. He should have told the police everything instead of lying to them, but the prospect of securing a major scoop had been his all-consuming motivation and it had nearly cost him his life. Even now, he was not out of the woods. He still had to get through the main gate somehow – and then what? Like Ellie must have been before, he was trapped on an island with a gang of ruthless thugs looking for him. He should have thought about Kate Lewis then and what might have happened to her – after all, but for her, he would still have been roped to the wooden crate in the tower – but Gabriel Lessing was not a man to worry too much about other people; his concern had always been for himself and he wasn’t about to change.

  That concern made him especially careful now as the gate loomed up directly ahead – a fuzzy black slash seemingly floating towards him on a shifting swirling white sea. He had to be only a matter of feet away from it but he held himself in check. Maybe one of the thugs was already in position there, waiting for him to turn up? Slipping back into the shrubbery, he forced himself to remain there long enough to satisfy himself as much as he could that the mist was not concealing some shadowy figure. He saw nothing and finally stepped out of hiding and hurried quickly towards the gate.

  As he’d expected, it was tightly secured and it was apparent that there was no way of opening the thing manually. Feeling his spirits sink as his panic started rising, he clenched his fists tightly in an effort to maintain control – and it was then that the badger materialized from the mist beside him and headed straight for the wall to one side of the gate!

  Startled at first by the sudden appearance of the animal, he gaped at it in astonishment, but then he got an even bigger shock. The badger simply disappeared – not into the mist, but into the wall.

  Gabriel Lessing may have been a coward, but there was nothing wrong with his brain and he cottoned on immediately.

  A couple of strides brought him right up to the spot where the badger had disappeared and, dropping on to his hands and knees, he peered into the large hole which had been almost concealed behind a pile of rotting timber lying at the foot of the wall. It was close to one of the gate pillars where the stonework seemed to have collapsed in on itself at some time and the badger had no doub
t widened it for his own personal use.

  Wasting no time, Lessing clawed at the debris on either side of the hole, tearing his fingers on the broken blocks and rough pieces of cement until he had enlarged the hole sufficiently to thrust his head through. As if to provide some encouragement, the mist now cleared a little revealing the road beyond; he couldn’t help moaning his excitement as he pulled more blocks out of the way.

  The hole was then just big enough for his purposes and, heedless of the jagged edges tearing at him as he squeezed into it, he forced himself through on to the sodden grass verge that lay beyond. He was out. He could hardly believe it – he was out! Lessing had never believed in God – or any other deity for that matter – but he threw a muttered prayer at the heavens anyway, and, scrambling to his feet, took off at a shambling run in the direction of the village main street, a free man at last.

  It was only when he had passed the closed and shuttered pub and found himself ankle deep in water that it dawned on him that, while he might have escaped from the house, he was still trapped in the village by the flooded fields. But then he saw the motorized rubber dinghy on the grass bank where Kate had left it and closer inspection revealed that it was not only equipped with an electric start but the all-important key had been carelessly left in the ignition. Straightaway, he knew fate had thrown him another lifeline. He had never operated an outboard motor before, but he reasoned that it was unlikely to be that difficult. The mist swirling just above the dark water which slopped around his feet couldn’t have looked less inviting. A moment’s reflection, however, convinced him he had no choice; falling into the floodwater would be unpleasant, but he could swim after a fashion and it was infinitely preferable to staying in Lowmoor.

  Pulling the inflatable away from the bank into the water, he spent a few minutes trying to crank the engine as the dinghy drifted out from the shore. Then suddenly, with a throaty roar, it burst into life and he was in business.

  CHAPTER 18

  ‘Question one,’ Pavlovic said, studying Kate’s face intently. ‘How did you get here?’

  Lying about the dinghy was pointless and simply risked giving Tommy standing behind her the excuse to inflict some pain, so Kate shrugged and answered truthfully. ‘In a borrowed inflatable.’

  ‘Where did you leave it?’

  ‘On the grass, not far from the pub.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Pavlovic acknowledged. ‘We will check that out, of course.’

  Kate met his gaze with a defiant stare, but said nothing. She guessed Tommy was pretty disappointed by her straight answer.

  ‘Who lent you the dinghy?’

  She tensed, knowing full well that if she revealed the name of the owner she would not only be signing the boy’s death warrant, but that of his mother as well; Pavlovic was about silencing all witnesses in the chain, not just herself.

  ‘No one lent me it. I found it left on a verge and just took it.’

  Pavlovic sighed and shook his head. ‘Sorry, but I don’t believe you.’

  She felt Tommy stir behind her and she blurted a desperate assurance.

  ‘It’s the truth. Why would I lie about something like that?’

  ‘So how did you manage to start it without a key?’

  She hesitated a second. ‘The key had been left in it.’

  Pavlovic considered her reply for a moment, his strange eyes hooded and thoughtful. ‘How convenient for you,’ he commented, then added sibilantly, ‘You have a pretty face and, I am sure, just as pretty a body. It would be a pity if Tommy had to spoil either.’

  ‘I’m telling you the truth.’

  He nodded slowly, then treated her to another smile. ‘Question four,’ he said. ‘Who knows you are here?’

  Her defiance re-surfaced in a desperate bluff, burying her fear. ‘My boss and most of my team. They’ll be on your back before you know it.’

  His smile developed into a sneer. ‘So, no one, eh? I guessed as much. You see, my dear, I know from what Horse here told me about you earlier that you are a bit of a lone wolf. You have a reputation for going it alone.’ He shook his head and tutted several times. ‘Very bad practice, that. Now, question five. Where is Gabriel Lessing? Where did you hide him?’

  Kate thought quickly, then blurted, ‘I got him out of the house, but we lost each other in the mist – I don’t know where he is now.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ and Pavlovic tutted again. ‘I do believe we’re getting into forfeits.’

  There was a barely perceptible nod from him and Kate gasped as her blouse was suddenly ripped apart from behind, falling down to her waist. Then Tommy’s meat-hooks closed over her arms in a vice-like grip, holding her rigidly in front of his huge body.

  Returning to the fireplace almost nonchalantly, the albino bent down and withdrew the poker from among the blazing logs and blew on the smoking orange tip.

  ‘Now,’ he said, advancing towards her with the poker held out in front of him, ‘let me ask you question five again.’

  Gittings, silent up to this moment, took a pace forward, his eyes blazing. ‘There’s no need for this.’

  Pavlovic turned slowly to face him. ‘What’s up, Horse?’ he asked with quiet menace. ‘Getting squeamish in your old age?’

  Gittings stopped short. ‘No,’ he muttered, once more cowed by the other’s presence. ‘It’s just that—’

  Pavlovic’s eyes seemed to burn into him. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you do it, eh?’

  Kate felt her legs start to buckle under her, as her eyes became riveted on the poker, which Pavlovic carefully set down on a small coffee table, with the orange tip projecting over the edge and the handle turned towards Gittings.

  ‘There you are, Horse,’ Pavlovic continued. ‘It’s all yours. Choose your spot but I would suggest that a touch just below the stud in her navel should do the trick.’

  Whether or not Gittings would actually have picked up the poker and complied with his boss’s instruction was never put to the test, for it was at this point that a series of loud knocks sent him striding to the door. There was a muffled excited conversation, then he swung back into the room. ‘The boys have found a hole in the perimeter wall,’ he said.

  Pavlovic glared at him. ‘A hole?’

  ‘Yeah, right beside the main gate, of all places, and they think Lessing has used it to escape.’

  The albino’s face contorted into an evil mask. ‘Get after him!’ he snarled. ‘You too. He mustn’t get off this island.’

  As Gittings left the room at a run, Pavlovic swung back to face Kate. ‘You think you’ve won, don’t you, Sergeant?’ he rasped. ‘Well, think again.’ He stared over her shoulder. ‘Put her upstairs in the tower room, Tommy,’ he snapped. ‘And stay with her until I decide how to dispose of her.’ He thrust his face close to Kate’s, the sour whisky smell enveloping her. ‘And you can be sure, Sergeant,’ he promised, ‘that I will come up with something particularly imaginative.’

  Gabriel Lessing was lost. He had got away from Lowmoor all right, but in the thick mist, he had no idea where he now was. Although he had started out on what should have been the main road, the hedgerows on either side of him had disappeared at one point and he had had to steer the dinghy in what he thought was the right direction. For all he knew, though, he could have drifted out into one of the adjoining fields and be heading entirely the wrong way. Twice he had scraped over something submerged just below the surface of the water and once he had cannoned into another line of half-buried hedgerow. Fortunately, however, the tough skin of the inflatable had remained intact – which was just as well, since, although he could swim after a fashion, he didn’t fancy his chances in that cold grey water, marooned in the mist.

  He had felt a brief spasm of guilt about leaving the police sergeant to her fate – especially as she had got him out of that awful house in the first place, but faced with the dangers posed by the submerged patchwork of fields he was forced to navigate he had soon put thoughts of Kate Lewis out of his min
d. After all, she was a police officer and risk was what police officers were paid for, wasn’t it? Maybe he would ring Highbridge police station about her once he got back to where he had left his Volvo, using the spare mobile he kept in the glove-box. That would enable him to discharge his responsibilities as a public-spirited citizen without having to subject himself to the long drawn-out process of interview, which a personal visit to the police station would entail. He’d then be free to return to his lodgings to pack, before heading hot-foot back to his office in the Smoke. Perfect!

  With Kate Lewis consigned to his subconscious, he started thinking about the sensational piece he was going to write as soon as he was back in London – a story so hot that he felt sure he could virtually name his price for an exclusive with one of the big nationals. He would tart the whole thing up, of course – highlight his own heroic pursuit of the truth about ‘poor’ Ellie Landy’s death and his daring escape from the clutches of a ruthless criminal gang – but the story had the potential to be a massive headliner in its own right and, despite his fears for his own safety in the choking mist, he could hardly control his excitement.

  He was still thinking about what his scoop would mean to him and his tottering business when the hazy outline of the row of cottages materialized ahead of him and slightly to his right. Slowing the inflatable’s growling outboard, he peered intently through the swirling white clouds to try and see if he was returning to the spot where he had boarded the supply boat earlier or whether the inflatable had taken him somewhere else. Either way, it didn’t really matter. It was enough to get safely back to dry land, and if he happened to be in the wrong place, so what? He could always get someone to take him back to where he had left his car.

  As it turned out, however, the fates were still with him. Seconds later, the dinghy grounded on something beside a familiar wooden fence bordering the main road where it disappeared into the floodwater. He had been delivered right back to his point of departure.