by Nick Oldham
‘Oh hell,’ he said, ‘remember that HGV that drove past?’ Henry recalled it. He joined Flynn at the window. ‘Well, it’s coming back.’
And there it was, bearing down on the house. Having turned off the road, it demolished the low garden wall and lumbered across the front lawn at the bay window of the lounge. It was the lorry that Vincent and his men had driven down to the village earlier. It came like a tank. At the wheel was Vincent’s injured man, Shannon, driving the huge machine easily despite his wound.
At the window, both men watched mesmerized as the lorry drove right into the bay window.
Vincent had taken up a position at the bottom of the drive, a machine pistol held at hip level. He pulled the trigger and sprayed the office window with a stream of bullets.
Henry pushed Flynn, who landed on Callard, as a line of bullets splattered through the window and thudded into the back wall.
The huge lorry plunged into the bay window with a crunching, cracking, grinding and howling engine noise, and that whole section of the house crumbled around the front of the vehicle like a pack of cards combined with a matchstick model.
Henry and Flynn untangled themselves, keeping down and scampering on all fours around the desk, only to see Tom’s legs and bottom as he did the same thing, but ahead of them. Taking advantage of the distraction, he’d crawled away. Henry lunged for him and got his fingers around an ankle. He held on, but Tom flicked himself over and kicked out repeatedly, one blow connecting hard with Henry’s wounded shoulder. He screamed and had to let go.
Flynn came up, trying to get the Skorpion ready for use.
Shannon slammed the lorry into reverse, and with another terrible crunching and tearing noise the vehicle backed out, leaving a huge hole in the front of the house as bits of concrete, stone, bricks and the PVC window frame crashed down.
In the hall, Tom rolled up on to his feet and threw himself at the living-room door, but he hadn’t accounted for Alison who had emerged from the dining room, terrified but needing to know what was going on. Behind her, the diminutive figure of Laura hovered. Alison had seen Tom kick Henry, then come to his feet and go to the door. She ran towards him and started to hammer punches on him.
At the same time, Vincent fired another burst from his gun, and bullet holes perforated a diagonal line across the front door. They were high and missed Alison, but one caught Laura and knocked her back into the dining room.
Alison automatically turned at Laura’s scream. Tom almost casually slid his cable-tied hands over Alison’s head, twisted with her, kicked open the lounge door, pulled her through behind him so she formed a shield then took her across the devastated lounge and out through the gap, ducking as a brick fell. She struggled, but Tom was big, strong and desperate.
Shannon had dropped out of the lorry, drawn a pistol and fired a couple of unaimed shots into the house, covering Tom as he backed away with Alison. ‘Come on, bitch, come on,’ he was saying into her ear.
Henry had seen her attempt to have a go at Tom, seen her distracted by Laura’s scream, but then had to drop to the ground instinctively as the bullets came through the front door, by which time Tom had taken Alison as a hostage.
Flynn came up behind Henry, crouched low.
Vincent put another half-magazine into the front of the house.
And then there was silence, followed by the sound of another vehicle drawing up.
‘Henry. Henry Christie,’ Tom shouted. ‘You can look – we won’t shoot.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Whatever . . . don’t fucking come for us, yeah? You haven’t got the manpower anyway – but if you do, Alison’s dead. Leave it twelve hours, then do what you have to do. Until then, if I see anything I don’t like, she’s dead, and I’ve seen how much you like her.’
A car door slammed, an engine revved.
From the back dining room, Laura screamed, ‘Oh God, oh God . . . help me.’
Flynn, still positioned on his haunches behind Henry, said, ‘You know she’s dead, don’t you? Whatever we do or don’t do – she’s dead.’
Callard, who had woken properly at last, raised his head and said, ‘He’s right.’
TWENTY-ONE
Flynn stalked the room like a caged tiger, rage simmering. Callard, now fully awake, but still bleary-eyed and smelling, watched him nervously.
Henry leaned on the desk, the phone on loudspeaker, in hurried discussion with FB, the chief constable. Sweat poured down him and he felt faint, his injured shoulder now causing him agony, and after the last burst of activity, he wondered if he was going into some sort of delayed shock. Whatever it was, he was feeling very ill all of a sudden and it was a massive effort to keep going, pushing himself on.
‘You’re saying you don’t even know where they’ve taken her?’ FB said.
‘Not for sure, but Mallowdale House is the best bet. They’re as trapped as we are . . .’ Henry ended the sentence thoughtfully, ‘But they’ve managed to steal Jonny Cain’s Range Rover and we know they have other four-wheel-drive vehicles at their disposal. Might possibly try to make it through.’
‘Henry, even the snowploughs can’t get through,’ FB pointed out.
‘I know – just thinking . . . Vincent knows the hills, the quarries.’
‘And you have no idea of their intentions?’
‘No.’ He sighed, and as he did so pain shimmered through him. ‘They took her at gunpoint and drove off, using her as a bargaining chip maybe . . . but I’m very concerned about her welfare.’
‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Flynn interjected angrily, still pacing.
‘Who was that?’ FB asked.
‘Steve Flynn.’
‘Oh,’ he said dubiously.
Henry waved Flynn to zip it. ‘Also we have a wounded girl in the back room here. It doesn’t look life threatening, but she’s going into shock and I’m worried about her. I’ve turned out the drunken doctor, but she needs to get to hospital ASAP.’
‘As I said, our helicopter’s on standby, as is the air ambulance, but the weather—’
‘I know, I know,’ Henry said shortly. ‘And we’ve three dead bodies down at the pub, and Cain’s been kidnapped too and not been seen since. He could be in a ditch with a bullet in his brain by now.’
‘Not that we care,’ Flynn interrupted again.
‘Steve – you’re not helping here,’ Henry said.
Flynn abruptly stopped his stalking and planted his hands on the desk. ‘We need some action here,’ he said. ‘All this chitter-chatter isn’t getting us anywhere.’
‘Flynn again, I assume,’ FB said. ‘All very well, but you’re not the SAS or a police firearms unit and we don’t want any other lives lost by doing something completely stupid.’
‘We’ve got the firepower – those guns in the kitchen.’
Henry rolled his eyes. He did not want to admit it to Flynn, but if he had been uninjured, then his instinct would have been to go for it. He, too, was a man of action and he knew he would be devastated for the rest of his life if Alison came to serious harm because he’d done nothing to try and prevent it. But he also knew it was plain nuts to go charging in. It wasn’t as though they even knew for certain where she was. ‘We don’t even know the provenance of those guns,’ he said to Flynn. ‘They could’ve been used in murders or robberies.’
‘And they’re all we’ve got, so who gives a shit?’
‘Look, I want her back safe and sound just as much as you do. I also want Tom James’s collar and every other bugger in this blood-soaked village who’s committed a crime – but we’re screwed.’
‘Henry,’ FB interjected from the safety and warmth of the control room some thirty miles away. His voice was firm. ‘You’re on the ground, you have to make the decisions, I’m afraid. Whatever you decide, as long as it’s thought out and justified and reasonable, then I’ll back you one hundred per cent.’
‘Can I have that in writing?’
‘No – just do n
ot get yourself or anyone else killed.’
‘OK boss, thanks.’
The front door of the police house opened. Karl Donaldson entered, accompanied by Ginny and a very frazzled-looking Dr Lott, who was clearly wearing his thick pyjamas underneath his clothes.
‘Keep me informed,’ FB said. ‘And good luck.’
The line went dead. Henry examined the faces now surrounding him: Flynn, Donaldson, Ginny, Dr Lott and Callard.
‘Well, I hate to say it,’ Flynn commented, ‘but you’re the boss and bosses make decisions.’
After giving Flynn a snappy sardonic look, Henry said, ‘We don’t know anything for certain. We don’t know what they think they’ll achieve by taking Alison’ – Ginny had been told of her stepmother’s predicament, and here he caught her look of anguish – ‘and even if they have taken her to Mallowdale. It’s a bloody big place with huge grounds, and there are the quarries nearby, operational and non-operational. They might have some way of getting out of the area. But’ – he changed the subject quickly and turned to Dr Lott – ‘you have a patient in the dining room who needs medical attention.’
The doctor, trying his best not to be too drunk, nodded and left.
Henry’s eyes moved to Callard. ‘You know your way around Mallowdale House and the surrounding area, don’t you?’ It wasn’t really a question, more a statement of fact – and hope.
‘Eh, me? I’m not getting involved.’
‘Oh, you are.’ Henry turned to Flynn and Donaldson, then a feeling of nausea came over him and he had to take a deep breath and started shivering. He fought it, pulled himself together. ‘I’m sorry to admit it, but I’m struggling here, guys. Even if we decided to go in, there’d only really be you fit.’ He pointed to Flynn.
‘And me,’ Donaldson claimed. ‘I’ve just overdosed on Imodium and some mega-strong painkillers, so I reckon I’ve got a good hour to give you.’
Dr Lott bustled back into the office, now very definitely sober. ‘This girl needs a hospital immediately. She’s gone into deep shock and without proper care, her body’s going to close down. The wound isn’t that serious, but there is a good chance of losing her.’
‘Treat her as best you can,’ Henry said. ‘Hospital isn’t an option just yet. What about your surgery? Would it be worth getting her there?’
‘I’m not sure I want to move her,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I’ll try and see if I can get one of the practice nurses in to come and help. There’s one who lives in walking distance – but I need a phone that works.’
Henry handed him the office phone. To Ginny he said, ‘Can you help him? Keep yourself busy? I know it’s a big ask.’ She said she would, so Henry looked at Flynn and Donaldson. ‘Go check the guns and see if they’re all likely to work – just in case.’ Next he turned to Callard and said, ‘Right matey, what do you know?’
Taking Alison had been an instinctive thing, a desperate act by a man who wanted nothing other than to escape in any way possible. Tom had thrown her into the back footwell of the Range Rover, wedged painfully behind the front seats. He jumped in and stamped his feet on her, keeping her pressed down like a sardine on the journey back up to Mallowdale House. In the luggage area behind the rear seats was Jonny Cain, unconscious and badly beaten, his body forced into the space in such a way that his head was tilted upwards and he was breathing blood down into his throat and lungs. He was making a sickening gurgling sound.
Henderson was at the wheel, Vincent in the front passenger seat and Shannon was alongside Tom in the back seat, cradling his wounded arm. His feet were also pressed on to Alison.
The Range Rover moved easily through the multitude of rutted snow tracks up towards the house.
‘Plans?’ Vincent asked, looking at Tom.
‘Get back to the house, pack up and go.’ Tom sounded cool and in control. ‘We can outfox these numb bastards for ever,’ he said dismissively.
‘But we’re stuck here,’ Henderson pointed out.
‘We can get out through the quarries, even in this weather,’ Tom said. ‘The Shoguns will get us across the hill.’
‘What about Cain?’ Vincent said. ‘I thought he could feed Kitty.’
‘Don’t think we have time,’ Tom said. He leaned over the back seat and looked at Cain for a second. Then he leaned forward and waggled his fingers at Vincent and said, ‘Gimme.’ Vincent handed him the pistol he’d been using. Tom twisted round and fired two shots into Cain’s head. ‘Too much like a problem,’ he said. ‘How much d’you reckon we’ve got?’ he asked Vincent.
‘Four mill, give or take. Same in gear,’ Vincent said.
Tom nodded, thought for a moment, then quickly placed the gun against Shannon’s temple and pulled the trigger twice more, jerking him against the side window, blood spraying out across the glass.
‘Fuck, Tom!’ Vincent shouted.
‘Three of us is enough,’ he explained. ‘Give us a good start, that money – South America, yeah? Just a suggestion.’
Shannon’s body slumped down, his dead eyes inches above Alison’s upturned face, blood gushing out of his head wound over her.
‘They’re good to go,’ Flynn announced with certainty.
‘Let’s see.’ Donaldson inspected the weapons, checked each one with an expert eye and touch.
‘What the hell do you know about guns?’ Flynn asked.
Donaldson gave him a quick glance and Henry blanched. Even he didn’t know the answer to that one for sure, but he had a damned good idea that the American knew far more than Flynn about weapons.
‘Bit of FBI training,’ Donaldson said modestly, his lips curling into a tight smile.
Flynn watched him carefully, trying to read the expression but failing, even though he did get the impression that Donaldson had a greater, more dangerous depth than the slightly dim Yank he portrayed himself as.
Henry backed out of the kitchen and tried to hold himself together physically and mentally, going into the dining room where Laura was being tended by Dr Lott and Ginny. The patient had been covered by a quilt, the wound had been dressed and she’d been drugged up. But she was the colour of puce, trembled and moaned frighteningly.
‘This isn’t good,’ Lott said. ‘The practice nurse is on her way up here on foot, via the surgery. I don’t want to take the chance of moving her, but at least I’ll be able to get a drip into her and other medication. But what she needs—’
‘Yeah, a hospital,’ Henry finished. ‘I know. Ginny – you holding up?’ The young girl looked stressed beyond measure.
‘I’m worried about Mum.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Henry said inadequately. He wanted to promise that she would be OK, but didn’t dare. Fortunately the office phone rang again and Henry went to answer it.
‘Henry, it’s me.’ Henry immediately recognized the voice of DC Jerry Tope, the intelligence analyst who Henry often used to good effect, and who was also beholden to Flynn. Tope was the last person Henry had expected to hear from.
‘Jerry, nice to hear from you.’ Henry sat down weakly at the desk, trying to roll his ever-tightening shoulder, which radiated pain. ‘I’m just a tad busy right now – y’know, bullets and broads and all that.’
‘So I hear,’ Tope said, unimpressed. ‘And I’ve been dragged out of my pit by FB to do some digging around the archives for you.’ He sounded desolate. ‘FB asked me, no – fucking ordered me – to look into Jack Vincent, Tom James and Jonny Cain. Thought the background might be of some use to you.’
‘Is it?’
‘Take it or leave it, but from an initial sweep, I’ve come up with some connections, and I know you love connections.’
‘Fire away.’
‘Six years ago, as a uniformed PC, Tom James arrested an up-and-coming drug dealer and haulage contractor by the name of Jack Vincent for various vehicle licensing offences and tax disc fraud – but no charges were ever brought. The custody record was marked off as not enough evidence . . . one interesting connection, yeah?’<
br />
‘Their first link, maybe?’
‘Additionally, at that time, Tom was massively in debt – horses, usual shit. According to some credit ratings databases I’ve accessed, not long after that arrest the debts had vanished.’
‘OK, he’s connected to Jack Vincent. I get it. Keep digging, mate, and if I survive the night, I’ll give you a pat on the back.’
‘There’s more. After that arrest, Tom’s arrest record suddenly went through the roof. He could do no wrong, got transferred on to CID on the strength of it . . . coincidence? My view is that Vincent was feeding him stuff, whilst Vincent himself managed to keep lily-white, if I’m allowed to say that.’
‘So they scratched each other’s backs?’
‘There’s more. Jonny Cain – he was up for murder, the one he was acquitted of, and you’ll remember that the investigation was overseen by your old mate Dave Anger.’
‘Yes,’ Henry said. Dave Anger, a name to conjure with. Anger had been a detective chief superintendent, a sworn enemy of Henry Christie, and was eventually toppled after Henry uncovered some very nasty things about him. That said, Henry was pretty sure that Anger’s investigation into the murder allegation against Jonny Cain was above board. The trial had only collapsed after Cain ordered the hit on Felix Deakin and the other witnesses suddenly lost their memories.
‘Tom James was a DC on the murder squad. He was part of the intelligence and financial analysis team, which gave him a very interesting insight into Jonny Cain’s activities. In other words, he knew virtually everything about Cain, how much he was worth, how much he was making, where the money went, everything.’
Henry put his head in his hands, still with the phone to his ear. ‘And he and Jack Vincent maybe decided they wanted Jonny’s pile?’
‘I dunno – that’s for you to find out. Something else, too. Jack Vincent became a National Crime Squad target. I’ve been doing a bit of delving into Tom James’s work computer and found out he’s been accessing NCS files on Vincent by a very clever route.’ Tope paused, obviously wanting Henry to say, ‘Not clever enough for you, though.’ He went on. ‘He knows about ongoing and proposed operations concerning Vincent, and strangely enough Mr Vincent hasn’t been caught or convicted of anything for many a year now.’
