ARCHANGEL HAWTHORNE (A Thriller)
Page 19
To his surprise, he heard voices coming from behind him, and the sound of footsteps outside the barn getting closer. He stepped over to the rear of the parked army truck and took cover behind it as two men strode up to the trapdoor. Though he could not see them, he recognised the first man who spoke as being the lawyer Julian Merrill.
‘How are you doing?’ Merrill shouted down into the opening.
‘Nearly done,’ someone replied.
‘Get a move on, it’s getting late.’ Merrill sounded frustrated. ‘That brother of yours is a bloody menace,’ he said to the man standing next to him.
‘It was an accident.’
The second man was Callum Baxter. Hawthorne felt his insides churn like he was on a big dipper.
‘An accident my arse!’ he retorted. ‘What did I tell you about keeping him on a tight leash?’
‘So the man’s dead. There’s nothing we can do about that now. What do we do with the woman?’
Hawthorne listened, his breath held, the revolver warm in his sweating hand.
‘Do what you were going to do, but I want her body taken far from here and hidden. Same goes for her husband. They shouldn’t be found anywhere near here. It’s one thing to have it look like your men killed each other over the money, that was always the plan; but I don’t want another couple of murders of innocent bystanders on my hands to complicate things. You think you can manage that?’ The question was barbed.
‘Yeah, we’ve got it covered. What about Angelo and Tom?’
‘Leave them where they are. As for that other guy, Spud, you say he’s been well hidden?’
‘That’s what Jimmy tells me. In a wood quite a distance away. No one ever goes there.’
‘Leave him where they dumped him. You’ve got Spud’s wallet, you say?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Take this truck and dump it somewhere, leave his wallet inside with a few of these stolen notes. What the police will find is the violent remnants of a gang fallout, and an empty truck, which the last man standing used to cart the money away. They’ll be searching for a dead man.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Not quite the same plan, but similar. It should suffice.’ He called down the hole: ‘How long are you going to be?’
‘Twenty minutes at the most,’ floated the reply.
‘You’ve got fifteen.’
Hawthorne heard the two men march away. He stepped from out of hiding and watched Baxter and Merrill head for the farmhouse, making a final dash across the rain-sodden cobbles to avoid getting a soaking as the weather took a turn for the worse.
Walking to the entrance to the underground room, Hawthorne casually closed the trapdoors quietly. He was pleased to see a padlock and fastened it in place. As he went over to the cab of the truck, he heard someone’s muffled voice call up from down below, asking what was going on. Ignoring the plea, Hawthorne released the bonnet catch of the truck and lifted it. He pulled out the HT leads one by one, disabling the vehicle, and as he left the barn, tossing the leads over into the now dark bushes, he heard the first urgent clamouring of fists on the undersides of the trapdoors and the peal of alarmed voices. He closed the barn door on the noise. Stealthily creeping over to the truck parked before the barn, Hawthorne looked inside the cab and saw that the keys were in the ignition. He took them out and pocketed them.
Trudy Garner watched the man closing up the truck’s door and making his way across the yard to the farmhouse. His large frame was surprisingly agile, she thought, the man light on his feet for such a stocky build. She could see quite clearly the gun in his hand now. Who was he? Had he come to rescue her, or was he another gang member? If he’d come to set her free, why did he appear to be working alone? He was edging closer to the wall in which her window was and she was in two minds whether to get his attention.
In the end, her desperation won and she reached her arm out and waved. She dared not shout out in case they heard her upstairs. But there was the worry that the man, his attention riveted on the farmhouse door, might not see her. She waved frantically.
The sight of the slender white hand waving like a flag from the hole in the wall not six inches from ground level took him aback. Then he quickly realised it must be the Garner woman they were talking about. With a glance at the door to the farmhouse, Hawthorne ran across to the wall and bent down to peer through the gap. He looked straight into the pleading, ashen face of a young woman.
‘Are you Trudy Garner?’ he asked in a whisper.
She nodded. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m the police,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to get you out of here.’
She gave a gasp and reached out her hand. He held her cold fingers in his own. ‘Thank God!’ she said tearfully. ‘They’re going to kill me like they killed Josh! Please get me out!’
He released her fingers, though she was obviously reluctant to let him go. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her, ‘I’ll soon have you out. How many men are in the house?’
She furrowed her brows in thought. ‘Three, now that the others turned up. There are more in the barn…’
‘I’ve taken care of them,’ he said. ‘For now. Tell me about the layout of the house, as much as you can remember. I need to know exactly where you’re located.’
She did so. ‘Where are the others? You’re not on your own are you?’ she asked.
‘Reinforcements are on their way,’ he lied.
‘I can hear them unlocking the door!’ she cried. ‘They’re coming to get me!’
‘Look,’ he said, ‘don’t panic. I’m right here. I think they’re going to take you away somewhere.’
‘No!’ she said, her head snapping round to the sound of the cellar door opening. ‘Don’t leave me!’
He put a finger to his lips. ‘They mustn’t know I’m here. Go with them. I’ll be right here with you…’
He placed his back against the wall and heard Trudy being taken from the cellar. Hawthorne had but a couple of minutes to sneak across the farmyard and find the cover of the now deep shadows before Trudy was pushed out of the door to the farmhouse, closely followed by a young man. Hawthorne squinted. It was the younger Baxter brother, Jimmy. He was armed. He made Trudy march with haste towards the barn, pushing her hard between the shoulder blades with the barrel of the gun.
Jimmy Baxter frowned on reaching the closed barn doors. ‘Open up the bloody doors,’ he said. ‘I have to get to the truck.’
He heard muffled shouting, then the beating of fists on wood. Sensing something was wrong, he grabbed Trudy by the hair and yanked her close to him, holding the gun at her right temple.
‘Don’t try anything,’ he warned, reaching out and pulling on the barn door to open it.
Hawthorne slid across from the bushes to the wall of the barn, slamming himself against the wall to make himself as small and as invisible as he could.
The thumping grew louder. Jimmy Baxter couldn’t understand why the trapdoors were closed. And padlocked.
It was all the distraction Hawthorne needed. He burst from cover and held up his gun.
‘Drop it, Jimmy!’ he ordered.
Jimmy Baxter turned round to face the DCI, bringing Trudy round with him to act as a shield. He stared deep into the single dead eye of Hawthorne’s gun barrel. ‘I’ll kill her!’ he snarled.
Hawthorne sized up the situation. He didn’t have a clear shot at Jimmy, and his booze-befuddled eyes weren’t in the best shape right now.
‘If you don’t drop the gun and let the woman go, Jimmy, I’m going to have to shoot you. You know all about me, Jimmy. You know how good I used to be with one of these.’
‘I mean it!’ said Jimmy, backing away, taking Trudy with him. Her eyes were wide with fear and pain. ‘I’ll blow her brains out! Drop your gun!’
‘I can’t do that, Jimmy,’ he said calmly, blinking away the rain from his eyes. ‘I’ll ask you once more. Drop the gun.’
Jimmy’s finger hardened on the trigger. ‘Go screw yourself, copper!’ he said, grinning.
‘I warned him…’ Hawthorne said without emotion, the gun smoking. ‘He was going to kill you. I had to act fast.’ In a second, he had hold of Trudy, holding her close. ‘I’ve got you now. You’re safe,’ he said, but knew that to be far from the truth. ‘We can get away in the truck,’ he said, ushering her to the cab.
The door to the farmhouse opened and Julian Merrill came out, followed closely by Callum Baxter, who, alerted by the shot, had a gun at the ready.
‘Get back!’ said Hawthorne, pulling Trudy to the rear of the truck.
‘Jimmy! What’s going on?’ shouted Callum. ‘Jimmy, what the hell are you doing?’ His first thought was that his younger brother had jumped the gun and finished the woman off early.
‘He’s a blasted menace!’ said Merrill. ‘Christ, go sort him out! Do the job yourself if you have to, but get it done!’
Callum shook his head and approached the barn. ‘Jimmy, you’d better not be fooling around…’ But he was brought up short by the incredible sight of his younger brother lying dead by the barn doors. Immediately, he lifted the gun and started to back away. ‘We’ve got trouble!’ he shouted back to Merrill.
Hawthorne remained crouched down near the tailgate of the truck, Trudy close to him. She was shivering and he put an arm round her shoulder. ‘Don’t you fret now, we’re doing just fine.’
‘What’s wrong?’ said Merrill, backing to the farmhouse door. ‘What can you see?’
‘Jimmy’s dead,’ Callum said, the words causing his anger to pressurise. ‘Jimmy’s dead!’ He walked slowly, sideways to the van, trying to see round it, but the darkness was fast falling and making it difficult.
‘Dead? He can’t be…’ said Merrill incredulously.
Callum wasn’t listening. He was crouched low now, the gun trained on the truck. ‘I know you’re there. You come out now. You can’t get away.’
‘Nice to see you again, Callum!’ shouted Hawthorne.
Callum Baxter froze.
‘That’s Hawthorne!’ said Merrill.
‘I know who it is,’ Callum growled. ‘I thought you said you’d finish him. It was part of the deal.’
‘It went wrong.’
‘Now’s a fine time to tell me!’ Callum snapped. ‘You killed my brother, Hawthorne, and for that you’re gonna suffer!’
‘Sure I am, Callum. You come on over here and make me suffer,’ he replied. He looked over his shoulder. The barn doors were only a few yards away. He bent close to the young woman’s ear. ‘You’d be safer inside there for now,’ he said, nodding at the barn.
‘I’m not leaving you!’ she said. ‘There are men in there!’
‘They won’t get out. The trapdoors are locked.’
‘We’re going to die!’ she said.
‘No, we’re not. I’m going to get you out of here,’ he said decisively. He pushed her. ‘Go, before they manage to get a bead on us.’
She scuttled over to the barn doors and began to sneak inside. Callum saw what was happening and fired. The bullet hit the door and Trudy gave a terrified little squeal, ducking down. Hawthorne fired his revolver in reply, though he could not see Callum clearly in the growing dark. While crouching, Trudy noticed Jimmy’s blood-smeared gun lying on the floor and picked it up before sliding inside the barn and closing the door after her.
Both Callum and Merrill instinctively ducked before Hawthorne’s wild shots. Bullets struck the stone wall of the farmhouse with loud cracks.
Satisfied Trudy was safe for now, Hawthorne rose to his feet, looking inside the truck. There was a large can of petrol standing beside a number of sacks crammed with banknotes.
‘It’s all over, Callum. Same for you, too, Merrill,’ he shouted, reloading the gun from a pocketful of loose bullets. ‘Give yourself up. The place is surrounded.’
‘Jesus!’ said Merrill, a tremor distorting his voice. ‘You hear that?’
‘It’s a load of bollocks,’ said Callum. ‘Look around you. See any more cops? He’s working alone.’
‘We know everything,’ said Hawthorne, leaping up into the truck and dragging the can of petrol to the tailgate. He paused when a sharp pain flashed through his ribs and caused him to catch his breath. For a moment he was so doubled up in agony he couldn’t do anything. ‘Come on, old man,’ he said to himself. He dropped from the truck to the ground, the jarring motion causing further torture. ‘We know you were behind the entire thing, Merrill,’ he said, hiding the fact he had to fight to get his breath. ‘This operation needed brains and the Baxters have never been known for that commodity.’ He lifted the can down to the ground. It landed with a loud metallic clang on the stone slabs of the farmyard. ‘When you got out, Callum, I wondered how you came by the information which put away Nev Murray, Bas Conway and Billy Joe Kidman. It had to come from somewhere else – from someone else.’ He unscrewed the cap of the can and petrol fumes leapt out like an angry genie from a bottle.
‘You take that side,’ Merrill said, pointing and taking out a gun from his jacket pocket. ‘I’ll take this. You get a fix on him, you take him, understand?’
Callum nodded. ‘I don’t need telling,’ he said under his breath. ‘The man’s dead meat.’
‘It had to be you, Merrill,’ continued Hawthorne. ‘You’ve worked for all three as their lawyer at some time or other, if not directly then through a third party. Over the years they trusted you, let you in. But you saw an opportunity to further your own career, to place yourself as the head honcho. First, you needed to get most of them out of the way, so you enlisted Baxter’s help, using him as the vehicle to get them sent down. But why Callum Baxter, I said to myself? Why him and not someone else?’ Hawthorne lifted the can and slopped petrol inside the truck. It ran down the wooden boards, between and around the sacks of money. ‘Because you needed him for something else,’ he said. ‘With Billy Joe Kidman out of the way, you knew Eddie Bates would make a move on his territory. Maybe you even encouraged it. The Grainger Forges building is in Kidman’s territory, yet Eddie Bates looked like a man on death row when I confronted him about the robbery. Why was that, I asked myself?’
Hawthorne slopped more petrol over the tailboard of the truck, on the ground near the wheels. A pungent puddle mixed with the rainwater.
Callum Baxter was creeping silently along the farmhouse wall, his gun trained on the truck. He looked to his right and saw Julian Merrill’s dark, shadowy form sliding in the opposite direction, between the two of them aiming to capture Hawthorne in a pincer movement.
Hawthorne poked his head round the side of the truck and saw Merrill. He lifted the gun and fired, twice. He heard a shout as Merrill was struck in the upper thigh and collapsed momentarily to the ground. Clasping a hand to the wound, he raised himself.
‘Nice try, Merrill!’ Hawthorne called out, watching as the lawyer limped painfully back to the cover of the farmhouse door. Hawthorne let the can fall over, and the petrol flooded out under the truck. ‘It was the stolen ten-bob note that alerted me to what was going on with Grainger Forges. Initially, I thought the managing director, Arnold Grainger, was involved in the robbery – there had to be some kind of inside help to let you know when and what was sitting in those safes, what kind of locks they had on them, and get you inside the building unseen. But it wasn’t Arnold Grainger who arranged all this, was it? It was his father, Randolph.’
‘You keep talking, Hawthorne,’ Callum shouted. ‘Waste your breath if you want. You haven’t got much of it left.’ He glanced with dismay at seeing Julian Merrill reach the farmhouse door, his trouser leg soaked with blood.
‘I think he’s hit an artery!’ Merrill said, alarmed.
Hawthorne stepped to the other side of the truck and peered round the canvas. He saw Callum Baxt
er’s black shadow make a dash for the cover of what appeared to be rusting old farm machinery. Hawthorne fired and heard the bullet strike metal.
‘The old man might have been retired,’ said Hawthorne, ‘but he was concerned that the business was failing under the stewardship of his son, and that was something he couldn’t bear to see happen, so he thought he’d explore new avenues of supplementing the company’s income. He went into partnership with Billy Joe Kidman, who had taken on the role of laundering money for not just local robberies, but robberies committed far and wide across Britain. Grainger Forges was used as a vehicle to make dirty money clean, Randolph Grainger taking a big cut for his part in it, helping to keep the business afloat unknown to his son. But you knew this already, didn’t you, Merrill?’
Julian Merrill had fallen to the tiles just inside the doorway, blood pumping from the wound. He was taking off his belt with the idea of making a tourniquet. ‘We can do a deal, Hawthorne!’ he cried out. ‘We know you’re all alone. There’s no police backup. You’ve been kicked out of the service. Why die fighting a cause that dumped you? How about it, Hawthorne?’ He wrapped the belt round his thigh, the pain excruciating, and tightened it, his teeth gritted.
Hawthorne backed away from the puddle of petrol, got down to one knee. He fumbled in his trouser pocket for his cigarette lighter. ‘So with Kidman now in jail, Eddie Bates takes over the operation,’ he said, ignoring the offer. ‘He didn’t know it, but Bates was following your plan to the letter, eh, Merrill?’ He let loose a couple of rounds at Callum to force the man’s head down. Callum replied with a number of shots of his own. The wooden side of the truck splintered as bullets hit it and Hawthorne was forced to creep back into cover. He tried to strike the silver lighter decorated with the cowboy riding his stallion. Come on, he thought, light up you bugger! But it refused stubbornly.
‘Now comes the real reason you needed Baxter,’ Hawthorne shouted. ‘Once he was out of prison, you needed him to break into Graingers to steal the money sitting in their safe. I can see from the haul you’ve got in this truck that there’s far more than the two-hundred thousand supposedly stolen. What is there really, close on half a million, maybe more? Two-hundred thousand of it belongs to men of, shall we say, disreputable leanings, awaiting their turn for their money to be laundered. Not only does Callum Baxter’s skill make the robbery seem legit, both to the police and to the criminals whose ill-gotten gains were in the safe, but no one would ever seriously think of the newly-sprung Baxter of having any part in the robbery. And you also knew if I voiced my suspicions about Baxter’s involvement they’d be shot down in flames. You even tried to goad me further with my prints on the stout bottles, knowing full well I’d rise to it and blame Baxter. Nice one, Merrill. It almost worked. You used Grainger’s transport systems in Europe to smuggle Baxter and Abramco over here, make me look and sound like a ruddy fool in my superior’s eyes. I have to give you that, Merrill, you almost had me pushed out of the way; the one copper you feared could crack the case.’