The Hireling's Tale

by Jo Bannister

  When Superintendent Hilton returned from Northampton and there was still no news it was time to take action. She phoned the police stations in Peterborough, Cambridge and Ely warning them what was happening and asking if they had any information on a maroon Jaguar.

  After a few minutes Peterborough rang back.

  She sprinted the short distance to Shapiro’s office, flinging open the door without even a cursory knock. ‘They’re in trouble.’

  The name and the address given to PC Warren had been checked and found to be false. But the registration number he’d taken was real enough: Donovan had called it in when he noticed the navy hatchback travelling his way. He’d thought it was probably a coincidence but reported it anyway. Its presence by the roadside while Shapiro’s Jaguar burned in the ditch said it was no coincidence. Further enquiries revealed it to be a hire car. The man who rented it had given the same false name to the hire company.

  ‘It was definitely Mr Shapiro’s car in the ditch?’ asked Hilton.

  ‘No question about it.’

  ‘But there was no one inside.’

  ‘No, thank God.’

  ‘And we don’t believe in joyriders running away across the fields giggling.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Superintendent Hilton took a measured breath and let it out again. ‘It was him, wasn’t it? This man calling himself Charles L. Dodgson - it was the mechanic. He ran them off the road, they got out of the car before it caught fire, he was about to finish the job but Constable Warren came along and distracted him. I think Detective Sergeant Donovan and Miss Cotterick may owe their lives to Constable Warren.’

  ‘And what does Constable Warren owe his life to?’ asked Liz. ‘I mean, this is a professional killer, he’s been paid to silence Maddie Cotterick, and the only thing stopping him was an unarmed PC. Why didn’t he gun him down and finish what he was there to do? He could have been on his way home by now.’

  Hilton didn’t know. ‘Not ethical considerations, anyway. So it was a matter of practicality or of pride. He didn’t have to kill him - he could talk his way out, and it could be hours before anyone realized who he was. Whereas if he shot Warren it wouldn’t be long before someone reported the fire, the body would be found and the area would be crawling with policemen. It was a sound decision. It got him away from the scene with nobody chasing him, and ensured that Peterborough would treat it as taking-and-driving-away instead of launching a murder hunt. Yes, it was a good decision. He’s a calm and clever man, our Mr Dodgson.’

  Liz frowned. ‘I know that name from somewhere.’

  Hilton did the gin-trap smile again. ‘Of course you do, Inspector. You’ve read Alice in Wonderland. Charles Lutwidge Dodgson - Lewis Carroll?’

  That was it. Liz nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. ‘Nice. A hired killer with a sense of humour.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll have the judge in stitches,’ said Hilton coldly. ‘If we find him; if we catch him.’

  ‘Right now I’d settle for finding Donovan and the girl. They got out of the car before it caught fire or Warren would have seen the bodies. But they couldn’t have got far: the crash had only just happened, and if they’d run off Dodgson’ - she had nothing else to call him - ‘would have gone after them. They had to be in the immediate area when Warren turned up. So why didn’t they show themselves?’

  ‘Donovan’s not some probationer wet behind the ears who thinks that putting a suspect under arrest is the same as clapping him in irons. If he’d revealed himself and told Warren what was happening, Dodgson would have killed the three of them. That constable’s life hung in the balance until Dodgson got back in his car and drove away. Donovan knew that asking for his help would be the same as signing his death warrant.’

  ‘But Dodgson did drive away. He persuaded Warren to let him go about his business, and he left the scene. Why didn’t they wait until he’d gone and then clamber out of the ditch?’

  As soon as she’d asked the question, the answer seemed obvious. Her head rocked back and her lips parted. ‘Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe they didn’t get away. Maybe he killed them, and he’d just pushed them out of sight when Warren arrived. Maybe what we need to do next is drag those damned ditches.’

  Hilton regarded her for a moment before replying. He was still adjusting to the novelty of working with a woman officer above the rank of sergeant, and it was different even if the differences were subtle ones. This was a case in point. A time came in every policeman’s career where he had to face the possibility of a colleague’s death. Some react with bitter fury and some seek sanctuary in a kind of black humour. The simple honesty of Liz Graham’s reaction, her ability to show her feelings without any sense of being diminished by them, was new to Hilton. Most of the men he’d worked with would have felt compromised by admitting either to fear or to grief. The interesting thing was that caring enough about a colleague to feel pain at the prospect of losing him didn’t make Inspector Graham appear weak, it made her seem strong.

  ‘We will,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think we’ll find anything. Dodgson wouldn’t have driven away and left a policeman - who’d seen him well enough to identify him, who’d got the number of his car - in charge of a scene where he’d concealed two bodies. He’d have killed him, and been twenty miles away before anyone came to see why Warren wasn’t answering his radio. No, he left because he’d lost one chance but he thought there’d be another as long as he was free to take it.’

  It made sense. So perhaps they weren’t in immediate danger. She felt the tension in her body ease a little. ‘But Donovan has a mobile phone. Why hasn’t he called for help?’

  Superintendent Hilton cocked a sceptical eyebrow. ‘My mobile phone doesn’t work if it spends any length of time upside down in my pocket. His has been in a car crash, may have been dropped on the ground, may have been swimming in a ditch. My guess is, the next we hear from Sergeant Donovan he’ll be in a telephone kiosk. They can tell us about their adventures over a late lunch.’ He paused then, noticing her silence. ‘You don’t look convinced.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. It’s just—’ There was a big map on the wall of Shapiro’s office. It showed the country around Castlemere for thirty miles in every direction. It showed the Castlemere Levels to the east, and the Bedford Levels up to the north. And though it was a large-scale map, a lot of what it showed was nothing at all. ‘The fens are strange country. You can get lost out there. All that flatness, all that sky, it all looks the same. And every few fields you have to turn aside because you’ve hit another watercourse with no way over it. You need a compass to find your way across. Otherwise you can go round in circles.’

  ‘The same applies to Dodgson.’

  ‘No. He only has to look at his map and identify the nearest phone, whether that’s a public phone or a house. He can go straight there, and if they’re not there he can go to the next. They’re on foot, trying to find their way back to civilization. It’s country that favours the hunter, not the quarry.’

  ‘What if I ask Division for the helicopter?’

  That sounded better. Liz nodded. ‘Yes, that’ll find them. I’m sorry to seem paranoid. But so much has gone wrong already. Now they’re out there in a green desert with a killer on their trail, and it seems to me that a man as serious about his job as this one won’t be put off by losing their scent for a while. But the helicopter will find them before he does. Can you spare me? I’d like to be on the scene.’

  The more angular of Hilton’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. ‘Can you fly a helicopter, Inspector?’

  ‘Of course not. But—’

  ‘Then I think we can safely leave the search to those who can. There’s still plenty of work to be done here. Kendall: I’m going to have him, and it isn’t going to be easy because he knows that we know, and he knows that we can’t prove it. Go and see Mr Shapiro again, get a statement from him - everything he can remember about his visit to Kendall’s house. Maybe there’s something we can use.’

 
‘All right.’ It was better than having nothing to do but wait. ‘How much should I tell him? Do I treat him as a witness or part of the investigating team?’

  ‘I think I can leave that to your discretion, Inspector Graham. There’s no point concealing from him that Kendall is under suspicion, simply because if it becomes an issue in court nobody’ll believe that we did. So yes, tell him anything he wants to know. He’s too experienced an officer to let it influence him. Just bear in mind that the man’s in hospital because he’s been shot. He’s still weak, he doesn’t need all the problems of this department dropping in his lap.’

  Liz knew what Hilton was saying, and she couldn’t altogether blame him. He had a difficult enough job without his officers constantly turning for a second opinion to the man whose desk he’d taken. She nodded. ‘I’ll be careful not to tire him, sir. If he’s got anything useful I’ll call. I could meet you at Kendall’s house.’

  ‘No, come back here. Once I’ve got the search organized I’m going to bring Kendall in. Whether or not Mr Shapiro can help, I think it’s time to take the gloves off.’

  Part Three

  Chapter One

  Maddie Cotterick rolled into the water without knowing how deep it was, aware she might only have swapped one death, fast and hot, for another cold and slow. But her feet touched the bottom, and as she straightened carefully she became aware of someone else, wet and weedy as herself, only a metre away. She whispered, ‘Donovan?’

  He mouthed back, ‘Don’t talk. Turn round, head that way. Keep low. If he starts shooting, get under the water.’

  But the man with the gun was still waiting for a gap in the smoke, still of the belief that his job was done. The few seconds that he kept believing that were all the head start they were going to get. Wading breast-high, silent in the scummy water, they put distance between them and him, every metre another small triumph.

  There was a junction twenty metres back where a smaller ditch ran into this one. Donovan pushed Maddie round the corner and out of sight. A second later the man with the gun looked into the drain and saw the peaty hole in the surface algae where something solid had gone through. Donovan was still close enough to hear his murmur of satisfaction. He ducked back out of sight, but he knew that they’d left a trail as clear as footprints in the water. The man had only to walk twenty metres up the bank to have a clear view, and a clear shot, into the channel where they were hiding.

  Donovan squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to think, but there was no solution to find. If they stayed where they were, in half a minute they’d be dead. If they climbed out of the channel and tried to run, they’d be dead rather sooner. This was a man who practised on targets quarter of a mile away. Donovan considered himself fit, but across rough pastureland and weighed down by wet clothing he doubted if he could cover quarter of a mile inside three minutes. Maddie, even if she’d managed to hold on to her shoes, would take five. She wouldn’t have got a hundred metres before this man had strolled back to his car, got out his sniper’s rifle, assembled it if need be, adjusted the sight, loaded it, strolled back to the dyke and drilled a hole clean through her head.

  He didn’t know what to do. He pushed her behind him because there was no other cover and waited.

  They heard the car, and the voices. Maddie looked up at him, sudden burgeoning hope in her eyes. Donovan had to restrain her physically to keep her from giving them away. He mouthed, ‘Stay here. I’ll look. Don’t move.’

  A little time from now Superintendent Hilton would credit him with a rather clearer grasp of the situation than was in fact warranted. When he saw the police car and PC Warren standing beside it, Donovan’s first thought was the same as Maddie’s - that their problems were over. He filled his lungs to call out. Reality interceded just in time. Two unarmed police officers, one of them in a ditch, were no match for a professional killer. If he opened his mouth the man would kill both of them, and Maddie at his leisure.

  She didn’t see that. Her muddy face was astonished and horrified. ‘But - he’s a policeman! He can help us.’

  ‘I’m a policeman,’ Donovan shot back very quietly, ‘and a lot of good that did us! Take my word for it, the only chance we have is getting out of here while the sod’s busy explaining about this terrible accident he stumbled on. If a moment comes where he thinks his story isn’t being believed, he’ll shoot the woodentop and get on with searching these drains. We need to be gone by then. We’ll find a farm and phone from there.’

  Donovan backed away from the overflow - hearing as he did the name the man gave and thinking, as Liz would later, that Charles Dodgson sounded vaguely familiar - and pushed Maddie ahead of him. He knew she wasn’t convinced. Almost, she resisted him. But she’d asked for help and he was what she’d got, and he’d kept her alive this far so maybe he had a better idea what he was doing than it sometimes appeared.

  Actually he hadn’t. Except that he knew they had to vacate this area, and there would never be a better moment than now.

  There was a sluggish flow as the seep-water dropped towards the main drain. They forged their way against it, taking every turn that offered. Maddie was close to exhaustion, but Donovan pushed her on until they came to a tangle of willow scrub overhanging the ditch. He clambered to the lip of the bank, his clothes shedding the thick water only reluctantly, and looked back. He could still see the mounting plume of smoke, but neither the cars nor the men in attendance. Presumably that meant they couldn’t see him either.

  He reached down into the dyke. ‘Come on. It gets easier from here.’ She had almost no strength left: pulling her out of the water was like lifting a dead weight. They collapsed on the bank in a sprawl of limbs, too tired to go any further, letting the stinking wetness run off them into the dry grass.

  But a few minutes’ respite was all they could afford. When Donovan felt his limbs growing light enough he pushed himself on to his knees, then stood up. ‘Get up. We have to go.’

  Maddie didn’t move. It was as if she thought he might go on alone if she pretended to be dead. Actually, the element of pretence wasn’t that great. She had never in her entire life been so close to collapse.

  ‘Maddie! Get up. We have to keep moving. I can’t carry you, but I’ll drag you if I must.’ When she opened one jaundiced eye he pointed. ‘There are some buildings over there. Maybe a mile away. Twenty, twenty-five minutes. Just like walking the dog.’

  ‘I don’t have a dog,’ she growled feebly.

  ‘Me neither,’ Donovan chuckled damply. ‘I’ve got the reincarnation of Attila the Hun.’ He offered his hand and, after a moment, she took it and let him draw her to her feet.

  ‘Twenty-five minutes,’ she said sternly. ‘After that I lie down and die.’

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  Liz didn’t have to volunteer the information. As soon as he saw her face Shapiro knew things were not going well. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’

  She forced a smile she didn’t much feel like. ‘Do you want the bad news or the very bad news?’

  ‘I want it all,’ he said firmly. One of the very few causes for optimism, she thought, was that every time she came here Frank Shapiro looked and sounded more like his old self.

  She took a deep breath and got it out in one action-packed sentence. ‘Your car’s upside down in a ditch in the Bedford Levels, and Donovan and Maddie Cotterick are missing with a hired assassin on their trail.’ Then she filled in some details.

  He heard her out in silence. He was sitting up quite normally now; every so often the sheet over his feet moved as he practised unconsciously his rediscovered talent. When she’d finished he said, ‘I presume somebody’s looking for them.’

  ‘Peterborough are organizing a search. Hilton’s trying to get the helicopter. But Frank, you know what The Levels are like - you could lose an army in there. Hilton thinks they’ll turn up in half an hour. I’m afraid they’ll still be scrambling in and out of drains when it goes dark; unless Dodgson’s caught up with them by t
hen.’

  ‘He may not still be after them. He got away from the crash without blowing his cover, he may have decided to call it a day. You’re right, it’s a maze - once they disappeared in there he wouldn’t know how to begin finding them. He’ll go away, change his car, and think of something else.

  ‘Queen’s Street, for instance. Wherever they are now, however long they wander round before emerging from The Levels, sooner or later they’re going to end up back in Castlemere, driving down Queen’s Street. It’s a good place for an ambush. You could check the houses overlooking the street - better still, check those overlooking the backyard. Shooting a woman in a car’s going to be difficult, even for him. But once in the yard she has to get out of the car and go up the back steps.’ He twitched a sombre little smile. ‘He’s good at steps.’

  Listening to his calm assessment, Liz felt more at ease than she had for the last hour. It made sense; it was what a man like this would do; and it meant Donovan and Maddie Cotterick weren’t going to die in the middle of The Levels because of her error of judgement. She had to believe it. ‘I’ll get on to it. If that’s what he’s going to do, there’s only a tiny window of opportunity where we have to protect her. They’re safe until they’re almost home.’ She smiled, relaxing. ‘Damn it, Frank, even in a hospital bed you think clearer than the rest of us!’

  Shapiro shrugged. ‘In a hospital bed there isn’t much else to do but think.’ But secretly he was pleased.

  Liz got up to go. ‘And Superintendent Hilton wants to know if you’re ready to give a statement.’