Dead Man Walking

by Paul Finch

  ‘Yeah, but we haven’t got times of death for Ramsdale and Longhorn yet.’

  ‘True, but if he only got up here for around seven, and then went on to pinch your boat, attack us up at Fellstead Grange and kill the occupants of the Ho as well … that’s an awful lot to cram into one evening.’

  ‘Suppose so. But I never thought there might be two of them.’

  ‘And then again … maybe there isn’t.’

  Detecting a change of tone, Mary-Ellen glanced up, to find Heck pointing across the rear of the yard at the slatted wooden fence, which had now been flattened by shrapnel – except for a single concrete post. On top of that sat a small rectangular device about the size of a mobile phone, with a pad of key-controls at the front. Heck took it down and examined it.

  ‘What the hell …?’ Mary-Ellen said.

  ‘It’s a Dictaphone.’

  ‘A Dictaphone …?’

  Heck thumbed at a plastic, funnel-like appendage in its top left corner. ‘A Dictaphone with a loudspeaker.’ He fiddled with the keys. There was a whirring sound as the tape inside rewound itself. Mary-Ellen switched her torch on again so he could access the keypad properly. He hit the ‘stop’ button, and then ‘play’.

  The volume of the music surprised both of them, though the tune didn’t.

  It was Strangers in the Night, melodiously whistled.

  Heck ran his thumb down the side, found the volume control and decreased it. He looked at Mary-Ellen.

  ‘So it could just be McGurk after all?’ she said.

  ‘That possibility has never gone away. One thing’s for sure, whoever it is … he’s never actually been whistling to us. He’s been playing a tape.’

  ‘And McGurk set that up on the fence … when? Just before he and Gemma went down into the cellar?’

  ‘Why not?’ Heck said. ‘They were poking around here, looking for a door. She wouldn’t have been watching him all the time. I’ll need another evidence bag …’ Mary-Ellen handed one over. He slipped the device inside, sealed it, and zipped it away into another inside pocket. ‘With luck, this’ll be the one that’ll either clear PC Michael McGurk’s name, or send him to prison for the rest of his life.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he’s a copper, isn’t he? So he knows the ropes.’ They set off walking again, Heck leading the way. ‘He’ll almost certainly have worn gloves when he was handling the murder weapons. But the chances are damn good his dabs will be on this Dictaphone, and that’s all we’re going to need.’

  ‘In that case, why would he have left it out here, where any Tom, Dick or Harry could find it?’

  Heck shrugged. ‘Perhaps he intended to reclaim it afterwards, but wasn’t able to. That would put McGurk even more firmly into the frame.’ They were now back on Truscott Drive, heading down towards the pub.

  ‘If it is McGurk, do you think he was the original Stranger?’ Mary-Ellen wondered.

  ‘If it is him, we’d have to consider that. How well do you know him?’

  ‘Not very. He’s been a bobby eight or nine years. Tarnished his record up in Carlisle, but not sufficiently to get himself sacked.’

  ‘I wonder if there was a window of opportunity between him leaving the military and joining the job.’

  ‘You mean to go and kill people on Dartmoor?’

  ‘Maybe in other places too. Depends where he was posted.’

  ‘Well, you said something about him perhaps committing murders before he even came to the West Country.’

  ‘That was never official, it was my own hypothesis.’

  ‘Heck, are we really about to arrest a serial killer?’ Mary-Ellen looked stunned by the prospect.

  ‘I don’t know. But let’s not get too excited, eh?’

  ‘If nothing else, it should be easy,’ she said. ‘I mean, at present he’s just lying there, too knackered and injured to move. All we’ve got to do is slip the cuffs on him.’

  However, when they were readmitted to The Witch’s Kettle, Mick McGurk, all rough, rugged fourteen and a half stones of him, was sitting upright at the bar, a little pale in the cheek, but wide awake; in fact sipping a whisky and warm water. He nodded at them when they entered, and raised the glass high; as if toasting his own remarkably improved health.

  Chapter 31

  ‘I’m alright,’ McGurk said. He’d smeared the sooty grime away from his eyes, but still looked like a man who’d been steeped in oil. ‘Head’s banging a bit.’

  He probed at the back of his skull, where a jagged laceration, perhaps nine inches long, meandered across his scalp, bright crimson amid his sweat-damp bristles. It would almost certainly require stitching, though for the moment it had been cleaned and smeared with Germolene, presumably by Hazel.

  McGurk remained hunched on his bar stool. He was still clad in armour and bulky waterproofs. There was plenty space there for concealed weapons.

  ‘I take it you weren’t able to retrieve any of our vehicles?’ Burt Fillingham called from his chair. He’d adopted a weary, peevish look. His voice was strained by irritation.

  ‘All the vehicles in the village have been sabotaged, I’m afraid,’ Heck admitted. ‘And in the light of that, there’s a bit of a problem.’

  Once again, pale-smudge faces were fixed on him from different corners of the darkened interior. Only in the toilet corridor, where Mary-Ellen was quietly conferring with Gemma, were other matters under discussion.

  ‘Without vehicles, there are no means to evacuate any of us from Cragwood Keld at the present time,’ Heck said. ‘Or even send anyone for help.’

  ‘We’re trapped here, then?’ Ted Haveloc said.

  ‘That’s about the strength of it.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Sally O’Grady whimpered.

  ‘None of that,’ Dulcie chided her.

  ‘But isn’t help already on its way?’ Hazel asked quietly. ‘What about the police firearms team? Why have you suddenly stopped talking about them, Mark?’

  ‘Yeah?’ Mick McGurk also looked interested in hearing an answer to this. If he was responsible for massacring the firearms unit and his curiosity was just an act, it was convincing.

  ‘Well, Sergeant Heckenburg?’ Burt Fillingham asked. ‘What about it?’

  ‘Sorry … what about what?’

  ‘About the fact this madman’s trapped us here, about the fact he obviously wants to murder us all.’

  ‘That’s an assumption, not a fact.’

  ‘Have you found any evidence to indicate he doesn’t?’

  ‘There’s no evidence of anything, Mr Fillingham. But I understand why you’re all frightened. I’m going to have a chat with my colleagues, and we’ll make a decision about what to do next.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s a more effective decision than the various others you’ve reached so far tonight,’ Fillingham said.

  Heck ignored that and walked into the corridor by the toilets. Gemma and Mary-Ellen glanced around as he approached. Behind him, civilian voices rose as they began to dispute with each other. He heard McGurk making some comment about people needing to keep it together. Hazel joined in, saying the last thing they wanted was to fall out among themselves.

  ‘M-E put you in the picture about McGurk?’ Heck asked Gemma quietly.

  Gemma nodded but didn’t look totally convinced. ‘This wristband may not be his.’

  ‘If it’s not him, the forensics will clear him.’

  ‘Heck, you theorised this perpetrator is here to get me. If so, how does that tie in with McGurk saving my life over at the police station? Saving it at considerable risk to his own. Once those matches struck, he did everything he could to get that cellar door closed. And even then he shielded me with his own body.’

  ‘You sure?’ Heck asked. ‘Or was it more the case he couldn’t help but shield you in that tiny corridor?’

  ‘Can he be in two places at once?’ Gemma asked. ‘While he was supposedly shooting at you two on that road near the firearms truck, he was also down
here at the pub telling me we’d had a power cut.’

  ‘There’s a time discrepancy there,’ Heck said. ‘Only three shots were fired at us on that road, and we laid low for … I don’t know, forty minutes, maybe more. Easily long enough for him to get back to the village and tell you the lights had gone out.’

  ‘Ma’am,’ Mary Ellen said, ‘there were prolonged periods when Mick was in sole charge of the nick. That would have given him ample opportunity not just to pinch my boat and chase you guys up the fells, but to cause damage to phone lines, vehicles … not to mention murder potential witnesses.’

  ‘How did he get over to the far shore to pinch your boat, Mary-Ellen?’ Gemma wondered. ‘Did he walk around? It would have taken him hours.’

  Mary-Ellen shook her head. ‘Two minutes from here, down at the village jetty, there are kayaks, canoes … and he’s an ex-Royal Marine. It wouldn’t have taken him very long to paddle over to the east shore.’

  Gemma gazed at Heck searchingly. ‘Are you really sold on this?’

  He shrugged, sighed. ‘Truth is I don’t know. I really don’t. There are lots of questions to answer … would McGurk have had time to kill all these people? Possibly not. Heggarty was with him at least part of that time. Was he even up here when the first of yesterday’s murders were committed? I don’t know that either, not yet. I considered earlier that he might have had an accomplice … I mean that would explain a lot, but even then it wouldn’t totally add up. There are all sorts of contradictory messages here. But the point is, ma’am, we can’t pretend we didn’t find that wristband on the quad-bike. In evidential terms, that’s pretty overwhelming. Mick McGurk has got to be involved in this somehow.’

  Gemma still seemed undecided. ‘Look … think about this. We put McGurk under arrest now – on suspicion only – and if it’s not him, it reduces our fighting potential by a quarter. And what if the real bad boy then shows up?’

  ‘I’d much rather the real bad boy was still out there,’ Heck said. ‘Because if it is McGurk, he’s right where he wants to be – in our midst. And he’s done that pretty damn cleverly, making everyone think he’s just another victim.’

  ‘Ma’am,’ Mary-Ellen said, ‘this Stranger guy – the original one down in the West Country. You heard him speak, didn’t you?’

  ‘It was ten years ago, remember.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m sure that voice must be printed on your memory.’

  ‘If you’re going to ask does the voice sound similar to Mick McGurk’s, the answer is no. Not in any obvious way.’

  ‘Didn’t you say something about the Stranger not speaking with a full Scottish accent?’

  ‘That’s true …’

  ‘Well, McGurk’s from the Borders. He hasn’t got a full Scottish accent either.’

  Gemma pondered that. Behind them, the argument in the pub had risen, Fillingham exchanging words with Dulcie O’Grady and Ted Haveloc, neither of whom were prepared to fall in line with his criticism of the police, who, in Dulcie’s opinion, were ‘trying to cope with a horrible and unprecedented problem’, while Burt’s ‘scathing tone was neither helpful nor appropriate’.

  Mary-Ellen leaned even closer. ‘Look … there’s three of us. He’s a tough nut for sure, but like I say, he’s out on his feet. Why don’t we rush him?’

  ‘Only two problems with that,’ Heck said. ‘Firstly, unless he coughs, we’re not going to know for sure we’ve got the right guy. So we’ll then have a prisoner to watch as well as all these innocent bystanders, and we’ll still have to keep an eye open for a dangerous presence outside. Secondly, if it is him, he could easily be packing a pistol right now … maybe more than one.’

  Mary-Ellen looked sceptical. ‘So, he’s going to pull a brace of pistols and gun us all down if we jump him from behind? He won’t even see us coming.’

  ‘He doesn’t need to gun us all down,’ Gemma said. ‘He gets any shots off in here at all, it’s a potential nightmare.’

  ‘We’ve got to get the civvies out first,’ Heck said.

  ‘I love the way you think you know better than the coppers!’ Ted Haveloc hooted from the taproom. ‘You’re only a bloody postman.’

  ‘I’m a postmaster, actually,’ Fillingham retorted. ‘There’s a big difference.’

  ‘Oh, excuse me, your worship …’

  Rotten with fear and fatigue, the rest of the pub were still arguing. It sounded as if Hazel was trying to offer reason, though McGurk, aside from voicing his disapproval a couple of times, hadn’t contributed much.

  ‘If we’re not going to jump him, what’s to stop him pulling his guns anyway and taking everyone out?’ Mary-Ellen wondered. ‘He’s ideally placed to do it.’

  ‘We certainly need to act quickly,’ Heck agreed. ‘If it is McGurk, I don’t know why he’s delaying. It looks like he’s waiting for something, and having closed down all our avenues of escape, he wants us to wait with him … and that can’t be for anything good.’

  ‘You got something in mind?’ Gemma asked.

  ‘It’s another long shot,’ Heck said. ‘But if it comes together, it may get all the civvies safely away from here and at the same time, put McGurk right in our hands.’

  His new idea had first germinated once they’d realised the quad-bike was out of commission, and had been evolving ever since. It was hardly a risk-free strategy, but it had become increasingly clear to Heck that they had to do something. Gemma and Mary-Ellen listened attentively while Heck outlined it to them. When he’d finished, they regarded him with blank expressions.

  ‘I told you it would be a long shot,’ he said.

  ‘There are an awful lot of variables there,’ Gemma said. ‘A lot of stuff we’ll have no control over.’

  Even Mary-Ellen looked uncertain. ‘It’s very dangerous, Heck.’

  ‘More dangerous than hanging around here for another few hours?’

  ‘It’s almost seven,’ Gemma reminded him. ‘The sun rises just after eight.’

  ‘Yeah, but realistically, ma’am, how manymore hours after that before DI Mabelthorpe and his various search teams start arriving? The fog isn’t due to shift until midday at the earliest. And all that time we’ve got a well-tooled, highly motivated sociopath right in our lap?’

  Behind them, the villagers were still at each other’s throats. Mandy Fillingham was in the midst of a bitter exchange with Dulcie O’Grady.

  ‘You can damn well talk,’ she said. ‘You think you’re some lady of the manor! Lady bloody Muck, more like …’

  ‘This lot aren’t going to hold it together much longer anyway,’ Heck murmured.

  ‘Wait ’til you put this bloody plan to them,’ Mary-Ellen replied.

  ‘You resentful little cow!’ Dulcie O’Grady snapped. Abruptly, Gemma strode out into the pub. ‘Alright everybody, put a sock in it!’

  Surprised at her strident tone, the villagers fell quiet.

  ‘Keep a close eye on McGurk,’ Heck said to Mary-Ellen from the side of his mouth. ‘At all times from this moment on.’

  ‘DS Heckenburg has come up with an idea which is hellishly dangerous,’ Gemma said, addressing everyone in the pub. ‘Though I think it’s just about workable, given that we’ve no real alternative.’

  She stepped aside, and Heck came forward.

  ‘Let’s face it, folks,’ he said. ‘Whoever this guy is, and for whatever reason he’s doing what he’s doing, he’s obviously not going to stop now. I’m afraid you were right earlier, Mr Fillingham. He’s trapped us in this valley because he intends to liquidate us.’

  This time there was no response, not even a whimper.

  ‘It may feel as if we’re reasonably secure here,’ Heck added. ‘But I’d have thought we’d be secure in the police station. The fact is, our opponent has planned all this in advance and is highly proficient, technically as well as everything else. He was able to create a highly destructive bomb out of little more than household appliances. The same plan won’t work here, because there are no explo
sive materials stored in the pub cellar. But we’ve made the decision that we can’t just sit around and give him time to hatch another scheme. Are we at least agreed on that?’

  ‘What do you want us to do, sergeant?’ Dulcie O’Grady asked.

  Heck glanced at McGurk, who was watching and listening with interest. His eyes caught a hint of radiance from the murky light outside, glinting like chips of steel.

  ‘We can’t drive out of the Cradle,’ Heck said. ‘And we certainly can’t walk out of it. So we’re going to sail out.’

  The silence that greeted this was the silence of bewilderment.

  ‘Let me explain,’ he said. ‘In a couple of minutes, if we’re all in agreement, we’re going to walk out of this pub’s back door and go down to the jetty, where, as you know, there are several kayaks available.’

  ‘My God, you’re not talking about the Cragwood Race?’ Dulcie interrupted.

  It was a new experience for any of them to hear the elder of the O’Grady sisters sound shaken, and it kick-started an immediate clamour from the rest.

  ‘Bloody madness!’ Burt Fillingham intoned, amid the tumult of disbelief. ‘We don’t have helmets, we don’t have life-jackets …’

  ‘I can’t swim,’ Sally O’Grady wailed.

  ‘There are some life-jackets down at the jetty,’ Heck replied.

  ‘We’ll be safer hanging on here, surely?’ Mandy Fillingham cried. ‘Those armed officers might still show up!’

  ‘Hear me out, please!’ Heck raised his arms. ‘Everyone … shut up!’

  The room fell silent again.

  ‘Now listen … I didn’t want to mention this, but seeing as you’ve forced my hand; the reason we have to leave the Keld ASAP is because when we went looking for some vehicles earlier, we found the dead bodies of the police firearms team.’

  Brief, stunned whispers filled the pub.

  ‘Listen to me, people. Seriously … these are the highest stakes any of you has ever played for. Daylight is only one hour away, but our opponent cannot afford to let us reach it. We have got to get out of here now, and the Cragwood Race is the only way as far as I can see.’

  ‘Why not go up the Track?’ Mandy Fillingham said. ‘Try and lose him on the tops.’