Lane: A Case For Willows And Lane

by Peter Grainger

  Not so easy to wait with her back to him, of course, because Small had moved quietly enough through the forest, and he might get closer to her now than she wanted. She didn’t expect him to use the torch either – he wouldn’t want to risk giving away their presence to the women that Shah had told him were hiding in the hut. So he would come quickly but quietly up this hill, and somehow she had to intercept him while making it look accidental.

  A flash of lights far down in the valley, where the road must be, caught her attention. A car passing slowly that might be the first sign of support, but then the lights disappeared, and Lane could not tell whether it had travelled on or they had been switched off. Somewhere there was an incident room dealing with this but for all the help they had had so far, it might as well be on Mars. What would she have done? She would have got a helicopter up for a start but there was no sign of one, and she had a pretty good view from up here.

  Emily must have got some response on the phone by now… A good incident room controller would have had phone-tracking ready to roll since this began. As long as the mast operators were on board, it shouldn’t take more than a minute or two, but this, she reminded herself, isn’t London. It isn’t even close.

  She glanced down the hill, listened hard and turned away again. This is when the doubts creep in like cockroaches, during the waiting darkness. If he had come up the far side, wandered away from the route that the driver had taken, it was possible that she would miss him, he would miss her, and arrive at the hut from the other side. He would shine the torch into the hut, Emily would be dazzled, and if he was quick he’d knock her down before a shot was fired. That might have happened already. And what if, for some reason, Sergeant Willows wasn’t answering his phone? They might, under the circumstances, have taken it away from him. She, Lane, should have allowed for that. You’d hope that someone else would answer it but… Would Emily realise that she should, after a certain number of attempts, call another number? Was it too late to go back and tell her?

  Lane cursed herself, turned and took three steps back towards the hut before she realised that it was too late. Small was there, a shadow on the moonlit hillside some thirty yards away. He was standing very still because he had seen her.

  Each time she re-dialled, the phone’s screen brightened. Emily turned it towards the man on the floor in the corner, and he was looking at her directly for the first time. His eyes were large in the darkness, and probably frightened. He was Asian or half-Asian and very young; she thought he couldn’t be more than twenty two or twenty three years of age. She wondered how on earth he came to be here. How old was he when his poor mother realised that she was losing him to that nether world of gangs and guns and crime?

  But she had to think about her own son first, because he was not answering this phone. Each time there were twelve rings and then it went to the same message. Lane had said to keep dialling until you get through, Robert will know what to do, but she hadn’t said what to do if this was happening. And Lane had not explained why she was to do this, no doubt assuming that Emily was too stupid to understand that the police would be able to locate the signal. Emily looked at the screen; she had noted the time when she began to make the calls, and seven minutes had passed. Too long – time to try something else. She had never made a call like this in her life before, and everything changes, just for the sake of change it seems, but as far as she knew one still dialled nine, nine, nine in a dire emergency.

  Small stood still for several long, long seconds, and Lane realised that he was doing so because he thought that she had not seen him yet – she wouldn’t be standing there if she had, would she? OK, this was fine. Every second that passes is one in which he isn’t searching for the hut that Shah had told him about. She began to take deep, controlled breaths, flooding her system with the oxygen it would need when the waiting was over.

  For a split second her eyes wavered to the left – there was a light in the sky to the north, moving steadily north-west, too low to be a plane – and when she looked back at Small he was almost upon her, not ten yards away, running, crouched like a huge ape.

  He was much quicker than she had anticipated, his grunting breaths loud behind her before she found enough acceleration. The decision about which way to run had been taken twenty minutes earlier, and it was easy to locate the steep path up from the ridge – the moon was illuminating the rocks that showed through the bracken stems so well that they seemed to have been painted white for this very purpose. Once moving, Lane knew that she could put plenty of space between them but that was not her intention; she wanted him close behind and believing that sooner or later she would tire and he would catch her. That would take more time, and who knows – if she could exhaust him enough, she might be able to finish the job herself before the country bumpkins arrived. Definitely a helicopter over there but too far away to be of any use here…

  Her thoughts became clearer as she ran, as they always did – don’t forget the gun, Lane. He still has another gun. If we get on a straight stretch he might decide he’s had enough of this and take a shot, so it’s a fine line – close enough so that he thinks he can catch me, not so close that he can shoot me in the back. Come on, King Kong. We’ve got a mountain to climb…

  Harley had the line open directly to Sergeant Wright. He could hear that the other men had arrived at the Skoda, and Wright was saying ‘Most likely someone, maybe everyone has continued along the path - but as there’s six of us, we’ll form a line, two on the path, two either side. Use your torches, no point sodding about as anyone out there is going to hear us anyway. Sir?’

  That was directed back to Harley.

  ‘Yes, Jon?’

  ‘We’re going to need those other bodies. They could be anywhere up here.’

  ‘I’ll get that moving. Any sign of the chopper?’

  ‘Yes and no. We heard something just a minute ago but it’s gone right over – can’t hear it now.’

  The superintendent told Wright to carry on, keeping the line open so that he could listen. On the interactive screen there was no sign of the helicopter, and he realised then that it never had appeared, even when it must have been above the police cars gathered on the edge of the forest. He checked again, and could see red lights for the car that had closed the road at Temple Hill, and the Range Rover that had stopped by the fork in the road on the top of the moor; the three cars close to the Volvo site also showed up clearly but there was no helicopter.

  He shouted across to the control room staff, told them to find the bloody thing, and then one of the staff was saying something back to him. A young, blonde officer, pretty but nervous, and he didn’t even know her name.

  ‘Yes? What is it?’

  ‘Emergency Services call handling, sir. They’ve got a woman on the line.’

  Harley fought back the sixty possibilities for sarcasm, did his very best not to look annoyed, and simply waited for her to explain.

  ‘A woman who says two men are trying to kill her and her friend, somewhere on Bodmin Moor, sir.’

  Willows hadn’t heard that, what with all the commotion over the disappearing helicopter and the open line to the officers who had begun the search. Harley went across to the female officer and took the headset himself. Yes, call handling could let him talk to the woman directly – he waited for a few seconds and then said his name into the mouthpiece.

  ‘Detective Superintendent Harley? Oh, thank goodness for that – Robert has mentioned you often, superintendent. Isn’t this a to-do? I’m so sorry to have caused you all this trouble…’

  The thought had been that he would ask a clever question or two to confirm her identity, or even get Willows to do that if necessary, but already there was no doubt in his mind.

  ‘Mrs Willows, it’s no trouble. Now, I need you to tell me quickly where you are and what your situation is, OK?’

  Harley listened to the story, aware that one or two pairs of eyes had noticed him wearing the headset now. He had to ask questions,
though, because the tale Mrs Willows was telling him must be a little confused.

  As quietly as he could, he said, ‘Mrs Willows – did you say that you have a gun?’

  ‘Yes. And the safety catch is off.’

  ‘I see… And you have taken prisoner one of the men who were pursuing you?’

  ‘Yes. He’s tied up on the floor of the hut. It wasn’t me personally who captured him, of course. Miss Lane did that. I’m just guarding him.’

  Harley thought, well, I’ve had a long and some would say distinguished career, but nothing so far has prepared me for this.

  ‘Right. Got that. Where is Miss Lane now? Could I speak to her?’

  ‘I wish you could, superintendent. She’s gone off after the other one. Well, not exactly after him – she’s drawing him away from the hut. I think it must have worked… But we do need help. Is help on its way? I really don’t want to have to fire this gun at anyone.’

  Jack Harley was only human. He had one of those moments. He pictured Mrs Willows shooting the first policeman who arrived at the hut, and as that image held centre stage in his imagination, the control centre manager leaned across and said triumphantly that he had located the helicopter – it had rendezvoused with the Range Rover at the top of the moor and was awaiting further instructions, fifteen minutes operational time left. Robert Willows was watching him closely, realising that there had been a significant development, and Harley thought, I shouldn’t do this but if another officer returns fire, we could end up accomplishing what these two thugs have so far failed to achieve.

  He beckoned to Willows, told the CC sergeant to get the chopper to the hill above the cars and asked the girl to start the process of tracing the call, though he was certain that by the time they had done so, this would, one way or another, all be over.

  Chapter Seventeen

  More than once he surprised her with his speed and agility. Where the path first became seriously steep, she had had to pause for a moment to find the best way and he had not done so; Small had thrown himself forward and lunged for her foot as she began to climb, missing it by a matter of inches. She knew his strength from their encounter in the house – an eternity ago now – and if he had got hold of her ankle at that point, she would not have escaped him.

  But he missed and she heard him land heavily behind her as she went over the projecting boulders and on towards the summit. Then she had to slow a little and wait for him to come on again – she did not want him to give up. She paused and breathed heavily deliberately, letting him hear her, trying to make him think that she was almost done. From here Lane could see further down into the valley and there were the lights of parked vehicles, no doubt about it now. Someone had managed at least half a job, then – they could not have arrived this quickly simply as a result of Emily’s call.

  A hand and then two appeared on the whitened, lichen-covered boulder of granite below her, followed by his head and shoulders. The climb was taking its toll now and she could hear Small’s gasps for air. Again the madness of all this struck her, the inexplicability of this pursuit. Whatever happens, she thought, I’ve got to live long enough to find out why he has done this. Why getting his monstrous hands on me is more important than getting away.

  She turned and continued the scramble to the top of the hill. More sky was visible ahead of her now, more of the amazing star-scape that she had not known was here, and that must mean that the hill was levelling out. And once on the level she could leave him for dead if she wished – she could disappear into the darkness in any direction. That’s what she would do. Draw him away from the path they were climbing, take him round in a couple of circles and then leave him to it. Surely by the time he got his bearings again, there would be police in the woods below. Lane slowed again and listened. Small was still there, still coming on, and then the light appeared below her. He had switched on the torch. He’s had enough of this game, she realised. He’s going to try and shoot me now.

  Sergeant Wright waved two men to the right and two men to the left of the hut. They were using their torches but all had been told not to shine them directly into the building for fear of alarming the poor woman – and, of course, they could not yet be certain that what they had been told by Superintendent Harley was still the reality on the ground. Anything could have happened since then.

  A voice in Wright’s ear said, ‘Jon? Are you in position?’

  ‘Sir. We’re outside the hut. Haven’t heard or seen anything.’

  ‘OK, good. But someone here has just had a thought, Jon. What if there’s more than one of these huts?’

  Wright had not considered that possibility but he did so now.

  ‘You’re still in touch with Mrs Willows, sir? She’s still on the line?’

  ‘Yes – let me check. Yes, still with us.’

  ‘Tell her to watch the doorway. I’ll flash the torch on it twice. If she sees that, she’ll know it’s us outside and we’ll know we’ve got the right hut.’

  Wright could hear Superintendent Harley relaying the suggestion to Mrs Willows. To an outsider, the procedure might have seemed unnecessary, even a little ridiculous, but the sergeant had witnessed a policeman shot in the line of duty, and he had no intention of seeing it again.

  ‘Alright, Jon. Flash the light.’

  He did so, and there was an immediate response from the superintendent – she had seen the light go on and off twice. Wright told them what he would do then, that he would go forward to the entrance of the hut alone and speak to her. As he did so, he took out his own Glock 17. They only had the woman’s word for it that things inside were as they had been told; for all Wright knew, she was being held herself now and told what to say and do. He moved well to the left side, got next to the wall and listened. Nothing. With his torch he indicated for Jeff Coates to move up similarly on the other side; when he had done so, both Authorised Firearms Officers were in position.

  ‘Mrs Willows? Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, I can. It’s safe to come in!’

  ‘In just a moment, Mrs Willows. I need to take care of the gun situation first. Do you know where the safety catch is on it?’

  Apparently she did – it’s the little lever thingy on the right-hand side. It goes backwards and forwards…

  ‘Very good, Mrs Willows. Is it backwards now, or forwards?’

  He had no idea which pistol this was, but nine out of ten would have the catch pulled back to engage safety.

  ‘It’s forwards. That’s how Miss Lane gave it to me. I haven’t fiddled with it.’

  ‘OK. Would you just pull the catch into the back position for me?’

  ‘I’ve done that. I feel much safer now, thank you.’

  ‘Good. Last thing, Mrs Willows. Are you in a position to get to the front of the hut? I’d like you to come forward slowly and put the gun on the ground there. I’m going to shine my torch down where I want you to put it. Can you do that for me?’

  Coates had moved close to the entrance on the other side. From Jonathan Wright’s gestures, he understood what he was to do. When Emily Willows’ arm appeared in the beam of light and put down the gun, the officer stepped in quickly, seized her arm and pulled her out into the darkness. As he did so, Wright shouted the customary warning and went in, torch blazing, followed by four more policemen.

  When he told the story afterwards, Wright always said that the look on Jamal Shah’s face was one of relief.

  ‘Your mother’s safe, Robert. You can talk to her directly on the comms desk.’

  Shah’s phone had already been seized by Jonathan’s Wright’s team. Willows didn’t say anything, not even thank you, but he was pale with worry, and Harley watched him go. Seconds later the detective sergeant was smiling with relief.

  Still no helicopter on the screen - something technological had failed there and he would be making his thoughts about that clear on Monday morning - but for now Harley had been assured that it was moving rapidly south west to the critical area of the search
. Wright had questioned Mrs Willows but she didn’t know for sure which way the Lane woman would have gone; the job was only half done, then, with the woman and one of the kidnappers still at large somewhere in the forest. Hopefully he was still only a kidnapper, and not something worse. But this ex-DI really had taken out and trussed up the other one…

  Harley pulled a wry smile and turned back to the screen. Wright was a good hand at this sort of thing, and with the helicopter overhead any second now, there wasn’t much more that he, Jack Harley could do. He hoped they’d find her, though, and in one piece. He was quite looking forward to meeting Summer Lane.

  It was not the summit of the hill but another ridge, not as wide as the last one. If she had had even a glimpse of this in the daylight, Lane would not have made such a mistake, but the fact was that apart from the coastline near her cottage she had not ventured out much at all since she moved here. As she ran, these incongruous thoughts came and went – she had not ventured out much because she knew in her heart that she did not intend to stay here in the west; she had seen but never felt its beauty.

  Now she could only go forward. There were thick gorse bushes on both sides, and the one attempt she had made to go into them to get out the dancing torch-beam had left her scratched and bleeding. There was still a path, though, and that meant people came this way, it must be a route to somewhere or something. As long as it wasn’t a dead-end…

  Then she realised that the beam of light wasn’t dancing any more, it was steady and she was the only thing moving. Instinctively she ducked and began to swing side to side. When the first shot came, it wasn’t the loud explosion of the TV drama. All one hears is an odd thuck sound, and then nothing – no whining ricochets or bullets thudding into walls and tree trunks. If you feel no pain, it probably missed.

  Small fired three times in quick succession and missed three times. He was too far back and the circumstances were crazy for making any sort of an accurate shot, but he might get lucky, and so Lane picked up speed as she ran, straightening up too. The path was climbing again, and narrowing. If this did peter out to nothing, she needed to be well away from him before she made any attempt to hide, and Small still had the torch