by Jay Gill
At first, I thought he was preparing to jump in and attempt to swim to the other side, where he could potentially disappear amongst the buildings of the shipyard. I prayed he wouldn’t: the water would be icy, and I really didn’t want to go in after him.
But as I closed in on him, I realised he was watching a boat. He took one step back then three strides forward and leapt off the quay into a passing rigid inflatable boat. The boat rocked violently, and Fischer almost went straight over the side as he landed. He threw himself flat in the boat, then quickly got to his feet and looked back at me with a smile and a salute. The shocked boat owner jumped up and was about to protest when Fischer grabbed him by the arm and shoved him out of the boat. The man, who looked to be in his fifties, hit the water hard. I heard him gasp as the icy water shocked his body. Cursing with every stroke, he swam to the safety of the quayside as his boat, piloted by Fischer, turned and sped away towards the open waters of the shipping channel and Brownsea Island.
Cotton stood beside me now. Panting heavily, she said, “We almost had him.”
“This isn’t over yet,” I said. “Not by a long chalk. Fischer might head for the island.” To my left, I saw a sports cruiser pulling away from the marina. “I’ll go on ahead,” I told her. “You make sure he doesn’t double back.”
I ran towards the sports cruiser, waving my arms and yelling, “Police! Stop!” To my relief, the boat turned and headed my way. As it approached, I recognised the skipper as the white-haired man who had passed me earlier. He now wore an unzipped waterproof jacket over his Aran jumper.
He pulled the boat up in front of me and I climbed aboard. I explained the situation as briefly as I could.
“Peter Tullock,” said the skipper, scratching his white beard. “Welcome aboard the Lady Margaret. As a former naval officer, it’d be an honour for me to assist an officer of the law in carrying out his duties. Sit tight, son. Next stop, Brownsea Island.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
Brownsea Island is around two miles long and a mile wide; it’s a major tourist attraction for the area. The island is a nature reserve with oak and pine woodland, heathland and salt marsh. In 1907, it was the location of an experimental camp that, a year later, led to what became the Scout movement.
Situated on the island is Brownsea Castle, originally constructed by Henry VIII to protect England from the French during the final years of his reign. The island is a short distance from the mainland, and the Lady Margaret made the journey in just a few minutes.
The island’s small dock was lit by a row of low lights. I climbed from the boat onto the dock and thanked Tullock.
“You’re going to need this, son,” said Tullock, as he passed me a torch. “Are you sure you don’t need backup? I could help – I boxed for the navy as a younger man. I was pretty handy; had a mean right hook.” The old man swung his fist. “They called me Peter ‘T-bone’ Tullock.” He grinned and flexed his bicep.
“I’ll be fine, but I’d appreciate it if you could wait here,” I said as I switched on the torch and checked my weapon. I ran along the pier then climbed a few steps leading to the path that ran towards the castle. Arriving at a spot in the path where it split in three, I continued straight and rounded a corner, where I brushed past a row of large hedges. Ahead, I could see the house.
I called Cotton on my phone. “I followed Fischer to the island. My best guess is he’s holed up in the castle.”
“I’m on my way,” said Cotton. “Wait for me. We’ll go in together.” I could hear insistence in her voice.
“If I don’t stay on his tail he could vanish for good,” I said. I climbed half a dozen steps and walked around the house. I shone my torch along the side of the castle. There were no obvious signs of forced entry until I reached a glass-panelled side door. It swung gently back and forth in the breeze. “I’ve got to go,” I said. “For Jenny’s sake, I can’t lose him.”
I took out my pistol and pushed open the door with my foot. I shone my torch and peered inside. I called out, “Edward Fischer! Armed police. This is Detective Chief Inspector James Hardy. I know you’re here. Come out.”
Holding my pistol and the torch out in front, I moved cautiously from room to room. Entering the dining room, I could see large paintings hanging on the wainscoted walls. I moved past a long wooden dining table with two large silver candleholders displayed at either end. At the end of the room, a door stood open. I eased my way towards it. “Edward Fischer! Armed police,” I repeated.
I stepped to the right side of the door and looked in the room. It looked like a small library with dark wooden floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Either side of an unlit fireplace were two high-backed armchairs. Over the fireplace, mounted on the wall, rested a single sword; its twin was missing.
I pushed back the door and stepped gingerly into the room, shining the torch into the corners. I took another step. As I did, the lights in the room suddenly came on; the abrupt change from dark to light dazzled me. I felt a kick from behind and stumbled forward. Dropping the torch, I sprawled onto the floor. I rolled onto my back and looked up.
Coming at me was Edward Fischer, brandishing the missing sword. He stopped over me and pointed it at my chest. I raised my hands and Fischer froze as his eyes focused on the gun I still held.
“Drop the sword,” I said. I fired wide. Fischer jumped but kept the sword pressed to my chest. “Put the sword down,” I repeated.
“If I do that, you’ll kill me,” said Fischer.
“If you don’t put the sword down, I’ll be forced to shoot. Next time I won’t fire wide.”
Fischer thought about it for a nanosecond longer, then tossed the sword aside. It clattered to the floor. He looked at me suspiciously. “I see you came alone. I guess you don’t want any witnesses.”
“What are you talking about?” I said. I got to my feet, keeping the pistol trained on him the whole time.
“Don’t play the innocent, Hardy. I know Kelly Lyle sent you. If there’s anyone in this world she’d choose to kill me, besides doing it herself that is, it’s you.”
“Would you blame me? You ordered my wife’s murder. It was your man who killed Helena.”
“I didn’t. The man I sent was meant to scare her so you’d back off investigating me. It was meant to be nothing more than a warning message. I swear, your wife was never meant to be harmed. I’m not a killer. I don’t hire killers. Lyle set me up, just like she’s set you up now. Whatever it is she has over you, it must be powerful. I can’t imagine you can be bought, so she’s not offering you money. Does she have something that’ll end your career?”
I said nothing.
Fischer slowly reached round into his pocket and, with my permission, took out his cigarettes and lighter. He lit a cigarette and smoked it as though it were his last. “Something more personal? Your girlfriend? Your kids? She’s made a threat against your family. I heard she took one kid. She could do it again easily enough.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “You better get on with it.” He pressed a finger to his forehead. “Shoot me then, if you’ve got the balls.”
“Shut up,” I snapped. “Do you have any idea, any idea at all of the hurt you’ve caused?” Memories were flooding my mind, threatening to swamp me. All the years of anguish surged through my body and hit me like a truck. I pictured holding Helena, my soulmate, in my arms, blood-soaked, hopelessly fighting for life. I remembered the heartache of looking into the faces of our daughters and telling them their mummy wouldn’t be coming home, that she was in heaven. I recollected the nights my daughters and I had held each other, cried together and prayed for their mummy and told her how much we missed her. I recalled the birthdays and Christmases that felt empty without her and that were now seared into my heart. All that pain that had changed the course of all our lives, that had led along a winding path and resulted in my deal with Lyle to get Alice back – and Lyle’s revelation that this man in front of me now was responsible for it all.
I stepped f
orward and pressed the gun into his face. “You deserve to die. You do. I should end you here.”
Fischer swallowed hard. “She made a threat against your family, didn’t she?” he said, his voice barely audible.
I said nothing. I was fighting with everything I held dear not to pull the trigger.
“I can see she has you in a corner. You’ve got no choice. Lyle will keep her word,” said Fischer. “Do it.” He looked around. “Admit it. That’s why you’re here alone, without backup. No witnesses.”
“I’m here to arrest you,” I insisted.
“If that were true, I’d already be face down on the floor in cuffs.”
“Put your hands behind your head. Get down on your knees.”
He didn’t move. “Kill me,” said Fischer. “At least if you shoot me now, it’ll be quick. If you don’t and Lyle gets hold of me, it’ll be a slow, painful death. Do it. Shoot me.”
Still holding the gun against his face, I hesitated. There were so many reasons I should kill Fischer. Besides my own need for vengeance and the fact that he’d put Jenny in the hospital with life-changing burns, he was also a convicted serial killer. “I suppose you’d tell me you’re not a serial killer and I caught the wrong man all those years ago,” I said. “You’ve managed to convince your daughter of that fact.”
“There’s no doubt the DNA evidence pointed to me, but that was all planted by Lyle. She set me up.”
“Why?”
“I was in her house when her lover was killed. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was there to rob the place. The guys whose job it was needed a third man at short notice. I was filling in. Again, nobody was supposed to get hurt. I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but it’s the truth. I swear. I’m a thief. A damn good thief. Nothing more. Somehow, my life spiralled out of control. Looking at you now, Detective Chief Inspector, pointing that gun at me the way you are, with all the venom and hate in your eyes, I’d say yours has too.”
Something inside me sagged in defeat. Fischer was right. The conflict in my head was causing it to spin. “Turn around. Put your hands behind your head,” I repeated. “Now, get down on your knees.”
He dropped the cigarette butt, ground it out, turned and reluctantly knelt in front of me. “Do it,” said Fischer again. “I know you want to. You have to. It’s okay. My prints are on the sword. You can claim self-defence.”
I got out my handcuffs. “Edward Fischer, I am arresting you for—”
Suddenly a shot rang out, and there was the sound of shattering glass. Then another shot. I lurched backward and as I fell, hitting the floor hard, I saw Fischer’s body jolt, then twist sideways. I crawled into the corner of the room and pointed my gun. I had no cover and was vulnerable if the gunman continued shooting. With the lights on and darkness outside, he could see in, but I couldn’t see out. I pointed my gun in all directions, trying to get a fix on the killer. Outside I heard voices. Then more gunshots. Seconds later Cotton was outside the room.
“Don’t shoot. Hardy, it’s me, Cotton. Are you okay? For God’s sake, don’t shoot. I’m coming in.”
Cotton stepped into the room and looked between Fischer and me. She checked Fischer for a pulse and then shook her head.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Fischer was dead. A shot to the head and one to the body.
“I nearly ran straight into the gunman,” said Cotton. “He was heading away from the house. He must have followed you to the island. I didn’t get a good look at him. It was too dark.”
I thought back to Fischer’s brief standoff with the tall, black-haired man in the tan suede jacket back at the festival grounds. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but Fischer had seemed to recognise him, and whoever it was had scared him. “Let’s notify the harbour police,” I said, getting to my feet. “Let’s go. He can’t have got far.”
“Where to?” asked Cotton. “We’ll be like headless chickens running around in the dark.”
“He’d have been forced to make a beach landing. If I was him, I’d have landed the boat close to the jetty but far enough away to avoid detection. Let’s get down to the beach.” I grabbed my torch and headed out the door, closely followed by Cotton.
“This is where we ran into each other,” said Cotton as we reached steps leading down to a lower path that ran down to the jetty.
“The path splits into three,” I said as we paused under one of the lights illuminating the pathways.
“I’ll take the right path; you take the left. If we find nothing, we’ll meet back at the jetty.” Cotton took out her radio. “Let’s stay in contact.”
I adjusted my radio, which had been set to radio silence. “Stay safe. No heroics,” I said.
“I didn’t know you cared,” said Cotton with a smile.
“I’m just worried about all the paperwork if you get hurt,” I quipped back.
“In that case, I’ll make an extra effort to not get shot, and you do the same.”
“You’ve got a deal,” I said.
We took a few steps before we both stopped in our tracks. Through the still of the night we heard a boat’s motor starting up. “That’s him – it’s got to be,” I said. “Change of plan. Let’s go straight down to the jetty. How did you get onto the island?”
“Harbour police dropped me off.”
“Are they at the jetty, waiting?”
“No. They didn’t stop. Their orders are to patrol the waters.”
The path down to the jetty seemed longer than I remembered. Eventually we got to the dock, where Tullock was waiting in his boat with the engine idling. He’d seen us coming and had already cast off. Cotton radioed for backup, notified officers about Fischer’s body in the house, and alerted the harbour police to the vessel we were now in pursuit of.
“Mr Tullock, I can no longer ask you to be involved in the pursuit,” I said. “We’re going to need to commandeer your boat.”
“Not on your life, son. Lady Margaret doesn’t take kindly to being handled by strangers. After all, she’s a lady. Hold on, you two. She might not look like much, but she can really move when she wants to.” He turned the wheel and shifted the throttle. “Grab that searchlight, son, and start searching for your boat. He won’t have got far. I caught a glimpse as the boat passed, and I can tell you one thing: the skipper is inexperienced on the water.”
I grabbed the searchlight and scanned the waves.
“Point it straight ahead, son,” Tullock said, “Try over that way. My ears are attuned to the sounds of the water.”
Sweeping the searchlight around, I caught a glimmer of light reflecting off the boat ahead. “There he is,” I shouted. As I called out, the moon disappeared behind clouds and we fell into darkness.
There was a series of sharp cracks as shots rang out, one coming dangerously close to Tullock. He stroked his white beard and gritted his teeth. “The bastard,” he growled, pointing to a shattered side window. “He shot Lady Margaret.” With that, Tullock turned out all the boat lights, effectively making us invisible as we bounced over the waves. “Sit yourselves down, you two. I’m going to show this bastard what happens when he messes with Lady M.”
Cotton and I grabbed the handrails and braced ourselves as Tullock threw the small boat around. As our speed increased, I could feel the cold sea spray splash my face and taste the salty sea water on my lips.
Suddenly we veered violently right, and both Cotton and I were thrown forward. There was a deafening crunch and the sound of splintering wood as Lady Margaret collided with the small pleasure boat we’d been pursuing. Tullock, who was laughing like a man possessed, hit the lights and lit up the boat we’d hit. He yelled, “That’s what you get when mess with milady, y’ picaroon.”
I staggered to my feet, climbed up on the side deck of Lady Margaret, and looked back at Cotton. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Cotton. She’d hit her head and was wiping blood from her eye. “It’s nothing.”
“You go
get him, son,” said Tullock, putting out a meaty hand to help Cotton to her feet. “We’re both dandy. The lass is as tough as they come.”
I pulled out my pistol and moved to the foredeck of Lady Margaret. I peered into the vessel we’d hit. It was a lightweight pleasure boat with no cabin, just a canopy, which had been damaged and was now drooping into the water.
“The boat’s empty,” I shouted over my shoulder. “He must be in the water.”
Cotton climbed up on the side deck and grabbed the searchlight. She panned it over the water. In the darkness, the beam of light picked out the bright white face of Fischer’s killer. His arms flapped up and down as he struggled in the icy black water.
“Hold tight,” called Tullock. He reversed and brought the boat around. Cotton stepped down, removed the boat’s life ring and climbed back up on the side deck. As we approached, she tossed it into the water.
Coughing and spluttering and arms flailing, the killer grabbed the life ring and held on for dear life. I kept my gun trained on him while Tullock kept the searchlight on him and Cotton reeled him in.
Once the killer was hauled up on deck and handcuffed, we wrapped him in a blanket. He was still dressed in the tan jacket he’d been wearing when I’d seen him earlier on the quay, and, even soaking wet, he looked just like Mrs Montgomery had described the man posing as a private investigator.
“What are you, some sort of cowboy?” asked Tullock, referring to the killer’s clothes. “You might think you’re Clint Eastwood, and those might be fancy boots where you come from, son, but they don’t belong aboard a seafaring vessel.”
Tullock radioed the harbour police and we slowly headed back to shore, towing the damaged boat we’d been pursuing.
I noticed the suspect eyeing me. Cotton noticed it too. “You look like you want to say something. Why don’t you start by giving us your name?” said Cotton.
