by Joe McNally
She looked at me. The smile had gone, replaced by a hardness.
‘So?’ she said.
‘So, you obviously think Phil had some on the boat somewhere. What was he, your official supplier, by appointment, after Harle disappeared?’
She lay back again, closed her eyes and smiled. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘Nothing to me. It’s your life. Why should I care if you screw it up like Harle and Greene and end up the same way?’
‘Don’t worry, Mr….I’ve forgotten your name?’
‘That’s all right, you won’t be seeing me again anyway once I’ve dropped you at the boat.’
She opened her eyes and sat up. ‘You said you’d help me.’
‘Don’t give me the Little Miss Helpless act. I’ll help you hide, help you stay away from your husband for as long as I can but I won’t help you kill yourself.’
‘You’re over-reacting.’
‘Maybe, but that’s the way I feel. I’m sick of all this crap. Of being scalded and bitten and shit on by idiots like Harle and Greene and you. You’re not worth it.’ I opened the door, struggled out and went to the driver’s side.
‘Move over,’ I told her. ‘I’ll drop you at the boat.’
‘But your leg!’
‘Move!’
‘It’s a long drive! It’ll be dark soon!’
‘Move or get out!’
She moved.
Someone was on the boat. A thin wedge of pale yellow light was visible through a gap in the curtains as we drove down the hill. I cut the engine and the lights and coasted silently, steering by moonlight, till we stopped by the white cottage.
Eyes wide, Charmain tensed and stiffened in her seat.
‘Who do you suppose it is?’ she asked, whispering.
‘I don’t know.’ Sliding the key from the ignition I clicked the door open. ‘Wait here,’ I said.
She grabbed my arm ‘Hold on!’ A harsh whisper now. ‘Leave me the car key!’
I tried to shrug her hand off. ‘No.’
‘Yes!’ She gripped harder. I turned to face her. She was corpse-pale. ‘No,’ I said.
‘You must!’
‘Why?’
‘They might get you ... I’d be stuck ... they’d get me too.’
‘Too bad. I’m taking the key. I don’t trust you.’
‘I’ll wait for you. Honest, I will!’
Putting the key in my pocket I prised open her grip. ‘If you weren’t a junkie, Charmain, I might believe you. Stay here and stay quiet. I’ll be back soon.’
I hobbled down the path to the side of the boat. The night was cool and cloudless and the boat moved gently from side to side, the water lapping rhythmically with the sway.
The window at the end was open. I heard the rising and falling tones of conversation. Crouched below the window I could hear the voices clearly. Two men. Recognisable accents: one West Midlands, the other a West Country burr.
‘I thought Stoke said there was a watercock?’
‘He said he thought there was. Try the kitchen.’
‘The galley, you mean.’
‘Bollocks.’
The boat rolled as he walked along.
‘Don’t see anything.’
‘Have to be the acid then, won’t it?’
The steps came back to the middle of the boat.
‘How we gonna work it?’
‘I told you, when he’s out for the count we uncork the bottle and tip it over. It’ll burn a big enough hole within a couple of hours to let the water in.’
‘The cops won’t wear the acid once they’ve dragged this thing back up. What would Malloy be doing with acid?’
‘Could be anything, how would they know? It’s not as if Malloy’s gonna be here to answer questions. Obvious accident, innit? Four hundred milligrammes of alcohol in his blood, pissed out of his brain, what else can they call it?’
‘I dunno.’
Glass clinked on glass.
‘Careful!’
‘No sweat.’
‘What do we do if Malloy ain’t home?’
‘We wait. Stoke said do it before he gets back. That gives us three days.’
‘He could have been out of the way ages ago when we had him over that radiator.’
‘That was just a fright job. That was all we got paid for. One of my better ideas too, I’d say.’
‘Yeah, really effective, Bill, the guy’s caused nothing but trouble since.’
‘Can I help it if Malloy ain’t got the brains to keep his nose out of other people’s business? I’ll still bet he won’t forget the night I nearly roasted it off his face.’
Bill, you never spoke a truer word.
The pain in my leg didn’t matter any more. Heading home I drove at speeds of up to a hundred, headlights picking out the bends just in time. I was excited. Scared, but excited.
The relief Charmain had shown when I returned to the car had disappeared. The tension was back ... and the fear.
I told her what I wanted her to do when we reached the cottage, repeating it over and over to make sure she understood. ‘I’ll park deep in the trees but facing the road they’ll have to come down to reach the cottage, either by car or on foot. If they walk, you should be able to see them by the light of the moon but they’ll probably drive. Especially when they see that the cottage is in darkness.
‘Driving or walking, you’ll have to be alert. If you miss them and my plans don’t work out they’ll probably kill me. If they pass on foot, give me thirty minutes. If you don’t see the lights come on in the cottage by then, drive to the village and ring DS Cranley at this number. Tell him the men who killed Alan Harle have got Eddie Malloy and tell him where we are. Okay?’
She nodded.
‘If they pass you in a car cut the time to twenty minutes maximum. Got it?’
‘Yes, but what if they see me in the car as they pass?’
‘They won’t. If they do, then slip out into the woods and try to get back to the village.’
She started shivering.
Five hundred yards from the cottage an old cart path led off into the wood. In winter you couldn’t drive along it but in summer it was just about manageable.
I drove well down, turned off into a clearing and parked facing the road. We got out and dragged broken branches and ferns across the windscreen and side body. ‘You’ll have to roll down the side windows in case the moon glints on the glass.’
‘Okay.’
I looked toward the road. A moving car would be easily visible through the thin pines. I just hoped the same didn’t apply to this stationary one in the woods.
I opened the passenger door for Charmain. She got in and sat clenching her left fist inside her right hand. I thought she was going to cry and I squatted beside her and took her hands in mine. The moonlight filtering through the trees showed the goose bumps on her arms spiked with tiny hairs. Cold or fear, I couldn’t help with either.
‘We’ll make it,’ I said.
She nodded, holding back the tears.
35
In a cupboard in the kitchen were some wire-cutters and a pair of heavily padded industrial gloves. I worked in the darkness. In fifteen minutes I was ready for them.
Ready and waiting. Waiting in the alcove in the living-room twelve feet from the cold fireplace, six feet from the back of the worn sofa. Waiting. Tense in the darkness. Cold. Leg aching. On the mantelpiece the clock ticked, steady and reliable ... the only sound, the only beat. Tick tock. Tick tock. Two men. How long? Two men. How long?
Twenty minutes. Half an hour. How was Charmain holding out? Maybe they’d seen her on the way past. What if they’d caught her? What would she tell them? What would they do to her?
An owl hooted. Twenty seconds later there was a noise. It seemed loud. On the roof. Someone was on the roof.
My heartbeat doubled.
Another noise above – scrabbling, scratching, like fingernails clawing their way up the tiles. I stopped breathing ..
. I heard wings beat, passing the window, then silence. Thirty seconds ... a minute. No more noise from the roof.
Then I realised what had happened. The owl had dropped his catch then swooped low, talons open to snatch it as it slid away down the tiles. Breathe again ... Beat easy, heart.
The lungs breathed but the heart kept pumping fast. It must have known something because it was then I heard them coming.
Footsteps. In the loose gravel by the road, coming closer, so close I waited to see them pass the window. They didn’t. Noises to my right, through the kitchen. They were round the back. Prowling.
I had hoped they wouldn’t try the back door. If they came in that way my chances were down by fifty per cent. Coming from my right they had twice as much floor-space to cross. Twice the chance of seeing me in the narrow alcove.
I waited.
How long had it been since they passed Charmain? The longer they took coming in the less time I’d have before she headed for the village.
No more noise at the back. They must be circling the building making sure no one was at home. I was at home. So was the clock. Two men. They’re here. Two men. They’re here.
I heard no more footsteps, just the thin sound as the lock-pick slid into the mechanism. The click as the lock turned. The creak as the door opened and the two spiders walked into the web of the fly.
They were three steps from where I stood. Everything depended on them taking those three steps in my direction. They didn’t. They did something even better. They sat on the sofa.
‘Let’s make ourselves comfortable till our little friend comes home.’
Their little friend was a yard away thinking how much their heads above the back of the sofa resembled coconuts on a shelf. I didn’t even have to step forward. In each hand I held a double loop of barbed wire, two feet in diameter.
The padded gloves protected my skin as I reached out and slipped one loop over each head. They both cried out. One full twist tightened the wire right up to their throats.
‘If you even swallow I’ll rip your throat open.’
I stepped in close behind them.
‘Start working your way in very slow movements to the end of the sofa.’
When they reached the end I moved to the side so I could control them more easily when they stood up.
‘You’re going to stand up very slowly and you’re not going to do anything silly. It’ll take me a tenth of a second to twist this little necklace one more time, so best behaviour unless you want to become a blood donor via your jugular. Stand up.’
They stood. ‘Which one is Bill?’
‘Me.’ said the one on my left.
‘If you raise your left hand to that wall, Bill, you’ll find a light switch. Press it.’
He did. The light came on and I could almost hear Charmain’s sigh of relief.
I twisted the wire, forcing him to turn his head round to look at me and I smiled as our eyes met. ‘Hello, Bill. Remember me?’
He nodded very carefully.
‘I thought you might. What’s your friend’s name?’
‘Trevor.’
‘Hello, Trevor.’ I smiled. He wasn’t reassured. ‘I believe you were at the open-air barbecue too, the night my face was on the menu?’
Swivelling his eyes he looked at his partner. ‘I’m not hearing you, Trev,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he croaked.
‘Well gentlemen, never let it be said that I don’t return hospitality. As soon as I’ve made you both comfortable I’m going to put the kettle on.’
I bound them together, back to back with thirty feet of barbed wire, double twisted the ends and crimped them with pliers. Then I went to the kitchen and filled the kettle, lit the gas, and put it on to boil.
I made them stand in the alcove while I leant on the mantelpiece facing them. ‘Why did you kill Alan Harle?’
They didn’t answer.
‘I don’t know how much of your school physics lessons you remember but you’ve got as long as it takes to boil two pints of water on a full gas flame. If you’re not talking by then, well, I’ve always supported the eye-for-eye theory ... Though I think boiling water is even more painful than hot steam.’
They flinched.
‘I’ll remind you of the question. Why did you kill Alan Harle?’
Silence.
‘Fine. I can wait.’
I started whistling, lightly, watching them as they wondered if I’d do what I’d threatened. Whistling on in a deliberate monotone I kept it up till the kettle started whistling, low, then steadily higher.
‘Catching, isn’t it?’ I said, smiling.
They didn’t seem to find it funny.
I carried the kettle through. Bill saw the towel wrapped round the handle. I smiled at him. ‘Don’t want to burn myself, it’s very hot.’
His eyes widened.
I stood very close to him. The streams of blood stained his white collar and the wire was so tight round his chest he wasn’t taking full breaths. I stared hard and cold and unblinking into his eyes. He knew I held the kettle somewhere below but he couldn’t bend his head to look down.
‘Why did you kill Alan Harle?’
He looked unsure but he obviously thought I wouldn’t do it because he decided not to answer. It was a gamble. He lost.
I splashed about a cupful onto his thigh and he screamed. Trevor’s body stiffened visibly at the sound.
‘My aim was out a bit. I’ll get it this time.’
I swung my arm back.
‘No! No, I’ll tell you!’
‘Start telling.’
‘It was a job. Just a job, a contract.’
‘Who paid?’
He hesitated. I moved my arm again.
‘Stoke! Howard Stoke!’
‘Why did Stoke want him dead?’
‘We don’t ask for reasons.’
‘Why?’ I shouted in his face.
‘He was screwing around with Stoke’s wife.’
‘Bullshit!’
‘Honest!’
‘How did you kill him?’
‘Injected him with something Stoke gave us.’
‘After chaining the poor bastard up in a filthy stable for weeks!’
‘That was the way Stoke wanted it.’
‘And the customer’s always right, huh?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Harle was already injecting heroin, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did he get it?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘Was he dealing in it?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘Was he dealing in it?!’
‘We didn’t ask him any questions!’
‘Don’t get smart, Bill, you’re on the wrong side of the wire to get smart.’
He avoided my stare. I spent another five minutes pumping them but I learnt little. They didn’t know much because they hadn’t wanted to know. Their only interest had been money.
‘Is it just Stoke you’ve been involved with or have you done jobs for anyone else?’
‘We take it where we can find it.’
‘Took.’ I told him. Then I remembered the others who’d been attacked. ‘Was it Stoke who gave you the contracts on Bergmark and Kristar Rask ... and Danny Gordon?’
No answer.
I lifted the kettle to eye-level. ‘Tell me!’
Bill looked at me. His voice was strained. ‘They were just jobs, nothing personal.’
‘Nothing personal! You crippled Bergmark, as good as killed Rask and murdered Danny Gordon and you say it was nothing personal! You fucking bastards!’ I swung the kettle and splashed another half pint of water on Bill’s thighs, then did the same to Trevor. They screamed.
My control was going and I put the kettle down in the hearth because I was sorely tempted to pour the rest over their heads and they were already writhing. The barbs punctured their skin and blood ran from their throats and wrists.
I went to the pho
ne. ‘I’m just about to ring the police but I sincerely hope you fuckers bleed to death before they get here.’
I called the station and they said detective sergeant Cranley was at home. They wouldn’t give me his number so I told the duty sergeant where I was and what had happened and warned him that if he didn’t send a squad car within half an hour they’d be picking up two corpses.
I left them groaning and gasping and went to get Charmain.
She’d gone. So had the car.
36
I stood staring through the straight black silhouettes of the trees wondering how long ago she’d left. Wondering if she’d waited to see the light going on, to see me safe. Wondering if her nerve had simply failed or if she’d been that desperate for another fix.
Whatever, she had to be heading back to the boat where the heroin was, and the whisky and the acid. I was beginning to regret freeing her from that ankle chain.
I hurried back to the cottage where Bill told me, in a strangled voice, which pocket his car keys were in. The barbed wire spiked him twice before I got them out. As I left I switched the lights off, making it even more risky for them to move around. I couldn’t see their faces but as I closed the door I heard them curse.
The syringe was on the table. Charmain lay sprawled on the narrow bunk, her right hand over her head idly fingering the curtain, a half full glass of whisky held gently in her left.
One knee was drawn up pointing at the low ceiling, the other leg lay flat. Both were bare as the hem of her nightgown was up round her waist exposing white underwear.
She smiled at me as I came in. ‘Home is the sailor, home from the sea and the hunter home from the hill.’ she said. High as a kite.
I sat opposite her, wincing as the hard edge of the bunk pushed in the leg wound. ‘And the junkie?’ I asked. ‘Where’s she home from?’
Still smiling she raised the glass and drank. ‘Who cares? Who cares where the junkie’s home from? Who cares? Home from the woods, the junkie’s home from the woods.’
‘Is this why you left?’ I asked, picking up the empty syringe.
‘Left what? Where? I’ve left a lot of places, Mr Malloy ... a lot of places.’
Her face was pink from the warmth of the cabin. The three small gas fires along the length of the boat were lit.
