by David Smith
Hunter moved as quickly as he could towards me and untied the ropes binding my feet and hands, then removed the blindfold and gag. I grinned at him, but dared not say anything; everything was going to plan so far. We heard a further noise near the door and we could see the beam of a torch and then the silhouette of a second man with a gun aimed towards us. This was the bit I was most nervous about. Hugh fired, and fortunately the shot just missed Hunter’s shoulder and ricocheted harmlessly off the sandstone wall. I knew Hugh was an excellent shot, but that was a bit closer than any of us would have liked.
Sir Calepine by chaunce more than choyce
The selfe same evening fortune hither drove
As he to seek Serena through the woods did rove…
Spenser, The Faerie Queene
‘Run, Penny, get out of here!’ Hunter shouted theatrically and drew his own firearm. He fired back into the gloom of the entrance, but then Hugh ran out and brought his weapon down on Hunter’s shoulder, which unbalanced him from his crutches. He fell to the ground. This was all a bit too realistic. By now I was already running away through the undergrowth onto the path that led to Guy’s Cave, where I knew Alice would be waiting for me.
*
A second man joined the first next to Hunter’s prone body. They were masked but speaking in whispers. He offered only token resistance while the two men quickly bound him and then pulled his and Rohit’s bodies onto a wooden gardener’s trolley. They proceeded to wheel them rapidly back up toward the gateway. From the trolley, Hunter scanned carefully to see if he could spot the observer again in the ruins above them as they passed through the old archway.
As they reached the drive, a white van pulled out from the cover of a stand of beech trees, dislodging the undergrowth that had previously hidden it. Hunter was bundled into the van and Rohit’s body thrown in beside him. Once they were safely in the van, and the doors were closed, Rohit glanced up at him, grinning. They heard a third voice, the driver, Penn, using a somewhat exaggerated New York accent, order the two men to get in while he drove them to ‘the hill’. As the van left the car park, Hunter heard the sound of a motorcycle engine starting in the distance, a noise that he continued to hear as they passed down the drive. Good, this was going exactly as he had hoped it would.
After bumping along for ten minutes or so the van stopped and a few seconds later he heard the rear doors being flung open again. Hunter was dragged bodily from the back of the van. From the road noise in the distance he could tell they were near to the motorway junction. The drive from Guy’s Cliffe had been relatively short, maybe a mile or two and he had felt the van turn through two roundabouts. This was the place he had described to his team; they were exactly where he had planned.
Hugh and Eddie struggled as they carried the two bodies up the ascent, through the wet overgrown slope of the hill. The sack was still over Hunter’s head and his hands were tied uncomfortably tightly behind his back. Several times the two minders had to pause for breath. While they rested, he felt the angular barrel of a gun in his back, and a low voice urging him to keep quiet. His captors spoke together in their hushed drawl. Hunter kept quiet, not wishing to give anything away. When they reached the top of the hill, Hugh and Eddie were sweating and gulping in air.
Hunter knew exactly where he was. This was after all his idea; historically speaking they were off the Earl of Warwick’s lands and onto Lancastrian territory, or more relevantly off his own patch onto West Midlands CID’s manor. The chief couldn’t object to that, could he? He was pushed to the ground against a rough stone pediment, one he knew from his frequent rambles in the area to be the monument erected to the memory of Edward II’s favourite – Piers Gaveston, murdered by the King’s enemies on this spot. He knew that the monument was erected in 1823 by the squire of Guy’s Cliffe – Bertie Greatheed, whose family also owned much of Leamington before the great 1830s building boom – a nice coincidence that he would remind them all of later, if he remembered. He heard the sound of spades striking and turning over the stony ground. So my accomplices really mean to do it properly, he thought. He heard the motorcycle again in the distance and was assuming they were still being closely observed. He needed Khand’s observer to think that this was for real and report back on their meeting with Sir William.
The noise of the spades stopped and an American voice he didn’t recognise but that he assumed was Penny’s actor friend said simply, ‘OK let’s do it, guys.’
He felt one of the two heavies cut the ropes around his hands with a knife and replace them with handcuffs. The sack that was covering his head was removed but the blindfold remained. Hunter smarted as the blade of the knife dug into his skin. He winced again as it was placed against his belly, but nowhere near his heart and in a way that the flat of the blade merely scraped the surface of his skin, drawing blood but not too deeply. In contrast, the blood from the blood bag that oozed through his shirt felt exceptionally thick against his skin. This procedure happened twice. The second time the knife was scraped around his throat. He felt the blood running down his chest but knew it was not his own. He wondered if his assailants had any real clue how to kill a hostage. Hugh was in the Army, wasn’t he? He must have an idea. Hunter continued to act his part and fell to the ground with a cry.
‘That’s him done,’ said one of them.
‘Not so quick, use the shooter too,’ replied the other. ‘Just to be sure, like.’
Hunter heard a shot strike the ground close to his ear but felt no pain.
‘For God’s sake boys that was close,’ he muttered, jerking his body and biting his tongue so that the blood oozed from the side of his mouth.
‘One more, take his head off this time,’ laughed the voice.
They are enjoying this too much, he thought. The bullet missed his body by a few inches again but kicked up dust around him. He jerked his head this time to simulate the bullet hitting its mark, and then felt himself being kicked into the shallow grave and soil poured over his head. When he had asked them to make it look realistic, he had not meant it to be quite so much so.
There was silence. A few minutes after the three men left he felt a fourth pair of hands scrape away the loose layer of earth and check over his body. This was the most dangerous bit of his plan, the part over which he did not have much control. He heard the new man breathing heavily and muttering as he found the envelope that Hunter had carefully planted in his own inside pocket, the smell of Asian spices heavy on his breath. He realised this new man was speaking into a cell phone, first in a strange Eastern tongue and then in clear, well-spoken English. Hunter calculated all the possibilities of potential escape, in case he had to play a further variation on the plan but came up with no immediate options. Even Harry Houdini would find these handcuffs a struggle. He hoped Hugh had him covered as planned from the undergrowth.
‘Your friend Sir William was there too but scarpered when the shooting started. I couldn’t see who it was, two of them I think. Rohit was killed and Hunter was hit too. They’ve brought the bodies to a hill near the Warwick bypass and buried them in a shallow grave. There’s no doubt it’s him, Mr Khand, Hunter’s not dead yet but he’s in a pretty bad way. There’s a document in his pocket headed ‘Enigma code’. He can’t have long, do you want me to finish him off?’
Despite instructions from his boss to leave Hunter be and bring the package back quickly, the man kicked him in the groin, followed by two kicks to his head. There were now other voices in the distance and Hunter heard a familiar song from his youth – Always Look on the Bright Side of Life. They sounded like boy scouts or hikers probably, hopefully another of Mad Jack’s theatrical diversions. He heard the fourth man swear as he realised he needed to leave quickly, followed by the sound of the motorcycle restarting.
*
That evening, Lucy Fleming, the young journalist, was the first to break an exclusive story on national television about the murder of Detective Inspector Hunter on Woodloes Hill, near Warwick. She explained th
at the four hikers that had found his blood-stained body were alerted to its presence by the sound of his mobile phone ringing in the bushes. The TV crew cut from her to the scene of the mobile forensics team who were combing the undergrowth in the sharp glare of portable spotlights.
*
Sir William arrived back from Guy’s Cliffe in a foul mood, barking at the butler as he entered the house. He washed quickly, got changed and then came down to the drawing room. Nadia was listening intently to a news programme on the television.
‘William, come and see this. That poor Inspector Hunter has been murdered.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ he snapped irritably.
But he saw that she was watching the regional evening news programme, where one of the local reporters was talking about Hunter’s murder. She was saying that there was already speculation about a link to the Nariman case. The reporter said she understood from police sources that Hunter was close to uncovering new information. Sir William was astounded that the reporters had got the news so quickly and began to feel a little panicky, but as he listened further and collected his thoughts his feeling of panic turned to a strange sense of relief, even euphoria. With both Rohit and Hunter gone, and seemingly no other witnesses except the policewoman who was blindfolded and whoever the masked men were, maybe this could be their lucky break.
‘This is terrible, William.’ Nadia said. ‘That poor man, when this will ever end?’
He switched off the television.
‘Indeed, my dear, but I don’t want you troubling yourself further over this, you have enough to worry about already. I agree it’s very unfortunate but after all, that was his job. When you’ve seen as much as I have in your life you come to expect these kinds of things from time to time.’ She looked at him in disgust, amazed by the callousness of his words. He went to his study but decided not to ring Khand this time.
*
At the police station, the chief superintendent was going crazy with the crime squad. The station was besieged by reporters, he wanted answers and he wasn’t getting them.
‘Why wasn’t I told about this operation? What the hell is this all about, Sergeant? What on earth was Hunter up to? This is unbelievable. It’s like a sick Ealing comedy. My God, we look like a bunch of amateurs.’
Chapter Nineteen
Fly Singing Bird – (Vivace)
Fly, singing bird, fly,
Leave thy nest ’midst the wood, lone, unsought,
Leave the cradling boughs, spread thy wing,
And swift as my following thought,
Onward speed, and swift flying, still sing,
Come, or I die!
Edward Elgar, Fly Singing Bird.
Safely back in his flat after his kidnap escapade, Hunter reread the report Penny had emailed through to him. He was waiting for news from the surveillance team. Everything was ready for him to spring the last part of his trap. One report in particular provided the last clues he needed in the jigsaw puzzle to understand what was behind the Nariman murder:
K-Company generates billions of dollars in revenue from legitimate business activities such as real estate and bank overhaul transactions, as well as illegal criminal enterprises around the world, especially in Sri Lanka, India, Pakistan and the U.A.E. The organisation has a history of rivalry with the police and other underworld groups. Its operations include arms trafficking, contract killing, counterfeiting, drug trafficking, extortion, and terrorism, being responsible for a series of bombings that killed 257 people in one year. Last year, intelligence agencies linked K-Company with Sri Lanka’s mobile bandwidth privatisation. In March security was tightened after it had been suggested that K-Company might launch an attack in an attempt to destroy documents relating to the ongoing probe of the spectrum scam.
*
At Sir William’s residence, the light illuminated on the upstairs security control panel, signifying an intruder near the rear entrance. Outside it was dark and stormy and the house was already locked up for the night. Nadia peered in concern through the curtains of the upstairs sitting room; she couldn’t see anything due to the overhang of the porch so she rang down to the butler instead.
‘Henderson, can you check out the security panel? There seems to be something wandering around at the back – it’s probably a fox but we had better be sure.’
At the same time as his wife was speaking, Sir William emerged from his study; he had just received a mobile phone call asking him to open up the side door. When he saw the butler coming up the stairs from his basement flat he chased him away. Instead, he himself went to unchain and unbolt the door and peered into the wind and rain outside. At first he saw nothing, but quickly a short man in a heavy dark overcoat and trilby emerged from the shadows cast by some bamboo screening. He pushed his way past him into the side hallway. Although neither man spoke, Sir William directed him quickly toward the door of his study. He attempted to shut the heavy oak door, but it did not close immediately because of an obstruction from a rug.
‘Who is it William, is it the police again?’ Nadia shouted down from the landing. He turned to see her standing at the top of the stairs in her dressing gown. She noticed that he appeared worried.
‘No, it’s a courier for me, just some urgent documents I need to attend to,’ he said somewhat bluntly.
She could see that he was lying.
‘What sort of business would someone need to do at this time on a Tuesday evening?’ she asked suspiciously.
He was somewhat irritated that she was questioning him like this, but decided to moderate his voice to a softer, more reassuring tone. He needed to avoid her coming down the stairs and discovering the true identity of his guest.
‘Really, it’s nothing dearest. As I said, just some documents that need signing, I’ll deal with it as quickly as I can. You look tired, my dear, why don’t you take a soak in the bath and I’ll be up soon,’ he said patronisingly.
Sir William realised from her sight line that the door must be ajar and pulled it shut quickly. He repeated that he would be up with her again soon, his voice containing an element of exasperation. She uttered an audible tut of disgust and stormed back toward her room, slamming the door behind her, not attempting in any way to conceal her rage.
He did not know exactly why she had reacted in this way; her out of character behaviour disturbed him as much as the appearance of his unexpected visitor. He was becoming worried that she may understand more about the situation than he had realised. To make matters worse, as Sir William re-entered the library, Khand’s stony face had taken on a distinctly threatening expression. The French clocks on the mantelpiece were individually sounding the hour, none of them quite synchronised to the right time. Sir William was forced to let them complete their cycle before he could speak, his face reddening to a shade that complemented the colour of the upholstery of the armchairs by the fire.
‘What the hell are you doing here, Khand, are you mad? There are police crawling all over the place,’ he said when the ringing of the clocks has stopped. They remained standing, with no invitation from Sir William for them to sit down in the chairs and no indication that Khand was going to explain his presence. The fire had virtually extinguished itself and only a faint glow and crackle emanated from the grate. Sir William gave it a sharp stir with a poker so that a shard of sparks flew up the chimney. Eventually, and very deliberately, Khand began to speak.
‘I’ve come to make sure you are still on message, Sir William. Your young wife is a very pretty woman, but I can see now that she’s also bright and therefore a risk. Especially now that that young writer friend of hers is involved again,’ said Khand. ‘Did you know he was here on Saturday evening, carrying on with her in her bedroom?’
Sir William looked at him askance, reddening further as if he might be about to strike his guest. ‘What on earth are you talking about, Khand? Nadia would never carry on with someone, especially that lowlife.’
‘She would and has, right her
e, under your very nose. He has confessed as much to the police.’
‘What rubbish. It can’t be,’ he said, shaking his head. But seeing that Khand’s expression was deadly serious he changed his tone to a more contrite voice, bottling his earlier bluster. ‘Look, it must be a mistake. I’ll talk to her, whatever happened I’m sure I can sort it out with her. She was grieving for her grandfather, that’s probably what it was about. There’s certainly some perfectly innocent explanation, she’s just not capable of anything worse than that.’
‘I do hope so, for her sake, or she may be in the frame herself,’ replied Khand, allowing a sinister sounding laugh to escape his crooked mouth, continuing to look Sir William closely in the eyes. Sir William wasn’t used to being on the defensive like this, his normal style was that of a bull charging through life pushing others aside, but Khand had him rattled.
‘I assume you’ve heard the news on the radio about that smart alec, Inspector Hunter? Is it true? Do you think he’s out of the picture?’ asked Sir William innocently, attempting to change the subject and defuse the tension, of course avoiding any reference to his earlier meeting with Hunter at Guy’s Cliffe.
Khand sucked in his breath, playing with something in the pocket of his overcoat. He would play Sir William along for a while, rather than confronting him immediately with the fact of the meeting that had been reported to him.
‘I confess that’s something I still don’t understand. This time it’s nothing to do with me and I don’t know what’s going on, but it does seem to be true. My man saw him being grabbed and then saw the killing while he was trailing Hunter and the gang who had taken him. Maybe it’s just a stroke of luck, maybe there’s more to it. But in any case apparently he won’t be around to bother us further.’
