He dashed over to the knot hole and took up his position. There was nothing happening out there, so he brushed the dust off his trousers and coat. Dust was sticking to the blood-covered area but there was nothing he could do. He picked up the Sten gun and familiarized himself with the parts. He unclipped the magazine, confirmed that it was loaded, checked the breech and discovered that it already had a round up it. It pleased him. He replaced the magazine, then held the gun in both hands in the firing stance. For a lightweight, close-combat weapon made in the 1950s, the balance felt absolutely right. He put the gun on the floor.
The barn door was left swinging open.
There were groans from the man partly suspended from the beam.
Angel looked through the knot hole. He saw the heavy growth of ivy on the house and was considering whether it was thick enough to press into it to conceal himself, when the house door opened and James Corbett came out. He was frowning and looking around. He must have noticed the barn door swinging loose. His eyes seemed to settle on it.
It set Angel’s pulse thumping again.
Corbett stepped out on to the gravel, taking out his Walther PPK/S as he made his way noisily towards the barn. Angel picked up the Sten gun and waited behind the door. Corbett came in. ‘Are you there, Mossy?’ he said.
From his semi-suspended position, Moss said: ‘I’m here, boss. But watch out, Angel has —’
Before Moss could say any more, Angel tapped Corbett on the temple with the Sten and the big man went down to the floor like a copper’s helmet in a pub brawl.
Angel kicked the Walther away and dragged Corbett up to a position under the beam eight feet from Moss.
Moss said: ‘You shouldn’t have frigging done that, Angel. Lloyd’ll not let you get away with this.’
Angel ignored him. He put the noose over Corbett’s feet and pulled the rope tight, raising him, like Moss, high enough to leave only his shoulders and head on the floor. He tied him off and anchored the rope on the pegs where the tack had been. He picked up the Walther, stuck it in his pocket and straightened up. He didn’t feel quite right in the head. He felt a bit swimmy again. He must keep going. His forehead was sticky. He wiped it with his sleeve and went over to the somnolent body of James Corbett, padded him down, reached into a pocket and took out a mobile phone. His face brightened. He switched it on and tapped in a number. Then he heard a sound outside. He cancelled the call and rushed over to the knot hole. He looked through it. There was nothing there.
He heard moans and groans. James Corbett was coming round.
‘What’s going on, Angel?’ he called. ‘What’s your frigging game? Let me out of this! I can’t do to be in this position. I’ll throw up.’
‘Shut up and keep quiet,’ Angel said.
‘You’ll not get Lloyd as easily as you’ve caught me,’ James Corbett said.
‘I told him that,’ Moss said.
‘You’ll pay for this, Angel, when I get out of this, I promise you.’
Angel looked across at the two men in the suspended position and said, ‘Shut up, the pair of you, before I give you a hot lead enema to remember me by.’
They immediately stopped talking, but he knew he would not be able to rely on their silence if they thought that Lloyd or Laura were in the vicinity. He rubbed his chin a few moments and smiled to himself.
He glanced through the knot hole. There was nobody in sight. He looked across at the dark green ivy growing on the house. It was pretty thick.
He turned back to the two prisoners. ‘I am just nipping out. Have a look round. Keep absolute silence. Just give me ten minutes and then make as much noise as you like. All right? A good ten minutes. Understand?’
There was no reply.
He picked up the Sten and made for the door. ‘Ten minutes, that’s all,’ he said. ‘Goodbye.’
He went out of the barn, left the door swinging, and ran the ten feet straight across the gravel. He couldn’t avoid making a noise. He made straight for the ivy and pressed his back into it hard against the wall. It was good enough cover if nobody looked in your direction and you weren’t expected to be there.
A few seconds later, he heard James Corbett and Moss begin to kick up a racket. He smiled at the predictability of the two men. ‘Lloyd! Lloyd! Come here, Lloyd. In the barn, Lloyd. Come here. Quickly!’
It sounded as if they were calling a dog.
The house door eventually opened and closed quickly. Angel heard it. He pressed himself further back into the wall, licked his lips and gripped the Sten.
The chorus continued. ‘Lloyd! Lloyd! Come here, Lloyd. In the barn, Lloyd. Come on. Hurry up. He’s getting away.’
Angel heard running feet kicking through the gravel towards the barn. Then he saw him. Lloyd Corbett. As he reached the barn door, Angel raised the Sten and said, ‘Freeze.’
Lloyd Corbett stopped running, turning to face him with eyebrows raised and eyes wide open. He slipped his right hand swiftly to his pocket.
Angel pointed the Sten at Lloyd Corbett’s feet and pulled the trigger. It sprayed six or seven rounds into the gravel. The grey stuff jumped into the air four or five inches.
‘Put your hands up,’ Angel said.
Lloyd Corbett’s eyes opened even further. He whipped his empty hand out his pocket and put both hands in the air. There was silence from Moss and James Corbett.
‘I always mean what I say, Lloyd. Now you can go carefully back into that pocket, take out that gun with your fingertips and throw it down in front of you.’
‘All right. All right. But don’t shoot,’ Lloyd Corbett said.
Angel’s lips tightened back against his teeth. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t wound you, Lloyd. If you compel me to pull this trigger, you would be off this planet quicker than a judge could say “life”. I never miss. I’ve got a mantelshelf full of silverware to prove it.’
‘Yes. Yes,’ he said, tossing the Beretta on to the gravel in front of him.
‘Thank you. Now move slowly into the barn.’
He followed him, picked up the Beretta and put it in his pocket on the way. Bending down made him feel a bit dizzy. He shook his head to clear it. He was aware of invisible cobwebs cluttering up his thinking, and his eyelids were heavy. He must keep going.
Lloyd Corbett saw his brother and Moss tied up. He blinked. His jaw tightened. He shook his head.
They stared back at him in surprise and anger.
Using the Sten gun as a pointer, Angel directed Lloyd to the place under the beam about eight feet away from his brother.
‘There,’ he said. ‘Now get down there. Face down, but keep your hands up.’
Lloyd Corbett gawped at him. ‘It’s dirty down there.’
‘Hurry up,’ Angel said and pointed the Sten at him, ‘or do you want me to assist you?’
Lloyd Corbett dropped down on to the barn floor.
The two men already roped up watched every move in silence.
Angel found the noose he had prepared, and, with one hand, threaded it over the man’s feet.
‘Now turn over, Lloyd,’ he said.
Angel grabbed the suspended rope and straightened up. As he did so, he felt dizzy again and shook his head.
All three men saw him.
Lloyd Corbett sniggered. ‘Aren’t you well, Inspector?’
James Corbett said: ‘Do you need a rest, Mr Angel?’
Angel’s lips tightened. He hadn’t been as angry for years. His chest burned like a bucketful of red coals. He pointed the Sten gun at the wall of the barn behind them and pulled the trigger, letting off a short burst.
The three men on the floor froze.
‘Well enough to pull a trigger, gentlemen,’ he said. Then he grabbed the rope extravagantly, pulled Lloyd Corbett to the same height as the others and tied it off.
He checked the fastenings of the other two men then wandered away from them. That second burst of the Sten could hardly have gone unnoticed by big Laura, who must be somewhere ar
ound the place.
‘Hey, Inspector Angel, sir,’ James Corbett said lightly.
‘What?’
‘Before you…kill us…will you tell us…you must be…tell us…are you The Fixer?’
‘I’m not going to kill you, not unless you try to escape. And I’m not The Fixer. You know exactly who I am. But I know that Charlie Drumme set The Fixer to dispose of you and your brother, and I have now worked out that it was you, Lloyd, who knocked out those four poor innocent men at The Feathers with chloroform and broke their trigger fingers, because you thought that one of them — although you didn’t know which — was certain to be The Fixer. You wanted to push up the odds of you both staying alive. As it happens, you were wrong on all four counts. He wasn’t at The Feathers that night. I shouldn’t worry any more about him. You should be pretty safe for the next twenty years…in Belmarsh.’
Corbett didn’t reply. Nobody said anything.
Angel still had to deal with big Laura. He shouldered the Sten gun, crossed the barn to the corner and peered through the knot hole. It was as quiet as ‘Solitary’ on a Sunday in Dartmoor.
She must be somewhere. After a few moments, he went out of the barn, closed the door and put the bar across. The bright sun made his eyes smart. He shielded them with a hand; he had never experienced that before. He surveyed the front of the house and the patio. He held the Sten at the ready. He didn’t intend being caught out by her.
Suddenly he heard the roar of a car engine on his left. It came from the outbuilding next to the barn. The roar continued as the Mercedes leapt out and passed him. Big Laura was at the wheel. Her huge face was scarlet. Her jaw set. The car shot out of the garage on to the gravel drive. She waved a gun menacingly from the open car window as it passed him.
Angel pulled up the Sten and yelled out, ‘Stop the car. Put your hands up.’
A bullet whistled past his ear. Then another over the other ear.
He dropped to the ground. The car turned left on to the drive, spraying gravel up on both sides and to the rear. From the ground, he fired a burst at it from the Sten, peppering holes in the tailgate door and rear window.
Big Laura screamed. The car stopped with a screech of brakes. The suspension rocked and squeaked.
‘My car!’ she yelled. ‘Stop it, Angel. Stop it!’
The car door opened and closed. His ears pricked up. From the ground, he saw big feet in white sandals shuffle through in the silver gravel towards him.
‘I give in, Inspector,’ she said. ‘Just look at my car. Don’t shoot at my car anymore. I surrender.’
He leaned on the car to help get himself to his feet. ‘Very well. Drop your gun and come round with your hands up.’
‘I am not armed, Inspector.’
Laura had her hands in the air but with a small pistol pointing straight at his head.
When he saw it, his heart leaped and he raised the Sten. She pulled the trigger. It clicked but nothing happened. She tried again. It clicked again.
‘Drop it,’ he said, his heart pounding.
Her face went pale. Her lip quivered. She opened her fingers and let the small pistol fall to the ground.
He felt dizzy again. This time he couldn’t see straight. He squinted at her and shook his head. ‘That was your last mistake,’ he said. He shook the Sten at her and said, ‘And this is loaded.’
She bit her lip.
‘Stay there. Don’t move,’ he said, and holding the Sten at the ready he went round to the driver’s door, opened it, searched the duster pocket in it, the glove compartment under the dashboard, found a small handbag, tossed it into the back seat, then he stepped away from the car and said, ‘Get in. You are driving.’
He watched her climb into the driver’s seat then closed the door. He opened the offside back door, got into the back and flopped back on to the soft, luxurious seat. He was very tired. He positioned the Sten safely on his knee, dipped into his pocket for the mobile phone he had taken from James Corbett and tapped in a number. As he heard it ring out, he said, ‘Now then, Laura. You are under arrest for a list of charges longer than a police manual, so let’s have a quiet, safe, uneventful drive to Bromersley nick. If I have any trouble from you, be assured, I am in a perfect position from back here to shoot off your earlobes. Both of them, to match, if necessary.’
Chapter Fourteen
There was a posse of police and police vehicles waiting at the front of Bromersley police station when the Mercedes driven by big Laura pulled up at the front steps.
Angel lowered the window and quickly directed Waldo White and the FSU to the farm to arrest the Corbetts and Cecil Moss; he handed big Laura over to WPC Leisha Baverstock, who took her down to the cells; he passed the three guns to Scrivens and instructed him to hand them to the duty sergeant at the secure store. Then he climbed out of the car. Gawber and Ahmed followed him down to his office when they noticed the blood on his side.
‘You’re wounded, sir,’ Gawber said.
‘You need a cup of tea, sir,’ Ahmed said.
‘It’s nothing,’ Angel said. ‘You must get charge sheets organized for these four villains.’
‘With lots of sugar in it,’ Ahmed said. He rushed off.
‘There’s blood all over,’ Gawber said. ‘You’ll have to go to hospital.’
‘Yes. Yes,’ Angel said impatiently. ‘Are you listening to me?’
‘There’s blood dripping on the floor, sir. I’ll send for an ambulance.’
The phone rang. Angel snatched it up. It was Helpman.
‘Can you talk, Inspector?’ he said mysteriously.
‘Yes. Yes, of course. What is it?’
‘I got that information. You said a hundred pounds.’
Angel frowned. ‘I said fifty, and that was for the whereabouts of the showdown between the Corbetts and The Fixer, and the name of The Fixer.’
‘Yes. Yes. Not the name of The Fixer, Inspector. My informant wouldn’t go that far. And if he would have, the price would have been five hundred at least. But the other you have just said, yes.’
‘All right, Mr Helpman. You are on.’
‘The Corbetts are expecting to talk turf rights with Charlie Drumme, but Drumme knows nothing about it. Instead his place will be taken by The Fixer. The Fixer is on ten thousand pounds for a clean, straight kill of both Corbett brothers. Aaron Moss, Cecil Moss’s double-crossing brother, has arranged a business meeting there tonight, supposedly between the Corbett brothers and Charlie Drumme, except that Charlie Drumme knows nothing at all about it. The Fixer is going to be there instead. Are you on for paying me a hundred or not?’
Angel rubbed his chin. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Mr Helpman,’ Angel said with a grin. ‘If The Fixer kills the two Corbetts, I’ll pay you a hundred. If The Fixer is caught I’ll pay you fifty. Fair enough?’
‘Yeah. All right, Mr Angel,’ Helpman said. ‘You’re on.’
‘Where and when?’
‘It’s tonight. That’s why I’m phoning. It’s at Robinson’s Repository and Removals, Canal Road.’
‘What time?’
‘I dunno.’
Angel smiled, returned the phone to its cradle and turned to Gawber. ‘Did you catch all that? It was a snout of mine.’
‘You want the FSU to be there to arrest the Corbetts and The Fixer?’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Down there? At Robinson’s Repository and Removals, Canal Road. In the dark? It would be a bloodbath. I don’t want any police anywhere near there. There’ll be lead flying around and nobody will know who’s firing at who in that place at night. Up those ginnels and passageways. You mustn’t go anywhere near.’
Gawber frowned. ‘You’ve got me, sir.’
‘Well, listen up, Ron. Charlie Drumme has a contract out on the Corbett brothers. He wants them out of Bromersley. He’s paying The Fixer to murder them both.’
Gawber still looked confused.
‘If the Corbett brothers were free,’ Angel said, ‘and went there, the
y would be shot down by The Fixer like clay pipes at a fairground. But they won’t be, will they? They’ll be up here, locked up, safe and sound.’
Gawber nodded.
‘Doesn’t seem justice, does it?’
Gawber said, ‘And did you say Charlie Drumme knows nothing about it, sir?’
Angel said, rubbing his chin. ‘I did. I did.’
‘But we don’t know where he is, sir. We can’t contact him.’
There was a knock on the door.
It was Ahmed. ‘The ambulance is here, sir.’
Angel said: ‘He was in hospital, last I heard.’
Two ambulancemen rushed in.
‘Come along, sir. Let’s have a look at you… Oh, I see. Can you walk, sir?’
‘Yes, thank you. Can’t you slap a bandage on it, or something, here?’
‘No. We’ll soon have you in hospital, sir.’
‘Hospital? Will I have to go to hospital?’
‘Yes. They’ll soon sort it out.’
Angel turned back to Gawber. ‘I’ll see to that little matter, Ron,’ he called out. ‘Leave it to me.’
The phone rang.
‘CID, PC Ahaz. Good morning. Can I help you?’
‘Yes, Ahmed. I’m on one of these damned ward phones. Can’t hold on. I’ll run out of ten pences. I want to speak to Ron Gawber.’
Missing, Presumed... (An Inspector Angel Mystery) Page 16
