The Dogs in the Street (Dark Yorkshire Book 3)

by J M Dalgliesh

  “Broadfoot said-” she stopped as the front door opened. Father Foley stood in the hallway of his home, a bemused look on his face.

  “You both may as well come in, rather than argue on my doorstep,” he said, breaking into a grin. “Would you care for some tea?”

  Caslin allowed Hunter to enter and then he followed. By the time they were shown into the sitting room, irritation replaced her anger but Hunter held off on further conversation until the priest departed for the kitchen. Moving closer, she spoke, barely above a whisper.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Sir, but you look like shit,” Hunter said.

  Caslin could imagine. He hadn’t slept since the few hours he got on the Wednesday night, nearly two days prior. Ignoring her comment, he asked, “Why are you here?”

  “Broadfoot put me back onto Foley.”

  “Why?” Caslin asked, lowering his voice to match hers.

  “He didn’t say. I imagine it had something to do with you. It was after you left the scene of the car bomb-”

  “The kettle’s on,” Foley said, returning to the room. “Forgive me, was I interrupting something?” Caslin shook his head, stepping forward with the picture Reece had supplied him with. Foley took it, unfolding the paper without breaking eye contact. He scanned the figures and flicked his eyes back at Caslin. “Should these people mean something to me?” he asked, passing it back.

  “A little late in the day for the lies, Father,” Caslin said. “I met with Dylan, this morning.”

  “Ahh…Dylan,” Foley said, taking a step back and seating himself in an armchair. Letting out a deep sigh, he appeared thoughtful, rubbing a hand across his chin. “I see. How is he?”

  “Older than his years,” Caslin stated. “Broken and bitter…but certainly talkative, when it came to Paraic Nelson, anyway.” Hunter was utterly lost in the conversation but maintained her composure, trying to figure out what was going on. For his part, Foley merely bobbed his head, in a knowing way.

  “Dylan was dealt a poor hand, I’ll say that.”

  “Whereas Nelson held all the cards, I understand,” Caslin added.

  “I suppose it was going to come out, sooner or later,” Foley said. “Regrettable, as it is.”

  “There are people doing their best to ensure it doesn’t,” Caslin stated. “Now, I know you were associated with Sylvia Marshall, so you knew full well who Emily Coughlan was when I first came to you.”

  Foley nodded, “That’s true. She told me the second time I met her. Little Emily. She had come a long way to find her answers.”

  “She found out who her biological mother was and eventually, that brought her to you. What was she looking into first, Sylvia’s death or Nelson?”

  Foley fixed him with a stare, as the kettle clicked off, in the background, “I’m guessing you’re not bothered about the tea.” Caslin shook his head. “The truth is, both. Emily found out about her mother and tracked back. Nelson dropped easily onto her radar, the person he was with the profile he had.”

  “She thought he was involved in her death?”

  “Not at first but later, yes,” Foley explained. “The more she found out about Nelson and his current business partners, the more she suspected.”

  “Dylan told me what many people suspected about Nelson. That he was working for the British.” Hunter flinched, it was involuntary. “So, she looked further, which brought her to you and to Fairchild.”

  “Resourceful young lady,” Foley said, admiring her. “Much like her father.”

  “Her father?” Hunter asked.

  “Conor McVeigh,” Foley clarified, “sitting with Sylvia, in the picture,” he indicated towards the paper, in Caslin’s hands. He passed it over to her. Hunter glanced at the picture and immediately to him. Caslin knew she’d recognised Aiden Reece but she didn’t let on.

  “Conor’s dead, too,” Caslin said flatly. “He was killed in an explosion, yesterday.”

  “Out by the racecourse?” Foley enquired. Caslin confirmed it. “I never thought they would get him, when he left. As I said, a very resourceful man.”

  “You gave Emily what she wanted, didn’t you?”

  “I’m old, Inspector. I’m sure this hasn’t escaped your notice. I spent many years…many years, on a path unsuited for me. Call me young, naïve…foolish, even. Tell me, does a lifetime of good works undo the sin that one also accumulates, over the years?”

  “We are all sinners, Father, but I’m not here to ease your conscience,” Caslin countered. “I’m planning to bring Nelson down along with all those aiding him. That’s my sole motivation.”

  Foley laughed with genuine humour, “Do you really believe you can achieve that? Look at what he is capable of, who protects him.”

  “You need to tell me what you know-”

  “Like Christopher did?” Foley argued. “Another man on the path to redemption. Not for himself but for his legacy, in the memory of his children. Doing what’s right isn’t easy and certainly didn’t turn out well for him.”

  “We can protect you,” Caslin assured him, sitting down in the chair alongside Foley. “If you come in with us, we can ensure your safety.”

  “Inspector, please,” Foley said quietly looking every bit as dejected as his tone indicated. “The only reason I am still alive is so they can assess who I’ve spoken to. Once they’d uncovered Emily’s investigation and her links to Christopher Fairchild, it was only a matter of time until they came for me. Believe me, if you’ve figured it out, it won’t be long until they come calling.”

  “Who are they?” Hunter asked. Foley glanced at her.

  “Be careful of what you ask, my dear. Sadly, anyone who knows the answer to that question tends not to live for very long.”

  Hunter rolled her eyes. “I’m calling it in,” she said, taking out her radio.

  “Sarah, hold on a second,” Caslin pleaded, with a raised finger but she’d already pressed the button to transmit. “Acting DI Hunter to control,” she said but there was no response.

  “Father, please,” Caslin implored him, “Sylvia, Conor, their daughter and countless others have all died because of this. You have to help me. If you truly care about redemption, or even care about those people, please, help me.”

  “Do you remember Omagh, Inspector?” Foley asked.

  “Of course. It was shocking.”

  “Twenty-nine dead, hundreds injured. Children. Parents. That was the moment for me,” Foley said, the remorse written across his face. He appeared forlorn, the weight of guilt pressing upon him. “It was then, I realised the way forward had to be one of peace. A future where children could grow without the violence and hatred, passed on from father to son.”

  “Then help me to end this,” Caslin said, leaning forward, in towards Foley who was now looking at the floor. “There’s been enough killing.”

  “It’s not working,” Hunter muttered, fiddling with the dials on the radio unit but to no avail.

  “Battery?” Caslin asked.

  “Fully charged,” she said, putting the handset down and taking out her phone to call Fulford Road. Glancing at the mobile screen, she looked puzzled.

  “Problem?”

  “No service,” Hunter said with a frown.

  Caslin took out his own mobile and met her unasked question, “Mine, too.” Standing, he walked to the front window, moving a curtain aside in order to see out. “Use the landline,” he said absently, his eyes scanning the road, beyond the driveway. Everything was clear, nothing moved. Hunter crossed the room, back into the hallway, picking up the telephone. Repeatedly depressing the switch hook, with the handset to her ear, she shook her head. Caslin cursed.

  “What is it?” Foley asked.

  “I’ll check out back,” Caslin said, heading for the kitchen. Hunter took his position at the window, observing the outside. “Stay there,” he indicated to Foley, as he passed. Reaching the back door, out to the garden, he flicked off the interior light.

  Caslin pause
d and took a deep breath, fingers curling around the handle. Turning the key, he unlocked the door and cracked it just enough to peer out. Nothing out of the ordinary could be seen or heard. Gently easing the door open, he stepped into the darkness. There was silence as he waited patiently for his eyes to adjust. The garden was mature with trees and bushes, all of which offered potential cover to him as well as anyone else, lying in wait. Listening intently, he stood still. The sound of his own, rapidly increasing heartbeat, thudding inside his chest, all that he could find to focus on. The sound of a car pulling up in the road out front, saw him dash back inside.

  “Sir,” Hunter called as he reached the threshold of the sitting room. “I think we have company.”

  Caslin ran over, turning out the lights on the way, throwing the room into darkness. Coming alongside Hunter, he looked in the direction she was indicating. A black SUV had pulled up further along the street. They couldn’t see movement from within it due to the privacy glass.

  “Anyone get out?” Caslin asked.

  Hunter shook her head, speaking quietly, “Not yet. They pulled up without their lights on.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. We have company. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a Renton team, or…” he left the though unfinished, just as all the doors opened and four men got out. At the other end of the street, a Range Rover rounded the corner and came to a stop. Like the previous car, this one also approached without its lights on.

  “Or?” Hunter queried.

  “Trust me, the alternative option isn’t favourable, either,” Caslin said, stepping away from the window. “It would appear someone has been watching you, Father. Besides us.”

  “I think we have a problem,” Hunter whispered, glancing nervously towards him. “How do you want to play it?”

  Caslin looked around, “Father, what will we find at the back of your house?” Even with the lack of light, he could sense the anxiety manifesting in the priest.

  “The back…only the woods,” he replied, nerves threatening to get the better of him. Caslin thought on it.

  “That’s our best shot. We have to move,” he said as Hunter noted another three men getting out of the Range Rover. Illuminated from the orange glow of the streetlights, they were all well-armed.

  “Run?” Foley asked, his voice wavering, “but you’re the police.”

  “We still have to run,” Caslin said, cutting him off. Gripping Foley by the forearm, he helped the older man to his feet.

  “I don’t wish to disappoint you, Inspector but I’m not really one for running,” Foley said with more than a hint of sarcasm. Caslin hustled him out into the kitchen, Hunter a step behind.

  “We’ll head to the back of the garden, it’s roughly fifty-feet and then break into the woods. We can cut left and try to double back to the car.”

  “They’ll be expecting that, Sir,” Hunter said. Caslin knew she was right.

  “There’s a small bridge across the river, set back into the trees. If you don’t know it’s there, you’ll struggle to find it in the dark,” Foley offered.

  “How far away?” Caslin asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps a quarter of a mile. Maybe a bit less. There’s a path but it’s rarely used so is very much overgrown.”

  Caslin looked at Hunter, who nodded her agreement, “Okay. We’ll head for the crossing. Once we’re on the other side, we can use the river as a barrier and head to the nearest house to call the cavalry.”

  “What if they also find the bridge, or reach us before we make it, for that matter?” Hunter asked. Caslin looked away, choosing not to answer.

  Turning his focus to the door, attempting to use his mind’s eye to see what was waiting beyond it, Caslin set himself. Once again, he eased the door open and happy they were alone, he led them out.

  Chapter 25

  Foley’s description of a path was accurate. The reality of how dense the foliage was however, turned out less so. With clouds obscuring the moonlight and being far from the streets, they stumbled along. Every third step found them brushing against brambles or striking the branch of a tree. Caslin found himself inwardly cursing as he slipped on an incline, causing him to fall. Tentatively, he got up, finding his feet in the pitch black. Using the variation in the ground beneath him to denote the route of the path, he set off again, Hunter in tow, aiding the priest. The going was slow and the sounds of pursuit carried towards them.

  Stepping to the side of the path, allowing the others to squeeze past, Caslin stopped to listen. Eyes trained on the path behind them, he stared into the gloom. Momentarily, a beam of torchlight flickered through the trees. They were close. Confident their course still offered them an advantage, he moved off, catching up soon enough. Hunter stopped. Foley was struggling with his breathing, the physical exertion too much for him to manage. Helping him to kneel down and get his breath, Caslin led Hunter a few steps away.

  “They’re too close. I don’t think the three of us will make it.”

  “What do we do?” Hunter whispered, glancing at Foley. Caslin could read the concern in her tone.

  “Find somewhere to hole up, for a bit,” he said, looking her in the eye. “I’ll lead them off, down to the bridge-”

  “Nathaniel, that’s too dangerous. We should stay together. They’ll have to see you for it to work-”

  “It’s the only way,” he stated as a matter of fact. “If we all stay, they’ll find us and you know it.” Hunter didn’t disagree. “Once they pass by, make your way back but not to the house. Skirt along the edge of the woods until you’re pretty sure you’re clear and then go for help. Don’t trust your phone.”

  Hunter nodded, “What about you?”

  Caslin smiled, “I’ll see you back at Fulford Road.”

  They walked back to Foley and helped him to his feet. Caslin used the bulk of his frame to ease some brush aside, just far enough for Hunter to get the two of them off the path. At that point, something akin to a birdcall carried to him, on the light breeze. Despite being a city boy, Caslin knew what that meant. They’d found the path and most likely, he had only moments before they were upon him. Releasing the brush to spring back into place, he set off. This time with less concern about creating noise or the surety of his footing. Within a few minutes, the track opened up a little and Caslin picked up the pace further. Glancing behind him, there were now several beams of light arcing through the trees as the two teams descended on his position.

  Fear gripped him, bordering on panic. Breaking into a run, he pushed himself, seeking to put as much distance between them as he could. It wasn’t long before his legs began to stiffen, slowing his pace. With each stride becoming shorter and less controlled, his feet felt numb. Forcing himself onward, Caslin’s lungs burned and his breath came to him in short, ragged bursts. His cheeks felt flush, as if they were on fire, and moments later lights were dancing before his eyes like fireflies. The sound of the surging river could be heard up ahead, the thought of reaching the bridge barely registering as Caslin faltered. His vision swam and he stumbled, losing his footing and pitching him sideways into the undergrowth. Rolling head first through the darkness, something struck his back, be it a rock or a tree root, he didn’t know which and he let out a primordial scream. Tumbling into the unknown, Caslin eventually found his descent slowing before coming to a stop. Then there was only darkness.

  The roar was constant. The sound battling the subconscious desire to sleep. His eyes flickered open. The moon was high, visible through the canopy of the trees above and casting silver shafts of light down around him. Caslin’s left arm was numb, his fingers pricked by stabbing pains. Lying on his back, he watched the branches swaying in the breeze. The sound of whispers came to him and for a moment, Caslin considered whether or not he was conscious. A familiar tightness came to his chest. A sense of fear gripping him. Angling his head to the side, he observed the flow of the water, half expecting to see the river of the dead that so vividly, haunted his dreams. There was nothing. Only s
ilence.

  The realisation that his arm was in the water, brought him back to reality. Rolling over and bringing it out of the river, he hoisted himself upright and began massaging the feeling back into the muscles. How long he had lain there, he didn’t know. Thoughts turned to Hunter and he attempted to stand but his vision swam once again, as before and he dropped to his haunches. Clenching his eyes tightly shut, he rode the wave of nausea that followed. Moments later it passed and he tried again. This time he was able to stand and look around, seeking in vain to get his bearings. Rummaging through his pockets, he cursed as he couldn’t find his phone. Scanning the ground around him, he failed to locate it. No doubt he had lost it when he fell.

  With the aid of the clearing skies, Caslin picked his way back up the slope using whatever vegetation he could find to assist him. Progress was slow. The presence of his pursuers couldn’t be dislodged from his mind and should they still be searching for him, the last he wanted was to alert them to his location. Finding the path, he tacked back with the river behind him. The more distance he put between himself and the river, the sound decreased to be replaced by an eerie silence. Soon, all that could be heard was that of the wind gently passing through the branches overhead, the voices still taunting him as he went in search of Hunter and Foley.

  The path narrowed and the brush increased. Aware that this was where they’d separated, Caslin stopped to catch his breath. The going was tough, much to his surprise. What with the pounding in his head, he wondered if he’d been struck unconscious by the fall. Brushing the pain aside, he pushed his way through the undergrowth. There were no signs of Hunter, not that he had an idea of what he was expecting to see. Deciding to head back towards Foley’s house, Caslin returned to the path. With a bit of luck, their plan had worked. Doubt crept in. If Hunter had made it to safety, where were the back-up units?

  Approaching Foley’s cottage, Caslin crouched at the side of the path, using the brush for cover. No lights were visible inside, the house in complete darkness. The moon was obscured by clouds once more. Remembering their discussion, Caslin slipped past, hugging the treeline in an attempt to avoid observation. Barely had he made it twenty yards before he stopped. A figure lay ahead, slumped in the undergrowth. Even with the lack of light, he knew who it was. His heart leapt and he rushed forward, throwing caution to the wind. Kneeling alongside Hunter, he tentatively reached forward, seeking a pulse. Finding one, his excitement turned to fear as he realised how faint it was.