One Last Lesson

by Iain Cameron

  ‘Fantastic but we’ll look like the royal prats if Cope’s meeting a couple of guys to go boar hunting or having a picnic with someone he just met in a bar.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s doing that.’

  ‘Me neither and I think I know what it is.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s got a tent in the boot with a torch, matches, food and water and he’s intending to live out here for a few weeks, months even. I mean, this place is completely covered in vegetation so its bound to be full of berries and animals and even water, if you know what you’re looking for. After that, maybe he hopes we’ve forgotten all about him and he’ll move back to the UK under a new name and start all over again.’

  ‘Could be, but the Inspector thinks there might be a connection between his little wildlife jaunt and the girl who’s been on the front page of all the newspapers this morning.’

  ‘What, the pretty one? The girl we thought was probably a famous actress or something.’

  ‘She went missing last night, apparently.’

  ‘That changes things. Maybe she’s in the boot and he’s bringing her up here to kill or to bury her?’

  ‘That’s what the Inspector thinks and if it gets us some reinforcements, I’m not going to be the one to tell him otherwise.’

  ‘You wily old fox but let’s hope he’s not right.’

  He told Giraldes that Cope didn’t realise he was being followed but five minutes after the call, there was only one car between them and his car and unless Cope was blind or stupid, surely he must have twigged? He knew from driving around Brighton housing estates like Whitehawk and Moulsecoomb, two men in a car stuck out like the proverbial priests in a brothel and even the most unworldly kid knew when cops were about, whereas in Portugal, two men in a car was equally unusual as it was more common to see a man and a woman, and occasionally with a couple of kids in the back.

  He was looking at the map so frequently it was almost memorised and he knew there were few towns up ahead and not many good roads leading anywhere as sensibly, the Portuguese decided not to build a major route through mountains and the autostrada skirted the range further south. Cope wasn’t a bright man and possessed with the instincts of a feral criminal and just like any fugitive, he probably believed that by sticking to B-roads, he would escape detection as there were few cops, no speed traps and a complete absence of road monitoring technology such as CCTV and ANPR cameras.

  They were a few miles from the town of Monchique when Hobbs spotted the police jeep coming up fast behind them. Henderson turned to look and watched as the jeep moved closer and from only a few yards away, the driver gave him a thumbs-up, to indicate he was there to provide support and not to clock them for speeding. He was never more grateful to see a patrol car as even though Cope was their responsibility, they were in someone else’s backyard and the Portuguese police were equipped with the relevant experience, knowledge and legal authority to deal with him better than they could.

  Before the arrival of the patrol car, they were keeping their distance from the target and cruising at between fifty and sixty miles per hour, and Cope appeared content to sit behind slow moving vehicles until a straight section of road allowed him to overtake, indicating to them he wasn’t concerned by their presence and in no particular hurry to get to where he was going. However, the appearance of a police car seemed to spook him and almost immediately, he speeded up.

  Soon, they reached the town of Monchique and rather than by-pass the centre, the road went straight through, where narrow streets, parked cars and the occasional traffic light impeded a high-speed chase and once or twice, they almost lost him. On another day, he would have enjoyed coming here with its tree-lined roads, little shops, houses tucked away on the hill and a slow, country feel, but not today.

  Back on the open road, Cope immediately drove faster and there was no doubt in Henderson’s mind, he was trying to lose his followers. The Opel was flat-out on the straight sections and easily outgunning their Ibiza and the Toyota Rav4 of the Portuguese cops who were manfully bringing up the rear. On the twisting sections Hobbs, with the Police Advanced Driving Course under his belt, was able to take up better road positions than Cope could and any advantage offered by the Opel in superior horsepower, was kept to a minimum by his skilful handling of the Ibiza.

  It was a twisting road with bends every two hundred yards or so and soon they lost sight of the Opel and after five minutes, they didn’t have a clue how far behind they were and the Portuguese cops must have felt the same as there was no sign of them at all. They rounded what must have been the hundredth bend when up ahead, they were surprised to see Cope’s car parked at the side of the road.

  ‘Approach it carefully Gerry, it might be a trap.’

  ‘I was thinking the same thing.’

  They stopped ten yards behind the Opel and waited for half a minute before getting out. Henderson was looking all around, trying to spot Cope lurking in the bushes or behind a tree and bent down to look under the car, just in case he was standing behind it, when something colourful in the trees to his right, caught his eye.

  ‘There he is!’ he said, pointing.

  Hobbs turned and followed his extended arm. Thick trees bordered both sides of the road but through a gap they could see, about half a mile ahead, the unmistakable bulk of Martin Cope heading into the hills, still carrying his sports bag.

  ‘He’ll be easy to spot in that yellow t-shirt but where’s he going?’

  ‘I don’t know, but we’re following.’

  ‘Bloody Norah! I’m only wearing trainers.’

  ‘Me too but before we go, let’s take a look in his car.’

  The doors were unlocked but inside, there was nothing much to look at, as it was clean and tidy with no knick-knacks, few discarded food wrappers and looking like a hire car that hadn’t been used much.

  ‘Pop the boot Gerry.’

  He took a moment or two to find the switch and as he did so, the Rav4 pulled up and three Portuguese cops slowly got out and began stretching tired muscles. Hobbs released the lock and Henderson pushed the lid fully open. He looked inside but said nothing as he waved the cops over. They all stared into the boot in stunned silence, gazing at the trussed-up and unconscious figure of the girl that dominated the front pages of most of the local newspapers that morning.

  FORTY-FOUR

  The Sussex detectives set off over rough scrubland. Ahead of them, only two of the Portuguese policemen from the Rav4 were walking, as one was left behind to attend to the girl and direct the other cops when they arrived. In slow, broken English the Portuguese lads told the Sussex detectives it was their responsibility to apprehend Cope as they were armed and they knew the terrain and if Henderson could speak Portuguese and was able to discuss the issue further, he would say he fully agreed with them.

  ‘So, she wasn’t dead?’ Hobbs asked.

  ‘No, I could feel a pulse. She was drugged or something but completely out cold.’

  ‘I thought by the faces on those Portuguese cops that she was dead.’

  ‘Maybe they thought she was.’

  ‘He was taking her out here to do what, rape and murder her?’

  ‘What else? Just to keep his hand in while he’s away on holiday, the evil bastard. Also think on, he probably picked her up sometime last night so she must have been in that car boot all night, maybe twelve hours.’

  ‘Even if she was awake she couldn’t have shouted or made a noise as she was trussed up like a chicken. Probably tied up better than that boat of yours.’

  ‘Yeah but he was taking a helluva big risk with all those people milling around the resort this morning, don’t you think? All it would take was a muffled sound and those kids we saw would go running to their folks, demanding they crowbar the boot as there was a cat stuck inside.’

  ‘Maybe he’s getting cocky.’

  ‘They all do after a while and that’s usually how we catch them, but I think we found him before he reached that s
tage.’

  Cope was in the distance, his t-shirt standing out like a beacon amidst the verdant vegetation, and making good progress for a big man with a lot of bulk to shift. Henderson was sure this trek into the hills was not an integral part of his plan and it was the arrival of the police car that spooked him, but it wasn’t such a bad move for him to make, as his car was becoming a sitting duck on the road, especially once the helicopter made an appearance.

  If Cope was happy with the great outdoors, this place would suit him down to the ground but if he felt cornered and couldn’t get away, his plan might be to pick them off one by one when tiredness set in and they became separated. That said, the two Portuguese coppers looked as though they both were born out here as they stepped over the rocks and fallen tree trunks with consummate ease and in contrast to their handling of the patrol car, the gap between them and the ill-shod and ill-prepared Sussex detectives began to widen.

  Soon, they began to climb and up they went towards a rocky escarpment dotted with tall eucalyptus trees and thick, course bushes that scratched the skin. Hobbs was a city boy and rarely ventured outdoors but Henderson was enjoying himself, reminding him of his youth on the moors above Strontian in Scotland, beating grouse with a crowd of lads, walking with a gamekeeper while he shot deer to cull their numbers or leading bird fanciers up the side of a hill to see a pair of nesting eagles.

  They were in effect climbing up a rocky hill or small mountain on a well-worn path that could have been made by goats or hikers but after a time, he couldn’t tell how high up they were as the land below was covered in a green carpet of forest and the trees might have been fifty or five feet tall. It was most unlike the pine forests that dotted large tracts of Sutherland, Argyle and around Loch Lomond in Scotland which consisted of fast-growing spruce and Douglas Firs, while the trees around here were native broad-leafed varieties of oak and ash and the ubiquitous eucalyptus, more pleasing on the eye than the alien evergreens of northern Scotland.

  Henderson was not particularly unfit or overweight as he often went running along Brighton seafront but his involvement in a major investigation such as this led to unpredictable working hours and meals that were missed and even when they weren’t, they were usually brought in from a take-away. In addition, he hadn’t done any exercise since the dog attack and this also had the effect of diminishing his energy levels as he was finding it hard to keep up the relentless pace of the Portuguese cops, and even city-boy Hobbs who was ahead of him now.

  He stopped in his tracks as he heard what he thought was gunfire, one shot then shortly afterwards, another. He waited a few minutes but didn’t hear anything more and while it might have been hunters using rifles to shoot wild boar, the sound was short and sharp and more redolent of revolver fire and if so, indicating some altercation between the Portuguese officers and Cope. He hoped it was the police officers shooting Cope but knowing what that man was capable of and assuming there might have been a weapon in his sports bag, he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t the other way round.

  He slowed down as he ascended a steep section and rounding the corner at the top, where he nearly tripped over the prostrate figure of Gerry Hobbs, lying across the path.

  ‘I stood on a loose rock,’ he said wincing in pain, ‘twisted me bloody ankle, I have. It feels broken but I never heard it snap.’

  ‘Is the pain sharp and piercing or dull and thudding?’

  ‘The second one.’

  His face was red and sweating and it was clear he was in considerable pain.

  ‘It’s probably a sprain then. Did you hurt anything else?’

  ‘I fell on a well-protected area, my arse, so no.’

  ‘I’ll take a look at your ankle but I’m not touching your arse.’

  Slowly, Henderson dragged him to the side of the path and propped him up against a rock. He pulled back his sock and felt around his ankle. ‘I’m no expert but I don’t think its broken although it’s certainly a very bad strain. I don’t think you should walk on it without assistance.’

  ‘I have to agree with you there doctor, it’s bloody agony.’

  He looked around for a branch or a big stick that he could use for support but even though there were trees all around them, on the mountain opposite and on the valley floor, there was nothing up here.

  ‘Before I fell, I was trying to move a bit quicker because I thought I heard gunfire and thought the Portuguese cops might need help.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Do you think it was Cope?’

  He nodded. ‘It didn’t sound like hunters.’

  ‘I agree, we need to be careful.’

  ‘Forget the ‘we’ mate, you’re not going anywhere with that ankle. I’m going to leave you here and try and catch up with the Portuguese coppers and providing everybody’s not dead, we’ll catch Cope and come back for you. Ok?’

  ‘Fine,’ he said through a thin smile, ‘you go and nail that bastard, I’ll sit here and top up my tan.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yep, go.’

  ‘Take the water.’

  ‘Nah, don’t be daft.’

  ‘Take it. I can’t be bothered lugging it around any longer.’

  ‘Ok then.’

  ‘You’re not in the sun but do try and move if it shifts onto your face, you don’t want sunburn to add to your injuries.’

  ‘Right mum, I’ll do my best now bugger off and catch that bastard, but boss, be careful he’s one dangerous animal.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of dealing with dangerous animals to last me a lifetime but I’ll bear that in mind. See you, mate.’

  He set off at a jogging pace, more determined than ever to bring this cross-country trek to a close. On any other day, he would have enjoyed a hike in this area as the scenery was stunning and the hills were smooth-sided and easy to ascent and emitted a variety of smells which were rich and pungent and conjured up long-forgotten memories of numerous places he’d visited.

  Maybe Cope wasn’t aware but he was pushing himself into a corner because if there wasn’t another way off this mountain, he would need to come down the same way he went up. In any case, how could he know any different unless he had been here before to dispose of other victims? Despite the heat, that unpleasant thought sent a chill through his bones.

  He jogged for perhaps ten minutes but still there was no sign of anyone. Up ahead, the path narrowed as it passed between two tall rocks and he slowed to a walking pace, just in case there was a sheer drop on the other side. Easing himself between the rocks, he was surprised to see it open onto a small, flat clearing and even more surprised to find that Cope was standing there, pointing a gun at his head.

  FORTY-FIVE

  ‘Well, look who it is? What the fuck are you doing here, Henderson?’

  ‘Its Detective Inspector Henderson to you, Cope.’

  ‘Don’t come fucking high and mighty with me copper, I’m the one with the gun. Where’s your partner?’

  They were standing in a small clearing, a dust covered plateau at the side of the mountain and facing another, even larger mountain across a deep canyon. Lying against a rock were the two Portuguese cops, both with gunshot wounds and while one was moving and clearly alive, the other wasn’t. Cope was bigger than the photographs suggested, his big frame blocking the sunlight as he moved closer.

  ‘Back there,’ Henderson said jerking a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Couldn’t handle the pace you were setting and stopped for a breather. He’ll be here in a minute.’

  ‘Get over there,’ he said, jerking the gun to indicate a position about ten feet away from him, ‘we’ll sit and wait.’

  ‘So,’ he said lighting a cigarette, his eyes darting between Henderson and the gap between the rocks, ‘what are you doing in Portugal with these two pricks?’

  ‘You’ve got a short memory, Cope. Do the bodies of a couple of university students not jog it just a little?’

  His face contorted in rage. ‘Students? Don’t talk to me about stu
dents. They’re nothing but fucking slags!’ he shouted. ‘I’d see ‘em when I was driving my bus, blokes with their hands up their skirts, girls sucking their cocks, shagging in the back seat, thinking I couldn’t see ‘em, but I could. They’re slags, the lot of them but from me,’ he said pointing proudly at his chest, ‘they’re gettin’ one last lesson they won’t get at any fucking university.’

  This was it? He hates students, so he kills them. It was a job for life, he thought miserably, or death in his case.

  He was stomping up and down the small clearing, the gun at his side, like a drunken Wild West gunslinger in a bar of frightened customers. He was agitated about something, but what? The girl he left in the boot of his car or the presence of cops spoiling his little day of fun?

  ‘Have you heard, we arrested your mate, David Samuels?’

  For a moment he was convinced he had said the wrong thing as Cope swung round in an instant and poked the gun in his face, making him flinch.

  ‘What the fuck d’you do that for? I ought to blow your brains out now.’

  ‘He was helping you.’

  ‘He didn’t help me. Nobody did. I don’t need anybody’s help, see?’

  ‘Did you think all this up by yourself? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why?’ he said, bending down and grabbing him by the throat. ‘You think I’m fucking stupid don’t you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t say that.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘What you did was smart, complicated. We were sure there were at least a couple of people involved.’

  He eased his hand away and stood up. ‘Nah, it’s just me.’ He couldn’t help it but the trace of a smile creased his lips. He was proud of his achievements.

  ‘What was Samuels’s involvement?’

  ‘Dave? Nothing much. He hates Green because the greedy bastard nicked his money and Dave always gets his own back on anybody that takes the piss. Neat, don’t you think?’ An evil grin spread across his face. ‘I hate fucking students and Dave hates Dominic Green. He says we can kill two birds with one stone.’ He started to laugh. ‘Two birds with one stone, get it?’