by T A Williams
Just at that moment, the dog suddenly let out a growl, followed by a volley of barking. As they both turned towards the door, it slammed shut. Roger lunged towards it, catching his foot on a heavy oak chest as he did so.
As he fell, his ankle was twisted to an impossible angle. There was a sickening crack, and a stab of pain. His head hit the corner of the chest and he was knocked unconscious.
Chapter 38
‘What a view.’
She was flushed and panting. Duggie knew that look. But this time they weren’t in the bedroom. Today they were on top of Dartmoor. The idea of a winter stroll had come to him on impulse earlier that morning.
‘It’s so clear today, we can even see the manor.’ Tina followed his outstretched arm. Sure enough, in the far distance, a tiny white blob indicated the presence of Toplingham Country Club. He spared a thought for what might be going on there. As it was a bank holiday, the place would be closed.
‘Stop thinking about work, Duggie.’ She reinforced her words by grabbing him and kissing him.
‘Me, thinking about work?’ He affected a scoffing tone, but neither of them was fooled. ‘Mind you, Tina, I don’t think I’ve ever been so caught up with a job.’ He hesitated. That wasn’t strictly correct. ‘At least not since my time in the regiment.’
Tina said nothing. Over the past few weeks he had started to talk about his time in the SAS. She knew that most, if not all he told her, had not passed his lips since he left the service. But now, he was talking, and she could sense him healing from the inside as the words came out. She squeezed his arm and waited.
‘We used to come up here for training exercises.’ He sat down on a granite boulder and pulled her down beside him. He curled his arm around her shoulders and she burrowed against him. ‘Dartmoor and the Falklands are almost indistinguishable. But Dartmoor and Iraq?’ She was reassured to hear his tone still light. Then it became more sombre. ‘Monty’s up here, you know.’
She raised her head. ‘Monty, wasn’t he the boy who was shot in Iraq?’
‘One of the boys. The other two never came home. They sent a chopper in for us. It drew a lot of fire. Brave, brave guys those pilots. But, even so, there was no way we could get in for the other bodies.’ He paused for breath, the memories still so raw. ‘His folks had him cremated. They wanted his ashes sprinkled up here, rather than in a military cemetery. We all came up to the moor on a day like this. Bright and sunny, but freezing cold. There was a strong wind that day.’ Another pause. ‘The wind blew him all over the place. Who knows, maybe he’s here, listening to us now.’
Tina could feel her eyes stinging. She felt a drop on her cheek. Then another. She realised that it was him. Finally, after so long, he was managing to let his emotions flow. She gripped him tightly and sat with him as he wept for his dead friends, and for himself. She knew he was weeping for the way events had scarred him. The events in that fire fight had changed him for ever. He would never be the same again.
After a while, he sat upright and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. She did the same. She saw his eyebrows raise.
‘Sorry about that. I hope I haven’t spoiled your day. I didn’t mean to make you cry.’
‘You haven’t spoiled my day, Duggie. You’ve made it. I feel closer to you now than I’ve ever been.’ She reached up and kissed his cheek. It tasted salty from the tears.
‘You know something, Tina? I think I love you.’
When he had finished kissing her, she managed to reply. ‘And I love you too, even if you are a brothel-keeper.’
He sat back. ‘When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound too good, really.’
‘Well, is it?’ She had told him how she felt all along.
‘No, I suppose it isn’t. Look, Tina, how about this? Once we’ve got the country club up and running, I’ll phase it out. All right?’
‘You really mean that? What about the whole “I’ve never set up my own business” thing? Sure you want to give it up?’
‘I’ve done it now. It’s an amazing success. I can be proud of what I’ve achieved.’
She decided not to comment on his choice of adjective. Pride in something fundamentally shameful was not really the right word. She contented herself with the knowledge that he had agreed to wind it up.
‘It’s nice to see a man happy with his work.’
‘Give or take a stroppy manager or two.’ It really was a delightful, crisp morning. He refused to let it be spoiled by thoughts of Ms Turner. Tina did her best to help him.
‘Stroppy she may be, but you’ve got to admit that she’s lightened your workload.’ She was still hanging onto his arm.
He had concede that she had a point. ‘Yes, I know, Tina. Especially with all the health and safety stuff. But it’s her attitude, her personality. To be honest, I reckon she’s barking mad. If only she could make an effort to be nice once in a while. I’ve got a really good team up there now. All bar her.’
‘You make it sound like a cricket match.’ She was laughing, but he knew her views on what took place on the second floor.
‘So I suppose that would make me the umpire. In there to see fair play.’ He stretched his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly to him.
‘You enforcing the rules, Duggie? Pull the other one. That’s definitely not your style. But if you really do wind it up in a month or two, that’ll sort out your problem with Rachel Turner. If there isn’t a business, she can’t cause you any trouble.’
If only it were that easy, he thought to himself.
Chapter 39
Roger wasn’t unconscious for long. He was roused by Jasper. Disorientated by the sudden return to near darkness, and his master’s cry of pain, the dog unleashed a volley of barking. Roger opened his eyes wearily, and struggled for a moment to recognise his surroundings. He could hear Jasper scrabbling at the door with his paws. In the process, he trod on Roger’s broken ankle. This caused such a bolt of pain that he almost passed out all over again.
‘For Christ’s sake, be quiet. Jasper, stop it.’
He had to shout it a few times, but the message finally got through, and the dog heeded the instruction. The sudden silence felt quite eerie. He decided he had to get out as soon as possible. He pushed at the door with an outstretched hand, but it did not move. Somebody had locked it from the outside. By this time, his eyesight had adjusted to the dark. He realised he could see enough to negotiate his way around what floor space was still available. First things first, he grabbed hold of the top of the chest, which had done the damage, and tried to get up onto his feet.
The sudden stabbing pain as he tried to move his foot was vicious. It took all his willpower to haul himself up without screaming. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys. The tell-tale grease on the right one saved him a bit of time. Gratefully, he pushed it into the lock, but soon discovered that it would not turn anti-clockwise. The door was unlocked already. Evidently, whoever had slammed the door had then jammed it closed. He threw his weight against it as best he could, but to no avail. Whatever was jamming it was immovable. He set the keys down on the chest. He settled himself back alongside them, trying at all costs to avoid moving his ankle. He felt a friendly nuzzle against his thigh. He reached across to the black shape of the dog’s head, and scratched his ears.
‘Here’s another fine mess you’ve got me into.’
But he was gentleman enough to recognise that the fault lay entirely with him, not the dog. He was under no illusions as to what Linda was going to say to him when she saw him. Assuming, of course, that she ever saw him alive again.
He drew breath and took stock of the situation. The more he thought about it, the gloomier it looked. Nobody knew that he had come here. Apart from the person who had locked him in, of course. He had never even noticed the pillbox before that morning. It was pretty likely that few, if any, of the other occupants of the manor would even dream of its existence. They were at least three or four hundred yards from the house. He ha
d no doubt that even Jasper’s loudest barking would be totally unheard. Presumably Stan and his ground staff would know about the pillbox but, he realised grimly, Stan would quite probably still be on holiday for the next few days until the new year. Idly he wondered how long he would be able to survive without food, drink or, most importantly, heat, in the middle of winter.
The dog shook himself. Mentally, Roger followed suit. ‘Shake yourself out of it, you fool.’ He told himself, out loud, ‘You’re in Toplingham, not halfway up Everest, and you’re not dead yet.’ Maybe there was another way out. He reached down gingerly. He was horrified to feel his ankle swollen to about twice its normal size, and his sock soaked. He had little doubt that this was blood. He eased off his right shoe and gently bound his scarf around the ankle. It would hopefully dull the shock of movement a bit. Then, very slowly, he started to drag himself on a reconnaissance tour.
The only possible exit had to be the horizontal gun slit. Very, very carefully, he made his way across to it, moving boxes and chairs to make space for him and the dog to pass. Once again, Jasper reduced him to agony by pushing past his wounded ankle in his enthusiasm to find the way out. Roger resorted to tying him to the door handle. He then inched his way over to the gun slit, ignoring the plaintive whining of his four-legged friend. Not surprisingly, Jasper took a dim view of being tied up.
The inescapable conclusion of his study of the gun slit was that, even without a broken ankle, he would never get through it. It measured no more than about nine inches in height, and three or four feet in width. It had been made just big enough for the barrel of a gun to protrude. There was, however, a chance that Jasper, huge as he was, might just manage to squeeze through. Roger had to set his hopes on that. Underneath all that fur, there was a fairly slim body, but it was going to be tight.
Even if the dog did get through, it was then to be hoped that he would find his way home, and not decide to commit suicide under one of the cars on the main road. This lay about the same distance as the house, but in the opposite direction. Hoping grimly that there would be no appealing doggy smells to lure him off target, he addressed the other problem. Assuming that Jasper managed to make it back to the manor, how would those inside know where to find his master?
He pulled a handful of newspaper from one of the boxes, and sifted through until he found a clean enough sheet to be able to write on. Without a pen, all he could do was laboriously daub a message in muddy fingermarks. After consideration, he decided upon, ‘Broken ankle. Stuck in old pillbox in bushes at top of car park. Help please.’
Old habits die hard. As he was finishing, he realised that he could easily have saved himself several minutes of muddy scratching, if he had omitted the word ‘please’. Under the circumstances, the lack of politeness would no doubt have been overlooked. In his befuddled state, it did not occur to him that he had not written his name.
Attaching the note to the dog’s collar proved to be easier than he had anticipated. He removed some lengths of the ageing sticky tape from a couple of the boxes. By twisting this round and round, he safely secured the roll of paper.
He examined it critically. It would have to do. Luckily Jasper could not reach it with his teeth. It would have been frustrating to see his cry for help disappear down the ever-hungry dog’s throat. He released the dog from the door handle and unclipped his lead.
‘Now, go and find Linda. Where’s Linda? Where’s Linda?’ The dog jumped around furiously. Having satisfied himself that Linda was not in the pillbox, he jumped onto a magnificent carved sea chest below the gun slit. He stuck his head out through the opening, barking excitedly.
‘Go on, Jasper, you can do it.’ The dog was not so sure. He pulled his head back inside, looking quizzically at his master. ‘Go on, Jasper. Where’s Linda? Where’s Linda? She’s got your food.’ Maybe it was the use of the ‘f’ word that did it. Jasper turned and thrust himself at the opening. His head and front paws went through first, but the huge shoulders threatened to stick. With Roger’s constant support and encouragement, he gave a wild lurch. Mercifully, his shoulders slid through, closely followed by his back half. Roger heard the heavy thud as the dog landed in the nettles below. Then, seconds later, a pair of paws and a big black head appeared at eye level, staring back in.
‘Good dog, Jasper. Go and find Linda and your food. Food, Jasper, food.’
In an instant, the dog was off. Roger hoped desperately that his stomach would lead him in the right direction. Thought of food made him look at his watch. He realised that Linda might well not be back from her mother’s yet. He settled down to wait, desperately hoping that Jasper would not go astray. He arranged the broken foot as best he could on a box of McKinnon Marine towels and sheets. Wearily, he sat back on an intricately carved chair. How on earth had all this stuff arrived here and to what end? Who was responsible? Was this the same person who had slammed the door on him? Nothing but a never-ending series of questions.
He allowed his eyes to close and he must have dropped off to sleep. He awoke only when his foot slid off the box. The acute pain woke him in a cold sweat of agony. He realised that he was already freezing cold.
He looked at his watch. It was one-thirty. Surely Linda would be back by now, but what of Jasper? He listened for any noises from outside, but heard nothing. To pass the time, he started to read some of the pages of newspaper that had been used to wrap the plates and glasses. Out of interest, he compared the dates. He found that the pages, all from The Times, spanned a period from five years earlier to the previous year. Whoever had decided to pack these items had done so as a long and gradual process, over a long period of time. It really did begin to look suspicious.
He was reading an article on the booming British economy, trying to stop his hands from shaking with cold, when he heard noises outside. He sat up, eyes fixed on the gun slit, fearing the return of his aggressor, but his worries were abruptly and wonderfully laid to rest.
‘Rog, are you in there?’
It was Duggie. Never had his voice been so welcome. Roger managed to shout back, although his voice was little more than a croak. Immediately he heard Linda’s voice shouting with relief, accompanied by a chorus of barking. Next moment there was a heavy thud, and the door was pulled back. Duggie stepped over the concrete fence post, which had been jammed against the door, and peered into the gloom.
‘So what the bloody hell were you doing in here of all places?’ He stooped and crept in, gradually becoming accustomed to the light. ‘And what on earth is all this junk?’ He felt his way in. As he came up to him, Roger grabbed his hand and pumped it furiously.
‘Am I pleased to see you! Good old Duggie and good old Jasper. What a team!’ Duggie knelt by his feet and gently unwound the scarf. A brief look at the ankle brought a sharp intake of breath, followed by a whistle.
‘You won’t be fitting into any dancing shoes for a while.’ He tried to sound as cheerful as he could. ‘I would imagine that stings just a little.’
‘Only when I laugh.’ Roger did his best to maintain a stiff upper lip in his turn. He was politely, but weakly, assuring him that it was indeed giving him a little discomfort, when Linda’s voice intruded from outside the door.
‘Would you two comedians stop trying to sound like Scott of the Antarctic. Douglas, let’s get Roger out of there. It sounds as though he needs medical treatment.’
‘Oh, yes. There’s no doubt about that.’ Duggie had considerable experience of wounds. He could see that Roger was as white as the newspapers surrounding him. His hands were deathly cold. He was in shock, even if he didn’t realise it. They were going to need an ambulance and a stretcher.
Linda’s head appeared briefly but, as she was hanging onto Jasper’s collar, she did not try to come in any further. Duggie reached for his mobile phone and backed out into the open to make the call. He gave Linda a wink.
‘At least the emergency services know their way to the manor by now.’
Chapter 40
Chief
Inspector Cocker’s Christmas break had not lasted long. Mind you, he thought to himself as he surveyed Roger’s leg, suspended up in front of him on a hoist, the professor’s break would last a good bit longer.
‘Good morning, Inspector.’
Roger looked up from a sheaf of academic papers, and stretched out his hand. Cocker shook it briefly, and sat down on the chair beside the bed. This private room certainly looked a lot more civilised than the kids’ ward of the orthopaedic hospital. Only a month earlier, his son had ended up in there for three nights, after a not dissimilar accident on the soccer pitch. ‘Mind you,’ he thought to himself, ‘if you’ve got Dalby’s money…’
‘Seems your enemies may be closer to home than we first thought, Professor Dalby.’
Before coming over to the manor, he had read the report of the officer who had attended the previous day. But he could make little sense of it. A bunker full of furniture?
‘Maybe you could just run through the events of yesterday for me, please?
Roger took him through the previous day from the start. He tried his best not to leave anything out.
At the end of his account, the inspector sat back. ‘Your assailant is clearly still around. I took the precaution, before coming to see you this morning, of asking my colleagues in Poole to check up on Mr Jennings and his movements this Christmas. He is on a skiing trip to Austria.’ He consulted his notebook, ‘Hinterglemm apparently. I will put through a request to the Austrian police, to check if he has been there throughout the whole holiday period. In the meantime, I think we had better assume that, once more, he will have a solid alibi.’ His face mirrored his puzzlement.
