by Tom Graham
Gene’s hard-as-iron hand clamped itself over Sam’s mouth. Sam fell silent, his ears straining for a sound. For several moments there was nothing. And then, some distance behind them, came the unmistakable sound of a twig breaking.
Gene released Sam and stood there glaring about, bracing for trouble. He was sick of running. He was getting ready to fight, regardless of the fact that it was suicide.
Sam glanced at the slope ahead and the road running along its top. The moon was bathing it in cold, clear light. If they ran, they’d be slowed by the gradient, bogged down by the mud, and left sitting ducks for Gould’s men.
Away to their left, just visible between the trees, a ruined stone building could be seen, some sort of cottage or barn, standing beside a meandering bend of the stream. It was roofless, but the walls were still standing and they were surely strong enough to deflect shotgun blasts. They were surely safer holed up inside than being picked off as they crossed open ground. And maybe, if they kept their heads down, Gould’s men would pass by without noticing them.
Sam tapped Gene’s shoulder and pointed silently at the ruin.
Gene pulled an expression. What are you on about, Tyler?
Sam pulled an expression back. Come on! Let’s get in there!
Gene: Are you out of your tiny noodle?
Sam: For God’s sake, Guv, we don’t have time to discuss this!
Gene cocked his head and listened. Somewhere out there in the night, a branch rustled. Seconds later, something crackled beneath a foot.
It was enough to make up Gene’s mind. Without a word, him and Sam hurried across to the ruin and slipped inside. The wooden door had long since gone, as had the window frames. Inside, they found a jumbled heap of rotting timbers, presumably the remains of the long-since-collapsed roof.
Keeping low, they ducked behind a wall and looked out through one of the gaping windows. Outside, they could see nothing but dark trees and hints of cold moonlight.
‘Is this it then, Sam?’ Gene whispered. ‘Is this our last stand?’
‘Hopefully they’ll miss this place and go past,’ Sam whispered back.
‘And if they don’t? What we gonna do, sit here while they take pot shots? Damn it, Tyler, this empty holster’s like a hole in my heart!’
‘Ssh! Look!’
Something was moving out there. Coming through the trees, twenty yards away, was a man, a sawn-off shotgun cradled in his arms. He was little more than a black shape against the night, but as he passed through a stray beam of moonlight Sam glimpsed the man’s face, flattened and distorted by the stocking mask. His heart froze. He held his breath.
The gunman seemed to not see the ruined cottage. He kept moving forward, mechanically, like a robot, and carried on out of sight.
Sam and Gene waited for what felt like hours, but the woods outside had fallen silent.
‘They’ve missed us,’ Sam breathed, and he slumped down, his nerve ends jangling, his heart pounding. ‘They’ve missed us, Guv. At least for now.’
Gene got to his feet and crossed to the back of the building where he stood slightly awkwardly with his back to Sam.
‘Guv? What’s the matter? What are you doing?’
Sam heard the sound of a liquid pouring heavily against the stone wall.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Gene!’
‘I’m bursting.’
‘Nerves, is it?’
‘How dare you, Tyler! It’s them two pints we had at the Feathers workin’ through me system.’
‘Sure it is. It’s okay, Guv, you’re allowed to be scared.’
Gene finished, shook, and zipped himself. When he turned round, he had a face like thunder that even the deep shadows could not wholly hide.
‘I could you batter you for saying that,’ he intoned. ‘I could mash your tiny little head in like it was a Birds Eye pea, and leave you buried out here in the woods where no one’ll find you, getting eaten up by the squirrels and budgies and whatever the hell it is faffs about in this godforsaken wilderness. How’d you like the sound of that, you back-chatting bollock?’
‘What are we going to do, Guv?’ San asked, ignoring the Guv’s threats. ‘Do we sit tight, or keep moving?’
‘If I had my way, I’d go right back out there to be with my dead Cortina. I’m mourning her, Tyler. I want to be with her.’
Sam opened his mouth to say that the Cortina was just a motor and the least of their worries, but he thought better of it.
Gene brooded in silence for a moment, then said, ‘I can’t face the prospect of spending the night here. The Genie don’t do vigils in the ruins. The Genie ain’t no bleedin’ ‘ermit.’
‘Let’s give it another twenty minutes,’ Sam suggested, ‘just to make sure Gould’s men are well and truly out of the way. Then we’ll get moving. Agreed?’
Gene thought, then nodded: ‘Twenty minutes, aye.’ He glanced at his empty wrist and said: ‘You got your watch on?’
Looking at his wrist watch, Sam announced that it was ten forty-five. But the sight of his watch instantly reminded him of that other time piece, the gold-plated fob with its delicate chain, and he groped anxiously into his pocket to see if it was still there. With relief, he felt the hard, dented surface of the casing, and carefully he pulled this little relic of Life out and held it in his palm.
‘What’s that you got there, Tyler?’
‘Mr McClintock’s old fob watch.’
‘What the hell for?’
‘It’s special, Guv.’
‘Special how?’
‘I don’t know. I just know that it …’
‘It what?’
Sam shrugged: ‘Some things you know with your head, others with your heart. I can’t explain, Guv. It’s a hunch. A feeling. A hope.’
Gene suddenly swept up the watch from Sam’s palm, and at once Sam felt a wash of panic to be parted from it. He jumped to his feet.
‘Please, Guv, give it back!’
Gene held it up by its chain and let it swing in front of his face. His hands looked so big and brutish, and the watch looked so delicate and fragile, that Sam literally winced.
‘Please, Guv!’
But Gene seemed unaware of him. He was looking hard at the fob watch, his brows drawn together, his eyes narrow and intense.
And them, quite suddenly, he handed it back to Sam.
‘Look after it,’ he said in a strange, low voice. ‘It could come in ’andy.’
Sam took it back, gently wrapped the chain around the casing, and slipped it back into his pocket. He looked at the Guv, trying to read his expression, but Gene had retreated into deep darkness.
‘Why did you say that, Guv?’ he asked.
‘Just you keep it safe, it’s too pretty to lose,’ Gene said in a curt voice, and with that, he strode out through the door to peer silently into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: CLIVE GOULD
The night hung heavily about them. Time passed, agonizingly slowly. Sam sat alone in the cold ruin, watching the minutes ticking by. The stream flashed and gurgled by outside. Heaps of broken wood lay next to it and sat piled against the side of the ruined building, suggesting that there had once been a waterwheel here. The building itself certainly seemed too cramped and mean for a cottage. Presumably it had been a small mill of some sort.
‘A mill ...’ Sam suddenly said out loud. And then, in a stage whisper, he called out, ‘Guv! Where are you?’
Gene was lurking by the side of the river, lost in his own thoughts. The sight of that watch had affected him strangely, and left him withdrawn and pensive. Perhaps it had touched some deep memory within him, something that lay dormant and forgotten, causing it to stir. Perhaps old recollections of Gene’s life before this one were moving just below his conscious mind, like fish swimming just beneath the surface of a clouded pool.
‘Guv?’
Gene turned and grunted.
‘Guv, this place used to be a mill!’ Sam hissed.
‘Well cock-a-doodle-do, I
’m turning cartwheels.’
‘Mill Lane! The address for Trencher’s Farm – all we knew is that it’s off Mill Lane!’
‘And? I can see the mill, so where’s the lane?’
‘There was a road, Guv, at the top of the rise,’ Sam said. ‘What you reckon?’
Gene shrugged, but Sam was fired up.
‘If that is Mill Lane up there, Guv, then Annie’s so close we could practically call to her from here!’
‘And would she hear us?’ Gene said in a low voice.
‘What do you mean?’
Gene strode heavily towards his, his dour expression on his face: ‘You reckon Trencher’s Farm is just over thataway, right?’
He pointed. Sam nodded.
‘The same direction we saw Gould’s men going.’
Sam felt his blood go cold.
‘You don’t think …? you don’t think they’ve found her, do you?’
Gene said nothing, but his grim expression spoke volumes. Sam raised a hand shakily to his mouth, feeling like he was about to vomit.
And then, without wasting another precious second, Sam turned and raced through the dark trees. Gene called to him, but he ignored him. His mind was fixed totally on Annie.
He reached the edge of the wood and went clambering up the slope, making for the road that ran along its crest. Scraps of cloud passed across the face of the moon. Far away, a night bird cried out inconsolably.
As he reached the top of the rise, Gene came labouring up behind him puffing like an emphysemic walrus.
‘Any sign of our little friends?’ he wheezed.
Sam glanced up and down the road. There was no sign either of the black Sceptre or the roaming gunmen. But across the road was a barred gate and a rough track leading to a farmhouse with a few outlying buildings. As the clouds moved clear of the face of the moon, a cold, clear light fell on the sign at the gate.
Trencher’s Farm.
‘Clever boy, Samuel,’ whispered Gene.
But Sam’s attention was entirely on the farmhouse. It sat in darkness, not a light to be seen in any of its windows. Had Annie come here at all? Was Sam mistaken to think she was holed up here? Or had they simply arrived too late? Had Gould beaten them to it, and already dragged Annie away with him?
My hope is that Gould wants me dead before he gets his hands on Annie, Sam thought, fighting down the panic that rose within him. He wants to shed the blood of his rival before he reclaims his property. That’s why he attacked the Cortina, that’s why he sent his men after us. His desire to see me dead at his feet is the one thing that’s protecting Annie now.
‘Let’s not take any chances,’ Sam whispered. ‘We keep out of sight as long as possible. Follow me.’
He led the way, heading along the slope and then using the broken remains of a wall as cover to reach the top. Keeping low, Sam dived the way across the road. He braced himself, expecting the lights of the Sceptre to suddenly blaze on, for the night to suddenly be filled with the blast of shotguns.
But no. All was still and silent as he crept through the gate. Glancing back, he saw Gene watching from the far side of the road. He beckoned him over, indicating that he should keep low.
Instead, Gene straightened up, adjusted his camel hair coat, fussed with his hair, and then strode across the road, chest out, shoulders back, bold as a racing dog’s balls. He even paused halfway across the road to look left and then right. After tugging his lapels and brushing dirt from his arm, he continued to saunter across.
‘What the hell was that about?!’ Sam hissed at him.
‘I’m through creeping about like a pervie in the woods,’ Gene glared at him. ‘If we’re about to be pumped full of lead by Gould and his goons, then I want to go down like a man, not a nonce. We’re police officers, Tyler – let’s behave as such.’
And with that, he strode off along the track that led to the farmhouse. Sam felt a sudden urge to strangle the idiot – but then his mood changed. Perhaps Gene was right. Perhaps the time for creeping and hiding was over.
Instinctively, he reached into his pocket and felt the fob watch sitting there. The smooth, dented surface of the casement, and the texture of the delicate chain wrapped around it, gave him that strange and inexplicable feeling of hope.
Sam nodded to himself, and then stepped out from the shadows and walked boldly alongside Gene. Together, they strode forward, refusing to be cowed. To Sam, it felt good, even though the sight of the dark and seemingly lifeless farmhouse set his heart pounding anxiously.
They reached the door. Sam looked through the letter box, but inside it was pitch black.
‘Annie!’ he hissed through the slot. ‘It’s me! And the Guv! Let us in!’
They waited. Nothing.
‘Maybe she’s on the khazi,’ Gene suggested. ‘That’s what always happens to me.’
‘Annie!’ Sam hissed again.
‘For God’s sake, Tyler, she ain’t gonna hear that. What you want to do is this.’
He jabbed at the doorbell. The sound of it ringing through the house seemed to shatter the stillness of the night, announcing Sam and Gene’s presence to all the world. Sam flinched at the sound. He flinched again when Gene hammered on the door with his fist and called out, ‘Cartwright! Finish up straining your greens, wash your ‘ands, and then get down here double pronto and open this door!’
Sam looked anxiously about, dreading to see headlights snap on in the night. But the only light was that of the cold moon sailing silently overhead.
The front door latch clicked. The door inched open.
‘Annie?’ Sam breathed.
The door opened wider, and Annie’s face appeared, staring out blankly from the pitch black hallway. She looked from Sam to Gene and then back again, as emotionless as a sleepwalker.
Gene coughed to get her attention: ‘I think the words you’re looking for are, “Do come in, I’ll put the kettle on and get some eggies on the go.”’
But Annie said nothing. Instead, she threw herself at Sam, clamping her arms tightly around him and burying her face into his chest. Sam held her to him, nestling his face against her hair and whispering over and over that it was all right, it was all right, it was all right.
Gene rolled his eyes. ‘If you want summat doin’ …’
And with that, he stomped away into the farmhouse in search of the kitchen.
Alone together, the night sky over their heads, deep darkness surrounding them on all sides, Sam and Annie hung on to each other, motionless. Then, very slowly, Annie lifted her face and looked up at him.
‘I remember,’ she said. And tears flooded her eyes.
After Sam got Annie back inside the house, she would not let go of him, but clung to him like a frightened child. Sam shuffled towards the stairs with Annie attached to him, like a pair of arthritic ballroom dancers.
‘You two gonna waddle about like that all night?’ grunted Gene, who had pointedly made himself a coffee but left empty mugs out for the other two to ‘help themselves’ as he put it. He flicked a light switch and flooded the hallway with light.
‘No!’ Annie cried out. ‘Turn it off, turn it off!’
‘I’m not a nocturnal animal, sweetness,’ Gene growled back at her.
‘Turn it off, turn it off!’
‘Just turn it off, Guv,’ Sam pleaded. ‘It’s safer.’
Gene scowled, but complied. As the hallway was plunged back into darkness, the only sound was of Annie crying.
Sam clumsily manoeuvred her up the stairs, leaving Gene to skulk in the shadows downstairs. Moving through the darkness, Sam fumbled at a door and found a bedroom – a very male bedroom – McClintock’s bedroom, left with military precision. By the light of the moon coming in through the window, Sam could see the bed made up with sharp hospital corners, a pair of slippers arranged perfectly on the floor, a small jug of water and a glass placed on the bedside cabinet. There were bookshelves, but in the darkness the names on the spines were unreadable.
W
ith effort, Sam got Annie to the bed. His arms still around her, he sat with her, pressing his face against her hair.
‘Tell me,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me what you remember.’
Annie sniffled wretchedly, and then, in a weak voice, she began to speak.
‘Dad died,’ she said. ‘I was only a kid. Mum went to pieces. It scared me to see it. She held her stomach when she cried, like something had been ripped out of her. I didn’t know what to do. I was frightened and confused. Nobody would tell me what had happened to dad. An accident. I knew they were lying. It was so awful.
‘And then it got even more awful. Mum didn’t get no better. She couldn’t cope. And this man kept coming round the house, and he told me that Mum needed to go away, off to a hospital where they could look after her. This man, he was … he was ugly. Ugly teeth. Ugly eyes. It was Gould. I knew there was something wrong about him, but all I could think about was Mum. And then … Gould, he … Oh, this is difficult, Sam! Gould, he had Mum put away. He saw to it, had the doctor’s certificate drawn up, made sure she was locked away so he could he get close to me. He started saying that I couldn’t stay on the house all on my own, that I needed looking after, that he would look after me.
‘I was so young, Sam! I was fifteen. I didn’t understand what was happening, and all I wanted was everything back like it was before! But all I had was Clive Gould. And he knew it, he knew that if he fitted himself into the space left by my dad that he could get inside my head, make me … make me do whatever he …’
Annie broke off, fished out a tissue, and blew her nose. After a pause, she went on.
‘So I was Gould’s girl. I lived with him. We had a big house. He bought me presents, clothes. He always wanted me to look nice, especially when he took me out. He showed me off. He told me how to behave with people, what to say and what not to say, how to stand, how to walk, when to clear off and let him and the other men talk business. If I got it wrong, he’d be angry. If I asked about Mum, he got angry. If I mentioned me dad… oh, he got angry. And I mean angry, Sam. Sometimes, I thought he was going to kill me, the beatings would go on for so long. He wasn’t right in the head, you know? You can’t do the things he did and be right in the head.
