He cut cleanly through the surface, and down until he thought he would never come up again, and then he could see brighter light as he eventually did come up and then broke the surface, gulping air into his lungs.
Lefty was less than ten yards away, still fighting to stay afloat. Quickly McBride swam over, and from behind, grabbed him under his arms. “Steady on, don’t fight it, I’ve got you. I won’t let you sink.” He heard the lifebelt hit the water close by, and dragging Lefty, he swam backwards until he could grab it. Immediately his buoyancy improved, and he grappled to get it over Lefty’s head. Automatically, Lefty brought his hands up to grasp the belt, and McBride let go of him, hanging on to the belt itself, to make sure it didn’t drift away from him.
He looked round, and saw the looming ship only twenty or so yards away. He also saw that the ship had stopped engines, and was lying motionless. What had looked a calm sea from forty feet up, was, at sea level, distinctly choppy and murderously cold. He knew that no rescue would come for maybe twenty minutes or so. Maybe the ship would put down a boat, but he thought it more likely that a chopper might be sent from Belfast. He didn’t think that there would be a small boat on the banks of the lough available at short notice. He encouraged Lefty. “Not long now. They are coming to pull us out in a minute. Everybody knows that we are in the sea. Try moving your legs to keep your temperature up. Pointless being rescued dead.” He looked up at the ferry, to see rows of people watching them, both from the lounge windows, and from the deck railings. Lefty had certainly drawn attention to himself. McBride couldn’t see the wharf, it was behind the ship. In fact the view of anything but the ship was intermittently obscured by the choppy waves
McBride took his own advice, and started treading water violently, and felt some feeling coming back to his legs. In winter, he guessed they might have died of exposure before they were pulled out. Might do in the summer, he said ruefully to himself.
After what seemed like an hour, he saw a small dot in the sky, which quickly loomed larger. It was the helicopter. It made a circle round the ship to get the layout of the situation and then it was hovering low, and gradually approaching them. He could see the winch man leaning out of the door, giving the pilot instructions. They were suddenly hit by the powerful downdraught from the rotors, which flattened the waves with the intensity of the blast.
The winch man was on the line now tossing a rope for McBride to catch. McBride tied the line round Lefty, below his arms. The winch man raised his thumb, and Lefty, was rising out of the sea, in a cascade of water. By the time McBride was winched up and into the cabin, Lefty was already seated, draped in blankets, a hot drink in his hand. The doors were shut, and the helicopter rose briskly higher, and then set course for Belfast.
The winch man said, “We’re dropping you off at the A and E at the hospital, just for a medical check-up.”
“Belfast City Hospital?” asked McBride
“They don’t have an A and E there anymore,” said the winch man. “It’s Royal Victoria now, in Grosvenor Road. You’re obviously not local.”
“That’s right, just visiting. I was on the ferry, as you might have guessed, when this young guy jumped off.”
The winch man interrupted, “We’re landing now, can you make sure you’re strapped in.” The machine landed with a tiny thud, and then the rotor was whining to a halt. The winch man opened the door, and a couple of ambulance men manhandled both of the rescued men out of the helicopter, and on to stretcher trolleys. When they got into the A and E department, they were bowled into adjacent cubicles. The ambulance men handed them dressing gowns, and told them that if they didn’t feel well enough to undress and put on the robes, they would get a nurse to help them.
In any case someone would be there in a moment to do the paperwork.
The cubicles had curtains at the corridor end, but McBride left his open, to make sure that he would see Lefty if he tried to sneak off. Within seconds, a youngish nurse entered the cubicle, and proceeded to question him as she filled in a form.
When she was happy that he had apparently suffered no ill effects, she told him that a policeman wanted to question him. After that a doctor would come and check him over before he could be released. It was as if it was a regular occurrence, this jumping off ferries.
The police constable appeared to be embarrassed that he could not knock before he entered, so instead he coughed gently before he came into the cubicle. He had a notebook with him, and without asking, sat on the only chair, whilst McBride perched on the end of the bed.
He took name and address, date of birth all over again. You would have thought he could have obtained that information from the nurse, thought McBride, but he didn’t raise the matter.
“So, you fell off the Liverpool ferry, sir.” It was a statement, not a question. “Actually, no, I was on the deck, when the guy who is in the next cubicle at present, ran
out from the lobby doors, and jumped on to the rails, and leaped off. I looked over the rails, saw him hit the water, and then he seemed to struggle, which gave me the idea that he couldn’t swim. So I gave my jacket to a colleague, asked him to call the emergency services, and dived in. I think my colleague threw a lifebelt, well, someone certainly did. I grabbed the man, and pulled him over to the belt. Eventually, the helicopter picked us up, and here we are.”
“Do you know the man? Did you know why he would jump off the ferry?”
“The man is in the next cubicle at the moment. I have an idea, but you could ask him yourself.” McBride caught movement from the corner of his eye, jumped up dashed into the corridor, and caught Lefty by the arm, and hauled him into the cubicle before the police constable. “Here he is. I know him as Lefty. Maybe he was looking for you. Or maybe he was sneaking out.”
“Okay, sir,” said the policeman. “Sit down on the bed, next to this gentleman.”
He ran through the same rigmarole as he had with McBride. Then he asked Lefty, “So you fell off the Liverpool ferry, sir. How did you manage that?”
“This man was chasing me,” said Lefty, pointing to McBride. “So I jumped off to escape from him. I thought he was going to kill me.”
The policeman was silent for a few moments, whilst he absorbed that information. Then he turned to McBride; “And what do you say to that, Mr. McBride?”
“Lefty here was at my table in the restaurant, and I pointed out the police you had waiting on the wharf for the ferry. We could see them from the ferry window. Lefty became extremely agitated, and shouted something like, ‘Fuck me, I’m not going to prison.’ Then he jumped out of his chair, dashed out into the lobby and up the stairs, knocking people out of the way. My friend and I were concerned by his agitated state of mind, and followed. He went on the deck, and I saw him climb on to the rail, and jump off. The rest you know.”
The police constable held Lefty’s arm, and quickly clamped a handcuff on his wrist. “I think we’ll take you down to the station, sir,” the police constable told Lefty, “for further questioning.” He called the station on his radio, and arranged for a car to be sent.
He then said, “You’re free to leave when the hospital staff have finished with you. I’ll take this gentleman back to his cubicle now.”
Almost immediately upon their departure, a young lady entered McBride’s cubicle. She had a stethoscope looped round her neck.
“I’ve just come to check you over. If you’re okay, you can leave when the porter fetches your clothes.” She caught hold of McBride’s arm, felt his pulse with her fingers on his wrist, shone a torch in his eyes. She pulled a trolley from the corner with medical equipment on it. She took his blood pressure, asked if he had any pains, put an instrument into his ear to check his temperature. She picked up a clipboard she had put on the bed whilst she carried out the examination. She rapidly filled it in and proffered it to McBride. “If you’ll just sign it at the bottom, there where I’m pointing.” McBride scribbled his signature.
“Thank you, you’ve suffered no
ill effects, good day to you.” And she whisked out to enter the next cubicle. Eventually, just when McBride was convinced they had forgotten him, a young porter arrived with clothes over his arm. “Which ones are yours?” he asked. McBride sorted out his own clothes, put them on the bed. “Right,” said the porter, “Don’t forget to leave the dressing gown. We lose a lot of them.”
McBride dressed, and went down the corridor, to the large waiting room by the front doors, and sat down to wait for Miller.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The helicopter rose rapidly into the air, and within seconds was just a dot in the northern sky.
On the ferry deck there was a rush of people jostling to get down the stairs. The Stranraer ferry had already sailed, and was turning slowly in the middle of the lough, heading for the Irish Sea. Miller bumped Ned’s shoulder. “Come on, don’t you have a pick-up to drive off the ship? Then you’ll be able to collect Lefty at the hospital.”
When they reached the lobby area, they parted – Ned continuing down to the car deck, and Miller joining the queue for disembarking foot passengers.
Miller was ashore well before the first of the vehicles. The day was overcast, and now there was a brisk wind that rattled the trousers of the police who slapped their hands against their sides He walked towards the superintendent, noting that four of the cars were boxing in the vehicle lane on both sides, and the fifth police car was a few yards further back, ready to chase any vehicle that decided to make a break for it.
“Hey there, do you remember me – Dusty Miller?”
The super turned, and smiled. “My God, and you haven’t aged at all.”
“Neither have you,” said Miller. But he saw, close up, the greying hair at his temples, and the fine lines on his face. “Some bad news for you, I’m afraid. Murphy’s not on board. I saw him in the pick-up before it boarded. He must still be in Liverpool”
“So who’s brought the vehicle over?”
“Two guys, we know as Lefty and Ned. I think, but can’t prove, that they blew up the Secure Express van before the heist.”
“If they’re bombers, then I know Lefty.”
“He’s already off the ship. Jumped into the water, and the helicopter picked him up.” “In that case we’ll already have him. But I’ll just check.” He used his radio, spoke for a while. He turned back to Miller. “Yes, he’s in custody, in handcuffs, waiting to go to the station.”
The vehicles started to move off the ship. Policemen waved them through the roadblock. The Murphy pick-up was one of the last vehicles in the line. The Super shouted to one of his men who moved towards the ferry to intercept the truck and indicated that it was
to pull in to the side. Another officer opened the driver’s door motioning Ned to get out. Ned looked even more bewildered than usual. He accompanied two officers to the back of the vehicle, and acting on instructions, dropped the tailgate.
“We want everything off the vehicle and piled up on the ground here.” One of the officers gestured.
Miller and the super strolled over to watch. The police pulled back their cars to give free flow to the rest of the exiting vehicles.
Ned started unloading the truck, assisted by the policemen. The super told them to pull the blanket boxes to one side. “Open the boxes,” he told Ned. Ned complied, and the Super peered into the boxes. Two were completely empty, the other two appeared to contain piles of magazines. “Tip them out,” said the super. Ned did so, and hundreds of old copies of the Picture Post blew along the wharf.
“Catch them and put them back in the boxes,” said the super. Ned scuttled backwards and forwards for several minutes, until he had all the magazines recaptured, except the ones that had blown into the lough. Meanwhile the policemen had reloaded the antique tat back on the truck.
“Sorry about this,” said Miller.
“Can’t be helped, at least we’ve got a couple of blokes to question. Lefty has form.” One of the officers was told to drive the truck down to the station, and Ned was bundled into the back of one of the cars.
Miller, went over to the super, shook hands with him, and wandered over to the terminal, where taxis stood. He asked a driver to take him to the Royal, Victoria, A and E department. It was a short ride. As he got out, he asked the driver to wait while he picked up someone, and then they would need to go to the airport. “Sure,” said the driver, and pulled out a newspaper, and settled back in his seat.
Miller walked through the doors into the large waiting room, and there was McBride waving to him from a seat nearby. Miller walked over, tossed him the jacket that McBride had given him before diving into the lough. In his other hand he held McBride’s shoes.
“I knew you would find me,” said McBride, busy putting on his shoes. “Next place if you weren’t here was the police cells.”
“I couldn’t phone you. My mobile was in my jacket, and I don’t remember your number.”
“I’ve got a taxi waiting outside. I told him that we’d be going to the airport. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure, these clothes are still wet at the seams. I really want to get back to the hotel.”
“The police were pissed off, on the wharf. They searched the truck, but there was nothing in the chests except old magazines. Some were blown into the lough.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Danny Nolan sat before his empty cornflake bowl, drinking coffee when the telephone rang.
“It’s The Cheshire Constabulary, here. Are you Daniel Nolan? I have chief superintendent Banks for you.” There was a click on the line, and then a new deep male voice spoke.
“Mr Nolan, I have some bad news for you. Your brother, Inspector James Nolan was shot dead yesterday on duty.”
There was silence on the line, It seemed to stretch on forever. Then Danny said, “My brother? Dead?”
“I’m sorry not to tell you before, but the records went back a fair way, and we had next-of-kin down as his wife. But we couldn’t trace her.”
“He was divorced.” Danny thought, if they couldn’t even trace Jimmy’s wife, what hope for the force?
The chief superintendent was continuing, but Danny’s mind was not registering. “Am I right in thinking you will be making arrangements, for the funeral, and so on?”
Danny pulled himself together. “I’m sorry I missed what you just said”
Banks said it again, and Danny said
“Yes, I suppose so. Have you got a telephone contact? I mean, where is the body?”
“Down at the morgue, at the moment, old boy. I can give you a contact number, and a name. They will give you a list of local funeral directors.” He recited number and name.
Danny Nolan thanked the chief superintendent, put the phone down, and went over to the sideboard, and poured himself a large whisky. He returned to the phone and called the morgue, using the piece of paper on which he had scrawled the policeman’s information.
The manager at the morgue, was very pleasant, and could email him a long list of funeral directors, should he so wish. “But, if you want a reliable company that is local to the morgue, I would recommend Shepherd and Company. They are actually owned by a national group, Dignity. Would you be thinking of cremation or burial?”
Danny remembered that his parents had both been cremated. “Cremation, I would think.”
“Excellent, then it could be quickly arranged, because Dignity also own the local crematorium. So they have some pull, you could say. There’s normally quite a waiting list. This is the number you want.” and gave not only a number, but also a name.
Danny spent most of the morning talking on the phone to some very sympathetic people, and by the end of the last call, had everything arranged. The only thing left was to attend the event. He made one more call, to a Premier Inn, and booked a room for the following two days.
He caught the Belfast Stranraur ferry that afternoon. It was the shortest route, and Danny hated sea voyages. If he went by plane, he couldn’t take his sniper rifle with him
. He had gone up into the attic in his house, and sorted through the rubble of his life. He knew he had kept the Lee Enfield after the provos were disbanded, and he was no longer needed as a sniper. After he found the rifle, he searched some more until he found a loaded magazine. After the funeral, Danny would spend as long as it took to track down Murphy, the man who had killed his young brother.
The first stop, when he reached Cheshire, after a long and boring drive, was at the funeral parlour. There was a chapel of rest, and the man he met, said he could have a viewing, if he desired. Danny declined. He would rather remember Jimmy as he had been in life. They spent some time in the office, going through, and paying for, the service. Danny was asked for details of Jimmy’s life, so that the priest could give a eulogy. Danny had requested a non-denominational service, as he could not remember, or did not know, whether Jimmy was still a catholic.
The funeral was scheduled for eleven thirty the next morning, and the day was fine, with a blue sky. Danny wore his black suit, one that he aptly called his funeral suit. He drove up to the crematorium, which was not far from the Premier Inn, and parked in the car park. He stood in front of the chapel, looking out over the garden, which was laid out with flowering shrubs, and also some evergreen trees, though he didn’t know what they were, since he had never been interested in gardening, or flora. In the centre of the gardens was an ornamental pond, surrounded by reeds. There were several other mourners standing about now. Couldn’t be for his brother’s service, surely. Danny glanced at his watch, thinking maybe there was another funeral before his. It was eleven twenty-five, and a hearse swept up in front of the building. A man, who was obviously in charge of the event for the undertaker, got out of the front passenger seat, and came across to Danny.
“Mr Nolan? Good morning. Indeed a sad day for you, my condolences. We will take out the coffin, and then we have four bearers with us, and you will follow the coffin first.
Murphy's Heist Page 8
