Who Dares Wins

by Vince Vogel

  “Yes. Four of them are in hospital as we speak.”

  “They were Appleby’s men?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Why’d they come for me?”

  “They offered assistance in getting you here. Appleby’s head man said he knew you. Said that you wouldn’t come quietly. Said the police would be in serious danger if they tried to bring you in. He wasn’t wrong—was he?”

  She widened her eyes at him. Dorring couldn’t help gazing at them. They were the color of jade and he felt himself taken backwards through time. Suddenly, he was staring at someone else. Someone from long ago.

  Dorring shook his head. Couldn’t allow it to happen. He was in too much of a jam already—although he wasn’t even sure what the jam was exactly. No, he had to keep a clear head. Stay in the now. Not drift off into the past.

  “So I’m under arrest?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “So why the cuffs?”

  “I just got through telling you,” she said with annoyance. “Four ex-commandos are sitting in hospital because of you. You’re a very dangerous individual. It’s best if you’re chained to something.”

  “But if I’m not under arrest, what is this?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  He grinned at her. He was waiting for the punchline. It didn’t come.

  “You send armed men,” he said, “to creep up on me in the middle of the night, and you just want to talk? Why didn’t you come on your own and knock?”

  “Because I’m not exactly sure who Alex Dorring is,” she said.

  Abigail reached into her inside jacket pocket and brought out his passport. He knew immediately it was his. Who else’s could it have been?

  “You handed this over to Sergeant McKay yesterday?” she asked.

  “I did. He gave me no other choice.”

  “So this is you?”

  “Yes. Who else would it be?”

  “I checked you out. No existing warrants. No criminal record of any kind. Not even a parking ticket. In fact, you’ve never voted. Never had car insurance. Never had an MOT done on a vehicle. Never registered a vehicle. Never bought a house. Never rented a flat. Never taken a loan out. Never had a U.K. bank account. Nothing. All we found was that for the past twelve years you’ve been out of the country. That’s it. So tell me one thing, Alex Dorring: what are you doing on my island?”

  Looking her right in the eyes, he said, “I’m here on holiday. Now you tell me one thing, Abigail Pritchard: what am I doing in this cell?”

  The fact that he knew her full name annoyed the hell out of her. The cheeks went red with fire and the same stern look he’d seen when she’d almost run him over bent her face. He couldn’t help staring at her with a soft grin that made her even more angry. Because she thought he was mocking her. But he wasn’t; he was caught in wonder.

  “What is it that you find so bloody amusing?” she asked.

  “You remind me of someone,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Someone I fell in love with.”

  The comment appeared to heap more fuel on her rage. Her eyes went blank and she turned away.

  Getting up from the bench, she said, “I don’t remind you of anyone. Now stop fucking about. We need to talk. If you want a lawyer, one can be provided. Do you?”

  Dorring said nothing and merely stared up at her.

  “Well?” she said. “Do you?”

  “No,” he said.

  19

  Abigail Pritchard removed the cuffs, making sure to glare at Dorring the whole time so that he was aware how little he intimidated her. It was a risky attitude to have with a man like Dorring. If he wanted, he could break every bone in her body. If he wanted to, of course. Which he didn’t.

  But she wasn’t to know that.

  Having removed the cuffs, she led Dorring along a corridor to a bathroom so he could clean the blood from his busted nose. Two cops stood talking by an open office door. They stopped their chat and glared at Dorring as he went past. One of them lurched forward and sent a mouthful of spittle through the air so that it hit Dorring on the back of the head.

  Abigail Pritchard stopped sharply and turned evil eyes on the men.

  “Who did that?” she boomed at them.

  They smiled back.

  “I asked a bloody question,” she went on. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll report you both to the disciplinary board and you’ll have to explain yourselves in Inverness. Now tell me: who did it?”

  “It was me, ma’am,” one of the men sheepishly said.

  “Then, Constable Locke,” she said, “I’ll be filing a report.”

  “But, ma’am,” he began like a schoolboy.

  She didn’t let him get any further. She pointed a finger at him and it was as though someone had pointed a bayonet at his throat. He shut his mouth and Abigail and Dorring continued onwards to the bathroom.

  She stood watching the whole time he filled a sink up with warm water and then washed the blood from his face. It was thick and had congealed on the skin, but it wasn’t dry. That meant he must’ve been out only a couple of hours.

  That makes it around three.

  When he’d removed the blood, Dorring took ahold of his broken nose, gazed blankly at his reflection in the mirror above the sink, and snapped it back into a relatively straight position. He saw in the mirror that it had made Abigail cringe as she stood watching.

  After that, he dried his face and refused the plaster she offered him. It wasn’t bleeding anymore. Then they left the bathroom and went inside an interview room.

  If the cell was the color of diarrhea, then the interview room was the color of piss. It was windowless except for a one way mirror on the door. This allowed people standing outside to see in without being seen themselves. Which was lucky. Because no sooner were they inside than Dorring could see the shadows of people stretching into the room from underneath the door.

  The only other occupants of the room was a scratched up table, two chairs on either side, a tape recorder, and a manila folder.

  When they were seated, Abigail was about to press the tape recorder when there was a knock.

  “Come in,” she said.

  Fergus popped his head in the half opened door. He was obviously trying to hide the other men who stood behind him.

  “Ma’am,” he said.

  “Yes, Fergus?”

  “Would you like myself or one of the lads in here with you?”

  “No,” she said, turning back around, a look of annoyance on her face.

  “Are you sure, ma’am?”

  “Very sure, Fergus. I can handle myself.”

  “Well, considering what he did to Appleby’s men.”

  “It’s okay, Fergus,” she snapped.

  Fergus turned his eyes from her and glared at Dorring in a way that made it look like he wanted to kill him. He probably did. With a shrug of vexation, he left and Dorring was all alone with Abigail Pritchard.

  “You want any tea?” she asked.

  “How about answers?” Dorring said. “Like: why I’m here?”

  “I told you. I want to ask you some questions.”

  “Then why not come and knock on my door?”

  “Because I told you: I’m not exactly sure what you are.”

  “Bollocks! That’s not a good enough reason.”

  “Okay then. It’s because you may have done something that makes you very dangerous.”

  “What?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I have a way of doing things. It may be frustrating for the interviewee, but it works for me. I like to keep as much to myself as possible during the initial interview process. That way I can read your reactions better. Determine if you’re a liar or not. It’s best I let you know only what I want you to know.”

  She said this and they stared at one another for some time. Her jade eyes appeared to sparkle. Or was it his lack of sleep? He wasn’t sure. The two sat scrutinizing one anot
her as though faced by a deadly opponent. A part of Dorring was stressed. He felt cornered and wanted to get out. Hell, if he wanted, he could probably get out of that place with ease. He’d gotten out of much worse. It would mean attacking her, but he’d had to do much more terrible things to keep his liberty in the past.

  Nevertheless, another part of Dorring liked being in that room with Abigail Pritchard. Found her alluring and was drawn to her. So he leaned back in his chair and relaxed. Decided to at least try and enjoy the company.

  She pressed record on the tape and introduced the interview. Once she’d finished that, she looked up at Dorring and said, “Take me through your time so far on McGuffin. From the ferry passenger list, I know that you arrived on Monday, two days ago. At five p.m. Is that correct?”

  Staring straight at her, Dorring ignored the question and instead asked, “Is this about the body I found yesterday?”

  “It may be,” she said. “Now answer my question. You arrived at five?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. So what did you do when you arrived?”

  “I got a cab at the ferry harbor.”

  She nodded and he could see that she was ticking off some list inside her head.

  “Then what?” she asked.

  “I asked to be dropped at a bar. I was hungry and thirsty. Plus, pubs are good places to find things out. Like places to stay.”

  “Okay, so where’d he take you?”

  She obviously knew all of this but wanted to see if he’d lie for some reason. Dorring realized this and was curious to see which part of his ensuing statement would wheedle some sort of reaction out of her. A twitch of the eye, or something else that would tell him a little about what this was all about.

  “He took me to the Mermaid and Anchor,” Dorring said.

  “So you arrived there at ten minutes past five?” she asked.

  “Are you asking or telling?”

  “I’m looking for confirmation.”

  “Then yes. I confirm it. Though I hardly looked at the time.”

  “Okay. So what then?”

  “I sat in the bar. Met Mo.”

  “That’s Morag Hamilton, right?”

  “I don’t know her second name. She’s the barmaid there.”

  Abigail smirked at him. “You often spend whole days in bed with girls and don’t ask their surnames?” she said.

  “She never said and I never asked. I wasn’t planning on asking her to marry me, if that’s what you mean.”

  “It’s not. Anyway, what else happened in the Mermaid and Anchor? Shortly after you came in.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What’s this got to do with anything?” he asked.

  “Humor me,” she said.

  “Humor you? Really? I get my nose smashed by the butt of an assault rifle and I have to humor you?”

  It was her turn to narrow her eyes. The face went stern.

  “What happened in the pub, Alex?”

  He decided to humor her. “There was a drunk. I didn’t know at the time, but he’s a cop here. Stevie is his name.”

  “Constable Steven McDonald,” she said.

  “Yeah. He wasn’t very nice to Mo and I told him so. He got shirty, threw a bad punch and was then dragged out by some fishermen.”

  “What did Constable McDonald say as he was taken away?”

  “I can’t recall exactly.”

  “There or thereabouts will do.”

  “He said something along the lines that he’d fucking kill me.”

  “Sounds pretty threatening. Were you threatened?”

  “No.”

  “What about if he had of had a gun?”

  Her eyes went dull and her face became blank. It was like something had clicked in her head and she’d gone into some kind of observation mode. She stared at Dorring as though she were a machine recording details. Some needle ticking back and forth like a geiger counter. Except she didn’t pick up radiation. She picked up lies.

  “It wouldn’t make a difference,” he said. “Look, can we talk about the body I found. If this is something to do with this…”

  “Later,” she interrupted with a wave of the hand. “What happened after that?”

  Dorring went through everything except the hooded figure in the alleyway. He wasn’t sure if he could trust her. She’d been unwilling to give him anything and he would play the same game with her until he was completely sure she could be trusted. He reached the part where she almost hit him in her car and she waved him on.

  So they eventually reached his morning jog.

  “He was floating in the water,” Dorring said. “I swam to him and carried the body back to the beach.”

  “Describe the body,” she said.

  He began describing the injuries. While he did, he watched her for a reaction. She was biting her lip. Again, Dorring was reminded of Jane and it took his mind off of what he was telling Abigail. So much so that he stumbled once or twice.

  “What about the man himself?” she asked.

  The injuries he’d told her about had registered on some level. He could tell by the way she chewed the lip more rigorously at certain points of their description. Especially when he described the insignia Who Dare Wins. Could it be general disgust at what he was telling her? Or did it all mean something?

  “You mean his physical description?” Dorring asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “He was white. Black hair. Six-four. There or thereabouts. Two hundred pounds, or thereabouts. Stocky build, but he was a little out of shape. Like he hadn’t been back to the gym in a while and was eating all his favorite foods.”

  “Any marks or scarring on the body?”

  “He had a tattoo. It was a swallow. You know, the bird. Everyone has them these days. It was on the left of his chest. Just above the nipple.”

  “What race was he?”

  “He looked northern European. Light skin. But then, he’d been in the water all night leaking blood. He could have been sub-Saharan African for all I know.”

  “Okay. Take me through what happened after you found the body.”

  He took her through going back to the cottage and alerting Mo. Then getting Stevie.

  “What was Constable McDonald’s reaction to seeing you?” Abigail Pritchard asked.

  “He was annoyed.”

  “What was yours?”

  “Shock.”

  “Because of the fight in the pub?”

  “It wasn’t a fight,” Dorring said sternly. “I was shocked that the guy turned out to be a cop.”

  “Morag Hamilton hadn’t told you that he was before then?”

  “No. She’d said nothing.”

  “Even though you spent the whole night together?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. So what happened when you reached the place where the body was supposed to be?”

  Again she looked like a machine recording data. Recording Dorring.

  “The body was gone,” he said. “Someone had taken it away.”

  “Who do you think it could have been?”

  “I don’t know. He must’ve been strong, because the body was wet and heavy. I found the job difficult myself.”

  “You sure he was carried?”

  “There were no drag marks up the sand, so yeah—he was carried.”

  “And what was Constable McDonald’s reaction?”

  Again the machine eyes recorded him.

  “He didn’t believe me,” Dorring said. “Thought it was a joke.”

  “He was angry?”

  “He already didn’t like me, so yeah. He got angry. Started accusing me of playing a prank on him. I decided to ignore him at that point.”

  “Then what?”

  “I spotted boot prints in the sand leading away.”

  “What type?”

  He looked her straight in the eyes. “Size ten desert boots,” he said. “A popular print that can be found on the bottoms of many boots. In fact,” he added, looking her deep in the ey
es, “I’ve seen that type of boot on the feet of several men around town.”

  “Who?”

  “On the feet of Appleby’s guys.”

  Something in the answer sent a twitch running up her face. Then she bit the lip again.

  “Anyone in particular?” she asked.

  “One guy who gave me a ride to the manor. Tony, I think. But then I saw them on the feet of at least two other people when I got there.”

  “What were you doing at the manor?”

  “I went to see an old friend.”

  “Would this be Conner Jones?”

  “Yes. He told you?”

  “Maybe,” she said, refusing to give anything away. “Let’s get back to the beach. Where did the boot prints lead?”

  “I followed them up a bank. Then through a fence to a dirt track at the back of a field that runs alongside that stretch of beach. The prints ended at a set of tire tracks. Pickup. Toyota. Same type of vehicle driven by Appleby’s people.”

  Again her face twitched and she tried to catch it before it became too evident. But Dorring picked up on it immediately.

  “What happened after you reached the tire marks?” she asked.

  “Constable McDonald caught up with me and we argued.”

  “What over?”

  “He asked what I was doing and I told him I was doing his job. Like all surly men, he couldn’t handle being derided. He went to grab me and I wasn’t sure what he’d do, so I grabbed him instead.”

  “And you removed his weapon?”

  “Yes. I took it off him when he went to grab it. I wasn’t sure if he’d try to shoot me. I didn’t want him hurting anyone. Including himself.”

  “And this is when Morag Hamilton caught up with you?”

  “Yes. I let Constable McDonald go and…”

  He paused. Something had suddenly dawned on him. He realized why she was always bringing the story back to McDonald. Why she’d been so interested.

  “Where is Constable McDonald?” he asked her.

  She bit her lip and played with it within her teeth for a few seconds. She was contemplating things.

  “Continue answering my question, please,” she said.

  Dorring shook his head. “Mo caught us up,” he went on. “I suppose she’s told you all of this. Is this why I’m here? Did Constable McDonald tell you something about me? Has something happened and I’m now to blame? Have you found the body?”