The Last Laugh

by Tony Nash

  ‘I felt the same way, once the healing process kicked in. Jane knew how much I was fretting, and thought it might be holding back my recovery. She cleverly came up with the solution. Do you know Peter Greenlove?’

  ‘I do, as a matter of fact. He’s an old RAF chum. Doesn’t he run a flight school somewhere down in Suffolk now?’

  ‘That’s right. Well, I couldn’t captain an aircraft with my licence suspended, but Jane had Peter come up once a week to be the official pilot, and he sat and watched while I flew.’

  ‘Clever! After the Murder by Proxy killer put that bullet through your brain I really thought you’d had it.’

  ‘Join the club! It was the closest I ever want to come to Head Office before my time is up. To get my licence back I had to go once a month for a series of tests you would not believe. I think they measured everything except how fast my toenails were growing. After ten visits they gave me a clean bill of health, but insisted I have a more thorough than normal check every year from now on.’

  ‘At least you’re behind the joystick again, and your own man. How’s crime?’

  ‘Hectic, as usual. At the moment we’ve got a serial killer knocking off members of an orchestra. It’s different, I’ll give it that.’

  ‘Should be just up your street, Tony. You play, don’t you?’

  Dyce nodded, ‘Piano, but I don’t even have much time for that now.’

  ‘And this job isn’t helping. How are we going to work it?’

  ‘Well, we’re going to be below 3000 feet, so the height/heading rules won’t apply. It will be ‘see and avoid’ with regard to other aircraft. I’ve checked, and there will be no military low flying over this area this morning, though they have two flights at around three o’clock this afternoon. Stuff going into and out of Norwich airport will be above our heights, so we won’t have to worry about them. I suggest that you stick to five hundred and I’ll maintain a thousand, except for landing. We’ll both use the square search technique. If you begin from here and do east-west, west-east until you reach the end of the area, then north-south, south-north, I’ll begin at the far end and do exactly the opposite. That way, we should have the best coverage.’

  ‘Sounds good to me, Tony.’ He pointed at the registration letters on Dyce’s aircraft, ‘Shall I call you BAD?’ They were the last three letters of the aircraft’s callsign.

  Dyce laughed, ‘If you want to, but why don’t we use the satellite phones. You have one, don’t you?’

  ‘Sure do.’

  ‘Fine. We’ll make a call when we get in the aircraft and leave it open. I gave you the number. That way we’ll both know what the other is doing from minute to minute, without the bother of calling up.’

  ‘Great idea. Let’s get at it and hope for success.’

  As Dyce took off again, the first faint streaks of dawn touched the eastern horizon, and the massed police and civil service personnel waiting to begin the ground search seemed to heave a collective sigh. They had been driven from the assembly point on the market place to the start point of the search and had been standing in the pub car park for over an hour, shivering in the pre-dawn temperature dip, impatient for action. The wind had veered to the northeast, and had a bitter edge to it.

  Within two minutes the whole sky was a lighter grey, and in the distance they could see the sheen on the water, and the swans, ducks and coots swimming on it. A blackbird began singing its morning greeting, at odds with the serious business of the day for the assembled men.

  They had all been allocated search areas.

  Transome noticed the cumulus cloud beginning to form, ‘I hope that weather forecast is wrong.’

  The DVO was sure that it was not, and a faint rumble of distant thunder confirmed his view. ‘I believe that was Thor telling you that it isn’t.’

  He turned to his deputy, ‘John. Get the show on the road, we’re heading back to the Control Centre.’

  As they drove away, the mass of men spread out onto the mere, with only a couple of yards between each of them.

  By the time they reached base, fourteen minutes later, it was full daylight, but the cloud had bubbled up into huge dark grey masses, reaching up several thousand feet. Both of them were thinking of the men, who were likely to get very wet.

  The transceiver was humming as they walked into the office, and the uniformed PC sitting at the desk was speaking to the officer on the other end, taking details of progress. When he’d finished writing, he passed them on to the DVO, who used a blue marker pen to paint in the area searched, on a copy of the same map that was on the wall, stretched over his desk. The Alpha zone had been half covered, and the searchers were progressing towards Bravo.

  The veterinary officer got up from his chair, and began to pour himself a coffee from his thermos. Transome plugged in an electric razor and was about to start shaving, but saw how worried the DVO was, ‘I think I know your thoughts: suppose that dog has crawled into a hole and died somewhere, or drowned, and sunk?’

  ‘Both perfectly feasible. Would you like a cup?’

  ‘Please. What then?’

  ‘No loose ends.’ He poured a second cup, ‘Sugar?’

  ‘No, thanks. We keep looking until we find the corpse?’

  ‘Hole in one, and I haven’t done that in quite a while.’

  ‘Same here.’ He took the proffered cup, ‘Thanks.’

  He put the cup down, switched on the razor and began to shave.

  A knock at the door, and a ‘Come in’ from the DVO, brought Somerset into the room, smiling brightly.

  ‘Good morning. How are th…..?’

  Transome switched the razor off abruptly, ‘What the blazes are you doing here?’

  The DVO looked at him, frowning.

  ‘I have some new information…Sir.’

  The vet smiled at the slight hesitation.

  ‘It had better be relevant. No more spectres.’

  ‘All taken care of – I’ve got double-oh-seven working on that one, but in the meantime try this for size: a very angry farmer has just reported a theft of a small blue anorak…from his scarecrow…in a field less than half a mile from where Billy’s jacket was found.’

  ‘And from that we are no doubt to deduce that the boy deliberately changed clothes and threw his new jacket away?’

  ‘Argyle saw a boy in a blue anorak with the dog.’

  ‘And you’ve been seeing ghosts ever since. I told you it was impossible.’

  Somerset began to get angry, ‘Not if they got a lift.’

  Transome got even angrier, ‘I will say this just once more, Sergeant Somerset: we have hundreds of men – hundreds – combing every inch of East Norfolk. They have been briefed to look for the dog and also for the boy. If they are in this area, alone or together, we will find them, without your…help. You are off the case – officially. I need you at the station, taking care of all the other problems. Is that clear?’

  ‘Perfectly clear…Sir!’ She flounced out.

  Transome picked up his cup, ‘Women! Give them a badge and they think they’re God Almighty.’

  He did not notice the old-fashioned look bestowed on him by the DVO, who had other opinions, ‘Mm. What was that about the boy and the dog? Our dog?’

  ‘Not unless it’s a second-cousin to Pegasus.’ He switched on the razor again and continued shaving, turning half-away to avoid further conversation.

  The DVO looked at Transome’s back, his eyebrows raised in query. There was a slight pause before he spoke again, almost to himself, ‘That’s what we’re going to need on those marshes.’

  Transome switched off the razor, ‘Did you say something?’

  ‘Wings! The helicopter and DCI Dyce in his ancient Piper Cherokee. They’ll be first to see anything.’

  ‘What do you mean? Is the Chief Inspector flying as well?’

  ‘He sure is, and I’m pleased. He’s a damn good pilot, and we need every pair of eyes we can get.’

  Transome made a few unkind comme
nts under his breath: he was not happy, having Dyce breathing down his neck. He would have to show how efficiently he was handling things.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sam was sleeping fitfully on the floor in his trousers, socks and shirt, with two of the fur blankets over him. Billy, wearing shirt and pants, was in the bed, asleep, but twisting and moaning, his face showing discomfort.

  Sam had tied the dog to the table leg with a piece of old rope, which it was tearing at with its teeth and growling.

  ‘Ugggh!’ Billy suddenly grunted in pain. He sat up in bed, eyes wide open, looking frightened. Sam woke up with a start and looked across at him.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘I had a bad dream.’ He looked at his hand where he’d been bitten. It had swollen up and had an ugly red rash. ‘ My hand is sore.’

  Sam got up and crossed to the boy, ‘Le’ss hev a look-see.’

  ‘Is it all right? It’s so hot.’

  Sam did not like the look of it at all, but said, ‘Tha’ss fine. C’mon – breakfast.’

  Billy pointed to the dog, ‘He’s having his already.’

  Sam turned to look at the dog and did a quick double take. He walked over to the dog, taking small, quiet steps, and bent to take a closer look at him. The dog stopped chewing and turned towards the old man, growling furiously and showing its teeth. Sam was horrified to see that it was foaming at the mouth.

  He couldn’t help himself, ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘What’s the matter, Sam?’

  The old man hesitated, weighing up whether to tell the boy the truth. He decided to, and took the lad’s shoulder in a firm grip. ‘Can you be a brave soldier, Billy?’

  Billy was suddenly frightened, ‘What is it, Sam? What…’

  ‘I think we’re a-gornta die, son, an’ that in’t a-gornta be a pleasant death.’

  ‘Die… Why?’

  ‘Cos your little dog’s got rabies, an’ now so hev we. I don’t know if they’re found a cure for it since I’re bin here, but tha’ss the most horrible disease there ever was. Maybe they’re found a cure…leastways, we’ll hev to go and…’ He turned away towards the window, chewing his lip, his face twitching, under great emotional strain, his expression showing the weight of the decision he has to make. He turned back slowly and looked at his uniform, remembering the night he fell into the water.

  Billy was watching Sam, who looked scared to death and gasping, ‘No…I can’t…I can’t! You can’t ask me to!’

  The boy was puzzled, ‘I haven’t asked you to do anything, Sam.’

  The old man came back from the nightmare he had been in. He looked sadly at Billy, ‘No, I know you hen’t, old son.’ He hesitated for a second or so, ‘Look – I’ll take you over to the village across the water an’ you can go to the doctor alone, can’t you?’

  ‘Ye..es, but why can’t you come? Why must I go alone?’

  Sam had another inner struggle, before deciding to make a clean breast of things.

  ‘You asked if I’d ever killed anyone, Billy. Well, I did, but it worn’t no German – it was one o’ my friends – in a fight. So that don’t make a damned sight o’ diff’rence if I go or stay. They’ll hang me if I go, an’ I’ll die here in my own home, such as it is, if I stay. I’re sorta got used to this ol’ place – I’d rather die here.’

  ‘Hang you? They don’t hang people any more. They haven’t for years.’

  ‘You’re havin’ me on!’

  ‘No, honestly – they told us about it in school the other day.’

  ‘Oh, no! Oh, my God, no…’ He collapsed onto the chair by the table, put his hands over his face and began to sob.

  Billy put his arm round the old man’s shaking shoulders, which slowly quietened.

  Sam lifted his head up. He had made his decision.

  ‘Come on, Billy. Time to go.’

  Two minutes saw them at the punt. The dog was barking frantically in the hut.

  Sam had dressed in his old uniform, but looked a caricature of a soldier, his unpressed, mouldy, dirty garments hanging loosely on his scraggy body. He had wound a dirty old piece of cloth around his hand, and was having difficulty uncovering the punt with one hand.

  Billy tried to help him, but kept worrying about the dog. He asked, ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Potter Heigham.’ Sam pronounced it in the Norfolk fashion, the second word coming out as ‘Ham’. ‘Tha’ss the nearest, nearer than Horsey.’

  He finally got the punt uncovered, ‘Jump in.’

  Billy hesitated, listening to the dog, barking and whining.

  ‘Can’t we take him with us? He’s already bitten us – it can’t make any difference now.’

  ‘Too dangerous! He can’t do much damage here. They can fetch’im. It’ll be alright.’

  Billy stepped back, ‘I’m going to stay!’

  Sam put out his hand to get hold of the boy, but Billy stepped back again, out of reach.

  ‘Oh, no, you in’t! Fifty-three year I’re lived here an’ not bin disturbed, an’ now through you an’ that damned mutt I’re got to lose everything! You’re a-comin’! Now git in!’

  ‘No! I’m not going to leave him!’ He began to walk back to the hut.

  ‘Don’t be stupid! Get in!’

  ‘No! When they fetch him they can fetch me too!’

  He turned and began to run.

  Sam opened his mouth to shout again, but began to cough, until he was wracked with pain. He looked seriously ill. The coughing bout took him to his knees, where he stayed for several long minutes.

  When finally his breathing returned to something like normality, he sighed heavily, got in the punt alone, and pushed away from the bank.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Somerset was sitting on the edge of Transome’s desk, the telephone to her ear. On the desk top next to her sat the contents of Billy’s plastic bag; his transistor radio, a tin of Cola, a small piece of bread, a half bar of chocolate and an apple. She was looking at the Horsey marshes area on a one-inch Ordnance Survey map’

  ‘Not just Horsey marshes?’ Her finger on the map moved west from Horsey to Hickling Broad. ‘Yes, there is a lot of marsh there, but all these old reports seem to stem from Horsey and West Somerton… Oh, really? You don’t think he’s a ghost either? Well if not, where does he live? Yes, I’ve got it; a small island in the middle of Hickling Broad.’ Her finger came to rest on the small island shown on the map at 420218. ‘But why do you think it’s there? Ah, too shallow for boats…but you’ve never been there to look? No, of course not, why should you? No, no, there’s no need for that. You’ve given me all I wanted. Thank you very much, Constable. Enjoy your fishing. Goodbye.’ She depressed the phone cradle and dialled again.

  ‘Mr Harsley? Sergeant Somerset. A van driver has just handed in some things which might belong to Billy. Can you…of course, I’ll be here.’

  She dialled again, to Chief Inspector Dyce, but the phone was answered by his wife, Jane. Carole was surprised to hear that he was up in his old 1966 Piper Cherokee, over the marshes, helping with the search, along with the police helicopter.

  Jane told her, ‘I’ll get him on the radio and let him know. Thank you.’

  At the Control Centre Transome stood at the wall map, moving coloured pins, representing the various units involved, from sector to sector and zone to zone, as the uniformed constable, Peter Shaw, sitting at the radio, passed him the information. There was a proliferation of pins with unit details over all parts of the western edge of Charlie Zone. Zones Alpha and Bravo were all overlaid with transparent blue, except over the marsh areas around Hickling Broad, the marshes along the Hundred Dyke, the Rivers Bure and Yare, and around Horsey Mere, Heigham Sound and Meadow Dyke.

  The DVO was concentrating his gaze on a similar map on his desk.

  Shaw took another message, ‘Foxtrot Lima receiving. Roger - Foxtrot Lima Eleven entering sector Charlie Alpha, over and out.’

  Transome took the pin marked FL11 from secto
r ‘BE’ and placed it in sector ‘CA’.

  ‘Foxtrot Lima Twelve, receiving. Roger, Foxtrot Lima Twelve. Unit ready to move into sector Charlie Bravo. Over and out.’ Shaw told Transome, ‘That’s all of them, Sir.’ Transome moved the other pin.

  ‘Tell them to move.’

  ‘Foxtrot Lima Control to all units. Commence Stage Three.

  The DVO spoke, ‘Constable.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘See if you can raise the helicopter now.’

  For some reason, after the initial contact, just as the rescue helicopter was taking off, they had been unable to speak to the crew.

  ‘Helicopter Three Two, this is Foxtrot Lima Control, do you read, over?’

  He listened and adjusted the fine-tuning on the receiver as he did so. He looked over at Transome and the DVO and nodded, ‘Roger, Three Two, loud and clear. FB. Will you switch to a different working frequency please, one one eight megahertz, over.’

  He listened again, then, ‘Roger, Three Two, switching…’ He moved the dial on the set, ’now! Roger Three Two, still five by nine, stand by for instructions.’

  Transome moved over to the constable’s position with a small piece of paper in his right hand. Shaw was busy with the set and didn’t notice the inspector’s approach.

  Transome stood with his hands on his hips, waiting.

  Shaw became aware of his presence and turned, lifting one earphone off his ear.

  Transome asked, What’s this ‘FB’ business, Shaw?’

  ‘Fine business, Sir. Bit of ‘ham’ chat.’

  ‘Let’s forget you are a radio amateur and stick to correct procedure, shall we? Read them this.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’ He replaced the earphone and depressed the ‘send’ switch, ‘Three Two, request you overfly and search areas bordered by map coordinates 020430 020470 100420 110520 and 200410 200470 230420 240450.’ He listened and logged the reply, ‘Roger that, Three Two, listening out. Foxtrot Lima One, this is Foxtrot Lima Control, come in, please One.’

  Chief Inspector Dyce had taken off at dawn in his old Piper. Staying at a thousand feet, to avoid near misses with the helicopter, which was flying at five hundred, he had overflown the entire area twice, and was just commencing his third ‘square search’. He had flown due east from Acle, turned over Yarmouth, and retraced his flight path a couple of hundred yards north of his previous track until just north of Acle, then moved again the same amount northward to resume his eastward search. When he reached a point two miles north of Horsey, he had begun flying over the same area doing tracks north-south and south-north. He had told the DVO that he would not make radio contact unless he had something definite to report. The only living things he had seen so far were bullocks, put out on the marshes to feed them up, ready for market. Though he had serious business concerning an ongoing murder investigation to do back at Headquarters, he was pleased to have this excuse to spend time at the controls of the Cherokee – something he loved but was finding more and more difficult to fit in, now that he was not only Chief of Detectives but a farmer as well. It might be an old crate, with over eight thousand hours on the airframe, but he’d had the engine completely rebuilt by the manufacturers and had replaced the old instruments with an entirely new, state-of-the-art electronic suite. The seat covers might be worn, but the aircraft was as safe as you could wish. It might also be slow, but for this job it was perfect. The weather, which had been fine to start with, was rapidly deteriorating. Thermals were making it ‘bumpy’ at the thousand foot mark, as the cloud base built up, and heavy rain looked likely, making further searching from the air all but impossible, It should work out well though, since he would have to refuel in about an hour and a half. By that time the ground search should have covered the whole of the specified area and hopefully found the boy and dog, and he could go back to his murder enquiry: the musicians would be getting up and breakfasting, and he was looking forward to doing some serious questioning of the orchestra members who were present in the pub before the girl was stabbed, starting at ten o’clock.