by Tony Nash
The DVO’s assistant, Michael, was standing by the door, with his hand on the doorknob, and the DVO was standing next to him. The urgency in the room was palpable.
Transome had to gulp, to get enough saliva in his mouth to speak, ‘I want the ambulance there when the chopper lands.’ He listened briefly, said ‘Thank you.’ And turned and nodded to Shaw, who replaced his earphone and keyed the transmit switch, ‘Three Two, this is Foxtrot Lima Control. Ambulance and vaccine waiting for you at 108520, acknowledge please, over.’
He listened and logged the answer on the pad in front of him. While he was doing so, the DVO crossed to him and indicated without speaking that he wanted to use the microphone. Shaw answered the helicopter,
‘Roger, Three Two, check correct. Ay ess one, please, I have someone for you.’ He handed the mike to the veterinary officer, grinning at the knowledge that Transome would not dare to call him over the coals for using another ‘ham’ expression on the air.
The DVO knew the pilot well, ‘Bravo, Peter, and thank you.’
‘You should thank that police sergeant, Carole Somerset. This was all due to her. We’re just the ferry service in this case.’
‘Roger that, Peter. That will certainly be done.’
Transome felt even smaller.
‘That leaves the old man. He didn’t reach Potter Heigham and his punt is adrift in the middle of the broad. The question is, has he really drowned this time…..fifty years too late?’
Transome still hadn’t learnt his lesson, ‘Or was it cold feet and a disappearance at the last minute? He’s done it before. It would only be history repeating itself.’
‘Leaving the boy to a certain, horrible death? He knew the dog was rabid. Surely he could not be so heartless.’
‘Remember, he thought he’d killed the other man, and he wouldn’t know the death penalty has been repealed. He might prefer to find a hole to crawl into and die, rather than face that.’
‘I don’t care what hole he’s in, or how deep…’
‘I know – no loose ends.’
‘And I’d like the helicopter back over that area as soon as it’s dropped the boy off.’ He walked over to the map, showing the placement of all the various units involved. The blue covered all of Alpha, excluding Norwich, all of Bravo and all of Charlie zones.
‘Right! I’ll organise that.’
‘We need units nine, eleven and twelve and the helicopter to this area, here.’ He described a circle with his finger, over the area where Sam was entombed.
‘Well, that’s that. Come on, Michael. Off to that island to pick up the dog’s body, then straight to Weybridge, right?’
Sam was at that moment lying unconscious, filthy with mud, body twitching, in six inches of water, at the bottom of the drainage channel. Before losing consciousness he had finished his labour and blocked the right-hand end of the tunnel with bricks removed from the wall. Only a small amount of water was still running through the tunnel. At the left hand end there was now just enough room for a man to crawl out through the circular hole, but Sam had passed out before he could make it.
The helicopter had dropped off the boy and his parents where the ambulance awaited them and had flown back to the bank of Hickling Broad to pick up Dyce and Somerset.
Transome was just about to put his foot in it again.
Shaw was transmitting, ‘Roger that, Foxtrot Lima Eleven, over and out. Come in Three Two.’ He listened, writing on the log pad, then looked up, surprised.
‘It’s Somerset, Sir.’
‘In the helicopter? Christ! That woman! Switch in the loudspeaker.’
Shaw leant forward and depressed a switch. Somerset’s speech was slightly distorted by the radio, and there were helicopter engine noises in the background.
‘Not a thing moving on the marsh – not even a mouse.’
Transome took the mike and in tired, long-suffering, but not angry tones, asked, ‘Sergeant Somerset, what are you doing in that helicopter? Don’t you ever obey orders?’
Her voice was jubilant, ‘Oh, hello, Skipper. The boys were sweet enough to give me a ride, but there’s nothing unusual…wait a minute! Yes! There is…down there…a dyke…full of water one side of a bridge and almost empty the other. Something’s blocking it!’
‘Oh, no! Not more damned ghosts!’
Another voice told him, ‘Thank your lucky stars she was seeing ghosts, Inspector.’
Transome recognised the voice instantly, having worked four years for the man. He cringed. Would he never learn?
‘Ah, Chief Inspector. I didn’t know you were there.’
‘Obviously not. We’re going down to take a look at Carole’s ghost, anyway.’
Dyce mentally booked a ten-minute session with Transome, which the inspector would not forget in a hurry, and a recommendation for Somerset’s promotion to Inspector would be on the Chief Constable’s desk the next morning. With her obvious intelligence and dedication to police work he could see her going all the way to the top.
Somerset’s voice came over, ‘There’s something blocking that waterway, and look! There’s a hole in the top of the bridge…broken planks! This might be it!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sergeant, soon to be Inspector, Carole Somerset sat in the hospital car park in her new silver Skoda Octavia, which she had treated herself to, in the knowledge that her new rate of pay would easily allow her to afford it. Even better, the 105 horsepower 1600cc diesel engine’s low emissions meant that she would be paying no road tax whatsoever. She was still having difficulty believing it, after paying well over a hundred and fifty pounds a year for her previous little1000cc petrol-engined runabout, which only managed thirty-five miles to the gallon on a good day with a following wind. She was achieving sixty miles per gallon on short journeys with the new car, and had been assured that seventy-five was possible on a long run, with careful driving.
She saw Billy’s parents exit from the East Wing doors, pleased to see that they were arm-in-arm and looking extremely happy.
She got out as they approached, greeted them and asked, ‘How is Billy today?’
Mr Harsley answered, ‘Fine. No symptoms, and it’s five days now. Doctor Blayne is convinced he will be all right; we got to him in time. He’s really chipper, and taking those horrible injections like a soldier.’
‘Is he in a lot of pain?’
‘I don’t think so, but like us he has some nasty lumps from them.’
Somerset rubbed her stomach, ‘Mm.’
‘It was worth it.’
‘Too true! Good job they use the new Diploid Cell vaccine. The old nerve tissue derived vaccine saved lives, but the side-effects were sometimes nearly as bad as the disease.’
‘Doctor Blayne told us that it has only been in general use since the 1970s. Rabies used to be fatal in almost every case, but nowadays they manage to save most patients. How is the old…Mr Yalton? Sam, as Billy calls him. We tried to see him yesterday, to thank him, but weren’t allowed to.’
‘He’s conscious, with a good chance of complete recovery. By a strange quirk of fate, being exposed to rabies probably saved his life; he has a bad case of pleurisy and double-pneumonia, not helped at all by immersion in the water for so long, and he’s old and undernourished, but the outdoor life has hardened him.’
‘And his wife?’
‘Is with him now…rushed out here as soon as she knew, and hasn’t left his bedside since. She never re-married – wouldn’t believe he was really dead. He cried when we told him he hadn’t killed his friend. I felt like crying with him. Not that his problems are over; he’s going to find it very difficult to adjust to modern life. He was worried that he might be prosecuted as a deserter, but the Ministry of Defence has agreed to leave him be, and has closed the case.’
‘And the wounding of his friend?’
‘The man has refused to press charges. He says he goaded Sam beyond breaking point, and deserved a beating. He had the knife, not Sam, and says it w
as his own fault he got stabbed with it. His injuries were not even that serious, and his other friend stemmed the blood flow and got him back to his unit. He’s been worried all these years that he caused Sam’s death. Ironic, isn’t it? He’s even been to visit Sam in hospital and told him face to face not to feel bad about it.’
‘What about the rabies?’
‘The Divisional Veterinary Officer is convinced that the matter has been concluded satisfactorily and that with the recovery of the dog’s body we are now in the clear. They have stood down. It was a nasty wake-up call for us, but it has been contained, thank the Lord.’
They had reached the passenger side of the Harsley’s car and stopped. They held hands and the woman told Somerset, ‘We’ve decided to make some changes. Ernest has changed his job. It’ll be less money, but…’
Her husband finished the sentence for her, ‘…I’ll have more time to spend with Billy. He told me he’s got the fishing bug, and I used to love it when I was a boy. Oh, and he’s promised us he’s learnt his lesson and will never run away again. He told us he ran away because life at home was too boring, and school was too easy. We’ve been to see his headmaster, and he has agreed to assess Billy with the idea of applying for a bursary to Gresham’s Grammar School if he finds he is good enough.’
Mr Harsley opened the door for his wife, who got in, leaving the door open and sat looking at Somerset, as her husband went round to the driver’s side and opened the door. Reaching into the back seat, he brought out a plant pot with a strelitzia regina in it, and walked back round the car to where a tearful Mrs Harsley was saying, ‘You’ll never know how much we…’
Somerset also had a tear in her eye, ‘Sshh! You don’t want to have me crying in my lunchtime beer, do you?’
The husband held out the strelitzia, ‘We…noticed you liked plants, so... a very little token…it isn’t...’ He began to break down, pushed the pot into Somerset’s hands and turned away. As he walked back to the driver’s side, he surreptitiously wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
Billy’s mother reached out, took Somerset’s hand and gripped it tightly, ‘We are so lucky it ended well.’
The sergeant nodded, choked up and incapable of speaking. She extricated her hand, gently pushed the mother’s arm onto her lap and closed the door.
Mr Harsley looked across, tearfully, and nodded at Somerset, before starting the car and driving off.
They all waved until the car was out of sight.
Somerset stood looking after them, her smile changing gradually to a thoughtful frown.
She shook her head sadly and looked down at the plant, to which she addressed her next remark, ‘Ended well? If only they knew, eh, Queenie? Now begins the real work.’
Back at the station, she knocked lightly at the door of Transome’s office and walked in, unable to believe her eyes.
The schlumbergera was standing on top of the Inspector’s desk and he had a small spray in his hand, syringing the leaves of the plant, smiling and whistling happily, his back to the door.
As she entered, carrying the strelitzia, he half turned.
She stopped in mid-stride, amazed. ‘I don’t believe it!’
Transome turned back to the desk, pretending he didn’t know she was there and speaking to the plant, ‘Well, Rhip old pal, we’ve got a couple of hours off; if we grovelled to Carole and admitted being wrong, would she let us take her out to dinner?’
He set the syringe down, and placed one hand flat on the desk.
Carole came up behind him, smiling, knowing that she surely had the old Richard back. She laid her hand over his and squeezed. ‘You know, that really has me worried.’
He turned to face her, frowning slightly. ‘How…’
‘You never use my first name unless you want something.’
They smiled knowingly into each other’s eyes.
EPILOGUE
Out on the Horsey marsh, the vixen stood unsteadily outside her den, watching her six cubs, weaned and big enough now to leave her and the den; all of them carrying the disease and immune. Her lips had flecks of foam on them, and she was near to death. In the six weeks since being bitten by Mukki, she had bitten several rats, some of which had escaped death, and the leg of a bullock. With her lips pulled back the way they were, in the rictus of death, anyone watching her would have sworn that she was laughing.
~~~FINIS~~~
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