Yardley arrived at the van. He smiled, nodded at it favourably and turned to the cell windows, seeking their endorsement. By the racket, it seemed that the majority wholeheartedly approved. He looked at Boodle and Angel, then back at the van and sniffed. ‘Yeah.’
Jubb wrinkled his nose.
‘Morning gentlemen.’
‘Morning, Mr Jubb.’
Boodle nodded. ‘Has he been searched?’
Jubb nodded, ‘Thoroughly, sir. I did it myself.’
‘What’s in the bags?’
‘His own clothes, sir. Nothing else.’
‘Have you been through them?’
‘Oh yes, sir. Most rigorously.’
Angel was the first to speak to Yardley. He nodded towards the van.
‘Now then, Morris, does this fill the bill?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Yardley. He dumped the bulging Tesco bags in the back next to the suitcase.
The barracking suddenly eased and then stopped. There were still many interested faces peering through the windows, but they watched in silence.
‘Well, let’s have everything checked off and get on our way, shall we?’ Boodle said.
‘Can’t be too soon for me. Is everything like what I said?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where’s the money?’
Angel opened up the suitcase. In bank wrappers was the £50,000 in twenties and tens just as Yardley had requested.
Yardley pulled out a wrapper of tenners and zipped through it like a pack of cards. He nodded approvingly.
‘Yeah. Yeah. Great.’
Boodle and Angel exchanged glances.
‘Is everything there?’
‘Yes,’ Boodle replied. ‘I’ve checked it. Everything is there. Eighteen-carat gold cuff-links with your initials on. Gucci shoes. Cigarettes. Everything.’
Yardley scrambled further down the case. He pulled things out and then pushed them back in again, like a child going through a stocking on Christmas morning.
‘Has Yardley been discharged, Mr Jubb?’ asked Boodle.
‘Yes sir. All the formalities have been dealt with. He’s free to go at any time. The van will be given a superficial search at the gate, and you will need to show his release papers,’ he said with the slightest knowing blink of the eye. ‘That’s all.’
Boodle nodded and turned to Yardley, ‘Well, are you satisfied?’
Yardley looked from one to the other and then back to Boodle. ‘No,’ he said coldly. ‘No. I’m not bloody satisfied.’
The response surprised everybody. This wasn’t the time for anything to go wrong. Angel and Jubb stared at him.
The fingers on Boodle’s left hand shook. He plunged it instantly into his blazer pocket presumably to hide it.
‘No?’ Boodle enquired, licking his lips.
Yardley advanced slowly on him.
‘How do I know that when we get to the gold, you won’t pull a shooter on me and call in your troops before I can get my share?’ he said.
Boodle didn’t reply. With a face like thunder, and his jaw set firm, he stared into Yardley’s deep-blue watery eyes, took off his jacket and threw it at him. Then he put his hands in his trouser pockets, withdrew the contents, keys, coins and a handkerchief, slapped them on the van floor, pulled out the pocket-linings and left them hanging out.
There was uproar from the cell windows, there were more yells of approval and encouragement, more clattering on the bars, and on this occasion, there were no sounds of disapproval at all.
Jubb shuffled uneasily.
Yardley didn’t seem to hear the racket. He patted the coat lightly.
‘I suppose you’re wired,’ he said.
Boodle’s red face went redder. He reached up to his shirt, unfastened the front buttons and yanked it open. He held the shirt in position.
‘Satisfied?’ he asked.
The barracking grew louder.
The corners of Yardley’s mouth turned up slightly. He didn’t say anything. He was enjoying the moment.
Jubb’s eyes flashed. He stepped forward.
‘Come along, lad. That’s quite enough.’
Yardley licked his lips, nodded and tossed the jacket back to Boodle who caught it, glared at him, and held it under his arm as he fastened the shirt-buttons.
‘Where’s my pardon?’ said Yardley.
‘In my pocket,’ Boodle snapped, his eyes glowing like red hot cinders. ‘You’ll get that when we get the gold. Not before.’
Angel wanted to take the heat away from Boodle. He pointed towards the driver’s door.
‘Have a look in the cab, Morris.’ he said.
Yardley hesitated, then followed him round the side of the van. His face turned grim again.
‘I suppose it’s fitted with a bleeper.’
‘No it isn’t,’ Boodle called from the back of the van. ‘There are no bleepers,’ he lied convincingly.
Yardley didn’t reply. He jumped in the driver’s seat and began to look over the controls.
The racket from the cells died down when Yardley was out of view.
Jubb sighed quietly as he closed and fastened the van doors.
Boodle came up to the cab and stood next to Angel. His hands were shaking as he struggled to fasten the jacket-buttons.
Yardley pushed the gear stick into different positions, depressed the clutch pedal, pulled the steering wheel a little in both directions, bounced up and down on the seat several times and adjusted the driving-mirror.
Angel watched him and licked his lips.
After a few moments, Yardley said: ‘OK.’ He grinned. ‘OK. OK. I’m ready. Let’s roll.’
Those were the words Boodle had been waiting to hear.
Angel sighed silently.
Chapter Eleven
Angel ran out through the prison gates, across the cobbled street to the carpark where Quadrille and Gawber were waiting in the Mercedes. He jumped into the back seat.
Quadrille looked up from the illuminated screen resting on his knees.
‘Everything go all right, Michael?’ he asked urgently. ‘Yeah,’ Angel said breathing heavily. ‘They’ll be coming out of the gate any second.’
Quadrille nodded and adjusted the microphone fitted under his chin.
‘Signals coming through all right?’ Angel asked.
‘Like a dream,’ Quadrille said, his eyes shining.
‘The chopper and the ARVs all set?’
‘The chopper’s hovering ten miles due south, and the ARVs are located approximately one mile away at the four compass points.’
Angel nodded. He leaned forward and tapped Gawber on the shoulder.
‘Are you all right, Ron? Can you handle this bus?’
Gawber looked back and grinned. He was pleased to have the opportunity of driving the luxury car.
Angel pushed back into the well-cushioned upholstery. ‘Looks like I’m surplus to requirements.’
Quadrille pulled out a large book of maps open at a page.
‘I hope you are good at map-reading, Michael,’ he said with a smile.
Angel grunted and took the book. Quadrille pointed to a place.
‘We are here,’ he said.
‘Yes. Right,’ Angel said and stuck his head into it.
A mobile phone rang.
It was Quadrille’s. He quickly pulled it out of his pocket and pressed the button.
‘Yes? … Thank you Mr Jubb.’ He shoved the phone back into his pocket. ‘They’re coming out now.’ He looked at his screen. ‘Hmm. Yes. I can see it’s moving. Both signals working.’ He spoke into the microphone: ‘Stand by. All doctors stand by. The ambulance is on the move.’
Angel, Gawber and Quadrille stared through the parked cars across the road at the front of the prison. Seconds later, the big steel-clad doors opened inwards and the white van eased forward. They could just make out the big face of Yardley at the wheel and the smaller head of Boodle in the passenger seat.
Gawber’s hand went up to the Mer
cedes’ ignition key.
‘Not yet Ron,’ Angel said. ‘Give them a good minute’s start.’
‘Right, sir.’
The white van pulled forward and then turned left out of the gate.
Quadrille gripped the edges of his screen and spoke into a mike.
‘Ambulance is leaving the hospital now. Turned northwards towards the castle. I’ve just had an eyeball of patient and surgeon. Everything looks OK.’
The three men watched the white van filter into the traffic, behind a lorry and in front of a cream-coloured coach. Cars closed in as the van progressed along the busy road. It was intermittently in view, and then, ten seconds later, it went round a bend in the road out of sight.
Both Angel and Quadrille sighed.
They waited.
Gawber drew his teeth over his lower lip and looked back over his shoulder.
‘Now, sir?
Quadrille said: ‘Yes.’
Gawber turned the key in the ignition. The powerful engine purred into life. He nervously let in the clutch and pointed the car in the direction the van had taken.
‘He’s going on Neville Road,’ Quadrille said.
‘It’s a one-way street,’ Angel added.
After a minute, Gawber found himself boxed in with traffic and only moving forward in spurts. He brought the Mercedes to a stop again.
Quadrille and Angel looked up. Gawber sensed they were watching him.
‘Can’t get through,’ he said agitatedly.
‘That’s all right,’ Angel said. ‘Let him move on a bit. Keep straight on.’
‘Stay in the left lane,’ Quadrille added.
Four minutes later and the van had left the busy town traffic and was out in the countryside.
Quadrille spoke suddenly.
‘Ah! He’s turned left again. Down a small road. It’s not numbered on my map. It’s smaller than a B road. It’s slowed him down.’
‘I’ve got it,’ Angel said. ‘Leads to a hamlet called Dalling Fields.’
‘He’s stopped.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
Angel touched Gawber on the shoulder.
‘Pull up, Ron. We’ll wait.’
Quadrille switched on the mike.
‘Control to all doctors. Ambulance has stopped at map reference H for hotel, 8. Keep back. Don’t overrun your positions. Out.’ He switched off the mike.
‘What’s up?’ Angel said. ‘Hope the van’s OK. Could have had a puncture.’
‘It’s a new van.’
‘He might have got lost.’
‘Maybe the gold’s down there.’
‘In the middle of nowhere?’
Angel looked out of the window at the passing traffic. He pressed a button and the window slid down. It was a beautiful day for snoozing on a beach. He looked at his watch. There was nothing to be done. Even if Yardley and Boodle had reached the gold, they were still under orders to sit tight.
Five minutes passed, then Quadrille suddenly spoke. ‘They’re off again. They must have turned round. They’re coming back this way, eastwards. Must have taken a wrong turning … now he’s turned left, on to the ring road.’
‘There’s a big roundabout there,’ Angel said. Quadrille switched on the mike.
‘Calling all doctors. Ambulance is on the move again and is two miles north of Welham moving in a westerly direction. Doctor 4, make your way ahead of it, doctors 1 and 3 you’ll have to come north, then west. Doctor 2, it should be passing you soon. Keep your head down.’
A voice through the car speaker said: ‘Doctor 4 here, Roger Control.’ Another voice said, ‘Doctor 2 calling Control. Ambulance has just gone past. I estimate it was doing sixty miles an hour.’
Quadrille said, ‘Roger doctor 2. Follow on, after a minute.’
‘Roger, Control.’
‘He’s on the A1 travelling south. Out,’ Quadrille said and switched off the mike.
Angel was pleased the entourage was travelling in the general direction of Bromersley, although it made him wonder where the end of the trail might be. There was seemingly no requirement for map-reading, so he pushed back into the upholstery and looked out of the window, checking off the road signs and mileages for Quadrille who was tracking the van on the computer screen.
Gawber drove the car smoothly down the motorway. Ahead, the van was travelling a regular course at speeds varying between sixty and seventy miles an hour. It was not easy to hold back the powerful car to avoid visual contact. The Mercedes could easily have eaten up the mile between them in seconds.
Quadrille concentrated on the flashing yellow dot on the screen, anxious for them not to overrun. He maintained contact with the chopper and the ARVs, to inform them to adjust their formation, and he occasionally called out to Gawber to hold back. Doctor 2 was ahead of the van by about two miles, and doctors 3 and 4 were spaced at one-mile intervals behind the Mercedes. The chopper, flying doctor, was down in a field near Doncaster, ticking over. They had been travelling in a straight line due south for more than an hour, when Quadrille’s screen indicated that the van had peeled off the A1, and was travelling westwards.
‘He’s turned right! That’s towards Bromersley.’
Angel raised his eyebrows.
Quadrille responded promptly; he had quickly to change the direction and formation of the team, and for the succeeding few minutes he was busy on the RT.
Gawber steered the car on to the slip road, turned under the motorway and on to the road to Bromersley.
‘We’re gaining on him, Ron. Drop down to twenty,’ Quadrille said. Gawber nodded.
Angel watched bemused as they glided through the hamlets and villages familiar to him. They reached Bromersley and were slowed down by the traffic in the town centre. The trail led them on to the main Manchester Road towards Slogmarrow. They were soon out of the town and travelling through the countryside, where there was very little traffic and they gathered up speed again. They reached the unfenced moorland; the gorse bushes at the side of the road were beginning to show their yellow blossom. The van had slowed as it had started its climb up the Pennines. After a few minutes, Quadrille gave a heavy sigh and turned to Angel. ‘Where is he going to, Michael?’ he asked. ‘This is your stomping ground, isn’t it?’
Angel shook his head. ‘Dunno,’ he replied. Where had Yardley hidden the gold? Manchester? Slogmarrow? The distillery?
‘He’s coming to a place called Tunistone. Do you know it?’
‘Pretty well,’ Angel said. ‘A small market town.’
‘He’s not turning into it. He’s going straight past.’
They drove slowly for another mile or so, then Quadrille suddenly yelled:
‘I’ve lost him! I’ve lost him!’
‘What?’
‘He’s gone off the road! He must be going up a hillside!’ Gawber slammed his feet on the brakes.
Angel reached for the map.
‘Where? Where?’ he yelled.
Quadrille pointed to it on his screen.
‘There isn’t a road there. Look! He must be driving through a field or into a cave or something. He’s stopped dead! I think. Yes, he’s stopped.’
Angel looked up from the map, realization on his face.
‘I know where he’s gone. He’s gone up the lane to Mrs Buller-Price’s farm!’
Quadrille stared at him. ‘What’s that? What do we do now?’
Angel licked his lips. He spotted a lay-by, a hundred yards ahead, where the road, which was cut into a mountain, widened.
‘Pull in there, Ron.’
Gawber let in the clutch, drove the Mercedes into a parking area marked off for three cars, and switched off the engine. Everything suddenly became quiet except for the wind whistling through the radio aerial.
Angel’s thoughts were everywhere as he looked out of the window at the steep drop below. Why would Yardley drive up there? Was the gold at the farmhouse? Boodle would be cock-a-hoop! This was some coincidence! He hoped
Mrs Buller-Price was safe.
Quadrille switched on the mike.
‘Control to all doctors. The ambulance has stopped at a farmhouse, map reference Victor 2. We are five hundred yards away from it on the highway. Flying doctor and doctors 1, 3 and 4 hold your positions. Doctor 2, overtake us, and proceed west on Manchester Road and take up a position at Victor 1. Control out.’
A mobile phone rang. It was Quadrille’s. His jaw dropped. He dived into his pocket.
‘It’s the Commander.’
The two men looked at each other.
Angel’s chest throbbed.
Quadrille put the phone to his ear and pressed the button.
‘Yes, sir? … Yes … What! … ’ Angel could hear a voice speaking rapidly, but he couldn’t make out what it was saying. Quadrille’s face went white. Then he said: ‘At a farmhouse, ten miles west-north-west of Bromersley … Yes … Straightaway … ’Bye.’
Angel could see that something was very wrong.
‘What’s up?’
Quadrille cancelled the phone. ‘Just a tick.’ He switched on the mike and said: ‘Control to flying doctor. Urgent. Go to a field at the south side of Friske police station in H for hotel 2 and pick up the surgeon and taxi him to control. We’re in a parking bay on the road at V for victor 2. Out.’
‘Roger, control.’
Quadrille switched off the mike and quickly turned to Angel.
‘Yardley tricked him. He stopped the van. He said he needed to go in the bushes for a pee. He was gone a long time. The commander became suspicious and left the van to look for him. He couldn’t find him. When he got back Yardley had taken the van and left him stranded in the back of beyond. The commander couldn’t phone before now. He’s had to walk miles to a phone.’
Angel shook his head. It was hard to take in.
Quadrille added, ‘He was mightily relieved when I told him that we were still with Yardley.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Friske police station. Not far from Welham. That’s where I’ve sent the chopper. He’s joining us. It doesn’t take long. He’ll be here soon.’
Angel sighed and rubbed his chin. ‘Is there any tea?’
*
The distant buzz of an engine, combined with the clackety racket of helicopter blades, drowned the gentle wail of the wind. The volume increased deafeningly as the ugly, yellow metal lobster bounded down from nowhere, skimmed the roof of the Mercedes and rested briefly with one rail on the tarmac and the other unsupported over the ravine. It hovered there precariously for five seconds then ascended rapidly and flew away in a cloud of dust and blue fumes, leaving behind a small man, holding the collar of his blazer over one ear, his hair flapping round in all directions. Boodle dashed up to the Mercedes, got in the front seat and closed the door. His face was white and his eyes flitted twitchily between the two men in the back seat behind him.
The Morals of a Murderer Page 13