by William Shaw
‘No. I need to be further up.’ She could hear him moving, the shingle crunching up the beach. ‘Let me get there.’
‘Is there a car outside?’
‘Wait . . .’ He walked on. ‘No. No car. Why do you want to know?’
Disappointment kicked in, but it had only been a hunch. ‘There’s been an incident. The man I’ve been looking for all along. He stabbed a policeman. They think he’s not going to make it. I had a hunch the attacker may be trying to get to Astrid Miller’s cottage. Definitely no red car outside?’
‘No. No car there at all. Anyone I know?’
‘Maybe you worked with him. Peter Moon?’
‘We were together for a while when he first joined up. Bit green, but not a bad cop.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘He stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time. We think he may have been trying to save a child’s life.’
There was a silence. Then he said, ‘Right.’
‘Look after Zoë, won’t you?’
She ended the call, glad she had been mistaken. She didn’t want the murderer to be anywhere around her home or her daughter. Or around William South.
‘They’ll need to take statements from us,’ Cupidi told Ferriter. ‘Afterwards, come and stay at mine. You shouldn’t be alone tonight. You can have a shower.’
Ferriter dropped her head and started to cry. Wiping her wet cheek with her hand, she left a pink smear of Moon’s blood there.
‘You said he was trying to save the kids.’
‘I think he was. I don’t know.’
Cupidi put her hands round the constable again and hugged her, and was conscious of a buzzing in her lap. Someone was trying to call.
‘Everyone can see me,’ Ferriter complained as she cried. It was true. Concerned coppers and nosey neighbours were peering into the car at them.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Cupidi. And she held her until the crying subsided. When she looked down at her phone she saw the missed call, the red name on her screen. Her daughter.
She called her back. ‘Hello?’
Zoë spoke. ‘A car just drove up to the cottage. Just after you talked to him. Bill said you’d want to know. There was a man and a woman. They got out. Some sports car thing.’
A man and a woman in a sports car.
‘Red?’
‘Yes.’
It was them. Oh Christ. ‘Where’s Bill?’
‘He’s gone to look. He said he’d phone you back in a bit.’
Cupidi’s stomach lurched. ‘How far away are you?’
‘You want me to call him? William!’ She shouted his name across the beach.
‘No!’ screamed Cupidi into the phone. ‘Don’t.’
Zoë sounded scared now. ‘What is it, Mum? What’s happened?’
‘Can you attract his attention somehow? Without following him? Don’t go near the place. Promise. But if Bill looks your way, beckon him back. Please.’
‘What’s wrong? I can see him there now.’
Cupidi held the phone away from her ear and wound down the window. She shouted, ‘The killer’s at Dungeness. Tell Gold.’
‘Oh Jesus.’ Beside her, Ferriter tensed.
‘Who’s at Dungeness?’ Zoë was saying on her handset.
‘Go home now, Zoë. Quick as you can. Go home and lock the door.’
‘Mum. What’s wrong?’
‘For once, do as I say. Please, love. Please. Go home, quietly and quickly, and when you’re there, call me to tell me you’re safe.’
‘Safe from what, Mum? What about Bill? He’s at that cottage with the red car now. I can see him. Why do I have to go home, Mum?’
‘Go home.’
The white boy was being taken out of the house now on a stretcher. Curious locals were filming it all on their smartphones.
‘But Bill’s there. He’s looking at the car now.’
Oh Jesus. William South, thought Cupidi.
FIFTY-SIX
A uniformed policeman drove Cupidi and Ferriter all the way back to Dungeness at high speed, blue lights flashing.
‘What’s wrong with you, boss?’ said Ferriter.
‘I think I’m finally starting to figure it out.’
They sat in the back, side by side, watching the traffic part for them. ‘What out?’ asked Ferriter.
‘Everything.’
‘What you mean?’
‘Why did she go to West View Road? She went there on her own. To pick him up.’
Ferriter sat for a while, then said, ‘Because he’s got some kind of hold over her. U win I will pay u – that was a message from her to the attacker, not to the boys.’
‘That’s right.’
Ferriter was silent for a long time before saying, ‘Oh shit. The arm.’
‘I think so.’
She frowned. ‘He was using the arm to blackmail her?’
‘I don’t know. But that’s why it was there. A signal she would understand.’
Ferriter put her head in her hands. ‘Oh Jesus. No. So she knew Abir Stein was dead all along?’
‘That’s the only way it makes sense to me.’
‘She was there with us, saying she didn’t know where he was. She lied?’
They leaned forward in their seats, listening for any news of what was happening at Dungeness. There were so many messages on the radio it was hard to figure out what was going on. It was obvious that a huge operation was unfolding. They were calling in units from neighbouring counties now. As they approached the tip of the south coast, the scale of it was becoming clear. Cupidi stared out of the window. The coastline was alive with blue lights. There were dozens of police cars parking up along the Lydd road. A helicopter hovered, blowing green reeds flat.
They bumped down the track towards the lighthouses, to find Astrid Miller’s cottage surrounded by police vehicles. The Tesla was parked at the back, by the French window facing the sea, where it couldn’t be seen from the main road. Uniformed police teemed around the place. Their car wheels crunched on the dry stones and came to a halt.
‘Oh Christ. I told her to go home . . .’
*
Astrid Miller was sitting on the back step of her cottage, with her arm around Zoë, who looked paler than usual.
Cupidi ran towards her, bare feet on the hard ground.
‘She’s OK,’ said Astrid, looking up with a smile. ‘Your daughter is an amazing girl.’
‘Yes, she is,’ said Cupidi. ‘Now step away from her, please.’
Astrid released her, shocked.
Zoë stood and flung her arms round her mother. ‘Why are they all sitting around, Mum? He’s got Bill,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘The man. He’s got Bill.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Astrid, standing too. ‘I couldn’t help it. He’s insane.’
‘Who’s insane?’
An officer was talking into his lapel. ‘No sign of either of them here.’
‘Because he’s not here,’ shouted Zoë. ‘They ran that way. I told you over and over.’
The radio crackled. ‘Confirm suspect and hostage not on site.’
‘Who?’ said Cupidi, struggling to understand what had happened. ‘Hostage?’
‘Allan, of course,’ said Astrid.
Cupidi blinked. ‘Allan Mulligan? Your security man?’
The constable interjected. ‘Woman here said the man, Allan Mulligan, attempted to take her hostage.’
‘That’s right,’ said Astrid. ‘He killed Abir. It was him. He was on the run from the police but he thought he’d be safe here. When he heard the sirens he took a knife, tried to make a break for it.’ She stopped. ‘Have either of you got a cigarette? I’m supposed to have given up . . .’
‘Go on.’
‘He just grabbed me and ordered me to come with him. I’m sorry. This sounds so crazy. He threatened me with the knife. I had no choice. And then when I got outside there was this man th
ere—’
‘Bill,’ interrupted Zoë, still clinging on to her mother.
‘Were you there too?’ Cupidi said.
Zoë nodded.
‘But I told you to go home. I told you.’ Cupidi realised she was shouting.
Zoë released her. ‘Bill was in danger. I could tell. You said I was to go home and lock the door. That meant he was walking towards something awful, so I went to warn him, but just as I was getting close, that man came out with this woman –’ she nodded towards Astrid Miller – ‘and he had a knife. And she started screaming at us that she was a hostage. It was scary, Mum. But Bill was so calm. He stepped forward and told the man he should trade places with her.’
Her daughter had been that close to the killer. Cupidi had just been with the two boys who were Zoë’s age; she had no idea whether they would live or not.
‘The man . . . He persuaded Allan to take him instead of me,’ Astrid explained. ‘He seemed to know Allan.’
They were in the police together, Cupidi realised.
‘I mean . . . I would have gone. But he was amazing. He’s a total hero. He saved my life, I think.’
‘Bill recognised him,’ said Zoë. ‘Called him by name. He told him how he knew it round here, every inch of it. He was so calm and cool. He said he knew where to disappear. And the man knew Bill had been convicted of murder. I think that made the man trust him.’
It would make sense, thought Cupidi. A man with no knowledge of this area wouldn’t stand a chance.
‘Bill told me, “Don’t worry.” It was strange . . .’
Ferriter interrupted, pushing through the uniforms to confront her hero. ‘You. What did he have on you?’
Astrid Miller blanched. ‘I don’t know what you mean?’
Ferriter’s hands and face were still flecked with Moon’s blood. She looked wild. ‘We have seen the text you sent him. You were giving him money. You drove him here in your car. You went to meet him in West View Road.’
‘Not now, Jill. This is not the time.’
‘He was armed. I had no choice.’
‘Don’t give me that,’ said Ferriter, shaking. Her voice rose to a shout. ‘Don’t you, of all people, give me that shit.’
Cupidi moved in to address the millionaire before Ferriter could say more. ‘Astrid Miller. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence . . .’
Astrid Miller looked aghast. ‘This is wrong. You’re making a mistake. You don’t understand.’
‘Today . . .’ Ferriter faced up to her, nose to nose. ‘Today has been the worst day of my fucking life. You have no idea how much I understand.’
Cupidi took Ferriter by the arm and pulled her gently away. ‘You need to step back, Constable Ferriter. You need to calm down. You’re contaminated with evidence from the last scene. We need to let someone else take her in.’
When she’d finished cautioning Astrid Miller, Cupidi ordered a constable to detain her.
‘You do actually know who she is, don’t you?’ the constable said.
‘Oh yes. We know who she bloody is,’ said Ferriter.
‘Mum?’ said Zoë. ‘Where are your shoes, Mum? We need to go and look for Bill.’
‘You’re making a huge mistake,’ Miller was saying.
Another constable stepped forward and said, ‘There’s a full search going on. All the marshes and ponds up to the Lydd road. Never seen anything like it. Every spare copper in three counties is headed here.’
*
The three of them walked slowly down the road, back to their house, past William South’s empty bungalow, Cupidi and Ferriter picking their way cautiously in their bare feet.
‘You should be looking for him,’ complained Zoë.
‘It doesn’t work like that, love. There are experts out there.’ Cupidi heard the car behind them first, looked round, and recognised the unmarked Audi coming towards her.
‘Here we go,’ she said.
McAdam pulled up alongside them. ‘Did I get that right? You’ve just detained Astrid Miller?’ He stared at Ferriter: blood on her skin and clothes, toes poking through holes in her tights.
‘She knew Abir Stein was dead all along,’ said Cupidi.
‘Christ. Sure you’ve enough to justify it?’
‘Oh yes. Any news on Moon?’
‘Nothing so far.’
‘What about the boys?’
‘The one who was stabbed is stable. The paramedics got to him before he’d lost too much blood. The other is OK. He’d been given some drug. His mother was dead at the scene, though. This man, who did this . . . he’s out there?’
‘Alan Mulligan,’ said Cupidi.
‘What?’
’The man who did this. It’s Mulligan.’
The blood left McAdam’s face. ‘Oh Christ. So he’s been pumping our officers for intelligence all along? He’s been following every step.’
Cupidi nodded.
‘How easy would it be to get away?’ How easy would it be to get away?’
‘Depends how well you know the land.’
DI McAdam scanned the flat horizon. ‘And he’s with Bill South?’
Beyond the southern tip of the promontory where they stood lay twelve square miles of uninterrupted scrubland extending in a quadrant from the north to the west. Some of it was deep lakes; old gravel pits that had flooded with water. Wartime bunkers dotted the land. A haze of low trees blocked the long view, interrupted by the electricity pylons that marched away to the higher ground beyond the marshes. It was a land made to get lost in.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Ferriter volunteered to cook. She had showered and was wearing a plain khaki shirt of Zoë’s. ‘I just need something to do, to keep my mind off it.’
When Ferriter complained about Cupidi’s knives being blunt, the place went quiet for a minute, and all you could hear was the sound of the police helicopter overhead. It was dark outside now, a beam of light sweeping across the broad flatland.
Mulligan was ex-police, but before that, it turned out he had been in the army. Even without South’s knowledge, he would know how to hide in a landscape like this.
‘Bloody noise,’ Ferriter said. ‘Is there a radio?’
Zoë switched on some pop music.
When the meal was served, Cupidi sat at the head of the table trying to eat, but she wasn’t hungry. When she looked up, nobody else was either.
Ferriter gave up on her plate and started looking at her phone. ‘They’ve got an army team in, apparently, to help with the search. Think like he does, I expect.’
‘He could be anywhere,’ said Zoë. ‘There are so many places.’
According to the local news, they had begun checking the empty properties along the shoreline to eliminate them, while strengthening a perimeter from the Dungeness Road in the north, to Jury’s Gap Road in the west: around fifteen square miles.
‘He’ll head for cover,’ said Zoë.
Cupidi turned to her. ‘What cover?’
‘The only real cover there is. All the scrubland up by the reserve and to the east.’
‘Is that where you would hide?’
‘That’s the bird reserve,’ Zoë said, frowning. ‘That’s too obvious. What about the sunken woods?’
Years ago they had dug shingle from a rough circle of land, exposing thin soil. Sallows and a few birches had taken root, growing into a small tangled woodland, stunted by the wind that buffeted the flatland. It would be a good place to hide, but only for a while. If he was there, it was small enough to throw a cordon around.
‘But he said the strangest thing as he was going. I was trying to tell you.’
Cupidi and Ferriter looked at each other.
‘What did he say, love?’
‘He said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be long.”’
‘He meant “I won’t be long”.’
‘That’s what it sounded like. But it wasn’t. He said, “I’ll be long.” It was kind of sad, the way he said it. Like he was going a
way again. But he said it looking right at me.’
‘Do you think it might have been a hint?’
‘I don’t know.’
The music on the radio paused, the news came on.
‘Police are hunting a man who stabbed a twenty-nine-year-old policeman . . .’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘. . . A woman was also found dead in the house. The sergeant and another teenage boy are in intensive care.’
‘Switch it off,’ snapped Ferriter.
Zoë’s mouth had formed an ‘O’.
Cupidi looked at her. ‘What?’
Zoë jumped up from the table, flapping her arms up and down. ‘Oh my God! I’m so stupid. Long Pits. That’s what he was trying to tell me.’
‘Where?’ said Ferriter.
‘Long Pits. We’ve got to go there. I wasted all that time. He’s been waiting for us but I was too thick to get it.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes. “I’ll be long.” Not “I won’t be long”, or “I’ll be back”. I’ll – be – long.’
Long Pits. From the south, where they were, where the operations control centre was based, you wouldn’t even know it was there. From this angle, even if you could see the three-quarter-mile long scrape in the shingle, it looked small and insignificant.
Cupidi stood. ‘Wait here with Jill,’ she said, putting on a nylon jacket. ‘And lock the door behind me.’
*
She ran the whole way from the cottages to the control centre. The helicopter was far to the west, beyond the power station, making slow methodical passes over the shooting ranges.
As she passed the Britannia Inn, a pair of soldiers stopped her, shining a torch into her eyes.
‘Police.’ Cupidi held up her ID.
She ran on, past the line of shacks. What if he’s already outside the cordon? He would be waiting for the right time. Round here, best chance is to hunker down. The moment you’re out in the open, you’re easier to spot. But it was dark now. He’d want to use the cover to make a break for it.
They had set up floodlights around the incident unit; a white Mercedes van, with orange and yellow fluorescent markings on the side.