Leaning over, he pulled the door of the cabinet next to his bed open. His clothes were neatly folded inside, his shoes on the bottom shelf. The ward was quiet – not a single uniform in sight. He pulled at the tightly tucked bedlinen to allow himself to slide his legs out from underneath the sheets and sat upright on the edge of the bed. Gingerly he placed his feet on the cold linoleum and stood, swaying slightly, his head swimming. After a few moments he felt no steadier but was determined to press on. Russell reached down and retrieved his clothes. Scanning the ward he could see that all was still quiet. He clutched his bundle to his chest and made his shaky way along the room to where he assumed the toilets were. Luck was with him and he wasn’t spotted entering the cubicle. After a few minutes, he came out again, fully dressed, his trilby pulled down over the bandage on his head. He’d checked in the mirror before exiting and the white cloth barely showed beneath the brim.
Leaving the hospital unchallenged he went out through the front doors and stood on the pavement outside the entrance, breathing heavily. He realised he’d been holding his breath as he made his escape. It wasn’t so much the consultant – the man was prepossessing and full of his own pomposity, but Russell was used to that with the Super, it was the wrath of the matron he feared most. He was sure that her silver tongue belied a much tougher persona – less gentle Irish colleen, more avenging harridan. He walked round the corner as quickly as his befuddled condition would allow then paused, uncertain of what he should do. He still felt a little dizzy. He didn’t think he was concussed but wasn’t sure he could cope with the train journey back to Collinghurst. Then a thought dawned on him, not quite a bolt from the blue although it did seem blindingly obvious. But in his muddled state he had only just thought of it. Dicky Merriman! He was stationed in London. Now where was it? He tried to ignore the hammering in his head and searched his memory to remember when he’d been told the previous evening where his friend was based. But the headache was winning and the location just wouldn’t come. He closed his eyes and pressed his eyelids with his finger and thumb. He stood for some time while the battle between the hammers and the logic fought it out in his pounding head. Nothing was coming. He sighed and took his hand away. As he slowly opened his eyes a figure, standing in front of him, swam into view.
‘Are you all right, sir? Can I help you?’ The speaker was wearing a dark blue uniform, his face was young and unlined and he had a tall helmet on his head.’
‘Constable! Am I glad to see you.’
‘Sir?’
‘Is your station close by?’
‘Not far, why?’
‘I don’t suppose you know a Dicky Merriman?
The young policeman pulled himself up and puffed out his chest. ‘Do you mean DCI Merriman?’
‘That’s him. He’s a detective in the Met. I desperately need to speak to him.’
The face of the constable, who had appeared sympathetic at first, hardened. ‘And why would that be, sir?’
Russell decided he’d better explain himself. ‘He’s a friend of mine.’
‘That may be true, but if you have something to report I suggest I escort you to the police station. The desk sergeant will be able to help you.’
Russell’s head was swimming. He felt close to fainting. ‘No, you don’t understand. Just a minute.’ He reached into an inside pocket, fumbled around and finally produced his warrant card.
When he saw it the PC’s face relaxed. ‘Ah, I see, Inspector. Would you like me to take you to him?’
‘Yes please. Do you know where he’ll be?’ He was starting to feel faint again.
‘I do, as it happens. He’s actually at my local nick.’ The constable could see that Russell was fading so he took his elbow. ‘Come on, it’s just round the corner.’
-0-
‘Sonny. What are you doing here?’ Merriman looked a little closer at his friend and concern clouded his face. ‘Here, take a seat. You look terrible.’
Russell sank gratefully on to a chair. He gave a thin smile. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute. I just feel a little faint.’
‘Constable. Get the Inspector a glass of water. Sonny. What on earth has happened to you?’
Russell explained as much as he could.
‘You shouldn’t have left the hospital – not if you’ve got concussion.’
‘But Isobel. Her life is in danger.’
Merriman smiled. ‘I knew there would be a woman.’
No. You don’t understand.’ The constable returned with a tumbler and a couple of aspirin. Russell thanked him, swallowed the tablets and took a gulp of water. ‘I really have to get back to Collinghurst,’ he pleaded.
‘But why?’ Merriman said. ‘Surely there are other officers who can look after your case?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Russell went on to explain about the Frenchman Salle, the Nazi plunder, Isobel’s abduction and the fishermen. And how Stout and Parker didn’t believe the seriousness of it.
‘It sounds like an awful lot evidence is stacking up. And you say your Super and this DI Parker…’
‘Bonnie Parker,’ Russell smiled. ‘About as ineffectual as his namesake was dangerous.’
Merriman grinned back. ‘… You say you can’t persuade them to take it seriously?’
‘Nope. They’re not interested.’
‘Sounds like you’re going to have to do this on your own.’
‘Not entirely on my own. I’ve got a brilliant DC, Johnny Weeks.’
‘Well perhaps we’d better get a message to him.’
-0-
‘Constable. I’m speaking to you.’
‘S-sorry?’ Weeks looked up to see DI Parker looking down at him, a cigarette clamped in the corner of his mouth and a scowl on his face.
‘I said, I need you – now.’
The young DC had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t seen Parker come up to his desk. ‘Sir? What for?’
‘I want you to drive for me.’
‘But what about DC Barrow?’
Parker tutted. ‘In case you’d forgotten, he’s off sick.’
‘Can’t someone else do it for you – sir?’
‘Why,’ Parker sneered. ‘Is there somewhere else you should be?’
‘No, sir. I suppose not.’
‘Well get your arse in gear and find me a car.’
‘Sir.’ Weeks waited until he had gone and stood up. The terrier, who had stayed out of the DI’s way came out from under the desk. ‘Come on Aggie. I’m afraid you won’t be coming this time. I’m sure Nettie will be glad to look after you.’
Weeks crossed the office to where the WPC was seated. ‘Of course I will, Johnny. But what about tonight?’ She looked earnestly at him.
Weeks sighed. ‘I dunno. Depends how long Bonnie plans to keep me.’
‘What does he want you for, anyway?’
‘No idea. Clyde Barrow is off sick so he needs a lackey I guess. Look, I’ll get back as soon as I can. But don’t go anywhere near Compass Point without me. Understand?’
‘Of course not.’ Nettie’s face was without expression but there was a sparkle in her grey eyes.
-0-
‘Where are we going, sir?’ Weeks was wrestling with the steering wheel of the Ford Pilot he’d signed out. It had been well used, if not abused, but it was all that was available from the car pool. More familiar with a conventional floor shift he’d struggled with the column gear change too, something Parker found irritating.
‘For Christ’s sake, constable. You’re supposed to be changing gear, not stirring a bleedin’ Christmas pudding.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ he said, as he crunched the gears yet again.
Parker slumped back into the well-worn seat, a broken spring sticking in his back making him even more grouchy than usual. ‘Give me strength.’ Then, ‘Turn right here.’ Weeks only noticed the junction at the last minute and swung the steering wheel over hard. The DI was thrown against the door. ‘Careful you bloody numbskull!’
Weeks was about to reply but gritted his teeth instead. After a few minutes he wondered where they were going, although he had a sneaking suspicion. He unclamped his jaws. ‘Are we heading for the golf club, sir?’
Parker guffawed. ‘Ha! Well deduced. We’ll make a detective of you yet.’
‘Why are we going there, sir?’
‘One of their silver cups has gone missing.’
Weeks was incredulous. ‘Is that all? Surely one of the uniform boys could deal with it…’
Parker turned towards him, his eyes narrowed. ‘The Super asked me to look into it personally. Not that it’s any of your business.’
Weeks turned the car into the car park and pulled in between a two-tone grey Jaguar MkVIII saloon and a gleaming red Austin-Healey 100 sports car. He turned the key and switched off the engine, then made to get out of the car. The DI put a hand on his arm. ‘No, you stay here. I can manage.’
‘But sir…’
‘I said I can manage.’ Parker opened the door and heaved himself out of his seat. ‘Stay here until I come back.’ Weeks watched as the DI rubbed at his back then brushed his hands down his crumpled suit, before making his way across to the clubhouse. Weeks gripped the steering wheel and let out a heartfelt groan. He was struggling to contain his fury. Why the hell did Bonnie need him to drive all the way out here when he could have done it himself? Now he was going to have to sit here stewing when he was supposed to be going to Compass Point with Nettie. If only DI Russell was around, things would be different. He just wished he knew where he was.
-0-
‘DCI Merriman here. Can I speak to DC Weeks please?’
‘I’m sorry, sir, he’s gone out with DI Parker.’
Merriman put his hand over the telephone mouthpiece. ‘Sorry, Sonny. He’s not there. Gone off somewhere with Parker.’
‘Can you ask who you’re speaking to?’ Russell asked.
Merriman spoke into the telephone again. ‘Are you the desk sergeant?’
‘Yes, sir. Wickstead, sir.’
‘I heard that,’ Russell said. ‘Let me speak to him.’
‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Okay.’ Merriman handed him the receiver.
‘Wickstead?’
‘Is that you Sonny?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in London.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m okay. I’ve had a bit of an accident. Listen. Where’s Johnny gone?’
‘He went off with Bonnie Parker.’
Russell sighed. ‘Any idea when he’ll be back?’
‘Afraid not, Sonny.’ Wickstead paused. ‘Not sure if I should tell you but I think something is going on between him and that WPC – Sharpe.’
‘Oh? Why do you say that?’
The desk sergeant cleared his throat. ‘I overheard them earlier. I might have grasped the wrong end of the stick but apparently they’ve arranged to drive over to Compass Point in Weeks’s car later.’
‘Was that all you heard?’
‘Well there was something about somebody else – Isobel someone?’
‘Isobel Bailey?’
‘That’s it.’
‘What was said?’ There was an urgency in his voice.
‘I didn’t hear it all I’m afraid. Let me think...’ The line crackled. Then he spoke again. ‘Nettie said “poor Isobel Bailey” then Johnny mentioned something about loot. That’s all I can remember, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s all very strange.’
‘Hang on, a time was mentioned. Maybe it’s significant.’
‘What time?’
‘Seven-thirty.’
‘Right, thanks.’ Russell could feel himself starting to fade. ‘I have to go now. Bye.’ He handed the phone back to Merriman and slumped into a chair. He sat staring for a few minutes then spoke. ‘Something’s not right, Dicky.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I just don’t see Johnny going off with Nettie – he’s not like that. I can only think they’re going to Nottery Quay for some other reason – something to do with Isobel. He looked up at his friend. ‘Dicky, I’m worried.’
Chapter 16
Dutch courage refers to courage gained from intoxication with alcohol.
DS Weeks and WPC Sharpe weren’t the only two who had been interested in Fountain’s movements. They were so intent on following his Morris Traveller earlier in the day that they hadn’t noticed the grey van shadowing them. When Weeks pulled up by the telephone box, after Fountain had turned down the track, they were oblivious to the vehicle as it continued past. Big Paul smiled to himself. His time spent befriending the fishermen at Rock-a-Nore and buying them drinks in the Dolphin had brought results. He didn’t need to go down the track – he knew about Lou Vicary’s hulk and was pretty sure he knew who would be holed up inside it. He drove on to the next junction, turned the van and headed back to Collinghurst.
‘So you think that the fishermen, Tedham and Drake, are hiding out in this wreck of a boat?’
‘Yes, I believe that’s the case.’
Salle spoke forcefully. ‘Then we should go there and get my property back.’
Paul shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’
‘Think about it. If they are there, with Fountain and the other man, it would be four against two.’
‘Yes, but I’ve got this.’ Salle picked up his gun and weighed it in his hand.
Alarm clouded Big Paul’s face. He put his hand on Salle’s wrist. ‘No, that isn’t a good idea. Listen. If we stick to the original plan I think we should be able to get your stuff back without bloodshed.’
‘What if those fishermen decide to interfere?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. I know how their minds work. I reckon they’ll try to set some sort of trap. Find a way to get the girl and keep the treasure.’
‘Then why don’t we go to this boat and confront them?’ Salle was having trouble accepting his henchman’s logic. He was used to calling the shots and didn’t like the idea of a hired hand taking over.
‘Hear me out – please.’
‘Very well. Convince me.’
‘What I suggest is that I go over to Compass Point – before the time of the meeting. I reckon that they’ll hide out somewhere nearby.’
‘What will you do, if you find them?’
‘Oh I’ll find them all right. They’re not the brightest. It shouldn’t be too hard to uncover their whereabouts and deal with them. After all, they won’t be expecting me so I’ll have the upper hand.’
‘I am not convinced,’ Salle said, shaking his head. ‘But I suppose you had better try. What is your plan?’ Furrows appeared on Big Paul’s wide forehead. When he didn’t speak immediately Salle barked: ‘You do have a plan?’
‘Well, sort of…’
‘Sort of? What does that mean?’
‘I thought I’d go over to Compass Point just before it gets dark and snoop around.’
‘Snoop around? Who do you think you are, Hercule Poirot?’
Unruffled by Salle’s scepticism he went on: ‘It’s not a big place. There aren’t many spots they can hide and have a good view of the quay. I’ll go just as dusk is gathering, park the van out of sight and continue on foot. I’m pretty sure I’ll find them easily. Then I can meet you after I’ve dealt with them.’
‘You’re taking the van?’ Salle’s eyes widened with alarm. ‘But what about the woman?’
‘You can bring her over in the Citroën, can’t you?’
‘Certainly not!’ Salle shouted.
Big Paul was taken aback by his boss’s vehemence. ‘But why not? It’ll be dark, no one will see the car.’
‘Sacre bleu! It’s not that.’ He rubbed his hands through his hair.
Paul was baffled. ‘What is it then?’
‘If you must know I don’t want her to see
me.’
‘I don’t understand, why not?’
Salle shook his head and breathed out noisily. ‘I just don’t.’
‘Okay. What if I blindfold her before I leave?’
‘I suppose that would do,’ Salle said, grudgingly. ‘When I get there, how will I know it is Fountain?’
‘He’ll be driving a Morris Minor. Do you know what they look like?’
Salle snorted. ‘I might be a froggy but I do know my English cars.’
‘Sorry, I wasn’t doubting you.’
‘You will be there anyway, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’ The big man pulled the curtain back and peered out of the window. ‘It’ll be getting dark soon. I’ll go and deal with the woman then I’ll head off.’
-0-
‘Listen, I’ve been thinking.’ The three fishermen and Fountain were sitting around the table in the cabin of the hulk. They’d eaten and drunk their fill and were pleasantly mellow. Lou was speaking. ‘I’m not happy about what you’ve suggested.’
‘Go on,’ Tedham said, his voice tainted with suspicion.
‘The three of us, being holed up in Spratt’s shed.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Drake asked, his reedy voice echoing the seabirds outside.
‘I reckon one of us should stay with ’im,’ Lou said, pointing at Fountain.
The antique dealer squirmed in his seat. ‘D-don’t you trust me?’
‘Well…’
‘We don’t know you, do we? You ain’t one of us, after all.’
‘No, you ain’t.’
‘But you said you’d help me.’ Fountain looked and sounded pathetic.
‘I’m not suggestin’ we won’t help you,’ Lou said, ‘I just think we need some sort of insurance.’
Blood on the Strand Page 26