by Simon Hall
There was a silence. Adam, Dan, the sergeant stared down in disbelief. Of all the things they might have been expecting, a friendly sounding, waving Gibson wasn’t one.
‘Talk to him,’ whispered the sergeant. ‘He wants to talk. Always get them talking if you can. You’re covered if he tries anything.’
‘Hello,’ called Adam uncertainly, then louder. ‘Hello … Mr Gibson.’
‘Ah, Adam. Please, I think after all we’ve been through now we should be on first name terms. Please call me Edmund.’
‘Hello, Edmund,’ called Adam again, and Dan could hear the tension in his voice. Anger, awkwardness, stress, pressure, anxiety, fear, contempt, loathing, they were all in there.
‘That’s much better,’ came the reply. ‘Are you all right, Adam? You sound a little uptight. Hello to Dan too, by the way. I’m sure he’s with you. You pair are so close it’s touching. Hello, Dan!’
Dan glanced at the sergeant. ‘Go on,’ the man hissed. ‘Try to keep him talking. While he’s talking, he’s no threat.’
‘Hello, Edmund,’ called Dan, stepping forwards so he was beside Adam. He felt as if he was walking out before a firing squad. ‘Hello.’
‘Now that’s much better. The two stars of the show are on the stage. Well, three with me of course, but I was being modest. Now, may I ask, how did you find me? I tried to give you enough clues to bring you here, but not too soon. Was it the last hint I left on the quad bike that did it? I wasn’t quite sure whether I should give you that one.’
‘Yes,’ called back Dan. ‘Well, that combined with the others. I was in the Spray of Feathers and they had a big map of Dartmoor on the wall. I noticed the grid references coincided with the motorway numbers around Manchester. I should have got it sooner really.’
‘I did worry you might have,’ shouted Gibson. ‘It was a very difficult call, how much to feed you. It was the part of my plan I was most worried about. But anyway, it’s all worked out nicely hasn’t it? And here we are again, having a lovely chat, just like we did back at the leisure centre.’
An insistent, unwelcome memory surfaced in Dan’s mind. What Gibson said about their final conversation. That it would be short. He felt a growing fear churning his stomach. If Gibson decided to shoot they’d make easy targets, standing here, upright in the moonlight.
‘Ask him about Nicola,’ whispered Adam.
‘How’s Nicola?’ Dan called, trying to hide the fear in his voice.
‘She’s fine. Quite safe and very well. She’s taken all this in her stride. It’s been an adventure for her. She’s begun to get a bit upset recently, but she’s fine, don’t worry.’
‘I know you don’t mean to hurt her, Edmund,’ Dan shouted. ‘I know you’re no killer. I take it you still mean her no harm?’
‘No harm at all.’
Dan felt Adam’s foot tap his ankle. ‘He wants to talk to you, not me. Keep going on about Nicola. Try to get her freed.’
The crushing weight of responsibility was suddenly back, assailing Dan again, a flare of burning anger too. It was an effort not to turn on Adam, grab his jacket, rant into his face – “I’m only a bloody TV reporter, you’re the cops, why do I have to do this? What am I even doing here? Why make me the one who’ll decide Nicola’s fate? How will I feel if something happens to her …”
He calmed himself. He had to concentrate, couldn’t afford to make a mistake. But what to say? Standing here on Dartmoor, in the cold moonlight, in lethal danger, the life of a nine-year-old girl depending on him. Where was the inspiration, the clever words to save Nicola, and himself and Adam?
‘Err … good, Edmund,’ was all he could manage. ‘Great … I knew you wouldn’t harm her. So … err … what’ve you been up to?’
‘Are we passing pleasantries, Dan?’ came Gibson’s amused reply.
‘No … I was just wondering … where Nicola is.’
‘She’s fine, don’t worry about that.’
‘Good … so can we … err … see her?’
‘Don’t you trust me?’
‘Yes … of course … well …’
Beside him, Dan thought he heard Adam groan.
‘Of course you don’t trust me!’ called Gibson, his voice still bizarrely jolly. ‘I’m a madman, aren’t I? I’m barmy! Totally bonkers! I abduct little girls because the police shot my dog! What a nutter!’
Another whisper from Adam. ‘For Christ’s sake don’t wind him up. Get him back on to Nicola.’
Dan found he could hardly breathe to shout. ‘So … err … can we see her, Edmund? Just so we’re sure she’s OK?’
‘She’s OK, Dan. You can see her in a minute, but you’ll have to trust me for now. I think you know me well enough for that.’
‘I’m not sure I do, Edmund.’
‘Oh, come now. You must have realised I only need to make my little point. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. You’ve been through my history. I’m hardly a killer. The failed warrior. The dog lover whose one true friend was taken from him by the police. I’m not alone in losing loved ones to their bloodlust you know.’
Dan waited, didn’t know what to say. Behind him, the sergeant urged, ‘Just keep him talking.’
Dan’s throat felt very dry. He cleared it awkwardly, shouted, ‘Those other two shootings, Edmund? Bodmin and Saltash? Are they what triggered this?’
‘Spot on, Dan. I knew I could rely on you. That’s why I chose you. I’m trusting you to report why all this happened fairly to the world. Someone needs to say something about what the police are like, and I’m glad it’s been me. No one forces them to take up arms you know. They’re all volunteers. They eagerly step forward and say, “Oh yes please, give me a nice shiny gun to carry, I want to look like a real man.” They don’t get extra pay for it. They don’t get special promotions either. So there can only be one reason why a policeman wants to carry a gun, can’t there? They enjoy it and they want to use it. It’s as simple as that.’
‘But you carried a gun too, didn’t you Edmund? Isn’t that the same? You joined the army.’
‘Yes, Dan, but I’m not sure I volunteered. I was pushed into it by my father, and as you know I didn’t last long. I didn’t like what I found and got out. You can’t say that about the police. They seem to enjoy their guns all too much.’
‘Well, they are constrained by the law, Edmund,’ called Dan. ‘They can’t just go out shooting with impunity.’
A cold and mocking laugh echoed across the moonlit Coombe, a sinister sound in the still moor. It seemed to echo back and forth from the rocks, dying only reluctantly.
‘I beg to differ Dan. As you’d no doubt expect, I’ve done a little research on police shootings. They’ve killed more than thirty people in the last dozen years or so in England. Some for terrible, obviously capital offences such as being Brazilian and trying to catch a tube train – poor Jean Charles de Menezez – or carrying a table-leg home after having it mended, like Harry Stanley. And guess how many of our admirable, law-upholding police officers have been prosecuted for those innocents’ deaths, Dan?’
‘I don’t know, Edmund.’
‘I’ll give you a clue, shall I? It’s a round number. Very round in fact.’
‘None?’
‘Well done, Dan! Exactly zero. The law allows them to go about their killing with complete impunity. And that’s just for people. When they kill dogs, no one even raises an eyebrow. They have their guns and no one must spoil their fun.’
‘And it’s nothing to do with wanting to protect the public, Edmund?’ called back Dan. ‘Nothing to do with a sense of duty? Maybe the lack of prosecutions shows the law is working well. The officers had nothing to be prosecuted for. They did their duty.’
Dan sensed Adam flinch. ‘Careful,’ came a whisper from his side. ‘I told you not to wind him up.’
‘Ah, ever the professional, Dan,’ shouted Gibson. ‘Doing your job in being Devil’s Advocate and putting the opposite view to me? But what is your job now? Are you a full
y signed up quasi-policeman, or a journalist?’
Dan felt another surge of anger, tried to cap it, reminded himself a little girl’s life could depend on what he said. But Gibson sounded just like Lizzie with those snide bloody digs of hers.
Adam’s voice broke the silence. ‘I’m the police officer here, Edmund, and I’d like to know if Nicola –’
‘Shut up, Adam,’ came the sharp reply. ‘Don’t interrupt. Didn’t your parents teach you it’s rude? I’m talking to Dan.’
Adam muttered something under his breath. ‘What?’ Dan whispered from the corner of his mouth.
‘Just keep the bastard talking. Try to get him back on to Nicola.’
Dan took a long breath, called, ‘So … is that why you chose me, Edmund? Because I let you down? Because you saw how much I love Rutherford, but I can still work with the police … the people who killed Sam?’
‘Bingo, Dan! That’s it, spot on. I admire and respect you, but I don’t agree with you. So I thought you might benefit from a lesson, as well as the police. And here we all are, with our cards finally on the table.’
There was another silence. Dan thought he could see dark figures creeping around the sides of the valley near the tent, but it could have been his imagination. Next to him, Adam stood motionless, unspeaking. Dan suddenly felt very lonely, couldn’t stop the thoughts cascading through his mind. Keep Gibson talking, but how? Where’s Nicola? What the hell do I say? And what’s this lesson he’s going to teach me?
‘Anyway, as I warned you, this conversation would have to be brief and so it must be,’ came Gibson’s voice again, but different now, not chatty, no longer amused, but harder, more purposeful. Dan saw the figure move, seemed to rummage at its waist. A hand reached out and waved again, but this time there was an object in it, shiny, with a thin barrel. Another shot of fear pulsed through him.
‘This is my gun, Dan, in case there was any doubt. A beauty, isn’t she? Not as nice as the ones the police get to carry, but she does a decent job. Not as pretty or modern as their MP5s and their pistols, but she’ll do for me.’
Dan heard a hiss from behind. The sergeant. ‘Shall we take him, sir?’
‘Can you stun him?’ whispered back Adam, his eyes fixed on Gibson.
‘He’s too far away. At that range we can’t be sure to hit him and take him down with a baton round. It’ll have to be a bullet.’
‘Look, Dan, my gun,’ called Gibson again, waving it towards them. ‘And guess what I’m going to do with it?’
‘Keep him talking,’ urged the sergeant. ‘Keep him looking this way.’
‘Err … what are you going to do with it, Edmund?’ called Dan, trying to keep his voice from shaking. His heart was pounding and he felt as though he could hardly breathe. He could see tiny red dots hovering on Gibson’s chest like lethal flies, precursors of imminent death.
‘I’m going to shoot someone, Dan. And guess who it’s going to be?’
The figure raised the gun, pointed it towards them. Dan tried to make himself dive to the ground, but he was frozen, couldn’t move. He was shaking hard, at any second expecting to feel his chest burst, explode as it was punctured by a bullet, the tension inside him instantaneously released, find himself sliding slowly into dark oblivion.
‘Sir?’ hissed the sergeant to Adam. ‘Sir? Shall we take him? Sir!’
Dan was shaking helplessly, couldn’t stop himself. He felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
‘Who, Edmund?’ he managed, his voice thin, breathless. ‘Are you going to shoot me?’
No reply. Slow seconds ticked past.
‘Are you going to shoot Adam?’
Still no reply.
Dan found himself shouting. ‘Who? For God’s sake, who?’
‘Sir?’ hissed the sergeant again, but Adam was silent.
‘No!’ called Gibson sharply. ‘I’m not going to shoot you, Dan. How could I? Nor Adam, however much he might deserve it.’
He turned back towards the tent, pointed the gun down into it. ‘I’m going to shoot this little girl in here. Bye bye Nicola.’
Adam jerked into life. ‘Take him!’
‘Fire!’ barked the sergeant into his radio.
A series of cracks echoed around Evil Coombe, bounced off the silent rocks, rumbled back and forth along the valley. The dark silhouette swayed, staggered, then dropped.
Adam was away, sprinting, tripping on some gorse, stumbling, almost tumbling, righting himself, running hard towards the tent. Dan ran after him, ignoring the agonising pain from his ankle. He could hear the blood’s relentless pounding in his ears.
They reached the tent. Adam ignored the slumped, still figure, dropped to his knees and thrust his head inside.
There was a sleeping bag, some pots and pans, but otherwise it was empty. No sign of Nicola.
Adam lurched in, threw the sleeping bag aside, knocked the pots over, scrabbled at the ground sheet. There was nothing.
Dan breathed out heavily, wished his heart would stop thumping. He leaned back on his knees, fought a wave of dizziness. Adam was clawing at the ground, hitting out at the pots with a flaying arm, ripping at the sheet, panting heavily in his wild and hopeless search.
There was nothing. No sign of Nicola. Nowhere she could be hidden.
Stuck high up on the tent pole, Dan saw an envelope addressed to him. He pushed Adam’s shoulder, got no response, reached out, grabbed the detective’s flailing arms, calmed him. He took the envelope, opened it with shaking hands.
Inside were ten fifty-pound notes bundled together and a piece of paper covered with Gibson’s writing.
“My Dear Dan,
“I couldn’t resist leaving you one more note. It seemed a fitting end to our dance.
“I’m so very sorry I won’t be able to say this in person, but I wanted to bid you farewell. It’s been a pleasure. I only regret things couldn’t haven’t have turned out differently. In another life, we might have been friends.
“Have you managed to add it all up yet? It was simply about making the law bee sorry.
“The money is for Nicola to buy a pony. I promised her one and she certainly deserves it. I hope it’s some recompense for what I had to put her through. I trust you to pass it on when you find her. You’ll know how.
“My fondest regards and memories,
“Edmund.”
‘Where is she?’ cried Adam, his voice breaking with desperation. ‘Where’s Nicola? Where the fuck is she?!’
He ducked back out of the tent. Armed police officers were cautiously converging on them. ‘Has anyone seen the girl?’ Adam cried. ‘She’s not in the tent.’
One of the marksmen knelt down by Gibson’s body, checked the neck for a pulse, stood up again.
‘He’s dead,’ the man said.
‘Bollocks to him,’ barked Adam savagely. ‘I couldn’t give a shit. Have any of you seen Nicola?’
Shaking heads, murmurs. ‘Then where is she? Where the hell is she?’ Adam cried, spinning around and staring at the silvery moorland. ‘Get the helicopter back up. She must be around here somewhere. He can’t have taken her far. Get the dogs in. I want them following any scent they can find. It’s freezing. She won’t last the night out here. I don’t care that it’s dark and I don’t want to hear a word about fucking overtime. Get everyone you can and get looking for her. Now!’
‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant began dictating orders into his radio.
Another of the police officers put on a pair of gloves and checked the gun lying by the side of Gibson’s body. ‘It’s a replica,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s never fired a bullet in its life. This guy used us to commit suicide. Suicide by cop.’
Adam ignored him. ‘Dan, come here.’
Dan couldn’t prevent his mind from pleading – no more. Please, no more. Make this ordeal end.
The adrenaline was leaking away, leaving him hollow, floating, lost. His ankle stabbed hard and another warm wave of soporific tiredness took him. He could feel
his eyelids drooping, longed for the safety and warmth of his bed, the flat’s doors and windows all safely locked, the reassurance of Claire holding him, Rutherford lying on the floor beside them. He still hadn’t stopped shaking, or lost the churning in his stomach. He was sweating, despite the penetrating chill of the night. It was all he could manage not to be violently sick.
‘Look at the note again,’ rasped Adam. ‘Look at it. I said – fucking look at it!’
The detective’s venom forced Dan’s eyes on to the paper.
‘He talks about passing the money on to Nicola when we find her and we’ll know how,’ Adam panted. ‘What does that mean?’
Dan made his parched mouth find the words. ‘I think … it’s probably exactly what it says. He’s … he’s expecting us to find her. By saying we’ll know how, I’d guess he means the clues are all there in front of us again. And probably … in this note.’
Adam pointed a trembling finger. ‘Then start thinking about it. Right now! No one’s going home until we find Nicola. I’ll call Eleanor and Michael and tell them what it says. They can start work on it from their end. You keep going over it until you find anything that might help us. I’ll take any guesses, anything. Anything at all. Just come up with something. I reckon we’ve only got hours to save her.’
Adam turned and aimed a kick at Gibson’s prone body, then another, and another. A lifeless arm flinched under the wild assault.
‘You bastard,’ he hissed. ‘You evil bastard. Where is she?’
Chapter Twenty-One
THE KEYBOARD HAD BECOME keyboard had become the weapon of a murder fantasy.
“I want to kill him. I want to feel my fingers around his throat and watch him turn a beautiful blue as he gasps for air and the life ebbs out of him. I want to vent all this humiliation and rage in a wonderful murder. I want to sprinkle cyanide in the wine he loves so much and sit back, smiling as he drinks it. Then I’ll count down the last seconds and laugh myself stupid as he pitches forwards, retches, clutches his chest and dies in a slow agony.”