by Adam Carter
Dominic glanced to Clarissa, who looked away.
Hart noticed Clarissa’s pendent then, hanging about her neck. Stoker had mentioned it, along with the silver bracelet she wore, and something clicked in her mind. She had been wondering why these people had come to Barrowville, why they had felt the need to hide. They were clearly on the run from something, and if Dominic had some convenient jewellery to give to the girl he was courting, there was only one logical answer.
“You robbed a jewellery shop,” Hart said before she could stop herself. Since she had said that much, she continued. “You robbed a jewellers and ran through Barrowville, intending to only stay the night. Now you’re stuck and probably looking at a charge of murder.”
“We didn’t kill anyone,” Dominic said.
“Except for Joe. Is that how you’re going to split your profits, Dominic? A four-way split, until you decide to cave in the heads of your partners? Or maybe when you took a shine to Clarissa you figured one of the others had to go. Was it a random choice, Dominic? Could poor old Joe have been any of these others?”
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Dominic said. “You’re trying to turn my boys against me, I can see that. Joe wanted out. He wanted to betray us, to give himself up. So yeah, I hit him. I didn’t mean to kill him, just shut him up. Then, when he died, we figured we had to hide the body.”
Clarissa gasped. Hart knew she had genuinely believed Dominic when he had told her Joe had fallen and died accidentally. Hart had been a teenage girl one time but was always too busy to be young and in love. She understood the principle, however. So long as the group hadn’t actually done anything illegal since Joe’s death, Clarissa would be in the clear.
“You’re such a nice man,” Hart said. “So, you want a tractor. Anything else? A bag of groceries from Clarissa’s shop?”
“Don’t make fun of me,” Dominic warned, waving his knife, his baseball bat in his other hand, by his side. “Just get me that tractor.”
“Sure, all right. First let the boy go.”
“What?”
“You want the tractor, fine. But I need a show of faith. You have two hostages, you don’t need them both. Let the boy go and you still have the priest. I get the boy, you get the tractor.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean no? You intend on letting him go eventually. I mean, you’re not going to hurt him anyway.”
“Get me that tractor or I’ll show you how much I can hurt him.”
It had been the response Hart had wanted. If Clarissa had been in any doubt as to her new boyfriend’s intentions, threatening to kill her brother should have expelled them. She did not risk a glance at Clarissa and was thankful the girl did not react in any way. It was possible Clarissa was so callous that she did not care what happened to her brother, but Hart had known her for a long time and could not believe that for a moment.
“All right, I’ll go enquire,” Hart said. “It might take a while to find one and get one here, though. I’m telling you, those things aren’t designed to travel through snow. No sane farmer tends his fields when it’s snowing.”
“Stop giving me lip, woman, and get me that tractor.”
She could see he was on the verge of snapping and decided she had pushed him far enough. She could probably get him a tractor fairly easily, but was loath to give it him. She would have to think of something along the way, but at least she had bought herself some time.
“Let him go,” Clarissa said, and Hart froze, hoping the girl wouldn’t be stupid enough to confront him now.
“What?” Dominic rounded on her. “You too?”
“He’s my brother, Dom. Let him go with her.”
“He’s my hostage, of course I’m not going to let him go.”
“You’re not going to hurt him.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do. What is it with women telling me what to do?”
Suddenly Hart could see what Dominic’s main problem was and felt perhaps it would have been better for Stoker to have come in her place after all.
Clarissa had started towards him, seemingly oblivious to the knife he was flashing around. There was confusion in her face, but there was also anger. Clarissa was a young woman and if there was one thing young women did not like it was men playing their heartstrings. Hart briefly wondered whether Clarissa had slept with him yet, whether that would make things worse. Then she realised things probably could not get much worse.
“Everything you’ve told me has been a lie,” Clarissa said. “Everything.”
“Most things,” Dominic said snidely. “There’s a difference. Now get back there and shut up.”
Clarissa lunged for him before anyone could stop her and Dominic easily pushed her away. Hart watched his arm come around, saw the knife flash, and reacted. Throwing herself at him, Hart grabbed the wrist holding the knife, twisted it and forced the blade from his grip. Dominic screamed in pain even as, on reflex, he brought his left arm around. It all happened so quickly Hart did not even see the motion until she felt something hard slam into her side. She released him, falling back, Dominic’s free fist smashing into her face and sending her sprawling.
An explosion of sounds erupted about her as Hart fought to crawl from her attacker. She could hear shouts of panic and fear and anger, could feel her head pounding with pain even as she tasted the blood of her split lip. Her brain was hazing as she watched the wraithlike figure of Dominic approach her, hefting his baseball bat, and she felt a bizarre relief that he had not thought to collect his knife.
Placing her feet beneath her, Hart charged for him, catching him about the waist and pushing the both of them backwards. But Dominic did not fall. Whether it was fury or the gym or drugs or desperation, Dominic’s body held a strength Hart simply could not match and he shrugged off her grip, spinning with his bat and smashing it with all his might against the side of her head.
Hart fell, her mind reeling, her brain screaming at her to get up. She could see Dominic towering over her. He grunted, spat at her and brought his bat around over his head. She could see he really didn’t like women telling him what to do.
Her mind worked on instinct as she drew her extendable metal baton and swung it at him. The weapon caught him on the shin and arrested his downward thrust. Hart forced herself to her feet, even though her brain was insisting the whole church was moving around her, and swung at him again with the weapon even as she attempted to draw her pepper spray from her pocket.
Dominic moved far more quickly than Hart believed possible and her hand was suddenly throbbing with pain, the spray clattering way. He swung the bat as though he was semi-professional and Hart knew he had good practice in using it on anyone who annoyed him. Concentrating on her baton, Hart kept an eye on the baseball bat, determining when her opening would come.
A hand closed upon her throat and she realised she had once more underestimated the man’s speed. She could hear Clarissa sobbing, could hear the priest shouting, but it was all a jumbled mess. As Dominic held her in the air, she struggled to breathe and felt her throat collapse. Staring down into the manic eyes of a killer, Detective Hart knew she had at last faced a proper criminal.
As black spots sliced through her vision, she thought about Sue Stoker and of how against real criminals, the police did not always win.
She blacked out, oblivious to anything further the monster could do to her.
CHAPTER TEN
Detective Hart had been gone a long time and Stoker was beginning to worry. Thankfully there was no way he was going to just wait around for Hart to solve the problem alone and had stumbled across what he considered to be a secret weapon. Holding it firmly in both arms, Stoker approached the church and decided he would have to help Hart whether she wanted it or not. He paused only momentarily to leave something just outside the church door, hoping it would be enough to tip the balance in their favour.
Entering the church, Stoker quickly assessed the situation. Confusion hung heavy in the air, along with the u
nmistakable sharp tang of spilled blood. Panic rose in Stoker, although he fought it down. He could see three men arguing. All were armed with knives and baseball bats, and none of them seemed in a good mood for negotiation. Sitting on the front pew he could see Tony Millar consoling his weeping sister. To the side crouched Father Bishop, huddled over a bleeding form and attempting to stem the wounds with cloths and holy water.
Felicity Hart was barely conscious. Her clothes were torn, her chest stained with blood, and there was a nasty gash to the side of her head which was spilling blood everywhere. Stoker forced himself not to look at her too much because he knew he had to concentrate on Dominic and his criminal friends.
When they saw Stoker strolling towards them, they stopped arguing. The man with the beard stepped forward, a range of emotions to his eyes. Stoker instantly pegged him for their leader, which meant he had to be Dominic. Only the group’s leader would have drawn Clarissa into their fold. Stoker tightened his grip on the secret weapon in his arms.
“Bruno,” Dominic whispered.
“Nice dog,” Stoker said. “I reasoned this was the only thing you cared about in your whole life, Dominic, so let’s talk.”
“Give him to me.”
“Or not. Let the kids go.”
“Give me my …”
“No.” Stoker did not shout, but his voice carried well in the high ceiling of the church hall. “The Millars,” he said forcefully. “They walk free right now or I walk out myself and take Bruno here to the pound.”
“I …”
“No negotiation. Kids. Out.”
Dominic’s face twisted but Stoker knew he had him. “Out,” Dominic said. When they did not move, he shouted the word and they scrambled to their feet.
As they passed Stoker, he gave Tony a nod. He could see confusion in Clarissa’s eyes and was grateful the girl had come to her senses. He could not see either of them was injured, which was at least one good thing. He heard the door close behind him, which meant he was left with only Hart and the priest to set free.
“Now,” Dominic said, “give me my dog.”
“Not so fast,” Stoker said.
“But you said …”
“I didn’t say anything. Father, how’s Liz?”
“Not good,” Bishop replied. “She’s conscious, but that animal hit her pretty bad. We need to get her to a hospital.”
“She goes,” Stoker told Dominic.
“No. She stays.”
“She goes or I don’t make any deals.”
“Looks to me,” Dominic said, “you love her as much as I love Bruno. The priest can go if you like, but the cop stays.”
It was not what Stoker wanted at all, but it saved one more hostage. “All right.”
“No,” Bishop said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Stoker looked at him.
“I’m serious,” Bishop said. “I’ve known this girl since she was knee-high, I’m not leaving her here to bleed to death. Just pretend I’m not here,” he said to Stoker. To Dominic he said, “That would be right about the same time you’re pretending this isn’t a house of God.”
Stoker had not had any respect for religion since the death of his daughter, but felt a great deal of warmth in that moment for Father Bishop. He realised he still didn’t even know the man’s Christian name.
“Right,” Stoker said. “So, now we have ourselves a situation, Dominic. I’m sure this wasn’t precisely what you wanted when you came here. But then Barrowville’s not exactly what anyone expects, is it? We city folk have a strange conception of small, rural communities. Everyone knows each other’s names, each other’s business, right? Strangers walk through the door and everyone stops and looks up?” He laughed. “Strange thing about Barrowville is some of that’s actually true.”
“I want a tractor.”
“The other thing … you want a what?”
On the floor, Hart wheezed a laugh, blood flecking her lips. “He wants to ride out on a tractor, taking his jewels with him.”
“Ride out on a … that’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard.” However, Hart had also mentioned jewels, and that was something Stoker should have realised sooner. Dominic and his friends had clearly robbed a jewellers before coming to Barrowville. It was good Hart had already figured that out, but right at that moment Stoker had other things on his mind: he could pat her on the back later.
“My dog,” Dominic said again. Stoker could see he was becoming irate and decided it would be safer to let Bruno down.
Slowly, Stoker set him to the floor, but Bruno made no move to run to his master.
“Get over here,” Dominic barked at the animal. Bruno seemed to prefer it with Stoker. It seemed Dominic loved Bruno more than Bruno loved Dominic, which backed up something Stoker had learned lately. There was more to taking care of a dog than buying it food and getting your new girlfriend to take it for walks. Dominic was a domineering man with intense anger issues and Hart was not the only one who had felt the brunt of his aggressions.
He was suddenly glad Hart had left him behind. He had taken the opportunity to accomplish so much.
“I don’t think he likes you,” Stoker said. “Sorry. Anyway, you want a tractor?”
“What have you done to him?” Dominic demanded.
“Done to him? Nothing. Bruno just has good taste. What do you beat him with, by the way? My expert says it’s a stick.”
“Bruno. Come here, boy.”
Bruno backed away and Stoker knew this was the moment of truth. The dog was scared of its master and didn’t want to be anywhere near him, but that had not been enough for Stoker. That was why Stoker had left some dog food in the church doorway. He needed Bruno to run in a specific direction. For the entire plan to hinge on the actions of a dog was not a sign of good planning, but it was all Stoker had.
“Bruno,” Dominic said, still moving towards the dog. Bruno continued to retreat, then broke into a loping run and headed for the door. Stoker noticed Dominic’s two accomplices were uncertain what to do. From looking at them, he got the impression they had held their doubts about Dominic for a while now. Killing Joe had not helped their indecision any, and Stoker’s hope was that if he could take Dominic out of the picture, the other two might just surrender.
Bruno had decided to cower against one of the pews and while Stoker was silently urging the mutt on, he did not seem to want to go any farther. Dominic caught up with him and cuffed the animal with the back of his hand. Stoker judged the distance between Dominic and the door to be around ten metres. It was greater than he had wanted, but it would have to do.
“Now!” Stoker shouted.
The door exploded inwards and Dominic physically jumped. Surging into the church came two devils: angry, fierce beasts with fires burning behind their eyes. Dominic screamed and attempted to bring up his bat, but the dogs were too swift and were upon him. Stoker winced as he saw one lock its jaws about Dominic’s wrist and did not look to see what the other was doing.
He turned to the other two men and said, “I’d give up right about now if I were you.”
The two men looked at one another and dropped their weapons, placing their hands behind their heads.
Rushing to Hart’s side, Stoker could see Bishop had done some good work with tending her injuries. He clearly had some experience in the field and for this was Stoker thankful. She managed a smile and winced as she tried to get to her feet.
“Easy,” Stoker cautioned.
“She’s not as bad as I made out,” Bishop admitted. “Dominic was intent on beating her to death, so I convinced him she was near to it. Even Dominic could see it was a bad idea to kill a detective, so he backed off.”
“Looks like you have things well in hand,” Hart said. “Those Dobermanns are familiar.”
Just then a cranky old hermit walked into the church and shouted for his dogs to come back to him. Stoker was pleased to see Bruno go with them. Dominic was left on the floor, shivering in shock of the sudden
attack.
“That was a little unconventional,” Hart said.
Stoker shrugged. “I’ve learned to work with what I have, Liz. I went back to speak with Truman about Bruno. Him being an expert on dogs, I thought he might be able to offer something. He was only too eager to come. Turns out the old grouch is an actual dog-lover, instead of just being someone who beats animals when they don’t do what he tells them.”
“Community spirit,” Hart said, unsteady on her feet but determined not to be held up by the priest. “We all pull together when we need to. Should we be cuffing these guys?”
“They can run if they like, but the Dobermanns might rip out their throats.”
“True enough.” She paused and he could sense she wanted to say something but was not certain whether she should. He hoped she felt herself close enough to him to say anything she pleased. “You did well,” she said at last. “Thanks for saving my life.”
“Welcome.”
“You’re a good negotiator, John. I know you’ll never get over what happened with your daughter, but if you weren’t here, today, this would have ended very badly for me.”
He knew what she was trying to say, but it was an awkward thing to voice. She was telling him he had allowed someone else to negotiate last time and Sue had died. This time he had done it himself and had saved a life, and in the process perhaps even saved something of himself. With Hart he did not have to hear all her words to understand her meaning. They understood one another perfectly.
By this point, Constable Manson had entered the church and was taking Dominic into custody. He motioned for the other two men to accompany him and with a wary look at the giant dogs they complied. Truman sniffed at them as they passed, and Stoker imagined that was a dog’s equivalent of swearing or something.
“Thanks, Mr Truman,” Stoker said. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”
Truman shrugged. “Not many people call me Truman, Stoker. Eee-aye-eee-aye-oh and all that. You all right, Miss Hart?” He spoke as though he did not care, but if that was the case he would not have asked at all.