As he swallowed the cold water, he came to a decision.
That was it. He’d had enough of her whining.
He would be leaving for Ireland that night, just as soon as he’d despatched Rachel Moore, her partner and the annoying Melissa Braithwaite.
Deep down, he’d always known that eventually Melissa would become a liability. It was the right decision; he could travel much quicker and easier on his own.
87
2 July 1986
South Lodge, Retford
It was now approaching five thirty in the afternoon.
Outside the car, the temperature was close to twenty-seven degrees, and it felt even warmer inside. Rachel was understandably tense; she felt a single bead of sweat trickle down the back of her neck.
Tina was driving the CID car very carefully down the dirt track that led to South Lodge.
The track was potholed and dusty.
The small Ford Fiesta wasn’t designed to tackle rough terrain like this. Any one of the deep potholes could spell disaster.
Just before the car reached the clearing that housed the small stone cottage, Tina stopped the car.
She turned to Rachel and said, ‘It’s not too late to turn back. You don’t have to go through with this.’
‘Don’t you get it yet? This is exactly what I’ve got to do. This is my job. Yes, it’s dangerous, but I know if Wade’s still in there, I can catch the bastard. This is our only hope of finding Ainsworth and the two nurses, if they’re still alive.’
‘And what if they’re already dead? You’re risking your life here.’
‘I’m not discussing it anymore. I want you to pull up outside the cottage and wait in the car.’
‘What! Have you lost your mind? I’m not letting you walk in there on your own.’
‘Trust me, Tina. If Jimmy Wade’s in there, he won’t immediately attack me. He’s going to want to talk to me. He won’t be able to resist gloating, telling me how much smarter than me he is. It’s his nature. I’ll have plenty of time for backup to get in there and get him.’
‘That won’t change just because I’m in there with you.’
‘Yes, it will. He’d have absolutely no qualms about killing you before he even started talking to me. Don’t you understand? It’s personal between me and Wade, in a way that it’s not with you.’
‘I don’t like it, Rachel.’
‘Look, nobody’s going to feel bad towards you because you didn’t go in with me. I’ve already discussed this with Danny before we left. He totally agrees with me; he understands the psyche of Wade. His instruction was that you’re to wait in the car until I call for backup. He also said to tell you that whatever happens, you’re not to get in the way of the armed teams going in. Do you understand?’
‘I understand. I still think you’re bloody crazy, though.’
‘At least that’s one thing we do agree on. Come on, we’ve wasted enough time here. Let’s get this done.’
Tina slipped the car into first gear and trundled slowly along the track until they came to a stop directly outside the cottage.
As the car stopped, Rachel pressed the switch in the palm of her right hand. The tiny button operated the throat mike she was wearing beneath her high-necked blouse.
In an even voice, she said, ‘DC Moore to control. Report my signals. Over.’
She immediately heard a calm voice in her covert earpiece, responding to her request, ‘Your signals are clear. Every member of the operation can hear everything you say. Good luck, we’re watching your every step. Over.’
She pressed the switch twice in acknowledgement, turned to Tina and said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see you soon.’
With that, she opened the passenger door of the car and got out. She straightened and took a deep breath before shutting the door and stepping towards the garden gate.
Inside the car, Tina whispered, ‘I’ll see you soon, crazy woman.’
88
2 July 1986
South Lodge, Retford
Inside the cottage, Jimmy Wade watched as the Ford Fiesta was driven up the track towards the property.
He stared hard through the fine mesh of the net curtains, trying to make out who was in the car. Momentarily, the car stopped on the track about thirty yards from where the trees opened into the clearing.
What was the delay?
Just as he began to get concerned, he saw the car move forwards again.
A broad grin spread across his features as the car once again came to a stop. This time it stopped directly outside the front of the cottage.
Melissa sat in silence, brooding on the settee behind him.
He watched intently as the passenger door finally opened. He let out an audible gasp when he saw Rachel Moore get out of the car.
She paused and stretched.
She was wearing a cream cotton blouse that was buttoned up to the top. Navy blue trousers and black flat shoes. She wasn’t carrying a thing. There was no bag and no radio to be seen.
He admired the curves of her body as she stretched. With a hint of excitement in his voice, he said, ‘It’s definitely her, Melissa. Remember what I told you: I don’t want you to say a word until you see her. Now get outside; you need to be in the outbuilding so she comes looking for you.’
Melissa did as she was instructed. She got to her feet and walked from the small lounge into the kitchen.
The soreness around her windpipe was a constant reminder of what would happen if she didn’t obey instantly.
Wade continued to watch the car. It quickly became apparent that DC Moore’s partner was staying put.
He waited until she reached the front gate before checking that the front door of the cottage had been left ajar.
He then followed Melissa out of the lounge, through the small kitchen and out the back door.
Wade opened the nearest outbuilding door and bundled Melissa inside. He said, ‘You know what you’ve got to do. Don’t make a sound. If she calls out to you, just ignore her. Let her come looking for you. Do you understand me?’
She nodded sullenly and backed away from the open door, deeper into the gloom.
Wade wedged the door of the outbuilding open, then made his way into a thick clump of rhododendron bushes situated to the left of the back door.
He had one last glance around, then squatted down in the bushes. From his hiding position, he knew he couldn’t be seen by anyone emerging through the open back door.
As he squatted down, he felt the ball-peen hammer in his waistband dig into the small of his back.
He grinned and growled menacingly, ‘Come on, Rachel. Don’t keep me waiting, sweetheart.’
89
2 July 1986
South Lodge, Retford
From their location at the rear of the cottage, PC Tom Naylor and PC Matt Jarvis had watched the events unfolding.
The property had been colour coded by the sniper teams. As their location was at the rear of the property, they were observing the black side of the building.
Tom Naylor had observed, through the scope of his Ruger M77 sniper rifle, whilst his spotter, Matt Jarvis, had watched through his powerful olive-green binoculars.
They had heard the transmission from Rachel as she checked her signals. Almost immediately afterwards, they had witnessed the small blonde-haired woman and the taller dark-haired man bolt through the rear door of the cottage.
Tom Naylor watched as the dark-haired man bundled the woman into one of the outbuildings before wedging the door open. He had seen the man then move back towards the cottage and finally squat down and conceal himself in a thick clump of rhododendron bushes.
Matt Jarvis spoke on his covert handset. ‘Sniper team Charlie to control. Permission?’
‘Sniper team Charlie go ahead. Over.’
‘From sniper team Charlie, we have movement on black side of the target premises. We’ve had a male and a female emerge from the door on black. I’ve identified the female as the target Melissa Braithwaite. She
left the property through the rear door and is now in the first outbuilding at the rear of the property. So far?’
‘All received. Go ahead with the rest of your message. Over.’
‘An unidentified white male has also emerged from the rear of the property. He has now hidden himself in bushes close to the rear of the property. Over.’
‘Received. Over.’
Tom turned to Matt and said in hushed tones, ‘I couldn’t make that guy out, Matt. What do you reckon: Was that Ainsworth?’
‘Couldn’t tell. I never got a clear look at his face. The hair’s right for it to be Ainsworth, but that’s not enough for a positive ID.’
‘I don’t get it, though. Why would Ainsworth try to hide from the detective?’
‘I don’t know, but I need Rachel to keep some distance between herself and those bushes where the bloke’s hiding. That way, I’ll have a chance to react and deal with any threat he may pose.’
Matt Jarvis pressed the switch in the palm of his hand and said, ‘Sniper team Charlie to control. Permission?’
‘Sniper team Charlie go ahead. Over.’
‘Advise DC Moore that as and when she emerges from the rear of the cottage, she needs to keep some distance between herself and the rhododendron bushes on her left. Over.’
‘Control to DC Moore. When you exit from the rear of the cottage, keep a distance between yourself and the rhododendron bushes on your immediate left. Over.’
The sniper team heard two clicks on the radio, which meant that the young detective had received the message.
By relaying the message through control, the sniper had in effect sent the message over the air twice. Which ensured DC Moore would get the warning message.
Tom Naylor lay in a comfortable prone position, with the rifle butt fitting snugly in his shoulder. He still had a clear line of sight through the scope to the area of the bushes where the unidentified male had hidden himself.
He said quietly to his spotter, ‘I’m going to make ready, Matt. This whole picture doesn’t look right to me. I see that guy in the bushes as a threat.’
‘I think you’re right. Why would he hide? Have you got the distance to those bushes mapped?’
‘Yeah, I make it one hundred and twenty yards, nil wind.’
‘That’s what I’ve got, too.’
Very deliberately, Tom Naylor slid back the bolt action of the rifle.
This action prompted a round to emerge from the top of the five-round magazine and align itself in the breach.
As the sniper smoothly pushed the bolt forward, the round was fed fully into the breach. The final part of the movement saw him press the bolt down the side of the weapon.
The rifle was now made ready.
There was no safety catch on the sniper rifle.
Naylor kept his index finger outside the trigger guard so there was no chance of a negligent discharge.
The sniper was now totally in the zone. He would rely on his spotter for updates on events unfolding in the area of the plot that he couldn’t see through the telescopic sight. His concentration was fixed solely on the unidentified male. If at any time he became a threat towards the detective, it would be down to him to deal with that threat and keep her safe.
Matt Jarvis whispered, ‘I’ve got your back, mate. I’ll give you the pictures on the plot. You stick with the target.’
Tom Naylor didn’t reply.
He was now concentrating on regulating his breathing, getting relaxed, letting the rifle become one with him.
90
2 July 1986
South Lodge, Retford
Rachel Moore had almost reached the front door of the cottage when she heard the sniper team’s update about the male and the female exiting the rear of the property.
She had listened carefully to the description of the male; long, dark hair didn’t sound like Jimmy Wade.
She’d also heard, and acknowledged, the transmission that the male was now hiding in bushes at the rear of the cottage.
Rachel forced herself to concentrate.
The male hiding in the bushes could easily be Ainsworth. The social worker could have taken the opportunity to escape from Wade and was now hiding from the psychopath outside the cottage.
As she reached the front door, she realised that it was ever so slightly ajar.
Pressing the switch in her right palm, she said in a voice that was barely a whisper, ‘The front door’s open. I’m going in.’
The only sounds she heard in her covert earpiece were the two clicks in acknowledgement of her message.
Using the back of her left hand, she pushed the heavy wooden door until it swung fully open.
She already knew that Melissa Braithwaite was outside the back of the cottage, but she still shouted out, ‘Hello! Ms Braithwaite, are you home?’
There was no reply.
She could barely will her legs to move. The tension she felt was almost palpable.
Slowly, she stepped over the threshold and into the cottage.
Once inside the cottage, it felt instantly cooler, and she shuddered involuntarily.
Save for the sound of dripping water coming from upstairs, the property was totally silent. The air felt heavy, and there was a strange, pervasive, musky smell that reminded her of sitting in an old church.
Suddenly, she thought she heard a bump from upstairs. Unnerved by the faint noise, she decided to check upstairs before moving through into the kitchen.
The small staircase led directly from the front door. There was no handrail on the side of the stairs that opened into the lounge. Moving slowly, and keeping her back to the wall, she climbed the flight of stairs. The smooth soles of her flat shoes felt slippery on the polished wooden stairs. She concentrated hard on moving carefully so she didn’t fall.
At the top of the stairs, Rachel saw three doors that were all slightly open.
She pushed open the door facing her. As it opened, she saw it was the bathroom. She stepped inside and saw a cream-coloured bath fitted with an overhead shower, a toilet that smelled strongly of bleach, and a sink that had been set into a pale wooden vanity unit. On top of the vanity unit, either side of the sink, were two toothbrushes and a variety of both male and female toiletries.
Looking down at the cream-coloured sink, she could now see that it was the cold-water tap causing the dripping sound. She stepped forward and twisted the chrome tap until it was closed off properly. The dripping water instantly stopped.
She then checked the next room.
It was a tiny box room, barely big enough to accommodate the single bed and wardrobe it contained. There were all kinds of disused articles and rubbish strewn on top of the bed. It was obvious the room was never used.
Undeterred, Rachel still checked under the bed and inside the wardrobe.
Nothing.
With a growing feeling of trepidation, she made her way across the landing, to the last room.
She felt for the radio button in the palm of her right hand. She moved her middle finger next to it, ready to press it and scream for help.
Every nerve ending in her body was on fire. Her mouth was dry, and her senses were on maximum alert. It felt as though she could almost smell and taste the presence of Jimmy Wade.
She pushed the door open.
The small window on the far wall only let in partial sunlight. She furrowed her brow and squinted, willing her eyes to adjust quickly to the gloom. From her position in the doorway, she could see a huge double bed that was unmade, the sheets crumpled and unwashed.
The room smelled of sweat and dirty clothes.
On the floor at each side of the bed were piles of dirty, discarded clothes waiting to be washed. There was a huge double wardrobe that dominated the entire wall opposite the window. The bed itself was a drawer divan, so there was no space for anyone to be hiding beneath the bed.
Moving further into the room, Rachel turned and saw a dressing table on one side of the door. On the other side stood a ches
t of drawers.
Stepping over to the double wardrobe, she opened the first door.
A coat hanger, containing a heavy jacket, fell out of the wardrobe as she opened the door.
She half jumped and half fell backwards onto the bed. Her finger almost hit the radio button, in panic, before she realised it was just a jacket.
Jumping to her feet, she quickly cleared the rest of the bedroom, then made her way back downstairs.
As soon as her breathing and heart rate had calmed down a little, she pressed the radio button and whispered, ‘I’ve checked the upstairs of the cottage. It’s clear. I’m checking downstairs now.’
Again, the only reply was the two clicks on the radio.
Having descended the stairs, she stepped into the living room and checked behind the settee and the chairs. Finally, she opened the door that led into the kitchen.
The kitchen was one of the largest rooms in the property.
At one end of the room, she could see a round wooden dining table and four wooden chairs. They were pine and had been varnished to a shine.
As soon as she walked into the kitchen, Rachel saw that the back door was wide open. The bright sunlight outside flooded in through the open door. Looking out of the door, she could see the field that led down to the river and the tall conifers beyond.
She knew that somewhere in those conifers, there was a sniper team watching her every move. They probably had their weapons trained on her right now.
That thought gave her no comfort.
Again, she pressed the button in her palm. ‘The cottage is clear. I’m moving outside.’
This time there was a verbal reply to her signal. She recognised the voice. ‘Rachel, it’s Danny. The tactical firearms advisor says that whatever happens, you are not to go into the outbuilding where Braithwaite is hiding. Do you understand?’
‘Understood. I’m making my way outside now.’
A Cold Grave: A DCI Danny Flint Book Page 31