by Jean Chapman
He turned back the way he had come and nearly fell over the legs of a man who was sitting on the ground, back to the wall of the grandstand, his head in his hands, shoulders heaving – beside him lay a woman’s hat.
Cannon put his hand in his pocket and drew out his betting slip.
‘That came in third if it’s any help,’ he said as he pushed it into the man’s top pocket, then straightened up to listen to the screaming of police vehicles and ambulances in the distance.
Hundreds of thousands of people here, but he could only think of Liz as the sounds echoed and re-echoed. Liz, then there was Betterson and Charlie. They had arranged to meet outside the street door to the Derby Café once Austin was away with Geoff.
It took him quite a time to reach the cafe, he had expected to be first there, but Charlie was waiting.
‘All go…?’ they both began, then both nodded.
‘Spracks?’ Cannon queried.
Charlie gave a disbelieving laugh, and confided, ‘He glanced my way once just after the winner passed the post but the suit did the trick and he wanted to see where his own horse had come. When he finally turned back and realized, he went at me like an hysterical girl!’
‘And he let you walk away?’
‘He didn’t have much choice. I fended him off, then some roundabout intervened, calling for him to lay off, be quiet. They were still trying to hear the end of the commentary and while he looked their way, I was away, lost in the crowd.’
They stood silent then, watching, waiting for the other two. Minutes, fifteen, twenty minutes went by. The crowds were now noticeably thinner, amazing how quickly a crowd of thousands could disperse. Then everything and everyone seemed to pause, people stumbled half stride, others stopped mid-sentence as the unmistakable sound of shots rang out, not single shots, but automatic fire – two long rapid bursts.
‘Think that was from one of the car park areas,’ Charlie said.
‘Two separate weapons,’ Cannon added, ‘crossfire?’
On high alert, they stood listening intently, while people were moving more quickly now, eager to be away. A youth ran by, shouting that the police said they were all to go home.
‘What do we do?’ Charlie asked, then suggested, ‘One of us wait here and the other go see?’
‘Betterson and Liz should be here any time. I say we give ’em ten more minutes, then I’ll go,’ Cannon said grimly.
Anxiety makes every minute a lifetime, but he determined to time it to the second, trying to convince himself that there were many possibilities for a shoot-out that did not involve Liz or Betterson: the outbreak of the rival gang warfare; an early police round-up; a high-jack: a plain simple robbery.
He glanced at his watch. ‘If I don’t get back here, go to the ranch, and we’ll meet up there.’
Charlie frowned.
‘There’s Babs and Jonathan to look after,’ Cannon added.
Charlie grimaced. ‘I’ll give you a while,’ he said.
Cannon made for the car park where Liz should have handed Austin over to Geoff.
It did not take long to establish that this was where the shooting had taken place. The police had taken charge of the area and concerned groups of people were being assured that all was being done so they could reclaim their vehicles as soon as possible.
Cannon walked a little away from this group, assessing the block of cars left in an otherwise near empty parking lot. Beyond these cars he could see police cars, an ambulance, an area being taped off, and a group of men bending, straightening, totally concerned with what lay at their feet. Needing to know, but dreading what he was going to see, he moved on, saw a white sheet being shook up into the air and allowed to fall down, to spread over … What? Or who?
‘Get back!’ an angry voice yelled and Cannon, well aware of the uniforms closing in on him, hurried forward.
There was a terrible lot of blood. The white sheet already patch-soaked bright red. There was another yell and strident whistles, but then Betterson was by his side, waving reassurance to the irate officers.
‘Liz? Austin?’ Cannon’s questions were gruff.
Betterson shook his head, spoke to the medics and lifted the sheet.
Cannon looked down at a man torn to bits by automatic weapons. This, he thought, must be how men died in machine-gun fire in battle. This man’s battle had been for law, order, justice, all things close to Cannon’s heart. Geoff had paid the ultimate sacrifice, as his friend and colleague had done. Cannon bowed his head to a humble, courageous officer, as the sheet was replaced.
‘So the car? Austin? Liz?’ he asked quietly.
CHAPTER 28
The car was found abandoned in the driveway of an empty house. An elderly neighbour thought someone was viewing the property until he realized the black Buick looked as if it had been in a traffic accident. The speed of the police reaction must have made him and everyone roundabout know it was more than that.
Closer inspection revealed the broken front and rear windows were the result of a spray of bullets, and the blood on the driver’s seat was not the normal splatter associated with someone shot where they sat. It was more in keeping with someone injured moving across the seat, or the result of contact with the blood found on the outside of the car.
Cannon was with Betterson as they went to the scene and made further enquiries. They found a woman returning with her mistress’s shopping who remembered seeing a couple ‘dressed like they’d come from the races walking that way’. She pointed to the end of the street.
Cannon insisted Liz would do everything possible to get Austin to the airport, and he would go after her – but Betterson had a call to say he was needed urgently at the police operations centre.
‘Get yourself in a different suit before you go anywhere, or you’ll be a sitting target,’ was Betterson’s parting advice.
Cannon judged he had no time for such niceties and merely transferred all he needed from his jacket to his trousers pockets, and abandoned the jacket on the floor of the taxi he hailed.
At the airport he checked flights to New York; with eight airlines servicing the airport, fights were frequent, but if Austin had already successfully flown out, where was Liz? A needle in a haystack was the saying that came to him as he read departure boards, looked around passenger areas, restaurants, shops.
His mouth was like dust, he had trouble prizing his tongue from the roof of his mouth, and then through the window of a coffee shop he saw her. Well, he saw a woman, the back of a woman taking a cup of coffee towards a table in the far corner of the coffee bar. The right build, but no hat, her dress was pale cream at the top but was half red and cream from the waist down. He watched, reminding himself he had changed his own clothes as much as he could. It could be the large scarf thing she had bought tied around her waist?
He watched as she disappeared into the far corner of the shop. He went in, purchased a coffee and followed the way the woman had gone, around the stands with the sugars and stirrers, the sauces, and all the other paraphernalia of self-service.
She had pushed along to the far end of a bench seat, so she was close in to the wall, but it was Liz. It was Liz.
He sat down on the bench, but realized that not only had she got her head bowed low over her coffee, she had her eyes closed.
He edged along the seat, saw she was breathing heavily as if striving for control, and still she did not open her eyes.
‘Liz,’ he said very quietly. ‘Liz, it’s me, are you all right?’
She opened her eyes slowly, and turned to him, shook her head, denying something, then closed them again. He threaded his arm about her shoulders, pulled her to him, cradling her then he saw that the red scarf tied around her waist had pulled to one side as she slid along the seat, and her white dress had dark stains, blood stains.
‘You’re not hurt, are you?’ he asked anxiously.
She shook her head, ‘No, but Geoff … Geoff…’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘You sure, you
’re…?’ He touched the stains on her thigh.
‘It was off the car, and …’
‘What?’ he said. ‘How did you get away?’
She gave a sob, then looked up at him with such trouble in her eyes.
‘The last thing Geoff did,’ she sobbed, ‘was throw the car keys to me! He was … a second later, he was …’
‘Yes,’ Cannon said with a finality that asked for no further explanation, ‘I saw.’
‘We … when we knew … we dodged behind the car, but I saw Austin reel as he got hit, but he kept coming. We kept low and climbed in from the far side, I drove …’
‘Where was Austin hit?’
‘Upper arm, and maybe into his shoulder, but we knew he had to get out fast.’
‘The car was found …’
‘The neighbour,’ she said, glancing at him. ‘There was a haversack for Austin in the car, clothes and things, but we saw the old man next door keep looking, daren’t risk being delayed. We left the car, walked for a bit, found a kind of play area, there was a group of trees, and it was quiet. I went in there and took off my underslip, we tore it into strips, I helped Austin stem the bleeding, then he put on the clothes from the bag, brown chinos and light shirt. I persuaded him to keep the jacket to the suit in case the blood seeped through the shirt. We went to the top of the next street, found a taxi and came here.
‘Austin’s plane took off half an hour ago, in another hour he should be in New York.’
They sat silently, wondering if his wound might prevent him travelling on to London. Betterson had booked the flights, but would there be anyone at JFK to help Austin on his way? Cannon was doubtful, the scale of the planned police operations had soaked up manpower. He was, as so often, a man on his own.
‘I left Charlie at the Derby Café and said we would all meet up back at Beale’s ranch, but he said he would wait a while.’
‘And knowing Charlie, he’s probably still waiting,’ Liz said, ‘so we’ll go there first.’
‘You feeling better?’ he asked, pushing her coffee nearer to her.
‘Well, you’re here,’ she said simply, then added, ‘unlike poor Geoff.’
‘He lost his running-mate not long ago – shot in the head – a shooting involving the same gangs. He wondered why it had not been him then.’
‘Wife and family?’ she asked.
‘I just don’t know,’ Cannon shook his head as he hailed a cab that had just dropped a fare, ‘but he deserves official recognition. I won’t forget Geoff, a brave copper, even when a sense of dread hung over him.’
The cabbie wound down his window.
‘The Derby Café, Churchill Downs,’ Cannon requested.
‘Sorry, no can do. Police have cordons all around, big trouble. You’d best keep away!’ he advised.
‘We must meet a friend, he’s waiting,’ Cannon insisted, ‘just as near as you can get us?’
‘OK but there’s been shooting …’
‘We must go,’ Liz urged him.
The cabbie shook his head, but lifted an arm, inviting them to get in. It was a short drive from the airport to central Louisville, but it was clear the traffic to and from this international airport was much less than normal.
‘This is as close as I go,’ the cabbie said, ‘around the next corner is Central Avenue that takes you past the Derby Museum. You know where you are then?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ Cannon said and tipped him generously. This was much closer than he had expected to be driven.
‘So?’ Liz said.
‘We walk cautiously round towards the cafe, make contact with the police, tell them we’re with Betterson, hopefully his name should mean something. He is here officially.’
‘Unlike us,’ Liz stated. ‘The sooner we make contact and get Charlie out, the better.’ They glimpsed police in full gear, mustering in a park a short distance away.
They came upon another group as soon as they walked into Central Avenue. They were stopped immediately and Cannon told their story, and asked for Betterson.
‘The English officer,’ a big man, dehumanized by riot gear, helmet and eye-shield, said. ‘Wait here.’
‘It is quite urgent,’ Cannon began, but the abrupt nod he received told him he was now verging on nuisance value. These men were ready to move. One man was detailed to stay with them, all the rest quickly deployed.
Long minutes passed before they saw the tall, long striding man come around the far corner. He almost ran to them.
‘We have an ongoing situation,’ he said, breaking off as two shots ran out, ‘involving Charlie Brown. Come on!’
As they went, he told them he believed Spracks had sent his men out hunting for Charlie and Austin, ‘The men in the same suits – and he has Charlie.’
‘Has Charlie?’ Cannon asked. ‘In what way?’
‘At gunpoint.’
Cannon swallowed, and wondered, as two shots rang out close by, whether Charlie was still at gunpoint, or had the worst happened again?
They came upon a scene that looked like a stage set. On either side of two central standing figures, lay two men, a police officer and another man, neither were moving. Spracks was behind Charlie with a gun pressed hard in his side and was edging the farrier slowly backwards, presumably in an attempted escape. The message clearly being if he didn’t get out, this man dies.
Then there were more shots behind where they stood. Were Spracks’s men moving in to try to help their boss? Then Charlie caught sight of Cannon and Liz, for a moment his eyes focussed hard on them, then the next moment, the gun that had been pushed into his ribs was trapped between his side and elbow. Spracks struggled to free it, but as he did Charlie pushed his free hand further up and back, over and down, stooping, catching the shoulder of Spracks’s jacket and hauling him over from back to the front, a kind of reverse movement to that of a man loading a sack onto his shoulder. The act of a strong man, but Spracks had regained a proper grip on his gun, and twisted around – for a moment, it looked as if Charlie was going to be shot straight in the temple – but another shot rang out and Spracks fell to the ground.
Cannon glimpsed the police marksman on the roof of a vehicle as other police moved in, covering the third man on the ground, but it was soon clear he was dead.
They hurried towards Charlie who stood, head bowed, regaining his breath, and looking down at the man who had moved into Morbury Park and all their lives.
Cannon went to him, took his arm. ‘He won’t bother you or the Grangers any more,’ he said.
‘And there’s something else you might like to know,’ Betterson added quietly. ‘Tilly Anders gave us information about how powerful drugs were being incorporated into food, mixed with a concentrate of meadow herbs horses crave, to make pellets a man could drop into a horse’s food bucket as he walked past.’
Charlie looked up. ‘She always was a clever lass,’ he said gruffly.
‘She’s helped the law on both side of the Atlantic. I thought you’d like to know that.’
He nodded.
‘I must get back to Babs Beale, and the boy,’ he said.
CHAPTER 29
It was late evening when they finally arrived at White Picket Ranch, but they were greeted with something like joyous rapture by everyone – including the two sisters, still in their bright yellow dresses, and yellow and white hats. Cannon had forgotten about them, but they had taken his advice, come straight to the ranch from Churchill Downs. Tom Beale had made them welcome, and arrangements for them to sleep in a cabin with Lucas’s mother were ongoing, with Jane offering to supply night clothes.
Lucas was rejoicing in the fact that they had heard that Zachariah Valdes, who had named his ranch, Palm Springs, after Al Capone, had, like ‘his hero’ been arrested, along with his brother and financial advisor on tax evasion charges – in the first instance.
‘It should be more!’ Leah blurted out. She had sat passively enough until then, gripping her younger sister’s hand, as arrangements were m
ade for them.
‘The tax laws’ll be just something to hold him on,’ Tom Beale began.
‘Not enough! They are murderers!’ she insisted vehemently and pointed at Lucas. ‘Valdes men, the older men, boasted about putting his father in chains … an—’
‘Chains!’ Cannon interrupted, the discovery of Jonathan Beale vivid in his mind. ‘Chains!’ And as he spoke, he saw Lucas’s mother step back in the doorway, eyes wide, hand covering her mouth in horror.
‘What did they do with him?’ Lucas demanded, forgetful of all but his need to know. ’Where did they take him?’
‘To the shore of a big lake, they talked of digging shale.’
‘There are many salt lakes on that land,’ Lucas began.
‘There’s one much bigger than all the others,’ Tom Beale said grimly, adding, ‘this is something we should settle once and for all, and if you’re gonna raise a little dust, in the middle of a general storm is not a bad time.’
‘Finding is one thing,’ Cannon said, ‘we would need official help, the process would be long and complicated.’
‘But it would bring closure,’ Lucas’s mother said quietly, ‘peace for my man, my son and me.’
Cannon looked at Lucas who had moved to his mother’s side. He wanted this too, but he also wanted to get back to England, to see with his own eyes that his oldest friend was safe, they knew he had not escaped unscathed, but he still said quietly, ‘I must say I’d like to see an answer to this before we leave.’
‘Leave!’ Jane exclaimed. ‘Not just yet surely.’
‘We do have a business … a village pub,’ Cannon said, remembering with a little bit of shame in the circumstances, that they had heard Alamat had ordered ‘much stock’ from a sales rep who had said Christmas orders must be made.
‘But this,’ Cannon walked over to Lucas and took his arm, ‘this we will do together, as we did before. We will go in together once more.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Lucas asked. Cannon nodded.