DEATH ON WINTER'S EVE

by Doug Dollard

  “I think we should go,” I said, keeping my voice low and casual.

  She looked disappointed but did not argue the point. We were about to leave when a heavy set man dressed as if he had come from London burst through the door and headed toward the men’s restroom. He must have had a full bladder because he paid little attention to anyone as he sought the most direct path to his destination. It was dark in the pub and coming in from outside it took awhile for your eyes to adjust. The heavyset man should have known that and waited for his eyes to dilate. Wellington must have sensed the sudden change in my demeanor.

  “What’s wrong,” she whispered in my ear.

  “Can you gas up the car on your own?” I asked her calmly. Without any further cajoling she headed out the door to where we had parked the Packard. The bright morning sunlight stung her eyes as soon as she left the dark confines of the pub.

  Making her way hurriedly across the gravel parking area toward the Packard she spotted a strange man dressed in a long coat and dark hat standing by their car. Instantly she came to an abrupt stop, her breath caught high in her lungs, her eyes wide with fright. Petrified she just stood there, frozen in time unable to move or think or even breathe.

  The man, who had not seen her yet suddenly turned toward her and just stared, their eyes locking. Finally gaining control of her body she turned and headed back toward the pub, forcing herself to walk normally. The man in the overcoat yelled at her to stop but she ignored him and quickened her pace. She could hear the man’s heavy footfalls against the gravel as he began running after her. They reached the pub’s door together and Wellington felt the man’s arm around her neck as she was yanked backward against his chest.

  “Just where do you think you’re going lass,” he growled directly in her ear. She was terrified.

  The man was big and powerful, the muscles in his arms binding her like cords of steel. She tried to scream but the crook of his arm was pressing against her throat so tightly she couldn’t breathe. His other arm was wrapped tightly around her waist immobilizing her.

  Locked in his powerful grasp she was dragged backward, powerless to resist. The man was incredibly strong lifting her completely off the ground until her feet dangled in mid air as if she were weightless. Kicking furiously one of her shoes came loose, tumbling across the graveled parking lot. He was hurting her so badly giant tears welled up in her eyes.

  I thought it best not to be in the bar when the heavy set man exited the men’s room. It also occurred to me he was likely to have a partner and I had just sent Wellington in his partner’s direction. I headed for the door intending on intercepting Wellington before she ran into unwelcome company but it was too late.

  As soon as I pushed open the door I saw Wellington being manhandled by a brute in a dark coat. Rage exploded in me and I shot forward covering the few feet separating us in milliseconds. Seeing me mustn’t have been what he was expecting because I could see his eyes grow big and he stumbled, nearly loosing his balance.

  He loosed his grip around her waist and fumbled at the inside of his jacket with his free hand while he continued to press his right arm tightly around Wellington’s throat. I was on him while his hand was still inside his jacket.

  Occupying both his hands was a mistake as it left him defenseless. I thrust my full bodyweight hard against his left side, knocking him further off balance. At the same time I slammed my left foot down on his right instep crushing the bone and pinning him in place. I heard him gasp with pain as the bones in his instep shattered.

  With a powerful killing jab to his throat I crushed his larynx. He attempted to scream but only gurgled as saliva and blood spewed from his mouth. The arm around Wellington’s throat dropped and she sank to the ground. With his entire body open to me now I slammed my left fist directly into the soft tissue just beneath his solar plexus and stopped his heart. His eyes rolled up behind his eyelids and he sank to the ground, the air in his lungs bubbling up through the viscera and cartilage clogging his throat.

  He lay like a pile of rags on the ground, his eyes sightless, blood covering the lower part of his face and soaking into his shirt. His right hand lie twitching on the ground, a set of car keys caught between his fingers. I reached down and grabbed them. Reaching into his coat I felt the butt of a pistol and pulled it free from its holster, sticking it into the pocket of my tunic. Wellington was sitting on the ground nearby, her legs curled up underneath her. She was sobbing silently. A steady stream of tears rolled down her cheeks, her left hand massaging her throat. One of her shoes lay near her on the ground.

  I went to her, pulled her to her feet and looped my arm around her waist, stooping to collect her lost shoe. The one vehicle that hadn’t been in the parking lot when we arrived was parked in front of the petrol pumps and I headed for it, Wellington pinned against my hip. Half walking half staggering we made it to the car. I lifted her into the passenger’s seat and slid behind the wheel, praying I’d been right about the car. I slid the key into the ignition and twisted.

  The car’s engine came alive. The fuel gage read a quarter of a tank, enough to take us out of range until we could find a place to hide. Wellington was sobbing in the seat beside me. She lay curled up against the passenger’s door, her legs pulled tightly up beneath her on the seat, her arms protectively covering her chest. There were cuts and bruises on her legs where she had tumbled onto the gravel. A large red welt covered her throat and a bruise was breaking out on her right cheek just below her eye.

  I put the car in drive and gunned the engine spewing gravel and dirt from the rear tires. I pointed the Plymouth out of the pub’s parking lot and onto Henley Road, hitting the gas with the intention of putting as much distance between us as I could before nightfall. Behind us the heavy set man burst through the pub’s door and ran out into the parking lot heading in our direction and waving something in his right hand. A puff of smoke appeared from his hand and then another. The asshole was shooting at us but we were already out of range. He’d use the pub’s phone to report this. I figured I had about an hour before we needed to be off the road and somewhere out of sight. That wasn’t much time.

  I pressed down on the accelerator taking our speed up to where I could just barely manage the road’s twists and turns. I needed to put as much distance between us and the Dog and Badger as possible in the next hour.

  We drove on in silence, my concentration absorbed in keeping us from careening off the road into a ditch or stone wall. Forty-five minutes later I made a ninety degree turn off the road onto what you could only describe as a path leading into a stand of densely packed trees. My hour was nearly up and I didn’t want to press it any further. Besides I needed to check on Wellington who had yet to utter a single word.

  I pulled the Plymouth into a stand of trees making certain we were not visible from the road. It wasn’t ideal but then we didn’t have many options. I put the car in park, set the brake and turned off the engine.

  Wellington sat staring out the passenger’s window, avoiding eye contact. I didn’t blame her. I wanted to say something comforting but I knew words were not going to make this any easier for her. She needed to work that part out by herself. I wasn’t dismissing my own culpability but my guilt wasn’t going to salve her conscience.

  I opened the car door and got out, easing the door closed behind me. I walked several paces up a small incline to scope out our position. I needed to know the exit paths in the event we were discovered.

  I had been on an adrenalin rush since the moment I saw Wellington being tossed around like a rag doll by that thug in the parking lot. The adrenalin dissipating from my bloodstream left me weak and sick to my stomach. I glanced down and noticed a large red stain had soaked through my tunic. I was bleeding again only this time it was far more serious.

  The pain hit me then like someone had taken a baseball bat to my abdomen. I doubled over and vomited. Most of what came up was bile. I hadn’t had much in my stomach. Damn, I thought. Just what I needed. The
pain came in waves now and was so intense I thought I might pass out. I eased myself down on the ground and just sat there breathing in and out, trying to stay conscious.

  I don’t know how long I sat there but by the time I felt well enough to return to the car the sun was already past its midpoint. I was chilled to the bone and shivering badly.

  A light frosting of snow covered the fields except in places where the wind had cleared small patches of frozen grass. In the wooded areas the snow collected in the branches of trees. But the forest floor was colder than the open fields and snow gathered there in greater depths, protected from the wind and winter sun.

  I stood up unsteadily and headed back to the car to check on Wellington. I didn’t know if the wound in my side had stopped bleeding but as there wasn’t anything I could do about it either way I chose to ignore it. I was a man out of his time and element and it left me feeling fatalistic.

  Wellington was asleep against the passenger’s door, her legs still curled up beneath her. Sleep is the primary retreat from trauma. I got in behind the wheel but did not attempt to wake her. I had no idea what we’d do tomorrow.

  It was likely the whole countryside would be alerted to our descriptions. It was time to find a way to extricate Wellington from my mess. The men seeking us had no compunction about killing us. This morning’s event proved that. Now that I had killed one of them they’d have no reservations about how they went about capturing us. I could no longer allow Wellington to risk her life.

  Whether or not she agreed tomorrow I’d find a way to get her safely back to her life. I was cold and I knew the temperature inside the car would fall as night drew near. It couldn’t be helped.

  I stretched out my legs and attempted to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. I didn’t think about the man I’d killed. I was in too much pain to contemplate such things. There was nothing I could do about anything now. Tomorrow would take care of itself. I needed to rest now.

  I pulled up the collar of my tunic and crossed my arms to hold in my body heat. I was loosing feeling in my hands and feet and I was having trouble concentrating, rarely a good sign. After a while I stopped feeling cold and actually began to feel slightly warmer. Closing my eyes and leaning back in the seat I allowed my mind to wander. Foolishly I had ignored all the warning signs of hypothermia. Before I knew it I had drifted off to sleep the sleep of the dying and the dead.

  Chapter 47

  DANESFIELD COTTAGE

  Danesfield, United Kingdom

  Wellington awoke in the middle of the night shivering with the cold. The car’s interior was freezing. She could see her breath forming white clouds whenever she exhaled. Wiping the frost from the front window with the sleeve of her dress she looked out to see a full moon sheathed in a transparent haze. Stars above sparkled in the velvet blackness.

  The trauma of the day’s events had drained her of emotion. She had simply shut down. As a nurse she had insulated herself from the suffering of her patients, not out of insensitivity but out of necessity.

  Compassion is a dangerous emotion. Too much of it can leave you vulnerable. Better to shield your emotions behind a barrier of professional dispassion. But when she was attacked it had happened so quickly and unexpectedly she had no time to prepare herself and she had succumb to the sheer terror of the moment. She didn’t blame Riley. She was in fact grateful to him for saving her life.

  She looked over at him and knew immediately something was wrong. Michael’s breathing was irregular and far too shallow. She reached out and touched his hand. His skin was ice cold and clammy. She called his name several times but he did not respond. The temperature outside had dropped below freezing. Inside the vehicle it was only marginally warmer.

  Quickly she scooted over next to him and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. She put her foot down on the accelerator and held it there keeping the engine revved until the engine temperature rose enough to turn on the car’s heater.

  She turned the blowers on full and hot air blasted into the Packard’s cab. Next she located the heating vents and turned them toward Michael before moving over to hold her body against him, feeling the warmth of her body drain into his. With her arms rapped around his waist she felt something wet and sticky. Pulling her hand away she saw it was covered in blood.

  “Oh Michael,” she whispered. “Damn it, damn it, damn it. You should have told me.” She opened his tunic and unbuttoned his shirt searching for the source of the bleeding.

  In the pale moonlight his skin shown chalky white. The wound in his abdomen must have reopened in the fight with the man at the pub. Blood had coagulated in the wound and the bleeding had thankfully subsided. At least for now.

  With her medical kit back at the cottage there was nothing she could use to treat him. She knew they couldn’t remain where they were. Michael could die if she couldn’t get him somewhere warm where she could examine and treat his wound.

  Knowing she had no option now she decided they must return to the cottage and hope the men who were searching for them hadn’t yet discovered her uncle owned a cottage in Danesfield.

  She eased Michael over to the passenger’s side of the vehicle, crawling over him to take her place behind the wheel. Turning on the headlights she drove back down the path to Hensley and back toward Danesfield. Every time she passed a vehicle heading in the opposite direction she held her breath, praying the driver would not turn to follow them. None did.

  By the time she pulled up to the carriage house the temperature in vehicle’s cab had warmed them both considerably. Michael’s core temperature was still dangerously low and she knew she needed to get him warmed as quickly as possible.

  He was groggy and non responsive to her questions. Kicking off the one shoe she still wore she moved around the car to the passengers side and opened the door. Using strength born of desperation she managed to support his one hundred seventy pounds as they both staggered across the lawn and into the cottage.

  With a final, supreme effort she pulled him up onto the bed they had left the previous morning. As she lifted him onto the bed a large caliber revolver fell out of his tunic pocket and clattered on the floor. Picking it up by the grip she placed it on the nightstand beside the bed.

  Quickly she stripped off his tunic and shirt to examine his wound under the light of a lamp she had appropriated from the living room. The wound had reopened and needed to be sutured. Locating her medical bag she sutured the wound, sterilizing it with alcohol she found in the kitchen pantry. There was always a danger of infection but with repeated damage to his wound the risk of infection multiplied.

  With his body temperature dangerously low she crawled up on the bed beside him fully clothed, drawing the blankets she had taken from the linen closet over them both. She pressed close to him allowing him to draw warmth for her body. Tomorrow they could figure out what to do.

  Chapter 48

  NASH RUMPOLE

  While his partner was being murdered by the American saboteur Nash was relieving himself in the pub’s urinal. He was just exiting the men’s room when a commotion in the parking lot drew the attention of the pub’s patrons.

  Curious he stepped outside to see for himself. Immediately he saw Sid’s lifeless body sprawled out on the gravel. He heard a car engine start and then saw his own vehicle being driven rapidly from the parking lot. He pulled the Webley from his holster under his coat and ran after the fleeing vehicle, shouting and waving his arms. When the vehicle’s driver refused to stop he fired twice at the back of the car and missed both times. As his car disappeared heading south Nash let loose a long string of profanity.

  Heading back to where his partner lie he knelt down to search for a pulse in his neck and found none. Pulling open Sid’s blood stained jacket Nash searched for the Webley Sid carried and found his holster empty. So the killer had Sid’s revolver, making him even more dangerous.

  Sid was no push over. Taking him out let alone killing him in unarmed combat took
some real skill Nash mused. And Riley was reportedly recovering from severe injuries. The pub’s patrons were gathered just outside the door talking in hushed tones. Wankers, Nash thought.

  He left Sid’s body where it was and went back into the pub to make his calls. Using the Pub’s only phone he let the SIS know he had spotted the fugitives and gave them his location. He also told them Sid was dead and requested they send someone for the body. Finally he told them the fugitives had stolen his car and requested another one be sent out immediately. This last bit wasn’t well received but Nash didn’t give a damn. It was Sid’s fault the car was stolen. The man who killed him was an invalid for Christ’s sake.

  He was told it would take a couple of hours before anyone could get to him. He would normally have complained but given the circumstances he new better than to press his luck. He rang off and immediately placed another call to the SIS’s intelligence office. They had the information he needed and he wrote down the details on the notepad he kept in his coat pocket.

  The address he wanted was no more than a few kilometers north of the pub. It seemed unlikely the fugitives would attempt to hide out there but stranger things had happened. He’d at least check it out as soon as the car they were sending arrived. In the mean time he got a tarpaulin from pub’s storeroom and draped it over the body of his dead partner.

  Checking his watch he saw it was just after nine AM. The morning haze had cleared and it looked to be another cold but cloudless day. As there wasn’t any more he could do for Sid he went back inside to the bar and ordered a pint of Guinness, sipping it slowly while he waited for his ride.

  When his ride arrived Nash was just finishing his fourth pint of Guinness. The driver they had sent for him was just a kid of twenty-four and naïve enough to think he was going to partner with Nash. Nash set him straight right away.