by Bill Rogers
They became aware of the whup-whup of the helicopter as they drove over the first of the two bridges. By the time Jo drove down on to the wharf, her way was lit by the Nightsun searchlight slung beneath the undercarriage.
Max had already logged into the live downstream video link from the India 99 cameras. On the screen in front of them they could see Jo’s car in the centre of a broad pool of intense light. The shimmering surface of the canal boiled beneath the vicious downdraught from the whirring blades.
‘Bronze Command, please advise. What exactly are we looking for?’
‘A sixty-two-foot narrowboat. Described as cream with black gunwales. The name Tit Willow is blazoned along both sides. It may be moored up, but we are assuming, or rather hoping, it’s on the move.’
‘Roger that, Bronze Command,’ said the air observer. ‘And where do you suggest we begin the search?’
‘Just to be on the safe side, I’d like you to begin at Islington Marina, at the start of this canal, and work towards us.’
The pilot officer did a quick calculation.
‘That’s nine miles to the start, and nine miles back give or take,’ he said. ‘Should take us about thirty minutes if we’re checking those boats that are moored up, as well as those on the move.’
‘Roger that,’ she said. ‘We’ll wait.’
He saw the beam of light swing away. Heard the sound of the helicopter recede. Breathed a sigh of relief. False alarm.
He used the pole to push the stern away from the canal bank, switched on the engine, reversed to ensure the propeller would not foul on the reeds, selected forward gear, and eased smoothly into the central channel.
The helicopter had unnerved him. Already he was revising his plan. That was what had kept him one step ahead, the willingness to adapt. Huddersfield was where he’d leave the boat.
Seventeen miles or so to go.
If he pressed on, he could be there by daybreak.
Chapter 74
‘What if he’s already left?’ said Max. ‘He could be miles away by now on that mountain bike. Then it could be weeks before we catch him. Years if he’s smart.’
‘He is smart,’ she reminded him. ‘So you’d better pray he’s still on the boat. On the upside, he’s also arrogant. My guess is he’ll underestimate us. He’ll assume it’ll take us a few days to find out that he’s been living on Tit Willow, by which time he’ll have found a new rathole to slink into.’
They heard the helicopter working its way back towards them. Jo checked her watch.
‘That was quick. I hope they haven’t cut corners.’
‘They’re not here yet,’ said Max.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘They’re in the Ashton-under-Lyne basin.’
On the screen they could see the searchlight moving meticulously from one narrowboat to the next moored along the side of the canal against a backdrop of brooding railway arches. Jo turned her attention back to her tablet.
It was another ten minutes before India 99 was overhead. They had to shield their eyes from the dazzling light.
‘India 99, can you switch that bloody searchlight off?’ Max demanded.
They heard the pilot officer chuckle as he complied.
‘Sorry, Bronze Command,’ said the air observer. ‘We’ve checked every vessel between New Islington Marina and here. No target sightings. Do you have a new search area?’
‘Yes please, India 99,’ said Jo. ‘Please continue to follow the canal east and then north from here as far as the Stannige Tunnel at Diggle.’
‘That’s the Standedge Tunnel?’ queried the air observer. ‘Three miles long right through the middle of the Pennines?’
‘Roger that,’ Jo replied. ‘Only it’s pronounced Stannige. Blame the locals.’
There was a muffled exchange between the observer and the pilot. Jo imagined them placing their hands over their mics and having a joke at her expense.
‘According to the Canal & River Trust website, the tunnel is closed at night, India 99,’ she told them. ‘There’s a lock on the Diggle end, so there’s no way he can have gone further than that.’
‘Unless he’s got some bolt cutters,’ said Max.
‘Roger that,’ said the air observer.
They heard the helicopter swing away, and saw the searchlight come back on as it threaded its way westwards.
Jo turned to Max. ‘If he is on this stretch, and decides to leg it when he sees the helicopter, it’s going to be difficult to get to him in the dark. The terrain is increasingly rugged from here on, and there is a lot of woodland.’
‘I agree,’ said Max. ‘And a dog would come in handy too.’
Jo pressed the Transmit button. ‘Silver Command,’ said Jo, ‘I think you’d better send those two cars you have on standby just in case. And is there any chance you could arrange a Dog Unit?’
‘Understood,’ said Gordon. ‘What about the Tactical Aid Unit?’
‘Them too,’ Jo said. ‘Tell them to rendezvous with us here, on the wharf.’
‘Roger that, Bronze Command,’ Gordon replied.
Max motioned for her to put her hand over her mic. ‘Do you get the impression Gordon’s a little tense?’ he said.
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Jo. ‘He’s got the world and his wife breathing down his neck.’
Their earpieces burst into life. ‘Bronze Command, this is ACC Gates. If the suspect is spotted, I do not want anyone taking unnecessary risks,’ she said. ‘Is that understood?’
Me, Jo mouthed. She means me.
Max nodded in agreement.
She’s not wrong, he mouthed back.
‘Understood, Ma’am,’ said Jo. ‘Or should that be Gold Command?’
‘There is no Gold Command at present,’ Gates replied coldly. ‘Should it become clear that interoperability is required with other services or police forces, then I shall assume that command. Until then, DCI Holmes is in charge as Silver Command.’
Jo smiled. ‘Understood, Ma’am.’
Max elbowed Jo, and pointed at the live video stream from the camera slung beneath India 99. The camera was zooming in on a lone narrowboat moored by the right bank on a long straight stretch of canal. ‘Light-coloured narrowboat, black gunwales,’ he said.
‘Stand by, Silver Command,’ said Jo. ‘Possible contact.’
She held her breath as the pilot manoeuvred for a sidelong view. Her eyes registered the name Tit Willow a split second before the air observer confirmed it.
‘Target contact!’ he said. ‘I repeat, we have target contact. Do you copy, Bronze Command?’
Chapter 75
The second he heard the helicopter, and saw the beam of light moving closer, he knew it was him they were looking for. He judged the tunnel too far to reach before they were upon him. Besides, a vessel moving at night would attract more attention. He decided to pull over to the bank, and cut the engine. There was nowhere for them to land. As soon as they peeled away, he would make a break for it. Along the towpath, through the tunnel, and into the woods. For now there was nothing to do but wait.
‘This is Bronze Command,’ said Jo. ‘What is your location, India 99?’
‘Five hundred metres south of the Scout Tunnel,’ the observer replied. ‘Two thousand three hundred metres north-east of your current location. Switching to thermal imaging now.’
They watched with bated breath as the helicopter’s Nightsun searchlight was extinguished. In the centre of the inky darkness, Tit Willow appeared as a long grey shape, one end of which emitted a red glow, shading to purple at the extremities. And there, a third of the way along the cabin, was the unmistakable shape of a seated human being, the torso an intricate mix of red and purple hues, the arms and legs bright yellow, the head a splash of magnesium white.
‘His brain is working overtime,’ said Max. ‘And he’s sweating like a pig.’
Jo handed Max her tablet with the Google Earth map still open, started the engine, and began to back out of the wharf.
‘India 99 remain on station,’ she said. ‘We are on our way. Silver Command, please ask all support vehicles to rendezvous at . . .’
Max stabbed his finger at the tablet. ‘The nearest access point to the towpath is on a bend of the A635 Manchester Road at New Scout Mill.’
He selected Street View, and zoomed in on the front of the building. ‘It’s a furniture factory. Plenty of parking space. A bridge opposite leads on to paths through woodland to either end of the tunnel, where the towpath can be picked up.’
‘Did you get that, Gordon?’ Jo asked.
‘Roger that, Bronze Command,’ Gordon replied. ‘Scout Mill, A635. You are advised to contain the target in situ and wait for backup to arrive.’
‘That’ll be Gates,’ she muttered.
‘I heard that, Bronze Command,’ said the ACC over the radio.
‘Might be too late anyway,’ said Max, pointing at the video feed. The figure was on its feet and moving towards the front of the boat.
From the integrated speakers came a deafening command.
‘Police! Stay where you are. Do not attempt to move this boat. Do not attempt to leave this boat.’
The Audi’s brakes and tyres squealed in protest as Jo performed a perfect rally turn on to Cocker Hill and sped towards the junction with the A365. Max clung on to his grab strap and began a running commentary.
‘Target has emerged on deck. India 99 has reverted to laser-guided searchlight. Target is shielding his eyes, and crouching low to avoid being blown into the water. Target has leaped on to the bank. Target is now on the towpath running north-west towards the tunnel. India 99 in pursuit.’
On the screen she could see the unmoored boat slowly drifting away from the bank, turning broadside across the canal.
‘Why is he running for the tunnel?’ Jo asked, flooring the accelerator. ‘What do we know about it?’
Max was already ahead of her. ‘Scout Tunnel,’ he said. ‘Six hundred and fifteen feet long. That’s one hundred and eighty-eight metres. Brick lined with some unlined sections of exposed rock and stone. It has a towpath running through it.’
‘What does he hope to achieve?’ Jo wondered out loud. ‘He may lose the searchlight and the thermal imager inside the tunnel, but they’ll pick him up the second he emerges.’
‘It’s animal instinct to try and hide,’ said Max. ‘Unless he knows something we don’t.’
‘Such as?’
‘Secret doorways? Tunnels leading off? A 1960s underground bunker in case of nuclear attack?’
‘Bronze Command, support vehicles approaching your rendezvous,’ said Gordon. ‘ETA four minutes.’
‘Must be driving even faster than you,’ said Max. ‘If that was possible.’
‘Not fast enough,’ said Jo, rounding a bend and screeching to a halt at the entrance to a row of single-storey buildings.
‘He’s in the tunnel!’ said Max, bracing himself against the dashboard.
‘Report your situation please, Bronze Command,’ came Gordon’s anxious request.
Jo unclipped her seat belt. ‘At the rendezvous location, exiting our vehicle. Target is entering the tunnel. We are in pursuit of the target.’
We? Max mouthed.
Jo clipped on her Airwave radio, checked that her earpiece was secure, and opened the car door. Max had no option but to follow her.
‘You are advised to await backup, Bronze Command,’ said an increasingly anxious Gordon.
‘Negative to that,’ said Jo. ‘I assess the situation on the ground as requiring that we locate and secure the target as soon as possible. Not least for his own well-being as much as to ensure he does not avoid capture. If he makes it through the tunnel and into the woods we can see in front of us, he may evade us, even with the support of India 99.’
‘I doubt that very much, Bronze Command,’ came ACC Gates’s acerbic response.
‘Not a risk I’m prepared to take, Ma’am,’ said Jo. ‘SI Nailor agrees with me, don’t you, SI Nailor?’
Even in the semi-darkness Jo could see his glare, and sense the gritted teeth through which he replied.
‘Absolutely, SI Stuart,’ he said.
‘It’s your call, Bronze Command,’ said Gordon. ‘Please be careful.’
Jo was already crossing the road towards a wooden bridge in a gap in a drystone wall. Max hurried to catch her up.
‘What’s the plan, Jo?’ he said.
‘According to the map, once over the river there are paths in both directions leading to either end of the tunnel. You go right, I’ll go left. He’ll be trapped between us.’
‘Providing he doesn’t emerge before we get there.’
‘Better get a move on then,’ she said, switching on her torch, and breaking into a jog.
Their feet drummed on the wooden planks. Beneath them the River Thame frothed in spate. On the far side the path was hard sand underfoot, narrow and winding. The branches of the trees plucked at Jo’s hair and clothing. She ran as fast as she dared.
At a junction where the track merged with the northern towpath, Jo turned right down an even narrower trail that led to the opposite bank. Overhead, unable to penetrate the thick stone roof of the tunnel, India 99 hovered impotently. Jo had to crouch to keep her balance in the downdraught. Sensing this, the pilot climbed away. Jo paused and directed the beam of her torch down the towpath ahead of her. There was no sign of Beck.
‘Bronze Command,’ said the air observer. ‘Target is still inside the tunnel. I repeat. The target is still inside the tunnel.’
Jo clambered down the bank and on to the towpath.
Now Gordon’s voice was in her ear.
‘This is a siege situation, Bronze Command. We strongly advise that you await backup. Backup is less than one minute from your agreed rendezvous.’
Jo ducked into the tunnel, slipped her baton from her belt, and held the torch in front of her.
‘Sorry, Silver Command, you’re breaking up,’ she replied. ‘Can you repeat . . . ?’
Chapter 76
He could still hear the helicopter. Muted now but with a slight echo thrumming insistently inside the tunnel. This had been a bad idea. The second he emerged, that damned searchlight would latch on to him and follow wherever he went. It was going to take every scrap of ingenuity to shake it off.
His decision not to bring a torch for fear of giving away his position had also proved foolhardy. It was pitch-black in here, and holding on to the metal railings to feel his way had slowed him down.
Up ahead a shape began to emerge. A slate-grey semicircle that could only be the exit. He prepared to launch himself on to the towpath and straight into the nearest cover.
A sudden noise caused him to look back over his shoulder. A pinpoint of light at the far end of the tunnel found the ceiling, and expanded outwards as it moved towards him. He loosened his grip on the railings, and began to run.
The first thing that struck her was the smell of diesel, coke, and sulphurous damp. The second was the sound of running feet. A long way off a beam of light pierced the inky blackness. That had to be Max. This was nearby. Coming ever closer. Jo angled the baton across her chest, braced herself against the wall to her left, and raised her Maglite. She switched it on. Simultaneously she heard the sound of his head hitting the roof, and there, not more than twenty feet away, was Bryan Beck, arms flailing, as he toppled sideways over the railings and into the water.
‘Jo!’ Max yelled. ‘Are you alright?’
‘It’s Beck!’ she shouted. ‘He’s in the canal.’
She walked to the spot and quartered the surface of the water with the beam of her torch. At first she could not see him. Then she realised why. He lay on his front, his head obscured by a black balaclava. His arms floated listlessly by his sides.
‘I’m going in after him,’ she shouted as she laid her baton and lit torch on the damp stone floor.
‘No, Jo!’ Max shouted. ‘It’s too dangerous. Wait for backup. Standard procedure.’
> She had already squeezed between the handrail, and the one beneath, and was lowering herself into the canal.
‘He’s not getting off that lightly,’ she shouted. Then she let go.
The shock of the icy-cold water caused her to gasp. Keeping her head above the surface, she managed two breaststrokes before her hand felt his body. She found his shoulders, managed to roll him on to his back, grasped the hood of his cagoule, and began to tow him towards the railings. Now she was hyperventilating.
Max’s footsteps were close, his breathing heavy. The beam of his torch quartered the canal until it rested on her face, blinding her.
‘For God’s sake,’ she gasped.
The beam slid past her, and found Beck. His face was inches away from hers. Had his eyes been open they would have been staring straight at her. Max knelt down, placed his torch on the floor, and put both arms through the railings.
‘Give me your hand,’ he said.
‘Him first.’ She struggled to prevent Beck’s body from spiralling out of her grasp. ‘I’m conscious, he’s not.’
Reluctantly Max grasped a sleeve, and began to haul Beck’s dead weight over the lower bar. Jo did her best to support the rest of Beck’s body, at the cost of a mouthful of oily water. She trod the water, coughing and spluttering.
‘Hang on in there, Jo,’ said Max, anchoring his feet against two iron struts to give him purchase.
There were new voices now, and more torches stabbing the darkness. Hands reached down to help Max pull Beck on to the towpath. Both of Jo’s arms were seized, and she found herself being plucked from the water, over the top of the railings, and into Max’s arms.
‘Why did you do it?’ said Max. ‘You could have waited.’
Jo shivered uncontrollably despite the thermal blankets. Her heart was working overtime. She knew the symptoms. Early-stage hypothermia. Thirty yards away India 99 was attempting to land on a gently sloping field.
‘Because he could have died. And I want to hear him admit it. I want to see him locked up for life. And I want to know what drove him to kill those women. How is he?’