Heads or Tails (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series Book 7)

by Damien Boyd

  Jane parked facing the Esplanade and switched off the engine.

  ‘We’d better wait for the others.’

  Janice and Louise were parked next to them, but Dave, Mark, DCI Lewis and PC Cole had gone through the town to ensure they arrived separately rather than in convoy.

  Dixon watched a huge blue tractor towing the inshore lifeboat on its trailer up Pier Street and then across to the jetty. Behind came the new ‘D’ Class lifeboat, Burnham Reach, that had recently replaced Puffin, the inflatable that had plucked him from the waves only a few weeks before. Three lifeboat crew in their bright yellow dry suits were running along behind.

  ‘Don’t fancy it on a night like this,’ muttered Jane.

  A strong onshore wind was whipping the bushes along the wall in front of the car, bending them right over on to the bonnet of Jane’s car. Even the lamp posts on the promenade were moving in the gusts of wind.

  ‘At least it’s not raining,’ said Dixon, watching the thick grey clouds above racing across the sky.

  The large doors were open at the front of the Coastguard station, several Coastguard mud technicians climbing into their yellow mud suits in readiness for the training exercise. At the BARB station a Land Rover was being hitched up to the trailer, ready to tow the hovercraft out to the jetty.

  ‘It’ll take off in this wind.’

  ‘They won’t launch it, surely, if the wind’s too strong?’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘There they are,’ said Jane, pointing to a car that passed in front of them before turning into the car park. ‘They’ve all come in one car.’

  Dixon climbed out of Jane’s car, pulled up the collar on his coat and ran across to the sea wall. He leaned over and looked along to the jetty. A small crowd had gathered at the top, some pointing cameras at the lifeboats and the hovercraft that was now being reversed into position, and several Coastguard officers were standing at the water’s edge, or as near to it as they dared. The wind was whipping the surf into foaming breakers that were crashing on to the jetty, perhaps thirty yards below the hovercraft.

  On the beach the other side of the jetty, the inshore lifeboat, still on its trailer, was being reversed into the sea by the tractor. The water was up over the wheels of the tractor and the lifeboat was starting to bounce around in the surf, crashing into the netting on either side of the trailer. The waves were breaking over the cabin on the tractor when the lifeboat roared out through the surf, rearing up as it crested the waves, before dropping down on the far side, the noise of the impact drowning out even the two large outboard engines. Seconds later, and before the lifeboat had cleared the breakers, the tractor was back up on the beach, seawater pouring off it.

  Once clear of the surf, the inshore lifeboat set off across the estuary towards the Hinkley Point power station, just visible in the distance.

  Still on the beach, the smaller inflatable ‘D’ Class lifeboat was being towed by a tracked vehicle that was reversing into position, ready to launch, and beyond that, two HM Coastguard vehicles, a Land Rover and a pickup truck.

  Dixon watched the hovercraft being manhandled off the trailer on to the jetty. He couldn’t hear anything over the wind and the waves, but the propeller on the back was turning, the engine idling, judging by the exhaust fumes.

  A figure wearing black trousers and a green coat left the crowd at the top of the jetty and walked down towards the Coastguard officers standing near the BARB Land Rover. His left hand was raised, holding up the hood of his coat in the wind, the sleeve riding up to reveal a wrist swathed in bandages.

  Dixon smiled.

  He waited.

  The conversation seemed animated, but they were probably just shouting to make themselves heard over the wind and the waves. Heads were shaking and shoulders being shrugged, presumably the launch of the hovercraft aborted due to the weather conditions.

  Let me see your face, you son of—

  The figure turned into the wind and the hood snapped back.

  Dixon turned and ran back across the road to the car park. ‘It’s him,’ he said as the others climbed out of their cars.

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘On the jetty,’ replied Dixon. ‘There are steps either side at the top. Louise, you and Cole go down the steps on to the beach on the left. Dave and Mark, you take the right hand side.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Janice, you’re with me and Jane. It’s your arrest, remember.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘You go where you want, Sir,’ replied Dixon.

  Lewis grinned.

  ‘Let me bring up the Armed Response team,’ he said. ‘They’re waiting in Abingdon Street.’

  They waited a few seconds for Lewis to make the call and then crossed the road to the top of the jetty. Horan was still standing by the BARB Land Rover, although he was not taking part in the conversation, just standing there, eavesdropping by the looks of it.

  Louise and PC Cole went down the steps on to the beach to the left and walked towards the tide line. Dave Harding and Mark Pearce went down the steps on the right. Dixon stepped forwards, Jane and Janice either side of him and DCI Lewis behind. He turned at the sound of footsteps running up behind to see four firearms officers moving into position behind the sea wall, the small crowd having melted away.

  The roar of the wind and the crash of the waves masked their approach, but Dixon still tiptoed down the jetty. He felt oddly calm and yet he was about to bring down the leader of Manchester’s most violent crime gang of the nineties.

  Who’s the rat catcher now?

  Dixon was standing no more than three feet behind him now. He stopped and took a deep breath.

  ‘Hello, Kenny,’ he said.

  Carter spun round.

  ‘You?’ He backed away from Dixon, the Coastguard officers stepping aside. ‘It said in the paper you were dead.’

  ‘You surely don’t believe what you read in the papers?’

  Carter glanced down at the beach either side of the jetty.

  ‘You’re not supposed to be looking for anyone else?’

  ‘We’re not. Just you. And we’ve found you, haven’t we, Kenny?’

  ‘My name is Toby Horan.’

  ‘It is now, but it was your brother’s name first, wasn’t it? After he went into witness protection. There’s a familial match between your DNA – you left a plentiful supply in the caravan – and Michael’s body in the shallow grave on Dunkery Beacon. You know, the one Denise Marks led us to.’

  ‘He ruined everything.’ Carter was backing away down the side of the BARB Land Rover now. Dixon and Jane followed, with Janice and Lewis taking the other side. ‘We had Manchester sewn up. Then he gets all bloody patriotic when the IRA blew up the Arndale Centre. I told him what would happen. I fucking told him.’

  ‘So, you killed him. Let me re-phrase that. You got The Vet to kill him. Then you took his place in witness protection, paid off Denise and lived happily ever after in Burnham-on-Sea.’

  ‘Until that bastard . . .’

  ‘Be fair, Kenny. They didn’t know who they were dealing with, did they?’ Dixon was following Carter as he backed away towards the BARB trailer. ‘And how could they? Paul Butler was right all along, wasn’t he?’

  ‘I fucking showed them.’

  ‘That’s right, Kenny. You did.’ Dixon shook his head.

  ‘You’ll never pin anything on me. Chief Superintendent Douglas will see to that.’ Carter grinned.

  ‘He may struggle with that from his cell, Kenny,’ replied Dixon. ‘Warren Douglas is in custody.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘We found his trephine, and d’you know he’d even kept the little pieces of skull. Heads or tails and all that.’ Dixon sneered. ‘Tosser.’

  Carter glanced down at the beach to his right, watching Louise and PC Cole following him as he staggered back along the jetty.

  ‘Oh, and Hargreaves is dead. Shot himself when they went to arrest hi
m.’

  Carter was holding on to the empty trailer, the hovercraft behind him now, its engine still running.

  ‘Stuck your neck out a bit,’ continued Dixon, ‘turning up to rescue Harry Lucas. What did you say to him as he was drowning?’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘D’you know what, Kenny? I don’t want to know. It’s over.’

  The beach on the other side of the jetty was crowded with Coastguard officers, lifeboat crew and police, all watching what was unfolding above them. And there was no way past Dixon and Jane on one side of the Land Rover and Janice and Lewis on the other.

  Janice stepped forwards. ‘Kenneth Carter, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murders of—’

  Carter lunged at Janice, pushing her off the jetty on to the beach below. Then he turned and sprinted down the jetty. He jumped into the hovercraft and opened the throttle, sending it lurching towards the surf.

  ‘He’ll never make it,’ shouted one of the Coastguard officers. ‘We just aborted the launch due to the high winds. Anything more than fifteen miles an hour and it’ll flip.’

  The hovercraft hit the first wave and bounced, the front rising up. Carter threw his weight forwards, over the handle bars, sending it down again behind the wave, before it hit another wave and reared up again.

  ‘The waves are smaller on the jetty,’ said Dixon.

  ‘The water’s shallower,’ replied the Coastguard officer.

  ‘He’s going to make it.’

  Dixon and Jane jumped down on to the beach where Dave, Mark and DCI Lewis were kneeling over Janice. ‘She’s fine. Go!’ shouted Lewis.

  Then they sprinted across the sand to the Coastguard Land Rover. Dixon glanced across to Carter, who was now clear of the breakers and heading north just beyond the surf, the hovercraft bouncing across the waves. Carter was fighting with the handlebars, trying to hold it straight in the strong cross wind.

  Dixon wrenched open the driver’s door and looked in. ‘No keys!’

  ‘Here!’ Steve Yelland was running towards them. ‘I’ve got them. Get in.’

  Yelland set off along the beach with Dixon and Jane in the passenger seat. Dixon watched the ‘D’ Class lifeboat being reversed out into the waves.

  ‘The Beach Master is launching the “D”,’ said Yelland. ‘And we’ve got a message to the inshore lifeboat too. Just to be on hand, if needed.’ He glanced across at the hovercraft. ‘That’s Toby Horan, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’

  ‘Who is it then?’

  ‘Long story,’ replied Dixon.

  ‘Did he kill the pest control bloke?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t looking for anyone else?’

  ‘We needed to flush him out, and it worked.’

  The tide had gone out beyond the end of the pavilion so Yelland was able to drive round it, finding the gap in the groyne in the shallow water. Then he sped off along the beach with his blue light flashing and siren wailing. Dixon watched the dog walkers putting their dogs on leads as the Land Rover raced towards them.

  They had caught up with Carter by the time they reached the lighthouse and kept pace with him along the beach.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ asked Jane.

  Yelland grimaced. ‘No idea. He’ll never get round the end of Brean Down.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s the overfalls off Howe Rock. The currents on the Parrett and Axe meet up off the headland there. Huge waves, criss-crossing. It’s bad enough in the inshore lifeboat. The “D” Class can’t go in there.’

  ‘What about the helicopter?

  Yelland snatched his radio off the dashboard. ‘Watch, this is OIC Burnham. We are in pursuit of a police suspect attempting to make his escape in the BARB hovercraft heading north towards Howe Rock. Despatch Rescue 187. Over.’

  ‘Stand by, Burnham.’

  ‘Only a couple of miles to go,’ said Dixon. ‘There’s the SS Nornen.’ He was pointing at the large yellow marker buoys bouncing around in the surf.

  ‘Any sign of the lifeboats?’ asked Jane.

  ‘Yes.’ Dixon was looking over his shoulder. ‘They’re still a way off though. Better tell them to stay back. He might be armed.’

  ‘Which lifeboat is it?’ asked Yelland.

  ‘The inflatable.’

  ‘Burnham 2, this is Coastguard. Better keep your distance; he may have a gun. Over.’ Yelland glanced across at the hovercraft. ‘He is. He’s going to try and go round Brean Down.’

  ‘Is there any chance he can make it?’

  ‘None. He’ll know that too.’

  ‘If he does, he’s got away because we can’t go any further.’

  ‘Really. He’s not getting round it in this wind.’

  ‘Let’s give him a chance to land then,’ said Dixon. ‘Switch off your blue light and siren and get off the beach there.’ He was pointing at the Berrow Beach access road.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes. And stop once we’re out of sight.’

  Yelland turned on to the slip road and slid to a halt on the soft sand once he was hidden by the dunes. Dixon jumped out and ran back.

  Seconds later he was back in the Land Rover. ‘He’s turned away from the beach, so he’s definitely going for it.’

  Yelland sped out to the main road, turned left and floored the accelerator, getting up to over 70 mph along Warren Road, his blue light flashing and siren wailing.

  The National Trust car park at Brean Down was empty and the cafe closed.

  ‘Head for the gate,’ said Dixon, pointing beyond the ‘No Vehicular Access’ signs.

  ‘It’s all right. I’ve got a key.’

  ‘We haven’t got time for that.’

  Yelland smashed into the five bar gate at over 30 mph, knocking it flat. The Land Rover bounced over it. Then he accelerated up the road that led diagonally on to the top of Brean Down, turned left and sped out towards the headland and the fort.

  ‘Can you see him?’ asked Yelland.

  ‘Not now. He was still on the Burnham side though.’

  ‘What about the lifeboats?’

  ‘The inshore was closest when I lost sight of them,’ replied Dixon. ‘How much light have we got left?’

  ‘Not long. Twenty minutes, something like that.’

  Yelland stamped on the brakes when they reached the fort and they jumped out, sprinting down to an abandoned gun emplacement overlooking Howe Rock.

  ‘He’s going for it,’ said Yelland. ‘He must be bloody mad.’

  ‘Or suicidal,’ muttered Dixon.

  They watched him wrestling with the controls, a handlebar and throttle just like a motorbike. The inshore lifeboat was coming up behind him, but he would reach the overfalls first. It formed a diamond pattern off the headland of waves going in different directions, some much bigger than Dixon had seen anywhere else in the Bristol Channel.

  ‘It’s a northwesterly.’ Yelland grimaced. ‘As soon as he gets round the point, it’ll hit him.’

  Carter was perhaps two hundred yards away now, sitting at the controls of the hovercraft as it bounced over the waves, the spray soaking him each time.

  ‘There are two propellers,’ shouted Yelland. ‘One underneath the front to give it lift and the bigger one at the back to propel it forwards. If the wind gets under it, he’s had it.’

  ‘Here we go,’ said Jane.

  Dixon watched the hovercraft close in on the edge of the overfalls. The first wave turned it sideways, then another hit from the front. It reared up, the wind billowing under the skirt. It appeared to take off and do a half-somersault, before it landed upside down.

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Yelland.

  ‘Underneath.’ Dixon shook his head. ‘Buried at sea.’

  The hovercraft was being battered by waves hitting it from all angles now, some sending it spinning round, others crashing over it. Another rolled it over.

  ‘Burnham 1, this is Coastguard,’ Yelland was shouting in
to his radio. ‘Expanding box search from last known position. Burnham 2, stand off. Rescue 187 has been requested.’

  Dixon watched the larger of the two lifeboats, Burnham 1, rear up as it crested the huge waves surging in different directions.

  ‘The hovercraft’s empty,’ said Yelland, watching through binoculars. ‘There’s no sign of him either.’

  The hovercraft reared up and sank just as Burnham 1 reached it. The lifeboat began making a search in the overfalls, being tossed and bounced around as it raced backwards and forwards across the currents, the sound of its engines soon drowned out by a red and white Coastguard helicopter hovering overhead.

  They watched in silence for ten minutes, until Yelland’s radio crackled into life.

  ‘Burnham 1, this is Milford Coastguard. Back to place of safety. Hovercraft is submerged. Rescue 187 will take it from here. Stand down. Repeat, stand down.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ‘Here are your keys.’

  ‘You’re going to need a new car,’ said Jane. She was lying on the sofa with her feet resting on Monty.

  ‘I thought I might go for something a bit different this time.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Maybe the short wheelbase version. I liked that one the Coastguard have got.’

  Jane sighed.

  Dixon was standing in the kitchen doorway with a mug in his hand. ‘Tea?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Jane sat up. ‘How’d you get on with the Chief Constable?’

  ‘Not sure, really. I remember he used the word “subterfuge” and frowned a lot.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘And I made him look like an idiot on the TV, apparently.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I wasn’t listening.’

  ‘What the—?’ Jane spun round on the sofa, stopping mid-sentence when she noticed Dixon smiling at her. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m getting a commendation.’

  ‘You jammy git.’

  ‘Janice is too.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘She was senior investigating officer, don’t forget, and technically it was her team that made the arrests. The Environment Agency bloke woke up and identified Martin White, so she got the eel poachers too.’