Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1

by Ian St. James

"Kay?"

  She was crying again, but the words came through in gulps. "Sam, I'm so frightened ... everything got out of hand...they're insane...really insane."

  "Where - are - you?"

  "I ... I don't want to tell you ... not after what happened...what I did...and .... and then leaving you there, like-"

  "Kay! Where are you"

  "Don't shout...please...don't shout...you promised not to shout."

  I bit my tongue.

  Then she said, "I'm at ... at the boat-house. You know the phone box? Up the lane? I'm there. Oh Sam, it's so dark and ... and-"

  "What the hell? Why - why there for God's sake?"

  "It's near where they wanted to go. Marcelle wanted to see someone-"

  "Where are the others?"

  "Brooksy went over to The Fisherman ... he phoned someone when we got here. They said we were going to have a party ... launch the boat...breakfast ... breakfast on the river...except something's gone wrong ... Brooksy went off threatening to kill someone...and Sam ... I'm scared out of my mind! Marcelle is hopped up to the eyeballs and ..."

  "Get out of there, Kay," I panicked again, and started to shout, "Get out. D'you hear me?"

  "I ... I can't ..."

  "Can you drive? Are you okay to drive?"

  "The car ... it's round by the boat-house ... Marcelle would see me. He'll stop me. Oh, Sam, he said he'll kill me if I run out now. Sam, I'm so afraid-"

  I tried to visualise the phone box. It was up the lane from the boat-house. About fifty yards from the river. A deserted, country lane. Didcot was at least three miles away, five probably. Were any cottages nearby? A door she could knock at - a sanctuary? Think man - think!

  "Calm down, Kay," I said, "calm down." I repeated the words over and over again, while I tried to get my brain in gear. "Can you see any houses from there?"

  "No ... it's, too dark to see anything...trees ... the lane ... the boat-houses down by the river. Oh, Sam - what shall I do? Marcelle will miss me any minute and ... and come looking for me-"

  "Look - I can be there in twenty minutes - thirty at the most-"

  "Oh God! They're calling me. I think I can see Marcelle searching around down by the river ... Marcelle will kill me if-"

  "Kay, listen to me. Get out of there. Get through the nearest hedge. Stay off the road - get across the fields. Understand? I'll be there as soon as I can - twenty minutes - fifteen-"

  "Can't I stay here? Wait for-"

  "They'll find you there. Get out of there. You said they made a call earlier - and Brooks may be coming back from the Fisherman - you'll run into him on the lane. Use the fields - Kay, I'm on my way-"

  "Hurry, Sam - for God's sake hurry ..." a muffled sob, then she said, "Oh, Sam - I'm so sorry. Can things ever be the same again? Will you ever forgive me? You, me-"

  "We'll sort it out - don't worry - just do as I say-"

  Then the pips sounded again. I still lacked the number of the phone box! I heard her say, "I love you, Winner ... forgive me-"

  Then the line went dead.

  It took me three minutes to dress. Three minutes! Not that I dressed properly. Just pulled a pair of trousers over my pyjamas, grabbed a sweater and an old jacket, socks and shoes. God why did every pair of shoes have laces? Then I was back downstairs, heading for the kitchen, trying to think of what to take with me. A gun? I hadn't got a gun. Not even an old twelve bore for keeping the rabbits down. Put a kid from Battersea into the country and he's still a towny. No obvious weapon presented itself in the kitchen, and a moment later I was through the scullery and out of the back door, running across to the garage, holding the back of my head to stop it throbbing. Then my knees buckled with the shock of realisation. Just grappling with the thought was like being beaten over the head. I skidded to a halt, cursing my stupidity, propped myself up against the garage doors, gasping for breath, almost whimpering with worry and fear and frustration. Kay had taken the Jaguar. The Rolls was in London. How was I going to get to the boat-house? It was such a blinding revelation that I almost fell over.

  The mini! We had an old mini! Kay used it sometimes for the odd bit of shopping in the village. But not for ages - unless Mrs Jones used it? I had never driven it. But where were the keys? Those for the Rolls and the Jaguar were on my key ring. But they were the only car keys I had. I switched on the light in the garage, and saw the mini in the corner, covered in dust, grimy, neglected and abandoned.

  The key was in the ignition! The engine turned once - then coughed and died on me. I took a deep breath and counted to ten. My brain raced to find an alternative. Call the police - phone Edgar at Chelsea - Jack in Battersea? Could I hire a car? Borrow one? Steal one? I pumped the accelerator, took my foot away, checked that the gear stick was in neutral, tried the ignition again. A splutter - prolonged by my foot back on the accelerator and my hand on the choke. Don't flood it, for heaven's sake, don't flood it! The engine faded and died. Oh God! How long had I been? Count to ten again. Try the lights. They worked - the electrics were all right. But the needle on the petrol gauge barely moved. Try the ignition again. She started! Oh, blessed, sweet, beloved Jesus Christ! She started! But what about the petrol? She was almost empty - just a spot in the bottom of the tank by the look of the gauge. The garage in the village would be closed. Oh Jesus!

  I switched off, ran out of the garage and across to the gardener's shed. Opened the doors and found what I was looking for - the sit on lawnmower looked as big as the mini in the poor light. Petrol! Petrol! Where would the man keep it? Then I found a jerry can behind a breeze block partition at the back of the shed. Cap off, smell it - yes, it was petrol. A gallon? More perhaps - a gallon and a half - two gallons even? Kay was about fifteen miles away - not more than twenty. Twenty miles in a mini - on two gallons of petrol? Thank God it wasn't the Rolls. A funnel - find a funnel. How long had I been? Tools on the wall. A heavy spanner. A weapon? I staggered back to the garage - grazed my knuckles on the jerry can - threw the spanner onto the back seat of the mini. Filled up with petrol. Counted, switched on, waited, stabbed the accelerator - and, miracle of miracles, she started! I did a racing start down the drive, bouncing gravel as high as the windscreen, lights blazing full beam, wipers going, heater blasting cold air into my face.

  I lost my way twice! Would you bloody believe it? I lost my way! Country lanes look all alike in the pitch black of night. And the mini was so low on the road it was like driving on the seat of my pants. I skidded a couple of times but the roads were dry, so the tyre pressure must have been faulty. And all the time I kept asking myself - how long had I been?

  That bloody boat! I had bought it the summer before. Hardly used the damn thing! But Lew Douglas owned one and after spending a convivial day on his, Kay said what fun it would be to have one of our own. "Darling, it seems such a waste not to make more use of the river - and we could have such parties in the summer." Even then nothing would have come of it if Douglas hadn't poked his nose in. He phoned me a week later - he had this friend of his who was going abroad. "Got a smashing boat, old boy. And a boathouse, just down river from The Fisherman." So Kay went over and Douglas spent a whole day taking her out in the damn thing - and I heard all about it that night. "Darling, it's an investment. Lew says they appreciate like mad. So we could have a lot of fun without it costing a penny."

  I had been out in it twice since we'd had it. Twice, that's all. It was all right, I suppose. If you could stand those boating types - all dressed up in white flannels and yachting caps - slinging nautical terms about as if they'd been round the Horn with Chichester.

  Floating gin palaces, that's all they were.

  Oh God - how long had I been? I promised Kay twenty minutes. I must have been longer than that already. Half an hour at least. At least! And I still wasn't there. Was it left or right at Didcot? It must be right. And they had put one-way streets in since I was last here! One-way streets in a one horse place like Didcot. Bloody madness! Through the town and out again. Not far now. There was the
road sign. Take the little lane on the left. About five miles to the river. All twists and turns. Not a house in sight because sometimes the river bursts its banks in winter and floods the fields for miles around.

  I clipped a grass verge with the back wheels and zig-zagged across the road. The mini righted itself. A wind whipped low clouds across the sky, scudding the face of the moon. I was too low to see above the hedgerows. Not that it was light enough to see much - but it was lighter than when I started. Or had my eyes become adjusted to the darkness? Christ, how long had I been?

  Another mile. The lane straightened. Go faster. No! Slow down. Kay might be in the fields near here. The phone box would be soon - round the next bend perhaps? Steady - slow down - Jesus, there's something in the road! In the middle of the road! Eyes - looking at me - a bump as the wheels went over a rabbit. Oh God - Kay, where are you?

  Around the curve at the bottom of the straight. Nothing - no phone box. Damn and blast - the phone box should be here! I could see the boat-houses - black blobs on the blacker skyline, above the hedges, next to the dark trees. Another bend. The phone box! There - on the left. Dark, no light inside. But Kay had told me that - too dark to see the number. Slow down - slower - stop. The box was empty. Get out of the car, look inside, stupid waste of time - back into the car - hurry! Go to the boat-houses. Hit the horn in case Kay can hear. Make a noise. Attract attention. Attention? From whom? In this dark and deserted place. It looked like the end of the world.

  Three boat-houses. Mine was the middle one. Big, barn-like buildings, made of creosoted clapperboards, lapped one over the other. A scruffy track led up to the 'back doors' - the front ones opened onto the river itself.

  I stopped the mini. Switched off, sat listening. Nothing - not a bloody thing. Except the sounds of the night. I got out - shivered in the cold. A door creaked on rusty hinges. The night was as black as pitch. There was the sound of the river running a few yards away. Nothing more - no sign of the Jaguar. No sign of anything.

  "Kay," I shouted.

  Wind hurled my voice back into my face. A bird screeched and crashed its wings against the upper branches of a tree. It started to rain. The river sounded faster running than I had ever known it. The night shifted and rustled all round me.

  "Kay," I shouted again, at the top of my voice.

  A door creaked, then banged violently shut. I jumped. Hairs bristled on the back of my neck. I turned back to the car and collected the heavy spanner from the back seat. Then I walked slowly towards the boat-house.

  I was a yard away when the door moved. Further away than that and I wouldn't have seen it. But the door slowly opened outwards, an inch at a time - as if someone had heard my shouts and was coming to investigate. I hefted the spanner into my right hand, and reached for the door with my left. Then - suddenly - it slammed back with a crack loud enough to rouse the dead!

  I shall never forget standing outside that boat-house. The wind whistling and rattling through the clapperboards - the rain beating down in gusts. I cursed my stupidity for not bringing a torch. I wondered about going back to the mini - I could reposition it switch the headlights full on - they might be of some help. But I was making excuses. I was afraid. Afraid to open that door - afraid of what, who, might be hiding in there - afraid of what I might find. Then I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth - reached for the latch - and pulled the door towards me.

  The force of the wind bowled me over. I was lifted off my feet. Like being in a wind tunnel. It was a wind tunnel. The river doors were wide open. Wind hurled through the gap behind me and sent me sprawling in the dirt. The door cracked shut and I was in almost total darkness. I looked up, caught the glitter of black water a yard ahead, and saw the grey light at the other end of the boat-house. Then I heard the laughter. High-pitched like a woman's, but not a woman's. Hysterical, maniacal, screams of laughter.

  "Shit man! See who just came in? The Winner Man himself. What d'you want, Winner Man? Nutting here belongs to you."

  It was Martinez. I would have recognised that whining, sing-song voice anywhere. But I was damned if I could see him. The light was too poor. I had dropped the spanner when I fell over, so I rolled over on my hands and knees in search of it. Martinez whooped with laughter. He sounded so close I expected to feel his hands at my throat at any moment. The wind howled, the door creaked and rattled behind me. Then my hand found the spanner and closed around it. I was gasping for breath, winded by the fall, but somehow I raised myself into a half crouch and edged backwards towards the door. Wherever Martinez was, he could not be behind me. If I could only shut that sodding door - at least I would feel secure from that direction. I edged slowly along the wall and fumbled for the latch with my free hand.

  "Go home, Winner Man," Martinez taunted, "ain't nothing for you here."

  My hand was on the latch. I held the door against the wind - and the latch dropped home. Then there was a tremendous explosion of noise! The sudden blast of sound hit me with physical force. A deep, booming roar - so loud that I dropped the spanner and clapped my hands to my ears to save my eardrums. I rolled over and over on the ground, trying to avoid the sound - as if it were a weapon of some kind. Only when it stopped did I realise what it was. The fog horn on the boat. Magnified by the confined space, sound waves bouncing off the water and the walls and roof of the boat-house. Even when I took my hands away my ears were still buzzing. And when they stopped I could hear the shriek of the wind again, and the howl of Martinez's laughter.

  "What's the matter, Winner Man? Lost your tongue?"

  My foot knocked against the spanner. I stooped to retrieve it. Martinez must be on the boat? There is not much room in a boathouse. Certainly not much in mine. An oblong, about thirty feet by sixty, with doors at each of the narrow ends. I was standing on the jetty, which was about eight feet wide and which extended down one side in the shape of an L. The rest was water - except for the boat, which was tied up lengthways, the prow facing me less than twelve feet away. Not that I could see twelve feet. I moved away from the door, sliding crabwise into the corner of the L. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the darkness. The grey light coming off the river helped. I could just make out the shape of the boat rising above the jetty. I even identified the cockpit. If I could edge down the side of the jetty I might even be able to see into the cockpit.

  "Stop fooling around, Winner Man. Go home, before you get hurt."

  I wondered if he could see me? Surely not. The wall was behind me, whereas the light of the river was behind him - what light there was. I had the advantage. Even so I hesitated. I wiped the sweaty palm of my left hand against my trousers and transferred my grip on the spanner. Every step I took down the long wall took me further into the misty light coming off the river. I halted - trying to think of a way to distract him - to make him think I was still at the door. Then I retreated, moving as quietly as possible. Not that noise was a problem. The wind howled incessantly, shaking every loose board in the building, rattling and clanking the lifting chains hanging from the roof - the river hissed and gurgled past the open doors at the far end - and Martinez jeered and catcalled without let up.

  I reached the door and shouted, "I've come for my wife, Martinez. Send her out and-"

  "You ain't got no wife, Winner Man. What you had was a share in the best piece of tail in town."

  Suddenly Kay's screams rose above everything - above Martinez's sneers, above the wind and the clinking chains and the slapping, rushing water - and above the sound of my running feet as I dashed back to the corner and started down the long side. Then my foot caught a coiled rope and I stretched my length in the dust alongside the boat. I saw Kay struggling in the cockpit, fighting Faberge, clawing at his face and kicking his shins. Then I was on one knee, shouting to her, stretching out my left arm, trying to reach her, my right hand never letting go of the spanner for a moment.

  Faberge turned at the sound of my shout. It was enough for Kay to scramble free.

  "Jump, Kay - for God's sake jump"
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  She threw herself across the gap between the boat and the jetty, landing a yard from me, her knees buckling awkwardly as she fell. But I was up by then, swinging the spanner in a wide arc, shouting, roaring, screaming - completely out of control. Fear perhaps, the shocks of the night, hatred of Faberge - wanting revenge, wanting blood, wanting to kill him. The heavy steel spanner cracked against bone and he screamed with pain - then my free hand found Kay's arm and I was dragging her back to the corner.

  Then that blasted searchlight came on. The one on the boat. It blinded me for a moment. I stopped dead in my tracks, throwing Kay off balance, so that we both sprawled into a heap in the corner. Martinez whooped with triumph. His shadow fell between us and the lamp as he scuttled forward on the boat. I did the only thing I could think of. I threw the wrench at the searchlight. It must have hit the side because the lamp spun giddily as it smashed. We were in darkness again, but something registered as the light went out. Martinez springing forward, clearing the prow of the boat and landing on the jetty. He had reached the door ahead of us. We were cut off - and I had lost our only weapon.

  I backed Kay into the corner, pushing her behind me - expecting an attack from two directions at once. She was trembling violently. I doubt I was much better. Falling over had opened the cut on my head. The neck of my sweater was sticky with blood. My strength was beginning to fail.

  "Where's Brooks?" I panted.

  "Not back ... he went to The Fisherman-"

  Martinez shouted, "Hey - Marcelle. We got 'em trapped, man. In the corner. They ain't going nowhere."

  Faberge shouted some kind of reply. I saw his silhouette in the cockpit. He was hugging his right shoulder with his left hand, twisting his body like a hunchback. I knew what he was going to do as soon as I saw him. I knew I had to act fast, before he recovered. I cupped my hand to Kay's ear, pitching my voice against the wind, but not wanting it to carry to Martinez.

  "The mini's outside - key in the ignition - take it and go-"

  "No Sam...NO!"