by Ellis, Tim
They were forced into a ditch at gunpoint. Another four soldiers were waiting for them.
‘Which squad?’ one of the soldiers asked. He had crazy eyes and at least three days growth of stubble.
‘Major Weedall has given us permission to extract two civilians from the barn by the lake.’ Randall jabbed his gloved finger at the map. ‘That’s why there’s a two-hour cease-fire.’
‘Need any help, Sir?’
It would have been excellent to have had a trained squad of infantry soldiers with them, but then he’d have had to tell them the truth, and reveal that they were carrying weapons and live ammunition of their own. ‘Thanks for the offer, soldier. We’ll be fine. The sooner we get there, the sooner you can get back to killing the enemy.’
‘Right you are, Sir.’
The soldiers melted away into the night.
During a lull in the driving snow, they saw the lake in a rock hollow beneath them. Carefully, they made their descent. In the summer, it would no doubt have been a gentle stroll down a well-worn path, but there was no evidence of summer ever having visited this place.
Soon, they spotted Carreg Cennen Barn not far from the lake shore.
It was five past two in the morning, so Randall wasn’t surprised that there were no lights on.
It had taken them over an hour to get here, and now he was conscious of the fact that live firing would recommence at three o’clock. They had to find the O’Connors quickly if they were here, and get out fast.
He signalled for Crabbe to go in through the back door. He and DS Vella would take the front.
They found the front door had been left open and was nearly off its hinges from being battered by the wind. He switched the torch on as he stepped inside.
Sue followed him.
The place was a mess. Chairs had been upended, ornaments broken and pictures hanging skew whiff. Snow followed them in through the front door.
Crabbe appeared and shrugged.
‘Take a look upstairs, Sue,’ he said to her. ‘We’ll look down here.’
The kettle was lukewarm, there was fresh food in the fridge and a fire had recently been burning in the hearth.
‘Look,’ Crabbe said, shining his torch on a wall leading to the back door.
Randall squatted and examined the red splashes. ‘Blood.’ His face creased up. ‘Maybe we’re too late. Check outside, see if you can find a trail or something.’
Crabbe nodded and left the way he’d entered.
Sue came back downstairs. ‘Somebody’s been sleeping in my bed, the mummy bear said.’
‘We’ve just found fresh blood.’ He shone his torch at the spatter on the wall.
‘There are two of them staying here – male and female. Seems like you were right, Randall.’
‘Being right, and being in time to save their lives are two different things.’
Crabbe came back inside and signalled for them to follow. At the back door he pointed his torch at a mishmash of footprints in the snow. ‘Between three and five people, I’d say. Could be the O’Connors with one to three people following them.’
He moved further outside, illuminated a thin trail of blood spots and pointed off along a frozen stream to the left of the building that disappeared between two jagged rocks up an incline. ‘I reckon they have about ten minutes on us.’
‘Let’s go,’ Randal said, letting Crabbe take the lead this time. He’d been hoping that everything might have played out at the barn. What he didn’t really want to do was start wandering around the moor looking for the O’Connors and whoever was trying to kill them. There was no way now they were going to get off the training area before the live firing recommenced. In about forty-five minutes they’d be moving targets. Just what the doctor ordered.
The wind was gusting the snow across the lake and through the rocky outcrops and it was difficult to see anything clearly. One minute Crabbe was in front of him, the next he was gone. Randall squatted down on one knee and signalled Sue to do the same.
Crabbe’s face appeared out of the darkness and he jabbed his finger at the ground and yelled, ‘A body.’
Randall felt with his foot until he hit something. He put his torch on and looked at what it was. Crabbe was right – it was a dead body – a man he didn’t recognise with a chest wound. He took his glove off. The body was still warm.
‘We’re getting close,’ he said to Crabbe.
Crabbe nodded and continued on.
They followed.
What he was concerned about now was recognition. They probably wouldn’t be able to tell who was who, and neither would the O’Connors. As far as Jim and Colleen were concerned, they could be more people after them. The body they’d just stepped over looked as though he’d been shot – by whom? If Jim had a gun, then there was every likelihood that he’d aim it at them.
Crabbe crouched down.
They did the same.
He turned and signalled that there were two people up ahead. Randall should go left, Vella right and he’d carry on straight ahead.
That’s what they did.
There was no need to crawl, tiptoe or use any of the other tried and tested methods of stealth. The only way anyone would know they were being followed in these conditions was if they turned around and saw those who were following them.
Crabbe and Randall reached the two figures together. Each pushed the barrel of the Glocks in their faces. Sue disarmed them, forced them to lie face down in the freezing snow and secured their wrists with plastic ties.
Randall signalled for Crabbe and Sue to stay where they were and keep low. He then carried on walking, but had his hands raised.
After a short distance a man grabbed his collar and shoved a gun in his face. The man appeared in front of him and seemed confused when he saw Randall.
He recognised Jim O’Connor. ‘Your mum and dad sent me,’ he mouthed.
‘Why?’
‘To find you. We’ve arrested the men.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, let’s go back to the barn. We need to get off this training area before we become corpses ourselves.’
Jim nodded, disappeared for a short while, but then came back holding onto his wife – Colleen. She looked pale and drawn, and Randall saw that she was bleeding heavily from the stomach.
‘Come on,’ Randall shouted.
When they reached the others, Crabbe lifted up a now unconscious Colleen and followed Jim O’Connor as he led them back to the barn. Sue pushed the two men in front of her. Randall brought up the rear.
Now all they had to do was get off the moor in one piece. He checked his watch – three o’clock in the morning.
Crap!
Chapter Forty-One
Joe had words with her before the paramedics arrived to take her away to the Accident and Emergency at Queen Mary’s Hospital.
Looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders he said, ‘I’m having problems, Ma’am.’
‘Oh?’
‘You have a fan club.’
She looked around at the sea of eager faces surrounding her and felt her skin burning up. ‘Oh?’
He passed her a red folder. ‘I’ve been asked to give you this.’
Her brow furrowed as she took it.
‘They noticed that you’re not wearing a wedding ring. Somebody’s added that fact to the price of chips and mushy peas, and come up with the idea that you’re unattached and available. Now, no offence intended, but they’d like to offer their services. Inside that folder are the résumés of ten of our most eligible bachelors. Feel free to take your pick – or not – as the fancy takes you. I can vouch for all of them.
She smiled. ‘I’m touched.’
He winked at her. ‘Believe me, they’d like nothing better, Ma’am.’
At the hospital she had to tell the Medusa-looking Doctor Della Berry where it hurt. ‘On the end of your fucking chin if you keep pulling and twisting my ankle, Doctor,’ she said as if butter wouldn’t m
elt.
‘I’ll send you for an x-ray, shall I?’
‘Probably a good idea.’
It was six-thirty. She decided to ring the Chief while she was waiting, and tell her most of what she and Tony had been doing.
‘You’ve only just come back off sick leave, Stone.’
‘I’m not taking sick leave, Chief. I’ll be in tomorrow morning.’
‘You know you should have gone through official channels to get access to that crime scene . . .’
‘By which time the killer would have been in and out.’
‘That doesn’t make it right, Stone.’
‘What they don’t know won’t hurt them.’
‘So, you think the killer is dead?’
‘I can’t imagine anyone surviving the jump or the freezing water, Chief.’
‘Another case solved then.’
‘Loose ends and paperwork to tie up before it’s closed.’
‘Do you want me to deal with the press?’
‘Unless we postpone it for twenty-four hours, so that I can fabricate the truth.’
‘Yes, we’ll do that. Perkins might have an idea what it was all about by then.’
‘See you tomorrow, Chief.’
‘Good work, Stone.’
The call ended.
Two hours later a porter transported her to the X-ray department. She was slowly catching up with her sleep in fits and starts.
Doctor Berry woke her up. ‘You have a fractured lateral malleolus – the lump on the outside of your ankle – if you were wondering. Unfortunately, because of the swelling, there’s not a lot I can do at the moment. I’m going to send you home with a splint on your ankle. You’re to take things easy, apply cold packs and keep your leg raised for the next twenty-four hours. I’ll give you a letter for your GP. He’ll arrange an outpatient appointment at your local hospital, and once the swelling has gone down you’ll have to wear a plaster for six weeks.’
She was already thinking of the implications – light duties, no driving, no shopping, no showers – shit! At least it was over Christmas, so the team wouldn’t miss her too much. She’d just have to direct operations instead of getting down and dirty with them.
Another two hours went by before someone else came along to take her to the fracture clinic. While she was waiting, she looked through the folder at the ten eligible bachelors from the BTP, and decided that she didn’t want to be on her own anymore. She picked a man called Sam Nelson who was twenty-eight years old, had been in the BTP for seven years, was a 3rd Dan Karate black belt and liked skydiving, but it was his dark broody eyes that melted her heart.
She called the number on his résumé.
‘Nelson?’
‘It’s Molly Stone.’
‘Just say when and where?’
‘I’m at the hospital with a broken ankle. I need a lift home, and then probably some help taking a bath and getting into bed. Oh, and I’ll probably need a decent meal and some red wine as well.’
‘You rang the right number, Molly Stone. I offer all those services.’
Why not? There had to be more to life than chasing killers around London.
‘I get off duty in ten minutes,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there in about an hour.’
‘See you then, Sam.’
They put the splint on her ankle, sat her in a wheelchair, gave her some painkillers and deposited her in the waiting room to wait for her lift.
Tony appeared.
‘Hello, Gov. How are you?’
‘Tired, sore and fed up.’
‘And me. I’ll give you a lift home.’
‘I have someone coming.’
‘Oh?’
‘None of your business. Did you give all that stuff to Perkins?’
He grinned. ‘Thought it was his birthday. He loves anything like that.’
‘You know you’ll have to be my chauffeur until this ankle heals – I’ll pay for your petrol.’
‘No problem.’
‘Can you pick me up at eight o’clock tomorrow morning?’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘You should go home now and get some sleep. That’s where I’m going.’
‘I wish I could. I had to re-arrange the second instalment for tonight.’
‘Surely you get time off for good behaviour?’
‘Maybe. She thinks I’m trying to renege on the agreement.’
‘Well, good luck with that.’
Tony ambled out looking dejected.
She phoned Perkins.
‘Yes?’
‘Are you nervous?’
‘I’m always nervous when I see it’s you who’s calling me, DI Stone.’
‘Good. You got the stuff from Tony?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s a notebook with a code on one of the pages.’
‘The line code?’
‘Yes.’
‘I want that silver mneme open by nine o’clock tomorrow morning. You’ve got the combination, so there shouldn’t be any problem. That number written on the same page means something as well.’
‘Tomorrow morning?’
‘That’s right. You wouldn’t want the Chief to find out about . . . ?’
‘I knew it! I knew you’d start trying to blackmail me if . . .’
‘Relax, Perkins. I’m only teasing you.’
‘That’s not funny, Inspector.’
‘I thought it was hilarious. So, can you open it, or not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh?’
‘I know what the number represents, and I also know what Professor Louis’ code means.’
‘That’s great. Go on then?’
‘You said tomorrow morning. Have a good night, Inspector.’
The call ended.
She had to smile – what goes around comes around, she thought.
Sam Nelson turned up looking like a stand-in for James Dean. He wheeled her outside, lifted her up with ease and helped her into the front seat of his VW Polo.
She was hoping for a Lamborghini, maybe a Lotus Esprit, or at the very least a Jaguar XJS. The bubble hadn’t burst yet, but it was beginning to deflate.
‘I didn’t know what you had in your fridge, so I stopped off and bought fillet steaks, salad, French stick and red wine.’
‘You cook as well?’
‘Doesn’t every man?’
‘Sadly, no.’ The bubble had stopped wheezing out air. He’d just patched up the tiny pinprick with a sticking plaster.’
‘Did I mention I’m a qualified masseuse?’
OMG! ‘No.’
When they arrived at Riverside Gardens, he swept her up in his arms and carried her inside. A new caretaker – who seemed vaguely familiar, but she didn’t know why – held the lift doors open for them.
‘Which floor?’ the caretaker asked.
‘Three,’ she said.
On the third floor she opened the door of her flat.
Sam held her while she disabled the alarm, and then deposited her on the sofa – gently lifting her leg up and resting it on a cushion. ‘I’ll go back down to the car and bring the shopping in. Is it all right if I take the keys with me, so that I can lock the door?’
‘Of course.’
Was she really going to have a bath and let him wash her? Was she really going to have sex with him? Was she . . . ? She guessed she was. Being cautious hadn’t really got her anywhere anyway. Oh, she was successful in her job, but there must be more to life than wading through the underbelly of humanity. It was time to roll the dice and see where they landed. She had already taken bold steps towards a different future in her professional life, and now it was time to take a different path in her personal life.
She heard the key in the lock and began to remove her clothes. A bath first, and then whatever happened after that would be a bonus.
***
Jacob Hansen smiled as the lift doors closed and pressed the button for the basement. He was thirty-two years old now, yet he felt
as though he’d already lived three lifetimes.
His journey had begun in 1979 under the tutelage of his mother and father – Lizzie and George Hansen. Together, they had abused him and his siblings in every way possible. He hadn’t known at the time, but now he understood. They were only following God’s commands – little Jacob was being prepared. Oh, and they prepared him so well.
His second life began in 1987 when he was committed to Lemon Tree Asylum in Newcastle at the age of eight for killing his five year-old brother. Gary’s wide-eyed look of surprise when he stuck the knife in his throat still gave him a thrill. Gary wasn’t part of the plan – he had to die. But when they put him in that place they took his Angel away – beautiful, lovely Angel – the only one who had ever cared for him, the only woman he had ever loved.
In 1995, at the age of sixteen, his third life had begun. He was transferred to Broadmoor where he had become a trustee and been able to prepare for his release. The doctors and nurses were so easily fooled into believing he was a reformed person.
They released him in 2007 to begin his fourth life. His father had left him a journal, and he’d spent the years since that time searching for and collecting together all of his half-brothers. And what he’d noticed was that the Hansen boys all looked similar – with dark curly hair and staring eyes, so he’d had to purchase a new face. The Hansen boys were a crazy lot though, and even though he’d given them instructions about killing the families and framing Randall, Malachi had wanted to kill one more family. That had been a mistake . . .
Yes, everything that had happened to him up to this point in his fourth life was in preparation for what was to come. God had a plan for Jacob Hansen.
After the caretaker of Riverside Gardens had met with a terrible accident Artemis Hubble had applied for the vacant position and been appointed. Now, he had a flat of his own at the rear of the building, and more importantly, he was close to Molly.
Molly didn’t remember him – he was merely a shadow in her conscious mind. That was the thing with Rohypnol – long-term use destroyed people’s memories. By the time he was finished with Molly she’d think her name was Angel – his beautiful, lovely Angel. God had given Angel back to him.
Soon, he would make her his. Only this time, there would be no Randall to save her – he had other plans for Randall.