Dead Man Walking

by Paul Finch

  Hazel nodded tiredly, as if that was of no consequence at all. ‘Everything alright upstairs?’

  ‘Won’t deny that I freaked myself out a little bit … but basically, yeah. How come you’ve not got your head down?’

  ‘Don’t know how anyone can sleep, to be honest. Mind you, they didn’t see what we saw up at Fellstead Grange, did they?’ Hazel struggled to suppress a shudder. ‘I know I look like shit, Gemma, but there’s no way my eyelids are closing tonight.’

  ‘Laudable ambition.’ Gemma placed her glass of water on the unit, and then slid down until she too was seated on the floor. She yawned. ‘You have my full permission to extend it to me if you catch me nodding off – give me a good hard dig in the ribs.’

  Chapter 26

  ‘Bit more excitement than we’ve been used to, eh?’ Mary-Ellen whispered.

  ‘Yep,’ Heck said, equally quietly, ensuring he was flat against the wall behind him. ‘I’d almost forgotten how much fun all this stuff was.’

  They were waiting just around the corner from Truscott Drive. Only a few dozen yards north of their position, on the opposite side, was the turn into Baytree Court. This was the small cul-de-sac that constituted the village’s most westerly residential road. There were three holiday cottages along there, but dominating the turning circle at its end was a large detached house belonging to the McCarthys.

  Heck wasn’t sure why, but the sense of impending threat he’d felt before they’d entered Ted Haveloc’s place seemed to have dissipated, though that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The incident with the cat had certainly lightened the mood, but it might also have created a false sense of security. If anything, the squawking beast could have alerted the madman to their presence on the village streets – if he wasn’t already aware of that. They thus held their position a little longer, waiting and watching.

  ‘Any ideas yet?’ she wondered.

  ‘Lots,’ he said. ‘None that make sense.’

  ‘Changed your mind about the Stranger?’

  ‘My mind’s never actually been made up on that. I think the Stranger’s the key to all this. But whether the Stranger is the perp is another matter.’

  ‘Don’t get you?’ Mary-Ellen replied.

  Heck pondered again. ‘First, I thought it was a hell of a coincidence, me being up here and the Stranger turning up as well. I mean, I wasn’t involved in the original investigation. But it was a near-certainty I’d recognise the whistling …’

  ‘Admittedly, that would be a real coincidence. And a lucky break for us.’

  ‘Unless it’s been contrived,’ Heck said. ‘Unless I was supposed to recognise it and conclude we were dealing with the Stranger. Because if I did, what was the next thing I was going to do?’

  ‘Call for supervision and support, I suppose.’

  ‘Of course, but this very convenient fog has prevented any of that arriving.’

  ‘Heck, whoever this guy is, he can’t control the weather …’

  ‘No, but he can control his own timetable … like watch the weather forecasts and wait for some really bad stuff to come along before he kicks everything off.’

  She mused on that.

  ‘So what would I do next?’ Heck said.

  ‘Well … call DSU Piper.’

  ‘That’s right. Gemma was a key investigator on the original case. She even fired the fatal shot … assuming it was fatal. You don’t get much more involved than that.’

  He set off walking, heading diagonally across the road towards Baytree Court.

  Mary-Ellen scurried to catch up. ‘You think this whole thing’s been what, a ruse … to bring Gemma up here where he can attack her? Does that fit the Stranger’s profile? Would he still be looking for revenge ten years later?’

  Heck shrugged. ‘We don’t have any kind of profile for him. Except that we had him down as a local man who worked outdoors. And we know for sure that at least one of those assumptions was wrong … he turned out to be a Scot. From his build, his voice, his manner, Gemma reckoned he was a husky bloke … but she also reckoned he wasn’t a young man. Now okay, I don’t know how accurate that assessment could be … he was in heavy clothing and it was dark, but sometimes it’s the way people breathe, the way they position their body.’

  ‘Well if it’s true he wasn’t young, say he was middle-aged, and this was ten years ago, how could he be running all over the fells like a March hare now?’

  ‘Exactly my point.’

  ‘Plus he might have suffered severe damage from the gunshot.’

  ‘That too.’

  ‘But Heck, if it isn’t the Stranger …?’

  ‘Shit!’ he hissed.

  They were only halfway along the short cul-de-sac that was Baytree Court, but already that was close enough to see that Bella McCarthy’s BMW X5, which was parked outside the front of her house, had also been disabled. Only tatters remained of its tyres, and its bonnet had been jacked open.

  ‘That’s that,’ Heck said irritably.

  ‘I suppose we should have expected it.’

  ‘Yeah … let’s get back.’

  They returned to Truscott Drive, walking quickly.

  ‘Heck, if it isn’t the Stranger,’ Mary-Ellen said again, ‘who the bloody hell …?’

  Ptchuuung!

  The shot was fired from somewhere to their left.

  The first they heard of it was the ricochet from the road surface, because even though the gun was fired from close range, it had been silenced. Instinctively, Heck ducked towards the nearest line of brush, which lay on the right. He crashed through it and threw himself onto his face, and only then noticed that Mary-Ellen hadn’t followed.

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  She was still in the middle of the road, crouched but apparently frozen rigid.

  ‘M-E, get over here!’ he hissed.

  This jerked her into action, panic driving her onward up the road rather than across it towards him. A second later, the fog had enveloped her, but he heard her feet hammering away into the distance.

  ‘M-E!’ he hissed again, pointlessly, as she was almost certainly out of earshot.

  Somebody else wasn’t.

  There was a second pop, and a slug tore through the leafage just above his head. A third followed, smashing a branch about three inches from his right ear.

  Heck scrambled further from the road, unavoidably threshing twigs and mulch, but remained on his belly, propelling himself with his elbows and his knees. Several yards later, he halted, holding his breath, fresh sweat streaming from his brow.

  Now there was silence.

  Several seconds passed before he rolled onto his back, knelt up and coiled his legs beneath him so that he could spring to his feet. But instead, he waited again. He was deep amid the foggy trees, but though he’d gone to ground left of the blacktop, he’d now been turned around a couple of times so he didn’t know which direction was which, only that he was somewhere in the extensive triangle of woodland between Truscott Drive and Cragwood Road.

  Still, there was no sound. But it was impossible not to imagine the killer wasn’t somewhere very close. Perhaps inevitably, Heck’s ears began to play tricks. Was that the faint shuffle of someone moving slowly through the vegetation about twenty yards to his left? Was that almost imperceptible click over on his right the cracking of a twig, or the cocking of a firearm?

  Heck hunkered down as low as possible, eyes scanning the unfathomable vapour, reminding himself that even if he did hear something, he was deep in the heart of nature. Just because there was a madman on the loose, that didn’t mean animals wouldn’t forage, birds wouldn’t flutter.

  More sweat dripped from his forehead as he held his ground.

  The seconds became minutes, which in their turn became tens of minutes. But Heck remained alert, twirling at the slightest hint he might not be alone. In normal circumstances, he’d gradually get used to the dark, his natural night-vision soon penetrating the deepest corners of the woodland, but t
he fog refused to surrender its secrets. He wondered where Mary-Ellen was and if she might have been been hit. The guy hadn’t followed her – at least not initially, as he’d hung around to peg another two off at Heck. Of course, if he was now using a silencer, Heck wouldn’t know whether or not he’d gone after her later, firing off more rounds.

  That in itself was confusing. Why had the son of a bitch started using a silencer? He hadn’t been concerned to conceal his gunfire when he was up on the fells. Unless that was all part of his game?

  There was a rustle of undergrowth somewhere to Heck’s rear.

  He manoeuvred himself around again, muscles tensioned like coiled springs. Something was definitely happening just beyond the scope of his vision. The killer was prowling, searching out his victims. It had to be him. It could not be anything else. For which reason, Heck determined to stay where he was. If the maniac was in his vicinity, as soon as he broke cover a thermal imager would locate and target him easily and cleanly. Several times again, he fancied he heard motion, and yet when he glanced at his watch he saw that forty minutes had now elapsed since he’d gone to ground. Surely, if the killer knew where he was, there’d be no reason to let him sit here?

  Slowly, quietly as he could, Heck started forward, still moving at a crouch, leaves and twigs barely rustling as he slid past them – only to realise, some twenty-five yards later, that he wasn’t headed back for the road.

  He halted again, trying to think.

  And a black-gloved hand clapped his shoulder.

  Inadvertently, Heck gave a hoarse yelp. He twisted around, but another hand clapped across his mouth and forced him backward to the dirt, a strong body pressing on top of him.

  ‘Shhhhhh!’ Mary-Ellen hissed into his ear.

  ‘What the hell?’ he spluttered. ‘Jesus, you almost gave me a coronary!’

  ‘Heck, this guy’s a fucking lunatic!’

  ‘No shit, Sherlock …’

  ‘No, listen!’ Her bright green eyes bugged almost unnaturally. Her face had turned waxy-pale. ‘There’s a marked police car about seventy yards from here, just off Cragwood Road. Half-hidden in the undergrowth.’

  ‘A marked car … anyone inside it?’

  She nodded dumbly. ‘I think it’s the firearms team.’

  By her tone alone, he knew this wasn’t going to be good.

  Chapter 27

  ‘You must see this kind of thing all the time?’ Hazel asked.

  They were seated opposite each other at the kitchen table, stirring mugs of tea. Gemma watched quietly as Hazel rubbed at her brow. Now the pub landlady had had some time to reflect on the events of earlier, she almost looked dazed. For a second or two, fresh tears had trickled from her eyes.

  ‘I suppose the answer you want, Hazel, is “yeah, sure … but we always get the right result in the end”.’ Gemma shrugged. ‘Thankfully, this kind of extremely violent psychopath is a rarity. Most of the criminals we encounter are desperate nobodies who’ve just lost their way in life.’

  Hazel arched a scornful eyebrow. ‘So they murder people as a solution?’

  ‘The majority don’t murder anyone. Even hardened career criminals basically want an easy time. They’re a bunch of pathetic losers who haven’t got the personal integrity to do any work. They prefer to acquire stuff they want by taking it from others, be it money, property, sexual gratification, personal dignity. But ultimately, they all pay for it. They do long stretches inside, they get criminal records that’ll hang around their necks for the rest of their lives, preventing them ever getting a proper job, a bank loan, or ever being able to live anywhere again without the police knocking on their door each time there’s an incident. I mean, they come out of jail acting the big “I am”, but the reality is they’ve been shagged in the showers, got a habit they won’t shake off easily, and the only people who still know them are the last guys on Earth you’d ever want to be your mates.’

  ‘But we’re not talking about those people, are we?’ Hazel said. ‘Not up here. Not tonight. We’re talking about that other small per cent: the weirdos, the aberrations.’

  ‘We don’t know what we’re dealing with here, Hazel. Truth is, we never really knew what we were dealing with during the Stranger enquiry. Our psychological profile was way off …’

  ‘You think it could be the same person? Seriously? After all this time?’

  Hazel wasn’t sure what response she hoped to get. Whoever it was out there, they were doing horrible things, but the thought it might be some kind of monster from the distant past was somehow even more disturbing, perhaps because it hinted at an unnatural longevity.

  Gemma shrugged again, affecting an air of nonchalance – the public always felt safer if their police officers were calm and analytical.

  ‘It could be the same person. The evidence suggests it is. But common sense says something else. The real issues at present are not who he is, but what he is … why is he doing this? How much is he actually capable of? Will he decide enough’s enough, or just carry on? I’m sorry … for all my experience, I just don’t know.’

  Hazel nodded and sniffled. Gemma noted that her earlier tears had been short-lived. She’d endured a terrible experience this night, the sort few civilians could emerge from unscathed, but thus far at least she was on top of it.

  ‘I never thought this kind of thing would ever come up here,’ Hazel said. ‘I mean don’t get me wrong, the Lake District isn’t Fairy Land … we have problems up here, of course we do. But people murdered in their homes, a madman roaming the fog!’

  ‘Like you called it before, it’s an aberration. It probably won’t happen again in your lifetime.’

  ‘But it shows how fragile the world is, doesn’t it? Every morning, I get up and go outside. I see the tarn lying flat as a millpond, reflecting the sky and the clouds. I see our beautiful mountains. The stillness, the serenity. It feels so good to be alive. But is all that a façade? Is it just a pretty smokescreen?’

  Gemma leaned forward. ‘Hazel, I’ve dealt with hundreds of murders, rapes, woundings … and I’ve met thousands of victims. I’ll say to you what I always say to them: it happened, it’s real, we can’t pretend otherwise, but don’t be frightened to enjoy life just because of this. The moment you do that, these petty, inadequate bastards have won.’

  ‘I won’t be frightened,’ Hazel said, perhaps not looking totally convinced. ‘When it’s over, I mean. At least, I don’t think I will. I’m not a coward, Gemma.’

  ‘Never said you were.’

  ‘I’m not easily scared …’

  ‘You proved that when you went up to the farm.’

  ‘I don’t know … maybe. I’m a fighter by origin. My dad, Will, was a farm-hand who worked every hour God sent, labouring in all kinds of weather. His older brother was Jim Barrett. Played loose forward for Workington Town … they used to call him “the Mangler”. Once smashed the Australian Rugby League captain’s jaw in an absolute bloodbath of a Test match in Sydney. That’s my line of descent, Gemma. But, hell …’ Hazel paused long and hard. ‘After tonight I’ll feel a little bit safer if Mark’s here too.’

  ‘Heck is a handy guy to have around,’ Gemma admitted. ‘But he’s no white knight. You need to know that.’

  ‘I do know it.’

  ‘He’s always got his own agenda – though some would call it an “obsession” – and it rarely involves anyone else.’

  ‘I also know he’s going to leave at some point. Or he’s contemplating leaving …?’

  Gemma shrugged as if she couldn’t help with this.

  ‘I heard everything you said about him earlier,’ Hazel said. ‘Marooning himself up here to punish you, cutting off his nose to spite his face and all that. And I’ve no reason to disbelieve any of it. But at some point soon he’s going to make a decision. The thing is …’ her tone became earnest, ‘now that you’re here, Gemma, there’s no conceivable way you won’t be part of it.’

  ‘That’s not why I’m …’

&n
bsp; ‘Why you’re here is irrelevant. When a guy talks about a previous girl in his life as much as Mark does about you, that’s not because you were just friends. He’s a warrior, and I can see you are as well. And that’s got to be an enormous attraction to him … even if he won’t admit it to himself. So he’s going to make his decision, and you’ll be part of it.’

  ‘Okay.’ Gemma sat back tiredly, sensing the ball was still in her court. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘If you want to offer him his old job back because you value his work, you want a good man on your team … that’s okay. I can’t quibble with that. But please guarantee me one thing. That you’re not going to offer him something you can’t or, after what you were saying up on the fell, won’t deliver. Please give me that guarantee, Gemma. Because it’d hardly be fair on Mark, would it?’

  Gemma eyed her with fascination. ‘Heck doesn’t bloody deserve you, Hazel.’

  Before Hazel could respond, there was a thunderous knocking on the pub’s front door. They stared at each other blankly, then struggled to their feet. By the time they’d entered the taproom, all the others had woken. Burt Fillingham and Ted Haveloc were already at the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ the postmaster asked through the wood.

  ‘McGurk,’ came a muffled voice. ‘PC McGurk … I need either PC O’Rourke or DS Heckenburg.’

  ‘Why?’ Fillingham asked.

  ‘Just open the sodding door, alright!’

  ‘It’s okay, thank you, Mr Fillingham,’ Gemma said, sliding past and turning the lock, but ensuring to keep the door on its chain, only releasing this when she saw McGurk outside. He was bug-eyed and rubbing tiredly at the back of his neck.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you wha’ the problem is, ma’am … the power’s out up at the nick.’

  ‘What … a full blackout?’

  ‘Yeah, the whole thing’s gone. I’m not so bothered about the lights, because I’m not using them anyway. But the electric heaters are on the same circuits, so it’s like a deep freeze inside there, and it’s getting worse …’