The Wave at Hanging Rock: A Psychological Mystery and Suspense Thriller

by Gregg Dunnett

  With the decision made, these preparations were carried out with a light-headed sense of unreality. The relief that there was a route out of the nightmare overwhelmed any opportunity to consider that the plan was insane. A sense of paranoia took over. They put nothing down in writing, no texts, no emails. They used the telephone only to arrange where to meet. They didn’t talk again with Jesse. Dave insisted it was better he knew nothing about it. The short timescale, the subterfuge and the preparations conspired to make them feel better already, at least in the daytime. Only during the nights did real doubts creep in, and each morning they both felt the need to make contact, to reassure each other they were doing the right thing.

  But now they were nervous. Obviously nervous. Sitting in silence, feeling sick nervous. They were in the air, en-route from Bristol to West London. The journey only took forty minutes and Natalie counted the minutes down. In front of her a GPS screen showed their location, the time to destination ticking down far too quickly. Then the one dot on the screen was joined by a second, the small hotel, near John Buckingham’s house, where it was possible to land the Eurocopter. They were five minutes away and she could stand Dave’s silence no more.

  “I can’t believe we’re going to do this.” She said, only to have something to say.

  He looked across at her then reached over and put a hand on her arm.

  “We’ve been though it Natalie. We’ve covered every angle.”

  “But what if he recognises us? Here’s this guy that’s been watching our every move for all these years. Isn’t he going to be suspicious that we both turn up driving his helicopter?”

  “He probably won’t even see who we are. From what Damien said he spends every flight with his head down going through papers.”

  “But what if he doesn’t this time?”

  “We just have to act totally natural. There’s no reason why I wouldn’t fly the helicopter, it’s my business, I’m a pilot. And you’re a shareholder, come to check out the firm’s new toy. And this flight has been booked for weeks, long before you were sent Jim’s wallet.”

  “But what if he knows we’ve been sniffing around Llanwindus? Showing people Jim’s picture?”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “He might though.”

  “But he probably doesn’t. That’s why we’re hitting him now. Before he gets to know. We have to do this Natalie. We’ve been through it.”

  “I know,” She sounded small and sad.

  “Breathe. Take ten deep breaths,” Dave said. “We’ve just got to get through this. Get him in the back and drinking and it’ll soon be over. And remember. Remember what this man has done to you. What he’s taken from you. And what he could still do if we don’t do this.”

  She closed her eyes and gave a couple of quick breaths. Then she took some deeper ones. She felt herself calming down, then she looked across at him and nodded.

  “This is the only way we get our lives back intact. This is the right thing to do.”

  The screen in front of Natalie showed them as one minute away, and Dave began to slow the big machine down. They were over a golf course and ahead of them the hotel slipped into view, its garden held a large ornamental pond and the painted H of a tarmac helipad.

  “We’re here.”

  They landed at two forty five, fifteen minutes earlier than arranged but as Dave was dialling Carol’s number to let her know they were there Natalie pointed out of the cockpit towards the Range Rover, its windows tinted on the sides, but clear through the windscreen. It came to a halt a few car lengths away, and a lady in the passenger seat waved at them through the windscreen. Dave put his phone down.

  “This is it Natalie. Just stay calm. Stay with me.”

  He unbuckled his straps and pushed open the door, suddenly the low hum of the engine, muffled by soundproofing, was replaced by a roar of noise. Dave climbed the two steps down to the ground and walked over to the car, one arm held high above his head to protect from the downdraft. Natalie stayed where she was. She watched the car as the driver’s door opened and John Buckingham stepped out.

  She recognised him from photographs on the internet, but was surprised at his size in real life. He wore a blue suit that looked expensive, but it did little to hide the powerful frame underneath. He was tanned and his blond hair was pulled back from his head in a neat ponytail. Even so he was strikingly handsome. The PA got out of the other side and they were walking past each other, she presumably to drive the car away, he to join Dave who had closed most of the gap from the chopper to the car. She watched the two men shake hands, and then lean in close to each other, presumably to try and be heard above the noise. She could see Dave moving to pick up John Buckingham’s small valise but the younger man waved him away. Instead Dave moved his arms to show him the way towards the helicopter.

  If she had really felt calm during any part of this madness, she didn’t now. And had there been any way of abandoning the plan at that moment she would have taken it, but now he was just a few steps away. She realised for the very first time that they really were doing this. It wasn’t panic she felt now, but sickness. An intense sickness that rooted her in the seat. Took away her final chance to end this madness.

  Dave opened the door, and the flood of noise returned. She realised why the gestures had been so obvious - the noise was so loud they wouldn’t have been able to speak. John Buckingham climbed in and Dave slammed the door shut. For a moment it was just the two of them inside the helicopter, she could smell his presence. Aftershave. She noticed he wore cuff links on his shirt, heavy lumps of gold. John Buckingham chose a seat - facing forwards, and looked around the cabin. He settled himself, ran a hand over his hair to check it was still in place. And then he noticed her.

  forty-six

  HIS FACE FROZE. At first he seemed too surprised to hide an expression of shock, but then he did. An easy smile appeared on his lips, which pulled back to show his teeth, even and white. He leaned forward, crouching in the cabin, held out his hand.

  “Hello.”

  Before Natalie could think she was extending her own arm behind her seat, as if some power outside her were propelling it. As if he were able to draw her over to him. Before they touched she felt the shake in her hand.

  “I’m John Buckingham.” He looked calm now, totally in control. He gazed into her eyes and his smile widened. He took her hand and she wondered if it were a trap and he would pull her in to the back and demand to know what she was doing there. But he didn’t. He just shook her hand, perhaps he held onto it for a moment too long, but then he let it go and sat back down.

  She still hadn’t spoken.

  “I didn’t see you there. I wasn’t expecting a second pilot.”

  Natalie was spared from answering when the noise flooded back in as Dave opened his door and climbed in beside her. He was talking, presumably continuing their conversation from outside.

  “I’m sorry about that sir. It’s always a little loud outside.”

  “That’s all right,” John said, still looking at Natalie so that she couldn’t turn around without looking rude.

  “I hope we haven’t kept you waiting at all?”

  “Not at all, I was a little early. Carol keeps me to a tight schedule.” He smiled again, his eyes still on her although he was speaking to Dave now. Natalie knew she had to start acting normally right now, or he would certainly notice something was wrong. She forced her face to flash him a smile and pulled her hand away. He watched her as she did so, but she turned to the front anyway.

  “Say, Dave, what happened to the other guy? Damien? He flew me last time. Said he was booked for today as well.”

  “Yes I’m sorry about that,” Dave said a little too quickly. “I’m afraid he injured himself at the weekend, playing five-a-side football. Nothing serious, just a rash tackle. You know what it’s like.” They’d gone through countless possible ways to answer this question if it came up. Natalie didn’t dare turn around again to see how he took it.


  “Ouch,” John said.

  “Indeed. I hope the upgrade goes some way to compensating?” Dave continued, his voice steadier now. “The Eurocopter is new to our fleet. We’re trying to upgrade our more important clients when we can. It really is the last word in VIP travel at the moment.”

  John Buckingham didn’t seem to be able to stop himself looking around the cabin, its acres of cream leather and polished walnut.

  “It’s nice.”

  “Please do make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you. I will.” John Buckingham sat back and rested his arms on the chair’s rests. Even in the spacious cabin he looked large, his handsome head not far from the ceiling. That smile still in place.

  “We can take off right away,” Dave went on. “We have a bit of a headwind but she’ll cruise at 143 knots, so we’ll make good time.” It sounded to Natalie like he was trying to forget what they were doing by focussing on the aircraft. Then he surprised her by adding:

  “Please do help yourself to a glass of champagne. There’s a bottle on ice in the cabinet in front of you.”

  “Thank you.” John Buckingham said, but gave no sign whether he planned to do so. Instead he looked back at Natalie.

  “So you’re what? The co-pilot?”

  Dave answered for her. “That’s right, we’re familiarising all our pilots. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. I didn’t catch your name though?”

  They hadn’t discussed this question coming up, and as Natalie opened her mouth to answer she realised she had no idea what she was going to say. Half-formed invented names gathered in her throat but she realised she was already speaking.

  “Natalie,” she said, her voice little more than a croak. It felt wrong to stay facing forward so she turned around again and tried to smile. He grinned back.

  “Natalie.” He repeated the name again as if testing how it felt to say out loud. “Natalie.” He smiled to himself this time. “Well it’s nice to meet you Natalie,” he said and then settled himself back deeper in his seat. She turned back to face the front, but as she did so thought she felt his stare on the back of her head.

  “We’re ready to go sir if you are,” Dave’s voice sounded too far away when he spoke, John Buckingham’s was somehow much closer.

  “Absolutely Dave. I think we’re all introduced now. Let’s get on with it.”

  Natalie watched Dave on the controls. The knuckles on his hand gripping the cyclic were white where the blood had drained away. She hardly felt the big helicopter lift off and pull them smoothly into the air. Then the nose dipped. Before they’d gathered speed she watched the Range Rover below pull out from the hotel car park and onto the main road. Then they were gone, flying over the trees of a small forest. She looked across at Dave and mouthed the words:

  “He knows.”

  Dave didn’t reply, nor give any sign that he’d seen, but concentrated instead on flying the aircraft back towards the west. It was late in the afternoon by then, and sunlight streamed into the cabin, giving them both an excuse to wear sunglasses. For a long while none of them spoke. Behind them their passenger had now pulled out a set of papers and was working his way through them, scrawling notes with an expensive pen. Natalie waited until she thought she had Dave’s attention and mouthed again.

  “He knows.”

  This time Dave shook his head in reply. Then he cleared his throat and called out more loudly.

  “Sir? Sorry to interrupt sir. I just wanted to tell you we’re up to cruising speed now. It should be a very smooth flight all the way out to Ireland.” Dave shot a glance at Natalie.

  “Do please help yourself to refreshments. Champagne. There’s a flask of fresh coffee as well, and some danish pastries in the oven in front of you.”

  Buckingham looked up from his papers. Then he pushed his shirt cuff up his arm and glanced at his watch.

  “Four pm. You know that’s not a bad idea.” He put everything he was holding down on the seat next to him and linked his fingers together inside out, then stretched them in front of him.

  “This is supposed to be a break after all.” He reached forward now and opened the ice box. His broad tanned hands pulled the champagne bottle and he expertly stripped the cork of its foil, the bottles were fitted with a special cage to catch the cork when it popped.

  “You’ll find glasses in the tray in front of you sir.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled it open, lifted a crystal champagne flute out and placed in on the table. Its base was wider than normal for stability. Then he hesitated.

  “I’m guessing neither of you two are able to join me?” He asked.

  “No sir,” Dave smiled.

  “Not even you Natalie? You don’t seem to be doing much flying?”

  “No, sir,” she said glancing back at him.

  “A shame. But I admire your sense of duty.” He gave the cork a half twist and then there was a loud bang when it came free from the neck of the bottle. Buckingham filled the flute with ivory bubbles which quickly settled back to a half glass of golden liquid. Then he topped it up so that the glass was nearly three quarters full. He pushed the bottle back into the ice bucket and sat back again. The glass rested on the table. Untouched.

  Up front Natalie could barely sit still. It felt as if a game were being played where Buckingham knew exactly what was going on. She felt the panic rising again. He was going to taste the chemicals they had dissolved in it. Of course he’d taste them now. He was already suspicious. God only knew what he was thinking. She could see something of what he was doing from the reflection on the inside of the windscreen, but she felt rather than saw him lift the glass now. He’d picked up the papers again and he held the glass by his side. Then he lifted it and put it to his lips. He sniffed. Not a sniff of suspicion, not even a sniff of appreciation, just a sniff, like he had a bit of a cold. And then he put it to his lips and took a sip.

  He took a sip, and he was still lost in his papers. He didn’t look at the glass. There was nothing in his face to suggest the champagne tasted unusual. And then he took a second sip, bigger this time. Natalie thought she was going to scream out at Dave to do something to stop this, or even to John Buckingham himself, to make him throw it on the floor. That he mustn’t drink it. Instead she made herself grip her own armrests as hard as she could. She told herself to breath and tried to remember. The man behind her had killed. A young girl forced to take an overdose in a public toilet. A man stabbed to death outside a nightclub. Jim. Her own husband. Stabbed to death for no other reason than he wanted to go for a surf. The man behind her was responsible for all those empty nights of crying she had suffered. There were probably others as well. Others he had killed, other people who had suffered because of who he killed. And this was a man who would kill again, she knew that from her work, from her training. So she didn’t scream, she didn’t say anything. Instead she prayed, not that a god would stop this, only that he would hurry up and get it over and done with.

  It was a journey of less than an hour to clear the Welsh coastline and strike out over the Irish sea. Halfway there and Buckingham had emptied his first glass. And soon after that, as Natalie sneaked little glances behind her, the drugs looked to be taking effect. At first he’d put down the papers, it looked as if he’d become tired of them. He even poured a second glass, but he hadn’t drunk any of it before he seemed to sag forward, he looked confused. And then his eyes closed and his body slumped sideways, held up only by the side of the helicopter. After five minutes of this Dave spoke to him.

  “Sir? Sir, are you feeling alright sir?”

  There was no reply.

  “Sir?” Dave spoke louder now. Still no answer. No movement at all.

  Dave looked across at Natalie.

  “OK. Let’s finish this.”

  She was dimly aware of how her whole body was shaking but it felt easiest to do what they’d planned for the moment. She reached beneath her seat and pulled a bag onto her lap, then from it she
took out a small zipped pouch. Even though she knew he was unconscious, she still held her body to prevent Buckingham from seeing what she was doing. She unzipped the pouch and there, held in place by two elastic loops was a syringe, a plastic guard over the needle. Its barrel was filled with a colourless liquid.

  This was the second stage of the plan. They had been so concerned over whether he would taste the drugs in the drink, that they had used only enough to sedate him. For what they needed to do now, there could be no risk he might wake up, and that required getting more drugs into his system. It was the most unpleasant part of the plan, but they had not been able to think of any way around it. Natalie would have to inject the contents of this syringe - a cocktail of compounds skimmed from the top of Elaine’s medical cabinet - into John Buckingham. They were much surer about this dosage. Once this was injected he would never wake again. Even without checking on the internet they were sure of that.

  In the rear of the helicopter Buckingham sat now with his head rolled back, eyes shut, a line of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth. His legs were slightly splayed apart, the material of his trousers pulled tight over his upper thighs. Thick powerful thighs. They were the perfect target, but out of reach of Natalie from where she sat. She held the syringe with her thumb resting against the plunger, and looked at the man behind her. Then hesitated.