by Paul Finch
Chapter 33
Gail was uncomfortable ringing the farmhouse bell a third time; there was something annoyingly belligerent about people who hung on your doorbell – it put your back up before you’d even met them – but now at last she could hear movement inside the house. A series of chains and bolts were removed, and the door opened.
A girl in her early twenties stood there. Her short, fair hair was tousled and damp; her scanty nightwear revealed a spry, boyish figure.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked. Surprisingly for the hour, she looked neither groggy nor dazed.
‘Hi.’ Gail flashed her warrant card. ‘Look, I’m so sorry about this. Detective Constable Honeyford, Surrey CID. I know it’s terribly late, but I’m supposed to be meeting Detective Sergeant Heckenburg here?’
The girl looked confused. ‘Detective Sergeant Heckenburg?’
‘You know who I’m talking about? He was here a couple of days ago. The incident with the old bridge?’
‘Oh yeah.’ The girl still seemed vague. ‘I think so.’
‘You ought to.’ Gail indicated the heaped sodden wreckage on the drive. ‘That’s his Peugeot over there. I see you managed to drag it out of the river.’
‘Oh yeah … him, yeah.’
Gail regarded the girl steadily, wondering why she wasn’t buying this performance. The girl’s nightwear consisted of a thin vest and a small pair of knickers, both of which were damp with sweat. That in itself wasn’t necessarily suspicious. Some people preferred a hot bed, but somehow Gail wasn’t convinced. Heck had definitely said he was coming here. It would be unlike him to change that plan without informing her.
‘Do you mind me asking who I’m talking to?’ Gail said.
The girl’s face creased into a frown. ‘I’m Tilly Thornton. This is my mother’s farm, but in actual fact I do mind … at three o’clock in the morning. As you can see, Detective Heckenburg isn’t here. He hasn’t been here for several days.’
‘Obviously there’s been some kind of misunderstanding on my part.’
‘An inexcusable one, if you don’t mind my saying.’ The girl folded her muscular arms. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave. My father’s only recently died, and my mother hasn’t recovered from the shock of it yet. This is quite an intrusion.’
‘As I say, I’m very sorry.’ Gail still didn’t step away. ‘Just out of interest, is Charles Thornton on the farm at the moment?’
Tilly Thornton’s expression hardened even more. ‘Charles is in bed as well.’
‘You see, he was one person Sergeant Heckenburg was definitely hoping to speak to.’
‘That’s as may be …’
‘Would it be too much trouble to wake him up, and ask if there are any messages?’
‘Yes it would. Of course it would.’
‘Even if I was to tell you that this is really quite important?’
‘This is ridiculous, that’s what this is. Now I really wish you would leave. I’ve asked you once politely. Do I have to insist?’
She hasn’t enquired what the problem is, Gail told herself. Not once.
‘No, I’ll go,’ Gail said. ‘As I say, I’m sorry for disturbing you.’
‘You keep saying that, but you aren’t actually leaving.’
Any normal person would be alarmed if the police called at their front door at three o’clock in the morning. At the very least, they’d want to know what it was all about. Yet Tilly Thornton has no apparent interest.
‘I’ll call again tomorrow,’ Gail replied, pivoting away – but stopping when Tilly Thornton was halfway to closing the door. Tilly stopped too. They continued to eyeball each other.
She’s very eager for this interview to end. Or she’s very tired. And yet …
‘Pardon me for saying this,’ Gail said, ‘but considering it’s the early hours of the morning, you don’t seem very sleepy.’
‘You really are the limit! You come here at this hour—’
‘Sorry Miss Thornton, but I have a job to do.’
‘Why should I care about that?’
And still she doesn’t enquire why I’m here.
‘As I say, I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’ Gail turned and crossed the drive to her Punto, hearing the door thump closed. She glanced back at the farmhouse’s windows to see if the chintz hangings might twitch. If they did, it was unnoticeable.
She climbed into her car and sat there, worried. Heck had the air of a disorganised cop, of an opportunist who made things up as he went along. But she was now aware this was a smokescreen; he was a clear-headed investigator who knew when to prioritise. If he’d said he was coming here in the small hours before dawn, there had to be a reason for it. It didn’t add up that they’d neither seen nor heard from him. Not that there was much she could do at present. What was it that stupid girl had said – that she’d pushed things to the limit? That was true as well.
Gail switched the engine on. Her headlamps sprang to life, creating a tunnel of light along the side of the farmhouse. She peered down it absently, still wondering … wanting to drive away but some instinct preventing her.
‘Well?’ Thornton asked as his sister came back in, wearing slippers, knickers, and a vest.
‘Another cop,’ she said dismissively. ‘A girl this time.’
Heck felt a brief surge of hope, though it was quickly dashed.
‘I put her right,’ Tilly added.
‘What do you mean you put her right?’ Thornton asked.
‘She said she was supposed to meet Heckenburg here. I told her we hadn’t seen him for days.’
Thornton pondered this uneasily; he didn’t look as confident about it as his sister did. ‘The main thing is she’s gone now?’
Tilly nodded. ‘I watched through the window. She sat in her car for a bit, but then drove off.’
Thornton still seemed unhappy, but glanced slyly at Heck. ‘You may feel you have the upper hand here, Sergeant, but you haven’t, I assure you.’ He unscrewed the lid from the jar again.
As before, Heck set up a frantic struggling, though this time he put most effort into his legs. He’d already felt the cable tie loosen down there. It could never grip two separate limbs as tightly as one. With more strenuous efforts he might manage to yank his left foot clear, even if it was still throbbing from the blow it had taken. The problem now was time, because the jar was already open. Thornton flipped the lid away with his thumb. He took hold of the funnel, tilted it upwards and lifted the jar towards it.
‘When they find you, Sergeant – if they find you – they’ll link your death to those two car thieves’. But why should that worry us? Why should we want to hurt you? We’re the ones who saved your life the first time and, as far as your colleague knows you didn’t even arrive here tonight. You must have been attacked en route. Almost certainly by the same killer who’s been staging disastrous accidents for his own demented pleasure.’
Heck caught another fleeting glimpse of the spider. It was spread out again, tautly, but now on the bottom of its glass prison, perhaps sensing that to leave such confinement would be the death of it. Impatiently, Thornton tapped the glass on the metal – once, twice, three times. The spider suddenly flirted forward, but clung to the jar’s rim, a tangle of ungainly legs. Thornton shook the jar violently and shouted, only to be drowned out by a sudden, rising roar.
Heck recognised the roar for what it was before either of his captors did.
The engine of a fast-approaching car.
With a deafening BOOM!, the double doors exploded inwards. Broken chain and splintered woodwork flew in all directions as Gail’s Punto came careering through. Its radiator grille had collapsed on impact, and now its front near side collided with the combine harvester’s grain platform, the report like a hand grenade detonating.
More by instinct than logic, Tilly ducked, overbalanced, and staggered away at a crouch, though as she did she was able to scoop up the rifle. Her brother, initially too frozen to react, staring disbelievingly a
s the two smashed and tangled vehicles came to a rest together. His fixation lasted only a second, but it was all the time Heck needed. With a final, massive effort, he lugged his left foot loose from the cable tie, and swung it up in a straight-leg kick. He’d been aiming for Thornton’s crotch, but his target jumped backwards. Instead, Heck struck the jar. The agony of such contact went through the damaged bones and cartilage in his foot like a pair of scissors, but the jar somersaulted up into the air, and its hideous occupant came pinwheeling out, landing with legs spread on Thornton’s exposed chest, before scurrying down beneath the unbuttoned collar of his overalls.
The farmer reacted with frantic, desperate cries, slapping at his upper body and down around his crotch. A shrill squeal burst from his lips as the monster’s fangs struck home. Now that Heck’s legs were free, he wriggled and writhed energetically, though it didn’t give him much extra leverage. He dragged with all his strength on the planking to which his arms were still bound – futilely, until help came from an unexpected source.
Tilly Thornton had backed away across the barn, her face etched with shock, but still with rifle in hand. Clearly she was torn: about whether to turn and run, or whether to aid her stricken brother.
‘Kill them!’ Charles howled in an unrecognisable castrato. ‘Kill them …’
He sank to his knees, still clawing at himself, his features turning as grey as his overalls. In a kneejerk response, Tilly cocked the rifle and pegged off a round.
The powerful hollow-point slug struck the planking to the left of Heck’s position and shattered it. Instantly, he was able to tear his left hand free, shucking off the cable tie. The right hand followed; he pulled the funnel from his mouth and flung it narrow end first at Thornton, catching him full in the face, smashing the bridge of his nose. Thornton rocked back on his knees, odious froth bubbling from his gaping mouth.
Tilly continued to retreat, rifle levelled, her attention divided between Heck, who’d ripped down a length of broken timber, jammed it behind the slat to which his neck was fastened, and begun crowbarring the structure apart, and Gail Honeyford, who’d now leaped from the Punto and, though sheltering on its far side, was shouting warnings.
‘Put that bloody weapon down! There are police everywhere!’
Tilly winged a couple of shots at the Punto. Gail ducked as the remains of her windscreen were taken out. Heck at last loosened the final piece of planking, and threw off the nylon noose. He dropped to a crouch, but Tilly had started running – across the far end of the barn and out through the exit door again.
Gail vaulted over the crumpled bonnet of her car. ‘You okay?’ she said as Heck limped towards her.
‘Yeah … yeah,’ he stammered. ‘How’d you know I was in here?’
‘Saw your hankie lying outside. Spotted it just before I headed home.’
There was a gargled choking, and Charles Thornton twisted and jerked on the floor. His battered rictus of a face was now slathered with yellow/green goo, his mouth rimmed with blood. He jerked again as the hidden fangs savaged his flesh.
Only now did Gail seem to notice him. ‘What’s the matter with him?’
‘He’s getting intimate with a new friend.’ Gail made to kneel down, but Heck stopped her. ‘I wouldn’t get too close. Apparently there’s no anti-venom.’
‘Anti-venom?’
Somewhere outside, an engine thundered to life.
‘Never mind that.’ Heck lumbered to the exit.
Gail hurried after him. ‘Heck, if this girl’s armed …’
‘She’s a murdering bitch, and she’s going down.’
Outside, the summer night almost seemed cool after the fetid atmosphere in the barn. The vehicle they’d heard rev to life was a tractor. The light inside its cab showed Tilly Thornton hunched over the controls as it pulled slowly but steadily away across open pasture. It was already sixty or so yards ahead.
‘Murdering cow!’ Heck said again. ‘She isn’t getting away.’
Despite his injured foot, he ran in pursuit, sliding and tripping on the tussocky grass.
‘Heck!’ Gail shouted, following. ‘Who are these people? Why’ve they done all this?’
‘Because they could, Gail. Because they could – or so they thought.’
The rifle cracked, and a slug zipped between them. They dived and rolled for cover. The rifle cracked a second time. Another shot whistled past, this one so close to Heck’s scalp that it almost parted his hair.
‘Jesus!’ Gail said. ‘Is there more than one of them?’
‘No, it’s just her.’ Heck got up and hobbled on. ‘She’ll have jammed the accelerator down. Used a shovel, or something. Come on, Gail – we’ve got the advantage.’
‘Heck, she’s got a rifle!’
‘Yeah, but she’s also lit up like a Christmas tree. We’re not.’
The lights in the tractor’s cab did give them a slight edge. They pursued it for maybe a hundred yards, slowly closing in before a third shot rang out, though this one was a speculator, the bullet going well wide. They were now close enough to see Tilly’s wiry form as she clung to the open door of the cab, facing backwards. As they watched, she clambered up until she was on top of its roof, the rifle slung over her shoulder as if she was a commando. Once perched there, she began messing with some kind of appliance, rotating it to face them. It was almost too late when Heck realised what this was.
An ultra-strong floodlight blasted its beam towards them. He shouted at Gail that they should split up. But even as they ran zigzagging in opposite directions, further shots were fired, kicking up divots at their feet. Momentarily, the light turned entirely in Heck’s direction. Another three shots rang out. He dived again, rolled again. Soil sprayed his face as a chunk of earth was torn smoking from its roots right in front of him. He heard the crazed laughter of the markswoman, though it slowly faded as the self-propelled vehicle drew further and further away, from thirty yards, to forty, to fifty.
The 597 Long Rifle had a maximum range of about two miles, Heck recalled from his firearms training. And it was anyone’s guess how much ammo Tilly had.
He risked looking up. Far to his left, the spotlight spilled over undulating sward. Briefly, Gail was caught in its glare, half crouched. She attempted to dart away, and another shot sang out. Gail went down. Heck’s breath caught in his throat, only for the policewoman to leap back to her feet and dash off in the other direction. The spotlight attempted to follow, but seemed unable to locate her. Exhausted, Heck pushed himself to another effort, straightening up and clumping on. The eye of the spotlight roved back towards him. It was searing bright, and rendered almost everything around it charcoal-black, though he could just about distinguish the tractor’s awkward upright shape, jolting from side to side over increasingly rugged ground. Other objects slid into view alongside it: knotty pillars; heavy leafage.
Trees.
Though his left foot was agony – hurting so much that he grunted with every step, Heck increased his speed, closing the gap. If Tilly hadn’t noticed she was heading into a wood because she was too busy watching her back, the tractor could easily collide with something. The spotlight flooded over him again. There was an instant muzzle-flash; Heck felt the bullet whip past his ear. As before, he tried to zigzag away – only for his right foot to plunge past its ankle into the depths of a rabbit hole.
He tried to drag it out again, but it was caught fast – he was held rigid in the light’s full glare. Tilly Thornton had missed her targets when they were jumping about, but she couldn’t be too bad a shot – she’d bagged the blimp from several hundred yards. He hunkered down, trying to crumple into a ball, but was still exposed. The hypnotic eye of the spotlight was fixed on him. Seconds passed in seeming slow-time as he sensed her taking careful aim.
‘Shit,’ he whispered.
The fatal shot was fired.
Yet the round didn’t strike him. In fact, from the angle of the muzzle-flash, it looked as if the rifle was trained downwards. More shots fo
llowed – in rapid succession, all aimed down. Heck flinched each time, but could see no rhyme or reason to the fusillade, which continued unrelenting as though a spasmodic finger was locked on the trigger.
At last the magazine was spent.
Slowly, warily, Heck extricated his foot from the hole.
The lights of the tractor were still receding, more and more trees swimming into view to blot them out, but something told Heck there was no longer any need to rush. He advanced the last thirty yards at a walk, wafting through a pungent cloud of cordite.
‘Heck?’ came Gail’s voice from the darkness to his left.
‘It’s okay,’ he replied. ‘The coast’s clear.’
They could still hear the engine, a distant but dwindling rumble as the tractor trundled on across the farmland to who knew what destination.
‘Oh my God,’ Gail said when she finally joined him.
They gazed up at a lifeless, moonlit form dangling by its neck from a V-shaped crux in the lower boughs of a sycamore. It swayed in the strengthening summer breeze, the branch creaking. The empty rifle fell from the now nerveless trigger finger, dropping harmlessly to the ground.
‘Oh my God,’ Gail muttered again.
‘Yep,’ Heck agreed. ‘He works in mysterious ways.’
Chapter 34
Freda Thornton was put into the back of a police car, apparently not knowing who she was or where she was, and in custody under the Mental Health Act. It was now well past dawn, but the various other police cars parked all over the Thornton farm continued to swirl their lazy, liquid-blue patterns through every nook and cranny and byre and outhouse. The dew-laden morning air was alive with radio static. Plain clothes were on site as well as uniform, not to mention crime-scene examiners, who’d arrived team-handed and were already cordoning off significantly large areas, both indoors and out, with rolls of fluorescent tape.
Detective Superintendent Gemma Piper stood alongside Detective Chief Inspector Will Royton as the bodies of Tilly and Charles Thornton, the latter of whom no longer looked human, were zipped into PVC bags and loaded into temporary caskets so the undertaker could remove them from the scene.