Strike a Match 2

by Frank Tayell

  “Either way,” Mitchell said, “we need to arrest Longfield.”

  “You can’t get a warrant,” Isaac said. Ruth looked at Mitchell.

  “He’s right,” Mitchell said. “We’d need a formal confession from Simon, and that means we’d have to take him in. He could probably be dissuaded from asking for a lawyer, but someone will see him. Word will spread, and it would get back to his mother. Any evidence that’s there would disappear, as would the suspects.”

  “Without a warrant, you can’t get the Marines to help,” Riley said. “And we can’t do this alone. Emmitt might be there, along with whoever else survived the fire at the church. Five or six people, maybe more, armed with automatic weapons. Not counting Longfield’s employees. That’s too dangerous to go in without back up.”

  “I might be able to arrange some,” Mitchell said. “Corporal Lin is back in the city. I think she’ll be able to round up a few Marines who won’t mind disobeying orders on this particular occasion. Give me an hour. Riley, speak to Simon, find out what we might expect at the house. Isaac, I take it you have weapons here?”

  “Of course.”

  Chapter 16

  Storm

  “It looks like a castle,” Ruth said.

  “That’s just a facade,” Mitchell said. “It was built less than a century ago, when the greatest threat to the owners was tax collectors, not marauding peasants.”

  They were lying in a copse to the north of the estate from where they had a clear view of the house and its absurdly manicured gardens. As Ruth looked more closely, she made out the guttered roofs and chimneystacks artfully hidden behind crenelated sandstone brickwork. There was even a tower, jutting up from the southwest corner. It was only the large windows that gave a hint that the building’s medieval style was merely a pretentious fraud.

  “They could be growing food on those lawns,” Ruth said. “And in those fields outside the wall. There’s enough land to feed hundreds. Think of the gardeners wasting their lives keeping those lawns neat so Mrs Longfield has something nice to look at.”

  “Think about it later,” Isaac said. “Personally, I think it looks rather attractive. It would make a welcome change from the concrete and steel I’m usually surrounded by. But speaking of gardeners, I can’t see any. Kelly?”

  “There was a man deadheading roses on the far side,” the woman said. “And I saw two faces, one male, one female, in the windows of the main house. Both on the second-storey, two rooms apart, close to the tower.”

  “Simon said most the staff had been sent to the estate in Scotland,” Riley said. “He might have been telling the truth. When I was here for that fundraiser, I thought there weren’t many people around. The staff who were here looked like they’d been hired for the night. Hardly any of them knew where the bathrooms were.”

  “Interesting,” Mitchell said. “She didn’t want to sack the staff, but didn’t want to keep those she couldn’t absolutely trust to be here. The logical reason is because there’s someone here that Longfield doesn’t want them to see. With Emmitt’s face being in the newspaper so frequently, this would be an ideal place for him to hide. Corporal?”

  “Yes, sir?” Corporal Lin asked.

  “It’s not too late for you and your Marines to back out. You know there’s going to be trouble for this?”

  “They killed a lot of our friends, sir,” the Marine replied.

  Mitchell nodded. “Secure the main gatehouse and the postern gate on the western side. No one leaves. Detain anyone who tries to get in. Emmitt might be in one of those cottages. Try to arrest him, but remember that others may not be involved in this conspiracy. Too many people have died for any more innocent lives to be wasted.”

  “Understood,” Lin said. “And the signal?”

  “No signal,” Mitchell said. He looked at his wrist. “Will six minutes be long enough for you to get in position?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then good luck.”

  “Same to you.” Lin crawled quickly back through the undergrowth to where the nineteen Marines and sailors were waiting. All came from the SS Britannia, the same ship that had supplied the Marines who’d been killed in the ambush.

  “Simon said she goes to the tower after lunch, and stays there until sunset,” Mitchell said. “So that’s our target. We’ll rush the house, head to the tower, and secure it.”

  “And if she’s not there?” Isaac asked.

  “Then Deering will look for evidence in the tower, you and Kelly will guard her. Riley and I will search the house. Isaac, you have the ropes?”

  “Ready when you are.”

  “Deering?”

  Ruth shrugged. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Mitchell rose to a crouch. He looked at his watch, then at the grounds behind their twelve-foot-high wall, then back at his watch. They waited. “Now,” he said.

  He ran sure-footed across the uneven ground. Riley, Isaac, and Kelly, followed without any difficulty. Ruth found herself at the rear. The shotgun was a cumbersome weight. Like the ropes with their metal hooks, and the bulletproof vests marked ‘police’ they all wore, the gun had come from Isaac’s personal stash. That had been hidden in a coffin in the rear of the funeral home’s showroom. The shotgun was loaded with non-lethal rounds. Ruth hadn’t known they’d existed. Riley was similarly armed. Isaac and Mitchell had what almost looked like pistols but which, she’d been told, would fire two wired-darts into a target. Those wires would then administer an electric shock so powerful as to incapacitate their opponent. It didn’t sound particularly non-lethal to Ruth.

  Her foot hit a stone. The pain brought her back to the present. She told herself to focus on the approaching wall.

  Isaac threw up a rope. Mitchell did the same. They both scurried up and over. Riley and Kelly were just as quick. Riley paused at the top, straddling the wall, holding out a hand. Ruth threw the shotgun up, grabbed a rope. The moment she tried to climb, a burning reminder of the previous night’s torture shot through her muscles.

  “Can you hold the rope?” Riley whispered.

  Ruth thought so. She grabbed it and let herself be hauled up. Now she knew to expect it, the pain wasn’t so great. When she dropped down to the other side of the wall, the ache was replaced by a great wave of weariness.

  “You all right?” Riley asked.

  “Fine,” Ruth said, brushing away the sergeant’s help and picking up her shotgun from where Riley had dropped it.

  There were less than twenty yards between the wall and the house on this side of the estate. Mitchell pointed forward, angling toward a shallow set of stone steps that led – hopefully – to the kitchen.

  Riley went second, then Ruth, then Isaac and Kelly. Mitchell had almost reached the steps when the backdoor opened. A man dressed in old-fashioned black and white livery stepped out. Ruth froze. Mitchell didn’t. He raised his arm, waiting until the man had taken another step before pulling the trigger. Two metal prongs shot from the stun gun and slapped into the man’s chest. There was enough time for the man’s eyebrows to furrow in surprise before his arms flew out. He spasmed. He shook. He collapsed to the ground, still convulsing.

  Ruth stared. After all the wondrous things they’d made in the old-world, that was what counted as non-lethal? Mitchell dropped the stun gun on the still twitching man and drew an automatic pistol. Riley took the lead, and they went inside.

  The kitchen was empty. That surprised Ruth. Out of all the places in the house, she would have expected to find staff there. Off the kitchen was a staircase leading up to a landing on the first-storey. They went up, reaching a door that led onto a balcony running the length of the entrance hall. High up on the wall were portraits. Most of the people in the paintings wore robes and armour. Ruth knew for a fact the people in them weren’t relatives of the Longfields. They crept along the balcony. Mitchell paused at an open door, quickly entering, sweeping left and right, before stepping back out with a shake of his head. As she passed, Ruth glanced i
nto the room. The furniture was covered in dust sheets.

  At the end of the balcony was the door to the Tower. Like the walls either side, the door was painted white. If they hadn’t been looking for it, they might have missed it. Mitchell pushed at the edge. There was a soft click, the door sprung open an inch. He pulled it open the rest of the way. Riley, stun gun held in both hands, went in first. Mitchell followed. Ruth went in next. Kelly and Isaac took up station by the door. The staircase wound upwards in a tight spiral. Though she could see the captain, Riley was lost to sight.

  One staircase for the rich, she thought, another for the staff. Fertile ground not being used for grazing. It was wrong. She remembered what the man, Fredericks, had said during that meeting in the pub. The inequality of—

  “Police!” Riley’s yell cut through her thoughts.

  Ruth leaped up a step, raising her shotgun, trying to see either the sergeant or whoever she was shouting at.

  “Police!” Riley called again “Don’t—” Her words were cut short by a booming shot.

  “No!” Mitchell screamed.

  Something heavy hit the stairs. There was a barrage of shots, too many to count. Ruth kept running upwards, making another four stairs before she came to Riley’s body. The sergeant lay crumpled on the stairs, blood seeping from around the bulletproof vest. Ruth knelt, not knowing what to do, not knowing if there was anything anyone could do.

  “Don’t move!” she heard Mitchell say, though she couldn’t see to whom.

  “Go up. Help him,” Isaac said, pushing her out of the way. “I’ve got her.”

  Grateful to be relieved of having to care for the sergeant, Ruth ran up the remaining steps. Near the top was the body of a well-dressed man in his late fifties. Simon’s father, Ruth thought. A shotgun was held in his dead hand. It looked as if Mitchell had emptied an entire magazine into his chest.

  Beyond was a door. Mitchell was standing, legs braced, gun raised on the other side of it.

  “Sir?”

  He said nothing.

  She eased passed him and into the chamber. In the middle of the room was a woman. Simon’s mother. She held a pistol in her hand though at the moment the barrel was pointing down.

  “Drop. It,” Mitchell said, spitting the words out through gritted teeth.

  The woman looked at Mitchell then at Ruth.

  Ruth saw her shoulders tense. “No!” Ruth raised the shotgun, pulling the trigger as the woman started to raise her own arm. The recoil knocked Ruth back and almost from her feet, but the non-lethal round hit Longfield square in the chest. She was down. Mitchell crossed to the woman, took the gun from her hand, and then checked her pulse.

  “She’s alive. Cuff her then search her.” And he left, heading back down the stairs.

  Ruth began to cuff Longfield’s hands behind her back, but then changed her mind. Learning how to pick a handcuffs’ lock wasn’t a skill she thought the woman would have learned, but it wasn’t a risk she wanted to take. So she could keep them in view, she cuffed Longfield’s hands in front. She dragged the woman to the middle of the room, moving the furniture out of a kicking foot’s range. A quick search of Longfield’s person came up with nothing more deadly than a pen, but Ruth took that, along with the pins in the woman’s hair.

  “You’re going to stand trial,” Ruth said, but the unconscious woman gave no sign of having heard. “You are.”

  Ruth took a step back and a look around the room, checking for any stray weapons. To the left of the door was a bookshelf. To the right was a glass cabinet containing a few plates, statues, and other curios, presented as if on display. Two chairs were positioned either side of the room, one to catch the morning light, the other the evening. Opposite the door was a desk, and on it… was that a computer?

  She walked over, cautiously. It was a computer, or at least a screen a little larger than Mitchell’s phone. Gingerly, she touched it. It lit up. The screen was divided into six windows. The top left had an image of Mitchell and Isaac bent over Riley’s body. Ruth swallowed. In the next she could see Kelly, with the door to the hidden staircase behind her. The woman was crouched down, the rifle raised to her shoulder, tracking the barrel back and forth. The next window showed an empty room, the fourth a section of the driveway. The fifth showed the front of a cottage, and the last had an image of the gate. A Marine stood in front of it. Cameras, she thought.

  “Is that why you didn’t have anyone on watch?”

  There was no response from Longfield. Gingerly, Ruth lifted the tablet from the desk. There were no wires. That was a puzzle, but one that Isaac or Mitchell could answer. Her eyes went back to screen, watching as Isaac and Mitchell frantically struggled to save Riley’s life. She wondered if there was sound to go with the pictures, and decided, if there was, she didn’t want to hear what the men were saying.

  There was a groan from Longfield. Ruth put the tablet down.

  “I suppose I should tell you that you’re under arrest,” Ruth said. “You’ve got some rights, but I’m not sure whether they matter.”

  “Charming,” Longfield coughed. “You’re the Deering girl, aren’t you?” The woman’s voice was weak, but the scorn was unmistakable. “Why are you here?”

  “Why do you think?” Ruth replied.

  “I honestly couldn’t say. Armed thugs break into my house, kill my husband, and conduct an unlawful search. What am I supposed to think?”

  “Simon told us everything,” Ruth said.

  “Really? Was a lawyer present?”

  Ruth shook her head. She wasn’t in the mood to play games. She stood and walked over to the desk. Underneath it was a black box with a blinking green light. She ignored it, and opened a drawer, then another, then the third. They were all empty.

  “Perhaps if you told me what you are looking for, I might be able to assist,” Longfield said.

  Ruth didn’t answer. She was looking for the coin and had hoped, since Wallace had kept his in a desk drawer, so would Longfield. It wasn’t there, nor had it been on her person.

  “You were going away?” Ruth asked.

  “To Scotland. We have a place by the coast that we often visit at this time of year.”

  The woman lay perfectly still on the floor, the only movement was from her lips that, even now, were curling into a smile. It was wrong, Ruth thought. Then she realised why.

  “You don’t seem concerned that your husband’s been killed,” Ruth said.

  “I have seen a lot of death in my time,” Longfield replied. “I have come to understand it as a very natural part of life.”

  Ruth met the woman’s eyes, replaying what she’d just said, comparing that to what they’d learned this morning, and what Simon had told her during their time in the academy. “Simon isn’t in police custody,” she said. “We’re holding him, but not in a cell. His life is in my hands.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Longfield asked, and this time there was the merest hint of emotion in her voice.

  “No. I’m telling you how it is. DeWitt is dead. Or did you know her as Eve?” Ruth thought she saw a flicker of an eyelid, but she couldn’t be certain. “So are Donal and Wallace. Only Emmitt is left. And you of course. The fifth conspirator.” Yes, she definitely saw a twitch. “Simon told us everything. You’re going to prison, but you won’t be there long.”

  “Simon could only have told you what he thought he knew. That is a very different matter from telling you everything,” Longfield said.

  Ruth said nothing. The coin had to be somewhere close, and the coin was the key. The woman wouldn’t leave it somewhere a servant might stumble across it, so either it was hidden so well that she’d never find it, or it was somewhere in the room.

  Ruth stepped around the desk and crossed to the cabinet.

  “Are these antiques?” she asked, opening the glass door.

  “From the royal collection at Windsor,” Longfield said. “I acquired them personally. But you didn’t come here to talk about the baubles of long dead m
onarchs.”

  Ruth ignored the blatant distraction. There were plates, a crown, a ring, and a knife with an ivory handle. She lifted a plate. Stuck to the reverse was a coin.

  “The truth lies in the past,” she read.

  Longfield sighed. “It does,” she said. “And so does our future. My own future lies before me oh-so-clearly, but there is the matter of Simon. I will tell you everything if you promise to let him go.”

  “Go? You mean free?”

  “Yes. No prison, no death by long knives. Promise me that, on everything you consider sacred and holy, and I will give you everything you need.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think I did any of this?” Longfield said. “It was all for him. To you, who never knew what the world was like before, a radio broadcast must seem like a miracle. To me it is barely more than a taunt.”

  “You did it because the trade deal will bring imports of real coffee and cheap food,” Ruth said. “You’d be bankrupted.”

  “Twenty years ago, I had nothing,” Longfield said. “I built an empire. I could build another in half that time, but this is about the next century and whether there will be any humans left to mark its arrival.”

  “Emmitt said something similar,” Ruth said. “I didn’t believe him, and I don’t believe you. Yes, I’ll promise that Simon won’t go to prison, and we won’t kill him. He can go to Europe or Africa and make a life for himself there.” She suspected Isaac could arrange something like that. “But in return I want to know where Emmitt is.”

  “Or you could join our cause,” Longfield said. “It’s not too late. No, I can see you are not ready for it. Not yet. In time you will come around.”

  “Where’s Emmitt?” Ruth repeated.

  “On the bookshelf is a copy of Dante’s Inferno,” Longfield said. “Hidden inside is a diary. It contains a map of locations we have secured. Emmitt will use one though I don’t know which.”

  “He was here?” Ruth asked.

  “Staying in one of our cottages. He left when I saw you coming.”

  “But you didn’t,” Ruth said.