Stalkers

by Paul Finch

  ‘You can’t count him as a man, an animal like that!’

  ‘You think a court will see it that way?’

  ‘Heck, we shot him in self-defence.’

  ‘We — sorry, you — shot him while he was tied up. Any way you cut it, that’s not going to look good.’ Heck shook his head. ‘But I suppose it’s my fault. I should’ve known better than to involve someone like you in this.’

  ‘What do you mean “someone like me”?’

  He jabbed a finger at her. ‘Don’t even think about playing the race card with me, darling. You know exactly what I mean. Someone who flies off the handle, someone who’s too emotional for their own good.’

  ‘I didn’t see any sign that he was about to help us.’

  ‘Yeah, well now we’ll never know.’

  He went back inside. She followed. They surveyed Deke’s corpse. The sticky crimson pool around his shattered skull was already cooling.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Lauren said.

  ‘Sorry? That’s great, that makes it all okay.’

  ‘What else can I say? He was going to kill us. Emotions were high. If we hadn’t managed to secure him, and he’d been coming at us with a gun, are you saying you wouldn’t have shot him?’

  ‘The point is he wasn’t.’

  ‘But he might’ve done. Heck, there was every chance once he started hunting us that we were going to have to kill him. You surely must’ve allowed for that possibility?’

  Heck shook his head. ‘I hoped we wouldn’t have to, and, as it turned out, we didn’t.’

  ‘And like I said earlier, what else would we have done with him? You weren’t serious about leaving him alive here?’

  Heck’s expression turned solemn. ‘When we get off this fort, Lauren, we’re going our separate ways. You understand?’

  ‘But I want to …’

  ‘There’re no buts. Not anymore. You shouldn’t even be here anyway. And I certainly can’t do this with Calamity Jane in tow.’

  ‘You think I’m just going home, putting my feet up?’

  ‘Erm, no. Not before you’ve helped me sort out this bloody mess that you’ve made, however the hell we’re going to pull that off.’ He paused to think. ‘I need one of his knives. And that hand-grenade he had left.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why, she says. Try to engage your brain, girl.’

  ‘Look, we just chuck him in the drink. It’s no big deal.’

  ‘Of course it’s a big deal.’ Heck finally got angry, finally began shouting. ‘He’ll be found! And if he’s been weighed down, there’ll be serious fucking questions to answer! But even if he isn’t, we can’t afford for him to just disappear! We need to account for all this! How we got here, the ledger, who killed Ron O’Hoorigan!’

  ‘Okay … so we leave him here and make it look like we shot him in self-defence.’

  ‘Forensics tell no lies, Lauren! There’ll be striation marks on his wrists, clear evidence that he was shot while he was bound and helpless! Like I said, try to engage your brain!’

  She glared at him, but bit her lip and sloped away. When she returned, she had one of Deke’s knives and his remaining hand-grenade. Heck took them both, then gazed down at Deke’s face, which lay side-on. It was fascinating the way death so quickly dehumanised a human visage. The hole in the hit-man’s forehead was relatively small, no bigger than a two-pence piece, with a thin black stain around it; but his face might have been made from wax — it was white, slack, pudgy; it looked as if you could meld it with your fingers. The cavernous exit wound at the back of the skull completed the picture.

  It was no big deal, she’d said. Killing someone was no big deal. Perhaps it wasn’t for an ex-soldier who’d seen heavy combat — and in that respect maybe he was being a bit hard on Lauren. But Heck was uncomfortably aware that he’d already strayed far from the traditional police path in what he was doing, and that this might be the final nail in his coffin. Okay, the son of a bitch had got exactly what he deserved, but it was still cold-blooded murder. This grim reality outweighed any elation Heck might have felt that Deke’s final words about Lauren’s sister had proved they were on the right trail.

  He cut Deke’s bonds, tossing the rope and the knife out through the trapdoor.

  ‘What exactly are we doing?’ Lauren asked.

  Heck arranged Deke’s hands so that they were cupped in front of his stomach.

  ‘The only thing I can,’ he said. ‘Shattering his hands and wrists, preferably blowing them off completely. That should remove the evidence that he was tied up. It’ll also make it look like the grenade went off while still in his possession. That way, at least no one will be able to disprove self-defence.’

  Lauren backed towards the door. Heck took a breath, then pulled the pin, dropped the grenade into Deke’s grasp and dashed after her. They were out in the next corridor when it detonated, the entire structure of the tower shaking with the blast.

  When they wafted their way back in through noxiously foul smoke, Deke’s body had been thrown halfway across the room. It had been reduced to smoking meat, its innards scattered in a glistening red pattern across the wreckage. The two offending limbs were little more than shredded flesh and gristle. Nothing remained of the hands and wrists.

  ‘As you can imagine, I really enjoy doing stuff like this,’ Heck said. ‘When I first joined up, the oath I swore to serve and protect doesn’t contravene anything we’ve done here at all.’

  ‘Like you said, it was the only thing you could do.’

  ‘I think the phrase you’re actually looking for is: “Thank you Sergeant Heckenburg, for making sure I don’t spend the rest of my life in prison.”’

  ‘How do we get away from here?’ she asked curtly.

  ‘I suppose his lordship here had a plan for that. Of course, now that we can’t ask him what it was, we’ll just have to look around and see what we can find.’

  They began by searching through the rubbish in the other rooms, but eventually finished up on the gun platform overhead. It was a broad deck, the size of a modern-day helipad, floored with wooden planks which in their turn had been laid with a gritty tarpaper sheet. The flat surface was broken here and there with pits and rusted steel fittings where the ack-ack guns had once been located. Heck looked east to the distant sea, then west to where the sun was descending in a fiery cascade over the smoke-grey smear that was London.

  ‘There’s nothing else on this tower,’ Lauren said. ‘We need to check the other ones.’

  Heck shifted his gaze to the south tower. ‘That was where he was perched when we got here. We’ll try that one next.’

  They crossed the bridge in single file, so physically and emotionally drained that they barely noticed how rickety it felt. As the sun set, the waters below were turning purple. The stiff breeze blew steadily colder.

  ‘You think it’s true?’ Lauren asked from behind.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What he said about Genene?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘But what do you suspect? Is she dead?’

  Heck hesitated before replying. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, but you knew there was at least a chance of that.’

  ‘He said she was tortured.’

  ‘We don’t know if that bit’s true.’

  ‘Why else would they take her?’

  Heck couldn’t answer that. They kept walking, feet clanking on the aged metalwork. The upright cylinder of concrete that was the south tower was only a few yards away. The bridge entered it through a single black aperture.

  ‘That’s another reason why you should call it a day,’ Heck said without looking round. ‘You’re not going to find your sister alive, Lauren. Which means you’re only in it now for revenge, and trust me, you don’t want that.’

  ‘You can’t ask me to leave, Heck.’

  ‘I can and I am doing. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you informed.’

  ‘And will you keep me protected?’

  He was just about to enter
the tower, but now he glanced back at her.

  ‘Like you said the other day,’ she added. ‘We’ve been green-lit. Both of us. You might have been guessing then, but now we know it’s true. Deke knew Genene was my sister. That means he knew who I am. That means the Nice Guys know who I am.’

  ‘Oh. So now, when it suits you, you can be a defenceless girl?’

  ‘The same applies to you, Heck. Will Deke be the last professional killer they send? At least together, we can look out for each other.’

  It was an ugly thought but nonetheless true. For Lauren’s own sake, Heck couldn’t really afford to let her out of his sight now, whether he liked it or not. Of course, the stakes had been raised dramatically for both of them. The Nice Guys wouldn’t yet know that their enforcer was dead; but when they finally put two and two together, how would they respond? Almost certainly with overwhelming force. This had become a shooting match now and any rules, such as there’d been, would almost certainly be dispensed with.

  He sighed. ‘There may still be ways we can make this disaster work for us. But first we’ve got to get ashore and back to London.’

  Inside the south tower, the floor was a simple steel grille. A stair led up through a hatch onto the roof. They went up there, and found a green Bergen backpack, and alongside it a khaki bedroll and four spent bullet casings. This was clearly the point from where Deke had originally sniped at them. Heck ripped the first section of the pack open and pulled out various bits of survivalist kit: a water bottle, a flask probably containing hot soup, a mess tin, a packet of chocolate, a box of stay-light matches, a mobile phone and a bunch of keys. He examined the keys — one of them was for a Volvo four-track; the others looked as though they might be for a house.

  ‘Look at this,’ Lauren said. She’d opened another section of the pack, and taken out two further hand-grenades and a fold-out Heckler amp; Koch submachine gun with two full magazines taped to the side of its short, stubby barrel. ‘He wasn’t taking any chances, was he?’

  ‘It’s all to the good,’ Heck said. ‘Useful evidence of who and what this guy was. We leave it here, it’ll confirm our story.’

  ‘Don’t you think we should make use of this stuff?’

  ‘Lauren, we’re already up to our necks in illegal crap. We start getting involved in firefights, and we’re going down for sure.’

  ‘What about this?’ She held up Deke’s mobile phone. ‘Maybe we can get something out of it?’

  ‘Any numbers stored?’

  She checked it. ‘None.’

  ‘Should’ve guessed. He was too much of a pro to bring anything out here that might lead us to them. We’ll hang on to it though — at some point we might be able to investigate his phone records.’

  The final thing they found — to their relief — was a deflated dinghy with a paddle and a motorised propeller attachment. They carried it down to the landing platform. It was now almost completely dark. The only light was the eerie glow of the chemical plant. Lauren inflated the boat, and, once they’d both climbed into it, they pushed off with the paddle. It hadn’t been designed for two, and rode dangerously low in the water. The excess weight also put great strain on the motor, which groaned agonisingly as it slowly propelled them away from the fort. When Heck steered them round in an arc so that they were heading towards the more distant north shore, Lauren was shocked.

  ‘Why are we going this way?’

  ‘We were seen in Allhallows-on-Sea. I don’t want us to be seen there again, especially now we’re ragged and wet and beaten up. People remember that sort of thing. Besides, I’m looking for this bastard’s Volvo. It’s more likely to be on one of the Canvey Island car parks. There’ll be loads of other vehicles there, so it won’t stand out.’

  ‘Come on Heck, we’ll never find it.’

  ‘We don’t have a choice, Lauren. How else are we going to get back to London?’

  ‘Are we sure going back to London is a good idea?’

  ‘We’re not only going back to London, we’re going back to Kingston upon Thames.’

  ‘Why, for God’s sake?’

  ‘If there’s any further clue to the identity of the Nice Guys, we’ll find it in Deke’s house. He’s hardly likely to turn up and disturb us this time, is he?’

  Chapter 35

  ‘When were you going to tell me that Mark Heckenburg’s in the frame for murder?’ Commander Laycock demanded.

  Gemma glanced round from where she was loading paperwork into the boot of her BMW. At this late hour, her vehicle was the only one present on the lower personnel car park. Laycock’s had to be around here somewhere, though he’d come upon her unawares.

  She continued sorting her stuff. ‘He’s not in the frame for it, as such.’

  ‘Of course he’s in the frame for it.’ Laycock waved a three-sheet fax with a Greater Manchester Police logo at the top. ‘There’s more than enough evidence to arrest him right here.’

  ‘Well, for one thing, we don’t know where he is.’

  ‘Have you looked?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And yet strangely enough you haven’t found him.’

  ‘We’re not running the murder enquiry, Sir. GMP are.’

  ‘I know they are. I’ve had a certain Detective Superintendent Smethurst bending my ear on and off all day. Apparently this isn’t just a murder anymore. Late last night they lost a potential witness and the two uniforms who were guarding him got badly hurt.’ Laycock looked genuinely angry. His cheeks had paled until they were almost white — but then, as she already knew, he was a consummate actor. ‘What’s going on, Gemma?’

  ‘I don’t know, Sir.’

  ‘You sure of that? Only it doesn’t seem to be worrying you a great deal.’

  She shrugged, closed her boot. ‘What can I say? Heck’s a maverick. This incident could be connected to any one of a number of cases that he’s investigated over the years.’

  ‘He’s been fitted up, you mean?’

  ‘Or it’s some kind of misunderstanding.’ She moved round to the driver’s door, but Laycock followed and put a hand on it, stopping her from climbing in.

  ‘Gemma, I’d really hate to think Heck was still working on this missing women case.’ They regarded each other steadily. ‘He is, isn’t he?’

  ‘He had some new information. I authorised him to check it out.’

  ‘Why wasn’t I informed?’

  ‘I didn’t want to bother you with it. Truth is, it was next to nothing.’

  ‘Next to nothing? Look where it’s led him to.’

  ‘Sir, I don’t believe for one minute that Heck is a murderer. Particularly not a sadistic murderer, which is what GMP seem to be dealing with.’

  ‘Either way, he needs to come in and explain himself. The fact that he hasn’t is something of an indictment.’

  She reached into the vehicle and placed her briefcase in the footwell of the front passenger seat. ‘I’m not reading anything into it until I speak to him myself, and get the full facts.’

  ‘Very honourable of you,’ Laycock sneered. ‘In the meantime, a police officer suspected of murder is on the run, and the department he works for is doing the minimum it can to apprehend him. According to GMP it’s actually worse than that. According to GMP, you’ve not only been unhelpful, you’ve been downright obstructive.’

  ‘Their failure to close a case is not our responsibility.’

  ‘Damn it, Gemma!’ Laycock’s voice echoed through the vast reaches of the car park. There was a hint of scarlet in his cheeks. He wasn’t acting anymore — he was furious. ‘Have you any idea how this will look when it hits the headlines?’

  She remained calm. ‘Heck’s wanted for questioning — nothing more. There’s no reason why it should hit the headlines.’

  ‘You and him used to have a thing going, didn’t you?’

  He leaned uncomfortably close, so close that she could smell his cologne. He’d moved the hand that had been resting on the open door so that it was now resti
ng on her arm. His grip was tight.

  ‘That was over ten years ago,’ she said. ‘We were both junior detectives at the time. In any case, I don’t see how it’s relevant.’

  ‘You want to know what I think, Gemma? I think you still harbour feelings for Heck.’ She laughed, but he wasn’t put off. ‘I can’t think of any other reason why you’d tolerate his ridiculous antics.’

  ‘He’s a highly productive officer.’

  ‘He’s a headcase, and you know it. Or maybe you don’t know it. Maybe your feelings for him have clouded your judgment.’

  ‘Will that be all, Sir?’ She yanked her arm free.

  ‘No it won’t.’ Still he wouldn’t release the door. ‘I can read you, Gemma. Too well. You’ve done great things during your service, you’ve got commendations coming out of your ears, you look fantastic. You’re PR gold for the modern police. But there’s a downside to that. It means you’ve never had to bite and scratch for things, you’ve never developed the fighting skills or the political know-how. This rough, tough relationship you have with Heck — it may amaze and amuse those who don’t know you. But I haven’t bought it once. Not once.’

  She appraised him coolly. ‘It’s what I suspected, Sir … you definitely do have too much time on your hands up there in that palatial office of yours.’

  ‘Ahhh, the cat shows her claws. Hit a nerve, have I?’

  ‘This is such crap.’

  She made to climb into the car, but he grabbed her by the shoulder.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘It’s a mountain of crap, and it’s getting worse by the minute. But I’m not going to let it bury the National Crime Group. Too many men and women in this organisation have worked too hard to let some fucking wayward lunatic sink us all now. Heck’s gone. That’s it, it’s over for him. And I can’t say I’m sorry. But I have to tell you, Gemma, it might be over for some others as well. If you know where he’s hiding, or if he’s passed any information to you about this murder GMP are investigating, and you’ve withheld it, you are seriously in for the high jump.’

  Carefully, with exaggerated distaste, she extricated his fingers from the material of her coat. ‘Sir, your cool dude theatrics may intimidate the sort of craven yes-men you normally like to have around you. But don’t make the mistake of thinking they frighten me. If you’ve an accusation to make, or if you want to launch a disciplinary procedure against me, by all means go ahead. But until then don’t bore me with your schoolyard threats.’ Now she leaned towards him. ‘And don’t even think about putting your hand on me again, under any circumstances whatever. Because if you do, I’ll have you up in front of a tribunal so fast it’ll make you faint. This is the positively discriminating twenty-first century, remember. Fast-track promotion for women is a hot ticket in the service these days. That means that, sooner or later, I’ll outrank you — and then, whether you’ve done anything wrong or not, it’ll be your turn for the high jump.’