‘Consider that he might already be there, hiding and waiting. He might have got in earlier. Besides, if what I think is true, and if Gordon’s really determined, do you think Black Adolf could really stop him?’
‘Put like that, no. Right, Nick. I’ll put our emergency plan into action. Should Deirdre stay here?’
‘For the time being, yes. We need her near the telephone.’
‘He won’t blow up his house, will he?’ asked Ken.
‘Point taken. We’ll have it searched and we’ll put a guard on Deirdre.’
And I rushed out of the house not knowing what time I would return.
* * *
As I approached the site, Ken Rigby was waiting at the main gate which was now standing open. A powerful light shone from a tower above his head, bathing the ground about the gate in its pale white light and I noticed that a handful of men — half a dozen or so — surrounded him. Standing just inside the entrance was Black Adolf, the security man, while inside the tall wire fence were the site buildings, machines and the other accoutrements of this major construction project. And in the dark distance was the looming shape of the mighty dam, parts of it bathed in security lights and others in complete darkness.
It seemed to stretch away into the unseen distance but from here, I could not see any of the water that lapped gently behind it. I eased my minivan to a halt and climbed out.
‘Thanks Ken,’ I said as I approached him. ‘Anything happened?’
‘Nothing. I’ve said nothing to anyone yet. I thought it best to wait.’
‘What about the fence? Has it been breached?’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t had it checked yet. I can do it now,’ he said.
‘There’s no way of checking without making a tour of the entire boundary, is there?’ I put to him.
‘Sorry, no, we didn’t go in for electrification. It means doing a visual check and there’s more than a mile of high-wire fencing.’
‘It’ll have to be done as soon as possible,’ I stressed. ‘We have to know if Gordon’s managed to get inside and if so, where he’s likely to be. It would be beneficial if we could complete this check without alerting him.’
‘My lads can do that. They know their way around and the darkness should provide a lot of cover. Do you want to brief them?’
Black Adolf and four other men raised their hands when I asked for volunteers, each saying they were familiar with the layout of the site and I asked them to check every inch of the boundary fence for signs of a hole big enough to admit a man accompanied by a load of explosives and, if possible, to examine the ground to see if he’d left any sign of his route once inside. There might be footprints.
I told them we’d not found his car but doubted if he’d be able to drive it close to the fence at any point other than the main gate. If he had taken it off road, there might be tracks in the earth, but finding those would be extremely difficult. Having been briefed, they understood the need for caution but I felt Black Adolf would be better employed at the main gate; I suggested he remain at the gate to act as liaison officer and that the rest of us adjourned to the site office to await the arrival of Sergeant Blaketon.
Blaketon with seven officers rapidly recruited from current night patrols and comprising two car loads arrived within quarter of an hour and I explained to him my actions so far. Even as we were conferring, the four searchers arrived to say they had found a large cut in the boundary fence. It was on the western section and comprised a vertical slash in the wire. The hole was some six feet tall and the strong wire had been folded back to make a large entrance hole, certainly big enough to admit a fully grown man and whatever he might be capable of carrying.
‘Right,’ said Sergeant Blaketon, as he assumed command. ‘We need to make a detailed search of the site and of the ground near the gap, for footprints which might provide us with the direction he’s taken. Mr Rigby, can we close and lock the main gate now? All the police officers immediately available have arrived; we could use your security man’s services too. And I’d appreciate a plan of the site. If he’s hiding, we want to know where to search.’
From the office next door, Ken obtained a site plan for Sergeant Blaketon to study, then went off to secure the gates and bring Black Adolf into the party.
By the time they returned, Blaketon had formulated his plans, dispatching one constable to guard Deirdre at Ramsdale House and another to guard the hole in the fence, in case the trespasser used it as an escape route. With everyone present, Sergeant Blaketon addressed us.
‘Quite clearly, our immediate priority is the dam,’ he said, after telling the group about Gordon and the stolen explosives. ‘We will search in teams of two — one site worker to accompany one police officer. There are dangers as you can all appreciate but we must bear in mind the scenario if the dam does burst. I’m not sure what kind of timescale is involved but we need to complete our task with the minimum of delay and the utmost care. If the dam is found to be safe and if we find that no explosives are hidden upon or near it, we will place two constables in positions to maintain that state. If that is the case, it means Gordon could be elsewhere on the site, probably preparing whatever he has decided to do. Never forget he has the means of blowing himself up, or us, or anything else he might have in his mind. I cannot stress too strongly that the man is dangerous and that our time is necessarily limited. But I want no heroics . . . Now, here is the dam,’ and he pointed to a scale drawing which Ken had secured to the wall of the office. ‘It is a large structure as you can see and every inch must be scrutinized. Mr Rigby, you’re the one to guide us to the most vulnerable sites.’
Ken showed us, on the plan, the most vulnerable locations while explaining it would be most difficult to conceal any explosives either in or upon the face of the newly finished dam. The closely knit stone and concrete work did not permit it. Even to place explosives beneath the base, the most likely place for such an attack, was impossible although a powerful blast close to the base might produce some structural weakness.
Someone unaccustomed to the use of explosives might believe the base of the dam was the most suitable place to wreak severe damage and so every inch of the baseline would be scrutinized. Whether the amount stolen would cause a breach of the dam at the base was something Ken could not tell us — not without knowing the cumulative power of the explosives missing from the quarry. In fact, this dam was particularly well built, with sturdy foundations and a base which was far wider than its height, and that provided it with a very high degree of safety. Its base should resist an attack of the kind expected from Gordon but there were other vulnerable points. He could not take chances — he had no idea what knowledge Gordon had picked up during his painting visits to the site. He suggested several places which were at high risk, some close to sluices and the transformer. As we embarked upon our search, we detailed one constable to man the telephones and Black Adolf to act as liaison officer on the site.
Before leaving the site office, all the teams were equipped with powerful hand searchlights drawn from the site store and Ken was also able to supply each team with walkie-talkie radio sets. Two constables with two site workers were allocated to the western edge of the base of the dam and one constable with one site worker to the western edge of the summit of the dam. An identical scheme was effected for the eastern end of the dam and all would work towards the centre.
Sergeant Blaketon remained in overall command with a roving commission and a radio set, and I was partnered with Ken, our task being to examine the powerhouse and the buildings which housed the transformer while Ken kept in constant touch with everyone over his radio. The first search proved negative. No trespassers were found within the boundaries of the site or on the dam itself, and there was no sign that the structure had been tampered with in any way. Gordon had not been found there; likewise, my search of the powerhouse and transformer buildings proved negative. Ken knew all the places which might have accommodated explosive material, but none was found.
Positioning one constable at each end of the dam to maintain security, Sergeant Blaketon next organized a second search of all the site buildings and offices, with particular attention to the spaces beneath them and to lofts, cupboards and storerooms, but nothing was found. Apart from the gaping hole in the perimeter fence, there was no indication that anything untoward had happened. In spite of that suspicious hole, I began to wonder if I had been grossly mistaken. Anxious to resolve the matter, I told Sergeant Blaketon I would ring Deirdre to see if she’d heard anything from Gordon.
I rang her from the site office but she said Gordon had not been in touch, neither had she heard or seen anything of his car. She thanked us for providing a guardian constable and said she would ring us at the site office if Gordon did make contact.
‘He’s still missing,’ I told the searchers who had now been reassembled.
Blaketon turned to Ken. ‘Mr Digby.’ He adopted his most formal attitude, probably due to the fact that Ken’s behaviour was partially responsible for this drama. ‘My own instinct is that Gordon has either been on site to plant his bombs and left, either with or without an intention of returning to blow up the dam, or that this was a reconnaissance trip with the intention of returning at some future time to implement his plan. That might even mean later tonight. That hole in the fence does suggest some unauthorized person has entered. Or, of course, we might be barking right up the wrong tree altogether. Maybe Gordon is not coming here at all, maybe he did not raid the quarry explosives store and maybe he has no intention of harming the dam or anything connected with it. Remember, we have no evidence to support our theories, it’s all conjecture. Our search has revealed nothing but I must ask you this — is there anywhere on this site, particularly within the vicinity of the dam, where a man could conceal himself?’
Ken shook his head. ‘We’ve looked in all the likely hiding places and positions of vulnerability, they’re all listed on our plans for easy reference and my lads know this place inside out, Mr Blaketon. He’s not here and neither is that explosive. I’d guarantee that. And there were no footprints leading from that hole in the fence.’
‘That’s not surprising, the ground is covered with grass just there,’ I pointed out.
Blaketon regarded me with an expression that could imply that I was little more than a nuisance, said, ‘Rhea, you realize you could be wrong about all this?’
I did not know how to respond. I was very aware that my theory had resulted in this emergency turnout of police officers and site workers but equally, I knew we’d had no alternative. Gordon and a quantity of quarry-blasting explosives were missing. Those were two inescapable facts. Although there was no real evidence to link one incident with the other, the coincidence was too great to ignore. In addition, I’d heard Gordon express his hatred for the dam. And I’d seen his venom; if Gordon’s state of mind was deeply disturbed, he would not be responsible for his actions. That made him very dangerous.
‘I don’t think we should leave the site.’ I made my stand for what I believed was the right action. ‘If he did make that hole in the fence, he might be here now, hiding and waiting for us to leave, or he might come back. Either way, we must stay and keep looking.’
‘And how long do you suggest we all hang about, Rhea?’ asked Blaketon. ‘All night?’
Again, I hesitated then said, ‘Until we find Gordon Precious,’ I said. ‘Dead or alive.’
‘His car had not been found before I left the office,’ he said.
‘If he used it to come to the reservoir after his raid on the quarry and did not want it to be spotted,’ I said, ‘he would take it on to the moors, well off any formal road, and walk here. We’d never find it during a normal search. It could be on the moors above us now, a few hundred yards away, and we’d never see it in the darkness. Even in daylight, it would be most difficult to find without a bit of luck on our side.’
‘Are you suggesting we search those moors?’ was his next question.
‘No, they’re too vast and isolated, especially at night. I’m just making a point. I’m saying his car could be very close to us at this moment, which means he could be nearby too. With his explosives.’
‘So, as the man on the spot, what is your next suggestion, Rhea?’ He looked me directly in the eyes.
‘That we undertake another very thorough search and that we maintain our presence on site, that we do it in an unobtrusive manner, that we continue to guard the dam and that our available night patrols continue to look out for Gordon’s car — and for Gordon, just in case he is nowhere in this vicinity.’
‘All right, let’s do another search,’ Blaketon sighed. ‘And this time, we all change partners and we search a different place. No one should search the place they searched earlier. Right? Think — where, on this site, would a crazy man hide himself and a bag full of explosives?’
This time, I found myself with a middle-aged pipe-smoking site worker called Joe and because we had to concentrate yet again on the base of the dam, our allotted search area was the eastern end. When we were dispatched to our duties, I followed him to the extremity, the idea being to work towards the central concrete-built section from where the water issued under control to form the new stream. If there was a weak spot, that might be there, but that had been searched once — and would be searched again.
At ground level, we could physically inspect every nook and cranny aided by the torches we’d been given and by the arc lights which bathed most of the dam in their brilliant glow. But higher on the facing wall, we’d have to rely to some extent on the beams of our torches, pointing them high and sweeping their beams along the strong concrete and stone structure in the hope we might find the evidence we sought. But Gordon could never climb the smooth face of the dam to place his bomb in a crevice or crack — not that we found any such holes. In many ways, it was a forlorn hope. The overpowering darkness when away from the lights being our enemy and while it concealed our activities from Gordon, it did not make life any easier for the searchers.
Joe and I found ourselves below the huge face of the dam, where, on the land side, there was a careful blending of the steep slopes of the dale with the massive hewn stones. Each stone was some eight feet long by four feet deep and four feet thick; they had been rescued from a bridge demolition in Greece and were similar to those used in the construction of east-coast piers and sea defences. Their dark, natural colouring, in some cases adorned with mossy growths, was a perfect match for the heathery slopes into which they would soon merge. Indeed, these huge stones already appeared a natural part of the hillside, a design success, whereas towards the centre, the dam’s lofty concrete section looked pale and white in the lights.
I shone my torch skywards, allowing the powerful beam to sweep those rocks but knowing that no one was going to find any recess there into which to place any explosives.
You’d never find a hole big enough to admit a glass marble let alone a roll of quarry-blasting explosive. Nonetheless, I swept the beam of my powerful torch along the entire face of the dam and as the extended beam wavered, it highlighted the reconstructed Ramsdale Bridge on the eastern end of the dam, directly above me. The old stone packhorse bridge with its distinctive arch now straddled the narrow walkway which ran along the top of the dam. Now a mere decorative feature rather than a functional bridge, its arch was high enough to admit a small car and certainly people could walk beneath it, but no one could walk or drive over it now.
I swept my beam along the end of the bridge which faced me, marvelling that the builders had managed to replace every stone in its former precise position. The end of the old bridge merged perfectly with the stonework below and I noted the shadow cast by the bridge. A dark oblong shadow was directly beneath the end of the bridge as I examined it — oddly enough, it was the exact shape and size of one of those mighty rectangular stones. Then I realized it wasn’t a shadow. It was a huge hole . . . and I remembered what it was!
It was the intended grave of Warwick Humbert Rav
enswood. Situated on the highest level of stones, it would be above the waterline at the far side and thus not be subjected to any pressure from the water. Furthermore, it was secure from gawping tourists and likely vandals — and it would not be shown on Ken Rigby’s scale plans of the site. In his search, he’d forgotten about it! From the path along the top of the dam, it would be invisible because the supports of the old bridge came down to the dam’s road at that very place.
Once Warwick’s burial had been completed and a covering stone placed at the entrance, it would be concealed, but currently it was the sort of place an artist would notice, especially if he was making a painting of the face of the dam. I wondered if it was possible to gain entry without erecting scaffolding or dangling rope ladders over the rails? I felt that any truly determined person could do so . . . you’d crawl through the railings, hang on to them for dear life and swing the legs into the gaping space.
Even if a climber fell from there, the dam’s face was sloping outwards so the faller would roll down and be cushioned by heather and bracken on the steep hillside into which the stonework merged. They’d escape serious injury, unlike a fall from the central portions which overlooked the concrete platform which carried the overflow into the rocky bed of Ramsdale Beck. Then I remembered how Gordon had entertained me with tales of rock-climbing in the Lake District . . . to gain access to that hole would be comparatively easy for a proficient rock-climber!
It was the only hole in the dam that had not been searched. I radioed for Sergeant Blaketon.
Chapter Thirteen
Peace is in the grave.
The grave hides all things . . .
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 1792–1822
There was no reply from Sergeant Blaketon’s radio. Either the set was malfunctioning or he was out of range, so I called Ken Rigby.
‘Ken, it’s Nick here. I think I know where Gordon is. Can you join me at the packhorse bridge as soon as possible? With a rope that will bear my weight? And before you come, can you ring Deirdre and get her to come to the packhorse bridge.’
CONSTABLE AT THE DAM a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 19) Page 20