Blood Falls

by Tom Bale

  ‘So what the fuck are you doing here?’

  ‘I-I thought we could talk—’

  ‘Ah, that’s nice. Get to know each other first?’ Danny put on a simpering voice, pursing his lips into a kiss. ‘You don’t go all the way on a first date, is that what you’re saying?’

  Leon wanted to throw himself across the table and throttle Morton with his bare hands, but the men who guarded him were alert to that possibility. They’d cut him down in a second.

  Suddenly Leon knew that never in his life had he felt as stupid and worthless as he did right now. There was no way back from this, no way out but defeat, and the only thing that allowed him to keep any pride or dignity at all was the knowledge that he could at least deny Morton the ultimate prize, even though Morton himself wouldn’t know it.

  Joe’s all mine, and you’re never gonna get him.

  Sixty-Seven

  JOE RAN THROUGH what had happened since last Wednesday. He was cautious when it came to explaining how and why he’d gone to work for Leon Race. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of the reaction he’d provoked from Patrick Davy, but if anything Alise was too excited about it.

  ‘So you see Leon, at the house? You can get close to him?’

  ‘Alise, I’m not going to assassinate him.’

  With a certain reluctance, she nodded, listening patiently as he described his visit to Jamie Pearse.

  ‘He says Kamila called him, around the time she last spoke to you, boasting that she’d found someone else.’

  ‘Leon,’ Alise murmured.

  ‘Possibly.’ Joe paused. ‘Pearse also claims that Kamila ran out on him after stealing a lot of money and valuables.’

  Alise sighed so heavily that Joe felt awful for adding to her burdens. ‘I keep asking her, how do you pay for this travelling? How much did this man give to you? Always she hid from the questions.’

  She dabbed at her eyes, very gingerly, with the edge of her hand. ‘If Kamila did this, she would have a reason. It changes nothing for me.’

  ‘Nor me,’ Joe said. ‘And I’ll do what I can to help you.’ To avoid a show of gratitude that he knew he didn’t deserve, he added, ‘But I’m worried about you staying here.’

  She shrugged off the concern. ‘No one knows I am in Looe.’

  ‘Maybe not. But they’re probably monitoring the local news, waiting to hear that your body was discovered on the Rame peninsula. If they think you’ve survived, they might already be on the search.’

  She absorbed the warning, her expression solemn, then said simply: ‘I will take the chance.’ The glint in her eyes told Joe he’d achieve little by arguing.

  He could see she was getting tired, so he accompanied her back to her hotel, which turned out to be virtually opposite the railway station. Alise moved slowly and with difficulty, limping from a badly sprained ankle, her posture affected by a couple of cracked ribs. Joe did the best he could to help, letting her cling to his arm as she walked.

  When it came time to say farewell, Joe kissed her on the cheek and promised to do everything he could to get answers for her.

  Back at the van, he thought about how best to manage his absence. It was now almost three-thirty, and very tempting to make straight for Trelennan. If he chose to return to the depot in Glastonbury he was looking at another four or five hours on the road.

  Then again, he decided, a late return to Leon’s might not be a bad thing.

  Climbing into the van, he spotted the newspaper that Kestle had thrust at him this morning. He leafed through it, and quickly saw why Leon wanted everyone to have a copy.

  Joe read the article in a state of incredulous fury. It took exactly the line that Giles had promised to take: portraying Leon as the unlikely poster boy for Little Englanders everywhere. It wasn’t so much fiction as a dangerous fantasy, and it made Joe determined to disprove every word.

  Leon said nothing, gave no warning. Just got up and strode out of the room. Taken by surprise, Fenton and Glenn scrambled after him.

  Morton burst out laughing, shouting: ‘Send my regards to the chief constable!’

  In the adjoining room, Leon’s hands trembled as he collected his watch and phone, stuffing them in his pockets, the guards grinning like it was a huge joke. Leon ignored them, racing back to the lobby. He burst through the exit like a drowning man breaking the surface. When the others caught up he was at the Range Rover, slapping his hand on the rear screen, not caring if he smashed it.

  ‘Why didn’t we bring guns?’ He turned on Bruce. ‘You were the fucking hard man. What fucking help were you?’

  ‘They wouldn’t let me in—’

  ‘We should have had fucking guns!’ Leon yelled, then saw a party of golfers frowning in their direction.

  ‘Let’s get in the car,’ Glenn said. ‘Talk in there.’

  Grudgingly Leon complied. From the front seat he could feel Fenton, sitting behind him, almost vibrating with the desire to speak. If the fat bastard uttered a word Leon was going to climb over the seat and punch his lights out.

  When the Range Rover pulled away, Leon stamped his feet on the dash and let out a roar of frustration.

  ‘What the fuck happened there?’ Now he was muttering to himself, and for once they had the sense not to interrupt. ‘We had what Morton is longing to get. If he’d just shown a bit of respect – a tiny bit – he could have had it. I’d have given it to him, and we’d all be coming out happy as Larry. So what happened?’

  ‘There’s nothing, Leon,’ Glenn said. ‘You didn’t put a foot wrong.’

  Fenton made a smacking sound with his lips. ‘Perhaps there’s a way to salvage—’

  ‘Shut up, Clive. I don’t wanna hear it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No. Listen to me. That is bordering on fucking mutiny at a time like this.’ Leon turned, glaring at Fenton for long enough that maybe some telepathy did its work: I know about you and fucking Derek plotting against me …

  With a harrumphing noise, Fenton broke eye contact and stared out of the window. Leon straightened up and went on to his next grievance.

  ‘That was a pack of lies they were telling about me, but if they’ve been digging around it could mean they’ve had people in Trelennan. Watching us.’

  ‘Christ, I hope not,’ Glenn said. ‘They could spot Joe at any time.’

  ‘Ah, shit.’ Leon went cold.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe they have. Maybe that’s what all the breakdown stuff was about.’

  Joe was back in Glastonbury by five-thirty. The supervisor at the depot wasn’t impressed.

  ‘Kestle kept trying to phone you. It doesn’t take all chuffing day to send out a breakdown truck.’

  Joe played dumb. The supervisor made him unload the stock and warned him that he wouldn’t be getting a penny for today. Joe grumbled for the sake of appearances, but it was no less than he’d expected.

  Considering he’d had to put in thirty quids’ worth of diesel, it had been a costly day in financial terms. But it had also brought clarity to his task, and that made it a price worth paying.

  En route to Trelennan he remembered that he was due to be seeing Ellie tonight. He pulled in and sent a text, said he was running late but would get to her around nine.

  A little optimistic, perhaps, he thought when he rolled onto Leon’s driveway at ten to eight. The rain had stopped but the clouds still hung low overhead, as if too exhausted to move on. Joe stood for a moment in the murky darkness. Water dripping from the trees made for a hushed, secretive concerto, a counterpoint to the pounding of the falls on the far side of the house.

  Joe was surprised to see Kestle. ‘Not finished yet?’

  ‘I stayed to find out what the hell happened to you.’

  Joe shrugged, easing past him and walking confidently towards the kitchen.

  ‘So why couldn’t I get hold of you?’ Kestle demanded.

  ‘Problems with my phone.’

  ‘What, your phone and the van went on the
blink?’

  ‘That’s right. You never had a day like that?’ Joe found a glass, ran the cold tap. Kestle was in the doorway, surly but also uncertain; out of his depth.

  ‘Well, yeah. But this isn’t on, not calling in.’

  ‘Hey, I left here at eight this morning. Twelve hours ago. I got the engine fixed on my own initiative. If that was wrong, tough. I returned the stock and then I brought the van back. I know I won’t get paid for today, and I’m not going to argue with that, but what I won’t do –’ he jabbed a finger at Kestle, making him wait while he gulped a mouthful of water, ‘– is take any more crap, from you or anyone else.’

  Kestle gave a petulant shrug. ‘For Christ’s sake, it isn’t me that makes the rules.’

  ‘I know. And if Leon wants to sack me, fine. Go and get him.’

  ‘I can’t. They’re still out.’

  Thank you, Joe thought. He refilled the glass. ‘Got a thumping headache,’ he said. ‘I think I’ll crash for ten minutes before I get off home. Glenn told me I can use the basement.’

  Kestle looked uneasy, but nodded. ‘I’m going now, anyway. It’s Venning’s shift.’

  True to his word, the front door opened and shut while Joe was descending the stairs to the basement. With any luck, that left only Venning, probably in the comms room. If he was careful, Joe should have a good opportunity to explore.

  First he decided to leave it for a few minutes. He took a look around the basement, but he didn’t expect to find anything down there, and he was right.

  He was about to go back up when he heard movement at the top of the stairs. His initial reaction was disappointment: the search would have to be postponed for a while.

  Then Joe saw who was descending the stairs, and his disappointment melted away.

  Sixty-Eight

  REECE WINNEN, WITH Todd Ancell at his shoulder, both grinning like hungry jackals. They were delighted, and why not? They had Joe exactly where they wanted him: outnumbered two to one, trapped, helpless. As far as he could tell, there weren’t even any cameras down here, so Venning wouldn’t know what was happening. All in all, a perfect set-up for them.

  What they didn’t realise was that Joe was just as delighted. He’d been hoping to encounter them soon, while the sight of Alise’s wounds was still so sharply imprinted on his mind.

  He walked towards them, apparently unconcerned. Reece stopped, four stairs from the bottom. He looked confident, saw no reason to move. Right now they didn’t just outnumber Joe: they also had a height advantage.

  Joe came up to the foot of the stairs. From here, Reece could easily kick him in the face. Joe watched him reach the same conclusion: an urgent twitch of his right leg signalling his desire to do just that.

  But first he’d want to speak: threaten, taunt, gloat. Or maybe he’d wait until Joe asked him to stand aside. Then Reece could refuse, and that would be the cue for battle to commence.

  So Joe acted first. An impatient sideways shuffle, as though he was expecting them to continue down the stairs. Todd, being less practised at intimidation, automatically tried to comply, jostling against his partner on the stair in front. For half a second Reece was off balance, having to push back against Todd to stay upright.

  Joe lunged, grabbed Reece’s left leg with both hands and pulled it forward. Reece cried out, arms flailing uselessly as his right foot slipped off the stair and his body was momentarily airborne. Joe stepped back, forcing the leg as high as he could get it, not letting go until Reece landed with a crash, his coccyx hitting the second stair and his head bouncing back into Todd.

  Reece gave a screech of pain and rolled to the side, collapsing onto the basement floor. Then Todd launched himself off the stairs in a clumsy flying drop-kick. It was the sort of attack that looked hugely impressive, and probably worked brilliantly when Todd was playing on his Xbox.

  In reality it wasn’t so effective. Joe only had to take a single step to his left to avoid him. As Todd landed, Joe twisted at the hip, raised his right arm and jabbed his elbow into the young man’s temple. Todd stumbled but stayed on his feet, swinging a clumsy punch. Joe cut inside it and drove his palm against Todd’s nose, then kicked him in the kneecap.

  Todd collapsed, blood gushing from his nose. Joe turned and saw Reece trying to get up, hampered by what Joe hoped was a nasty injury to the base of his spine.

  ‘Not so easy when your victims aren’t helpless, is it?’

  Joe had more to say, but there was a sudden cry from above them. Venning. The horror on the Welshman’s face brought Joe to his senses. He climbed the stairs, forcing Venning to back up.

  ‘We had a tiny disagreement,’ Joe said. ‘Strictly between us.’

  Venning nodded meekly. ‘Fair enough. I got no argument with you.’

  Joe left the house, aware that he’d probably created a whole world of trouble for himself, but at the same time unable to regret a moment of it.

  * * *

  Fenton argued that they should still go to their hotel, and Leon reluctantly agreed. Four or five hours from home, there was nothing they could do in a hurry.

  Leon made straight for his room. Said he didn’t want to be disturbed, unless it was to confirm that Joe was back. By now he thought there was a very real possibility that he was gone. He was surprised to discover how much it mattered to him.

  The room was supposed to be one of the hotel’s best, but to Leon it looked shabby. There were hunting scenes on every wall and the carpets were a deep maroon colour that made him think of blood. Third-rate compared to the hotel they’d come from, although the staff were just as snotty.

  And the migraine was still creeping forward. After taking his Maxalt, he lay on the bed, intending to rest his eyes for a few minutes. The next thing he knew it was gone eight in the evening and his phone was ringing: Kestle. Joe was back, safe and sound.

  Leon celebrated for all of ten seconds, until it struck him. This was Joe’s fault. All this humiliation, disappointment: the whole frigging disaster was down to Joe.

  He roused himself, then found the others. They were in the bar, weary but relaxed. Plenty of booze on the table.

  Glenn said sheepishly, ‘Sorry, Leon. We’d have invited you, but you said—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Listen, I know how we fucked up. It was Joe.’

  A lot of blank faces. ‘What was Joe?’ Fenton asked.

  ‘The reason Danny Morton is such a head case. It’s because Joe got inside the gang. Killed his brother. Got his dad banged up. That’s what we didn’t allow for, that he’d be so paranoid about somebody trying it again.’

  Fenton sighed. ‘You’re right. And that damn newspaper article sealed our fate.’

  ‘But we weren’t to know,’ Leon said, smarting at the insult. He realised that in fact he had known: the email from Giles had told him the article was due out today. He just hadn’t given it a thought in relation to Danny Morton. Why would he? The two issues were completely separate.

  ‘Anyway, Joe’s come back. He’s still ours. Finish up, so we can get moving.’

  They regarded him with astonishment. ‘What?’ said Glenn.

  ‘I wanna get back tonight.’

  Bruce scratched his head, looking like he’d just woken up and remembered he was late for something. ‘I, uh, I’ve had a few beers, boss.’

  ‘Who said you could do that?’

  ‘Sorry, Leon. I thought we were staying over, like.’

  ‘I can drive,’ Glenn said. ‘I’ve only had one.’ He pushed a nearly full pint across the table to Bruce, who pretended not to notice it.

  ‘Actually,’ Fenton said, ‘are we sure this is wise? I mean, a night here might be what we need. The restaurant has an excellent reputation …’

  ‘You and your bloody stomach,’ Leon growled.

  ‘It’s also an opportunity to reflect, regroup. You’ve made a valid point about Morton’s paranoia. It may be that a second meeting would be more constructive.’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ Leon said. ‘I will
die rather than give that wanker what he’s after.’

  Glenn winced. Bruce shrugged. Fenton looked sick. But nobody argued.

  Leon managed his first smile in what seemed like hours.

  ‘Meet out front in ten. Roads’ll be quiet. We can be home by midnight.’

  From Leon’s, Joe made straight for Ellie’s. He felt exhausted, sweaty and grimy from a long day’s driving, but knew that if he went back to the B&B to shower and change he would never summon the energy to go out again.

  He was on the corner of her street when his mobile buzzed. It was Venning.

  ‘Listen, Joe, I’ll have to tell Leon what happened here. All I can say is … well, they’re a couple of twats, to be honest with you, and I’m not the only one that thinks so. They’ve been boasting about how they were gonna do you in, so I don’t blame you for fighting back. I’ll make sure Leon hears your side of it, all right?’

  Surprised but grateful, Joe thanked him and reached Ellie’s house in good spirits. She opened the door and gave him a wry smile. ‘You made it, then?’

  ‘Straight from work, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I can see. You’re dead on your feet.’ She ushered him inside, touching his arm briefly, but there was no greeting kiss.

  She looked wonderful: her hair dark and glossy; those bewitching eyes. Her make-up was a little more overt than before, her lipstick a darker shade of pink.

  ‘Drink?’ she said. ‘I have wine on the go.’

  ‘I’d better stick with coffee.’

  To explain his fatigue, Joe gave her an account of the day he was supposed to have had: deliveries in Devon and Somerset, plus the fictional breakdown, just in case she had cause to swap notes with Glenn. He was on the verge of mentioning Alise, wanting to say that the ‘cry wolf’ theory couldn’t have been further from the truth, but at the last moment he clammed up. Sensible discretion – or didn’t he trust her?

  Ellie made coffee while he sat at the kitchen table. At one point she laughed and he jerked his head, realising his eyes had shut; not quite asleep, he insisted, to her amusement.

  Then into the lounge, where the TV was playing quietly: a Met Office weather warning for more heavy rain.