‘It was a fair fight,’ Daniel replied, squinting against the light. ‘You had your chance, which is more than you can say for poor Hana.’
He sensed rather than saw the lift of McAllum’s shoulders.
‘Collateral damage. It happens.’
‘She had a three-year-old son, you bastard!’ Daniel was surprised at the force of the anger that shook him. ‘She was just a girl!’
‘No one was ever supposed to get hurt.’ That was the other man; presumably the elusive Dennie Travers. His voice held remorse.
‘You should have thought of that before you brought this psycho back with you!’ Daniel told him. ‘Without him blundering around, you’d probably never have been caught.’
‘He’s not caught, now,’ the Scotsman pointed out. ‘Just out there, there’s a boat waiting for us. Ten minutes at the most and we’ll be on our way home.’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Daniel stated, moving closer.
‘And you’re going to stop us, are you?’ the Scotsman enquired. ‘You and who, exactly?’
Daniel kept moving. The light was still high and it was plain that Cal hadn’t spotted the dog, yet. Now just feet away, he could see what they had been doing. Travers was sitting with one leg raised and the Scotsman had been trying to fashion a kind of splint around his lower leg. It looked as though the treacherous rocks had claimed a victim, after all. Beyond the two men, a kayak was wedged between two rocks to prevent the wind blowing it along the beach.
‘Me, my partner here, and the police. They’re not far behind me. You don’t think I’d have been stupid enough to come alone, do you?’
‘Where’s Harrison? Where’s my son?’ Travers asked, apparently just realising the full significance of Daniel being there.
‘Back along,’ Daniel said. ‘The dog took care of him, no trouble.’
The torchlight dipped for a moment to locate Taz and, right on cue, he produced his most theatrical growl.
‘He’s got that bloody dog!’ Travers said unnecessarily, his voice rising on a note of panic. He struggled to his feet and picked up an oar to defend himself.
‘Well, it’s nice that you’ll have company,’ Cal observed, ignoring his companion. ‘Because we’ll be long gone.’
Daniel laughed derisively.
‘And how far do you think you’re going to get on a night like this in that thing?’ he asked, pointing at the kayak. ‘That sea’s getting pretty rough and it doesn’t look as though Dennie’s going to be doing much paddling. Always supposing you can even get him into the kayak with that leg.’
As if to illustrate his point, a tremendous gust of wind lifted the canoe, tumbling it onto its side, and the Scotsman turned involuntarily to look at it.
Daniel seized the moment to make his move.
Not knowing exactly how incapacitated he was, he pointed at Dennie, shouted, ‘Hold him!’ at the dog, and launched himself across the intervening space at McAllum while his attention was on the kayak.
Perhaps belatedly aware of his vulnerability, McAllum turned back just before Daniel reached him and his chopping blow missed its intended target and landed on the Scotsman’s shoulder, instead.
Cal caught Daniel’s arm and twisted it, pulling him off balance and throwing him high to land sprawling on the gritty sand. His knee impacted on one of the many small rocks as he landed, sending a stunning pain up into his thighbone, and as he rolled to avoid the Scot’s follow-up kick, he hoped the damage wouldn’t prove to be disabling.
Coming out of the roll and up onto his good knee, he discovered to his relief that although it was painful, the other one was still capable of supporting his weight. He just had time to note that Taz was carrying out his orders, albeit somewhat more noisily than was strictly necessary, before McAllum aimed another kick, this time at Daniel’s head.
Swaying to the side, Daniel caught the Scotsman’s foot and lifted it sharply, tipping him backwards to land heavily on the sand. He climbed to his feet, breathing heavily and waited for Cal to make his next move. Remembering the impressive size of his muscles, he wasn’t keen to be drawn into a wrestling match.
Cal wasn’t long on the ground. Rolling back and over one shoulder, he surged up and forwards, arms spread, clearly trying to bring Daniel down, but Daniel was ready for him, bringing his knee up into the man’s face.
McAllum was tough, he had to give him that. He grunted as his nose took the brunt of the impact, but his arms still encircled Daniel’s waist and his momentum carried them both onward. They landed together, with the Scotsman on top, on the stones at the edge of the surf.
Sitting back, Cal swung a vicious right at Daniel that drove his head backwards and made his vision dip out for a moment, but in the next moment an incoming wave broke over them both, shocking Daniel back to his full senses and causing him to choke and splutter as the salty water got into his mouth.
It seemed the wave gave the Scotsman an idea, for instead of punching Daniel a second time, he leaned forward and pressed down on his shoulders, pinning him to the ground, so that the next rush of water also broke over him. Although Daniel managed to get a breath in between, the third wave was far bigger and washed sand and grit across his face, keeping him submerged for what seemed an age.
He reached upwards to try and lock his hands onto McAllum’s windpipe, but with the downward pressure on his shoulders, he couldn’t quite make it.
The tide was coming in fast, and he knew if he didn’t break Cal’s hold soon, he never would. He tried to shout for Taz but another smaller wave filled his mouth with water and he spat it out, coughing and choking once more. He could see the Scotsman leaning over him, teeth clenched and lips pulled back in an almost demonic grin, and beyond him, the glow of the moon, cool and uncaring.
Half a breath and then the water covered him again, rushing, frothing and deadly. With an immense effort of willpower, Daniel forced himself to go limp, his arms falling away, and as the wave drained, soughing, back down the beach, he let his head roll with it, hoping Cal would think the job done.
Another smaller wave hissed in, washing against and over his head and body, and he held his breath, keeping his eyes shut; his lungs constricting with the lack of air. He thought it wasn’t working – that he would have to give in and gasp for breath, and then he felt it.
At first, just an infinitesimal slackening of pressure, and then a slight shift in balance as McAllum leaned forward to look at Daniel more closely. It wasn’t much but it might be the only chance he got.
With all the strength he could muster, Daniel reached up for Cal’s head, pulled it down and then, digging his heels into the sand, he bucked his body upward, throwing the Scotsman off over his head.
He rolled away as the surf came in again, fuller and stronger this time, swamping the both of them, and by the time it rushed back out, sucking the sand and grit with it, Daniel was on his feet once more, coughing and gasping, but alive.
Cal was also on his feet, his baseball cap gone and his face twisted with venom. In his hand he held a rock the size of a grapefruit.
Away to his left, Daniel could hear the dog still barking, while in his head he was hearing Jo-Ji’s calm voice at a long-ago training session. ‘If your opponent arms himself with something, no matter what it is, think of it as a victory. You have him worried, and what’s more, you now have a good idea what his next move will be.’
Daniel reckoned Cal would either rush him and try to use the rock as a club or throw it first and charge in behind it. He waited, breathing deeply and trying to give the impression that he was nearly spent. It wasn’t hard.
Cal chose the second.
Prepared, Daniel dodged and was ready for him. This time, he sidestepped neatly and clubbed the Scot with a clenched fist to the side of his head, dropping him into the incoming tide. Trying to follow up his momentary advantage, Daniel jumped on him and pulled one arm behind his back, forcing his wrist to somewhere in the region of his shoulder blades and his face into the s
and.
This time when the next wave crashed in, it was Cal who was set spluttering and coughing. Daniel gritted his teeth and held him while one more wave washed over him, but he was at a disadvantage. While Cal held life cheap, Daniel wasn’t a killer, and even though the Scotsman had demonstrated that he would have drowned Daniel with absolutely no compunction, now the tables were turned, he found he couldn’t do the same.
Still keeping a firm grip on Cal’s wrist, Daniel stood up and pulled the Scotsman upright. Both of them were soaked and covered in gritty sand, and Daniel’s wet clothing quickly chilled in the gusting wind despite the relative warmth of the summer night.
Above, the moon sailed in a large expanse of cloudless sky and he could see that Taz had his man under control. Grabbing one of the kayak’s oars with which to defend himself had quite patently not worked as Travers now lay back against the rocks with the oar at his feet, while Taz stood over him, his muzzle just inches from the man’s face. Daniel could only imagine what grisly promises the dog was uttering between barks.
Marching his own captive out of the surf, Daniel would have liked a wall or something solid to reinforce the arm lock he had in place, but there was nothing. He tried to secure Cal’s other arm by looping his own free hand under the man’s armpit but he wasn’t quite quick enough and the man was incredibly strong.
Erupting into action Cal stabbed his free elbow backwards into Daniel’s ribs, and with the space he gained, twisted his body round the opposite way and followed up with the heel of his palm to the side of Daniel’s jaw.
Because he was close, it was more of a shove than an actual blow, and although Daniel staggered back, he was ready when the Scot came after him. Half-turning, he brought his knee up and lashed out in a martial arts style side-kick of which even Jo-Ji would have been proud.
The result was all he could have hoped for. McAllum was stopped in his tracks, doubled over in pain as the wind was forced from his lungs, and Daniel followed it with a clubbing blow that dropped him on the spot.
High above the beach two moving pinpoints of light had appeared, in the general direction of the cliff path, and Daniel’s spirits rose.
‘Stay down!’ he advised, hovering over Cal as he struggled to get to his feet, ready if necessary to deal out more of the same. ‘Give it up, man. The police are here. It’s over.’
The Scotsman shook his head but whether as a negative response or to clear it, Daniel couldn’t tell. After a moment, he sat back, as though giving up, but before Daniel could readjust to this new development, Cal rolled back over one shoulder and came up into a big cat crouch, his eyes on Daniel’s face and his right hand dropping to his ankle. As he came upright, moonlight gleamed on smooth metal.
He had a knife.
FIFTEEN
‘Meet my friend,’ Cal invited, smiling. He turned the blade from side to side to make sure the moonlight caught the four deadly inches of honed steel. It looked wickedly sharp, and nothing about the Scotsman suggested that he didn’t know exactly how to use it.
‘Meet mine,’ Daniel countered. ‘Taz! To me! Get him!’
The smile left the Scotsman’s lips as he turned to face the new threat but even as he did so, the dog was in the air and the next moment McAllum was on the ground, muscles and all. He wasn’t Dennie, though, to be paralysed by fear, and Daniel had to move quickly to prevent him from transferring the lethal blade to his other hand with what would have been tragic consequences for Taz.
Twisting the knife out of his grasp, Daniel tossed it into the rocks at the foot of the cliff, but he wasn’t prepared to gamble on him not having another one hidden on him somewhere. Excited by the less frequently used ‘Get him!’ command, Taz was tugging hard, his jaws clamped round Cal’s forearm, pulling him, inches at a time, over the stony shore, while the Scot tried to twist onto his knees and scramble after him to ease the pressure.
Daniel circled dog and man, and as soon as Cal accomplished the turn, pushed him flat and dropped onto him. Immediately, he had the satisfaction of hearing the Scot cry out as Taz tried unsuccessfully to drag him further with Daniel’s additional weight applied through a knee to his back.
‘OK. Good lad,’ Daniel told the dog, grabbing the man’s free arm. ‘I’ve got him now. Off.’
He had to repeat the command before the excited German shepherd reluctantly obeyed him. He backed off, but didn’t move far, watching their captive with hungry intensity, willing him to make a move.
This time, however, Daniel had Cal safely under control and he wasn’t about to make the mistake of trying to move him again when help was on the way. The two lights were still there on the cliff, slowly but surely descending and coming closer, and somewhere, above the crashing of the surf and the blustery wind, Daniel became aware of a deep throbbing that was almost more of a vibration than a sound.
Another light shone out, closer to hand, and with a shock Daniel realised he’d almost forgotten Dennie Travers. While he and Taz had been busy with the Scotsman, the fugitive had managed to get to his feet and was trying to pull the kayak down the beach. In this he was hampered by his leg injury, which was clearly severe. He had reached the edge of the incoming tide by the time Daniel saw him and was struggling to hang onto the kayak as the surf lifted it.
Taz growled a warning and stepped forward.
‘Give it up, man! How far do you think you’re going to get?’ Daniel shouted. ‘There’s a chopper on its way, can’t you hear it? You’ve got no chance.’
‘You’re lying! They wouldn’t bring a helicopter out in this wind!’
‘Not a police one, no. But the RAF would fly. That sounds like a Sea King to me.’ Daniel had no idea what kind of helicopter it was, but he knew it must be one of the bigger ones and now wasn’t the time to worry about absolute honesty. ‘You’ll never make your pick up,’ he added. ‘The guy’ll see that coming and run.’
Travers paused, looking up at the sky and listening, just as the wind dropped for a second or two and the sound of the approaching helicopter was unmistakable. In that instant, he finally appeared to give up. His shoulders drooped, and he let go of the kayak and hobbled painfully back up the beach to above the waterline where he sat down abruptly, as if all his muscles had let him down at once.
‘Watch him,’ Daniel told the dog, even though it was hardly necessary. The fight had gone out of Dennie Travers, as clearly as if someone had flipped an off switch.
Taz transferred his full attention to Dennie, and with a sigh, Daniel relaxed and waited for deliverance.
In the event, it was two policemen, on foot, who reached him about five minutes later, approaching with torches, batons and a good deal of caution.
‘Sergeant Rollins and PC Rayworth, Devon and Cornwall police,’ one of them announced. ‘Can you identify yourself, please?’
‘It’s OK, I’m the good guy,’ Daniel said with weary amusement. ‘Well, depending who you talk to, that is.’
‘Daniel Whelan?’
‘That’s right. Allow me to introduce Dennie Travers, back from the dead, and currently in the custody of my dog, Taz. And this worthless bastard I’m kneeling on is John “Cal” McAllum, late of somewhere abroad. You can arrest him for murder, aggravated assault, possession of an offensive weapon, vehicle theft – take your pick really. He killed the sister of a friend of mine and probably would have killed me, too, if it hadn’t been for Taz. I really could have done with you about ten minutes ago.’
At his first words, one of the policemen had started towards Travers but he faltered in his purpose as Taz showed him a full set of gleaming white teeth.
‘Er …?’
‘Oh, sorry. I gave him a job to do. Taz! Off, man! All finished.’
With a disappointed glance at the policeman, Taz obediently left his post and returned to Daniel.
‘It’s dark. If he’d seen your uniform, he wouldn’t have done that,’ Daniel told him.
The second policeman approached to within a foot or two of Daniel
and pointed at McAllum. ‘Is he OK?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. A bit the worse for wear, but nothing to speak of.’
‘Right, well, I’ll take over now, sir.’
Daniel didn’t move a muscle.
‘Actually Sergeant—’
‘Constable. Rayworth.’
‘Well, constable, if you don’t mind me suggesting it, I think I’d like to see cuffs on this one before I move. He’s a bit lively and I’ve had enough grief for one night.’
The policeman shone his torch in Daniel’s face, causing him to screw up his eyes, but apparently what he saw there decided him to take the words seriously.
‘Fair enough,’ he said, producing a set of handcuffs.
‘Any thoughts on how you’re going to get these two back to civilisation? Because Travers is in no fit state to climb back up that path,’ Daniel said, once Rayworth had relieved him of his captive and read him his rights. He stretched his own stiff and bruised joints and muscles. ‘Unless that chopper we heard a moment ago is here on your say-so.’
‘No. There’s been a mayday from a yacht in distress along the coast,’ the policeman told him. ‘That one was from Chivenor. Ours can’t fly in this wind. I’ll have to call it in and see what they suggest.’
‘I presume you found the other guy on your way here. Name of Harrison Allen. Dennie Travers’ son.’
‘We did. Well trussed up and complaining of a sore arm. You and your dog have certainly been busy tonight. Three detained suspects, two with puncture wounds. You’ll put us out of a job! Did you train him yourself?’
‘Yeah. He’s an ex-police dog.’
‘Ah. I thought so,’ Rayworth said, in the satisfied tone of one proved right in an assumption. ‘So you are – were …?’
‘Bristol Met,’ Daniel told him. ‘Ten years. I left last year. Don’t ask.’
It took the best part of half an hour and several calls back to Control, but eventually the Sea King, whose original call-out had proven to be unnecessary, was re-routed to the beach to pick up the five men and dog.
Daniel had not much cared whether they were taken off by sea or air, just as long as he wasn’t asked to climb the cliff path again, a sentiment apparently shared by Rayworth, with whom he was rapidly developing a sense of camaraderie.
Nothing But Lies Page 24