Requiem

by David Hodges

  The former DS stopped short and treated him to a characteristic sneer. ‘Well, well, well,’ he mocked, ‘if it isn’t good ol’ Hayden Lewis – my, how the mighty have fallen.’

  ‘Not as far as you, it would seem,’ Lewis retorted. ‘I wondered what hole you’d slid into when we came looking for you.’

  ‘Move it,’ the custody officer growled, tapping Sharp on the shoulder. ‘I said the next one.’

  But Sharp stood his ground for a moment. ‘Heard you were in here, Hayden,’ he went on and grinned. ‘They told me you belted that stupid cow, Hamblin? ’Bout time someone did.’

  Lewis’s fists clenched involuntarily, but he controlled himself with an effort and didn’t dignify the insults with a reply. The next instant the custody officer gave Sharp a hard shove. ‘Next one, I said,’ he repeated.

  Darting the tough little Geordie a venomous glance, Sharp grudgingly obeyed and, shortly after he had disappeared from view, Lewis heard a heavy iron door close with a reverberating crash. The noise woke not only a dozen echoes, but the drunk too, who shouted a string of obscenities before lapsing into silence again.

  ‘Hey, Hayden,’ Sharp shouted from his cell after the custody officer had gone. ‘Bet Kate’s new boyfriend’s got a real surprise planned for her tonight while you’re in here – a real hot surprise. Hope she’s brushed her teeth and got clean knickers on.’

  Lewis had meant to keep his cool and ignore whatever his disreputable colleague’s vicious tongue came out with next, but, already deeply sensitive to the fabricated story that was being circulated by the police propaganda machine about Kate’s bogus affair, he could not stop himself jumping to her defence.

  ‘That’s all you know,’ he shouted back. ‘You haven’t got a clue what’s going on.’

  For a few seconds there was a pregnant silence and Lewis inwardly cursed himself for a fool. If Sharp got even an inkling of things, it would wreck the whole operation, for he would be certain to shout the odds from his cell, which was bound to get to the ears of the custody crew and then be relayed all around the station. But he was in luck, for his tormentor appeared not to have picked up on his Freudian slip; he was too wrapped up in himself and in his determination to get one over on Lewis.

  ‘I know a lot more than you think,’ he boasted. ‘That reporter bitch – Naomi Betjeman – the one who snuffed it in the hospital? She’d been doing a lot of digging on the Twister case and had sussed everything out just before she hit the concrete. She gave me the whole SP on it before her lights went out.’

  ‘The whole SP?’ Lewis threw back. ‘You are the gen kiddie then, aren’t you?’

  The contemptuous disbelief in his tone was very evident and it certainly rankled with Sharp. ‘OK, sneer away,’ he snarled, ‘but I’ll tell you this – I know exactly where Twister is and how he’s managed to avoid being nicked for so long.’

  ‘So you say,’ Lewis retorted, trying to sound disinterested, but suddenly starting to feel uneasy, in spite of his contempt for Sharp.

  ‘Yeah, so I say,’ Sharp agreed. ‘See, I really can finger him and unless that creep, Ansell, starts playing ball with me, the next time you’ll see your girlfriend will be when she’s lying naked on a slab, with a label tied to her toe.’

  Sharp had always been a bull-shitter – professing to have inside information on everything when he hadn’t, but for some reason this time his claim carried absolute conviction and Lewis was touched by the cold finger of fear. Ignoring Sharp’s further jibes, he pressed the buzzer to the custody sergeant’s office and kept his finger on the button.

  chapter 31

  LEWIS WAS ALMOST beside himself with anxiety and frustration.

  He had been pressing the bell for a good fifteen minutes without getting a response, but at last he could hear measured footsteps approaching.

  Seconds later, Sergeant Bill Weymouth, the night custody sergeant, unlocked the cell door and he didn’t look best pleased.

  ‘Come on, Hayden, what’s all this about?’ he snapped. ‘We’ll be changing over shifts in a couple of hours and I can do without this sort of crap.’

  Lewis took a deep breath. ‘Listen to me, Bill,’ he said, having made up his mind to reveal all, even if it did mean jeopardizing the sting. ‘My arrest, the assault – everything – was just a put-up job. It’s all part of an operation to nail the killer, but I think we could have made a big mistake.’

  Weymouth sighed heavily. ‘Hayden, why don’t you just get your head down for a while, eh? You’ll need to look your best if they decide to charge you and put you before the court.’

  Lewis shook his head frantically. ‘You don’t understand,’ he exclaimed. ‘Kate’s in danger, I can feel it.’

  Weymouth grunted. ‘You should have thought about that before you clocked her one,’ he growled.

  ‘But … but I didn’t touch her, damn you! It was all a con. Ask Ansell – look, get him down here – or Roscoe – they’ll vouch for what I say. You must let me out.’

  But Weymouth was already back in the cell passage and, in the act of closing the door. ‘You have a good kip, mate,’ he said. ‘I’ll get one of the lads to bring you a cuppa a bit later.’

  In desperation, Lewis hurled himself at the slowly closing gap, but he was too late and simply rebounded off the door. ‘Bill,’ he almost shrieked, ‘tell Ansell Sharp can finger Twister. Tell him – please – for the sake of Kate!’

  But Weymouth’s footsteps were already fading back along the cell passage.

  ‘So it was all a fix, was it?’ Sharp chortled from his cell. ‘Now that is worth knowing. Pity it will be for nothing, eh?’

  Lewis put his head on one side in a futile attempt to thrust it through the open hatch. ‘If you know something, man, for heaven’s sake tell Ansell,’ he shouted hoarsely.

  ‘Tried that,’ Sharp said with a loud sigh, ‘but he wouldn’t do a deal, so there you are, his funeral – or rather Kate’s.’

  ‘So hit your buzzer and call him down here.’

  ‘Nah,’ Sharp replied, ‘think I’ll just let it ride,’ and he chuckled. ‘Pity about ol’ Kate, though, isn’t it? She hasn’t a clue what she’s walking into.’

  For reply, Lewis pressed his own buzzer again and, for a second time, kept his finger on the button.

  Kate left the police station in the morning, just as it was getting light. The briefing to finalize the details of the impending sting operation had been interrupted by Sharp’s arrest. Once by his initial interview and then, an hour later, a further interview in the presence of his solicitor. They’d both been a complete waste of time, as he had revealed nothing of value to the inquiry anyway and, perversely, just seemed to be enjoying the experience. When the briefing had once more resumed behind the closed door of the vacant office of the territorial DCI, it had been long and painstaking, involving just a small select team, comprising Kate, Willoughby, Ansell, Roscoe, Norton and the sergeant heading the armed surveillance unit.

  Kate had been surprised to find Norton there under the circumstances. Seen by the rest of the station as being the one primarily responsible for the violent break-up of Kate and Lewis, the psychologist had already been given the cold shoulder by a number of the incident-room team. Norton was plainly under a lot of strain and anxious to keep out of sight, but as the operation was his brainchild and he seemed to have such a keen insight into the psyche of the killer, he was obviously essential to the planning process and could not avoid being there. He had used his head though and delayed his arrival for the briefing until after ten when the bulk of the night shift were out on patrol.

  For several hours the six of them had pored over Ordnance Survey maps of Burtle, drawing up detailed plans of the cottage and its garden. Only when Ansell was satisfied that all exigencies had been covered, did he allow them – with Willoughby’s implied approval, of course – to stand down for coffee and chocolate bars, rustled up by Roscoe from the vending machines in the unmanned night kitchen. Even then, however, he’d insis
ted on a thorough recap of everything agreed upon before letting the exhausted team go home to bed.

  Kate was one of the last to leave, downing an extra cup of coffee with Roscoe before she managed to tear herself away from the security of the office. She felt strangely sick and light-headed as she headed for the rear door of the station, the wire snaking between her breasts, connected to the small transmitter taped to her stomach just below her navel, rubbing against her skin as she walked.

  She was quite upset about not being allowed to see Lewis before leaving – even though she had had to accept the logic of Ansell’s argument. It would have looked mighty suspicious to her colleagues if she had visited him in his cell after making such a damning complaint of assault against him. She had also had to accept that in such circumstances it would have been so easy for one of them to have slipped up with some unguarded comment within the hearing of the custody staff, thereby jeopardizing the whole operation.

  Nevertheless, logic aside, she would have felt a lot happier if she had been given the opportunity of just two minutes alone with Hayden and the certainty of a reassuring hug from him before leaving. As it was, she was plagued by a strong sense of unease, which she found impossible to shake off. Her feminine intuition told her that something was terribly wrong – something that had been missed from the start and which should have been obvious to all – and, although she couldn’t put her finger on it, she knew instinctively that she was in much greater peril than she or anyone else associated with the operation had anticipated.

  OK, so the wire she was wearing – currently switched off to conserve the battery power – was a lifeline, but she had no illusions about her own vulnerability. Even with armed police officers all around the cottage when she got home, she knew she would still be very much on her own if Twister managed to get close to her.

  The rear yard of the police station looked strangely sinister as she stepped out of the back door, spooky fingers of white mist curling round the high-level security lights, and distorted shadows crowding around her like abnormalities from another world, as she headed for her car parked in the corner. Two uniformed officers passed her on the way, grunting curtly as they went by, no doubt anxious to complete any paperwork before signing off at the end of their shift, and, as the back door banged behind them, she shivered, feeling alone and vulnerable.

  She saw the figure hunched over the open bonnet of the car parked next to hers as she flicked her remote to unlock the Mazda’s doors, and frowned as she recognized Doctor Norton’s distinctive figure. Something was obviously amiss with the vehicle, for he should have been gone long ago, having left the station at least twenty minutes before her.

  ‘Problems?’ she queried and walked over to him.

  He straightened with a short unamused laugh. ‘Damned thing won’t start,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying to get it going for at least fifteen minutes. Flat battery, I reckon.’

  ‘Didn’t the two officers I just saw offer to help you?’

  Another grim laugh. ‘I did ask, but they said they were too busy.’

  ‘That’s awful.’

  He sighed. ‘Not really. With the story that’s going around the station about you and me and Hayden Lewis’s arrest, I’m not exactly flavour of the week at the moment – your fiancé is a pretty popular guy.’

  She thought for a second. ‘I can soon instruct one of the lads to take a look, whether they want to or not? I’m pretty useless with cars myself, I’m afraid.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, no, I don’t want to be a pain at shift changeover time and it would be best for me to keep a low profile at present.’ He closed the bonnet with a bang. ‘I’ll just walk into the town and see if I can find a taxi.’

  She stared at him. ‘What at this time of the morning? You’ll be lucky.’

  He shrugged. ‘Then I’ll just have to wait until the next shift settles in and try to cadge a lift off the early turn.’

  ‘You can’t wait around that long. You’ve been up all night, like the rest of us.’

  He yawned. ‘Must admit, I am a bit shagged.’

  ‘Look,’ and she hesitated, thinking of his past history of making unwelcome advances towards her, but feeling sorry for his situation nevertheless, ‘I can drop you off at your home, if you like.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ he said sharply. ‘It’ll be right out of your way. Honestly, I’ll be fine.’

  Aiming his remote at the car, he locked up and turned away from her. ‘I’ll be fine, really I will.’

  He was halfway to the yard exit before she called him back. ‘Doctor Norton, don’t be stupid. I’m taking you and that’s all there is to it, so please get in.’

  He appeared embarrassed, standing there in the pool of light cast by one of the yard lights – looking for all like a little lost boy, with his toes turned in slightly and his hands clasped in front of him – and she smiled to herself in spite of her reservations about the man. He was certainly an oddball, but no one was perfect, and he was hardly likely to try anything on her while she was driving anyway. The only thing that really bothered her was his damned perfume. Yes, windows open, she thought, in spite of the cold.

  ‘You – er – don’t drive fast, do you?’ he queried nervously as he lowered himself into the passenger seat. ‘I’m not a great lover of speed.’

  She smiled again to herself. So that was it: women drivers, the bugger didn’t like women drivers. ‘No, Doctor,’ she said, revving the engine and pulling away with a screech of tyres. ‘Except when I’m in a hurry.’

  Her smile had broadened into a mischievous grin by the time they reached the main road and out of the corner of her eye she saw him shrink into his seat as she accelerated away. This will serve as a punishment for coming on to me in the first place, she thought, and hit the pedal hard, determined to enjoy this particular journey to the full. In fact, she was so busy revelling in the discomfort of her passenger that she failed to notice the powerful black saloon car which pulled out of a side turning behind her the moment she flashed by, then accelerated ahead of the early morning traffic to keep her in sight – and it wasn’t a police mobile either.

  chapter 32

  KATE’S SENSE OF mischief quickly evaporated once she had left Highbridge behind and was back on the Levels. The mist that had greeted her in the police station yard seemed to be thickening every few hundred yards and she was forced to cut her speed right down to avoid repeating the experience she had suffered during the original Firetrap inquiry two years before by ploughing into one of the rhynes.

  These man-made drains formed a lattice-work of silver across the flat waterlogged fields and marshes that made up this incredibly beautiful, yet potentially deadly part of Somerset’s heartland. They had swallowed many a careless motorist speeding along the broken uneven roads eroded by the treacherous peat beds over which they had been constructed. She had no desire to join them.

  With negative thoughts already crowding her mind, the gloomy morning only served to add to her melancholic mood and it occurred to her that, while she might avoid becoming another fatal accident statistic, the odds on her achieving a similar outcome in relation to homicide figures might soon prove to be a lot lower.

  Whether Norton – sitting in silence for much of the journey – sensed her change in mood was not absolutely clear. The more her speed came down, however, the more he seemed to relax and, when they finally pulled up in the grounds of the detached house he had directed her to, he actually seemed in a lot less of a hurry to get out of the car than she would have expected.

  ‘Well, I’ll be off then,’ she encouraged, fearing that he might be about to invite her inside for a drink – and, with his track record, she dreaded to think what else.

  At first he seemed not to have heard her, but simply stared straight ahead as if his gaze was rigidly fixed on something, while she impatiently tapped the steering wheel with both hands. Then suddenly he seemed to sag in his seat, one hand gripping his chest as he uttered a low agonized moan.<
br />
  ‘Doctor?’ She bent over him. ‘What is it?’

  His face seemed unnaturally pale and he had screwed his eyes tightly shut. ‘Ticker,’ he whispered through clenched teeth. ‘Tab-tablets in my study.’

  She reached for her police radio lying on the central consol, but he waved her hand away. ‘No,’ he gasped, ‘no ambulance. Angina. Know what it is. Already having treatment.’

  Inwardly cursing her luck, Kate scrambled out of the car and ran round to his door, jerking it wide. He had already released his seat belt and he waved her back almost irritably as he grabbed hold of the top of the door to hoist himself out of the bucket seat. Steadying him by the elbow, she helped him up the two stone steps to the front door of the house. ‘Keys, coat pocket,’ he breathed, falling against one of the stone pillars of the porch with another sharp cry.

  She found the keys and helped him through the front door into the brightly lit hallway. The study turned out to be at the far end, past another open doorway, possibly to a lounge or sitting-room.

  ‘You should have told us about your medical problem before, Doctor,’ she admonished.

  Fumbling for the light switch just inside the room, she flicked it on and stepped back as he shook her hand off his elbow to grab the door frame and pull himself through the doorway. There was a swivel chair in front of a leather-topped desk and he collapsed into it, his head lolling forward on to his chest.

  ‘Tablets, Doctor,’ Kate exclaimed, concern etched into her face as she knelt beside him. ‘Where are your tablets?’

  To her astonishment, he suddenly straightened up, with a big grin on his face, and carefully removed his glasses. ‘I think I deserve an Oscar for that performance, don’t you, Kate,’ he said, his voice suddenly changing and losing its effeminate lisp. She felt her blood congeal and her limbs lock in a state of paralytic shock as she found herself staring, with a sense of horror and disbelief, into Twister’s dead soulless eyes.