by David Hodges
Throwing one final glance behind him, he caught a brief glimpse of the bull, snorting and stamping its feet on the other side of the gate as it raked its lethal horns against the frail rotten wood. Then the mist closed in again, blotting it out completely – at which point the spookily lit barn loomed up in front of him. It was now 11.26 pm.
PC Noble was feeling the strain. He had been behind the wheel of his patrol car in the hunt for Kate and her ruthless kidnapper for several hours without a break; eyes glued to the windscreen as he peered through the swirling mist, looking for anything and everything, yet not absolutely clear what that thing was. He had checked any number of wayside barns and other buildings during his lengthy patrol, but had found nothing, save farm machinery and rotting, evil-smelling straw. He had also pulled over three canvas topped Land Rovers and a couple of closed vans, but with a similar negative result. Now, tired and disillusioned, he was on the verge of admitting defeat and returning to Highbridge police station for a much needed break.
It was at that moment that the big traffic car, with its roof strobe and blue and yellow checked bodywork gleaming with moisture in his headlamps, appeared directly ahead of him, parked at an angle on the right-hand grass verge.
Frowning, he swung in behind it and climbed out of his patrol car. The traffic car was unlocked, the driver’s door not properly shut, but there was no sign of anyone. He quickly checked the fleet number displayed inside and radioed the control-room with his location. After a brief pause, the message came back, advising him that the vehicle was the one Hayden Lewis had purloined from Norton’s house and he felt his heart begin to race. ‘Then you’d better get the troops out here pronto,’ he radioed back. ‘I think he might be in trouble.’
Almost immediately, over a dozen police vehicles, one containing Ansell and Roscoe, began converging on the scene, the firearms team had also been alerted and the force helicopter scrambled again. Lewis was about to receive all the back-up he could possibly need, but the problem was – would it arrive in time? It was 11.30 pm.
Moonlight. It came out suddenly and unexpectedly, bathing the scene in opalescent light and sending the mist streaking away into the night, as if it had been sucked back into the marshy ground. Lewis stopped short to throw a swift glance up into its eye-twisting brilliance, conscious of the fact that he was in the middle of the field and clearly visible from the barn. Lurching forward, he headed for the ramshackle building at a limping run, stopping only when he was in its shadow, panting heavily with the exertion and stifling the groan that rose to his lips from the pain in his still bleeding leg.
Silence. Not a sound from inside the barn, but, with a start, he noticed a Ford Transit van parked on the drove on the other side of the field. His mind flashed back to that time two years ago when another Transit had been parked there – burned out and reeking of cremated human flesh. He gritted his teeth and tore his gaze away from the vehicle. ‘Keep focused, Hayden,’ a voice in his brain rapped. ‘Stay with it!’
He eased himself along the wall until he reached the barn doors. He was surprised to find them standing ajar and his heart took a dive. It was hardly likely Twister would be so careless. He was on the wrong track; he had to be – this was just a wild goose chase.
He peered through the gap, expecting to see nothing more sinister than a tractor or stacked bales of hay, but he got a big surprise. He was presented instead with something that resembled a professional workshop – with a workbench at the end, littered with a variety of tools and other materials. Of even more interest, was a portable table set against the left-hand wall, carrying a laptop computer, fitted with two external cameras – one pointing into the room and the other at a small square hole that had been cut into the adjacent wall – and connected to a DVR and other electronic kit. Unusual equipment for a derelict barn, but the thing that really held his attention was the green canvas-topped Land Rover parked nose in to his right and for a moment he just stared at the vehicle, as if mesmerized. Eureka, he had struck oil!
Pulling one of the doors open a little further, he pushed through, standing there for a few moments, scanning the interior in the light of four free-standing spotlights. So far so good, but where was Twister and, even more importantly, where the hell was Kate?
Then he noticed that the computer screen was illuminated, suggesting someone had been using it not so long ago. Curious, he took a closer look and that was when – in an agonizing heart-stopping moment – he saw Kate. She was sitting in a swivel chair of some sort, facing the screen, her wrists apparently lashed to the arms of the chair and her body sagging forward, allowing her shoulder-length auburn hair to tumble over her face.
‘Kate,’ he gasped hoarsely even though he knew she couldn’t hear him. ‘Hang in there, old girl – just hang in there!’
Straightening up, he threw wild panic-stricken glances around the barn, searching for a further door, giving access to another room, but it was patently obvious that there wasn’t one; there wasn’t even a loft. So where the devil was Kate being held then? The derelict house maybe? It had to be. But even as he turned towards the barn doors, he skidded to an abrupt halt, his attention drawn to the other camera which had been set up with it’s lens directed at the small square hole in the wall. In spite of his panic to find Kate, the presence and position of the camera jarred on his senses and he bent down to peer through the eyepiece.
To his surprise, the Transit van he had spotted on the nearby drove earlier practically filled the view-finder. In fact, the camera’s tele-photo lens brought the vehicle up so close that it appeared to be actually parked on the other side of the barn wall. It revealed something else too – an oblong sign attached to the side of the vehicle, bearing the words ‘Water Monitoring Agency’.
Something stirred in his memory, something critical, but for a few seconds he just couldn’t draw it out. He straightened up, frowning. Why was that sign so significant? What had a water monitoring agency to do with Kate? Bending down again, he adjusted the focus and noticed that the flap of the petrol filler cap on the Transit was wide open and that there was a strange looking tubular object projecting from the pipe. Abruptly realization dawned with a sickening thud and, as icy fingernails trailed down his backbone, he swung for the doors.
Water Monitoring Agency. That had been the cover for the crew in Operation Firetrap. Now he knew exactly what Twister intended to do with Kate. Not for her the usual method of execution – the bastard had planned a repeat performance of the horrendous crime he had committed in that same spot two years before and, quickly glancing at his watch, Lewis saw that his beloved Kate had just minutes left to live!
And that was when things got even more complicated. Hearing a faint sound behind him, he turned quickly and came face to face with Twister. It was 11.52 pm.
chapter 39
‘HOW NICE OF you to join us,’ Twister said, treating Lewis to a cold smile. ‘And the show is just about to start too.’
He looked off-guard and relaxed, but Lewis was not deceived. He knew from past experience how quickly the ex-SAS man could move and how tough he was in a physical confrontation. He would stand little chance against him, yet he had to do something before it was too late.
‘You’re weighing up your chances, I think,’ the psychopath went on. He tutted and shook his head. ‘No contest, I’m afraid – as you found out once before, if I recall correctly.’
Twister’s smile broadened and he produced a small oblong device from his pocket that resembled an electronic pager. ‘And with this I hold all the aces anyway.’
Before Lewis could do anything, he flicked open a flap with his thumb and pressed something.
‘It’s been activated now, you see,’ he said, holding the device up to display a flashing red light. ‘All it needs is just one little press of a button and a signal will be sent to a receiver on the explosive charge I have only just finished inserting in the petrol filler pipe of the Transit. Then it’s Guy Fawkes Night all over again, but, just in c
ase your colleagues miss the show, I have ensured that the DVR here will capture everything in glorious colour, as it happens. Now, wasn’t that thoughtful of me?’
‘Let her go,’ Lewis blurted hoarsely. ‘She’s done nothing to you.’
Twister sighed. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Hayden – may I call you that? I’ve invested too much in this little operation to abandon it now and besides, poor little Katie is a loose end from my past debacle and I don’t like loose ends – so untidy.’
Lewis caught sight of the time registered in the corner of the computer screen. It was four minutes to midnight. He tensed his muscles, preparing to launch himself at his antagonist in a last ditch effort, knowing in his heart of hearts that it was pointless, but desperately hoping he could somehow gain the advantage.
‘Your call, Hayden,’ Twister said softly, sensing what Lewis had in mind, and giving him another cold smile. ‘What have you got to lose?’
It was the thudding blades of the approaching helicopter that changed the dynamics of the situation, for the noise provided a brief distraction and that was just enough. Even though Twister must have known that he would not be able to see anything through the roof of the barn, his dead eyes instinctively flicked upwards and the next second Lewis cannoned into him.
The detective did not have the stature or muscular power of the psychopath, but his overweight body mass was still substantial and it carried them both forward several feet. They burst through the half-open barn doors, locked together in a grotesque embrace, the remote flying from Twister’s hand and into the field’s short stubby grass, as they ended up in a tangle of arms and legs on the sodden ground, with the detective on top.
But Lewis’s advantage did not last long. Even as he hammered Twister’s face and body with his fists, the killer simply shrugged him off like an irritating itchy blanket, seemingly impervious to the blows he was receiving, one huge powerful hand gripping the detective round the face and forcing his head back at an impossible angle.
Then suddenly there were flashing blue lights on the road beyond the field and the helicopter’s blinding searchlight was fixing on them like the super trouper spot of a stage set. With a snarl of anger, Twister hurled Lewis away from him and scrambled to his feet, his eyes scanning the area around them for his remote.
He saw the flashing red light among the tufts of grass and went for the remote at the same time as Lewis – struggling weakly to his feet – made a dash for it. Twister got there first, but before he could grab his prize, he was bowled over for the second time by the detective, whose determination to save his beloved Kate imbued him with a renewed strength, born of desperation.
For just a moment Twister was taken aback by the unexpected ferocity of Lewis’s attack, but, although the detective initially succeeded in gaining the upper hand, pinning the killer to the ground, the latter then recovered and hurled him sideways, kicking the policeman in the stomach before he could regain his feet.
Now the psychopath had the remote in his hand and, lashing out at Lewis’s head with his foot when the detective tried to get back on his feet, he turned towards the target Transit as a convoy of police cars raced along the drove and skidded to a halt behind the doomed van.
‘So the cavalry have arrived, have they?’ he shouted above the roar of the helicopter still hovering overhead. ‘Well, that’s just more fuel for the fire, isn’t it?’
And a fraction of a second later the night sky was blasted by a violent explosion, which seemed to light up the nearby drove from end to end and sent a tremor surging through the ground like the aftershock of a mini earthquake.
Twister was laughing inanely now, his usual dearth of emotion buried in an outpouring of psychotic glee, but it didn’t last long. The owner of the field in which the black bull had been kept should have known that the gate between his property and that of the derelict farm was rotten and incapable of standing up to a determined onslaught by such a huge, aggressive animal; his negligence was Twister’s downfall.
The creature, already wound up by Lewis’s earlier escape, was maddened even more by the roar of the helicopter some two hundred feet above. Clocking Twister standing in its path, it saw the opportunity to satisfy its pent up fury, lowered its head and charged.
Alerted by some kind of uncanny sixth-sense, the psychopath swung round with remarkable speed, but, nimble as he was, he was much too late. The massive head of the bull slammed into him with the force of an articulated lorry, tossing him high in the air like an uprooted scarecrow. Then, even as Twister’s screaming writhing body plummeted back to the ground, one vicious horn speared him in mid-spin, slicing through his abdomen and practically ripping him in two when the enraged beast shook its head violently to free itself before it finished the job by trampling and goring his already dismembered remains into the marshy ground.
The whole thing lasted just seconds, but for Lewis, lying there on the sodden ground – only half-conscious and bleeding heavily as a result of the injury he had received to his head from Twister’s boot – time seemed to stand still.
It was Lewis’s immobility that probably saved his life too, for the bull showed no interest whatsoever in his prostrate form and, immediately after wreaking its horrific carnage, it trotted off into the moonlight, bellowing its defiance and leaving the detective with just the psychopath’s bloody, mutilated cadaver, glistening in the helicopter’s searchlight, and the blazing torches of his colleagues bobbing across the field towards the scene.
It was all over, but at what price? And, staring up into the blazing orb of the searchlight, Lewis saw nothing of the helicopter or its spinning blades – only the face of a beautiful auburn-haired girl, whose blue eyes and mischievous smile would no longer light up his life.
after the fact
HAYDEN LEWIS CLIMBED the narrow staircase with difficulty. His leg was heavily bandaged, but still hurting him after over a week of treatment. The hospital had told him that it was likely the injury from the bull’s horn had become infected. ‘No alcohol,’ he had been warned, ‘because of the antibiotics,’ and he smiled ruefully as he pushed through the bedroom door with his breakfast tray.
The young woman was lying very still in the big double bed, her hair spread out over the pillow, framing her pale, freckled face. Setting the tray on the bedside table, he bent over and kissed her gently on the forehead.
She opened her eyes and smiled at him. ‘Time to get up, is it?’ Kate Hamblin asked.
He shook his head. ‘Doctor said you were to rest for another couple of days.’
She made a face, then eased herself into a sitting position, staring with amused approval at the boiled egg and bread soldiers on the plate beside the bed. ‘You’re spoiling me,’ she said, then added, ‘Leg any better?’
He sighed. ‘Still sore.’ And he shook his head again, devouring her with his eyes. ‘I still can’t believe you survived that blast,’ he said.
She nodded grimly. ‘Neither can I. How’s Roscoe?’
He grinned. ‘Swearing his head off, with half his hair missing and his face still a nice two-tone colour. He wants to get back to work, but I think it’ll be a while yet.’
She released her breath in a heavy sigh. ‘That man saved my life,’ she said for the umpteenth time since the incident.
‘He certainly did,’ Lewis agreed, ‘and he’s a lot brighter than we gave him credit for. Seeing the Transit parked on the drove with that damned sign on the side when he and Ansell arrived allowed him to make an immediate connection with what happened two years ago – it was nothing short of incredible.’
She snorted. ‘Pulling the IED out of the filler pipe without even knowing if it was fitted with an anti-handling device and chucking it just before it went off was even more incredible – and it took real guts, too.’
Hayden sat on the end of the bed. ‘It did that,’ he acknowledged, and he chuckled, ‘but the Chief wasn’t very happy about his CID car, which caught the full blast instead.’
‘What was it you said he told the ACC?’ Kate put in and lowered her voice to a gruff: ‘Slight miscalculation on my part, sir!’
And they both laughed uproariously.
Lewis leaned across to cut the top off her egg with a knife and pushed the tray towards her. ‘Don’t forget your breakfast.’
‘Any other news?’ she queried, taking the plate off the tray and dipping one bread soldier into the hardening yoke.
He pursed his lips for a second. ‘Willoughby’s going—’
‘Going?’
‘Yep. Retiring they say, though I reckon he’s been given the big heave-ho after his latest performance. Ansell is tipped to succeed him.’
‘Well, well. And what about Sharp?’
He shrugged. ‘Still on his toes. They shouldn’t have let the little blighter out on police bail in the first place. They had enough on him for a charge of unlawful possession of a firearm anyway, in my opinion, but they decided to await the result of inquiries into the origin of the gun and to seek CPS advice on the suspected bribery charge before going ahead on anything. They reckon he’s scarpered abroad somewhere.’
Kate made another face and put her plate back on the tray. ‘Sorry, Hayden, just can’t eat it. Nice thought, though.’
He frowned. ‘No problem, but what would you like instead?’
She stared at him, a familiar mischievous glint in her eye. ‘There’s only one thing I want at this moment, Detective Constable Lewis,’ she said and threw back the bedclothes to reveal one shapely, bare thigh. ‘And it isn’t food.’