by Gemma Fox
Nick shook his head in disbelief, Coleman’s dark humour lost on him. ‘What is this? Are you passing the buck? Come off it, Coleman, the TV thing was down to you and some cock-up at Stiltskin. That camera crew had nothing at all to do with me. I’m not crazy, whatever you may think – your computer’s at fault. This is ridiculous –’
‘Now, now. Don’t go getting yourself all overwrought, Mr Lucas.’
‘Overwrought?’ Nick hissed. ‘For God’s sake man, what the hell do you expect me to be feeling.’
Coleman shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s been a very long time since I’ve found myself in this position. This, my friend, is the end of the road as far as you’re concerned. Nobody expected that it would come to this, but then –’ He lifted his hands in a gesture of resignation. He sounded tired, his voice so low that the tone was almost hypnotic. ‘What can I tell you? Needs must where the devil drives.’ He paused thoughtfully and then added, ‘You know, my mother always used to say that to me when I was a kid – I’ve got no idea what it means.’ Coleman took a hit from his nasal spray and sighed.
Nick looked away, swallowing hard, his heart racing, palms slick with sweat. ‘How long have you been planning this?’
‘Does it really matter that much to you? This kind of solution is not something my employers take lightly, but it was, it is, always on the cards – if our friends Nimrod and Cain didn’t get you then this was the last line of defence.’
‘You?’
Coleman, tidying the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, nodded. ‘That’s right, Mr Lucas. Me. The Stiltskin team have suspected for a while that there was someone working on the inside. How shall we say it? Oiling the wheels of the information highway over your case, they just didn’t know who it was.’ For the first time since he had got in the van Coleman looked uncomfortable, not that Nick had a great deal of sympathy for him.
‘But they will after today?’
Coleman shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. Who knows, it depends on how fast we can get the job done – I know that they have their suspicions.’
Nick swallowed again, mouth dry.
The inside of the van was getting increasingly hot and airless, and what air there was left was perfumed by a hint of diesel oil, the combination adding to Nick’s growing feeling of nausea. He struggled discreetly against the handcuffs, the metal rubbing into his wrists as he tried to turn them around and slip free.
‘Relax,’ purred Coleman. ‘No point fighting it. It will all be over soon.’
Nick closed his eyes, trying hard to quell the wave of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. How the hell had he got himself into such a mess in the first place? Had Coleman known what was going on from the start? Had the whole thing been a complex set-up from day one to get the two of them to this point? Had everything else; Maggie, Robbie Hughes, the trip to Somerset, all been a complicated smoke screen? Rerunning the events of the last few days over in his head, although it wasn’t impossible, it was highly improbable – it seemed far more likely that Coleman had been pulled out of the woodwork as damage limitation when things had gone wrong.
Nick screwed his eyes tight shut; his head ached, his mind flickering with one thought after another like a candle flame in the wind. The only good thing to come out of the day was that at least Maggie was safe now. He had heard Coleman on the radio requesting that she be taken into custody at the police station, until it was all over. All over? Nick’s stomach did another back-flip as he held off the idea of it being all over and instead allowed the sound of Maggie’s name to conjure up an image of her that filled his mind.
If he concentrated he could see her clear as day. Standing there, all wound up and ready to go in the hall of her cottage, hefting a baseball bat up to shoulder height ready to whack him right into the middle of next week, her face a mask of determination. Her eyes bright with fear and panic. It seemed like an age ago, a memory already tinged with the patina of years, not a matter of days and hours. It was the kind of story that under other circumstances they would tell over and over again. Even given his present predicament Nick found it hard not to smile; Maggie Morgan really was something else. It was amazing meeting a woman like her now, when it was too dangerous, too unlikely and far, far too late to do anything about it. Fate could be such a bitch at times. His heart ached for lots of reasons but most of all for the might have beens, the things he was never going to share with Maggie.
The van swung round a sharp bend, shaking him out of the warm, dark thoughtful place. Nick, unable to steady himself, slithered along the seat. Struggling to regain his balance he heard the engine slowing, then stop, felt the gears bite into reverse. Across the van everything about Coleman’s body language announced that they had just arrived at ground zero.
For an instant Nick glanced down at his watch. It was a stupid thing to do under the circumstances, but he couldn’t help wondering just how much longer he had got left. He closed his eyes and prayed that it would be over quickly, and that meanwhile he could manage to hold tight to the last shreds of self-control that were keeping him from screaming. Along with the fear was a disturbing sense of unreality as a part of his brain struggled to convince him that none of this was really happening.
Nick bit his lip; it was the part of the mind that eased the pain at the dentist or the fear as they wheeled you into the operating theatre. It was some sort of big chemical ‘there, there’, that put your consciousness out of its misery, making you an observer and not a participant in whatever was going on. Nick fought the feeling; he wanted to be there, not drifting into some anaesthetised state fuelled by his own terror, however tempting a prospect it was. Trying to shake the dreamlike sensation, Nick pulled the handcuffs tight, the bite of metal bringing him squarely back into the moment.
It struck him then that he couldn’t get away even if he wanted to, not while he was wearing cuffs – and with Coleman’s companions watching him like hawks, the odds were close to impossible. And even if he could get away, where in God’s name would he go?
As another wave of nausea rolled up through him, Nick pressed his body back against the cool metal side of the van, savouring the vibrations going down his spine, relishing the warmth of the breath in his chest – relishing the sensation of still being alive. And at that moment the engine cut out.
‘So where to now, then, my lovely?’ said Cain, looking back over his shoulder towards Bernie as they got to the next road junction.
‘Left,’ said Bernie, pointing to add emphasis. ‘And then right at the end of the road, and then left onto the Esplanade. We’re heading down towards the seafront. We need to head up to the old part of town – along and then up there.’ He waved and pointed towards the broad shoulder of North Hill that sheltered Minehead’s long golden beach.
‘Whereabouts are we going again?’ said Cain quizzically, as if they were all out on some Glee Club bus trip.
‘We’re going to skirt round the bottom of the hill, and then park up on Culver Cliff. It’s out past the harbour – this big open space on the cliff top. There’s a picnic area, and then there’s a clifftop path. It’s nice – very quiet. It’s where the South West Coastal Path starts, and follows the coast right round Land’s End and then on to Poole Harbour in Dorset,’ said Bernie knowledgeably.
Nimrod smiled. ‘Well, well, well, so there we have it. It’s like a trip out with Ray Mears. What a veritable fount of knowledge you turned out to be, Bernie. Although I have to say that I don’t think we’ll be doing the South West Coastal Path today; maybe another time –’ He stretched, muscles rippling under his well-cut jacket, locking his fingers together in a basket and then bending them back like a piano player warming up. ‘It sounds like our man has picked an ideal spot, though.’
‘Ideal?’ Maggie looked from face to face; she was under no illusion about what they meant by ideal; Culver Cliff would be an ideal place to kill Nick Lucas.
Cain, his expression almost jubilant, grinned. ‘Perhaps we can arrange a nice little acciden
t, one tiny-weeny little bullet hole, followed by a little trip off the cliff, high tide; a cliff fall and Bob’s yer uncle – who would ever know? Who would care –’
Maggie bit her lip; she and Bernie would know but if Coleman was working for the other side she had no doubt he could cover their tracks. Although of course there was the chilling but all too real possibility that Nimrod and Cain didn’t care what she and Bernie knew because they wouldn’t be leaving the cliff top alive either. Maggie shuddered and tried to concentrate on staying calm and in control. She had to believe there was still a chance but knew that if she panicked that chance might be lost; surely there had to be some way out of this? It was summer, broad daylight in a seaside town, surely someone would come and help them?
In the front of the car, Nimrod, pulling the wrapper off another sweet, grinned at Cain. ‘Dunno, we’ll see when we get there, play it by ear. I have to say I would’ve preferred to have got there first really, sussed the place out, but then again yer can’t have it all ways. It won’t be the first time we’ve had to do a job on the fly, eh? Happier are you now, then, eh?’
Cain nodded. ‘Yes, and I’ll be even happier when it’s all over.’
‘Goes without saying but we’re on the homestraight now. In and out –’
‘And home in time for tea and buns,’ said Bernie miserably from the back seat.
‘Catches on fast, doesn’t he?’ said Cain, turning left.
Sitting beside Bernie, Maggie felt sick.
‘Left, left,’ bawled Lesley, waving the video camera at Robbie Hughes like a conductor’s baton.
‘All right, all right, there’s no need to shout, I can see them,’ snapped Robbie. ‘It’s a seaside town not the bloody Paris to Dakar rally.’
‘Sorry, Robbie, it’s just that I’ve got this really strong feeling,’ said Lesley, turning to beam at him, her eyes wide and alight with excitement behind her glasses.
Robbie groaned; Lesley certainly picked her moments to go all hot and horny on him, he thought ruefully. ‘I know, honey, it gets us all that way at times, but it’ll have to wait until later, until we can find somewhere a little more secluded, when the job’s over and done with. It’s the excitement – the adrenaline – it goes with the turf,’ he said, and then another thought struck him, ‘or do you need a pee?’
Lesley’s eyes narrowed down to angry little slits. ‘No,’ she snapped furiously. ‘That isn’t what I meant at all, Robbie, and you know it. What I meant was I’ve got a feeling that this is it. A hunch, an intuition. Whatever it is, it’s about to happen. It’s like I’ve got this really intense buzz deep down in the bottom of my belly.’
Robbie didn’t like to tell her that he had one, too, but he had put it down to the dodgy burger they had had at the motorway services.
‘There they go – look –’ she gasped. ‘Look!’
Robbie nodded. It was like taking a kid to see Father Christmas. Just who was driving who, he wondered, putting his foot down hard. Didn’t she realise that Robbie was watching Bernie’s every move? He needed the film more than Lesley did, the longevity of his marriage could depend on what they got in the can by teatime, but even so he was grateful that at least for the moment Lesley was back on side and showing willing. It would be far easier to work with her than without her – and besides, if she took the hump, even if she wasn’t very good at it, who the hell could he get to operate the video camera?
Two or three vehicles ahead of them, the silver-grey car had slowed to a crawl, indicated, and was turning up towards the old part of town. Matching their change of pace Robbie dropped down a gear and with his eyes firmly on the car made as if to follow.
‘Robbie!’ screamed Lesley, but it was too late. Even before she had finished calling his name Robbie heard the furious blast of a horn, felt the thick dull crunch of impacting metal and then the recoil of his body being flung forward towards the windscreen, through which he could see something white moving in slow motion. It was a van – a white transit van.
‘Look at that bloody moron. He’s going far too fast in a built-up area, in a seaside town, for God’s sake – there are kiddies all over the place.’ Robbie began protesting his innocence even before the two vehicles had ground to a halt. A quick mind and an even quicker tongue were valuable gifts that had kept Robbie ahead of the pack for years.
‘Mad bastard,’ he growled, swinging round to Lesley as if appealing to the umpire. It didn’t occur to him to check if she was all right. ‘Did you see that? Did you see that mad bastard? He came out of nowhere. He must have been doing fifty – more probably. It wasn’t my fault – the man is a total frigging maniac. He shouldn’t be allowed on the bloody roads. He should be banned…He–’
Outside, the driver was already clambering out of his cab and heading round to Robbie’s side of the car. He was small and thin with sparse ginger hair, a bright red face, and was built like a bamboo cane.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at, pulling out of a junction like that without looking, you stupid old git?’ he snarled by way of an introduction.
‘What – what, do you mean me?’ Robbie blustered. ‘It was you – you were going far too fast. You must have been doing sixty –’ the mileage and volume rose along with his sense of outrage. Little oik – did he know who he was dealing with?
The man had just jerked the car door open and was busy hauling Robbie bodily from the car when Lesley got out and said, ‘I’m most terribly sorry. It was completely and utterly our fault.’ Her voice was like pure silk and as smooth and unctuous as double cream. Robbie turned towards her and for the first time noticed that there was a little rivulet of blood on her forehead accentuating her pallor.
The man turned to look, too, then looked more intently. Lesley smiled at him, and for some reason the man, who had drawn back his fist to explain to Robbie the finer points of the Highway Code, stopped mid-stride and beamed. ‘Oh, hang on a minute – I know you, don’t I? I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before,’ he said, still staring at Lesley. He was thinking so hard you could almost smell the rubber burning.
Lesley blushed and fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly.
‘I know, hang on, hang on, don’t tell me, it’s on the tip of my tongue –’ said the man, his face screwed into a mask of concentration. ‘I’ve got it. You’re on telly, aren’t you?’ he announced triumphantly. ‘You’re that girl who does that crime programme on ITV – I’ve seen you loads of times – I love that programme.’ He began to hum the tune, gyrating thin hips to the upbeat opening music.
Robbie’s head swung round and he glared at Lesley; those lines were meant to be for him. People had been recognising Robbie since before she was bloody-well born, the little cow.
Lesley’s colour intensified; and Robbie started to wriggle furiously. Thanks to him putting a word in for her upstairs Lesley had done a little bit of on-screen work on the programme over the last few months. Not much, just read out a few readers’ letters, answered some of the call-in stuff, but even so she was hardly Anne-frigging-Robinson.
The man still had a tight hold of Robbie’s throat.
‘Are you all right? –’ he said solicitously, still looking in her direction. ‘Only there’s blood on your head.’
Lesley smiled bravely and pulling a pristine white hankie from the sleeve of her cardigan dabbed at the spot with just the hint of a wince. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine – it’s nothing,’ she said.
What a brave little soldier, thought Robbie malevolently.
‘We’re on a story at the moment,’ she continued, all the while batting those long eyelashes of hers.
For God’s sake, did she have to keep flirting with this ape, thought Robbie indignantly; had the woman got no shame at all?
‘Lesley!’ Robbie snapped, trying to get her attention. What in God’s name was the girl thinking of.
The man, ignoring Robbie, beamed. ‘Really? That’s amazing. Something big, is it?’
Lesley nodded, and th
en pushed her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. ‘We’re just about to crack the story on a really big con man – he’s responsible for all sorts of scams.’
‘Really? So you pair are a bit like, what? Starsky and Hutch, then?’ the ginger man said, although at least he had the decency to redden and then laugh self-consciously at his own lame remark.
Lesley appeared to glow under his attention. ‘Actually we were tailing someone,’ she said, waving in the general direction of the accident. ‘Which is why we maybe weren’t paying as much attention as we should be.’ At which point Lesley glared at Robbie and then looking back at her red-faced, red-haired admirer, continued, ‘I’m really very sorry –’ She screwed her eyes and mouth up into what was presumably meant to be an expression of apology and contrition.
‘Oh God,’ said the man, ‘and now because of me you’re going to lose them. You should have said – and you should get yourself a better driver.’
‘Thank you,’ said Robbie, as he dropped to the tarmac like a stone.
‘We’d better sort this out.’ The man pulled out his keys. ‘I’ll move the van out of the way. My name is Dave – Dave Henderson –’ He took Lesley’s hand, shook it and then very coyly pressed it to his lips. ‘Do you think your car is still driveable? I could give you a lift if you don’t mind roughing it.’
Her car? Her car? The bile rose in Robbie’s throat.
Lesley peered myopically at the crumpled front end of the car and nodded and then pulled a seductive little look that implied she wasn’t adverse to a bit of rough, given half a chance. The man reddened and Lesley said, ‘That’s really kind of you but I think it will be okay, actually – it only looks like the spoiler from here.’
‘Oh and you would know, wouldn’t you?’ said Robbie sarcastically. ‘The whole bloody wing is smashed, and look at the state of the headlights –’