Wiping a hand across his pale hair, he flicked the droplets away with a sigh. 'So, do you have any idea when he'll be back?'
The woman dropped the sack onto the towpath; Shaun could see it was full of cut wood. 'He shouldn't be long, he's gone to the water station to top up the tank. I mean, it's only a couple of miles, so you could probably catch up with him.'
Shaun sniffed and looked up at the sky. 'Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.'
'I've got a fresh towel on board if you want to get dry first?'
Shaun looked at the barge. 'You live here?'
'Two years now. My parents think I'm mad, but I like it.'
'I can see the appeal, no neighbours. No canvassers banging on your door.'
'Precisely, though it's a pain when you run out of bread and milk and you have to walk four miles to the nearest shop.'
'You don't drive?'
'I can drive but I move around quite a bit so having a car seems pointless. Besides, I've got my bike,' she pointed to a mountain bike chained to the roof. 'I work at the hospital, so I cycle in or if it's a nice day I'll walk.'
'Sounds idyllic,' a couple of swans went gliding by as the rain started up again. 'Well, I'd better get going and thanks again for your help,' he flicked the hood back over his head.
'What about the towel, you looked soaked.'
Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he shook his head. 'I'd better not besides a little water never hurt anyone.'
'As long as you're sure?'
He thought he saw a shimmer of disappointment in her eyes and wondered at it. 'Honestly, I'll be fine.'
'Well, maybe on your way back, I'm not going anywhere.'
Shaun shook his hands water sprayed from his fingertips. 'You wouldn't want me dripping all over your boat.'
'I don't mind I mean, look at the state of me,' she paused, 'anyway if you change your mind I've got the log fire burning and the kettles always on.'
'Thanks…I'm sorry I don't know your name?'
She blew a strand of wet hair from her eyes. 'Carol, Carol Robinson.'
'Well thanks again, Carol, I might well take you up on your offer.' Then he strode away his thoughts befuddled, a feeling of guilt sprang into his heart, his wife, and child dead and he was already trying to replace her.
Coward, the voice hissed.
Shaun broke into a run.
120
Lasser scrambled over the five-bar gate and landed ankle deep in a puddle of filthy water.
'For fuck's sake!'
Bannister grinned at him as he shuffled along the bottom rung of the gate dropping into the wet grass to avoid a drenching. 'It's just not your day is it, Sergeant?'
Lasser paddled to the towpath and looked down at his sodden feet.
'So, what's the name of the boat?'
'The Bond,' he grumbled in response.
Bannister raised an eyebrow. 'Fancies himself as a bit of a spy does he?'
'Christ, my feet are freezing.'
Bannister slapped a hand onto his shoulder. 'Stop whingeing, it's only a bit of water. Now come on, which way?'
Lasser flicked up the collar of his jacket as if this would somehow protect him from the deluge. 'Down this way, he's moored just around the corner.'
Bannister followed as Lasser trudged along the path, when they reached the bend Lasser frowned. 'It's not here.'
'What do you mean, ''not here''?'
Lasser pointed. 'He was parked here.'
'You don't park a boat, Lasser, you moor it.'
'Sod off, you know what I mean.'
Bannister folded his arms, his hair plastered to his head. 'Wonderful, so now what do we do?'
Lasser looked back along the towpath, he could see a dark-haired woman standing at the rear of a red and green narrowboat watching them closely with a frown on her face.
'We might as well ask the neighbour while we're here.'
Bannister grunted and followed as Lasser headed towards the woman.
'Excuse me, love, but we're looking for a Mr Fleming.'
She had her hands wrapped around a tin mug, her scarlet nails poking out through a pair of fingerless mittens. 'I don't believe this, I don't see anyone for days and then within twenty minutes everyone's asking where Nat Fleming has disappeared to.'
Bannister threw Lasser a sharp glance. 'I'm sorry, are you saying someone else has been looking for him?'
She blew onto the hot drink, a cloud of steam blossomed from the mug. 'About fifteen minutes ago a man came asking if I knew where he was.'
'And do you?' Lasser asked.
'I'll tell you what I told him, Fleming's gone to fill his water tank…'
'This other guy, can you describe him for us?'
She took a sip and sighed in contentment. 'Are you the police?'
'Yes, love, and this is important…'
'He was about your height with blondish hair, wearing an old army jacket, but he was absolutely drenched.'
'I know the feeling,' Lasser mumbled.
'Which way did he go?' Bannister asked.
Carol Robinson hooked a thumb over her shoulder. 'He went that way, I told him if he got his skates on the he'd probably catch up with Nat.'
'Did he say what he wanted with Mr Fleming?'
'No and I didn't ask, but he looked annoyed when he realised he wasn't here.'
Thunder suddenly rumbled overhead and Bannister frowned up at the sky. 'Right, thanks for your help, Mrs…'
'It's Miss Robinson,' she replied with a smile.
'Oh right, sorry about that.'
'Not a problem.'
Lasser shivered as a gust of wind blew the rain hard into his face. 'So, what do you want to do?' he asked.
Bannister plugged his little finger into his left ear and wriggled it about. 'Well, we've come this far so we might as well try and find the man.'
'If you're the police what on earth do you want with Nat Fleming?' Carol asked.
Bannister grimaced. 'I'm afraid I can't say.'
She frowned as if the answer was unacceptable. 'Well, has he done something wrong?'
'I'm sorry…'
She held up a hand.' It's OK, I get the message.'
Bannister gave a curt nod. 'Right, Lasser, let's get a move on.'
They'd taken four strides before Carol piped up. 'If you want to catch the guy you're going to have to move quicker than that.'
Lasser turned. 'You mean he was running when he left you?'
'Oh yes, and believe me that man can motor.'
Bannister hitched up his trousers. 'Right come on, Lasser, you heard the woman, best foot forward.'
Bannister broke into a jog and Lasser sighed, Jesus Christ, not again.
121
Robert kept the hood of the sweatshirt pulled over his head, his eyes locked on the pavement as he strode along the street. As the light began to diminish, he felt his confidence grow. Despite the miserable weather, the streets of Hindley town centre were beginning to fill with Friday night revellers, he passed a group of girls smoking outside a pub, the smell of cheap sent engulfed him, filling his senses with an urgent need.
'Not yet, Robert, we have to get you sorted before we go hunting.'
Robert snapped to attention, the voice was right; he needed to rest in the crumbling walls of the old house. He'd curl up on the dirt floor, close his eyes and sleep and maybe when he awoke, he would be reborn into someone complete, someone who would take orders without question.
'That's the ticket, Robert, rest now, fun later.'
As he passed the takeaway, Robert caught a whiff of spices, his stomach groaned and he tried to think when he last had something to eat, but his mind couldn't seem to recall the taste of food. Robert grimaced, all he could taste was the sharp tang of the medication on his tongue, he wished he had a drink to swill the taste away, but all the money had been in the coat that he'd stolen from the bitch's house. Another injustice that would have to be rectified, another score to settle, he cracked his teeth togeth
er as he headed out of the town centre.
Ten minutes later, he walked through the cemetery gates, the old headstones leaned precariously as if the occupants of the graves had tried to break through the ground beneath. When he spotted the stop tap, he jogged over, dipped his head and guzzled at the flow; the water was ice cold and refreshing. Wiping a hand across his mouth, he looked around. The graveyard was deserted, some of the plots had sprays of flowers stuffed into small urns, a splash of colour in a washed-out world.
Trudging down the cinder path, Robert pushed through the gates before heading towards the tunnel that led into the woods.
Twenty minutes later, he was inside the magical place, as soon as he walked through the hole in the wall, he crossed the room and fell to his knees, his hands scrabbling amongst the pile of leaves.
'You've done well, Robert, take three tablets and then rest.'
Ripping open a packet, he popped out three pills, tossed them into his mouth, and swallowed. Outside he could hear the rain landing on the leaves, smell the pungent aroma of wet earth. Tentatively, he touched the wound at the side of his head, for a second his anger flared.
'Sleep,' the voice said in a low voice that sounded almost like a sigh. Curling into a ball, Robert closed his eyes, home at last.
122
As he approached, Shaun could hear the steady putt putt of the engine. The boat was tied to the bank by a single length of blue nylon rope, a hose stretched from a stop tap on the towpath leading to the front of the boat. Walking alongside, he glanced left and right but the towpath was empty, the vicious weather keeping even the hardiest of walkers at home.
'Hello, is anyone home?' he called, before crouching down on his haunches to peer inside. The body lay slumped over a small fold down table, the wooden surface slick with blood, the head hanging over the edge. Snapping upright, Shaun ran to the rear of the boat and leapt across the short gap before barrelling down the three steps that led inside. The engine rumbled, the boat swayed gently from side to side as he rushed down the narrow galley.
Suddenly, he was back in the war zone running down the labyrinth like passageways that dissected the shell-bombed building. Thunder rumbled overhead but to Shaun's ears, it was the sound of a fifty-millimetre shell coming in hard and fast. Without thinking, he pitched himself forward, but instead of landing on a dusty, desert floor, he hit the wooden deck hard and blinked in confusion. His mind lurched and he was back on board the narrowboat, his brow slick with sweat, his heart ram raiding in his chest.
Shaking his head, he clambered to his feet, both hands locked against the narrow wooden walls to stop him from falling. Then he moved slowly forward and grabbed the body before flipping it over, blood suddenly reared up from the slit in the man's throat and Shaun grunted in revulsion before taking a backward step. Nathaniel Fleming hit the deck hard, the lower half of his face a mask of red, his eyes locked open and opaque. The gash in his throat seemed to spring open, the skin stretching wide, revealing the internal workings beneath.
Adjusting the rucksack, Shaun turned and ran back along the length of the boat; the narrow space seemed to seethe with the stench of spilled blood, the acrid reek of warm offal. Missing the first step, he fell forward, his shin cracking into the wood but Shaun never felt it, he suddenly had a desperate need to get away from this place of memories.
He shot into the downpour like a drowning man, breaking the surface before leaning over the back of the boat and vomiting into the water. Grabbing the handrail, he dry-heaved, his knuckles white as he tried to cling onto his sanity.
When he looked up, he could see two figures running towards him out of the deluge. Without thinking, Shaun leapt onto the bank.
'Stop where you are!'
Shaun ignored the demand and dashed into the cover of the trees, the bank was steep, shadows lurched, and he bolted, the sound of remembered gunfire ringing in his ears.
Lasser saw the figure dash through the bushes and vanish, he could hear Bannister by his side, sounding like a distressed bulldog.
Ten yards from the boat, the DCI slipped and hurtled forward landing in a puddle that looked more like a boating lake in miniature. Grey water sprayed up in a wide arc as he slid forward through the mud.
Lasser staggered to a halt, too tired to offer any assistance. 'Are you OK?' he asked, as he tried to grab some air into his tortured lungs.
When Bannister looked up all Lasser could see were his eyes, wide and glaring, the rest of his face lathered with thick grey-tinged mud. 'Get after him, you daft bastard!'
Lasser spat onto the ground before bolting forward, he glanced at the boat before blasting his way through the bushes. When he saw the ground drop away, he tried to slam on the brakes but his forward momentum wouldn't allow it. His feet shot from beneath him and then he was hurtling down the steep hillside on his backside, he could feel the water from the sodden grass soaking into his trousers. As he bounced over a divot, Lasser grunted as his testicles took a battering. The trees seemed to flash by in a blur, desperately he grabbed handfuls of grass in an effort to halt his downhill lunge, but the ground grew even steeper and his speed increased. When he saw the oak tree blocking his path, Lasser gritted his teeth and raised his feet. Slamming into the trunk, he waited for the explosion of pain, convinced that at least one of his ankles would shatter under the impact. Blinking, he looked up at the tree, the higher branches swaying violently in the gale.
Lasser slumped back his arms spread wide, crucifixion style, the back of his head resting in a divot of black water.
'Jesus,' he mumbled, and then sat up slowly, amazed that he was still in one piece.
'Lasser what the bloody hell are you doing?'
Throwing a look over his shoulder, he spotted Bannister standing at the top of the incline; his hair standing on end, his face coated with slime. Then the DCI was jumping up and down on the spot.
'Go left!' he pointed down the hill and Lasser turned in time to see the figure in the camouflaged jacket disappear into a blurring of browns and greens.
'Get after him!'
Clambering upright, his feet immediately began to slither forward as the ground moved beneath his sensible shoes. An avalanche of rotting leaves followed him down the hillside. When he reached the bottom, he glanced back up but there was no sign of Bannister.
'Bloody marvellous,' he mumbled, and turned to find the man pointing a knife at his face.
123
Robert had no idea how long he'd been asleep, all he knew was that it was darker and the pain in his head throbbed as if someone were stamping on his skull wearing hob-nailed boots.
'How do you feel, Robert?'
'It hurts,' he wailed.
'I realise that, but…'
'And I'm hungry.'
The voice sighed. 'Do you ever stop whingeing?'
Robert wiped the sleeve of his sweatshirt under his nose, smearing a trail of snot along the side of his face. 'I can't help it,' he sulked.
'Well, we can sort your aches and pains…'
'My medication?'
'Take two, but no more.'
Robert dragged the small box from his pocket and sighed. 'I could kill for a burger.'
'Yes, well, it might come to that.'
Suddenly Robert felt wide-awake. 'Do you mean it?'
'You're hungry and you have no money, so you'll have to take what you need…'
'I can do that, I can…'
'No, Robert, there is no 'I', you do what I say when I say it.'
Robert swallowed and nodded, suddenly remembering his earlier promise. 'I understand,' he mumbled.
'Good, now get up we have a busy night ahead of us.'
Robert didn't need telling twice, clambering to his feet, he dragged the hood over his head. 'I'm ready.'
'You know, Robert, I think you are.'
124
Lasser tried to take a backward step but his feet slithered on the sodden ground.
'I didn't do it,' the man said, as he lowered the black
blade.
Throwing out a hand, Lasser grabbed the branch of a low-hanging tree. 'Do what?'
'The body on the boat, it had nothing to do with me.'
Lasser blinked, the man looked drenched, his face hidden beneath the hood of the camouflaged jacket.
'I'm sorry, mate, but I don't have a clue what you're talking about.'
'I want you to know that Fleming was already dead when I arrived…'
'Fleming?'
'Somebody cut his throat…'
Lasser could feel his feet slowly sinking in the mud. 'How do you know, Fleming? I mean, what were you doing on the boat in the first place?'
Thunder rumbled, a few seconds later the sky bloomed with lightning.
'The man you're chasing…'
'Flynn?' Lasser let go of the branch as the heavens opened. 'Do you know where he is?'
'Don't worry, he can't do any more harm.'
Lasser dragged his feet free from the mud and took a step forward. Shaun raised the knife again.
'You've killed him?' Lasser asked.
'Not yet.'
'What does that mean?'
Shaun shrugged. 'I made a promise, but I wanted to check something before I finished the job.'
Suddenly things slotted into place, Lasser threw him a ravaged grin and shook his head. 'You're the guy who stopped Flynn when he was attacking Sarah Palmer?'
'He would have killed them both.'
Lasser raised a hand and shuffled closer. 'I know and you did a good thing, but this isn't right and you know it. Now, tell me where Flynn is and we can sort this before it goes too far.'
Shaun pushed back the hood, he looked to be in his mid-twenties, a baby-faced assassin.
'I can't do that.'
'Why not, as far as I know you've done nothing wrong?'
'It's not about doing wrong; it's about seeing something through to the end. It's about trying to make things right.'
Lasser frowned; he could hear the anguish in the man's voice. 'I don't follow.'
'I don't expect you to.'
'Explain it to me. I mean, you talk about making things right, but right for whom?'
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