Dovetail

by Bernard Pearson

  He took the chairs one by one back out to his van, then looked around, listening for any sound that might indicate his vermin-control activities had attracted attention. But the night remained silent and peaceful. He brought the gas cylinders into the house first, then unloaded both petrol cans and stowed the chairs in their place. His system was awash in adrenalin; he thought of Miss Templeton’s prediction and smiled wryly. Yes, he might pay for it later, but right now he certainly had the strength to do what was necessary.

  Sloshing the petrol around brought on his cough with a vengeance, however. So much so that, after opening the valves on the gas cylinders, he was in such a hurry to leave the house that he almost forgot to pick up the envelope full of money that still lay on the dining table. Quickly stuffing it into the inside pocket of his jacket, he gave one last look around the room. Nothing moved. Leaving the front door open, he poured a trail of petrol from the dining room, through the hall and doorway, and onto the shallow steps. Some of it ran down and formed a pool on the gravel below.

  He stepped back, lit a match, and dropped it.

  Chapter 43

  MONDAY, 5 NOVEMBER

  Back at the farm, Bill’s telephone call had put them on the alert. If it was indeed Warren who had flashed by Bill’s van, and assuming he was making for the farm, Sid calculated they had something like half an hour before he arrived.

  In fact, it was only twenty minutes later that Warren reached Bill’s place. He drove up the lane a short way, then turned off his headlights and slowly coasted back. There were no lights on at the farm as far as he could see, so he parked his motorbike well into the field entrance he had used before.

  He was waiting quietly in the dark for Bill to return when his phone vibrated. It was Skates. That bastard Sawyer had only brought two chairs and claimed to have the other two booby-trapped. Warren was to get into the old fool’s yard and wait till he returned, then do whatever was necessary to get the two remaining chairs before having any ‘fun’. Skates had even said he could keep half the money Sawyer would be carrying. It was a treat for him: a reward for all the aggravation he had had to endure over these fucking chairs. Lucy was stationed in the cart shed within easy reach of the switch for the floodlight that would shine down the passage towards the meadow gate. Wearing a warm jumper and an old tweed cap of Bill’s, she cradled the sawn-off shotgun. Staring into the darkness with ears straining for any sound is a soul-destroying activity. Nerves taut, eyes wide, and brain fizzing, she waited for something to happen.

  Sid was posted in the workshop, which gave him a good view of the yard along with easy access to the switch for the workshop floodlight. He was experienced at this game, but even he was cold and stiff. ‘I’m getting too old for this sodding lark,’ he thought as he sucked on a boiled sweet he had found in one of the pockets of his huge parka. He had Bill’s ancient revolver within easy reach, and its presence was some comfort.

  Only Miss Templeton was not alone. Clive was asleep by the stove, but it was not him with whom she shared her watch. Armed with the old shotgun, she kept an eye on the yard and the big main gate, but her mind was filled with memories of other times, other places, and long-dead comrades with whom she had sat, holding a gun in her hand, waiting for foes to emerge from the gloom.

  Warren made his way to the farm. Dressed in his black motorcycle leathers, he was almost invisible. Coming up to the gate in the meadow, he saw in front of him the dark, narrow passage that led into the yard. Having been here before, he remembered the general layout and knew this was the only entrance apart from the big gate to the yard. Unfortunately, it was too dark for him to notice this one had been left unlocked, so he carefully climbed over it. Somehow he also managed to avoid the man trap Sid had so carefully set for him.

  Though he knew Bill was currently at Skates’s house, Warren held a small automatic pistol at the ready as he entered the dark passageway. You couldn’t be too careful; besides, there might be rats or cats to shoot. He moved soundlessly until he had nearly reached the end of the passage, when he disturbed a small piece of broken concrete that made a tiny clattering noise. It was such a trivial sound that it didn’t even register with Lucy, but Sid edged around slowly and carefully to see what had made it. He didn’t switch on the big floodlight because he wasn’t sure it was a human noise, but he moved and that was enough.

  Warren fired. His reflexes were superb, but it also helped that he didn’t give a damn who he shot. Sid felt a blow on his left arm just below the shoulder and, throwing himself across the entrance to get his gun into play, he fell on his back. Pointing the big revolver where he had seen the flash of the gun, he fired.

  Warren’s little automatic had made a nasty sharp crack, like a firework. Sid’s bloody great war relic made a great smash of sound that reverberated in the narrow passage like the crack of doom. Sid’s shot did not hit Warren, but it surprised him enough to prevent him from instantly firing another round into the man who now lay at his feet.

  Lucy had leapt up at the sound of the gunfire, hit the switch for the floodlight, which now lit up the entire area, and stepped into the passage. She saw Sid lying on his back, one arm bleeding and useless, struggling to get another shot at Warren. She also saw Warren bring his pistol up to shoot Sid again.

  ‘Ricky!’ she shouted. ‘Ricky Warren!’

  He turned and saw her. It took a few seconds for him to recognize her, though, because instead of the cowering girl he had raped and tortured for years, he saw a tall, confident woman holding a sawn-off shotgun.

  Lucy’s fear aimed the gun, her love for Sid squeezed the trigger, and her grey eyes saw the man she hated so much flung back against the wall, a red smear appearing on its ancient stones to mark his passage.

  There was no need for the second barrel. There seldom is with such a weapon. Lucy broke open the gun to render it safe and then bent over Sid, who was trying to get to his feet.

  Miss Templeton now ran into the floodlit passage, her old shotgun at the ready. Quickly assessing the situation, she yelled at Lucy to ‘switch that damned light off in case there are any more of them’. Lucy did as she was told, then they got Sid into the kitchen. On went all the lights and off came Sid’s coat, which caused him a deal of pain, but he refused to have it cut off. Then the sleeve of his jumper and shirt were cut away.

  Miss Templeton rummaged in her rucksack and produced clean dressings that she pressed onto Sid’s wounds until the bleeding had all but stopped. Examining these, she declared the damage to be ‘just a nasty scratch. In and out, dear boy, like a squaddie in a knocking shop,’ she said, and winked at him.

  Sid just sat there staring at her. It hurt like hell, but he knew he was lucky. No bones smashed and, if properly treated, no hospital visit and no awkward questions.

  Miss Templeton produced a bottle of iodine and proceeded to paint it over the wounds. This hurt so much that he hardly noticed when she put a stich or three over the exit hole, which was bigger than the small entrance wound.

  ‘Rest the arm a bit,’ she said as she made a sling out of a hand towel while Lucy cleaned everything up.

  Then Lucy made a pot of tea and brought out the whisky bottle. They sat sipping their drinks in that twilight world that comes after mortal danger has passed. Hot tea laced with rum for Lucy and Miss Templeton, and whisky for Sid. It was 9:30 by the wall clock. ‘He should be back soon,’ said Lucy, hoping he really would be.

  Sid said nothing, but he was worried, too. If Bill wasn’t back in half an hour, he decided, he would go and start looking for him. In the meantime, partly to keep Lucy from fretting, he suggested they go out into the yard and consider how best to dispose of the late, unlamented Warren. They all trooped outside, and Sid put on the yard spotlight so they could see what was left of their visitor. It turned out there was quite a lot at either end, but the part in the middle was a bit sketchy.

  ‘We’ll have to move it before rigor mortis sets in,’ said Miss Templeton.

  Lucy was detailed to
find the biggest plastic sheet she could while Sid connected the big hose to an outside tap near the workshop. Lucy returned with the sheet, some rubber gloves, and Bill’s neoprene staining apron. They rolled what was left of Warren onto the sheet, Miss Templeton going through all his pockets as they came into view. Then they stood and looked at the shiny, plastic-sheeted lump at their feet.

  ‘We’d best put it in the back of my van for now,’ said Sid. ‘Whatever we decide to do with it, we can’t leave it laying around in plain sight.’

  It was an ungainly parcel for a one-armed man and a slight woman to get into the back of a van, but Lucy tied bailing twine around it to form handles, and somehow they managed it between them.

  There was quite a lot of blood where Warren had lain and this had soaked down through the broken concrete. Lucy took the hose from Sid and washed away as much as she could, including the smear Warren had made on the wall when the shotgun blast had hit him. The water glistened in the harsh light, showering jewels onto the walls of the passage.

  Sid got a stick and defused the man trap, then Lucy put it in the back of the cart shed.

  Miss Templeton consulted her watch. It was nearly 10; Bill was running late. Sid was just on deciding it was time to go look for him when headlights appeared at the main gate. Lucy ran to open it, and in drove Bill’s van.

  They helped him out of it and into the kitchen. He sat for a minute or two, saying nothing, clearly exhausted, his face pale, his eyes red-rimmed, and his breathing laboured. They asked no questions, merely plied him with tea and made sounds of general encouragement while they waited for him to get his breath back. Finally, with a visible effort, he gathered himself and told them what had happened. When he was done, he slowly pulled from his inside pocket the envelope he had got from Skates. ‘Lucy, put this on the mantelpiece, will you?’

  As she did so, he looked around and seemed to notice for the first time that Sid’s arm was in a sling. The little bit of colour that had returned to his cheeks drained away.

  ‘How bad is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Gnat bite, mate, a mere gnat bite, and this lovely lady,’ said Sid, indicating Miss Templeton, ‘has already sorted it out nicely.’

  They told him what had gone on in his absence, and the look he gave Lucy when he learned Warren’s fate was worth a million pounds to her. After a while he got up and asked to be shown where the action had taken place. The spotlight was still on in the yard, illuminating the area like a crime scene, though most of the blood had been washed away. Sid took Bill through the sequence of events just as they happened, without any embellishment. Lucy said nothing, but stood close to Bill throughout.

  They turned off the light and went back into the kitchen. On the table was Warren’s motorcycle helmet and a pile containing his possessions, including his phone and bike keys.

  ‘Where is the bike now?’ asked Bill.

  ‘Parked up where it was last time he visited, I expect,’ answered Sid. ‘But we’d better get it moved.’ He rose wearily to his feet.

  ‘No, Sid,’ said Lucy, getting up. ‘You rest here for a bit. I can drive it.’

  Taking the helmet, the keys, and a small torch, she went out into the night. No need for a shotgun now, she thought as she walked down the road. It was only when she put the helmet on before riding the bike back to the farm that she got the shakes, and that was only because the bastard still used the same aftershave. The helmet reeked of it, and the smell made her gag. But the bike started easily, and she made short work of riding it into the yard and parking it in the cart shed.

  Back in the kitchen, she went over to where Bill was sitting, leaned down, and kissed him.

  ‘What’s that for?’ he asked, looking up at her with a tired smile. ‘Because I did it, and I couldn’t have without you.’

  ‘And Sid and Miss Templeton,’ said Bill. ‘Couldn’t have done bugger all without them.’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ said Lucy, resting her cheek on the top of his head. ‘But you’re the one who rescued me.’

  ‘It’s not all over yet,’ said Miss Templeton. ‘We still have a body to dispose of.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking on that,’ said Sid, gingerly rubbing his wound. Lucy had given him one of Bill’s painkillers, but the arm was getting very stiff and sore.

  ‘You know I’ve been doing a job for the Friggin’ Brigadier? Well it’s a new septic system and all there is left for me to do is to fill in the old one. Lucy can drive me over there at first light, we can pitch Warren into the hole, fill it up, and no one will ever be the wiser.’

  ‘Won’t anyone else be about?’ asked Lucy. ‘What about the general?’

  ‘He never gets up before nine and he’s deaf as a post. No one else will be by; I have the keys to the field gate and the digger. I should have filled the hole in days ago, but we were still working on the chairs. My mate who owns the digger just wants a phone call when the job’s done and I’m to leave the keys to the machine under one of the tracks so it can be picked up when convenient, same as usual.’

  ‘I like it,’ said Bill. ‘If Warren disappears, the police, bless ’em, may think it was him who did the dirty deeds because he has done similar ones before.’

  After a little more discussion, it was decided that Lucy would ride Warren’s motorbike to a mainline-connected railway station. Salisbury was the closest, but likely to have security cameras; Yeovil Junction was half an hour further away, but the car park was well outside the station, which was not manned but had a ticket machine.

  ‘Wear gloves so only Warren’s fingerprints will be on it,’ advised Sid, ‘and buy a ticket for London on the machine. If the police ever get around to checking railway stations then it won’t hurt to have a ticket sale in the right timeframe. But we’ll have to get a move on for it to look as if Warren killed Skates and did a runner straight away.’

  Lucy stood up. ‘We’re not waiting on me,’ she said.

  Miss Templeton said she and Bill would wait up for them, and settled herself in an armchair near the stove. Lucy fetched them both blankets and neither protested as she tucked them in.

  Sid drove his van and Lucy preceded him on the bike. The roads were wet and the motorcycle far more powerful than any she had ever ridden before, so she took it slowly at first, but after a while she began to enjoy the exhilaration of riding such a lovely machine. There wasn’t much traffic, but bonfires burned on the hills all around, flickering lights through the trees like signal fires warning of danger.

  By the time they reached Yeovil Junction, the place was deserted. Lucy parked the bike in a corner, under some trees, away from the few cars that were still there. She took off the black helmet and strapped it onto the bike, then walked to the machine and purchased a ticket for London.

  Sid was waiting just outside the carpark, and when she walked up to his van she could see he was in a lot of pain. She motioned him across to the passenger seat, got in, and drove home.

  By the time they reached Bill’s, both of them were exhausted. When they dragged themselves into the kitchen, the occupants of the armchairs remained asleep. Sid laid his hand on Lucy’s shoulder for a brief moment, then went straight up to the spare room and his sleeping bag. He washed down another painkiller with a swig of whisky and crashed out. Lucy did much the same, with the difference that Sid’s sleep was full of disturbing dreams, while hers was deep and untroubled.

  Chapter 44

  TUESDAY, 6 NOVEMBER

  Lucy was the first up on Tuesday morning, and though she crept around the kitchen making tea as quietly as possible, she woke Miss Templeton, who stretched in her armchair and smiled up at her.

  ‘You did well last night, young lady,’ she said.

  Lucy smiled gratefully in return, but before she could say anything, Bill awoke and started coughing. He tried to get to his feet but couldn’t; he slumped back into his chair, chest heaving, blood speckling his lips. Lucy got behind him and helped him to his feet while Miss Templeton got a kitchen towel and
wiped his pale lips. Lucy called Sid, and between them they helped Bill up to his bed and undressed him. Lucy gave him his medications, then they closed his bedroom door and returned to the kitchen.

  Sid’s arm was very stiff; the bruising was extensive and colourful. Miss Templeton checked his wounds and, finding no cause for concern, said she would get herself back to her cottage and into a proper bed. Lucy attempted to tell her how much they all owed her, but this was brushed aside.

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ she said kindly, ‘but I’m just too exhausted to listen to such nonsense.’

  Sid smiled at that. As Miss Templeton walked out of the kitchen door, he called ‘Ma’am!’ and threw her a salute. She chuckled and left, still very upright, still very much the lady.

  It was now 6:30 and still dark, but dawn was in the offing. Lucy and Sid decided they would wait to have breakfast until after they had planted Warren. Before they left, Lucy parked her Volvo in the passage right over the spot where the shooting had taken place. They would have to do a more thorough clean-up job when they got back.

  It was only a short drive to the Frigging Brigadier’s, and the digger was as Sid had left it, near a huge hole at the bottom of which were the remains of an old cesspit, the roof and the drain leading to it just rubble, raw earth, and slime. Sid started the machine, and it roared to life in a cloud of black diesel smoke which helped mask the foul odour lingering in the area. A pile of earth from where the new septic system had been installed was nearby, ready to be used to fill in the pit.

  But first they needed to get Warren’s body from the back of the van into the hole. Sid drove the digger right up to the rear doors and Lucy was able to use the bailing twine handles to drag the plastic-wrapped parcel onto the bucket. After that it was the work of a moment for Sid to tip the parcel into the bottom of the old shit-pit. Then, with skill and finesse, he used the digger bucket to tear open the plastic shroud.