Dead Man Walking (43 page)

‘Sorry, Sally. There’s no time for that now. Look, I appreciate this is a big decision, but we need to make it quickly. Anyone
not
prepared to take this chance? Because if there is, you’ll be left behind here, most likely on your own, and then there’ll be no way at all we can protect you.’

There was no response.

‘I need to know, guys … is everyone okay with this?’

‘We don’t consider we have much option, sergeant,’ Bella McCarthy replied. ‘Given what you’ve told us.’

‘Okay,’ Heck said. ‘Let’s do it.’

There was, of course, a significant part of the plan Heck hadn’t revealed to his general audience. In fact, only Gemma and Mary-Ellen were in league with him on this.

To begin with, it was never the intention that any of the villagers would face the reality of the Cragwood Race. The mere proposal of this had been part of a deception by which to separate them from Mick McGurk, and it would be Mary-Ellen’s job to bring this about. She and Ted Haveloc were to paddle ahead of the others, reaching the south end of Witch Cradle Tarn first, whereupon she would beach her kayak, climb out and mount the Race Bridge. Owing to the fog, none of the others would notice she had done this until they’d also arrived, at which point, with the gate still closed, she would direct them ashore. Hopefully this would be the full extent of the villagers’ involvement, because from here Mary-Ellen would lead them into the trees, where they were to hide and await developments. Even if McGurk wasn’t the killer, or wasn’t the sole killer, this could only help; it would put significant distance between the civvies and the last place there’d been an actual attack. If a maniac was still out there, it would take him a long time to track them around the tarn, and it was now very close to dawn.

Meanwhile, Gemma, having been allocated a single-man kayak, would also have paddled ahead of the rest, and again making use of the fog as a smokescreen, would divert back across the tarn to its west shore, where, if she followed the shoreline closely, she would find Cragwood Boat Club. She would enter this by use of the club keys, which Heck had now covertly passed to her, and the alarm code, which was printed on a plastic tag attached to the key-ring. One inside, she was to infiltrate the Club Secretary’s office, where she would acquire a starter pistol. It had only occurred to Heck after he’d realised they couldn’t apprehend McGurk in the pub that the closest thing to a firearm they could find around here would be one of those noisy cap-guns used for sports galas. Okay, it wouldn’t even be close to the real thing; a starter pistol couldn’t hurt a flea, but in the dark and the mist their target hopefully wouldn’t realise what it was. While Gemma was thus engaged, Heck, who’d have brought up the rear in the canoe with McGurk, would also steer towards the Boat Club, in the process of which he’d find a reason to go ashore, where Gemma would be waiting to bushwhack them, now armed. In the worst-case scenario and they ended up scrapping with McGurk, and he started shooting, at least the civvies would be out of the way. Mary-Ellen, meanwhile, in the event she heard repeated gunfire, was under orders to resume the evacuation and lead everyone down the Race – but only in that extreme case.

They moved into the pub’s rear yard in a group, where there were several moments of disorganisation. For one thing, McGurk was none too steady on his feet, and Mary-Ellen had to assist him, wrapping both arms around him to keep him upright. Heck didn’t know whether to be reassured by this or find it suspicious. Thus far the killer had used plenty of distraction tactics; it wouldn’t be beyond him now to lure his foes into a false sense of security.

‘Okay everyone, please!’ Heck raised his voice, but only sufficiently for them all to hear. Again, the small crowd fell silent. ‘Listen, folks … we can’t afford this kind of kerfuffle when we get to the beach. This guy may be watching us from close range, or he may not. He may not be watching at all. But if he hears a commotion, he’ll twig what’s happening … and I very much doubt he’ll be pleased.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘Okay, now we all know what we have to do, so let’s do it.’

Hazel unlocked the back gate, and they went out in twos, heading quickly and quietly along the lane towards the beach and jetty. Heck hadn’t wanted them moving in a bunch for fear that one shot alone could damage maybe three or four of them, but likewise he didn’t want individual duos slipping out of sight of each other, so the operation was enacted quickly. Gemma went first, setting the pace despite her throbbing spine and ungainly limp.

‘You sure you can manage this?’ he’d asked her quietly.

She’d nodded. ‘Gonna have to.’

‘If you’re not up to it …’

‘What? If I’m not up to it, what? We going to put the whole thing on hold until I feel better? Get real, Heck … I’ll manage because I have to. Isn’t that your motto?’

Heck, by necessity, was waiting until the end. The last two to go before him were Hazel and Lucy. Hazel glanced back at him once before stepping through the gate.

‘No unnecessary risks,’ she said.

‘I’ll be too busy taking the necessary ones.’ He winked again, but she didn’t smile. Then she was gone.

This left Heck alone with McGurk. He couldn’t help wondering if this would be the moment for the madman to pull his guns. But the burly PC was otherwise occupied; he still seemed dizzy, and Heck had to brace him as they prepared to set out.

‘I’m okay,’ McGurk mumbled as Heck took his arm. ‘Wee bit groggy.’

The half-crazy notion flickered through Heck’s mind that this was an opportunity to take him, just seize the advantage and clothesline the bastard. But that would be a risky deviation from the plan, with Heck’s two main allies out of reach. Instead, he helped McGurk out through the gate, their combined breath wreathing around them.

The cobbled road was still covered with frost, and smooth and slippery as ice. Under Heck’s stern instructions, the rest of them were keeping their wits about them and stepping warily. By comparison, McGurk was rickety.

‘Listen,’ he said, halting at the pub’s southeast corner. His face was drenched with sweat. ‘No’ sure I’m up tae this … perhaps leave me here, eh?’

Was
this
the moment? Did the bastard see some advantage in being left behind? On the face of it, it didn’t make sense, but then neither did the fact the killer wasn’t killing. Had he stashed his weapons somewhere else maybe? Did he need to go and get them? Or was he on the verge of doing a runner? Did he suspect he’d been found out?

‘Your call, Mick,’ he said. ‘But what else are you going to do?’

‘Dunno.’ McGurk chuckled without humour. ‘Brain must’ve come loose …’

‘I don’t think it’d be a smart idea to stay behind.’

‘Nah … me neither.’ McGurk started forward unsteadily. ‘I’ve missed a few butchers’ bills in the past. Don’t want tae be put on this one when the opposition’s nothing more than some dickhead too scared tae show his face.’

‘Just lean on me, you’ll be alright,’ Heck said.

‘Bit fucking politer than you were earlier,’ McGurk observed in a tone that was almost suspicious. ‘Wha’s changed?’

‘Nothing. Just occurred to me you’ve taken more than your fair share of bumps for queen and country.’

‘No more than you. And not just tonight.’

‘Know my career, do you?’

‘I read the bulletins.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. Nothing else to do when you’re off-duty.’

‘Well … I get you there.’

It was thirty yards from the pub to the beach, though there wasn’t much beach visible given the high level of the tarn. When they arrived there, Heck was relieved to see Gemma already on the water, paddling inexpertly but with speed into the mist. The others had life-jacketed up and were climbing into their respective craft. It helped that Bella McCarthy was supervising, issuing curt but precise instructions, showing them how to fix their rubber skirts and wield their paddles to best effect.

The canoe that Heck and McGurk were to use was standing upright against the fence at the top of the pebbled slope. As they moved towards it, McGurk again stumbled. Heck grabbed him, an unconsciously caring gesture he realised, considering McGurk was the prime suspect.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

‘Maybe … let’s just do it!’

The guy was certainly dazed, the gash across the back of his head seeping a glutinous red stain. All of which should make this task easier. Unless it was another elaborate ruse. Hooking an arm around McGurk’s body to stabilise him, and wondering what he’d do if his hand encountered something pistol-shaped under the waterproof packaging, Heck assisted him to one of the posts at the end of the jetty, and stood him against it while he dragged the canoe down to the water’s edge. The rest of them were all now afloat and heading away from shore. Sally O’Grady audibly whimpered as they set off, hands clasped over her eyes, Bella McCarthy paddling at her rear. The two-man kayak, the one containing Mary-Ellen and Ted Haveloc, pivoted around some ten yards out, Mary-Ellen having pulled a handbrake-turn with her paddle. She stared at Heck silently. From this distance, he couldn’t see her expression, much less read it. But it would almost certainly imply something along the lines of: ‘Take it easy, pal. See you soon.’

Heck turned back towards McGurk, who’d lurched forward, unaided, and now pushed Heck away when he offered an arm. The PC’s rugged features were written with pain, but maybe something else too – anger, frustration. He managed to climb into the canoe, squatting down near the back of it.

‘You’ll need to move up front,’ Heck said.

McGurk didn’t look around, but stiffened. ‘You sure that’s necessary?’

He’s not happy about that
, Heck thought.
He wants to sit behind me.

‘If you’re dizzy, you can’t paddle and expect to keep a straight course,’ Heck explained. ‘I’ll paddle … and if I’m paddling on my own I have to go at the back.’

A second of disgruntled silence followed, and then McGurk shuffled himself forward until he was seated near the front. The black water was freezing as Heck waded out, pushing the canoe in front of him. When he jumped aboard, he landed on his knees – so heavily that the craft almost flipped over.

‘Fuck!’ McGurk hissed, grabbing the gunwales, his voice echoing across the empty tarn; already, there was no one else in sight.

Heck settled on his haunches and began to paddle, alternate strokes on either side, pushing them away from shore and into the vapour. It was much colder out on the tarn surface, as well as more otherworldly, the only sound the gentle rippling of the water, the mist swirling around them in shape-shifting phantoms. This time, though, he kept close to the west bank as they proceeded south. McGurk seemed to notice this.

‘You’re no’ going tae run us aground, I hope.’

‘Relax,’ Heck said. ‘We need to know where we’re going, and that shoreline’s the only marker.’

‘Yeah, but if he’s following us on foot, he can take pot-shots at us.’

Heck considered that, thinking it odd the actual culprit would make such a comment. It was an undeniable fact, of course, but the reason he was sticking close to shore was non-negotiable. He didn’t want to miss the Boat Club jetty, which ought to be coming up on their right in only a few minutes’ time.

He steered them a little further out, but only by a matter of yards. The fog-shrouded treeline on the shore remained visible.

‘This’ll do nae fucking good,’ McGurk complained.

Heck didn’t reply, his eyes straining through the shifting gloom – until he saw what he was looking for. The trees suddenly petered out on the rocky promontory at the end of Hermit’s Bay, the small inlet in which the Boat Club was ensconced. If memory served, the end of the club’s jetty was about thirty yards past that, and about twenty yards back towards shore. Surreptitiously, he dipped his left hand into his combat jacket, feeling for the screwdriver he’d retrieved from the quad-bike. It was still sealed into its evidence bag. Though it wasn’t easy one-handed and wearing a glove, he managed to twitch the bag open and slowly worked the tool out.

‘You stopped paddling, or wha’?’ McGurk said, half glancing around.

Heck froze. ‘Gimme a second … okay?’

McGurk looked front again.

Heck slid the screwdriver loose. As improvised weapons went, it was well-balanced. It wouldn’t be difficult to lean forward and drive it between McGurk’s shoulder blades, penetrating his cardiovascular system, killing him instantly. If only it wasn’t for that one possibility McGurk
wasn’t
the killer. Heck also had to wonder if recent cases hadn’t brutalised him more than was good for him. Because even if the guy
was
the killer, bringing him to book by driving a blade through his spine was hardly likely to endear him to the judicial system. Instead, he lowered the screwdriver, and probed the bottom of the boat with its tip, before shifting his hand up its hilt, flattening his palm across its pommel – and leaning on it.

There was no splintering crunch, just a dull thud as the blade passed through. He wrenched it loose, before driving it down quietly, through the bottom of the boat, twice more.

‘Wha’ was that?’ McGurk said. ‘Like a vibration in the …’

‘Shit,’ Heck replied. ‘Must’ve hit something.’

‘Oh fuck, I told you we were too close … shit, look at this fucking mess!’

Ice-cold water was already sloshing around their legs.

‘Something’s pierced the hull,’ Heck said, rather unnecessarily.

‘I wonder what! Jesus, it’s rising like the clappers …’

‘Hang on,’ Heck shouted, paddling them sharp-right. ‘The Boat Club jetty’s there.’

A flat-topped structure loomed through the mist. It was only ten yards away, but the canoe was submerging so fast, the water gurgling up past their thighs, that Heck wasn’t sure they’d even make it that far. As it rose to the gunwales, the two men lurched over the side, McGurk striking madly for the wrought-iron ladder at the end of the jetty, now only three or four yards away. It seemed an unnecessarily panic-stricken measure, Heck thought, treading water. As the boat vanished underneath in a frenzy of brackish bubbles, McGurk ascended the ladder with hard, clattering impacts – his dazed state apparently a thing of the past.