Facing Justice (32 page)

‘Not an option,' Henry called back through the gap. ‘I suggest you back off now and start running so you can put some distance between you and the law. Give yourself a head start. That's all I can offer you.'

‘Not good enough. If you don't hand him over, we'll just come and get him, then it'll turn nasty.'

‘Why do you want him so badly?'

‘Because I like him.' Vincent dropped his hands. ‘Look pal, just open the door and push him out.'

Flynn came up behind Henry. He fully opened the door and stood shoulder to shoulder with him, the very menacing-looking Skorpion machine pistol held across his chest. Henry saw it and quivered.

Vincent snorted and made a dismissive gesture. ‘Guys, if that's the way you want it . . .'

He backed away and ducked out of sight behind the hedge.

Henry and Flynn reversed into the hall, closed and locked the door.

To Alison, Henry said, ‘You and Laura get into the dining room at the back of the house. I know you want to get back to the pub, but there's no way you can go safely at the moment. Karl will look after Ginny –
he will
,' he emphasized. ‘I'd trust him with my life.'

She nodded reluctantly and took Laura to the back of the house.

Henry got on the phone and called the FIM to bring him up to speed. As he was talking, the phone was ripped from the FIM's hand and another voice came on the line, one Henry recognized instantly – the Chief Constable, Robert Fanshaw-Bayley. This was the man Henry had had a hate-hate relationship with for over twenty-five years. Normally Henry's heart would have sunk without trace, but there was something reassuring in the gruff, unpleasant tones of FB, as he was known. He had obviously seen fit to turn out for this incident.

‘Henry, what the hell have you done this time?' he demanded.

‘I'd argue nothing.'

‘Likely story. Look, you just keep calm. I've got a firearms team, a support unit serial, ambulance and fire service and the helicopter all en route to you. As far as they can go, that is. As soon as the council get off their fucking arse and get the snowploughs through, we'll be with you.'

‘Thanks boss.'

‘In the meantime, keep a lid on it and tell that twat Tom James I'm going to have his guts when I get hold of him.'

‘I will.' The call ended. Henry said to Tom, ‘The chief sends his regards.' Tom scowled.

‘Did he have a message for me?' Flynn asked.

‘Yeah, says you're a twat.'

‘Ahh, I love him too.'

There was a noise. A noise that crept up on them from the background, building up. A vehicle. Getting louder as it got nearer. A big vehicle. Henry and Flynn frowned at each other. Flynn stepped over Tom's legs again. Callard, still sleeping through everything, grunted something. Flynn looked out of the window.

‘Oh hell,' he said, ‘remember that HGV that drove past?' Henry recalled it. He joined Flynn at the window. ‘Well, it's coming back.'

And there it was, bearing down on the house. Having turned off the road, it demolished the low garden wall and lumbered across the front lawn at the bay window of the lounge. It was the lorry that Vincent and his men had driven down to the village earlier. It came like a tank. At the wheel was Vincent's injured man, Shannon, driving the huge machine easily despite his wound.

At the window, both men watched mesmerized as the lorry drove right into the bay window.

Vincent had taken up a position at the bottom of the drive, a machine pistol held at hip level. He pulled the trigger and sprayed the office window with a stream of bullets.

Henry pushed Flynn, who landed on Callard, as a line of bullets splattered through the window and thudded into the back wall.

The huge lorry plunged into the bay window with a crunching, cracking, grinding and howling engine noise, and that whole section of the house crumbled around the front of the vehicle like a pack of cards combined with a matchstick model.

Henry and Flynn untangled themselves, keeping down and scampering on all fours around the desk, only to see Tom's legs and bottom as he did the same thing, but ahead of them. Taking advantage of the distraction, he'd crawled away. Henry lunged for him and got his fingers around an ankle. He held on, but Tom flicked himself over and kicked out repeatedly, one blow connecting hard with Henry's wounded shoulder. He screamed and had to let go.

Flynn came up, trying to get the Skorpion ready for use.

Shannon slammed the lorry into reverse, and with another terrible crunching and tearing noise the vehicle backed out, leaving a huge hole in the front of the house as bits of concrete, stone, bricks and the PVC window frame crashed down.

In the hall, Tom rolled up on to his feet and threw himself at the living-room door, but he hadn't accounted for Alison who had emerged from the dining room, terrified but needing to know what was going on. Behind her, the diminutive figure of Laura hovered. Alison had seen Tom kick Henry, then come to his feet and go to the door. She ran towards him and started to hammer punches on him.

At the same time, Vincent fired another burst from his gun, and bullet holes perforated a diagonal line across the front door. They were high and missed Alison, but one caught Laura and knocked her back into the dining room.

Alison automatically turned at Laura's scream. Tom almost casually slid his cable-tied hands over Alison's head, twisted with her, kicked open the lounge door, pulled her through behind him so she formed a shield then took her across the devastated lounge and out through the gap, ducking as a brick fell. She struggled, but Tom was big, strong and desperate.

Shannon had dropped out of the lorry, drawn a pistol and fired a couple of unaimed shots into the house, covering Tom as he backed away with Alison. ‘Come on, bitch, come on,' he was saying into her ear.

Henry had seen her attempt to have a go at Tom, seen her distracted by Laura's scream, but then had to drop to the ground instinctively as the bullets came through the front door, by which time Tom had taken Alison as a hostage.

Flynn came up behind Henry, crouched low.

Vincent put another half-magazine into the front of the house.

And then there was silence, followed by the sound of another vehicle drawing up.

‘Henry. Henry Christie,' Tom shouted. ‘You can look – we won't shoot.'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Whatever . . . don't fucking come for us, yeah? You haven't got the manpower anyway – but if you do, Alison's dead. Leave it twelve hours, then do what you have to do. Until then, if I see anything I don't like, she's dead, and I've seen how much you like her.'

A car door slammed, an engine revved.

From the back dining room, Laura screamed, ‘Oh God, oh God . . . help me.'

Flynn, still positioned on his haunches behind Henry, said, ‘You know she's dead, don't you? Whatever we do or don't do – she's dead.'

Callard, who had woken properly at last, raised his head and said, ‘He's right.'

TWENTY-ONE

F
lynn stalked the room like a caged tiger, rage simmering. Callard, now fully awake, but still bleary-eyed and smelling, watched him nervously.

Henry leaned on the desk, the phone on loudspeaker, in hurried discussion with FB, the chief constable. Sweat poured down him and he felt faint, his injured shoulder now causing him agony, and after the last burst of activity, he wondered if he was going into some sort of delayed shock. Whatever it was, he was feeling very ill all of a sudden and it was a massive effort to keep going, pushing himself on.

‘You're saying you don't even know where they've taken her?' FB said.

‘Not for sure, but Mallowdale House is the best bet. They're as trapped as we are . . .' Henry ended the sentence thoughtfully, ‘But they've managed to steal Jonny Cain's Range Rover and we know they have other four-wheel-drive vehicles at their disposal. Might possibly try to make it through.'

‘Henry, even the snowploughs can't get through,' FB pointed out.

‘I know – just thinking . . . Vincent knows the hills, the quarries.'

‘And you have no idea of their intentions?'

‘No.' He sighed, and as he did so pain shimmered through him. ‘They took her at gunpoint and drove off, using her as a bargaining chip maybe . . . but I'm very concerned about her welfare.'

‘That's putting it mildly,' Flynn interjected angrily, still pacing.

‘Who was that?' FB asked.

‘Steve Flynn.'

‘Oh,' he said dubiously.

Henry waved Flynn to zip it. ‘Also we have a wounded girl in the back room here. It doesn't look life threatening, but she's going into shock and I'm worried about her. I've turned out the drunken doctor, but she needs to get to hospital ASAP.'

‘As I said, our helicopter's on standby, as is the air ambulance, but the weather—'

‘I know, I know,' Henry said shortly. ‘And we've three dead bodies down at the pub, and Cain's been kidnapped too and not been seen since. He could be in a ditch with a bullet in his brain by now.'

‘Not that we care,' Flynn interrupted again.

‘Steve – you're not helping here,' Henry said.

Flynn abruptly stopped his stalking and planted his hands on the desk. ‘We need some action here,' he said. ‘All this chitter-chatter isn't getting us anywhere.'

‘Flynn again, I assume,' FB said. ‘All very well, but you're not the SAS or a police firearms unit and we don't want any other lives lost by doing something completely stupid.'

‘We've got the firepower – those guns in the kitchen.'

Henry rolled his eyes. He did not want to admit it to Flynn, but if he had been uninjured, then his instinct would have been to go for it. He, too, was a man of action and he knew he would be devastated for the rest of his life if Alison came to serious harm because he'd done nothing to try and prevent it. But he also knew it was plain nuts to go charging in. It wasn't as though they even knew for certain where she was. ‘We don't even know the provenance of those guns,' he said to Flynn. ‘They could've been used in murders or robberies.'

‘And they're all we've got, so who gives a shit?'

‘Look, I want her back safe and sound just as much as you do. I also want Tom James's collar and every other bugger in this blood-soaked village who's committed a crime – but we're screwed.'

‘Henry,' FB interjected from the safety and warmth of the control room some thirty miles away. His voice was firm. ‘You're on the ground, you have to make the decisions, I'm afraid. Whatever you decide, as long as it's thought out and justified and reasonable, then I'll back you one hundred per cent.'

‘Can I have that in writing?'

‘No – just do not get yourself or anyone else killed.'

‘OK boss, thanks.'

The front door of the police house opened. Karl Donaldson entered, accompanied by Ginny and a very frazzled-looking Dr Lott, who was clearly wearing his thick pyjamas underneath his clothes.

‘Keep me informed,' FB said. ‘And good luck.'

The line went dead. Henry examined the faces now surrounding him: Flynn, Donaldson, Ginny, Dr Lott and Callard.

‘Well, I hate to say it,' Flynn commented, ‘but you're the boss and bosses make decisions.'

After giving Flynn a snappy sardonic look, Henry said, ‘We don't know anything for certain. We don't know what they think they'll achieve by taking Alison' – Ginny had been told of her stepmother's predicament, and here he caught her look of anguish – ‘and even if they have taken her to Mallowdale. It's a bloody big place with huge grounds, and there are the quarries nearby, operational and non-operational. They might have some way of getting out of the area. But' – he changed the subject quickly and turned to Dr Lott – ‘you have a patient in the dining room who needs medical attention.'

The doctor, trying his best not to be too drunk, nodded and left.

Henry's eyes moved to Callard. ‘You know your way around Mallowdale House and the surrounding area, don't you?' It wasn't really a question, more a statement of fact – and hope.

‘Eh, me? I'm not getting involved.'

‘Oh, you are.' Henry turned to Flynn and Donaldson, then a feeling of nausea came over him and he had to take a deep breath and started shivering. He fought it, pulled himself together. ‘I'm sorry to admit it, but I'm struggling here, guys. Even if we decided to go in, there'd only really be you fit.' He pointed to Flynn.

‘And me,' Donaldson claimed. ‘I've just overdosed on Imodium and some mega-strong painkillers, so I reckon I've got a good hour to give you.'

Dr Lott bustled back into the office, now very definitely sober. ‘This girl needs a hospital immediately. She's gone into deep shock and without proper care, her body's going to close down. The wound isn't that serious, but there is a good chance of losing her.'

‘Treat her as best you can,' Henry said. ‘Hospital isn't an option just yet. What about your surgery? Would it be worth getting her there?'

‘I'm not sure I want to move her,' he said thoughtfully. ‘I'll try and see if I can get one of the practice nurses in to come and help. There's one who lives in walking distance – but I need a phone that works.'

Henry handed him the office phone. To Ginny he said, ‘Can you help him? Keep yourself busy? I know it's a big ask.' She said she would, so Henry looked at Flynn and Donaldson. ‘Go check the guns and see if they're all likely to work – just in case.' Next he turned to Callard and said, ‘Right matey, what do you know?'

Taking Alison had been an instinctive thing, a desperate act by a man who wanted nothing other than to escape in any way possible. Tom had thrown her into the back footwell of the Range Rover, wedged painfully behind the front seats. He jumped in and stamped his feet on her, keeping her pressed down like a sardine on the journey back up to Mallowdale House. In the luggage area behind the rear seats was Jonny Cain, unconscious and badly beaten, his body forced into the space in such a way that his head was tilted upwards and he was breathing blood down into his throat and lungs. He was making a sickening gurgling sound.