Tara (71 page)

Micky shook his head. 'Joe calls him Lieutenant. That means there's someone above him, doesn't it?'

'Do you know who it is?'

'No.' Micky gave a glum sort of smile. "They don't trust me with anything much.'

Harry felt too sick now to even try to grill Micky any longer. He wanted to lie down on his bed and just think about Tara, not anticipate his own death knowing he'd broken his number one rule, never trust anyone, when he let Duke learn so much about him.

'I'd better tip that water down the drain.' Micky went out to the bath, bending over to push it towards the toilet. 'I'll go and make you a cup of tea if you like, you look as if you need one.'

Harry watched idly as Micky bent to lift the bath enough for the water to flow out. His mind was blank until that moment, sapped by a feeling of utter dejection. But as his eyes fell to Micky's groin, he saw something long and thin jutting out, revealed by the angle his legs were bent. His mind shot back into action.

'Let me help with that,' he said casually, getting up slowly so as not to alarm him. 'You ain't a bleedin valet!'

One glance confirmed that the keys for the inner door were still in the lock. He moved into the confined space behind Micky, then grabbed him by the throat. The bath clattered down, slopping water over their feet. His life depended on using his strength and there was no time to consider not hurting the man. He squeezed his windpipe almost to the point of strangulation, then pushed Micky back into the cell.

Micky put up a fight, he wriggled and flailed his arms, but he was too intent on getting Harry's fingers from his neck. Holding him with just one hand, Harry quickly slid his hand into his pocket, pulled out the key then pushed the other man to the floor.

Micky leaped up just as Harry got the door shut.

'Don't,' he shouted. 'They'll get you!'

Harry locked it, but looked back through the grille. Micky was rubbing his neck, his face bright red, and he was clearly stunned.

'I'm sorry, Micky,' he called softly. 'I feel a bastard doing this, but it's the quick or the dead I'm afraid!'

'You won't get away,' Micky called out. 'Joe's got a gun. He was cleaning it as I came down.'

Harry sensed in that second that Micky wanted to help him.

'Which is the best way out?' he asked.

'Turn right at the top of the stairs. Climb out the back window and go through the woods.'

'I'll stick up for you if you get nicked,' Harry called back. 'Give me a few minutes before you start hollering!'

There was a fraught moment as he opened the second door, and he half-expected to see Joe lying in wait, gun in hand. But there was no-one in the gloomy passage. He locked the door behind him. The passage was longer than he expected, with several more doors. The smell of musty dampness was even stronger, and there was no light here, just a small beam from the hatch in the cell door and daylight coming down the stone stairs.

The air grew sweeter and fresher as he crept silently up the stairs, listening carefully for the other men. He felt drunk with it, wanting to fill his lungs to bursting point. He could hear a radio playing in the distance, but the only other sound was from birds outside.

The stairs led to a small passageway. It was panelled and he recognised the cedar smell he'd noticed the night he came here, but now it was mingled with a smell of fried food and gun oil.

He turned right. The passageway ended with a locked door, but just before that on the left was a big kitchen with long sash windows looking on to dense foliage.

At a glance he took in the order. A box of groceries on a work surface, five plates, five mugs, cutlery and pans all stacked up together by the deep white sink. The room had a dated 1920s look about it.

He could hear voices in the distance. One of the windows was open just a crack at the bottom. He closed the door behind him and gingerly drew up the sash. Wriggling out on to the sill was no problem. He gently pulled the window down behind him, hoping to fool them, then leaped eight or ten feet into shrubbery.

After the cold of the cellar it felt like jumping into the tropics. He was almost blinded by the bright light and the spot he'd landed in was thick with nettles. Fighting his way through bushes, he felt the ground sloping steeply upwards and it was only when he felt completely hidden in the shrubbery that he paused to look round behind him.

It wasn't an ancient house as he'd imagined, but a country mansion built perhaps at the turn of the century in Georgian style. The most remarkable thing about it was that the house was virtually built into the hillside, the shrubbery wrapped round it as if in another couple of years it would completely engulf it.

Harry pressed on. The air felt like Champagne, his wet hair was drying fast in the warmth, shoes squelching from the soaking. The thick shrubs and brambles gave way to woods, the ground still sloping steeply upwards. He dodged behind the biggest tree and checked to see if anyone was following.

All he could see of the house now was a slice of dark green roof. The key to the cellar was still in his pocket, so even if they went down to check why Micky was taking so long they wouldn't get in immediately to free him.

'I hope they don't hurt him,' he whispered, then turned to fight his way on through undergrowth.

He knew exactly what he was going to do. The very first house he came to he would rush in and ask them to call the police. Then he'd ask the people if he could make a reverse charge call to Tara.

When he turned now he couldn't see the house at all, just trees and dense shrubbery. It was getting thicker now, and he had to go sideways and sometimes back to gain just a few yards. His delight at being free was marred now by fear. He had no idea how deep this wood was. He could be heading in entirely the wrong direction!

His breath was laboured, he seemed to be making more noise than a herd of elephants. Brambles caught at his jeans and slashed across his face, and again and again he tripped on fallen branches. But at last the trees were thinning and he heard the sound of a car ahead.

His excitement was so intense it was painful as he crashed forward. Finally he saw a glimpse of road. A wire fence topped with barbed wire was all that stood between him and freedom.

Crouching down by the fence he peered out both ways. It was a country lane, opposite an open field. To his left the road was straight, no houses, no shelter. To his right the road looked equally exposed, but there was a bend around fifty yards down and at that point a hedge started. Holding a trunk of a tree he jumped on to the barbed wire and leaped into the road.

It was pure joy to run, to feel wind on his face and freedom in his heart. Wind caught his hair, drying the last moisture from it, his legs were going like pistons, lungs filling to the point of bursting. As he approached the bend he could see tall chimneys in the distance. A lorry was coming up the slight hill, the slow speed and the noise of its engine made him dive into the ditch just below the hedge and he waited, trembling, as it passed.

The lorry chundered slowly towards him, scrunching its gears as it reached the brow of the hill, then moved on past him sending out a blast of exhaust fumes. Harry jumped up, but to his horror saw the green transit van. He froze.

Joe stood beside it with a sawn-off shotgun in his hands, a brown woolly hat over his bald head. Frank was between him and the house. A glance over his shoulder showed Carl with a small hand-gun.

The van must have come up behind him as he was running, it engine masked by the noise of the lorry. Harry swallowed hard. He had no chance; run anywhere and Joe would shoot.

'Come on, Harry,' Joe called out. 'You've had your outing, time to go home.'

Harry saw in his mind that dimly lit cellar, smelt the bucket and remembered just how long it took from the evening meal until breakfast.

He sprang away from the ditch, running towards Frank at full tilt, hoping his unexpected movement would confuse the bloke.

'Stop!' he heard Joe yell. Frank was poised ahead to catch him, but Harry ran on. Behind him Carl was coming up. He must reach that house! He crashed past Frank, pushing him aside with every ounce of force left in him, on to freedom.

A shot cracked out, but he was concentrating on the house ahead, coming nearer by the second. He saw his feet flashing along, his hands clenched, arms moving like pistons. Then he felt the stab of pain.

Blood spurted out from somewhere, he saw it fly past him a split-second before the road came up to meet him.

Chapter 34

'Josh, please help me.' Tara clung to the telephone receiver, shaking with fright and cold. 'I'm in such a mess.'

'Mess?' he repeated sleepily. 'Tara! Is that you?'

She looked quickly round her. Apart from a lorry that had just drawn up by Swan Wharf the area was deserted.

'Yes, it's me. It's an emergency, can you come and get me? I'm soaking wet and hurt.'

'I don't understand. What's happened?'

'There isn't time to explain,' she gabbled. 'I'll hide in the little alley by the side of Harry's club. Can you bring an old blanket or something? I'm covered in stinking mud.'

'But...!'

'I've got to go before someone sees me.' She cut him off before he could finish his question. 'Please don't let me down, I'm desperate.'

'OK.' He sounded awake now. 'The alley by the side of the club. Should take around ten minutes unless the traffic's bad.'

'Thank you.' The word came out with a sob and she put the receiver down.

Back in the alley, crouched down behind a dustbin, she took stock of the damage. Her jeans, shoes and jumper were caked in the stinking muck, already drying in the wind. The sharp pain in her leg was subsiding to an ache but, now that help was at hand, shock was taking over, making her tremble from head to foot.

The oblong of sky above the alley was an ominous dark grey and in that moment she felt as if there was nothing left on earth to live for.

'Why?' she asked herself. 'Why can't I have a life like other people, where good things happen? I've lost my brother, my gran and now Harry. Is there any point in going on?'

But the pain inside was all for Harry. When she closed her eyes she could see his brilliant blue eyes, and feel the silkiness of his skin. How could she have even considered loving another man? He was in her heart, and she would give everything she had just to see him one last time.

Josh's car stopped at the end of the alley, the roof down. He didn't open the door but leaped over the top and ran to where she crouched, with a blanket tucked under his arm.

'Oh, Tara!' He recoiled in shock as he got close enough to smell her. 'What on earth is it?'

He was unshaven, his curly hair tangled as if he'd just jumped into his jeans and sweater. But no-one could have looked better to her.

'Seagull shit, stagnant water, the filth of centuries.' She tried to smile but it didn't happen.

'Take everything off,' Josh suggested. 'I won't look.' He stood with his back to her as she hastily stripped off to her underwear.

'That's better.' She breathed a sigh of relief as she wrapped the blanket round her like a cloak. 'It's just my hair, hands and face now.'

'Are you going to dump those clothes?' Josh turned back to her and looked at the fetid pile on the ground.

'I can't, they're my best jeans!' she said in horror. 'They'll wash!'

'I think there's a plastic bag in the boot.' Josh held his nose and took a step back. 'Won't be a minute.'

'Don't let it rain until we get home!' Josh looked up at the threatening sky as they tore through the deserted City streets with the hood still down. 'I love you dearly, Tara, but that smell is something else!'

'I think Harry's dead,' she blurted out. She couldn't say anything more as emotion overtook her. Great shuddering sobs welled up from inside, banishing all prospect of explanation.

'It's OK, baby,' he said soothingly. 'Let's get you back to my place. Once you've had a bath and got a cup of tea inside you we can talk it out.'

'We've got to call the police,' she said over and over again. 'They've killed Harry, that man Duke is an impostor.'

'You can tell me everything properly once you've calmed down,' Josh said evenly. 'Then I'll go down the nick and do what I can while you have a sleep.'

She had only been to his place a couple of times. It was a tall, thin townhouse in Jubilee Place, just off the King's Road. His garage was under the house, and Josh drove straight in through the open door.

'There now.' He turned and smiled at her. 'I'll just shut the doors and you can hop in.' He pointed out the door that led to his kitchen.

Tara lay right down under the bath water. Every bone in her body ached now and she could feel bruises in a dozen different places.

Josh's house was just like him, ostentatious, bold and colourful. The bathroom was like something from the Arabian Nights, with a huge sunken bath in the centre, fake marble pillars, and murals of wonderful gardens.

'Are you nearly ready?' Josh called out. 'I've put some clothes outside the door.'

He smiled as Tara joined him in the kitchen. She looked like a waif, with her wet, straight hair, an oversized shirt and baggy jeans dangling over her feet.

'Whose knickers are they?' she asked, eyes brimming with tears.

'A sample!' he retorted. 'We sold them at Christmas if you remember. Do you really think I'd give you another girl's underwear?'

Tara dropped her eyes, feeling foolish. Now he'd reminded her, they had sold red satin knickers, in heart-shaped boxes designed to hang on a tree.

The kitchen was bright and sunny, made brighter still by its yellow and white theme.

'You should eat,' Josh reproved her as she pushed the scrambled eggs away, barely touched.

'I can't,' she said. 'I just keep thinking about Harry.'

'Come on, tell me about what happened.' Josh took away her plate and started eating it himself. Tour yourself another cup of tea, then start from the beginning.'

She went through getting into the club and hiding, the long wait, then the search after everyone had gone.