Cut to the Chase (30 page)

Wallace headed off at a tangent towards the rear end of the neighbour's garden where there were some bushes down by the back fence. He cast a quick look over his shoulder as he went across at the crouch. There were some more flowers and a privet hedge. He stepped gingerly over the flowers and dropped flat as a torch flickered over the garden. He hoped he hadn't left any footmarks on the lawn, if there was evening dew they would show up like beacons.

Two heads peered over the fence and then dropped down again. Wallace crawled to the back fence, stifling a cry of pain as sharp branches whipped across his face. He looked into the garden alongside the one he was in, another scene of lawns, flower beds and shrubs.

He could hear the buzz of voices as Kalim and his men held a hasty conference, then there was silence. He cautiously levered himself onto the top of the fence and let himself go.

He hit the earth, sustaining a cut on the back of his hand, he had no idea what caused it. He appeared to be in a rose bed. Then a head popped over the fence that he had just negotiated, but at the far end of the garden. Wallace had made a tactical error, he had traversed the back fence of the garden next door to Craddock's, by peering over the top of the fence where the four gardens abutted onto each other they could easily see into the patch where Wallace was, though he was secure to some extent as he was a full garden's width away from the corner of Craddock's back fence. Once again the torch flashed, Wallace lay absolutely still.

There was a dog barking not far away and then other dogs joined in. Wallace could see another torch light flashing at the other side of Craddock's property but it looked as though they had no idea of the direction he had taken.

There was a choice, either lie doggo, or try to negotiate the next side fence, thus putting a barrier between him and them. Yet the noise Wallace would make so doing could give his position away altogether. He had no doubt they would pursue him over fences and through gardens with alacrity, they could claim they were police if intercepted by an indignant householder. Their only problem at present was that they had no idea in which direction Wallace had gone and to search for him they would have to divide forces.

He decided to crawl for the house, during his crawl his hand brushed against a stone, it was about the size of a tennis ball, a handy size for throwing. He weighed it in his hand; it was about cricket ball weight. There was nobody investigating in his direction as yet, so he levered himself into a stoop and then threw the stone upwards in the rough direction and beyond Craddock's garden and house, then flung himself flat.

There was a dull crack as it hit what could have been a concrete or brick path and then it must have hit a fence on the bounce.

‘Over there!' a voice hissed, whereupon Wallace placed his foot on the struts of the fence and levered himself over it, falling heavily into a garden bed. He heard the stalks cracking and meshing as he landed on them, he could envisage the householder's furious reaction the next morning when he viewed his rhubarb patch.

He didn't know who was more surprised, him or the cat. It gave a hiss of fury and scampered across the lawn and up and over the fence at the rear. It hesitated on the top and then dropped out of sight. Then that started a cacophony of sound as it had plainly landed within the territory of the dog next door.

‘Shit!' he cursed, the row would now attract Kalim and the rest of his pursuers and divert them back in his direction. He sprinted across the garden to the other fence and clambered over that. He landed in a concrete yard opposite a kitchen window and could see the man of the house at the sink doing the wiping up. He never knew how much Wallace envied him carrying out such a mundane, commonplace domestic chore with no fear or distress.

Wallace crawled across the concrete under the window, round the back of the house and over into the next garden. Then he hopped over the fence by the side of this latest house and landed in a front garden. He peered through the bushes, the road seemed clear so he hared across the road into the front garden opposite. Then, keeping within front gardens all the time, he headed for the end of the road. He had no wish to be caught in the open if they used a motor vehicle.

It was a wise precaution, he spotted the flood of the headlights at the end of the road and then the scream of tyres as the car virtually came around a corner on two wheels. The entire road was lit up by the headlights and the car was weaving from side to side so that the occupants could use them to illuminate both sides of the road.

Wallace dodged behind a Chinese fire bush and then wriggled up against a low brick wall. As the car passed he rolled over the wall and ran doubled up across the next garden and then plunged over the one after that, bruising himself badly as he landed on a concrete driveway. He ran up the drive and dived behind a rockery by a front window. The car had come to a halt about 90 yards down the road and the driver had got out. The lights were still full on, he climbed back into the driver's seat and began slowly turning the car around, the beams of the head-lamps casting a bright light upon all the gardens on the side of the road where Wallace lay.

There was a flurry of excitement as a dark shadow fled out of a bush and ran across the road, another cat. The rocks at the top of the rockery where Wallace lay lit up as the beam traversed them then they became black once more as the car passed by.

The car turned around and went back to the corner, returning to the street where Craddock lived. Wallace reconsidered the position.

Was he better off heading for the road at the end of the one where he presently was? He knew that buses passed along it. Would a bus be of any assistance or, being lit up inside, would it merely advertise where Wallace was if he boarded it?

He decided that it would be too risky and scrapped the idea. What next? Thumb a lift? He decided against that too. He could remember a Bob Hope movie he had seen years ago where Hope had been on the run from German spies and had done just that. He had thumbed a lift to escape from the Germans and had flagged down the very people who were chasing him. That had raised a roar of mirth from the cinema audience, but it wouldn't be so funny if it happened to Wallace now.

Then he heard a train siren blow, obviously a diesel train approaching Stourbridge Junction. That would do. He decided to head for the railway junction. Yet best to keep off the road. He negotiated a small dividing fence into the back garden and headed for the back fence at the end of the garden.

A bloodcurdling growl turned his blood to ice.

‘Shit!' Wallace slowed to a walk and slowly turned. The dog hesitated as he turned and faced it. It gave another growl that made the hair on his scalp tingle. Wallace tried to assess its size, not an easy task in the semi-darkness, it appeared to be of medium size; at a pinch he could handle it if it attacked but the main problem would be noise.

‘Good boy,' he said ingratiatingly but without much conviction.

Good Boy was plainly perplexed, and gave a loud snort. This gave Wallace the chance to head for the back fence, slowly. It followed and began growling again, the situation began to resemble a Mexican stand-off. Then it began to bark, a loud, repeated staccato bark. He headed for the fence and felt its teeth around the heel of his shoe as he grabbed the top of the fence and hoisted himself upwards.

He fell into the garden behind and the blasted dog began to howl, he felt his entrails curl at the thought that Kalim and his men may hear it. Then a door opened and a voice called out.

‘Jem!'

The barking continued for a few seconds and then ceased, followed by whining.

‘Just shut up, Jem!'

The dog continued to whine and mumble to itself, it was obviously telling its master about the intruder who had trespassed on their land and been trampling on the geraniums, but the master was in no mood to listen.

‘Just shut up or you'll be chained up!'

The dog gave a snort, whether it understood the threat or not was problematical but he had Wallace's sympathy. He had done his job well, he had seen off an intruder and all he was getting for it was brickbats and threats. Truly he was leading a dog's life. There was no justice.

Wallace cast his eyes around his present surroundings. He had lost his sense of direction completely and had no idea where he was in relation to Craddock's place. He had traversed so many gardens he had lost track and frankly he had been damned lucky where dogs were concerned despite the last encounter. If the ratio of dog owners per household was the same as in Australia then he should have encountered a dog every second or third garden. Maybe their owners kept them indoors after dusk fell.

He crept past the house, peering in through the French windows as he passed at a distance and saw another dog inside. It pricked up its ears and Wallace stopped dead. It peered around from side to side and advanced towards the window where it gave a perfunctory bark. Plainly it was told to shut up, like the other one, and retired back into the room, stopping suddenly and glaring back through the window again.

Then Wallace reached the front garden, and crossed the road after a thorough look from left to right, finding himself on some waste land. He could distinctly hear the sound of train couplings ahead and strained his eyes into the gloom but could see nothing.

He leapt a stile and followed a track across the undeveloped land. He kept on going and eventually came to a bridge under a railway, and he passed under it. The path branched off in two directions, one headed downwards and the other upwards alongside the railway. He headed for the latter and found himself at the junction station.

He caught the shuttle to Stourbridge Town and then a bus to Amblecote. On arrival at the canal he circled the boat several times before deeming it safe to board it. Everything was as he had left it. He fell into the bunk and resolved to ring McKay in the morning. There were many unanswered questions.

I
f Wallace had wanted to arouse suspicion or attention, his demeanour on entering the Stourbridge Post Office would have guaranteed it. He crept in furtively looking from side to side and over his shoulder, the jump he gave when a policeman materialised from around the corner should have resulted in his immediate arrest. Fortunately the policeman was more interested in observing the shapely legs of a pretty shop assistant as she crossed the street to enter Barclays Bank. Wallace had a quick glance himself as he slunk into the double doors of the post office and then sidled up to the main counter.

‘Yes luv?'

‘I…umm…I…' he floundered miserably, for some reason his mind had gone numb and could not think of the words Poste Restante, which was perhaps fortunate in the long run as it gave his brain time to register that the missive would be in the name of Bramble not Wallace.

‘Do you have a letter for Wall…er…Bramble?'

She turned to one side and went to a sorting box set against the far wall.

‘What initial?' she asked.

Jesus Christ! What was Bramble's first name?

‘Initial?' she asked again, and was looking at him quizzically.

Then Wallace remembered, he had always objected to being called ‘Bob', at least by underlings.

‘R…R for Robert,' he answered.

She placed a letter on the counter before him, he had to sign for it and nearly mucked it up again as he was about to sign it J.H. Wallace. He thanked her and made his way out into the street. The policeman was still standing outside, leaning against the wall. He had his eyes upon the main doors of Barclays Bank, waiting for the legs to emerge. Wallace didn't blame him for that. They were the second best legs he had seen that week.

There was a bench on the pavement outside the butcher's shop. He sat down and tore the letter open. It was terse and to the point.

‘No news as yet, but we are looking at the lease that was taken on the apartment. Looks screwy, nothing like your signature, plus it was signed just Henry Wallis. We have communicated this to the police, but they have only you as a suspect and don't seem keen to take you off their list!

Keep in touch, I've had my apartment checked, no bugs. But they locked onto you somehow.

DM

My oath they did! He thought. Somehow his trip to investigate Adam Morris/Murray Craddock had been blown, plus they had been onto him at the Broad Street basin in Birmingham when he had returned from Stourbridge. There was a leak somewhere but he couldn't make out where.

‘Alan Kelsey!'

‘I want to speak to Dave McKay!' Wallace said tersely.

‘I'll see if he's in,' Kelsey replied.

Wallace waited impatiently. The call box was almost opposite the Adele Briscoe shop and he had no wish to hang around there for too long. He could see Adele Briscoe through the shop front serving a customer and half turned his back as she glanced through the window into the street.

‘He's not in at present, can you leave a message? What name is it?'

Wallace hesitated and then decided that he had to leave something to indicate who he was. McKay probably received many calls in the course of a day.

‘Bramble!'

‘Bramble?'

‘Bramble!' he repeated.

‘That can't be you, Bob…Ah, I'm with you…Dave said something about a famous Scottish rebel…OK?'

‘A Scottish reb…!' Wallace repeated somewhat testily before realisation dawned. William Wallace of course. There was a short silence and then Kelsey said.

‘He wants to know exactly where you are moored.'

Wallace hesitated; then told him.

‘OK, I'll pass it on.'

As Wallace left the telephone box he saw Adele come out of the shop, she was obviously going to lunch. He could see Murray Craddock himself inside the shop so he slid around behind the phone booth. She paused and exchanged words with a passer by outside the shop, they conversed for some minutes. Wallace could clearly see her nodding in agreement at something that was said from where he was on the opposite side of the street. He recognised her fellow conversationalist as the newsagent, whose shop was three or four units down the street from her shop. They parted company and she began walking on down the street.