Driving into Darkness (DI Angus Henderson 2) (23 page)

Henderson steered his commandeered powerboat, ‘Anna Mitchell’ in a wide arc as he approached the spot where Larner’s speedboat had sunk and reduced the engine tone to a soft burble. The silence that descended was oppressive, as gone was the rumble of large twin diesels, the slap and bang of waves against the hull, and the shrill whining of Larner’s Yamaha outboard. Now, all he could hear was the gentle lapping of waves, the bellowing of a ship’s foghorn somewhere in the distance, and the garbled shouts of a man panicking in the water.

He switched on the searchlight, mounted on the roof of the cabin, and scanned the sea while gently coaxing the powerboat through the waves. A few seconds later, he spotted him, bobbing in the water. Henderson smiled to himself as now the crazy bastard wasn’t holding all the cards. It was fortunate for him the ‘Anna Mitchell’ was equipped with a searchlight, as he wouldn’t have found him otherwise, since he wasn’t wearing an easy-spot life vest and there wasn't much left of his speedboat to mark the spot where it disappeared into the blackness.

Another noise broke the silence, low and steady. He turned to look, and in the distance he could see a boat approaching and judging by the foam displaced by its hull, it was travelling at speed. In his head he praised Carol Walters and Lewes Control for having the sense to scramble a police launch or a Customs powerboat, boats well used to intercepting suspect ships and drug runners. Either way, they were a welcome addition to this little scene, as Larner would need warming up when rescued as he didn’t have a clue what safety kit was stored aboard his commandeered craft.

Larner shouted in a rasping, gurgling voice, ‘get me out of here Henderson, it’s bloody freezing, I’m not...a good swimmer.’

‘Why should I show you any mercy, Larner?’ Henderson shouted back. ‘You never showed any mercy to Mathew Markham or David Young, did you?’

‘They fucking deserved it. They shafted me and stole my designs. I’d be famous and making millions if it wasn’t for those thieving bastards.’

He ranted and blabbered about the injustice of it all as Henderson tied a line to a lifebelt and threw it over to him. The noise from the other boat was louder now and he turned to see its searchlight illuminating the water two or three hundred yards behind him. Larner ducked under the lifebelt and gripped the line.

‘Pull me in for fucksake. I’m freezing and I’m knackered. I’ve got no energy left.’

He was in two minds. He could wait until the other boat arrived and they offered assistance, or pull him in now as the Channel could be cold, even in early summer and there was a risk Larner could develop hypothermia. He gripped the rope and pulled. Despite the buoyancy of water, Larner was heavy, his clothes filled of water. If, as he suspected, Larner had spent a lot of time preparing for this moment, why wasn’t he wearing more suitable sailing clothes? He shook his head in dismay. This was a mark of the man, sloppy, ill disciplined, and badly prepared.

Over his shoulder, the engine of the approaching boat scaled back a couple of octaves, indicating it was slowing and close by. A few seconds later, someone on-board shouted, ‘Ahoy there. Are you alright?’

Henderson turned to answer and the next thing he knew, he was flying through the air. Seconds later, his world turned icy cold and the night sky disappeared.

Christ, the water was freezing. It hit him like a punch in the face and in an instant, his eyes were filled with millions of bright droplets, sparkling and jiggling before him like tiny effervescent dancers. He kicked his legs and more by luck than judgement, started to rise to the surface as visibility was non-existent and he had no idea if he was swimming up towards the sky or down towards the depths.

He surfaced and gasped for air, more from the shock of the freezing water than any oxygen deficiency, as he had only been underwater for ten or fifteen seconds. When his vision cleared, he spotted an ‘exhausted’ Larner swimming strongly towards the ‘Anna Mitchell’.

‘Knackered my arse,’ he said as he went after him. Henderson wasn’t wearing a jacket and moved fast and reached the powerboat as Larner began climbing the steps. Henderson reached up and seized his ankle.

Larner held on to the guardrail, trying to shrug the DI off, but Henderson had a good grip and held tight. He placed his legs against the hull and pulled. Both men fell into the water in an ungainly mangle of arms, legs and water spray. Far from being whacked, Larner was full of life because as soon as Henderson reached out to grab hold of him, he lashed out, punching.

One punch hit him full on the face and for a moment his mind went blank. He came to, full of anger. He swam up behind Larner, seized a handful of his shaggy mop and forced his head underwater and held him there with the other hand. He could feel him flailing and punching at his body but despite the blows and the pain, Henderson wasn’t for letting go. Twenty seconds later, he hauled him up.

‘Who helped you kill Mathew Markham, Larner?’

‘Fuck off copper,’ he gasped, spitting spray into his face.

Henderson pushed him under again. Punches were coming into his midriff but with little or no energy in the movements, and when it seemed he might black out, he hauled him back up to the surface again.

‘Who helped you kill Mathew Markham?’

‘It was…Nicky Heath and Stevie Nolan,’ he spluttered, part crying, part spitting. ‘It’s all on my computer at home. Get me out of here you sadistic bastard, I’m dying.’

‘What about James Nash? What did he do?’

‘He’s a wimpy bastard. Didn’t want to get involved, did he?’

‘What happened to David Young?’ he said, re-tightened the grip of his hair, making him think he was about to duck him under again.

‘It was me, in my car, all right? But it was a fucking accident.’

‘Pull the other one. You’re an evil bastard Larner; you killed him and Markham. You’re going down for both murders.’

The other vessel appeared around the bow of the ‘Anna Mitchell’ and Henderson could see now it was a Customs boat with a four-man crew. They edged closer and threw out two lifebelts. Henderson only used one, as there was no way he was letting Larner go until he was safely on-board and handcuffed to something solid.

As usual on a Monday morning, DI Henderson was seated at his desk by eight, but what was not so usual was how he had spent the weekend.

Friday and Saturday, he was a resident of the Royal Sussex Hospital where he was being treated for hypothermia. Despite the application of blankets, warm clothing and plenty of fluids, he could still feel the symptoms, even after being discharged from hospital on Sunday morning. Rachel made a trip into town and bought him some thermal underwear and even if they weren’t the epitome of sartorial elegance and railed against her stylistic standards, the heat generated by walking upstairs in Sussex House was enough to keep the chills at bay.

In so many ways, Larner had been a clever sod. He was being treated in the same hospital as Henderson and although in a much worse condition, still fit enough to be interviewed by Gerry Hobbs on Sunday night. Surprise, surprise he revealed nothing and denied everything and even had the cheek to say he would be making a claim against Sussex Police for brutality.

Henderson wasn’t naive enough to believe his ‘confession’ out in the Channel or the files found on his pc would stand up in court as Larner could claim they were the components of his latest novel, a screenplay, or the fantasies of an over-active imagination. However, the kidnap and serious assault of Marta Stevenson and Sanjay Singh were real enough and not something he could wriggle away from.

The Subaru had been examined and despite the passage of several months since David Young’s death, he doubted the car had ever been cleaned since. The Vehicle Forensic team found tiny flakes of red paint and in time they were confident of matching them to David Young’s red motorbike. It was positive news but as he stewed in the crisp, white sheets of his hospital bed, the feeling would not go away that the killers of Sir Mathew Markham were slipping away.

This feeling persisted until the arrest of Nicky Heath and Stevie Nolan. Henderson expected them to follow Larner’s defence and ‘take the fifth’, as the Americans would call it, and force his detectives to build a case against them, but they surprised him. They both admitted their part in the Markham attack but said they were unaware of Larner’s intention to kill and only participated in the venture to put the ‘frighteners’ on.

Now facing serious charges and the prospect of ten to fifteen years in prison if charged with being active participants in a murder, it didn’t take long before they spilled the whole story. A good lawyer would pick apart their ‘let’s blame Larner’ defence but Heath told them where the knife was hidden and now it was being fast-tracked through forensics. If it proved to be Larner’s knife and if Markham’s DNA was found on the blade as he felt sure it would be, he would at last have his killer.

After dealing with a sudden flurry of emails, some praising his actions while other made stupid jokes about sailors, water, and boats, he decided to call William Lawton. If Larner’s computer files were to be believed, Lawton was next on the hit list after the battery development team were ‘recycled.’ Larner intended to kidnap him on Sunday when he would next be playing golf at West Hove, but as Larner was laid up in hospital at the time, Henderson didn’t bother to tell him.

It was fortunate Henderson didn’t know that Lawton was being investigated by the Fraud team upstairs in Sussex House, for a crime he tried to blame on David Young, as then it would have made him his number one suspect and led him up the wrong path. In fact, if it wasn’t for Jackson’s surprise announcement in firing him, it seemed to him he had more to gain from killing Young and Markham than Larner. Yes indeed, he needed to have another wee chat with the slippery William Lawton.

He dialled his office number but five rings later, he heard a click as it diverted.

‘Mr Markham’s office, Jules speaking.’

‘Oh hello Jules. I'm looking for Mr Lawton. This is Detective Inspector Henderson, Sussex Police.’

‘Hi Inspector. I’m sorry to say Mr Lawton has now left the company. The young Mr Markham, Jackson Markham is now in charge. Would you like to speak to him?’

‘No thank you. Do you know how I can contact Mr Lawton?’

There was a muffled rustling from the handset. ‘To tell you the truth, he’s persona non grata around here, if you know what I mean, but I liked him. I called his mobile on Saturday to see how he was and when I didn’t get a reply, I went round to his house. His wife answered and do you know what she said to me? She hasn’t seen him since Friday and was now so worried, she was thinking of calling you lot.’

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Iain Cameron was born in Glasgow and moved south to Brighton in the early eighties. He has worked as a management accountant, business consultant and a nursery goods retailer. He is now a full-time writer and lives in a village outside Horsham in West Sussex with his wife, two daughters and a lively Collie dog.

In the first three months after release, his first novel ‘
One Last Lesson’
was listed in two Amazon bestseller lists within crime fiction and it’s been there ever since. ‘
Driving into Darkness’
is the second novel to feature DI Angus Henderson of Sussex Police, the Scottish detective with the calm demeanour and hidden ruthless streak.

To find out more about the author, visit the website:

www.iain-cameron.com

ALSO BY IAIN CAMERON

ONE LAST LESSON

University has just become a dangerous place

The serenity of a rural golf course is shattered after a popular university student is found murdered. There are few clues, leaving DI Angus Henderson of Sussex Police angry and frustrated, until he finds out the victim was a model on an adult web site run by two of her lecturers.

It is a difficult case for the DI and brings him into confrontation with two dangerous animals -
but only one of them is human.