Fragile Lives (20 page)

Stan didn't have time for finesse. He grabbed the girl and socked her on the jaw, hoping that he hadn't hit her too hard. She fell back, unconscious and he scooped her up and slung her unceremoniously over his shoulder. He hoped Coran's jibes were wrong and he was still up to this.

Outside the cabin there was a commotion as those inside the saloon tried to escape the smoke and the others helped to fight the flames. Stan knew he'd just have to go now, take his chance. Take chances for both of them. He'd reached the top of the steps before the alarm was raised.

The crewman came at him and Stan swung a roundhouse punch that found the man's jaw more by luck than any judgement on Stan's part. The girl's weight on his shoulder unbalanced him, slowed him down, but he turned and ran anyway, knowing he had only seconds spare to reach the stern and the dinghy tied up beside the steps. There were shouts from behind him. Coran's voice now, telling him that they were out of the cabin, the fire no longer slowing them down.

He half ran, half slid down the gangway, dropping the girl into the bottom of the boat. Each boat carried a locker for essential equipment and a tarpaulin, used when they carried equipment to and from shore. Quickly, he threw the tarpaulin over the unconscious girl. Dressed for town weather her little cream raincoat was no match for the chill of an early March night out in the middle of the bloody ocean. He took a deep breath, started the outboard, heard the shout from the deck. Reaching out, he cut the mooring rope and then the second, nudging the second dinghy out into the boat's wake.

A shot rang out, pinging off the handrail. Stan ducked. A second shot. The girl was still out cold. He thanked the Lord for small mercies. If she woke up and threw a hissy fit, they were both done for.

More shots as the little boat surged away. Stan ducked low. He heard Coran shout, telling them to cease fire. The wind was still strong and the noise might not carry but the flash might be seen and someone might recognize it for what it was. He could guess at the continued chaos aboard as they brought the fire under control, but it wouldn't take long. Stan needed something else to slow things down.

In the small locker of the dinghy was a flare gun. It wasn't easy to launch the flare while he tried to steer the rocking dinghy and keep an eye on the boat, making sure no bigger weaponry was being brought to bear. He didn't think Coran would risk that, but Haines might. It caused a shudder to go through him thinking of Haines, mad as hell and twice as crazy.

Stan fired the flare gun, then throttled up and sped away. The sky was illuminated, the
Spirit of Unity
highlighted in all her glory. If that didn't attract unwanted attention, he didn't know what would. He prayed it would be enough.

Stan looked towards the shore, trying hard to get his bearings. Headed towards what he hoped were the lights of Frantham, the hotel was set back too far for him to see any illumination and most of the houses were in darkness now. He looked hard, trying to see the one he had noticed time and time again, whose attic lights burned far into the night and the one he now knew to be Hill House, which left what must be a hall light on all night.

‘Right, lass, here we go,' he said. He was cold despite his heavy coat. He recognized the chill for what it was. The adrenalin surge was ending and he was coming down from that initial high. Keeping the lights of Frantham to starboard and the lamplight coming from the cliff-top residence to port, he headed in for shore. Anyone on board the boat would guess where he was heading but that couldn't be helped now, they'd lost their other dinghy and the large craft couldn't come in this far, the draft was too shallow and the rocks too sharp.

The girl had begun to move. Stan hoped she would not come round, not fully anyway, until he'd made it to the cliff. He couldn't control her and keep the boat headed in a straight line. He'd get her to the cave, then have a think about his next move.

He calculated if Haines turned the boat right now and headed in, then the closest point would be the marina in the old town but he doubted the crew would want to risk that at night. The entrance to the river mouth that formed the newly dredged harbour was narrow and the draft only just deep enough for the
Spirit
. No, most likely they'd head up the coast to Bridport. Then he'd have to get men up to the cliff top.

Stan reckoned that at least he'd have an hour to persuade the girl he wasn't going to kill her, get her to cooperate enough not to be a damned pain in the backside and put distance between themselves and any pursuit. If the coastguard intervened, as he hoped they would, then he'd have much longer but he wasn't going to count on it.

Not long then. He sighed. Failing persuasion, he might just have to hit her again, but that might lose him a bit of credibility when he tried to tell her that he was a friend and not her would-be murderer.

Deciding that he'd just have to face his problems one at a time as they came about, Stan cut the engine, grabbed the oars and eased the little craft the last few yards into shore.

On board the
Spirit of Unity
the fire had been put out and Haines's men regrouped. Haines was roaring angry and Coran the object of most of his rage. Coran took the abuse without comment, then turned on his heel and walked away. He wasn't unduly concerned. Haines still needed him; that would keep him alive for now. And besides, Haines was right, in a way, he had been the one to recruit Stan. He thought about his earlier comments about Stan being too old and grey and he almost laughed out loud. Not so old after all. He wished him well knowing he'd need all the luck he could get. Haines was out for blood now.

Coran? Well, Coran was about to cut his losses and walk, soon as there was solid ground to put his feet on.

Nice touch with the flare, he thought as he entered the wheelhouse. The skipper was on the radio. ‘Coastguard,' he mouthed at Coran who nodded.

‘Tell them we had a fire, a passenger panicked, but it's all under control.'

The skipper shrugged ruefully. He was doing his best but the authorities weren't having any of it.

Giving in to the inevitable, Coran left him to it and went to prepare.

Stan hitched the rope to a rock just inside the cave mouth. He scrambled ashore and then hauled the little boat as far up inside the cave mouth as he could. The girl was conscious now but still groggy. Stan hauled her from the boat and groped for his knife and tiny flashlight, glad of the habit that kept both in his pocket.

In the pale light, Joy stared at him, eyes wide and scared. He could see the bruise on her chin had darkened and that her skin was very pale.

‘Sorry I hit you, love,' he offered, ‘but I had to act fast, you understand? I didn't have time for explanation.'

She saw the knife and shuffled away from him, whimpering behind the tape that covered her mouth.

‘Love, if I wished you harm I'd have left you on-board. My boss wanted you dead and believe me, he gets what he wants. Your brother's proof of that, don't you know. Now, I'm going to cut you loose and take off the tape and while the blood's getting back into your hands and feet I'm going to talk and you are going to listen. I don't have time for argument, you understand. I've bought us a bit of time but we ain't out of the woods yet.'

She hesitated and then nodded. He reached out and cut the tape that bound her ankles and then, cautiously, not really trusting her not to kick out, he moved behind her and cut the cable tie at her wrists.

‘Let me do the tape now. I'm sorry, lass, but this isn't going to be like on the telly, it's going to hurt.'

She was already in pain, he could see that in her eyes, he knew what agony she'd be in for the next few minutes as the flow of blood returned to her hands and feet. ‘Try and sit still,' he said. ‘Then as soon as you can bear it, start to flex your fingers and move your feet about, OK?'

He tugged at the corner of the tape, wincing as it pulled skin. No easy way of doing it. He tugged hard, removing it in a single pull. Her lips were bleeding and little sore patches round her mouth started to ooze blood. She whined softly, sounding, Stan thought, like a beaten dog, misery increased by the freezing cold.

Stan crawled back to the boat and hauled the tarpaulin into the cave, wrapped it around the shivering girl.

‘Are they following us?'

He shook his head. ‘The
Spirit
can't come in this close to shore but we'll have to move soon. They'll know where to come looking.'

‘They killed my brother?'

He nodded. ‘And I'm sorry, love, I've more bad news.'

‘My dad,' she said with a nod, tears starting. ‘They told me. They said they didn't need me any more 'cos he was dead now too. What did they do to him?'

‘It weren't them. His car got hit by a lorry coming the other way. That's all I know.'

He watched as she took that in. ‘Why did you get me off the boat? What am I to you?'

He shrugged. ‘I saw your brother die,' he said. ‘I didn't see why I should watch you, but right now we've got other things to worry about. First, we've got to get out of here and that won't be easy. Then I've got to try and find a way to stop two little kids ending up like your brother did.'

She stared at him. ‘I don't understand.' She whimpered suddenly, closing her eyes and squeezing out the tears, the blood flow returning properly now, her hands and feet feeling like they were ablaze.

‘It'll soon be OK,' he told her. ‘Try and move them if you can. I need you up and running as fast as you're able.'

She nodded. ‘Tell me about the kids. Ow, fu … Sorry, Dad didn't like me to swear.'

Stan smiled wryly. ‘I reckon he'd have understood,' he said.

He told her about the twins, what he planned to do, how he didn't want their deaths on his conscience as well. He wasn't sure how much she was taking in. She seemed too calm, too controlled when he'd expected shouting and screaming and protest. Maybe, he thought, that would come later when all of this really began to sink in.

‘Where are we anyway?' she asked at last.

‘Near a place called Frantham. Your dad might have mentioned it.'

She nodded eagerly. ‘He said he'd met a policeman and some old woman. He liked her. Rina something.'

‘Rina Martin, that would be,' he said with a nod. ‘I heard her mentioned. The boss wondered what the hell she was up to.' He frowned thoughtfully. The Martin woman might be able to look after the girl. That would be one problem solved.

‘Right,' he said. ‘First we have to get up this flaming cliff, then we have to steal us a car from the hotel car park and then we need to drive to Frantham, see this Martin woman. She might agree to look after you, get you to the police.'

‘And then what? Will you tell the police about the girls?'

He shook his head. ‘Frankly, love, I don't have time for all the explanation that would take. I want to make sure you're safe and then go after them. It won't take long for Haines to regroup.'

J
oy was not exactly dressed for adventure. She had lost her shoes and her short skirt and cream raincoat offered little protection against the freezing wind. Just to add to her misery, it began to rain; slashing and cold, it took her breath away.

‘Take it slow,' Stan said.

Was there any other way? He held the light for her but she still couldn't see. Her bare feet slipped on mud and the rocks cut painfully into her soles. She dug her fingers into the earth trying to get purchase, felt her nails break, her fingers bruising as she rammed them between stones. ‘I can't do this!'

‘Yes you can,' Stan told her, but it was her brother's voice she heard. Pat's voice in her ear, telling her that it would be OK.

Desperate, she dug deeper, hauled herself up, slipped again, felt his hand on her back. ‘Keep going girl, we're nearly there. You can do it now.'

Stan chafed at how long it had taken them. He knew she was doing her best but every minute lost was a minute Haines gained.

Finally, they made it to the top. Joy fell on to the cliff path. ‘We've made it. Oh God, we're there.' She laughed, an edge of hysteria to her mood.

Stan shushed her. ‘Now,' he reminded her, ‘we've got to get ourselves a car.'

‘One with a good heater.' Her teeth were chattering and she was shaking. Joy hugged herself, trying to keep from shivering quite so violently. ‘So, where now?'

Stan pointed. ‘The DeBeer hotel,' he said. ‘Look, love, they're bound to have a night porter, I could—'

‘No, take me to this Rina Martin. She might know more about what's going on. Dad might have been able to tell her something and I want to hear. She might even know about the twins.'

Stan sighed. He could insist, but that would just waste more time, besides, hopefully this Rina woman could be relied upon to keep it shut until he got away; a night porter would call the police at once and the place would be crawling within a half-hour. He led the way over the stile and into the car park, glad now of the storm which, along with the lateness of the hour, would keep everyone safe inside and hopefully ensure they remain unobserved.

‘What are we looking for? Something fast?'

He shook his head. ‘Nothing too new, nothing flashy. Newer cars are harder to wire, posh cars attract attention, especially this time of night and especially when they're being driven by a couple of drowned rats.'

Self-consciously she pushed her sodden hair back from her face. ‘I scrub up well,' she said.

He grinned. ‘I'll bet you do.' Cautiously, he touched her arm. ‘You OK, lass?'

She nodded, just a bit too hard. ‘Scared as hell,' she said, ‘and I can't even bear to think about my dad yet. If I do, I'll fall to bits and then you might have to thump me again.' She pointed. ‘How about that car over there, can't get much more bland than an old Fiesta.'