Pawn (7 page)

Three stories up and sailing out into the open air, Rufus discovered all over again that he was going to die, and he simply couldn’t stop screaming in terror. But at least it would be quick. A few seconds of terror and then hopefully peace. Except that it wasn’t.

Instead of hitting the concrete hard and breaking every bone in his body, he hit something soft and yielding, almost like a trampoline, and bounced as easily as a child. It took a few moments to understand, but eventually as he collapsed back into the soft material he realised that he’d hit the hotel’s awning. He didn’t even remember it having an awning, but he didn’t care.

He was going to live!

The excitement thrilled through him as he realised that, until he looked up to the window he’d fallen from and saw the big man standing there, pointing his gun at him. After that insanity returned.

The big man started firing at him, people outside in the street started screaming and running blindly in all directions, sirens and alarms were blaring everywhere, and Rufus desperately found the edge of the broken awning and slid off it, on to the hard cold concrete beneath. Then things got even crazier as from somewhere across the street he heard more guns opening up, machine guns, and they were firing at the big man in the window above. Naturally he fired back, and while the bullets were busy flying back and forth, Rufus suddenly found the strength to find his feet and start running off into the night, away from the nightmare.

Soon, very soon, he was a long way away from the shooting, though the gunfire didn’t seem to be stopping, and with his heart thumping in his chest and the glorious cold night air screaming through his labouring lungs he managed to find some peace. Not a lot. It would be a long time he knew before he was able to find any peace after this, but for the moment as he bent almost double, panting, he was safe.

He had to stay safe.

That was his first priority. Rufus knew that if four different men were all out there, determined to find this missing painting, and happy to kill him to get it and each other as they hunted it, he was not going to be safe. Cut throats, stranglers, machine gunners and overly large Russians, he was not going to be safe anywhere for long. Not when they knew who he was.

He had to find a hidey hole. A place to remain completely out of sight. A place that no one knew about. And a place he suddenly realised that he had available.

It wasn’t his of course. That was why it was safe. It was a colleague’s place, a cottage in Copper Beach near the sea. All his to enjoy while Kirby was overseas for several more long months. His colleague had given him the keys before he’d left, and told him to enjoy the sea air. But he hadn’t intended for him to move in. His job had been only to check the mail and water the plants. But it was a place that no one would be able to find him, and Kirby wouldn’t mind. Or in truth he wouldn’t mind as long as he didn’t know. If he did find out then he’d probably charge him rent, all the while telling him endlessly about what a generous person he was. In fact when this was all over and assuming he survived, Kirby would very likely present him with a bill. But that was a matter for another day.

All he had to do for the moment was get there. But that posed a few problems of its own as Rufus discovered. Half naked, at least he’d been wearing his jeans after washing his teeth in the bathroom, dripping with sweat which was going to freeze on him in the cool night air, and covered in blood, with police sirens everywhere, his chances of not being seen were slim. The cops might catch him, which would undoubtedly be no safer than The Fiddlers had been. The police were probably no better prepared for this nightmare than he was. Not in a small town like Upper Plimmerton. If anything they were probably pulling their hair out as they wondered how to charge him with another crime. The bad guys might catch him too as he wandered the streets, and that would be worse. Or his family might find him, and that might be even worse.

In any case he couldn’t walk to Copper Beach, it was a good forty minute drive, and taking a taxi, even if he could find the cash, would be a mistake. What cabbie wouldn’t remember a half naked guy covered in blood in his cab? And all of them he guessed, would call the cops.

Luckily, he had a car as he finally remembered. It was in his lock up, not yet fully restored but close enough to drive legally, more or less, as long as no one noticed it didn’t have any plates. It wasn’t even that far away.

Desperate, he began jogging the dozen blocks or so to the storage facility, ignoring the surprised looks of the people he passed in the street, wishing only that he was in better shape and could run faster. Much faster.

But at least he finally had somewhere to run to. That was so much better than just running away.

********************

Chapter Seven.

“So let me get this straight Hopkins.” Hopkins winced, fearing what was coming, knowing he would be in the inspector’s firing line. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t his fault. It never mattered. The inspector was understandably upset and someone had to be held accountable to his biting tongue.

“Three shooters, fourteen people injured, all in a well frequented hotel during the early evening with people all around, and we don’t have a single idea who any of them are? Is that what you’re telling me Hopkins? Plenty of blood and witnesses. Lots of shell casings, but no bodies. Cameras that were down for maintenance. Witnesses who can’t get their stories straight. And we still have nothing. We don’t even have Hennassy either?” Hopkins gulped nervously before nodding. He didn’t say anything though. It would only get him into more trouble. Painful experience had taught him that.

“And how can that be?” Naturally there was no answer. This whole mess was only three hours old and answers were thin on the ground, like the gunmen, two of whom at least had been badly injured. But the inspector knew that as well as he did. In the end he settled for sighing instead of yelling. The sergeant hoped that was a good sign, but there was never any certainty with Barns.

“So lets go through it again. Two men in the room, fighting. One with guns, the other with knives. And a half naked man seen running from the room that sounds very much like our Mr. Hennassy. Bleeding everywhere, and a ring of blood around his throat. Which would fit disturbingly well with that garrotting wire.” He pointed at the evil looking device lying in the corner of the room, still covered in blood and with a little yellow plastic tag beside it. Forensics would probably tell them in due course that it was Hennassy’s blood.

“So one man had him, but didn’t kill him, and then the other man stepped in.” That made no sense to Barns, unless they both wanted something from Hennassy. Something he couldn’t give them if he was dead. Something they hadn’t found in his house. Information. It had to be. Rufus Hennassy knew something.

“And then there’s the money inspector.” Hopkins pointed at the suitcase still filled with money, though more of it was scattered around the room, some of it riddled with bullet holes and more covered with blood.

“Oh yes. Half a million, maybe more in cash. Someone wanted to buy something from Mr. Hennassy. Information probably. The other intended to use more brutal methods. Or maybe they both did. Either way one had him, and the other couldn’t let him keep him. So they fought and our friendly victim made his escape during the confusion. Just what are the odds of that Hopkins?” Hopkins just shrugged, what else was there to say? It was madness and chance all interwoven in a tapestry of crime. He followed the inspector as he walked out of the room, carefully trying to avoid touching the remains of the shattered door or stepping into a puddle of blood, and then down the long hall.

“And then he runs down the hallway, covered with blood, and our second shooter arrives, coming up the stairs, with another cannon. Fifty calibre like the man in the room, so possibly the two were together.” After all there weren’t that many fifty calibre handguns around, and it took a particular type of criminal to want to use one. Someone who valued noise and power over accuracy. The smoke and noise must have been incredible in an enclosed space like a hotel, as was the damage to the walls opposite the landing.

“Witnesses said he was a big man.” Hopkins obviously wanted to bite out his tongue the moment the words slipped out, but it was too late. What had been said was said, and so he waited nervously for the inevitable explosion as Barns blasted him for saying something stupid. After all what could it matter that the man was large? But Barns was in a forgiving mood, and he simply ignored him as he continued his reconstruction.

“Desperate to get away Mr. Hennassy leaps out a third story window on to an awning. And did he even know that there was an awning there?” The inspector walked over to the broken window and looked out over the dark city street, filled with police cars and flashing lights, and of course reporters. They were everywhere, a plague in truth, being held back by the patrol officers, while more were busy interviewing the hundreds of witnesses. Most of them were guests of course, and most of them were hysterical even several hours later. It must have been very frightening for them, which went nowhere to describing what it must have been like for Hennassy.

“Shit he must have been scared.” Terrified and panicking as he ran in every direction, was Barns thought. Though he couldn’t have proven it, Barns would have placed good money on the thought that Mr. Hennassy had been simply running blindly. He’d probably never even seen the window before he crashed through it, never even considered that there might be an awning outside to break his three story fall. He’d just run and who could blame him..

“Then our big man with the cannon shoots at Hennassy from up here, a perfect target, but he’s interrupted by the machine gunners across the road. He or they opened up on him, he returned fire, and there’s blood at both scenes indicating that they were both shot, and once more Hennassy gets away in the confusion. Just how many lives does this man have?”

“There can’t be many left inspector. And he might have been caught by the machine gunners.” Hopkins was only saying what they all knew to be true, and yet Barns knew he was wrong.

“No.” The inspector turned to him, the oddest look on his face. It was the merest reflection of the truly strange places his thoughts were running through his tired brain of late. “I don’t think so.”

“He survives a fatal car crash with only a few scratches. He survives being machine gunned down in the road. He survives two firefights again with only scratches, despite being half garrotted. If there’s one thing that our Mr. Hennassy seems to be, it’s unbelievably lucky. Unbelievable cursed, always in the absolute wrong place at the wrong time, and yet also unbelievably lucky.”

“He got away. The witnesses said it. A half naked, blood soaked man, haring down the street in the middle of the night, no one chasing him. He got away. Anyone else would be dead half a dozen times over, but not him.”

“He got away, and by now he’s deep in hiding.” The question was where? They needed to find him and not only to confirm the details of the attacks. He needed protection, serious protection. But even then Barns knew that they wouldn’t find him. Something was going on, something impossibly strange, and he was the very epicentre of a storm of the bizarre. Deep in his marrow Barns knew that they wouldn’t find him. Not until that storm had finally blown itself out.

“We could tell the press. Maybe we can use them to find him.” Barns would have hit his sergeant then as he suggested the obvious answer. The press were the natural enemy of the police, and most especially him. Except that it was what they had to do. He hated the press. He hated giving statements and having people shoving microphones in his face. He hated the endless flash of cameras in his face and the endlessly repeated questions. And he hated them even more than usual of late.

After someone had tipped them off about the painting, and he had his suspicions as to who, he had not only become their newest target, but he had also had strips torn off him by the chief. A leak like that was more than unprofessional. It was disloyalty. But Barns was sure the story hadn’t come from his people. There was simply too much information along with photos of the painting. He couldn’t vouch for the techs of course, since they didn’t come under his purview. But if he had to guess who, Barns would have said it was Venner who’d leaked it, along with the photos.

The man was playing an angle of course. There was some way that he still intended to profit from the theft. Even if the painting was uninsured. Though he couldn’t quite see how yet, Barns would have bet his last penny on it. People were true to their nature and Venner’s nature was greed. Maybe he thought that he’d get the painting back, which considering that Barns was still certain he’d had a hand in stealing, wasn’t impossible. Maybe he hoped that the publicity would give any buyers second thoughts about receiving it. Or maybe he even hoped that when he got the painting back, the notoriety would drive up the price. A stolen Rembrandt, recovered. That had to be worth more than a normal one.

Still going to the press was a good suggestion. The only one they had. Hopkins was right. And they had to flush Rufus Hennassy out and get him into protective custody as quickly as possible. If they could. Before someone else found him, and another fire fight broke out. Barns knew there were people looking for him. People who didn’t want to protect him. All they wanted was the painting, and they thought he had it. By now Mr. Hennassy did too.

Yes, the media was the right choice. It was their only choice. But it would have to be very carefully done. They’d have to be very selective about what they said and what they didn’t. And above all else, they couldn’t actually link him with the painting. That would just set more people on Mr. Hennassy’s tail, start more fights and turn a slowly evolving nightmare into a full-scale disaster.

The inspector sighed quietly as he realised it was going to have to be him who made the statement. All those people, the cameras and microphones, the endless questions. And even though he would give them nothing more than a bare statement, something about a person of interest, they would hound him for days.

Sometimes it wasn’t an easy life being a copper. But it must be so much worse being Rufus Hennassy just then.

If only they knew where he was.

Yet even as he wondered about that he had to also ask himself if it was really the best choice, finding him. The man had powerful enemies. Enemies with deep pockets. And too many police liked money as much as crooks. Even their best protective custody might not be so secure. It was something he suspected that their missing victim already knew. Rufus Hennassy was the only person Rufus Hennassy would trust. If he could find a hidey hole and keep his head down for a few months, maybe that would be the safer path for him. Certainly he would think so.

But it wasn’t safe. Not for everyone else. Already Barns was becoming convinced that Mr. Hennassy would survive. That seemed to simply be the way of things. But all around him as his enemies hunted him relentlessly, others would fall. Getting him into protective custody might not be enough to save Mr. Hennassy. He wasn’t sure anything would be. But maybe it would stop the innocents getting caught up in this mess.

**********************