Requiem for a Dealer (25 page)

Authors: Jo Bannister

BOOK: Requiem for a Dealer

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And the other reason you don't take civilians on sharp-end police operations is that they don't know the basics â the things so fundamental you don't think to remind people â things like turning off the ringer on their mobile phones when they're part of a surveillance.

It was Alison's, buried in the pocket of her coat where she hadn't given it a moment's thought. In a busy street, even in a crowded room, it might have been barely audible. In the silence of a rural estate late at night, so far from the nearest traffic that they'd left the cars quarter of a mile away and crept up on foot, it filled the air.

They'd met up with the armed response vehicle and a contingent of officers from the local division at the gates of Sparrow Hill. Deacon had engaged in a quick briefing with their inspector before deploying into the estate itself. He expected to find the van in the courtyard behind the house, mainly because the stable block would seem the obvious place to head with a horse-box, but he wasn't putting money on it. The driver might have figured out that an aerial search would find it harder to spot him under trees than among buildings, or he might have been smart enough to realise that would only apply in daylight. Either
way, Deacon wasn't making any assumptions. They would search the park as they advanced on the house.

He left Brodie and Alison in his car with an injunction to stay there and no confidence at all that they would obey. In fact, he walked away quickly so that he wouldn't see when they didn't. There wasn't time for a confrontation, a shouting match could blow their cover instantly, and in spite of what he'd said he had no intentions of arresting either of them. Better not to know, then, that he was being defied.

Brodie gave him a minute's head start then got out of the car. âAre you coming?'

Ally gestured nervously in the direction of Deacon's departure. âBut Mr Deacon said â¦'

âYes he did,' agreed Brodie. Her voice was like iron. She shut the car door quietly and began walking up the drive. After a moment, torn and nervous, Alison followed.

In the darkness, unable to use a torch for fear of giving themselves away, it was difficult to be sure they weren't overtaking the cordon. But as her eyes adjusted Brodie found she could see the movement of dark figures against the dark background and she took care to stay behind the advance. Anxious as she was to find Daniel, she didn't want to be the one who found Werner Kant.

The van was in the stable-yard. As soon as the advance guard had a clear view under the gate-house they could see it. A small door in the side was open, spilling light onto the cobbles and silhouetting the single figure standing beside it. Deacon didn't think it was Daniel. With the light behind it the face was obscure and the conditions made it hard to judge scale. In any group of men Daniel was usually the shortest, but here there were no reference points.

But if it had been Daniel standing out in the yard with nobody near him, he wouldn't have been standing there long â he' d have been running for dear life.

The firearms officers and the men armed with nothing but training and bloody-mindedness had been manoeuvred into position by means of whispered phone calls and were waiting his word to go. Deacon made them wait, watching to see if anyone
else appeared. It only took one man to drive the horse-box but that didn't mean he was alone. Also, he wanted to locate Daniel before the action started. If he was in the van the guys with the guns needed to know.

And that was when “Colonel Bogie” rang out in the stillness of the night.

Chapter Twenty-Five

âAh,' said Kant softly. âWe seem to have been discovered. I wonder how that happened.'

âDon't look at me,' Daniel said quickly. âI don't know where we are, and I've no way of telling anyone if I did.'

âNevertheless, we are no longer alone.'

âPoachers?' hazarded Daniel, without much hope.

âI think we should assume it's the police.'

âDoes this' â he didn't know how to put it â âchange anything?'

Kant considered, but not for long. âI think it might, yes.'

An hour ago, when he thought it was inevitable, Daniel had been able to face death with something approaching composure. Not exactly reconciled, not exactly unafraid, but giving a good enough performance to satisfy the critics.

But then, for just a moment, he'd thought he'd dodged the bullet, and with that had come the realisation that appearance isn't everything, that a good performance may convince the audience but the actor will always know it's not the real thing. Of course he was afraid, even if he didn't dare admit it. The keenest astronomer in the world would sooner observe a black hole than dive into one. Now the void loomed again and his courage was all used up. His voice came out a plaint âPlease â¦'

There was a note almost of kindness in Kant's tone as he climbed into the box. âMr Hood, you misunderstand me. Your death will not serve me now What I need from you is a distraction. Let us look on the bright side. You may survive.'

Threats come in different forms. Daniel had heard a few of them in his time. That was one of the worst. âWhat are you going to do?'

Perhaps nothing had changed. Perhaps this was what Kant had had in mind all along. His hand went straight to the right pocket and came out with a cigarette lighter.

âNo,' whispered Daniel. âOh dear God, no. Don't do this.'

A man who could call setting fire to someone a distraction had probably heard a lot of entreaties in his time, and paid scant heed to any of them. He bent over and began gathering straw
from the floor into a pile. âTry not to be alarmed,' he said as he worked. âLook, I'll put it well away from you. There'll be plenty of time for them to get you out. But while they're doing that, they're not chasing me.'

âYou can't â¦' Daniel's voice cracked and he had to start again. âYou can't start a fire in here! It'll be an inferno in seconds! If you're going to kill me, at least make it quick. I've
been
burnt. I don't â I can't â¦' He ran out of words. And for all that they were achieving, there was no point struggling for more.

Kant paused in what he was doing and for a moment eyed his captive with something akin to compassion. But practicality â what he'd called the balance of necessities â intervened. He shook his head. âI'm sorry. Naturally you are afraid. But whoever it is out there won't let you burn. In just a few minutes now you will be free. And so shall I.'

âAnd what if it isn't the police?' In his agitation Daniel was actually stammering. âWhat if it's a couple of teenagers using this place as a Lovers' Lane? You think they're going to risk their lives to get me out? I'm going to die in here! I'm going to burn and I'm going to die!'

âAh.' The man hadn't thought of that. He thought about it now, but only briefly. He couldn't know for sure it was the police closing in on him until it was too late, and he wasn't prepared to gamble with his safety. He shrugged dismissively. âWhat are the odds? No, you'll be fine.' And he bent and lit the fire.

And the pony snorted and, white-eyed, backed to the limit of its tether. And Daniel let out a wail like a terrified child.

There aren't many retiring violets in the police force, but even among colleagues Jack Deacon's temper was notorious. It's why the whole of Battle Alley, with the exception of the loyal DS Voss and (usually) Superintendent Fuller, referred to him as “The Grizzly”. In spite of that, or perhaps because of it, people tended not to notice that his language was not particularly colourful. When he swore it wasn't cutting-edge obscenity but the slightly old-fashioned oaths of his London childhood that he fell back on, and they were just quaint enough these days to have an odd gentility about them.

But there was nothing genteel about what exploded from his lips when his carefully manoeuvred cordon revealed its position with a few jolly bars of military music. Even these tough police officers listened with interest in case there were some in there they hadn't heard before â but only after they were sure it wasn't their mobile sounding off.

Alison Barker might not be a professional stalker like Deacon, or even a semi-pro like Brodie, but she knew instantly the magnitude of what she'd done. It took her possibly three seconds to find the phone and shut it up. After that she stared at the dim pale circle in the darkness that was Brodie's face and was too appalled even to apologise.

Brodie didn't do a lot of swearing either: partly because she had a young daughter and children soak the stuff up like blotting paper, and partly because she didn't have to. She could get all the venom imaginable into a few quite ordinary words. âYou stupid girl,' she hissed, just loud enough for Ally to hear, and Ally burst into tears.

When Deacon had established that none of his borrowed officers was responsible, he spun and found exactly what he was expecting â Brodie on his heels. âWas that you?'

âIt was us,' she agreed with a kind of terse contrition. âWhat do you think â any chance he didn't hear?'

Deacon weighed up the distance from where they were to the van in the courtyard, and also the deep silence broken only by his own furious heavy breathing. âWhat do
you
think?'

âSir?' It was one of the firearms officers. He'd noticed a change in the quality of the light coming from the open door of the horse-box. It was growing stronger, and it was flickering.

For the merest second Brodie tried to tell herself it was an optical illusion. Or the light had been on long enough to weaken the battery, hence the flickering; or just long enough to warm up and brighten. But even as she ran through the options she knew she was fooling herself. She knew what kind of light flickered as it strengthened. âIt's on fire!'

Then they heard the cry, desolate as the night, and it might have been fear or it might have been agony but either way they knew, every one of them, that its author needed help right now.
And it didn't matter that they broke their cover at a run, and it didn't matter that for a second the bright rectangle of the doorway framed a leaping figure that landed in the dark and ran. Seconds counted, fractions of a second counted, and every one of them had held a cigarette stub too long or touched a casserole fresh from the oven and knew what a burn felt like. It was no longer a question of containing a dangerous situation. A man was alive inside a burning box, and nothing else mattered until either he was out or he was dead.

In the same way that you tell children never to run with scissors, firearms officers are strongly advised not to run with weapons drawn. However John Wayne makes it look, you can't fire an accurate shot on the move. At a run, you'd be lucky to hit a barn wall from the inside. But, like children, there are times when the urgency of the situation makes it impossible to obey. This was one of those times.

Even so, the guns slowed them down, so that Deacon and Brodie reached the courtyard first. For a big man, Deacon could move fast when he had to. And Brodie, who took a positive pride in never unduly exerting herself, had all the incentive necessary.

They came together, breathless, both ripping off their coats, a couple of metres from the van, with a clear view of leaping flames through the open door. The fire seemed to fill it. Smoke was pouring out of the high-level ventilators, and the vehicle rocked with the thundrous panic of the animal inside.

Deacon grabbed Brodie's arm as she went to climb up. âYou can't go in there!'

âDaniel's in there!'

âWhat if he can't walk?'

The urgency of the situation notwithstanding, Brodie could see the sense in that. If need be, Deacon could lift Daniel bodily and throw him onto the cobbles in a way that she couldn't. She nodded quickly. âBe careful.'

âThat
boat has sailed,' grunted Deacon, grabbing both sides of the doorframe and swinging himself up.

Inside, conditions were marginally better than he'd expected. The fire had started â had
been
started â opposite the groom's
door precisely in order to be visible and alarming. It would spread, there was too much straw and wood in here for it not to, but it hadn't spread yet.

The frantic pony was in the far stall and Daniel in the nearer, his hands lashed to the breast-bar. His face was white with fear, the eyes stretched behind the thick lenses. âJack â¦'

It was a moment's work to free him. Deacon used his penknife to cut the baler-twine. As his hands came free Daniel's knees gave way and he dropped to the rubber floor, gasping in the smoke and fumes.

Deacon fisted a hand in his clothes and yanked him upright. âOn your feet, little man. You're not hurt, it's just shock â fight it. I don't propose to carry you while you can run.'

Daniel hit the ground like an inept diver, knocking the wind out of himself, and an instant later Deacon landed beside him. They helped one another to their feet and then others were there too, Brodie among them, clutching their arms and dragging them clear. They staggered back from the burning van, the flames filling their eyes, the smoke gnawing at their lungs, their muscles turned to string by the awareness of how narrowly they had escaped.

And then a shriek ripped through their brains like shrapnel, and the horror surged back that there was still a living soul in there, trapped and burning. Daniel spun on the spot, staring back into the flames. He retraced a couple of steps, then stopped. He looked from Brodie to Deacon in terrible distress. His voice cracked. âWe can't leave it in there!'

Brodie took his hand. âI don't think we have any choice,' she said softly.

âJack â¦?'

Deacon shrugged roughly. âI nearly didn't go in for you, I'm sure as hell not going back for a horse.'

âWe can try! We have to try â¦'

âNo,' said Deacon firmly, âwe don't. It's an animal. Nobody's risking their life for an animal.'

âIt's too dangerous,' Brodie agreed. âAnyone who went in there now would likely be kicked to death by a panic-stricken pony. And he'd never get her out. They won't â the fear confuses them,
they're too scared to leave a burning building. Isn't that right?' She turned to Alison for support.

The rosy glow of the flames was reflected in the streaks of tears on Ally's thin face. She'd thought her stupidity had cost a good man his life. Now he was here, singed but safe beside her; but relief was tempered by the knowledge of what was happening, what was going to happen, just a few metres away, before her very eyes unless she screwed them tight shut. And what she didn't see she would hear: the screams of terror and then of agony as the flames consumed the box and its occupant. She whispered, âCan't we put the fire out?'

âSure we can,' snarled Deacon. âWith the fire extinguishers my guys carry in their free hands. Look, if we'd brought the cars up there might have been a chance. But it'll take ten minutes to get them, and that's too long to leave that animal to suffer. The kindest thing we can do now is get someone close enough to shoot it.' He strode away, looking for someone with a gun.

Daniel shook his head in despair. âI'm going to try. I know it's stupid, but I have to at least try.'

âYou're going to get yourself killed!' cried Brodie, aghast. âJack risked his neck to get you out of there, and you want to go back in? Are you
mad?'

âMaybe.' He nodded. âMaybe. But Brodie â I know what she's going through.'

She had no answer to that. He didn't mean it as a reproach, but it slid in under her ribs like one.

Ally said, âI'll help.'

Daniel stared at her. Then he shook his head again. âIt's too dangerous.'

âToo dangerous for me but not for you? At least I can handle a horse! Listen,' she said urgently, her hands fisted in his clothes, demanding his attention. âI don't know if we can do this. But if we can't do it together, you sure as hell can't do it alone.'

Without waiting for an answer she was struggling out of her coat. But she didn't throw it down, she tucked it under her arm. âListen to me. We need to get the back ramp down. Let me do the slide-bolts â they're tricky if you haven't seen them before. Inside the ramp there'll be some kind of a gate, maybe double
ones that fold back to form a chute. The pony's on the left, yes?'

Daniel nodded, surprised that she knew.

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