The Drowners (27 page)

Alex bumped her way across the Levels, cursing every rut in the road, every hidden ditch and blind corner as she
marvelled
at how such a flat landscape could be so impenetrable once you were actually on it. In the short time between
nightfall
and the rising of the moon she was forced to slow to a crawl as the twisting road seemed to throw unexpected
obstacles
in her path, the numerous canals and rhynes threatening disaster to the unwary motorist at every junction. Finally, the moon rose above the surrounding land and she was able to navigate her way towards Lower Godney, home of Simon – or at least of his remaining family. Several times she was forced to pull over, a manoeuvre that consisted mainly of running the car a foot or so to the left, up against the hedge and putting on the handbrake, so narrow was the road she was following. In the dimness of the interior light she peered hopefully at the map of the Levels thoughtfully provided by the office staff back at Highpoint. Referred to as the ‘Edgar’ by everyone who had tried to actually navigate by it, it was indeed composed of ‘mystery and imagination’ and bore less resemblance to the surrounding reality than any map she had ever used. Finally, she threw it back in the glove compartment with a snarl, put the car into gear and lurched off in what she thought might possibly be the right direction.

After some fairly futile zigging and zagging through a series of apparently endless and identical country lanes, she emerged at a junction with the main road. At least she thought it was probably the main road. It had a white line down the middle rather than a strip of grass and that, she thought, could only be a good thing. After peering out of the side windows at the moon whilst trying to remember which direction it rose and therefore which direction Lower Godney might lie relative to that, Alex resorted to the time-honoured method of guessing. Turning right out of the junction she headed off between the flat, watery plains of the Levels and hoped some lights might appear soon to give her a village or hamlet by which to navigate. Now she was off the rough, barely metalled road she was more aware of her car and she realized with some alarm it seemed to be making a strange grinding sound. Alex’s car was something of a joke amongst friends and clients. An aging Citroën DS with the hallmark hydraulic suspension, which made the car look like a hen settling on her eggs when being parked, and numerous dents now adorning the bodywork, it was instantly recognizable over an area of some fifty square miles. Alex hoped every month she might be able to replace it with something a bit more modern, or practical, or just a bit more reliable, but by the end of the month she was merely grateful it was still running. Despite being in her second year as a ‘salaried professional’, money was incredibly tight and a new car was still the stuff of dreams. The mortgage rate on her treasured little house had risen by about five times the rate at which her salary was increasing. Now, as she eased the car round a long, slow bend and the grinding got louder, she suspected her dreams were about to be reduced to something like a new exhaust.

There was a lay-by up ahead on the right by some trees and she decided it would be sensible to pull over and have a look. If the exhaust was loose, she thought, she could always tie it up with something until she got home. As she indicated and began to turn in, she realized the lay-by was occupied – a shiny silver car with three occupants was parked at the far
end. For a moment she hesitated but then common sense overcame the moment of concern. This was rural Somerset, a long way from her previous patch in the slums of South London. Life was very different here and people were more likely to help each other out than prey on a stranger. She pulled up about ten feet behind the silver car and turned off the engine, relieved to have got it this far in one piece. The Citroën seemed to sigh to itself and the car body sank slowly and gracefully down as the suspension relaxed, a sight that never failed to fascinate her clients, who had often gathered in the car park to watch her leave of an evening. Alex grinned at the memory and opened the door, stepping out into the night. Despite the moonlight it was very, very dark and as her eyes tried to adjust she wondered if she still had a torch in the boot. A quick rummage around in the debris revealed that although she had a torch, it didn’t have batteries. She threw it back into the car and slammed the lid, cursing her own idiocy. Checking the underside of the deflated vehicle was difficult enough without trying to do it in pitch darkness, she thought.

The sound of the boot attracted the attention of the silver car’s occupants and the interior light came on as the driver opened the door and stepped out on to the damp grass verge, followed a moment later by the front seat passenger. A pale face pressed against the slightly steamed-up back window and Alex felt a faint qualm, wondering if she had interrupted something private – and possibly unsavoury. She stood to face the newcomers and realized as they walked up to her that at least one of them was only too familiar.

‘Well now, looks like you is in a bit of bother,’ said the driver, but Alex ignored him, staring instead at the figure hovering just behind his right shoulder. The silence stretched out between them until the driver realized something was wrong and glanced over at his companion.

‘What?’ he demanded.

The passenger shoved his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders and glared down at the ground.

‘Nothing,’ he muttered.

The driver was not to be deterred.

‘What?’ he repeated, this time in Alex’s direction.

It would have been wise, perhaps, to follow the lead offered her. It was possible these lads might have been
persuaded
she was no more than a woman in a broken-down car, who needed a bit of a hand. It was even possible they might have helped her on her way – but before this sage advice could filter through her tired brain Alex opened her mouth and heard herself say, ‘Nick – Nick Stevens. What are you doing out here? Your curfew doesn’t end until the last day of July.’

A look of confusion washed over the driver’s face as he turned from one to another.

‘What?’ he said again, rather plaintively this time.

‘Oh, shut up Jason,’ said Nick.

The damage done, Alex decided to go for a frontal assault in the hope she could scare Jason away – ideally taking Nick with him.

‘Didn’t he tell you?’ she asked, her voice sounding
convincingly
casual. ‘He’s not long out of Pucklechurch and he’s supposed to be living at the Probation Hostel up in Highpoint. Only he’s obviously not because all residents have to be in by nine, don’t they Nick.’

‘How would you know that then?’ asked Jason. ‘How would she know?’ he repeated as he turned to look at his companion.

‘’Cos she’s my bloody probation officer, is why,’ said Nick. He removed his hands from his pockets and was leaning forwards towards Alex. There was no doubting the menace in his voice and now she recognized the jerky movements and rapid breathing she’d first seen in Brian, back in the Highpoint day centre. Alex realized she had miscalculated badly.

‘I hate bloody probation officers,’ said Jason
conversationally
. ‘Bunch of interfering do-gooders as don’t know nothin’ about what ’tis like tryin’ to make a living in the real world. Reckon they’s as bad a coppers.’

Oh great, thought Alex. Middle of the night, broken down car and a couple of yobs with a grudge against the probation service. So this was what you got for trying to look after your clients.

Flight, she knew, was the very last resort, especially as she would be going on foot. The only chance of getting away would be over the fields, on to the Levels proper, a prospect that frightened her almost as much as the two lads now advancing with feral grins on their faces. For a second she hesitated and then she spun around and took off down the verge, scrambling over the stile and fleeing across the boggy ground as fast as her shaking legs could take her. Her eyes were fairly well adjusted to the gloom and she could just make out a faint path running away across the marsh. Hoping for some cover to disguise her route, Alex veered to the left and almost tripped over the edge of a small canal. Lurching backwards she set off again, spurred on by the sound of her pursuers, puffing and panting behind her. Thank goodness Nick hadn’t been sentenced to the ‘short, sharp shock’ initiative, she thought, as she stumbled along next to the canal. The only thing
that
achieved was to take pathetic weedy little no-goodniks like him and turn them into super-fit, muscled no-goodniks who could do a lot more damage and then run away. Nick, by contrast, had smoked his way through several months on remand and now could be found lounging in front of the television at the hostel most days. She was surprised he had found the energy to clamber into a car in the first place.

She slowed her pace and then stopped, listening for sounds of the chase. Some distance behind her, she caught the faint sound of voices arguing. Moving as quietly as she could, Alex edged towards a stand of willows on the bank between two canals. The whole area was thick with reeds that rustled as she approached and she bent down, wary of treading on some animal or nesting bird. She almost screamed aloud when Simon’s head popped up, finger to his lips as he gestured her down in to the safety of the undergrowth. Alex flung herself on the ground and wriggled out of sight, fighting for calm as
the bickering came closer. She looked at Simon who was laying completely still, his eyes glinting in the moonlight as he peered out from the reeds. After a minute she heard footsteps coming along the path and then a curse as one of them, Jason she thought, trod in a muddy patch.

‘They’s new, these boots. I told Max I weren’t tramping through no bog. You want her – you go ‘n’ get her. I ain’t going out there.’

Jason spun on his elegant Cuban heels and splashed his way back towards the main road, now a long way out of sight. Nick hesitated, dithering first one way and then the other before following.

‘Is alright for you,’ he whined as he disappeared round the trees, ‘she ’ent your probation officer. ’Tis I is going to get sent back to Pucklechurch now, ’cos of that bitch …’

Despite her position, crouched in a ditch with a client, with no idea where she was and a broken-down car, Alex still felt a surge of indignation. It wasn’t her fault if the little moron got sent down. She hadn’t made him break the curfew and spend the night roaming the Levels with his undesirable friends. He’d screwed up his one chance all by himself and, come the morning, she was going to tell him so to his face. She went to get up but Simon laid a restraining hand on her shoulder.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Why can’t …’

Simon shook his head and laid a finger on his lips.

‘Reckon You’d better stay here,’ he whispered. ‘He’s out there. I seen ’um and I don’t reckon you’s safe.’

‘Seen who?’ asked Alex, confused and alarmed at the same time.

‘Was Derek Johns,’ said Simon softly. ‘All torn up he was, an’ like a big dent in his head, but I knows ’um. Was real too, not like a ghost. Derek Johns out here, an’ he’ll be after summ’et.

Alex felt sick. Of all the names Simon could have conjured up, Derek Johns represented her worst nightmare. She, like
the rest of the Levels, had been convinced he was dead. Truth told, most people were pleased he was gone; that he had been swept out to sea and now was nothing more than food for marine life. A fitting end for a human predator such as him. She swallowed, aware her mouth was suddenly dry, and when she answered she had to fight to keep the trembling from her voice.

‘Are you quite sure it was …?’ She despised herself, hearing the hope in her voice.

In the dim light she saw a scowl flit across Simon’s face. ‘Reckon,’ he said shortly, and slid over the edge of the reed bed, rising to his feet cautiously.

Alex felt a surge of panic at the thought of being left alone, stranded and lost out in the muddy wilderness.

‘I’ll come too,’ she whispered, and began to get up but Simon knelt next to her and pressed her back into the sheltering undergrowth.

‘I know the way around,’ he replied softly. ‘Knows where’s safe an’ where’s not. I’ll go get some help for ’un. ‘Sides,’ he added with crushing honesty, ‘I seen you run and frankly you is rubbish.’

With that he was gone into the cool night, without a sound. Alex stared after his fading outline and shivered. It was getting cold, she was wet and muddy and around her the mist began to form on the sodden ground. Skulking in the reeds she wished that, just for once, she had listened to Sue’s advice.

Derek moved as carefully as he could around the broken landscape, skirting puddles and hopping over ditches, his eyes never leaving the two figures ahead of him. After the shock of hearing the strange music he had almost lost them as they moved off towards the last patch of marsh before the peat works, but Derek had thought things through. Tom was planning to use the works for something and he wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself or his men by using the road, especially with the continuing police presence in the area. No, he would have another way in, a secret way – a track that Derek had traced and followed over the last few nights; a track with a couple of little surprises waiting for him. He hadn’t expected the young bloke from Bristol but actually it saved him the problem of dealing with the man later. Derek was eager to finish up and get off the Levels as fast as he could. Just break up this new gang of infiltrators to leave the field clear for Newt on his release, then a bit of domestic housekeeping and he would be away. Somewhere warm, he thought. Somewhere out of the reach of the British
coppers too. He paused, looking around at the flat, open way ahead of him and decided it was getting too risky, tailing them. One glimpse and Tom Monarch would realize
something
was up and Derek had waited too long for that to happen. Reluctantly he turned back, making his way to the narrow road where he could follow at a distance, hidden behind the scrubby hedgerow.

Despite travelling at no more than a trot he was soon feeling breathless, a light sweat breaking out all over his body. A slow throbbing in his injured hand grew in intensity until he was forced to stop and massage the arm, muttering impatiently to himself at the delay. When he set off again he stumbled a little, feeling surprisingly light-headed. Under his grimy jacket the tell-tale red streaks of blood-poisoning were snaking their way up his arm, raising his temperature and heart rate. Focussed on his final act of revenge, Derek ploughed on regardless into the night.

Despite his rising anxiety, Tom forced himself to walk confidently out across the final elevated bridge, leading an increasingly jumpy Max towards the ambush he and Ada had planned. In his head he visualized the route, counting the walkways down as they approached the area of the peat works. Behind him Max shambled along, all trace of the arrogance gone as he struggled with the uneven terrain and layers of slick mud, now icy cold as the wet seeped through his boots. Four more, thought Tom. Across to this hump, then a right towards that stand of withies, stop and face to the west … He realized he could no longer hear footsteps and turned to peer into the darkness behind him.

‘Max?’ he called softly. There was an answering grunt and a faint splash followed by a curse.

‘Max – keep up. Is not safe, getting too far behind. Easy to miss your way out here ‘less you knows the paths.’

‘Bugger this,’ snarled Max looming out of the night. ‘Don’t care – I’m goin’ back. Sick of this bloody wasteland, I is. Not like there’s even a decent profit to be made with all this
carry-on
anyway. You can stuff your secret paths, you can stuff your Levels and you can stuff all your bloody yokels. Make more in a night out ’n St Paul’s than I can with all this shit.’ And he turned on his heels and began to feel his way back to solid ground, inching forwards one step at a time.

Tom stared after him, mouth open with astonishment. Well now, who knew he was such a softy, he thought. They’d not even needed Ada and the gun … Oh crap. For a moment he was torn between shepherding Max off the pathways and alerting his little band of conspirators, but Max was only one track away from solid ground and the thought of Ada lying in wait with her semi-legal shotgun had been preying on his mind all evening. After a few seconds he turned and plunged further into the marsh to warn them Max wasn’t coming. Would be just like Ada to shoot at some innocent poacher, he thought as he splashed through the water. Suddenly it seemed very important he reached them before anything went wrong.

Lauren twinkled at her reflection in the mirror, turning her head from side to side as she admired her new ear-rings. Discrete and distinctly classy, the tiny rubies gleamed in the lamplight, sparkling almost as brightly as Lauren’s eyes. She loved them, not least because they were a gift from Dave, a small apology for his recent neglect. It was going to be difficult, giving him a suitably hard time tonight, she thought. Maybe she should just forgive him now. She slid off the stool and headed for the bedroom door, heart as light as her steps. No-one gave girl rubies unless they were really interested, she thought happily.

The evening began well and just got better as it went on. Dave had booked a table at the Pear Tree and Partridge, a surprisingly good restaurant on the road out past Nether Stowey. The food was excellent, the wine list impressive and the prices matched the quality of the meal but Dave didn’t blink when presented with the bill. Instead he sent a glass of wine through to thank the chef, left a substantial tip and swept Lauren off in his car to the car park on top of the
Quantock Hills where they sat in companionable silence, holding hands and watching the stars burning across the deep, navy sky.

‘I’m so sorry about the past months,’ said Dave finally. ‘I know I’ve been busy – all the extra shifts and night work. It’s just, with these murders, well we have to catch whoever’s
responsible
. And, well, I’ve been given a bit more responsibility, working with the big boys in Taunton. You see …,’ he shifted round and took Lauren’s hands in his, staring at her earnestly, ‘… I’m hoping I can make detective. That’s what I wanted when I joined the force and I think they are testing me out. You don’t apply, you know – you get invited. Only most coppers don’t. I want to be one who does, and I know I can do a good job. It’s a decent wage too, a bit of seniority – a really important career move if I can impress the right people.’

Lauren nodded to show she understood but waited, hoping there was more.

Dave swallowed nervously and glanced out over the soft, dark hillside before continuing

‘Just, I hope I impress the right person too. I don’t want to wind up detective if it means I lose you.’

Slow, warm tears filled Lauren’s eyes, trickling down her cheeks as she stared up at this wonderful, kind man who for some reason liked
her
. She’d been under no illusions about her chances of marrying. A lot of people like her didn’t even live long enough to get married – she’d already beaten one lot of odds. What with her reasonably robust health and a real job, Lauren counted herself extremely lucky. And now there was Dave, lovely, gentle, handsome Dave who gave her rubies and apologized for letting her down when he was up to his eyes in the biggest case of his life. She shook her head, not trusting her voice, trying to communicate her feelings through her hands as they squeezed his, clinging on to this moment of fragile happiness.

‘May I?’ Dave asked and kissed her gently.

Lauren thought her heart would burst with happiness.

Despite his anxiety, Tom still moved with caution along the track. He knew the way of course, every inch of it, and the bridges were safer and a lot more stable than the surrounding land. In the winter and on through spring, the high tides and rainfall raised the water table and despite the maze of channels and sluices the water seeped into the surrounding land, making treacherous what had been safe a few days previously. Tom had been taught well by his father many years ago, before he met his beloved Bella and suffered the humiliation of banishment from the
Roma
.

As he edged his way towards the peat works he muttered the directions softly, following his own instructions but always aware of the feel of the track, the smell of the surrounding marsh, the look of the next few feet in front of him. It was this that saved him as he turned to the left and stepped out onto the penultimate section of the alder track. He felt a tiny movement where the footing should have been firm and, ahead a couple of paces, he spotted the broken stems of reeds where there should have been straight plants – Tom shifted his weight backwards and felt the track slide away from under his feet. One leg went through what felt like a hole in the hidden decking, twisting his foot almost
backwards
and he let out a cry at the sudden pain. Jerking futilely in an effort to free himself, he fell backwards, landing
spread-eagled
in the mud. For a moment he thought he had landed on a solid section but then the support to his shoulders and hips seemed to melt away and he felt his body settle into the mire.

The immediate instinct was to panic, of course. Panic and you’re dead, Tom thought. Don’t move, don’t struggle, keep breathing slowly and carefully. The cold water seeped through his clothes, wrapping him in its icy fists and he fought to keep himself from gasping, snatching at the precious air in the few inches between his mouth and the surrounding marsh. He leg had come free from the gap in the boards but was now
sinking
deeper into the mud, where it pulled at his lower body, inch by inch, as it was sucked under. One part of Tom’s mind
focussed on the reason for the breakdown of the track. Despite his predicament he could not understand how the walkway, so carefully constructed and scrupulously maintained by the
Roma
, could collapse under him.

The thought that his brother – or some other member of the
kumpania
– had arranged this little accident haunted him. Were they so angry with him still? He couldn’t believe Milosh, his own brother, would have any part in this, but who else knew about the secret bridges? The rest of his mind was struggling with the realization he was probably going to die, horribly and alone, out here in the dirt and the mud of the marsh. There would be no funeral; no proper marking of his life’s passing. No-one would know where he had gone or what had happened to him. Soon, if he was lucky, he would sink into unconsciousness from the cold and then he would simply slip below the surface and vanish. He didn’t want to think about his last few minutes if he was not lucky.

He decided he had nothing to lose now. Opening his mouth he gave a great yell, a shout of despair and anguish that echoed across the watery landscape, carrying his last hope with it. The effort caused his body to shift slightly, dipping a fraction lower in the mud. Tom took a deep breath and cried out again. Either he would be heard and perhaps saved or he would hasten his end. Given his current situation, he reckoned it was worth the risk.

Derek stopped on the verge by the side of the tiny road and a slow grin spread over his mutilated face. The trap was sprung and the arrogant intruders into his empire were in full retreat. At the second shout, Derek nodded to himself and turned round, heading back towards the main path to Middlezoy. Despite his weakened condition he picked up the pace, eager to finish up and be off the Levels as soon as possible. He stumbled on the road, his feet tripping over themselves as he swayed slightly from side to side. Probably picked up a bit of a chill, he thought wiping away the sweat that trickled into his eyes. Half a mile down the road he was forced to stop,
leaning over and gasping for breath, a stitch in his side. Definitely getting a chill, he thought, propping himself up against a tree to rest for a moment. On the other side of the hedge, Simon crept past, his head down as he fought the terror that threatened to paralyse him. As Derek hauled his feverish body upright and resumed his shambling trot down the road, Simon settled back into his natural pace. He moved with a fluid grace, feet kept low as they skimmed the smooth surface of the footpath, each stride even and controlled. Years of ‘driving’ his phantom lorry everywhere had turned Simon into a natural long-distance runner. Undaunted by the
distance
he still had to travel, Simon pushed on, the yards and miles falling away behind him.

Ada waited impatiently by the side of the abandoned peat works, shivering as the temperature dropped and the mist began to rise from the old workings. Lily Dodds was hunched up next to her, a bag full of fireworks, most of extremely dubious provenance, clutched in her hands.

‘How much longer?’ she hissed through chattering teeth.

Ada shifted her precious shot-gun, a weapon of equally dubious provenance, from one hand to another, peering up at the night sky before answering.

‘Not long now I reckon,’ she said finally. ‘Said to listen for a signal when he was getting close. Maybe is time you was getting off – get yerself in position.’

Lily scowled at her. ‘Why is I havin’ to move?’ she asked crossly. ‘Why not you, then?’

Ada sighed and shook her head. ‘We talked this through,’ she said. ‘Loudest noises and stuff behind him so’s he’ll run this way. That way he’ll not go haring off into the marsh and drownin’ hisself.’

‘After what he done to my Charlie, reckon he deserves to drown hisself,’ Lily muttered.

‘No,’ said Ada firmly. ‘We ain’t having no killing. I don’t hold with that and is asking for trouble anyway. We scare ’um off so they all go running back to Bristol and that’s an end to it.’

Lily looked as if she was tempted to argue, but at that moment there came that sound again, the soft,
almost-tuneless
music that had haunted the Levels since the start of the year. Lily squeaked in terror, dropping her bag of fireworks as she looked around frantically for the source of the sound. It was close, very close. Just behind them in fact. Ada spun round and lifted the shot-gun, pointing it towards the direction of the music, which drifted away again leaving only an uneasy silence. With shaking hands, Ada lowered the shot-gun and flicked the safety catch back on.

‘Wha … what was that?’ asked Lily, eyes wide with fright.

Ada stared out into the night, searching for signs of movement. Whoever it was – and Ada was determined it was a person, not a
thing
– they were very close. Supernatural scare aside, she didn’t want any witnesses to the evening’s planned events. All was still, with only a slight breeze moving the fronds of the surrounding willows. Letting out her breath slowly, Ada felt her shoulders relax.