The Judas Sheep (29 page)

‘What’s this all about?’ he asked me.

‘It’s a long story,’ I began. I told him the brief details and a bit about Bell and Parrott. ‘The plan was to shoot Andrew Fallon on the train and escape in the helicopter. I think Fallon wasn’t on it, but I’d check. Those two might look ridiculous at the moment,’ I warned him, ‘but they’re armed to the teeth. Personally, I’d starve the bastards out before I let them down.’ From this distance they looked like one big spider, dangling on two strands of silk. The front pair of the spider’s eight legs were flailing about, as if it were trying to knock its own head off, and shouted obscenities drifted on the breeze.

Crowd control looked like being the Inspector’s biggest problem. I told him about the gun I’d dropped in the viaduct, and while he was organising his troops I rang Shenandoah Incorporated, domain of Mr Norris, and spoke to his secretary.

‘I’m sorry, Inspector, Mr Norris isn’t here,’ she said.

‘Could you tell me where I can find him?’

‘Yes. He’s on his way back from the States. He’s just spoken to me from the plane and asked me to have the car meet him at Manchester Airport. He will be available tomorrow, first thing. Shall I make you an appointment?’

‘No, it’s important. What time does his flight land?’

He’d conveniently arranged it so he would be airborne at the time of the planned killing. If he saw a television set in the near future he’d be on the next flight back to the good ol’ U.S. of A., and we’d never get our hands on him. I needed him straight off that plane.

‘He lands at seventeen-twenty,’ the secretary told me.

Twenty past five. I could do it. I could dash to Manchester Airport and stand at Arrivals with a board that said Norris and wait for him to come to me.

‘Hi, Inspector,’ he’d drawl. ‘Are you waiting for me?’

‘You bet, asshole,’ I’d tell him. ‘You’re cotton-pickin’ nicked.’ And I’d grab him by the scruff of his silk suit and drag him through the crowds of travellers like the murdering little scumbag that he was.

That’s what I wanted to do. But I was supposed to be seeing Annabelle at eight, and I wanted to see her more. I didn’t have Manchester Airport in my book of numbers, so I rang Trevor Peacock. Might as well kill another two birds with one stone.

‘Oh, so it’s the ladykiller. What do you want this time?’ he said, with no attempt to hide the sarcasm.

‘A favour.’

‘Such as?’

‘I’m not in my office. Could you please arrange for someone to meet the seventeen-twenty flight from New York to Manchester for me, and arrest Bradley Norris as soon as he sets foot on British soil?’

‘Are you joking, Charlie?’

‘No. I already have Frank Bell and Shawn Parrott.’

‘Parrott? And Bell? Where?’ Suddenly he was interested.

‘Have you a TV handy?’

‘No, not in the office. There’s one in the canteen.’

‘Switch it on and you might see them.’

‘Why, where are they?’

‘Right where you wanted them, Trevor – turning in the wind. Turning in the wind.’

The good weather held, and when I peeked through the curtains on the morning of the picnic it looked as if it was going to be hot enough to crack the flagstones. I was freshly showered, crisply attired and had just put the workaday car out in the road when I heard the scrunch of tyres on the gravel. It should have been Annabelle’s little flyer, but it was a shiny black Rover.

‘Sugar!’ I cursed. ‘What does he want?’

Commander Fearnside climbed out and came towards me, beaming like the Fastnet Lighthouse. ‘Morning, Charlie. What a beautiful day, eh?’ he hollered, shaking my hand and patting my elbow.

‘I’m going out,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry, old boy, wouldn’t dream of detaining you. I’m just going to see this Norris fellow to ask him a few questions. When politics are involved I get to do some interviewing. Of course, if you want to sit in you’d be more than welcome. Matter of fact, can’t think of anyone I’d rather have there …’

‘No thanks, Mr Fearnside. I’ve arranged to go for a picnic with my girlfriend. We haven’t seen much of each other lately. Has the one from the helicopter been caught yet?’

‘No, ‘fraid not. As you know, he was dropped off somewhere in the Kielder Forest. He didn’t get to their car, but he’s on the loose, living rough. He’s ex-SAS, so should be at home in there. We’ll get him.’

‘Good. Would you like a coffee?’

‘No thanks, Charlie, I don’t want to take up your time. Just thought I’d pop round to mention a couple of things, while I was in the area. Nothing like the personal approach, eh?’

I decided it would look rude if I glanced at my watch, and waited for him to continue.

‘The results of the DNA tests have come through,’ he said. ‘Parrott murdered the girl and the woman, no doubt about it. Perfect match.’

I folded my arms and looked at him. ‘I’m glad about that,’ I said. ‘Thanks for telling me. Now let’s hope he gets what he deserves – stuck in a cell for the rest of his life, and not playing the system in some psychiatric hospital.’

‘Out of our hands, old boy. Out of our hands. At least now we know he did it the Civil Liberties people should get off our backs.’

‘Hrumph!’ I snorted and chuckled at the same time.

‘It was a big naughty of you, Charlie, leaving them hanging there all night.’

‘I missed my date. And it was for their own protection – the train spotters were growing ugly. And it wasn’t really all night.’

‘Ha ha!’ he guffawed. ‘God, I wish I’d been there. Bloody good show, I say.’

It was as good a moment as any. ‘You said two things,’ I reminded him.

He blew his nose on a huge white hanky. ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I? It’s just that …’ For once he was almost lost for words. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, I wondered if you might be interested in coming to work for me. I know I’ve asked you before, but maybe you’ve changed your mind. You’ve what, three years to go? You could come on promotion, which would nicely enhance your pension. Might even make superintendent. It’s worth considering.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ I said, smiling at him in a way that meant no.

‘If the pension won’t attract you, how about the lifestyle? Just the ticket for a bachelor like you: all those fast cars and glamorous women.’

‘I have a fast car,’ I told him, turning the lock of the garage door and pulling at the handle.

‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘The famous three-point-eight Jaguar that inflated your expenses.’ The door folded upwards, revealing the predatory nose of the E-type, gleaming like a bullet in the sunshine. ‘Holy smoke!’ he hissed through his teeth, screwing his eyes against the glare. ‘I expected an old banger, not a bloody E-type.’

A movement in the road caught my eye as Annabelle drew up in her little car, and we both turned to watch her uncoil herself from the driving seat. She was dressed in a semi-safari style, to humour me, with a pair of her famous culottes showing off those long, tanned legs. She gave me a little wave as she unlocked her boot.

‘Excuse me,’ I said to Fearnside and went to meet her. As I lifted the picnic basket out I whispered: ‘Don’t worry, he’s going.’

I put the basket on the wall near my garage and introduced them. ‘Annabelle Wilberforce, this is Superintendent Fearnside,’ I said, hoping I’d done it the right way round.

‘Please, Roland,’ Fearnside insisted, pumping her hand. ‘Wonderful to meet you, Annabelle. Charlie tells me you’re going for a picnic’

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘We’re going to Chatsworth House.’

‘Chatsworth, eh? Should I know where that is?’

‘Derbyshire. It’s the Duke of Devonshire’s place.’

I opened my mouth to speak, then shut it again.

‘Of course it is. Super. Well, I won’t delay you any longer. Have a think about what I said, Charlie, but …’
his eyes flicked from Annabelle to the Jag and back to Annabelle, ‘… I can see I’m wasting my time. Ring me Monday for an update, eh? Goodbye, Annabelle, enjoy your picnic. Bye, Charlie.’

‘Goodbye, Roland. Lovely to meet you.’

‘S’long, boss.’

We sat on the wall close together, and watched him shuffle into the driving seat and head off down the street.

‘Please, call me Roland,’ I mimicked. Then, in a higher voice: ‘It’s the Duke of Devonshire’s place.’

As the Rover negotiated the corner at the end of the road we both gave him an involuntary wave. Annabelle turned to me, her smile eclipsing the sun, and said: ‘Well, I think he’s a very nice man.’

I grinned back and nodded my agreement. ‘Of course he is. He’s a policeman – what did you expect?’

If you enjoyed
The Judas Sheep
look out for the other books in the Charlie Priest series.

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S
TUART
P
AWSON
had a career as a mining engineer, followed by a spell working for the probation service, before he became a full-time writer. He lives in Fairburn, Yorkshire, and when not hunched over the word processor likes nothing more than tramping across the moors which often feature in his stories. He is a member of the Murder Squad and the Crime Writers’ Association.

www.stuartpawson.com

I
N THE
DI C
HARLIE
P
RIEST SERIES

The Picasso Scam

The Mushroom Man

The Judas Sheep

Last Reminder

Deadly Friends

Some by Fire

Chill Factor

Laughing Boy

Limestone Cowboy

Over the Edge

Shooting Elvis

Grief Encounters

A Very Private Murder