Текст книги "Find the Lady"

Автор книги: Roger Silverwood

Соавторы: Roger Silverwood
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

CHAPTER TEN

Angel stood the team down, returned to the station, handed his gun into the desk sergeant to be held in safe-custody until the armourer came on duty, went home and was in bed for 2 a.m. He had almost six hours sleep, an easy breakfast with Mary and was back in the office as fresh as a home-baked bap by 8.28 a.m.

As he walked into the office, his phone was ringing. He raised his eyebrows as he leaned over the desk and picked up the handset. It was Harker.

‘I want you, lad,’ the superintendent bawled. ‘Come up here, smartish.’ Then there was a loud click; the line went dead. Angel replaced the phone and wrinkled up his nose. He wondered what sort of a flea had got in Harker’s vest that early in the morning. He sounded threatening and was obviously in a bad mood.

‘What do you think you are playing at?’ Harker roared as he entered the office.

Angel stared back at him, sitting behind his desk looking like an orang-utan with toothache. The vein on his left temple throbbed at the beat of The Ritual Fire Dance.

Angel sighed, closed the door and came up to the desk.

‘What’s the matter, sir?’

‘I understand that you’ve put a young lass and her child in the safe house up at Beechfield Walk.’

‘Yes, sir. Well, it was the only safe thing to do. She is the mother of an eighteen-month child and—’

‘A one-parent family, eh?’

‘I believe so, sir.’

‘Oh I see. You’re fancying a bit of young easy skirt, is that it?’

Angel’s jaw tightened. ‘No, sir. I was setting a trap to catch the man whom I think is Harrison’s murderer, a Simon Spencer,’ he said. ‘This young woman might have been in the line of fire. It was for one night only. She can return back to her flat this morning.’

‘You realize that it has taken WPC Baverstock off her regular duties to play nursemaid to this lass and her offspring, don’t you?’

‘Well, I knew that somebody would have to—’

‘And did you think of the cost? And the shortage of officers?’ He suddenly stopped. ‘What trap? Who did you catch?’

‘I didn’t catch anybody, sir. But I enticed a bigger fish than—’

‘A bigger fish? Who? Who?’ he yelled excitedly.

‘I don’t know, sir,’ Angel said trying to control his temper. ‘It was obviously an organized gang of four men and a driver, armed to the teeth. We couldn’t possibly have taken them on. They were tooled up and ready for a fight. A commitment there and then would have resulted in a blood bath.’

Harker threw up his arms.

‘Well, where are they? Who are they? You talk grand, but you’ve let them get away.’

Angel sighed.

‘We had to remain concealed, sir, but I put a tracking device on their car. I was about to phone DS Mallin in Traffic to find out where their car is now.’

Harker’s face changed. The tirade stopped.

‘Hmmm,’ he grunted thoughtfully. It seemed to please him. He sat down and rubbed his chin. Then he reached out for the phone and tapped in a number.

Standing in front of the desk, Angel could hear a distorted reply through the earpiece.

‘Mallin? You’re monitoring a tracking device for DI Angel. Has it come to rest yet, and if so, whereabouts?’ Harker said.

There was more distorted chat from the earpiece.

‘Right,’ he snapped and dropped the phone back in its cradle. He sniffed. ‘As I thought. It’s from some green-belt land just off the motorway on the road to Huddersfield. It’ll have been discovered and thrown away. If the gang’s as professional as you said it was, it would be wary of tricks like that.’

Angel pursed his lips. Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, in his experience, when tracking devices had been found by crooks, they used to transfer them to a different vehicle. It amused them to think of the police tailing some innocent lorry or bus driver pointlessly around the countryside.

‘I want you to get that girl and her infant out of Beechfield Walk. Let WPC Baverstock get back to her duties, and you get back to those two unsolved murder cases. You’ve got plenty on your plate, lad.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Angel drove the BMW northwards on the road towards Huddersfield. Sitting next to him was Gawber who was looking at a laptop monitor showing the map and flashing co-ordinates indicating the whereabouts of the Mercedes. The flashing arrow on the screen showed that they needed to move west and north, so Angel left the main road and was directed to travel up a narrow unmade road, like a cart-track, almost parallel to the motorway. It was built up on the left like the banking on a railway track. Both sides were overhung with long grass interspersed with nettles and rosebay willow-herb.

The intensity of the signal showed that they were dead on course for the tracking device.

Angel frowned as the car rocked and splashed through a puddle on the uneven track. ‘Up here?’ he said.

‘We are very close, sir.’

‘Can’t see anything but grass and weeds.’

Angel suddenly had to take a bend round to the right and came onto an open piece of rough ground hardened with clinker from burnt-out coal fires and big enough for a vehicle to turn round. He pulled up in front of a sign. It read: ‘KEEP OUT. Private Property. Employees Grock’s Rhubarb Limited only’.

He read the sign and rubbed his chin.

Behind the sign was a large padlocked gate and beyond that a large spread of low buildings, thirty or more, built close together, in total extending to the size of a football pitch. They appeared to be mainly constructed from corrugated metal sheets and timber, arched like miniature airplane hangars, eight feet tall at the highest point. They had been heavily repaired and patched with all kinds of oddments, sides of packing cases, tea chests, bed heads, tin advertising signs for Mazawattee Tea, Senior Service and Zubes. The structures were roughly weatherproofed with brattice-cloth and heavily daubed with a mixture of tar and creosote. There were no windows and each building had large double doors with a padlock securing it. The place seemed deserted.

Angel looked around and pursed his lips.

‘Ah. They’re rhubarb forcing sheds,’ he said.

‘It doesn’t seem the likely HQ for an armed gang, sir?’

He nodded in agreement and looked across at the monitor. It showed that they were dead on target. ‘This thing is accurate to about forty yards. That car must be in one of these sheds, Ron.’

‘Which one?’

Angel shrugged and got out of the car. ‘There’s nobody about. Let’s take a look round.’

The sign indicated that they had reached a dead end so far as vehicles were concerned. Angel looked through the wooden spars of the gate. There was no sign of anybody. As he turned away, he spotted a trodden pathway between the fence and a hawthorn hedge.

‘Let’s see where this leads,’ Angel said.

They made their way along it for about twenty yards to another hedge with a stile through it. They looked over the stile into a small clearing with an imposing country house ahead, and a barn on the right of it. There was a formal drive up to the house from the left. Angel reckoned that the drive to the house and barn must be accessible from somewhere on the main Bromersley to Huddersfield Road.

Gawber made to climb the stile.

Angel suddenly grabbed the sleeve of his coat. ‘Hang on, Ron,’ he whispered urgently and pulled him behind the hawthorn hedge. ‘There’s somebody coming out of the house.’

Sure enough, from behind the hedge they saw a huge man in a black T-shirt, jeans, trainers and the distinctive jockey cap worn the wrong way. He appeared on the front doorstep of the house. He looked round, then went back in and returned with a slim, young man in a suit. The young man’s head was hanging down, his hands appeared to be tied behind his back. The big man frog-marched him down the steps and across the drive to the barn. The big door was open and fastened back. They went inside.

Angel’s pulse began to race.

Gawber and Angel exchanged glances.

‘There’s one of them,’ Angel whispered. ‘Did you recognize the other man?’

Gawber shook his head.

This was an important discovery. It looked as if they had found the headquarters of the armed gang who had raided Harrison’s flat the previous night. This journey was proving very profitable.

Angel reached into his pocket for his mobile and dialled a number.

‘Keep an eye out. I’ll get some back-up.’

Eventually he got through to his old friend Waldo White. He was the Detective Inspector in charge of the Firearms Support Unit at Wakefield. After they had exchanged pleasantries, Angel put him in the picture and told him their location.

‘There are four men, at least, in the gang, and they are all armed. A head-on confrontation would result in the exchange of fire. I want to avoid that.’

Angel explained that they were up the cart track and at the entrance to Grock’s Rhubarb forcing sheds. They agreed to meet there.

White said: ‘We’ll come straightaway.’

Angel closed down his phone and was about to drop it into his pocket when they suddenly heard a loud and disagreeable voice just behind them say, ‘What are you doing here? Don’t you know you’re trespassing?’

They looked round to see a tall, slim man with heavy five o’clock shadow. He was pointing a hand gun at them.

Angel could see it was a Walther PPK/S. Deadly and accurate from twenty or thirty feet. Angel’s and Gawber’s hearts started thumping.

Angel’s recognized him as another member of the gang. His heart leapt. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. He had a natural aversion to firearms … especially when they were in the hands of somebody else and were being pointed directly at him. He still had the mobile in his hand. He opened his fingers and deliberately let it fall to the ground. It landed silently in a tuft of grass. He hoped that that it might be discovered by Waldo White and that he might realize he had been there.

‘Put your hands up,’ the man growled. ‘I’ve had a good look at your car, so I know you’re coppers.’

‘What’s the gun for?’ Angel said.

‘Shut up, put your hands up, face your front and get over that stile.’

‘What do you want with us?’ Angel said.

‘Shut up,’ the man said.

He marched them across the field to the barn.

Angel’s mind was working overtime. They were in a fix and he couldn’t see a way out.

The man with the gun directed them into the barn. The young man in a suit whom they had seen being frog-marched from the house, was being tied up by the big man. His hands were being secured behind him in a standing position to a sturdy pole, one of four, which supported the barn roof. The young man stared across at Angel and Gawber with glazed eyes but without any emotion. His pasty face had grey patches under the eyes. Angel knew he had been drugged. He thought he had seen a photograph of him recently, but he couldn’t quite place him.

The thug finished tying the man up and turned round as he heard their footsteps. His eyes opened up like bus headlights being switched on. His jaw dropped. ‘Who are they?’ he growled.

‘Coppers. Snooping around.’

‘Coppers!’ he shrieked. He raised the Sten gun. His hands were shaking. ‘What you brought them here for? What are we going to do with them?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied the slim man angrily. He pointed a thumb towards the open door. ‘Tell Eddie. Tell him we’ve got company.’

The big man rushed out of the barn, shaking his head and muttering expletives.

‘What do you want with us,’ Angel said to the man with the Walther.

‘Shut up,’ the man said thrusting the gun into his Angel’s stomach. ‘Don’t you understand plain English?’

Angel’s faced reddened. He could hear his pulse banging away in his ears.

Seconds later, three men and a young woman appeared at the open barn door; they stared open-mouthed at Angel and Gawber. The two heavies with menacing expressions, their stock-in-trade, carried old Sten guns and pointed them at them. The third, an older man with a face as hard as a life sentence, waved another Walther in their general direction.

Angel wished he was anywhere but there. His eyes darted round their sockets. He was seeking and searching for any opportunity to get away.

The older man with the Walther stared angrily at the younger man and said: ‘What you got here, kid? Ox said they are coppers. Are you completely off your trolley?’

‘They were snooping round. I had no choice, Eddie,’ he said.

Angel clocked the name ‘Eddie.’ He remembered the prison photograph of the man in the Police Review. It took only a second to work out that it was the Glazer gang, on the run. It was Eddie ‘The Cat’ Glazer, his wife, Oona, and his younger brother, Tony. He didn’t know the two big men, though he had just heard one of them referred to as ‘Ox’.

The younger brother, Tony, continued: ‘Their car was parked at the farm gate. They were snooping through the hedge at the house.’ There was a whine in his voice. He was clearly afraid of his elder brother.

‘Have you searched them?’ Eddie snapped.

‘How could I? I was on my own. He dropped this,’ Tony said, handing him the mobile which Angel had discarded in the long grass. ‘Thought I hadn’t noticed.’

Angel bit his bottom lip. He didn’t know that Tony Glazer had found it.

Eddie took it, glanced at it then at Angel.

‘Clever copper. I don’t want it,’ he snarled. ‘No use to me!’ he added and threw it angrily into the straw at the back of the barn and glared suspiciously at Angel and then at Gawber.

Angel sighed inwardly. He didn’t like the situation one bit. He hoped that when Waldo White discovered that they weren’t at the rendezvous, that he would hunt around for them, find them and that that would be sooner rather than later.

‘Well bloody well search them then now,’ Eddie yelled. ‘They might be armed, or wired up and telling the world where we are.’

Tony stuck the Walther into his waistband and began to pat Angel down.

Eddie glared at Ox and waved the gun in the direction of Gawber. Ox dropped the Sten so that it hung loose on the strap from his shoulder. He turned Gawber round and began to pat him down.

Tony took out Angel’s wallet, badge and ID card. He passed them to Eddie, who angrily snatched them from him.

Eddie glared at Angel and said, ‘How did you find us, copper?’

‘Fancied rhubarb pie for tea, but there was nobody about, Mr Glazer. You know, you’ll never sell rhubarb if you keep the place shut.’

Eddie glared at him as he fingered roughly through his wallet and ID.

The girl Oona was terrified. Her hands were shaking. Her face was redder than a monkey’s backside. She grabbed Eddie by the arm. ‘He knows who you are! What are we going to do?’ she wailed. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Shut up. And get off,’ he said, pushing her away. ‘Detective Inspector Angel,’ he said scornfully, reading from the ID. He threw the wallet, badge and ID angrily into the straw behind them. ‘Well, well, well. You’re the smart-arse inspector looking for the murderer of Harry Harrison, aren’t you?’

Angel looked at him.

Eddie pointed to the man tied up with his head bowed. ‘Well there’s your murderer. Spencer’s his name. I’ve done your job for you.’

Angel looked across at the man tied to the post. His eyes were closed. He seemed to be asleep. He hoped he was asleep. Angel had to agree, the man did look a bit like the photograph of Spencer, which Thurrocks, the bank manager had supplied.

‘He and Harrison worked a scam across a rich punter at the Northern Bank called Smith,’ Eddie continued. ‘Harrison got greedy and tried to put one across Spencer. He got wise to it and threatened to cut him up if he didn’t tell him where he’d hidden the money. Harrison refused. Spencer went in a bit too heavy, and Harry died before he told him where he’d hidden it. That’s what he said, anyway. Stabbed him five times.’

Angel pursed his lips. He wondered why Eddie Glazer should be volunteering information so freely. Hard nuts like him never gave information away for nothing.

Ox handed Gawber’s wallet, badge and ID to Eddie. He rummaged through the wallet, read the ID and said, ‘Just another rubbish copper. A bleeding sergeant!’

He angrily threw the wallet, badge and ID into the straw.

Angel’s lips tightened back against his teeth. ‘What have you done to him?’ he said, nodding towards Spencer. ‘He doesn’t look well.’

‘He’ll be all right,’ Eddie said. ‘Just getting over a hangover, that’s all,’ he added with a grin.

Angel turned away. Eddie’s breath smelled. Angel thought he should see a dentist urgently for a scale and polish.

‘What’s he doing tied up?’ Angel said.

‘He’s a murderer. I’ve told you.’

Angel pursed his lips.

‘Does anybody else know you’re here, copper?’

The barrel of the Walther was getting ever nearer; Glazer was waving the gun about like a kid with a flag at a coronation. Angel’s mind was wonderfully concentrated. He knew he could be dead in a second.

‘Of course,’ he said evenly. That was the only reply he could have given. Those few words might help save their lives.

Eddie snarled. It wasn’t the reply he wanted to hear.

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said. ‘You’re just a frigging liar. Say anything to save your skin.’

‘Why did I have a phone in my hand then, Eddie? Did you think I was ordering custard?’ Angel said.

‘Custard?’ Eddie bawled. ‘What yer frigging on about?’

‘To go with the rhubarb,’ Angel said.

Eddie Glazer’s face tightened. He was thinking about what to say.

Ox sighed loudly and growled. ‘Come on. What we going to do with them, Eddie,’ he said gruffly.

‘Yeah. We’re wasting time. We need to get way from here, now,’ Tony yelled.

‘I’m for clearing out,’ Ox growled.

‘We gotta get away from here, Eddie,’ Oona wailed and grabbed his arm.

‘Shut up or I’ll belt you one,’ he snarled and pulled away from her. He pulled a face like a man who remembered the taste of prison hootch. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and swivelled angrily round to face them. ‘All right!’ he bawled. ‘All right!’ Then he added quickly: ‘Oona bring the Merc round to the front. Ox and Kenny, tie these coppers up. Make it good. Tony, stay with them. Keep your gun on them. Then come back to the house. We’ll take just the money and the ammo. Leave everything else. Right, now, all of you, move it!’

Eddie and Oona ran out of the barn.

Tony stood by the open door pointing his gun straight ahead at Angel and Gawber. Ox snatched some pieces of rope from a few lengths hanging from a big hook screwed onto the barn side, no doubt used to tether animals in the past. He tossed a length over to Kenny and they both began tying the wrists of Angel and Gawber around the wooden support posts. They did it roughly, quickly, silently and efficiently. Then they ran out of the barn towards the house. Tony stuffed the gun in his waist band and dashed over to Angel. He went round the back of the post, looked at the fastening and then checked the tightness. He moved over to the next post and checked Gawber, then Spencer in the same way. He seemed satisfied. He took one quick look round, then dashed out of the barn, unhooked the door and closed it.

There was easily enough light from under the door for Angel to see Gawber tied to a post about ten feet away and Spencer, still with his head dropped, another ten feet further away in a line down the middle of the barn.

‘What now?’ Gawber said.

‘Can you get out of it, Ron?’ Angel said.

They wriggled and struggled briefly, their faces perspiring and getting redder and redder, but their captors had made a secure job.

‘No, sir. What do think will happen now?’

‘If Waldo White hasn’t got lost, the FSU should be here anytime.’

A car door slammed.

‘Is that them?’

‘Too quiet. It’ll be Glazer’s car, the Mercedes.’

‘They’re going to get away, sir.’

Angel knew he was right, and he was not in a position to stop them. It would be quite dreadful allowing that armed mob back on the streets again. But he was thankful that the gang had left them unharmed. It was really not Glazer’s style. Angel had expected to be shot or tortured or knocked about. As it was, he hoped White would find them, let it not be long.

The barn door suddenly opened. It was Eddie Glazer. He had a wild expression on his face, which was also shining with perspiration. He was carrying what looked like a glass bottle. It had a small trail of cloth hanging out of the neck.

‘I’ll teach you coppers not to come looking for me,’ he yelled, his eyes flashing. ‘But you’ll never do it again!’

Angel could now see what he had in his hand.

It was a Molotov cocktail: a bottle of petrol with a soaked wick hanging out of it. Ignited and thrown into the barn amid all the dry straw, it would create a colossal blaze.

Angel’s heart sank.

Glazer plunged his hand in his pocket. He pulled out a lighter and began to light the wick.

Angel swallowed hard. ‘Don’t be a fool, Glazer,’ he yelled. ‘If you kill us, you’ll be on the run for murder again! And when you’re caught, you’ll die in prison!’

Glazer wasn’t listening.

The cloth wick caught fire.

Angel heard a woman’s voice yell: ‘Come on, Eddie.’

Glazer swung his arm back and then lobbed it beyond Spencer among the big pile of straw at the back of the barn.

The bottle exploded, the petrol spread and the vapour ignited creating a loud explosive whoop. The flames took hold of the petrol soaked straw and were instantly three feet high.

Glazer grinned like a devil and disappeared out of sight.

Angel looked across at Gawber who was as alarmed as he was. He saw Spencer suddenly waken up, observe the wall of flames advancing towards him. His eyes flashed as his body thrashed about the post and he cried out for help.

The ferocity of the blaze made a loud humming noise as the fire turned the straw into glowing white and yellow flames. The flames tracked along the barn floor and then roared upwards. Loose bits of straw danced around the parched barn floor around Angel’s feet, caught in the undercurrent of air sucked in by the colossal heat behind him.

Angel struggled to get free of the rope but it was to no avail. He looked at Spencer who was nearest to the flames and tugged harder at the rope. He felt the surge of fresh air pass by him into the far end of the barn drawn in to replace the oxygen already consumed by the fire.

He fought the ropes that tied his hands. It was useless. His wrists grew sore and tired. His face burned and his eyes smarted as the heat built up.

Gawber looked across at him. He began to cough. The fumes were getting to his chest. Angel wanted to call across and say something encouraging and comforting, but he couldn’t spit the words out.

The roar of the blaze was so close and loud as to cut out all other sound.

Angel thought of Mary. He might never see her on this earth again. He felt angry and exhausted, but there was nothing else he could do. He began to cough. He felt dizzy and his breathing was becoming difficult. His chest hurt. His throat was sore and dry. He closed his eyes. There was no more pain. He felt nothing. He began to hallucinate. He imagined that his hands had come loose from behind his back and that he was being dragged out of the barn by two men, one each side. His own legs began to work and with their support, he stumbled forward. He opened his eyes and he could see a gravel drive and two men in police riot gear, one each side of him. They were holding onto him by his arms. He was alive. He tried to speak. Instead he croaked. He tried to swallow. His throat was burning. He heard voices.

‘His eyes are open, John.’

‘Good. Put him down here. He’ll get some air.’

Two men lowered him gently on to the gravel drive.

Angel closed his eyes. Next time he opened them, he saw the same two men putting Gawber at his side. He saw him blink and heard him cough. He smiled, and then his eyelids slammed shut like a prison cell door.