CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Never mind that
now!” Winter snapped, “Get the duvet, shove it under the door and block the
smoke. DO IT, WOMAN, NOW, before we all choke to death!”
“He’s right mum.” Liam squeezed his mother’s hand before both mother
and son launched into fits of violent coughing.
Carol stared through watery eyes at the smoke pouring with rapidly
increasing intensity through the gap between door and floor, finally appeared
to appreciate the gravity of their situation and hastened to do as she was
told.
“There’s a knife under the bed. Get it and cut us free….NOW, woman,
not next year!”
“Okay, keep your hair on!” she snapped back. Winter grinned, much
relieved to see Carol displaying signs of her old self.
It did not take long to free the two men. Resisting every impulse to
see to Liam first, Carol’s native commonsense told her that Freddy Winter must
be her priority, if only because he was in the best shape to get them out of
this mess.
“Can you stand?” the detective asked Liam. Brady nodded, tried to
get up but fell back. Carol gave a sharp cry and was instantly on her knees
beside him. “How about you, Carol, can you manage?”
“Don’t worry about us, just get us out of here!” she yelled. Wads of
acrid smoke were already finding their way past the duvet, thickening all the
time.
Winter staggered to the bed, leaned over the inert form of Mary
Bishop and felt for a pulse. He found one but it was very weak. Next, he
grabbed a chair and hurled it through a window, using a jumper lying on the
floor to clear most of the remaining glass from its frame. “Carol, you help Liam and I’ll take Mary!” he
barked and hoped she would not look behind her and see flames starting to lick
at the duvet and crawl, slowly but surely, across the carpet. But Liam had already spotted the danger and,
leaning heavily on his mother, dragged himself to his feet. “Good man.” Winter nodded approvingly. “Now, let’s get
the hell out of here.”
It took time and time was
not on their side. Winter fought hard to restrain a growing impatience as Carol
climbed gingerly through the window, broken glass pricking bare arms and legs,
before helping Liam, assisted by Winter, to safety.
By now the flames
were quickly taking hold. Winter dashed to the bed, seized Mary Bishop in both
arms and flung her over one shoulder. Mindful of the intense heat on his back,
he scrambled through the open window with seconds to spare before the entire
cottage went up in a huge fireball. He
did not dare look back but ran until he judged they were quite safe, lay his
burden down as gently as he could, then slumped on the ground, gasping for
breath, an almighty explosion ringing in his ears.
“Thank God,
you’re safe!” He looked up to find Sadie Chapman, of all people, dropping to
her knees beside him, her finer features contorted by a desperate anxiety.
Carol and Liam…?”
“They’re fine,” she assured him and he thought he saw a
trace of pain in the tired eyes. He tried to sit up and would have fallen flat
on his back if she had not taken charge and helped him to sit.
The cottage was well ablaze. There was smoke everywhere.
The wind was blowing it towards some trees. Relieved, he heard the distinctive wail
of fire engines, saw two appear out of the corner of one eye, closely followed
by an ambulance. He thought he heard Mike Pritchard’s voice, grating as ever on
the nerves. But the smoke…trees…danger there…and…cover? Alarm
bells replace the clamour of sirens in his head. “Cotter, Horton,” he tried to
say but, try as he might, could only manage a croak, unintelligible even to his
own ears.
“You’re a fine one and no mistake!” Charlie
Lovell appeared – his face at least, if not the rest of him – hovering briefly
within the rapidly narrowing perimeters of Winter’s hazy vision. One last
effort to speak coherently proved too much…
Winter lost consciousness.
..........................................
Cotter and Horton waited until the very last minute before haring
through the tunnel of smoke towards the trees. Draped in wet towels, a
handkerchief tied around nose and mouth, they did not stop until well among the
trees, Cotter stumbled and fell heavily.
He let out a yelp, clamped a hand over his mouth and continued to moan
softly. “I think it’s broken,” he wailed, nursing his right ankle and looking at
Horton as if half expecting a good hiding for impeding their escape.
Horton knelt and with surprising tenderness probed the injured ankle
with his fingers. Cotter yelped again. “I don’t think it’s broken but I can’t
say for sure until I take a closer look and we haven’t got time for that now,
that’s for sure. I guess it’s piggy back
time, flower. Climb on my back and don’t near throttle me like you did once
before, remember?” Both men chuckled and it came as no small relief to ease the
tension a little. Once, years ago, they had challenged the Bishops to a race
across the village green, Mary on Sam’s back and Cotter on Horton’s. Sam had
won easily. Poor Horton, close behind, had been all but asphyxiated by Cotter’s
frantic hold around his neck.
Hoisting Cotter on his back, Horton ran a few more yards then
doubled back in the direction of the village, albeit taking a long circuitous
route. Cotter soon cottoned on and began to panic. “What are you doing? You’re
going the wrong way. We can’t go back to the village, that’s the first place
they’ll be looking for us! We’ll be sitting ducks. We have to get well clear or we’re done for,
right?”
“Wrong, my turtle dove,” panted Horton, “it’s the last place they’ll
be looking for us, especially where I have in mind…” He ran on, ignoring
Cotter’s various sighs, grunts, and snorts of undisguised scepticism in between
stifled yelps of pain. On the outskirts
of Monk’s Tallow, Horton told Cotter he would have to get down and walk.
“I can’t, it hurts!” Cotter wailed.
“I’ll help you. But me giving you a piggy back is going to draw
attention to us and we don’t want that, right?” Cotter shook his head. “So lean
on me and, with luck, people will just think their estimable librarian is a bit
pissed…”
“What, in the middle of the day?” Sarah Manners sounded suitably
shocked. Both men roared with laughter.
At the Bishops’ house there was no reply at first. Horton rang the
doorbell again. “Sam, are you there? It’s me, Daz. Open up, I need a word. It’s
important,”
It was several minutes before an unkempt Sam Bishop opened the door.
His unshaven face brightened upon seeing Horton but he scowled as soon as he
saw his friend had company.
“Where’s my wife?” he shouted at the librarian, who was hopping on
one leg, grimacing as if in pain.
Horton smirked inwardly. It was evident from the way he slurred his
words that Bishop had been drinking. That would suit his little plan very well.
“Not now, Sam” he snapped, “Later, not now.” He pushed his way past Bishop,
Cotter having to struggle to keep his balance, let alone keep up.
Bishop laid a hand on Cotter’s arm. “You’re welcome here any time,
Daz, you know that. But this one can
sling her hook right now unless she tells me where Mary is!” “Well, what have you got to say for yourself,
you miserable piece of baggage?” But Cotter jerked free and literally tumbled
into a chair.
“Later, Sam, later,” Horton repeated, “Sarah’s hurt her ankle badly.
Got any brandy?”
“If you think I’m wasting good brandy on the likes of her, you can
think again,” muttered Bishop. Then, as if for the first time, he began to take
in their smoke smudged faces and generally dishevelled appearance. “Looks to me
as if you could both do with a double,” he declared grudgingly, flung Sarah
Manners a dirty look and went to fetch the drinks. He was pouring from a
handsome, cut glass decanter, wondering what the devil was going on, when
Horton came from behind and brought the gun butt crashing down against the back
of his head, thus depriving him, temporarily at least, of an answer.
Horton dragged his old friend and chess partner into a bedroom, tied
and gagged him to be on the safe side then rejoined Cotter.
“We can’t stay here,” Cotter protested.
“We can and we will, till it gets dark anyhow. Then I’ll go and nick
a car and we’re away…”
“You make it sound so easy!” Cotter was sceptical.
“It will be, you’ll see. Most of the turnips around here forget to
lock their cars, let alone turn on an alarm. It’ll be like taking candy from a
baby. Meanwhile, we get cleaned up, help ourselves to a change of clothes
and…Bob’s your uncle, we’re as fresh as a couple of daisies and ready for
whatever. Now, let’s look at that ankle…” He was already tugging at Cotter’s
shoe. Barely had he started peeling off the sock before the room resounded with
piercing shrieks that were not, Horton reflected with a chuckle, in the least
Sarah Manners-like. “Shut up, will you?
Talk about making enough noise to wake the dead….”
Cotter quietened but continued to sob, sigh and bite his lip during
the entire process of Horton’s ministrations, nor letting up for some time
afterwards.
………………………….
Meanwhile, in a private room at Brighton General Hospital, Fred
Winter opened his eyes and was pleasantly surprised to see Sadie Chapman, lying
back in a chair beside the bed fast asleep. He glanced out of a window, saw
that daylight was fading and wondered if it was the same day or…
“How long have I been here?”
He murmured and hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud but it was enough to
jolt Sadie awake.
“Thank heavens you’re all
right. You’ve been out for hours.”
“Only hours, you say?” That’s
all right then. Feeling reassured,
he asked after the others.
“Carol’s fine. She’s been giving the doctors merry hell because they
want to keep her in for observation. Mary Bishop is apparently ‘stable’
whatever that means.” She hesitated.
“And Liam?” he prompted
gently.
Sadie shrugged. “He’s fine,
apart from a splitting headache, as far as I can tell. I saw him not long ago,
just before they took him down to X-Ray.”
“And…?”
“He seems to remember just
about everything. He and Carol are very close,” she added almost wistfully.
“So…how is he with you?”
Winter could see she was close to tears but a stubborn streak in him insisted
he must not let this remarkable woman sell herself short.
Sadie merely gave another
shrug and said nothing. Winter waited and was finally rewarded with a wry
smile. “He was pleased to see me, so I suppose that must count for something,”
she said quietly.
Winter was trying to think of an appropriately encouraging comment
when an image slipped into his mind and stuck there. He saw the blazing
cottage, thick smoke carried towards some trees on a stiff breeze forming what
could almost be described as a tunnel of sorts. “Cotter, Horton?” he sat up and
glared questioningly and with such ferocity at Sadie Chapman that the poor
woman started in alarm. “I don’t know,” she stammered, “I did hear they weren’t
found in the house when the fire fighters finally went in but they can’t have
got far, surely?”
The detective lay back on the pillows, his thoughts so jumping ahead
and tumbling over each other that he had to close his eyes to reassemble them
in any lucid form. To Sadie Chapman’s relief, he seemed much calmer when he
opened them again. He spotted a nurse in
uniform pause to chat with a patient in the bed opposite and called her over.
“Nurse, I’m leaving so I’d be grateful if someone can bring my clothes.”
“You need to rest, Mr Winter. And it’s sister, not nurse,” Maggie
Kershaw told him in a crisp, no-nonsense voice reminiscent of Miss Parker.
Winter shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I need to get out of here and
I need to do it now, this minute. So whatever it takes, please arrange it. I’ll
gladly sign myself out if that will make you happy.”
“It certainly won’t make me happy, Mr Winter. But if you insist…”
she sighed and walked away in the brisk, efficient, but never hurried manner of
nursing staff the world over. Minutes later a male nurse appeared with the
detective’s clothes, looking much the worse for their earlier mangling. He was
holding out a discharge form and already reaching for the biro tucked behind
one ear.
Winter snatched the form. “Do you have a car?” he asked Sadie, who
nodded but looked disapproving.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Fred.”
“Nor am I but needs must as the devil drives, eh?”
Not long afterwards, they were sitting in Sadie’s blue Cavalier
about to leave the hospital car park when another vehicle pulled alongside and
DS Mike Pritchard wound down his window, the better to say his piece. “Where do
you think you’re going, Winter? I was just on my way to see you. My guv’nor
thinks you can tie up a few loose ends for us…”
“I dare say,” commented Winter dryly, “But I have things to do,
sorry. You’ll want to talk to the others, too, of course. Well, don’t let me
keep you. By the way, is it true you let
Cotter and Horton get clean away?”
“Cotter?” the younger man reddened and looked perplexed.
“Oh, never mind. It’s a long story. Get Lovell to fill you in and
while you’re at it tell him I’ll be at the Bishops’ place. I need to see Sam
Bishop urgently.”
“You’ll be lucky,” retorted Pritchard, “We’ve been trying to get
hold of him for hours. He seems to have gone walkabout. Out looking for his
wife, the locals seem to think. They have a few choice ideas of their own about
Mary Bishop and Sarah Manners, it appears.”
“I’m sure they do.” Winter did not doubt that for one minute, “Just
remember to tell Charlie where I’ve gone, okay?” He turned to the woman beside
him, “Step on it Sadie, I’ve got a feeling we’re running late.”
“Look here, I don’t think…” Pritchard started to protest. But the
Cavalier was already on its way back to Monk’s Tallow and his thoughts might as
well have been meant for a passing seagull.
All credit to Pritchard (he must have learned his lesson) Winter noted
approvingly less than five minutes later as familiar bars conjuring up
childhood images of a masked man on a white horse blared in his pocket. He read
Lovell’s name on the tiny screen. “Hello Charlie,” he said cheerfully, ignoring
the stream of verbal abuse that followed. “No, I’m not up to anything. I’m just
paying Sam Bishop a friendly call. You can’t object to that, surely?” He
grinned, glad that Sadie Chapman could not hear what was being said, for all
she was plainly a woman of the world. “Holding out on you? Now, would I do that?
Talking of which, how come you haven’t filled Pritchard in on the Sarah Manners
charade. What do you mean, giving you bullshit? I’ve told you everything I
know, what more do you want… evidence, for heaven’s sake?” This time he held
the phone away from his ear while Lovell continued to make no attempt to choose
his words carefully. “Look, I haven’t time for all this. Meet me at the Bishops
place as soon as you can but don’t do anything until you’ve spoken to Sadie
first. Yes, Sadie Chapman, she’s in the driving seat…”
“Fat chance!” he heard Sadie snort next to him as he gestured to her
to make a right turn.
“Yes, well, maybe it is one of my daft hunches but, well, you know
me, never one to walk away. Bye Charlie, see you soon I hope.” He switched the
phone off and laid it on the shelf above the glove compartment.
“So what is this daft hunch of yours?” Sadie wanted to know. Winter,
though, was giving nothing away just yet. He merely scratched an ear and made
no immediate reply. How could he? Wasn’t he still mulling it over in his head,
far from sure himself that he wasn’t barking up the wrong tree? Not for the
first time, Fred, not for the first time. He chuckled and began to relax.
Not for a moment did the notion occur to him that they should turn back.
“You heard Pritchard. Sam Bishop’s nowhere to be found. What makes
you think he’s going to turn up just to oblige you, Mr Detective?”
“Turn left, left again then straight ahead till I tell you to stop,”
was all Fred Winter trusted himself to say.
……………………………..
Sam Bishop out cold in the bedroom, Cotter and Horton were swigging
brandy and exchanging reminiscences…anything to take their minds off their
situation. Cotter was no fool. Things couldn’t get much worse…could they? At
the same time, if Horton said he had a plan, he was more than happy to go along
with that. He was dog tired, his ankle
hurt and his lungs felt as if they had been yanked out, soaked in petrol and
thrust back inside.
“So we get ourselves a car, what then?” he wanted to know. “Besides,
there will be roadblocks, the whole caboodle, we won’t get very far.”
“Do I know every side road and short cut around here like the back
of my hand or do I not?” Horton demanded, feigning an indignant air. “Have
faith, my turtle-dove, have faith. When did I ever let you down, eh?”
“I’m scared, Daz. Where will it end?”
Horton knelt beside his long-time lover stretched out on the sofa
and tweaked his nose. “Nothing’s going to end, flower, you’ll see. It will be a
new beginning. Once we get sorted it will be you and me against the world, just
like it’s always been. Nothing’s going to change because of a few hiccups and
some nosy bastard of a detective sticking his oar in. Now, am I right or am I
right?”
Cotter managed a weak smile but couldn’t help thinking how he much
preferred his partner when he was beating the living daylights out of him. That
was an act of love he understood. This gentle, considerate, reassuring, all but
romantic Daz was practically a stranger.
Oh, he was grateful. But it was unnerving, almost surreal. Even so, he
returned his partner’s unexpected kiss on the lips with a passion that had
nothing to do with gratitude.
To be concluded
