Death Surge (28 page)

‘Duncan Farrelly, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Ryan Spencer and Tyler Godfray and the kidnapping of Johnnie Oslow and Stuart Jayston, you do not—’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Sarah bellowed, still smiling. ‘Duncan hasn’t killed anyone.’

Still Duncan didn’t speak. Ripley had now positioned the launch alongside the RIB. In Farrelly’s eyes Horton saw a wildness that sent a shudder down his spine and which jarred a fragment of memory that he didn’t have time to analyse. He said, ‘I’m coming on-board with a line. PC Ripley will take us back to Cowes.’

‘Not bloody likely,’ Sarah shouted. She nodded at Duncan, who thrust back the throttle and, in a roar and wash of sea, spun the RIB hard round. The wash caught the police launch on the side. It bucked and swayed, and Horton grabbed the rail to prevent himself from being knocked overboard. Elkins did the same while Ripley quickly turned the boat into the wash. Horton swore and roared instructions at Ripley to take after the RIB, which was already heading out into the Solent at a reckless speed, causing several yachts to sway in its wake. Horton saw two people fall in and others shouting and shaking their fists at the RIB. Ripley went after it as fast as he dared. The safety boat would help those who had gone overboard. Elkins was already on the radio calling up assistance from the Border Agency, the Coastguard and the Coastguard rescue helicopter. At this rate Horton thought they might need all three.

The north coast of the Island was speeding past them on their right as the RIB headed further out through the East Solent, towards Ryde on their right and Portsmouth on their left.

‘They’re going to kill themselves,’ Elkins shouted as they raced after them. The police launch could easily match the RIBs maximum speed, which had to be about fifty knots, but Horton knew they couldn’t chance that with so many yachts, pleasure craft and working boats on the sea, which Ripley was skilfully dodging.

The RIB skirted the end of the Ryde Pier and shot across the bows of the hovercraft coming out of Ryde. Ripley had to slow and detour around it.

‘Bloody maniacs,’ Elkins bellowed. ‘How the blazes are we going to stop them?’

With great difficulty, thought Horton, unless they ran out of fuel – which they would eventually, but that might not be for some time. The Border Agency and Coastguard were on their way, and the RIB was being tracked. It couldn’t escape. As the number of leisure craft thinned out behind them for a while Ripley made up some of the gap. Sarah turned to face them and began taking photographs.

Elkins said, ‘I hope to God she’s wearing a safety line.’

Horton couldn’t see one. He squinted into the sun at her as she snapped away at them, completely oblivious of the danger she was in, and putting others in. He knew she was wild, but now he also knew she was mad, a complete adrenalin junky. Any sudden movement of the RIB caused by an unexpected larger wave or turn of the helm could throw her over. The sea state was slight, but as they headed further out it became choppier and he could swear the wind was rising. The wash from a container ship or large ferry in the distance could hit them at any time.

Duncan Farrelly glanced back at them. Did Sarah know what Masefield and his crew had been up to? Did she know what Farrelly had done? Of course she did. She was part of it, Horton realized. He guessed she had lured Johnnie into a trap on the Wednesday he had disappeared. Perhaps she was the one who had met him at the Camber on the RIB, or perhaps both of them had. Where had they taken him though? He had to find out.

The small yachts racing out of Seaview lay ahead. Farrelly manoeuvred the RIB further out to avoid them, and Ripley did the same with the launch. Horton thought he could hear the buzz of a helicopter somewhere and squinted up into the sky, which was beginning to cloud over. It had grown colder too, or was that just a premonition that was sending a chill through his bones? If Johnnie’s life hadn’t depended on catching them and making them talk he might have called it off and given instructions for them to be picked up when they came to shore, which they’d have to eventually, but he didn’t have the luxury of time.

Next they were round Bembridge Point and heading out across the English Channel. Now Ripley could open up. But so too could Farrelly, and he did. Horton could hear the throb of the coastguard helicopter overhead. Ripley’s young face was focused ahead; his hands gripping the helm were white-knuckled. Elkins was grim faced and pale. Horton wanted to go faster but it was dangerous enough for them at this speed. They were in the sturdy launch, and he’d hate to be on the RIB, which was far more unpredictable and treacherous at this speed. He could see it pounding the waves, rising and falling alarmingly, slapping against the restless unpredictable sea, almost lifting Farrelly and Conway off their feet. She’d stopped photographing. The camera was around her neck, and she was holding on to the rail of the seat in front of her, looking at them with exhilaration not fear. My God, she’s beautiful, thought Horton with a gasp of admiration and alarm. In the distance he could see a fishing boat, and beyond that a large container ship moving on the horizon; he could also make out one of the navy ships on exercise. There were a handful of yachts with their sails up but they were thankfully out of their line.

They’d head for France. They must know they wouldn’t be able to escape. Even if the police launch pulled back, the RIB would be followed by the Border Agency. They didn’t care. Neither of them. This was a game to them, but killing and kidnapping was not.

Farrelly looked back again, and as he did a larger than normal swell struck the side of the RIB which must have been caused by the container ship far out to sea. Horton hadn’t seen it coming and neither had Farrelly, but Farrelly’s reactions were quick: he made a tight turn to avoid it and then another tighter, harder turn, pulling the wheel hard over. As the RIB encountered the waves created by its own wake the hull dug in, causing a sudden jolt and change in direction, and in a split sickening second Sarah Conway was knocked off her feet and flung overboard. Horton watched horrified as her body was caught by the propeller. His breath caught in his throat as he watched her suddenly go limp. He didn’t need to give instructions to Ripley, but instinctively he shouted for him to go rapidly to her assistance. Farrelly, sensing that the helm had momentarily slowed, glanced back. His face whitened as he saw what had happened. He spun the RIB round, almost causing himself to be knocked clear, and headed back towards Sarah.

The police launch was there first and Horton looked up to see the coastguard rescue helicopter throbbing overhead. Elkins was speaking into the radio, relaying what had happened, while behind them raced the coastguard RIB. Was she still alive? Horton stared down at the limp body kept afloat by her life vest. Her head was a mess of blood, which spread out in the sea like a red snake behind her. He felt the bile rise in his throat and heard Elkins gasp behind him. Farrelly had come alongside. Without a second thought he cut the engine and threw himself in before anyone could stop him and had Sarah in his arms. The Coastguard RIB was alongside, and the Lifeboat out of Bembridge was heading their way. Horton didn’t know if Sarah was still alive. He hoped to God she was, but with that kind of head injury caused by the RIB’s propeller he doubted it, and maybe Farrelly did too. Or perhaps he knew from holding her that she’d gone.

Within minutes Sarah had been strapped to a stretcher and was being winched up into the helicopter. They would take her to the neurological unit at Southampton Hospital. Farrelly let himself be taken on-board the police launch, where Elkins wrapped him in a silver thermal blanket. He sat huddled, silent under the awning, staring sightlessly at nothing.

Horton recalled the words that Elkins had uttered when he’d had first seen Sarah hanging off the side of the RIB:
Mad as a hatter … I warned her about being reckless.
Horton recalled her youth and beauty, her vibrancy, and the thoughts he’d had about her, that she would be fun to be with. Not any longer. He knew her words would haunt him for some time, maybe for always; Elkins had said:
You’re going to kill yourself one day
, and she’d replied:
Better that than die a lingering death in old age.
Judging by Elkins’ grim expression and Ripley’s ashen face they were also recalling that.

Farrelly had been obsessed with her. He looked shocked and numb with grief, but Horton needed him to speak. He needed to find out what he’d done with Johnnie. ‘We’ll get you to the hospital, Duncan, to be checked over.’

That seemed to spur him into life. ‘No hospital,’ he snarled.

‘Then tell me where Johnnie and Stuart are; don’t add their deaths to the others. They don’t deserve to die.’

Farrelly stared at him, confused.

‘Sarah wouldn’t want them to die, would she?’ Horton pressed. But she had allowed Tyler and Ryan to be killed.

Farrelly was now shaking his head so violently, with a mixture of irritation and bewilderment, that Horton thought he’d give himself a haemorrhage. His dark eyes were full of pain.

‘Tell me where they are,’ Horton pressed. ‘It’s all over now, Duncan. We know about the jewellery thefts, we know Sarah phoned Johnnie and told him that Masefield wouldn’t be collecting him from Oyster Quays, that you’d meet him instead at the Camber and bring him over to Cowes in the RIB. Only when you arrived at the Camber he was talking to two of his old mates, and you and Sarah thought he was telling them about yours and Sarah’s parts in the robberies. You couldn’t take a chance that he wasn’t, which was why you had to silence him.’

But Farrelly was frowning and looking bemused.

Horton continued as Cowes drew nearer. He was running out of time. ‘You took Johnnie somewhere and asked him who they were and what he’d been saying to them. Scared, he told you about Tyler Godfray, Ryan Spencer and Stuart Jayston, so you had to go after them. You had to make sure that none of them could lead us back to you, and of course you had to protect Sarah. I can understand that. You’d do anything for her, anything to keep her the free spirit that she is.’
Maybe was.

‘No,’ Farrelly shouted. ‘You’ve got it wrong. I never met Johnnie Oslow at the Camber. I don’t even know him. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Was he going to continue to deny it? ‘Is Johnnie still alive? Tell us where he is!’ Horton said, forcing his voice to remain calm with difficulty while inside he was filled with desperation.

‘I can’t tell you because I don’t know.’

Horton held Farrelly’s stricken and confused expression. He’d listened to countless denials and false confessions in his career and was attuned to lies and deception. Was this another one? No, with a sinking feeling in his gut he knew that Farrelly was telling the truth. But how
could
he be? With a cold chill he realized that Dr Claire Needham had been right. This was nothing to do with the robberies. Duncan Farrelly was not their killer.

‘W
hat the hell did you think you were doing?’ Uckfield snarled after Farrelly had been escorted away. He’d refused to be taken to hospital, but Horton knew the doctor would see him at Newport Police Station.

He sat down heavily in the cabin of the police launch. Elkins and Ripley were on the pontoon, as per Uckfield’s orders. Horton felt sickened and saddened by what had happened and was filled with anxiety for Johnnie.

‘Trying to catch a killer and save a life, two maybe,’ he snapped.

‘And it cost a life in the process.’

Horton winced inside. ‘And Masefield and his crew?’

‘Racing, where do you expect them to be?’ Uckfield declared exasperated. ‘DCS Sawyer does not take orders from you, and neither do I.’

‘No, you’re too busy covering your arse,’ Horton snarled.

‘And you won’t have one to cover, never mind a job. Sawyer will see to that.’

‘I doubt it,’ Horton said in clipped tones. He’d given Sawyer a lever to use to get him to cooperate in the hunting down of Zeus. Stevington’s suggestion of taking up solo round the world yacht racing was beginning to look very attractive.

‘For Christ’s sake, what have you got against Masefield and his crew?’ asked Uckfield, still refusing to sit but looming over him in the cabin, his bulky presence filling it with aggression and tension.

I don’t like them.
But he could hardly say that. It didn’t make them jewel thieves … and they weren’t. Farrelly wasn’t
their
accomplice, he was Sarah Conway’s. He told Uckfield, who looked surprised then apprehensive, and finally a gleam appeared in his bloodshot grey blue eyes. Horton knew what was running through his mind. He’d got one up on Sawyer.

‘You can prove this?’ Uckfield said.

‘No, but he’ll talk now that Sarah is dead. It’s my belief she cased out the properties. She knew a lot of people on the sailing circuit and probably personally knew each one of the victims who have been robbed. She got the security codes, found out when the residents wouldn’t be at home, and then Duncan set the explosives and carried out the robberies with Sarah assisting him.’

‘And the proceeds?’

‘No idea. Probably just stashed away. I don’t think either of them did it for the money but for the sheer bloody thrill of it.’

‘Is he up to being questioned?’

Horton nodded. ‘He denies having anything to do with Johnnie and the murders though.’

‘We’ll see if he changes his mind.’ Uckfield made to leave. Horton knew he’d want to get in before Sawyer did and score one off him.

‘I think he’s telling the truth, and that means we’ll waste hours questioning him while the real killer strikes again.’

Uckfield turned back. ‘What makes you think he’s not lying?’

Horton ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. ‘Gut feel. Yeah, I know you think that’s a load of old bollocks. Go ahead and question Farrelly, and if I’m wrong then for God’s sake break him quickly. But don’t ask me to join you, because I’m going to look for the real killer.’

‘But we’ve no idea who that is.’

‘Then we’d better bloody find out,’ Horton snapped, then took another breath. Losing control wasn’t going to get them anywhere. He added more evenly, ‘We need to get Winscom’s list over to Cantelli in case he recognizes any names on it.’ And he should have done that earlier. He’d wasted precious time. Oh, he’d got Sawyer’s robbers for him – and in the process caused a death, he thought with bitterness, as Uckfield had so succinctly pointed out. And maybe his delay had caused two more deaths, Stuart’s and Johnnie’s. He’d been so sure it had been Masefield and Farrelly.