KILL ME IF YOU CAN (Dave Cunane Book 8) (39 page)

‘Cunane, Cunane,’ Hudson-Piggott shouted into my face, ‘tune in please. I need your full attention.’

I spat out a mouthful of blood.

‘Good, good, full consciousness returning, is it? I think you’re scoring at least thirteen on the Glasgow Coma Scale. First question, did the judge know my identity when he visited you on Monday?’

‘You tortured him to death that night. You should know the answer to that.’

‘I’m asking you, Cunane. He was refractory, the old fool, and I had other purposes for him. I repeat and I’ll only do this once, did the judge divulge my identity when he visited you on Monday?’

I didn’t speak.

I was picked up bodily and hauled to a small concrete lined garden pond.

‘So handy,’ Hudson-Piggott commented.

They positioned me over the edge of the steep-sided pond. The water was deep.

One of the men grabbed my hair and shoved my head under water. I struggled but he was very strong. I was held down. I didn’t immediately fight for air. Part of me hoped that this was just a cruel game, but it wasn’t. I began to experience oxygen starvation. My brain felt as if it was bursting. My heart laboured. They had to let me up now but they didn’t. I felt consciousness slipping away. I ceased struggling. The water was like a comforting blanket. The reflective surface danced before my dying eyes.

Then they dragged me up.

I began to gasp convulsively. I was aware again. I moaned pitifully.

‘Answer the question.’

There was no point in resisting. I couldn’t face the water again. Let him shoot me; that would at least end my troubles quickly.

‘No, of course not,’ I gasped. ‘He’d have gone to the Government if he’d been able to name you.’

‘A lie, I think, but no matter. If there was no name given why did he visit you on Monday?’

I tried to think of an answer. I was slow.

They had me over the pond again. I tried to gabble something but my words came out as gibberish and my head was in the water again before I could say anything sensible.

This time, though I knew what to expect, the sensation of being unable to breathe was almost unbearable. They’d pushed me under just as I was attempting to catch a breath. My mouth, nostrils and airway filled with water. I struggled to expel it from my windpipe but the coughing reflex was incredibly painful. Once again just as I was fading they yanked me out and flung me on the lawn.  I lay on my back gasping like a stranded fish.

‘Speak,’ Hudson-Piggott said, prodding me with the toe of his boot. He allowed me to recover.

‘I’m a detective. He asked me to find out who you were. I was his last resort.’

I held back about Lew’s plan to use me as an assassin.

‘Detectives need clues. What clues did Greene leave you? Why did you take so long before you revealed what MOLOCH really meant?’

‘I didn’t know what it meant. He did leave clues but it took me days to put them together and come up with the truth.’

‘Hmmm, I suspect that coming up with the truth is something you rarely do Cunane. Is that why you went to your parents’ cottage: to recover a clue?’

I was confused. If I said no I’d be back under the water. If I said yes I’d be condemning Paddy and Eileen to death.

‘There was no clue. My father doesn’t trust phones and he left a message to apologise for not telling me about Sir Lew’s legacy earlier.’

He laughed. It wasn’t a cruel Bond-villain type laugh; just a normal sound of amusement.

‘How noble of you to attempt to protect your parents but it will do them no good. Do you expect me to accept that you risked life and limb for such a feeble reason?’

‘It’s true.’

‘Another of your lies … there was detailed information about my plans in your mother’s vegetable patch which you sat on for a whole day until you passed it on to the unfortunate DCI Cullen this morning.’

‘Unfortunate? Why is he unfortunate?’

‘You are the one answering questions here. Who else did you tell besides Cullen and Appleyard?’

‘Appleyard, what do you mean? I only spoke to him on one occasion and you were present. You know exactly what I told him.’

He gave his henchmen a nod and my head was under water again.

This time I was already weakened when they shoved me under and I quickly felt myself slipping away from the pain and the struggle for air. The water was so comforting. If only they’d let me surrender to it there’d be an end to questions. I swallowed water.

I was very dazed when they pulled me out and it took them some time to rouse me.

‘Appleyard?’ Hudson-Piggott said.

‘I told him what I knew,’ I said weakly.

‘About the warehouse and Pickering?’

I cleared my throat. I didn’t answer. The men grabbed me again.

‘Did you tell Appleyard? Answer or this time they’ll hold you under until you drown.’

I nodded my head. I couldn’t face the water again.

‘As I thought!’ Hudson-Piggott said to Claverhouse triumphantly. ‘We’ll round up Cunane’s employees, friends and relatives later. They’re small fry but I want Rick here now. Phone him,’ he ordered.

‘Is this necessary? Surely you can deal with Rick under the discipline of the service when the present operation is concluded,’ she argued.

‘Is it necessary?’ he repeated. ‘Are you suggesting that I leave Appleyard free to talk to whoever he pleases? Do you think there’s the slightest chance of Sir Freddy Jones listening to Cunane’s ex-convict friends or to his wife or even his ex-bobby father? No, there isn’t a cat in hell’s chance but will he listen to Appleyard? Of course he will and I can’t take any risks when we’re on the brink of success. Phone him and tell him to get himself here now.’

‘Yes sir,’ Claverhouse said quietly taking out her phone.

40

Friday: 5 p.m.

They left me lying on the grass. Time passed slowly. Hudson-Piggott and Claverhouse had a prolonged conversation which mainly consisted of him doing a lot of talking and striking poses. Several times Hudson-Piggott put both hands behind his back and thrust his chest forward. It reminded me of someone trying to imitate a duck but I guessed he thought it made him look important. The world has become used to the characteristic poses of many evil men, was this to be a nightmare for the twenty first?

The lawn was cold and gradually I began to shiver, moderately at first and then convulsively. My lungs were full of water. I kept on coughing and it felt as if I would expire right there in the beautiful garden without further intervention from Hudson-Piggott.

Claverhouse came over to me. I may have been on the ground for as long as half an hour.

She put her hand on my forehead.

‘Try to hold on,’ she whispered, ‘we’ll be safe soon.’

She turned towards Hudson-Piggott.

‘If you want this bastard alive for tomorrow you’d better get him under cover. He’ll die of pneumonia if you don’t.’

‘Do as she says,’ Hudson-Piggott ordered.

I felt intense relief at the prospect of living a little longer. My treatment by Hudson-Piggott so far had led me to expect summary execution when the questioning was over. I was needed for something tomorrow.

I was picked up and then just as suddenly dropped. At least it was the lawn this time not the gravel. Even so, the breath was knocked out of my lungs. I fell awkwardly but I was facing Hudson-Piggott and had a grandstand view of what happened next.

Rick Appleyard was bundled into the garden escorted by Nomex clad heavies.

‘What is it, Boss? You didn’t have to send Lansdale for me. And who are these guys?’ he asked.

‘What is it, Boss,’ Hudson-Piggott repeated. ‘What is it, Boss? What it is my dear Rick, is that you’re a damned traitor and you’ve been found out.’

‘What! No! I’m no traitor.’

‘You are,’ Hudson-Piggott insisted.

Then he pulled out a semi-automatic pistol and shot Appleyard between the eyes. The MI5 man died instantly and crumpled onto the lawn.

I must have gaped in shock because Hudson-Piggott caught a glimpse of my expression.

‘You’ll get yours tomorrow Cunane,’ he mocked.

Claverhouse started heaving. She bent to her knees trying to suppress her sobs.

‘For God’s sake, pull yourself together woman!’ Hudson-Piggott snarled. ‘Did you think we could save this country from itself without a few casualties? I thought Rick was my man but he was playing a double game and now he’s paid the price. Let his fate be a good lesson to you.’

Claverhouse straightened up and took several deep breaths.

‘Yes sir,’ she gasped. ‘It’s just that that was such a shock. I’ve worked with Rick for a long while but I can now see that he had to go.’

‘I’m glad you do see it that way,’ Hudson-Piggott said, holstering his gun. ‘You know I’m trying to reach our great goal with as little bloodshed as possible but we can’t take the risk of letting people like Rick hang around. He wanted to keep a foot in both camps but that isn’t possible now. You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Oh, yes sir,’ Claverhouse said respectfully, ‘I do.’

‘Right, well, organise the removal of this rubbish from the lawn. They can both go into the garden shed until tomorrow. Make sure that one’s really secure,’ he said pointing to me with his foot.

He left the lawn and went into the house.

Claverhouse turned to the assembled mercenaries or hired assassins or whatever they were and began issuing orders as if things were perfectly normal.

They went to Rick’s corpse first. One of them began fumbling with his jacket pockets, feeling for his wallet.

‘None of that!’ Claverhouse yelled, pulling out her own gun. ‘He must be left undisturbed. His death has to look like a political killing not some common robbery but you’d better let me have his gun.’

The man who’d been about to rob the corpse now yanked the jacket off the dead man’s shoulders, revealing his pistol in its shoulder holster. He gingerly handed it over to Claverhouse on the finger of one hand as if expecting her to shoot him.

‘The body must be left undisturbed. Do you understand? If you’re thinking of creeping back for his wallet forget it.’

‘Da, gospodo!’ the thug replied, stepping back and bowing submissively.

Other men came forward. They started to drag the body across the lawn.

Claverhouse went crazy.

‘
Nijedan!
Nijedan!’ she screamed. ‘No! Carry the body, don’t drag it.’

She pushed the men away and mimed lifting. She had Appleyard’s pistol in her hand and looked furious enough to use it.

They got the message.

Six of them carefully picked up the body under Claverhouse’s unrelenting supervision and gently laid it on a paved surface in front of the garden shed. This was well to the rear of the extensive lawn and was quite old and of conventional design with a door and window on one side and a sloping, felt covered roof.

They came back for me.

I was kicked and dragged without ceremony and dumped next to the unfortunate Appleyard.

I could see inside the shed. It was well stocked with plastic sacks of fertiliser and compost. There were tools on racks and a lawn mower. It was raised quite high above the damp soil on a brick plinth which gave me a glimmer of hope. If I could prise up a floorboard then escape was possible.

A glance at the number of black clad guards made my heart sink again. They were swarming round the shed. Some went inside and cleared a space. Claverhouse indicated what she wanted them to do. She spoke their language. They pushed two pallets of compost sacks close together to form a bier. They lifted the corpse onto it and arranged the arms and legs like practised undertakers. The thought struck me that they’d had plenty of experience in laying out corpses.

Then it was my turn.

As before, I got a lot less consideration. They picked me up and dropped me on a pile of dirty old sacking that the gardener probably used as frost protection for precious plants. It broke my fall but I landed on the side with the broken rib and let out a groan.

One of the men muttered something to the others and they laughed.

‘Get back while I check he’s still tied up,’ Claverhouse ordered her henchmen, waving the gun by way of translation. They withdrew a short distance and she bent over me, obscuring the view from outside with her back.

‘There’s a knife in a pocket on the inside of Rick’s belt,’ she whispered. ‘It’s your only chance.’

I went rigid with shock.

‘Can you sit up while I check your cuffs? They have to believe I’m hurting you.’

She grabbed my hair roughly and pulled me upright. I moved with her and let out a convincing cry of pain. She checked that my hands were still fastened.

‘The cuffs will have to stay on for now but I’ll fasten your feet loosely so you can slip your foot out when you have to.’

‘What . . .’

‘No, there’s no time . . . listen. Tomorrow you’ll be taken to the bomb site. You have to be alive for a reason or you’d be dead by now. It’ll be Hudson-Piggott’s man, Lansdale, who’ll kill you. He’s the one who butchered your uncle. He likes doing that sort of thing but you’ll have to surprise him and get away to tell the true story. Do you understand?’

‘But you . . .’

‘I’m working for the Government. I was Harry’s traitor, not poor Rick.’

‘But . . .’

‘No more talk. Those bloody contractors are watching me like hawks.’

It was true. When she finished fastening my feet and stood up they were arranged in a semi-circle round the doorway and were watching intently.

She stood over Appleyard’s body for a moment, then bent over it and closed the eyelids. Her shoulders were shaking.

She left, slamming the door shut behind her.

I wasn’t alone though. From time to time I heard noises from outside. I slowly mulled over the word she’d used to describe the men: contractors. A band of mercenaries employed by some front company and hired out to anyone who needed dirty work doing.

I waited until it was pitch dark before I made my move. I couldn’t remember if there was a moon but it was completely obscured by clouds if there was. No light reached me. My chest was aching and my broken rib and battered head were throbbing and I was in no mood for heroics but what they say about ‘animal spirits’ is true. My instinct for survival completely overwhelmed any urge to surrender to my fate.

Despite what Claverhouse had said, the bonds round my ankles felt very tight but I managed to first slip my shoes off and then with great and painful effort to pull my right foot out of the loop.

I got my legs under my body and slowly raised myself until my eyes were level with the lower edge of the dirty glass window which was visible as a lesser blackness against a greater. In the inky darkness outside I couldn’t see any sign of the guards not even as dim shapes but I knew were there. Perhaps they weren’t at the rear of the shed which led off to a vegetable garden and a large greenhouse and I could loosen the boards and slip out that way.

I was about to stand up when a light flared outside. One man was lighting another’s cigarette and then his own.

I froze in position. They must be able to see my head.

I waited. Seconds passed and then more seconds and they didn’t come. They’d lost their night vision. The window was filthy and being closer to it than they were I could see out better than they could see in. I relaxed and then with infinite caution and slowness stood up.

My senses were hyper alert.

There was a sound of someone clearing his throat in front of the hut and then a slight squelching noise as a booted foot changed position on the damp ground. I began forming the theory that there were three guards on the hut; two at the front, and one at the back waiting to pounce if I tried to tackle the men in front . . . crafty!

I turned, facing the door and window and feeling for the corpse behind my back. I didn’t know exactly where I was standing in relation to the body. My fingers were stiff and numb from the tightly bound cuffs.

I touched something but there was no feeling in my fingers. I couldn’t tell what it was. I desperately worked my fingers to restore circulation.

Finally my hands came back to life.

At first I felt nothing but the smooth surface of the compost bags until I reached his face. I recoiled. There was still some warmth. I told myself it felt warm because my hands were so cold. I moved back. Slowly, careful to avoid any sudden motion that might alert them, I inched along until I felt the buckle of Appleyard’s belt. I traced the edge with my fingers. It fitted the body very closely.

I tried to slide my fingers under the edge but there was no gap. Either the body had already begun to swell in decomposition, unlikely because the temperature was just above freezing, or the late Rick had been a very fit man. It was the latter. Rick had been built like a young oak tree.

I gently depressed the belt until I found part of it that didn’t flex under my fingers. This must be it, I thought. The knife’s here. I rammed my fingers under the belt at that point. To my horror the corpse emitted a sound, an expiration of air like a sigh.

I nearly fainted.

Was Appleyard still alive?

It was impossible. He’d been shot at point blank range. I’d seen the neat hole between his eyes, eyes that had rolled back into the head when his body was carried, eyes that Claverhouse had closed.

I shivered. It was damned cold and I come from a family where lots of tales had been told about ghosties and ghoulies.

‘Trapped wind,’ I said to myself and pressed on.

There was a zip on the inside of the belt. I opened it and took out a metal object. It was a short naked blade, edged along two thirds of its length. I gripped the handle in my left hand while repositioning the belt and jacket with my right. I could only hope the corpse looked undisturbed. I took back all the bad things I’d ever thought about poor Appleyard.

I huddled down on my sacks.

Should I cut myself free now? That required a bit of thought. I didn’t want to be discovered prematurely.

In the end I cut the plastic round my left wrist only. They’d allowed me to keep my watch and I was able to loop the severed ends round my watch strap so that it looked as if I was still secured as long as I clamped my wrists together. The knife went into the top of the sock on my right leg. I decided to put one shoe on and leave the other off because it was easier to free my feet that way. The plastic hung loosely round my left leg and I slipped my unshod foot through it. To a casual glance I was securely fastened but now I could free my feet almost as quickly as I could my hands. I couldn’t be sure that it would be Claverhouse who inspected my fastening when they came to move me to the dirty bomb site.

My mind roved over the events of the day: the killing of my friends, Appleyard’s death and Claverhouse’s actions. Could I be sure that she wasn’t trying to subtly manoeuvre me into doing exactly what she wanted before this Lansdale killed me? Lansdale, small, foxy looking with dark eyes, an ex-soldier: that was how Peter Kelly had described him.