The Death Collector (47 page)

Weaver spluttered and coughed. ‘You see, we’re not so different when anger takes over.’

Sam took deep breaths, barely hearing Evans in front of him as she tried to calm him down, speaking softly, reassuring him.

Weaver shook his head. ‘If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself. I’m finished, I know that now. You can do the rest. I’m not telling you anything. If you can’t get my confession into court, you’ve got nothing, you know that. And you won’t. It was an interview. You didn’t caution me and you knew I was guilty. So I’ll get sacked. At least I’ll stay free.’

Evans pointed at one of the uniforms and then towards Weaver. ‘Lock him up. Cuff him and find him a cell. He’s under arrest for conspiracy to murder.’

The uniform looked uncertain until Evans shouted, ‘Now!’

Weaver didn’t say anything as the handcuffs clicked around his wrist, although his stare never left Sam as he was hoisted to his feet.

He pulled back and stopped by Sam as they drew level. ‘If you’d have left it alone, Alice would be safe now.’

Evans closed her eyes and groaned as Sam’s arm rushed past her and his fist caught Weaver flush on the jaw, making him crumple to the floor.

When she opened them she shook her head and said, ‘You shouldn’t have done that, but I’m glad you did.’

Sam headed for the door. He pointed at the other uniformed constable. ‘Follow me.’

Evans didn’t try to stop him.

Sam burst into the room where Gina was with Erin and Amy. She looked round, expectant.

‘How’s your driving?’ Sam said.

‘Advanced, according to my police certificates.’

‘Good,’ Sam said. He went to Erin and Amy and gave them both a hug and a kiss. ‘I’m just going to find Mummy,’ he whispered. ‘This nice policeman will look after you.’ And he pointed to the young officer in uniform.

‘Come on,’ he said to Gina. ‘Let’s go find Alice.’

‘You can’t,’ Evans said, as he ran past her.

‘You didn’t authorise my overtime,’ Sam said, as he headed for the exit. ‘I’ve been off duty for hours. I can do what the hell I like.’

And then he was gone, banging through the door, Gina just behind.

Joe leaned forward as he drove, getting closer to the side of the road where Rebecca Scarfield had been left. Can you see anything?’

Mary shook her head. ‘There’s no one here.’

Joe pulled over, trying to brake gently, so that the crunch of tyres on the gravel wasn’t too loud.

‘We’ll get out and walk down,’ he said. ‘If he’s down there, I don’t want to spook him.’

‘Do you think he will be?’

‘He’ll be somewhere around. This is his place.’

They both stepped out of the car. He put his fingers to his lips and spoke in a whisper. ‘We need to stay quiet, so we can listen out. Sound will travel, and I’d rather we heard him than the other way around. It might help us get a bearing.’

They were by an open gate.

‘It was down here,’ Mary whispered. ‘This is where he brought me. I remember it now. We parked there,’ and she pointed a few yards along the road, ‘but then we walked down here, past where Rebecca was found. I remember the gate and a curving track.’

‘Come on then,’ Joe said, and he headed down the track, Mary following.

It was dark at the roadside. The moon helped, but the track seemed to swallow everything up. Joe pulled out his phone to illuminate the way, but only as a glow. He didn’t want to announce his arrival. They used the dark outlines of the slopes as a guide to where the track was and the phone to work out the edges and trip hazards. It was a long steady slope down, with open moorland on either side. There were rustles in the grass and Mary reached out for his arm, gripping his sleeves tightly.

‘Can you remember where he took you?’ Joe said.

Mary peered forward, frowning as she tried to piece together memories to compare against the shadows ahead. ‘It was at the end of this road. Keep going. Some kind of crumbling building.’

They tried to keep their footsteps light, but they were like loud cracks in the darkness. They couldn’t see far ahead. The path curved to the left and downwards, swallowed up by the land with every step.

Something ran in front of them, making them both jump, but it was just a rabbit, its dart caught in the glow. They laughed nervously, but then kept on going, Joe’s focus returning to finding Alice. They rounded the bend and the moors spread in front of them, vast and brooding, except where stone outcrops made jagged lines of the horizon, blocking out the stars like rips across the sky.

They kept on walking, just Joe’s phone lighting the way, until Mary pointed. ‘There it is.’

Joe followed Mary’s indication and saw it. A small stone cottage, but hollowed out, lit up by the moon. The roof had gone and the doorway and windows were empty, just a dark slit in the middle and two black holes on either side. Grass grew up the walls.

There was something else there too. Two cars.

‘Is it him?’ Mary said, her voice filled with bitterness, her lilt acquiring a tougher edge.

‘That’s Hunter’s car,’ Joe said, moving more quickly now, the thump of his footsteps drowning out the slow tick of Hunter’s engine as it cooled down, the air heavy with the smell of warm oil.

‘Hunter? What’s he doing here?’

‘I thought he was escaping. He’s not. He’s after Declan Farrell. He must have known Farrell’s secrets all along. He could have stopped this.’

As they got closer, Joe recognised the other car. A dark red Ford Focus.

‘He’s here,’ Joe said, turning to Mary, gripping her arm, her pale features gleaming against the dark sheen of her hair. ‘Declan Farrell.’ He pulled his phone from his pocket and called Sam. When he answered, Joe whispered urgently, ‘I’m on the moors, a hundred yards from where Rebecca was found, at some kind of derelict cottage. Farrell is here. So is Hunter.’

‘What about Alice?’ Sam said.

‘I’ve only seen the cars, but Farrell can’t leave. Hunter is blocking him in. They must have headed for open country.’

Then there was something else, a noise. Joe turned round, trying to work out what it was. Then he heard it again. High-pitched, guttural, like a scream cut off quickly.

‘She’s here,’ Joe said quickly. ‘Get people here, now!’

Joe clicked off his phone and set off at a run towards the sounds. He didn’t think about Mary, although he could hear the fast pat of her feet behind him as she tried to keep up, so that she wasn’t left alone in the dark with Declan Farrell still out there, but it was Alice he was thinking about. He had to get to her, to save her. He had brought this about, his interest, his pursuit. For his brother, for Mary, for Alice, but also for himself, he had to bring it all to an end.

Sam threw the phone into the central console. ‘Up on the moors,’ he said. ‘Where Rebecca Scarfield was found.’

Gina pressed hard on the accelerator. They had driven out that way, guessing that it would all end on the moors somewhere.

Sam had commandeered a patrol car and now he flicked the switch to turn on the flashing lights. The night turned into flickering blue. The houses became more spaced apart and the backdrop got darker. The engine strained as it headed upwards.

‘Get on the radio,’ Gina said. ‘See if one of your helicopters is up there. Get it over the moors, looking for the white dots. We won’t do it any other way.’

Sam reached for it and barked the order. After a few seconds, it was confirmed. It was ten miles away but it was heading over.

He looked out of the window and tried not to panic, but it was hard. Alice was tough, he knew that, but this was a whole different thing, more than just dealing with the pressures of every day but something wholly new, beyond anything she should have to contemplate. And he tried not to think about what Farrell might have done to her. He mustn’t think about that.

He closed his eyes. His daughters came into his mind. They couldn’t lose their mother. Just couldn’t. They’d never recover from that. Even though they were young, their lives would be changed for ever by the loss of the woman they would be unable to remember when they got older. The knowledge that there was something missing, some joy they would never experience, of their mother’s love.

He took a deep breath. He had to push that to one side, deal with it later. For now, it was all about finding Alice.

‘Nearly there,’ Gina said. ‘I know where it is. He might be heading for the reservoir. It won’t be as dangerous as going on the tops.’

Sam nodded. He was ready.

Declan hooked his arm under Alice’s as they ran through the bed of the stream. He had to tread carefully. The stream was filled with large rocks that threatened to make him fall to the ground. She pulled back from him and slipped from his grasp, then scuttled away, splashing in the water.

‘Get up,’ he said, walking quickly to her, standing over her. She shrank back and collapsed. Exhausted, scared.

He took the tow-rope from his shoulder and made a loop at one end, before threading the rest of it through to make a noose. He dragged her by her T-shirt towards him and threaded the noose over her head. He pulled on one end tightly until it fastened around her neck and she gasped, her eyes wide.

‘Come with me or I leave it tight and you’ll die out here.’

Alice nodded vigorously, her heels banging on the ground.

He left it a few moments longer, just so that she got the message, and then let it slacken, just enough to let her suck in air. He gripped her cheeks with one hand, squeezing so that she pouted. ‘All you have to do is keep up.’

He lifted her onto her feet and set off again along the bed of the stream. His shoes were slippery on the stones and Alice struggled to keep up, barefoot and cold, whimpering, crying, and now gasping as the rope stopped her from getting decent breaths.

‘Farrell!’

It was Hunter again. He just needed to get out of sight and away from where the photograph had been taken. There were no blue lights or sirens though.

The slope of the streambed got steeper and the sound of running water became louder. There was more water ahead as the slopes around him got higher, the tops marked out by rugged clusters of rocks. He had to keep heading downwards.

He tried to pick up the pace but Alice fell, crying out, muffled through her gag. It pulled the rope tight around her throat. He reached behind to slacken it. It wasn’t her time, not yet. He might need her to trade. She sucked in air through the gag and coughed loudly.

He thumped her, his fist hard on her cheek. ‘Shut up,’ he hissed.

Alice curled up, cold and scared, the water running past her, soaking her, only the gag stopping her from wailing loudly. He’d hurt her.

He turned back. It was of no consequence. It would all end soon. Just not like this.

‘Farrell, you sick fucker! Where are you?’

Hunter again.

Declan knew Hunter would keep going. Hunter knew all his secrets, where the bodies were buried, who they were. It was Declan’s way of torturing him, the control, that Hunter could only stand and watch as Declan did his thing, because he had Hunter’s secret. Now it was out and Hunter would want revenge. Declan understood revenge, but control was important. Hunter was angry and that would make him act rashly.

But Declan knew it was time to keep moving.

‘Come on,’ he said to Alice and pulled the rope tight again, so that it puckered the skin on her neck. He gripped her by her upper arm, her bone small in his grip, her arm weak.

He started running again, going downhill, skipping over the rocks, rugged and uneven, so that they both struggled to keep their feet. Alice was exhausted, and they had to keep stopping whenever she fell so that he could pull her back up again. The stream stopped winding and headed more directly downwards. The steady twist of grassy spurs opened out towards the silver gleam of water, lit up by the moon. Reservoirs. He wasn’t thinking far ahead, lost in the moment, but he needed to get to the road below. He could flag down a car and deal with the occupant and get just enough miles away to hide.

Alice fell again.

Farrell stopped. He could leave Alice behind and make good his escape. Hunter would never catch him, but that was a happy ending. He had never done happy endings and Sam and Joe Parker didn’t deserve one. They had brought this about. Alice wasn’t going to walk away from it, not even with scars, visible or invisible.

But he would be caught if he kept her with him. She was slowing him down. He couldn’t bury her, as his spade was back in the derelict cottage.

Then he remembered something.

The fast bubble of water was getting louder as they went. There was another valley joining, the two streams combining and falling into a concrete pool, held back by a weir. There was a tunnel, large and round, eight feet high, brick-lined, with green slime gathered at the entrance. It was a diversion for the stream, ensuring that the water was collected rather than allowed to sink into the soft peat. It sent it through the hill and down to the reservoir, water coursing through it at knee-height.

They set off again, Alice struggling, his arm hooked under hers, almost dragging her on her knees. They slid together down a grassy bank, the noise of the water getting louder. Then he saw it.

The mouth of the tunnel gaped darkly, a black circle against the murky shadows elsewhere. Water gathered around the entrance, the tunnel narrower than the concrete pool in front of it, so that it rushed through. Access to it was gained by clambering over a stone wall and into the pool. He lifted Alice over first, losing his grip on the rope as she slid down and into the water. She went under the surface, unable to break her fall with her arms behind her back. He followed her over the wall and gasped as the cold water soaked him. He looked down at Alice as she struggled to get to her knees, her hair floating in the water. She pushed herself up eventually and coughed through her gag, but the sound was lost in the rush of the stream. She sucked in air through her nostrils, her eyes wide with fear and cold.