No Holds Barred (9 page)

Marian's revelation about the fate of her cat was shocking. From what he had already seen and heard, Daniel had been ready to believe Boyd capable of using threatening behaviour to achieve his ends, but to find that he was prepared to resort to something so barbaric put a different slant on things.

He remembered Jenny telling him that her Labrador had been horrifically injured when he'd been found. Two mutilated animals in a short space of time – was there a link or was it coincidence? The trouble was there was no proof. For George and Marian Coombes, an anonymous letter had left them with little doubt as to Boyd's part in it, but, frustratingly, Marian told Daniel she'd burned it.

‘We threw it on the fire. It was evil!' she had said, her voice shaking with emotion.

Boyd had clearly wanted the elderly couple out of the cottage; the question was why?

Daniel groaned and turned over, punching his pillow to make it more comfortable, but five minutes and half a dozen thunderclaps later, he realized his hopes of a good night's rest were to be dashed. The storm was moving slowly but steadily closer, and sleep had never been further away. He found himself thinking of his son, Drew. He'd be loving this storm, if he were here. God, he missed having him around.

A sharp crack sounded as something hit the glass of the bedroom window. Daniel lay still, frowning into the darkness. There were no trees close enough for a wind-blown branch to be responsible.

Again a crack, louder this time, and Taz padded into the room, halting beside the bed, his gaze intent on the window. Daniel sat up. It had sounded like a stone hitting the windowpane.

The third time, it was a scatter of noise, almost certainly a handful of small pebbles against the glass, and one or two found the opening and fell inside on the bare floorboards. That was enough for Taz. He threw himself forward, barking furiously, and Daniel shouted at him to lie down, for fear his enthusiasm would carry him through the open window. Grumbling, the shepherd obeyed.

In moments, Daniel was off the bed and pulling on his jeans. Crossing the room, he stood at the side of the casement and peered out. The garden was deep in shadows and he could see very little.

He waited. No more stones were thrown.

Had whoever it was given up and turned away? Unlikely, surely? If they had made the effort to come all this way in the middle of the night, it had to be important. It crossed his mind that it could conceivably be Jenny. With no telephone at the cottage, and mobile reception non-existent, he was isolated in every way, and if some catastrophe had occurred, she would have no other way of contacting him – always supposing she wanted to. But why the stone throwing? Why not bang on the door?

Taz had quietened now, apart from panting and the odd whinge, and, leaning close to the open window, Daniel looked out.

In the same instant a flash illuminated the garden, and for a split second he could see the path, the wicket gate, the lane and the wood beyond as if in daylight. He also saw the Merc, parked in the pull-in to the right of the gate, and, beside it, a man with some kind of stick or club in his hands. As darkness reclaimed the scene, there came the unmistakable sound of shattering glass.

Furious, Daniel pushed the window wider and shouted, ‘Oi!'

Moments later, realizing the futility of his position, he whipped round, pushed his feet into the leather mules he wore around the house and headed for the stairs with Taz on his heels. Outside, the thunder sounded, much louder this time.

Reaching the hall, Daniel hesitated in the act of unlocking the door, caution slowing his hand. If the intention was to steal or vandalize his car, who had thrown the stones to wake him up? And why? Was someone lying in wait with a monkey wrench?

Taz was sniffing noisily at the base of the front door and whining his impatience, no such qualms afflicting his straightforward canine brain, but Daniel decided that discretion was in order and slipped his fingers through the dog's collar before opening the door.

The air outside was still and scarcely cooler on the bare skin of Daniel's torso than that inside the cottage, but he had little time to acknowledge the fact, for Taz had got wind of his quarry and launched into a lungeing, barking frenzy, throwing all of his forty-two kilos against Daniel's restraining hand.

Daniel wished he'd taken the time to clip on the dog's lead because holding Taz's collar pulled him forward, off-balance, and, in addition, Taz was hooking his nearest front paw round Daniel's leg to gain leverage. After a few battling steps, the shepherd placed another paw firmly on the back of Daniel's shoe and brought him stumbling to his knees, the torch spinning off into the darkness. One more lunge and the dog was free, racing down the path and taking the gate in his stride, while Daniel floundered, cursing, in the lavender border.

As he regained his feet, he could hear Taz barking, the tone suggesting to him that the dog had his man cornered and intended keeping him so.

‘Good boy, hold him!' he yelled.

He kicked off his remaining shoe and, in two short strides, vaulted the gate and landed on the tarmac of the lane, turning towards the dark bulk of the car, ready to give his partner whatever assistance he might need. He had only been seconds behind the dog but he was already too late. As he strained to see in the gloom, the continuous barking faltered and became interspersed with a ferocious growling.

He heard a man's jeering shout and then, as a brilliant double flash lit the scene, saw Taz struggling helplessly in the mesh of some kind of net that rendered his strength and agility useless.

Desperate with fear for his dog, Daniel started forward, only to be stopped in his tracks as something hard hit him with a scything blow to the midriff and dropped him, gasping, to his knees.

Raising his head to try and see what was happening to Taz, Daniel was blinded as the area was flooded with a blaze of light from a vehicle-mounted spotlight.

Undeterred, he scrambled forward on all fours, his fingers groping in front of him for the net, but in the instant he touched it, a second blow landed across his shoulders, sending him sprawling face-down in the lane, feeling as if he might never move again.

‘For Christ's sake, get that fuckin' animal outta here and deal with it!' a voice from behind Daniel growled.

Moments later, the mesh began to slide beneath Daniel's fingers. Instinctively, he curled his fingers into it to prevent its precious cargo being towed away, but as the net tugged and became taut, a booted foot stamped down with wicked force on his wrist, crushing his hand on to the tarmac.

Daniel gasped in pain, powerless to stop the net slipping through his bruised fingers and away out of reach, with Taz still held, snapping and snarling, within its folds.

Thinking only of his partner, Daniel rolled over and got to his knees, wincing as his right hand threatened to give way under his weight, but before he could bring his feet under him, he was kicked hard from the side, sending him sprawling once more, the tarmac grazing his cheekbone as he landed and rolled on to his back.

Above him, a figure loomed in the harsh light, his face concealed by a balaclava. In his hands was a baseball bat that gleamed with a metallic sheen. No prizes for guessing what he'd been clobbered with, then, but even though he couldn't see his attacker's face, he didn't think it was Ricky Boyd. The body language was wrong. Where Ricky had been all swagger and bravado, this man was full of quiet confidence. The observation brought Daniel no comfort. He would much rather have dealt with Ricky.

As he began to get up again, the man with the bat beckoned to someone behind Daniel, and before he could turn to locate this new player in the scene, his arms were grasped and pulled roughly back and upwards in one powerful movement. All at once the strain on his shoulders made it imperative that he get his feet under him as quickly as possible and he scrabbled to do so.

Another flash lit the lane, followed closely by a sharp crack of thunder almost overhead. The man behind Daniel jumped nervously before tightening his grip on Daniel's arms still further.

In the momentary brightness, there had been no sign of Taz, and Daniel suffered a stab of fear. Where was he? Had he already been ‘dealt with'? Who had wielded the net?

Daniel railed inwardly at his helplessness. How many times had the German shepherd come to his rescue, and now, when the tables were turned, he was completely powerless to reciprocate. Held in an iron grip, he could only stand and wait for whatever was coming his way, but his fear was all for the dog.

He didn't have long to wait. Still hefting the bat, the first man moved forward until he stood directly in front of his captive.

Daniel was surprised how much more vulnerable he felt for having no shirt or shoes. As if a thin cotton T-shirt would have protected him in any way. With a conscious effort, he fixed his gaze on the masked face. The man clearly thrived on inflicting fear, and even if he was quaking inside, Daniel was damned if he was going to give his tormentor the satisfaction of seeing it in his face.

The balaclava leaned close and whispered in his ear.

‘Why don't you be a good boy and go back where you come from? We don't want troublemakers round here.'

Daniel said nothing. He didn't get the feeling it was intended to be a conversation.

The reward for his silence was a stinging slap across the face; so quick he didn't see it coming. Moments later, another flash of lightning split the air, and as the following thunderclap reverberated around the forest, Daniel again felt the man behind him jump and his grip tighten convulsively.

All around, rain began to fall in huge, slow drops, slowly at first then gathering momentum, splashing noisily on the road, the vehicles and the hard-baked ground. They landed on Daniel's bare shoulders and head, shocking in their iciness.

‘Where's Taz? Where's my dog?' he demanded through gritted teeth. The pain in his twisted shoulder muscles was beginning to bite.

The man leaned close again. ‘You don't want to worry about him,' he stated softly. ‘Where he's going to he won't feel a thing. You should be worrying about yourself.'

Anxiety flared into blind fury, and Daniel smashed his head into the masked face beside his with as much force as he could muster. The man reeled back, cursing.

Caught on the hop, Daniel's captor jerked him backwards, forcing his back to arch and lifting his feet clear of the ground for a moment.

Seconds later, the first man was back, and Daniel derived some satisfaction from seeing him wiping his mouth with a leather-gloved hand.

In the next instant, no coherent thought existed as the end of the baseball bat was jabbed viciously into his stomach. Coughing, Daniel strained against the arms that held him, desperate to curl himself round the centre of his pain.

While Daniel watched with something close to despair, the shiny smooth bat was drawn back for a second blow. Aside from the natural aversion to pain, he had witnessed the results of enough fights during his police career to recognize the danger of suffering serious internal injury from such abuse. Ruptured major organs were a distinct possibility. Was this what had happened to Gavin Summers? Would Daniel, too, be found dumped on the roadside come morning?

Suddenly, lightning forked directly overhead and a tree on the edge of the wood exploded with flame as the electricity raced down its trunk to the ground.

The accompanying crack of thunder was deafening, the air crackling with the extreme heat. Feeling the involuntary spasm of fear in the arms that held him, Daniel seized the moment. With a Herculean effort, he lifted his right foot and shoved the man with the bat away from him, using the leverage to throw his own weight backwards at the same time. The move caught his captor off balance, driving him stumbling backwards into the low picket fence that marked the edge of the garden.

The old fence didn't stand a chance. Snapping like matchwood, it gave way beneath their combined weight, tipping both Daniel and the other man on to their backs amongst the straggling weeds and flowers of the border.

Falling heavily on top of his captor, Daniel heard him grunt, and the vice-like grip on his right arm loosened as the man instinctively tried to save himself. Recovering first, Daniel leaned forward, twisted as far as he was able and drove his free elbow back into the side of the other man's head.

His efforts produced a curse, but no noticeable slackening in the hold on Daniel's other arm, and aware that one or both of the others would very soon be coming to their comrade's aid, he repeated the smash, this time managing to pull clear of the man's failing grasp.

Adrenalin surging, Daniel rolled and came to his feet just as the first man stepped over the remains of the sagging fence. One-to-one combat, face to face, held no qualms for Daniel and, without further ado, he threw a hefty punch into the man's masked face.

Daniel's moment of triumph was fleeting.

A hand caught his shoulder, spinning him round, and before he could organize any form of defence, he was floored by a stunning right hook to the jaw, and lights erupted like a starburst in his skull.

Consciousness took a brief timeout, edging back with the pungent smell of lavender filling his sinuses, clearing his head like smelling salts. The left side of his face was pillowed by the springy, aromatic foliage, and for the space of a few heartbeats, it was as if nothing else existed for Daniel than the immediate vicinity and his returning senses. A woody stump was digging into his ribs, cold fat drops of rain pattered on to the bare skin of his back, and the boom of the latest thunderclap echoed endlessly in his head.

He was vaguely aware of an undercurrent of pain, but as long as he didn't move he felt he could deal with it. All he needed was to lie still and recover. He needed to be left alone.

Someone had other ideas. A booted foot was inserted under his ribcage, and with a none too gentle heave, Daniel was rolled on to his back.