A New Dawn Rising (28 page)

Low moaning. Gunsmoke. Frightened breathing. An air of uncertainty.

Sam lay spread-eagled on the floor. He wriggled his arms and legs. No damage done.

He scrambled to his knees. 'Lucy?' he whispered urgently. 'Are you alright?'

A feeble moan resounded from the other side of the room. He crawled over.

'Lucy?'

'Sam?' she replied groggily.

'Are you hurt?' he asked.

'No-No, I think I'm okay.'

Seymour coughed next to her.

'Bill?'

'I'm okay, Sam,' he wheezed.

'Right, stay here,' ordered Sam. 'Both of you.'

He went to move. Lucy's small hand rested on top of his own.

'Please,' she begged. 'Don't go.'

'I have to, Lucy. I've got to find out what's happened up there.'

He felt her hand slip away. In that moment, Sam felt a strange sensation of losing something more profound.

He started towards the doorway.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the light came back on. Carl was stood by the switch. Sam couldn't see a graze on him. The same couldn't be said for the other two. Martyn Taylor had clearly taken bullets to the chest. His upper half was covered in blood and he was writhing in pain on the stairway, each pitiful groan getting weaker than the last. Starkey had fared slightly better. He was kneeling on the top step, clutching a bloodied shoulder. It looked to Sam like a flesh wound, but combined with the earlier blow to the head, Starkey was struggling to maintain consciousness. Carl was staring down at him in distress.

Sam shook his head. What a sorry sight.

'I'll ring for an ambulance,' he announced, causing Carl to jump. 'And the police.'

'No, Sam, you can't.'

Sam took his phone out.

'Carl, look around you,' he said. 'One man's nearly dead and the other needs hospital treatment.'

'You can't ring anybody!' shouted Carl, panicking.

Sam ignored him and started punching in numbers.

'Put that phone down!'

He looked up with the intention of telling Carl to shut up once and for all.

Sam closed his mouth.

It was Dave Starkey who had spoken. Somehow, he had struggled to his feet and propped himself up against the wall. Carl stared at Starkey with a mixture of awe and astonishment. Sam rolled his eyes. Every time he thought it was over...

'I said, put the phone down!' barked Starkey. He still had hold of his gun. Only now, he was pointing it at Sam.

'Come on, Dave,' said Sam. 'Think about what you're-'

With unsteady hands, Starkey raised the gun until he had it aimed at Sam's head.

'Okay, I'm putting it away.'

Sam bent down and placed the phone on the floor.

'Good,' said Starkey, clutching his blood-soaked shoulder and wincing in pain. 'Carl,' he grimaced. 'We're going...'

Carl started to protest.

Starkey swung around and pointed the gun at him. Carl's eyes widened in fear.

'Dave, what are you doing?'

'You're coming with me,' Starkey told him. 'Now, get moving.'

'Come on, Dave,' pleaded Carl, holding out a hand. 'You're not thinking straight. You've had a bang on the head. You've been shot.'

Gingerly, Starkey removed his hand from his bloody shoulder and pointed a red-stained finger at the prostrate figure breathing shallowly on the stairs.

'He's not going to make it,' he remarked groggily, nodding at Taylor. 'And I'm not hanging around here to get done for murder.'

Carl looked down miserably at Martyn Taylor and sighed. Then he gave Sam a hopeful look. Sam could only reply with a resigned shrug. Starkey may not be thinking clearly, but he was the one calling the shots. Taylor's weapon lay halfway up the stairs, tantalisingly out of Sam's reach. Too far away for a quick dash.

Sam watched Carl half-heartedly move to the front door. Starkey followed him, but not before he had given Sam one final, lingering look.

'You're out of it now, Sam. Make sure you keep it that way.'

And then they were gone.

Sam took off his jacket, rolled it into a ball and slid it under Martyn Taylor's head. The man was barely breathing. Sam took his wrist and found a faint pulse. He went down the stairs to retrieve his phone.

'Sam? What's happened?'

'It's okay, Lucy,' he replied. 'It's safe to come out now. They've gone.'

Lucy and an ashen-faced Billy Seymour appeared in the doorway. Lucy peered up the stairs and gasped when she saw Martyn Taylor's lifeless form.

'Is he going to be-'

Her tentative words were drowned out by the sound of shots being fired outside the front of the house. Sam counted three shots, all fired from the same weapon. He picked up his phone and handed it to Lucy.

'Here...ring for an ambulance.'

For a split second, they locked eyes, searching each other, looking deep into one another's souls. In that moment, something unspoken passed between them. Lucy lowered her head and took the phone off him without a word.

It was Seymour who went to protest. Sam cut him off, insisting the farmhouse was safe for them now. All they had to do was sit tight and wait for the emergency services to arrive. Seymour nodded reluctantly. Sam turned and climbed the stairs, picking Taylor's gun up along the way. At the top, he glanced back down.

Lucy had turned her back on him.

***

Sam opened the front door just in time to see Starkey's car speeding off. Two men were running towards the house. Sam recognised DCI Carter first. Sprinting alongside him was another figure he had seen plenty of recently.

Peter Canning.

Canning was a police officer.

Sam could have kicked himself. No wonder there had been a familiarity about the man. He had been working undercover at the Renshaw's house.

Neither policeman looked surprised to see Sam, confirming to him they had been following in the Freelander. In fact, Canning had probably been following him since the factory burnt down.

'Did Starkey fire at you?' asked Sam.

Canning reached him first.

'Yeah,' he replied grimly. 'We shouted for him to stop, but he just opened up. It's a good thing he can't shoot straight.'

'Right,' said Sam, pulling Taylor's gun out of his belt and checking it for ammunition. 'There's a critically injured man inside who needs immediate medical attention. Two other people are in there as well. Go easy on them. They're-'

'Whoah, hold on there!'

Carter arrived at the door, breathing hard. Sam watched him bend over and place his hands on his knees.

'You're not going anywhere, Sam,' said Carter in between gasps.

'Try and stop me.'

Carter stood up straight with some difficulty and stared at Sam. The detective was aware Starkey was getting farther away with each wasted second. There was no time for arguing.

'Peter,' he sighed. 'Deal with things here. I'll keep in touch.'

Canning raised his eyebrows but accepted the order without protest.

Sam was already moving.

Sam was in the Clio, belted up and ready to go, while Carter was still halfway to the car. The DCI stopped for a moment, shrugged, then continued jogging. No sooner had he climbed in and slammed the passenger door shut than Sam had the vehicle screeching out onto the main road.

Suddenly, they heard the sound of brakes being slammed on behind them.

'Whoops!' exclaimed Sam, realising he had pulled out onto the road without looking.

'Don't worry about it,' growled Carter. 'We're still in one piece.'

Sam began to build up speed while keeping his eyes on the set of headlights away in the distance. As long as Starkey kept his own lights on and stayed on these roads, Sam knew he could use them as a marker. However, he hadn't accounted for what was going on behind. The vehicle he had nearly collided with was right up his bumper, the driver flashing his headlights and sounding the horn.

'Just what we need,' sighed Carter. 'Someone with road rage.'

Sam took a glance in his mirror. The flashing and blaring continued unabated.

'That sure is one annoyed road user,' he said.

'Forget him,' instructed Carter. 'We haven't got time to reason with the guy. If we stop, we'll lose Starkey for sure.'

Sam nodded and slammed the car into fifth gear. The Clio whined in protest as it fought to give Sam the speed he desperately needed.

'Yeah, forget him,' seethed Sam through gritted teeth. 'Let's talk about you instead, Detective Chief Inspector. Let's talk about why you've been following me for the last few days.'

***

'What you're telling me is I've been doing your job for you. Is that right?'

'I wouldn't put it that way,' said Carter, grimly hanging on to the door handle as Sam steered the Clio round a bend at speed. 'I just let things run their natural course. Mason had got his knickers in a twist over you. He was never going to look at the case objectively. You've got a proven track record, and once you were put under the spotlight, I knew you'd go looking for answers yourself.'

Sam pushed the car even faster. They were catching up with the vehicle ahead. He glanced in his mirror. Alarmingly, the raging driver was still hot on their trail.

'So, while Mason was running up a blind alley,' said Sam bitterly, 'you had me followed instead.'

'Look, take it as a compliment, will you,' sighed Carter. 'I read your police record. You never failed to come up with the goods until, well, you know...'

Sam thought of his wife and daughter for the first time in what seemed an eternity. He didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

'And don't forget,' added Carter, 'we came to your rescue when you pushed things too far at that pub.'

'That's very big of you.'

'Oh, come on, Sam,' said Carter, sounding slightly exasperated. 'What are you doing right now if you don't want to be involved?'

Sam said nothing and concentrated on the road ahead. He knew Carter was right. Given the choice back there, he had left Lucy behind, vulnerable and scared. Sam could offer all the excuses he wanted about rescuing Carl from the clutches of an unstable gunman, but his first instinct had still been to follow the danger.

***

They were gaining rapidly on Starkey, the injured man's speed having dropped dramatically over the last couple of miles. What concerned Sam was how erratic Starkey's driving had become. His car was veering dangerously from side to side. Starkey was losing control, putting himself and Carl in grave danger. Sam eased off the accelerator a touch.

Carter's radio crackled into life. The detective unhooked it off his belt and put it to his mouth.

'We're closing up behind him. Yeah, just going back into Bursleigh. Is the back up anywhere near, yet?'

Sam glanced at his passenger. Carter was pulling a face.

'Well, keep me up to date,' sighed Carter, before switching the radio off.

'The nearest police car is still a distance away,' he informed Sam in a low monotone. 'We'll have to settle for containing him for now.'

'We'll take it as it comes,' Sam countered, paying little heed to Carter's suggestion. 'What's your interest in this case, anyway?'

He sensed Carter hesitate before answering.

'I'm part of the drugs squad up here in the North. A few months ago we heard a rumour Carl Renshaw was putting out feelers with a view to dealing again.'

'Again?' said Sam, watching Starkey's car up ahead narrowly miss an oncoming vehicle. 'You sound as though you've had previous with Carl.'

'I have,' said Carter. 'I worked in Bursleigh years ago when I was just a constable. I was part of the raid on the Withdean estate that took down Martyn Taylor and his mob.'

'Small world,' muttered Sam.

'It is in this part of the country,' agreed Carter. 'A colleague of mine...a good friend...was stabbed in the chest during the raid.'

'Did he survive?'

'Yeah, he survived. But he never worked for the force again. In fact, he was never the same man again.'

'So, is this about revenge?' asked Sam. 'Your chance to get the one man who got away unpunished?'

'That wouldn't be very professional, would it, Sam?' replied Carter, gazing wistfully out of his side window. 'I planted Peter Canning at the Renshaw's house based on good information that Carl was preparing to indulge in criminal activities. Nothing more, nothing less.'

'Hey,' said Sam. 'There's no need to give me the spiel. I might be dressed in civvies but I know the score.'

'I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Mr Carlisle,' growled Carter. 'Anyway, look at the situation we've got now. I'd say the end has justified the means, wouldn't you?'

Neither man spoke any more of it.

***

They were only yards behind now. Starkey was clearly struggling to keep the car on the road. Sam watched it lurch violently from one side of the road to the other, scraping along hedgerows, only avoiding serious impact because of its reduced speed. Sam could make out Carl in the passenger seat, looking back in alarm at the chasing Clio.

'Starkey can't keep going for much longer,' said Sam. 'He's losing too much blood.'

'Get ready, then,' nodded Carter. 'Just in case he bails.'

Sam looked in his mirror.

'What about Mr Angry back there?'

Carter turned and looked out the back window. The vehicle behind them had dropped back some way and its driver had eased off the horn and flashing lights.

'We'll just have to hope he's calmed down and lost interest,' shrugged Carter. 'The last thing we need is him stopping as-'

'He's going!' shouted Sam, easing gently on his brakes. Up ahead, Starkey had missed a bend. His car was carrying straight on, heading for a small hedge. 'This is it!'

Sam slowed the Clio right down as Starkey's car left the road and ploughed unceremoniously into the hedge. Fortunately, the sedate travelling speed meant the car came to a genteel stop in the shrubbery. Sam pulled over before the bend, fifty yards or so from the hedge. He jumped out the car and crouched down behind the open door. Carter clambered out the other side and sprinted around to join him. The detective raised his eyes when he saw Sam holding Martyn Taylor's gun.

Both men fixed their eyes on the stricken vehicle up ahead and waited for Carl or Starkey to jump out. The backdrop of the moonlit sky would show up the silhouette of anybody escaping from the car. Sure enough, moments later, Dave Starkey staggered out of the driver's side.

'Dave!' yelled Sam. 'Give it-'

A shot whizzed way above Sam's head. Both he and Carter ducked.

'Bloody maniac!' complained Carter.

'The man's not in control of himself,' said Sam, shaking his head. 'He's badly injured and probably scared out-'

Carter let out a sarcastic laugh.

'Remind me to console you with that after he's stuck a bullet in one of us.'

Suddenly, a vehicle whizzed by. Sam raised his head and peeped over the door. A car took the same bend Starkey had failed to negotiate and disappeared from sight. Sam presumed it was the vehicle that had been behind them since leaving the farmhouse. Thankfully, its driver had decided to ignore the stationary Clio and continue with his journey.

'Dave!' shouted Sam.

'Stay back!' cried out Starkey. 'Or I'll shoot again!'

'I told you,' said Carter to Sam. 'We'd better wait until the cavalry arrives. I'll find out where they are.'

While Carter moved to the back of the car to get on the radio, Sam scanned the scene up ahead. He couldn't see Starkey any more in the darkness. Sam guessed he was cowering behind his car, using it as cover in much the same way Carter and himself were doing.

'Dave, just give yourself up, will you?' he yelled, aware he had to act fast. Armed police would be flooding the area soon and, in his current state, Starkey was going to end up with a bullet in his head.

'Why, Sam?' shouted Starkey in reply. 'I've got nothing to lose now!'

'Don't be daft, Dave! I saw what happened back at the house!'

'I'm not going down for murder!'

'Listen, it isn't that simple! Martyn Taylor was intent on taking you out!'

No reply. Sam gave it a few seconds.

'I'm coming over!' he announced suddenly, standing upright.

'What did you just say to him?' asked Carter, returning to Sam's side.

'I told him I'm going over there.'

'You're doing what!' cried Carter, looking at Sam in amazement. 'He'll pick you off no problem over open ground...no matter what state he's in.'

Sam had made his mind up. He walked around the door, escaping Carter's desperate attempt to grab him and pull him back.

'Sam, get back here, you fool!' hissed Carter. 'We'll have support here any minute.'

Ignoring him, Sam stepped into the middle of the road and started walking towards Dave Starkey.

Forty yards.

Thirty.

He still couldn't see Starkey.

Twenty yards.

Why hadn't he shown himself yet?

Fifteen.

Sam saw a movement. Starkey was rising from behind his car.

'Sam, what are you doing?' he asked, his voice trembling.

'I'm putting an end to this, Dave. Once and for all.'

Ten yards.

Sam caught sight of Starkey's gun being raised. He kept his own weapon down by his side.

'Why are you doing this?' screeched Starkey, pointing his gun at Sam's head. Fear and confusion were rampant in his eyes. Sam's bold advance had thrown him.

'Because if I don't,' replied Sam calmly,' you’re going to be a dead man.'

Five yards.

'Get back, Sam! I don't want to shoot you!

Sam didn't break his stride, and in that moment, Starkey realised Sam wasn't going to stop coming. The uncertainty in his face was replaced by resignation. He had run out of options.

He couldn't run.

Nor couldn't give himself up.

He had to shoot.

Dave Starkey closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger.

Out of the darkness, a figure threw itself at Starkey and knocked him clean off his feet. Sam heard Starkey and the mystery assailant land heavily on the ground. No shot had been fired.

Sam shook his head, mystified. Who had jumped out like that? He peered inside Starkey's car and saw Carl wriggling about in the passenger seat, still dazed from the collision with the hedge.

Sam heard footsteps running towards him.

'Sam?' called out Carter. 'Are you okay?'

He ignored the question and went over to the two lifeless forms on the ground. Suddenly, one began to move gingerly before rolling over onto its back. A familiar face grinned up at Sam.

'Now, that hurt,' said Richie.