A Perfect Likeness (31 page)

Deckman, Fraser and three armed officers entered the Page’s garden at the side of the house after cutting an opening in the wire fencing. They squeezed through the tightly woven conifers and hugged the wall of the house until they reached the front door. One of the outbuildings had its doors wide open revealing scuba equipment. The front door of the house had been left ajar. They entered a large hall off which all the ground floor rooms were located. The main staircase rose from the centre allowing a right or left turn on to the upstairs landing. A soft humming could be heard. A female voice. Fraser indicated it was coming from upstairs. The ground floor rooms were checked and confirmed as empty. One officer was positioned outside the front door and another at the foot of the stairs. Deckman and the others made their way up the thickly carpeted stairs anticipating a squeak or groan at each step. The humming stopped. They stopped. Waited. There was movement across the room to the left. The humming began again. It was not a tune Deckman recognised. They moved, one at a time, frightened to breath for fear it might be heard. The door was in the corner of the bedroom and was wide open. Deckman eased himself into a position where he could see Sylvia Page standing in front of her dressing table, diagonally opposite from the door. She had her head turned to the right as she fitted one of her earrings.

Sylvia Page stopped humming again. She froze, looking directly into the mirror. She couldn’t see or hear anybody, but she sensed she was not alone. Her right hand reached down to the top drawer of the dressing table and began to ease it open.

‘Don’t move any further, Miss Page,’ instructed Deckman as they moved into view. ‘There are three guns aimed at you.’

She straightened. ‘Who are you? What are you doing in my house?’

‘We are the police, Miss Page. I’m Detective Inspector Deckman and we are taking you to the station so we can have a long talk about your …’

‘What for,’ she interrupted. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. How dare you break into my house. I’m a good, hard working citizen.’

‘Not so sure about that,’ commented Fraser taking a small gun from the drawer Miss Page was about to open. The gun was placed in a plastic bag and handed to Deckman. ‘Now,’ continued Fraser, ‘please place both hands on the top of your head.’

She didn’t respond.

‘
Now
, Miss Page,’ he repeated with greater authority. ‘Now you can take two paces back from the dressing table, just in case you have some other toys tucked away. That’s good. Okay, drop your right hand behind your back. No sudden movements. Remember there are guns aimed at you and we don’t want to damage those pretty clothes do we?’ He secured the cuff around her right wrist. ‘And now the left. Thank you. Miss Page, you are under arrest for your involvement in the importation of illegal substances, illegally bringing women into the country for the purpose of prostitution and for suspicion of murder. I think that’s enough for the moment, but I’m sure we will find more by the time we have finished with you.’

‘Yes, we know all about your activities, MissPage,’ said Deckman. ‘Please, slowly turn around and then we’ll make our way to your new home.’

At this point Sylvia Page broke the most rigid of her rules and cried in public. Something she had never done before and had resolved never to do.

‘Come now, Miss Page, why the tears?’ asked Fraser. ‘Are the cuffs too tight for you? Mr Page didn’t make as much fuss when we arrested him a short while ago.’

She spat in his face, scoring a direct hit below his left eye.

Fraser smiled as he wiped it off with his initialled handkerchief. ‘A pretty good shot, Miss Page, but perhaps not the best thing to have done at this time. Come along now, and accompany me to that luxurious new home the inspector has waiting for you.’

‘Miss Page,’ said Deckman, ‘I am required to inform you that you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

‘I’ll have you dismissed. This is an outrage,’ shouted Sylvia Page, her face coloured with anger.

‘Good, Lord, Guv, she certainly has a mighty temper,’ said Fraser as he guided her out of the bedroom.

The telephone rang as they reached the bottom of the stairs. They waited as the answer phone clicked in.

‘Hi, Sylvia, it’s Tom. Guess you’re clearing up the scuba room after last night. I’m on my way back, but running a bit late. Going straight to the marina, be there about 11. 30. Can you tell Edward please. Kisses.’

Sylvia Page made an unsuccessful attempt to wriggle free of the restraining hold of Fraser, but made no comment.

‘Whoa, there, Miss Page, no need to get excited,’ said Fraser. ‘Just think what a nice man that Tom Rawston is for letting us know where he’s going. I’ll make sure we have a suitable reception committee waiting for him.’

Sylvia Page made another futile attempt to free herself, screaming in pain as the handcuffs tugged roughly at her wrists.

‘Right, Sergeant, let’s move so we can let the boys give the house and all its grounds a good going over. Especially the scuba store where I suspect the drugs were divided up last night. And …’ He raised a hand to stop Sylvia Page speaking. ‘And I do have all the search warrants I need for your home, Mr Rawston’s home, the Star Boats’ office, Red Star, Blue Star and, as a little surprise, one for every room of every property owned by Blue Tree Properties.’

Sylvia Page was shaken and trembled with a fear she had not experienced for years. Not since she was hooked to the drug she was now involved in selling to others. She stumbled several times as she was walked down the gravel drive of the house she would not be seeing again. Before getting into the back of the police car parked at the main entrance, she took a final look back at the house.

‘Yes,’ said Fraser, ‘it’s a very nice house, Miss Page, pity it’s only going to be a memory for you from now on.’

‘Will I be able to speak to my father?’ she asked. She had begun to appreciate the depth of information the police appeared to have.

‘No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss Page,’ said Deckman.

*

‘Hi, Trish,’ Rawston said as he hurried along the west jetty, towards pontoon eleven and Blue Star. ‘You’re early today?’

‘Yes, only because Greg asked me to cover a sickness. You okay?’

‘Thought I might have found Sylvia and Edward here, don’t suppose you have seen them?’

‘No, Mr Rawston, I haven’t. Mind you I have only just arrived myself.’

‘Look, Trish, I’m expecting three new customers for a fishing trip any time now and I’m running late. If you see them, can you take them to the berth and get them to wait. I’ll be there quick as I can, just going to fill her up.’

‘Of course, Mr Rawston.’

He checked the fuel hoping it would be sufficient.
Too risky
, he thought. He made his way around to the fuelling pontoon. He couldn’t understand why Sylvia had not been at the marina to meet him or why she hadn’t, at least, returned his call. She always did. He dialled her mobile as Blue Star was refuelling. Strictly against marina rules. He wasn’t thinking about rules. Her mobile was turned off.
Impossible
, he thought. It was never off. He tried Edward Page in the office. It rang five times then leapt on to the answer phone. He tried Edward’s mobile: turned off. He scanned the marina and saw two men hurrying along the marina promenade towards the lock, not twenty-five yards from where he was. Three more were at the entrance to the east jetty. He couldn’t make out the west jetty, but guessed that too was guarded. He was sure they were police, and now he was equally sure they already had Edward and Sylvia Page. He looked around the boats in the hope of seeing a friendly face, but he saw nobody. He didn’t like it; there should have been people on their boats at this time of day. He planned as he removed the nozzle from Blue Star’s tank and returned it to the pump. But maybe he was overreacting. Maybe she was there, by Red Star, waiting for him.
She had to be
, he thought,
and Edward is there with her. But why are their mobiles turned off?
He tried to catch sight of her through the confusion of gently bouncing masts, but his view was not clear. He thought he caught a glimpse of her, but he wasn’t sure. Rawston wanted to believe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for what was going on, but he had a bad feeling in his stomach and that was good enough for him. His instincts had served him well in the Falklands and the Gulf. So why not now. He went into the cabin and took a small hand gun from the storage space under one of the bench seats. The gun was a gift from Edward Page, to be used in a real emergency only
. This could be the time
, he thought.

He kept close to the eastern breakwater so he would have a better view as he rounded pontoon sixteen. Was that Sylvia by Red Star, he hoped, and relaxed. A little closer and he realised it was Trish, accompanied by his clients. His heart was racing, what if he’d got it all wrong and there
was
a simple explanation to it all? He adjusted the throttles and slid perfectly, at right angles, across the end of the pontoon.

‘Mr Rawston, I found your three customers.’

‘Okay, Trish, hold on to the ropes while they board.’

‘Come aboard, gents,’ he said, hiding all signs of apprehension. But he was full of suspicion. He held out his left hand and as the first man reached out, his jacket opened enough for Rawston to catch sight of a shoulder holster and gun. He didn’t hesitate. Rawston’s right fist flew, smashing hard against the jaw of the officer. He screamed as the bone shattered. He fell, struck his head on the edge of the pontoon and slid into the sea. He floated face down and a second officer dived in to save his colleague.

‘Don’t move, Rawston, you’re under arrest,’ said DC Kensit as he struggled to take his gun from the holster. It was the first time he’d been required to use the gun in anger and he knew he was up against a professional. He was nervous and it cost him valuable seconds.

Even before Kensit had time to take a proper aim, Rawston had removed his own gun from his pocket, aimed and fired.

Kensit dropped without a sound. Trish, in total shock, screamed as Rawston lifted her into the boat.

‘A little insurance policy,’ he said forcing her to the deck as he turned Blue Star into mid water. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Trish. And to think I was beginning to like you. You took us both in. What fools we’ve been.’

Deckman and Fraser raced from the marina reception as soon as the arrest started to go wrong.

‘Hostage on board, do not fire,’ commanded Deckman over the radio.

‘Look after the two in the water,’ ordered Fraser to the officers who had run from the promenade. ‘I’ll deal with Bob.’

Bob Kensit lay still, eyes wide open. ‘Sorry, Sarge. I blew it.’

‘No, son, don’t talk rubbish. You did fine.’ He placed his jacket under Kensit’s head. ‘The medics are on the way, they’ll be here any time now. You’re going to be alright, and that’s an order.’

Despite his pain Kensit forced a smiled. ‘Whatever you say, Sarge.’

Rawston opened the throttles of the powerful twin Volvo engines as he passed through the inner entrance of the marina. He saw armed officers positioned around the perimeter walls. He applied more power as he turned towards the outer entrance, the open sea and his escape. What he saw made him close the throttles instantly and Blue Star was left floundering. They’d closed the marina. A customs launch and two fisheries protection vessels blocked the exit from the end of the eastern breakwater across to the western breakwater. Escape from the harbour appeared impossible, but he assessed the gap between the fisheries vessels might just be enough to squeeze Blue Star through, if all else failed.

‘Bastards,’ he screamed. ‘Can’t you see I’ve got a hostage?’ He turned Blue Star back towards the inner marina and increased speed rapidly, sending Trish sliding over the deck to the stern of the boat. Rawston had changed. He had become reckless. He sped back through the inner entrance and passed the eastern jetty before closing the throttles. He wasn’t concentrating and grazed Blue Star against the refuelling pontoon. He turned the boat towards the exit, looked around and considered his position whilst keeping the boat moving at all times. Escape appeared out of the question. His mind was reeling, recalling flashes of the past, trying to come up with a solution. Like that time in the Falklands when he had found himself trapped behind enemy lines.

Twenty-five enemy soldiers had set up a temporary camp within fifty feet of where he was. There was no way he could get away. He’d inched his way into a slight opening in a rock face and waited. He sent out a single message but wouldn’t risk more for fear of giving his position away to the enemy. At one point a single Argentinean soldier approached to within feet of his position. He heard the urine splash on the dry ground. A moments silence was followed by the unbuckling of his webbing and a dropping of trousers. He emptied and threw the soiled paper even closer to Rawston’s position. The smell was nauseating and took hours to lose its strength. He suffered in that poky hole for twenty-six hours before the enemy were all taken out by a platoon of Brits. It was of no help to Rawston, for today there was no back-up force to come to his rescue. He was on his own, and surrender was not an alternative he chose to consider.