A Perfect Likeness (32 page)

The marina’s water was at boiling point as a result of Rawston’s high speed run. A mini tsunami. Boats were bouncing and smashing against pontoons, rigging twanged and played out a tuneless melody as waves crashed onto the promenade. The peaceful tranquillity of life within the marina walls had been shattered.

Trish Lister struggled to her feet and made her way forward holding tightly to the gunwale. ‘This is crazy, Tom. Give yourself up, it is the only way out for you. They have Mr Page and Sylvia. Don’t make things any worse than they are. Please. Look, Tom, I’m not police. Yes, I am a private investigator, but I had no idea it would lead to this when I took on the case. I’m sorry, Tom. Please believe me.’

Rawston turned sharply and pointed the gun directly at Trish. ‘I ought to kill you now. I warned Sylvia not to trust you. She was too friendly from the start. But I can’t kill you, Trish, I’m not a murderer.’ He lowered the gun. ‘In the wars I had to kill. It was for my country and I was proud to serve. That was then. I could easily have killed that copper I shot. I know he’s okay, just a shoulder wound. The guy with the broken jaw will suffer more. I’m glad his mate dived in for him. I have nothing now. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but what did my country do for me when I needed help. Stuff all. Just kicked me out without so much as a thank you. Edward saved me from the demon drink, gave me a bloody fantastic job on the boats and then there was Sylvia. It was a good time. The best I’d known. Ever. I have nothing to live for, Trish.’

‘I believe you, Tom. I know you’ve had a raw deal, but like you said, what you have been doing is wrong and nothing can change that. Look, the police are all over the place. There’s no way out.’

‘Just be quiet and let me think. I don’t give up that easily and they won’t try anything while you are here. Get closer, but don’t think of trying to be a heroine because I might just change my mind. Understood?’

‘Yes, Tom, I understand. I’m scared and I don’t want to die.’

‘Good, then do everything I say.’

‘Tom Rawston, this is Detective Inspector Deckman.’ He spoke through a megaphone. ‘Please give yourself up. You know you cannot get out so don’t make things worse for yourself. Place the gun on the deck and come back to the pontoon. You will not be harmed so long as you bring your hostage back safely. Come on, Tom, be sensible.’

Rawston’s reaction was immediate. He accelerated, weaving recklessly through the inner harbour, throwing Trish off her feet.

She screamed. ‘Tom, stop. Please.’

Rawston took no notice and applied further power as he rounded the inner entrance towards the small gap and freedom. He was too late, his escape route had been blocked. A fourth boat had been brought in to fill the small opening he had earlier considered as an opportunity. Enraged, Rawston made another high-speed turn back into the inner marina and sent Trish sliding across the deck and crashing into one of the metal ‘fisherman’ seats at the stern.

She screamed again, this time in pain as she felt and heard the crack of a bone. ‘Tom, my arm, I think it’s broken. Listen to me will you and stop this stupidity.’ Her shouting barely audible above the scream of the mighty Volvo engines at full throttle.

Rawston took no notice. He appeared in a trance, but was planning his escape. He turned Blue Star again as he drew level with the fuel pumps. The marina was in total chaos with some of the smaller boats already sunk. Others had been torn from their moorings and crushed against the larger vessels or lifted onto the pontoons. Police marksmen, strategically positioned around the boats, were holding on to whatever was available to avoid being thrown into the water, but were unable to escape the drenching from the sea gushing up through the slatted walkways.

Rawston closed the throttles and made a rapid appraisal whilst Blue Star floundered in mid-marina. He knew the positions of all marksmen and knew they could take him out with ease, but they were concerned about Trish. He couldn’t afford to remain still and give them time to aim. He circled at slow speed, moving his body continuously whilst making decisions.

Deckman took an opportunity during the relative quiet. ‘Tom, this is Detective Inspector Deckman again, please listen to me. We don’t want anyone to be harmed so please be sensible. You know it’s impossible to get out so bring back Trish unharmed and we’ll ensure your safety.’

‘That’ll be difficult, I’ve already smashed her arm,’ he shouted.

Trish used all her strength to get to her feet, her left arm no use at all and hanging limply at her side. She winced with pain at every movement. ‘Tom, listen to the Inspector and take me back, my arm needs urgent attention.
Please
.’

‘Shut it, I told you. Remember? Next time I might just use this.’

‘Okay, Tom, Okay.’ Trish thought her life was close to ending as she stared at the gun aimed at her head.

The sea within the marina had now relaxed to a simmer. Just the smallest of the craft were still bobbing gently and tugging at their mooring ropes. Rawston continued observing, he said nothing. A big man, once an unsung war hero, but now a broken man. Or, that is what he hoped the police would be thinking. It would make his chances all the better. Another recollection of his time in the Falklands, remembering how he got caught in a cove off Falkland Sound. Just a fleeting remembrance of a similar situation. But this was a little different. It was daylight and he was surrounded by professionals. Not like the Argentinians, frightened shitless and wishing they were back sitting in their high-chairs being fed by their mothers. He had made the enemy believe he was dead by smashing his dingy against the rocks whilst under fire, diving into the sea at the last moment and using a grenade to create sufficient distraction for him to swim to safety. It might just work, he thought. No grenade and it wasn’t dark, but it might work. His options were limited. Continue and be killed, give up and rot in prison or, again, mislead the enemy into believing he’s dead.

Rawston was an excellent underwater swimmer and knew places he could reach and hide out for a while, days if necessary. He tested all the underwater equipment inside the marina and, out of habit, noted everything that might be of use one day. He made his decision and finalised his plan. He needed an initial diversion to ‘shock’ his adversary, giving him a split second to jump the boat without being noticed and head for the nearest pontoon where he would surface for breath. A difficult swim and he hadn’t tested himself recently, but was sure he could make it. A second lengthy swim through the mass of concrete and metal piles under the marina offices would bring him to the esplanade wall and a second air stop. He could rest before passing under the four pontoons to reach the arched access through the hotel and the lock-gates that would allow him to reach the secondary mooring and maintenance area. He would need cover of darkness to negotiate the lock, but Rawston knew it was not a problem and he felt confident he could ‘vanish’ for as long as required and pass time by planning his future, hopefully with his beloved Sylvia.

‘Tom, can I speak,’ said Trish, crossing the fingers of her good hand.

He nodded.

‘Come on, Tom, do as the Inspector says. Please give me the gun,’ said Trish with a warmth that made Rawston smile. She’d moved closer and steadied herself against the cabin door. She reached out slowly with her good arm to take the gun from his hand.

‘No, Trish,’ he said with equal calmness, ‘I’m not ready yet.’

‘But, Tom… .’

‘Don’t push your luck. Just shut-up for a moment and do as I instruct, then you might just make it back to your dear friends in one piece. Okay.’

‘Yes, Tom. Whatever you say.’ Trish noticed a sudden change in Rawston. The barely recognisable smile, the excitement in his eyes. He was alert and planning. It made Trish even more frightened. He was digging deep into his military experience.

‘Right, inside that chest,’ he pointed the gun towards the highly varnished chest on the starboard side, ‘are four sleeping bags. Get them out without making it too obvious what you are doing and then lay them across the deck behind the seats at the stern.’

Trish stared at him, her face illuminated with pain and fear. ‘How can I,’ she sobbed, ‘my arm is broken.’

‘Don’t argue, just do it. Now. You’ve got two arms so use the one that works. Now, Trish, if you wish to go on living. And remember, my gun is pointed at you all the time so don’t expect any help from your friends on shore. They won’t try anything.’

Trish edged around the boat and placed the sleeping bags as instructed.

‘Good girl. Now cover them with that fishing net and the two rubber suits from the other box.’

Trish struggled with the net, getting it tangled around two deck hooks. She started to cry. ‘I can’t do it, Tom, I can’t.’

‘Yes you can and you will. Just calm down, you’re almost there.’

She tugged hard once more with her good arm and managed to release the net which she dragged across the deck and laid it over the sleeping-bags.’

‘Now the suits.’

‘Okay, okay, I hadn’t forgotten.’

‘One more job to do. In that cupboard next to the cabin door is a container of fuel, bring it over to me.’

‘Tom, you’re not going to set us on fire. No, Tom, don’t do it, I’ve done all you said.’

‘Relax, Trish, just do it.’ He quickly took two Very pistols from a drawer and loaded them both with a red flare before placing them out of site of Trish.

‘Right, I think I’m ready to go now.’ Rawston offered her the gun.

Trish thought she was going to die. ‘No,Tom, please don’t shoot me.’

He shook his head and laughed. ‘I’m not going to. Look, I’m handing it to you handle first. Just take the gun, but don’t squeeze the trigger.’

She tensed as she took hold of the gun. ‘I’ve never held one before.’ She felt her heart beats reverberate through her whole body as she gently lowered the gun to her side.

‘Don’t think about taking a pot-shot at me, will you, Trish?’

‘Hadn’t thought about it. Anyway, I want you to come ashore with me. You will, won’t you?’

‘Glad about that because there are no bullets left. There was only the one and the poor copper got that.’

Now Trish laughed. ‘You fooled ’em, Tom, and me as well.’

‘They wouldn’t risk taking a chance at shooting me with you on board. How’s the arm?’

‘Broken.’

‘Painful?’

‘Excruciating. Tom, you didn’t give me an answer. Please come with me, I don’t want you dead. I owe you for not killing me.’

‘You know I can’t do that. I have to try and get away and I reckon I’ve got a fifty-fifty chance. Good enough for me to give it a shot. I will ask you one thing and that is not to say anything about what you have been doing although I’m sure they’ve been keeping a close eye on us.’

‘Not a word, I promise, but can we go now, I’m desperate for the loo. It’s become more urgent than getting my arm sorted.’

He laughed again and placed an arm gently around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. ‘You’ll be fine, Trish, and so will the coppers.’ Rawston was ready for the final chapter and manoeuvred Blue Star back to the end of pontoon eleven.

Deckman, Fraser and four armed officers were waiting, their guns raised.

‘You get off, Trish,’ ordered Rawston, quietly and calmly. Their eyes met and told her his decision was unalterable.

‘Tom, please don’t do it. It doesn’t have to end this way.’

‘No choice, Trish. Now get off. I’m sorry I put you through this.’ He turned to Deckman. ‘Inspector, this lady has a broken arm so be very careful with her.’

Fraser took the gun and Deckman held her good hand to steady her as she stepped on to the pontoon.

Rawston immediately applied full power and turned Blue Star back towards the refuelling pontoon.

Trish Lister grabbed the megaphone from Deckman. ‘Tom, don’t do it. Please.’

He just made out her voice above the surging power but couldn’t make out what she had said. He waved a hand in acknowledgement.

‘Don’t do what Trish?’ asked Deckman.

‘I don’t know, Inspector, I thought I had persuaded him to come with me, but obviously he had other ideas.’ Trish looked at Deckman and shook her head. She couldn’t help but cry. ‘He was, once, a very nice man, Inspector, and then it all went very wrong for him. I got all his life story from office colleagues and without Sylvia Page he has nothing to live for.’

‘You liked him?’

‘Actually, Inspector, I did, I felt really sorry for him.’

‘I hope he hasn’t got another gun with him, but if he hasn’t what the hell does he expect to achieve? Colin, tell everyone the hostage is safe, but Rawston is still free and likely to give us a surprise at any moment. He is not to be allowed to escape.’

‘Right, Guv,’ said Fraser

There were a few seconds silence before Rawston again opened the throttles, sending another powerful wake crashing into the moored craft. Blue Star rounded the end pontoon, gaining speed all the time. Rawston appeared to be losing control and was heading straight towards the eastern breakwater. He was going too fast, but managed to avoid a frontal collision. Blue Star violently side-swiped the breakwater tearing a large opening in its port side but forcing it back in the direction Rawston wanted. He, somehow, managed to regain control and aimed for the inner entrance. Throttles wide open. The surge of shock waves creating even more damage. The peaceful haven had been transformed into a combat zone. Deckman and his colleagues on pontoon eleven were drenched again and clinging on to anything available to retain balance.