Four Below (38 page)

‘We’re supposed to follow you in, sir.’

McLusky used the drive back, closely followed by the patrol car, to formulate responses to the rocket he was likely to receive when he fell into Denkhaus’s clutches, but
he’d have found ample time for it in the superintendent’s outer office. For once Lynn Tiery’s eyebrows gave nothing away. Denkhaus kept him waiting for nearly half an hour, but
remarks about wasting police time would probably fall flat. When he was finally admitted, he didn’t get much time for remarks of any kind.

Either Denkhaus had used the last half-hour to read the relevant sections, or he was displaying a remarkable memory when he quoted at length from the Police and Criminal Evidence Act.

‘You are
this
far away from a suspension,’ he said, holding two fleshy digits a hair’s breadth apart. ‘In fact if DCI Gaunt wasn’t off sick, I’d be
seriously considering it, so count yourself lucky. As it is, you will receive a written warning. Even if your idea of James Cullip as the mind behind this killing spree wasn’t completely
unsubstantiated, your flouting of PACE would seriously jeopardize any chances of conviction anyway. Fortunately all it’ll jeopardize is what is laughably called your career. The ACC plays
golf with the man, for Pete’s sake. I’d have thought you’d have learnt when a bit of tiptoeing is required. As for turning your airwave off,’ he held up a hand to cut off
McLusky’s prepared speech, ‘and claiming no doubt that it was malfunctioning or whatever, that’s the kind of nonsense I expect from a DC, not a detective inspector on my
team.’

When McLusky was free to go, he used his stick to lever himself up and felt as though he really needed it. After a brief exchange with Austin in the incident room, he buried himself in his
office.

He doubted very much that the ACC would oblige and ask Cullip if he awfully minded giving a DNA sample next time they played a round of golf. It was time to rethink the whole thing, to review
the entire case, revisit every location, read through every report again, look at every photograph and statement twice. He stood in the middle of what little floor space there was in his office,
took in the collapsed piles of files on the floor, the overflowing bin, the mess on his desk, the condensation on the window. The fan on his computer terminal had acquired a rattle and the radiator
had started gurgling again. He gripped the handle of his walking stick hard. Smashing the place up wouldn’t help, he tried to tell himself. It really wouldn’t. But the urge remained
strong. He sat down instead, blew the dust from a drinking glass and poured himself a large measure of Glenmorangie. He swirled it around the glass, inhaled the complex fragrance, then dribbled it
back into the bottle, put it away and pulled the first file towards him.

It was mid-afternoon and getting dark in the office. He switched on the lamp, counted his cigarettes. Ridiculous, that had been a full pack only a few hours ago. The phone
rang.

It was Sergeant Hayes. ‘We had this phone call, sir, from an Ellen Carrs.’

‘Why didn’t you put her through? I said I needed to talk to her urgently.’

‘Well it’s like this, sir, she never finished the call. I think you’d better come and listen to the recording.’

‘I’m on my way.’ McLusky surprised himself with the speed with which he could move. On the way down the stairs, the stick never even touched the ground.

‘That was quick, sir.’

‘Go on, play it.’

Hayes and McLusky both donned headphones, standing next to the civilian operator who answered all calls to the station. The recording sounded tinny in their ears. ‘Albany Road Police
Station, how can I help?’ ‘Yes, hello, I’ve just come back after a few weeks away and found my place has been turned over and there’s a note in the hall that says it’s
from Detective Inspector McLusky and I should call this number and—’ A door bell could be heard, quite loud, insistent. ‘It’s all happening at once, there’s someone at
the door, can you just hang on for one second?’ Retreating footsteps. After several more seconds there was a distant thump.

Hayes took his headphones off. ‘There’s nothing more, just the operator going “hello, hello”. What do you think to that … sir?’

McLusky was already running through the door and towards the stairs. ‘Send a patrol round there immediately!’ he called over his shoulder.

‘I already have,’ Hayes said quietly. ‘I’m not a
complete
idiot.’

McLusky took the stairs two at a time. ‘Where is Austin?’ he shouted into the CID room. He didn’t wait for an answer and ran on to his own office, grabbed his jacket and car
keys and turned round. ‘Tell him to call me,’ he shouted as he hurried past again, struggling to pull on his jacket without dropping his stick. He hammered down the stairs.
Not her
place, it’ll be too late
. In the car park he slipped in the slush, nearly lost his balance. If he got it wrong now, Ellen Carrs would be dead. She might well be dead already.

He started the Mazda and forced his way out of the car park and into the traffic.
Not Kaya’s place: too small, too suburban, too overlooked
. If he got it wrong, he’d be kicked
off the force. No doubt about it. Perhaps he should have resigned before he got in the car.

Traffic was awful and he had no siren on the rented MiTo. He flashed his lights, used his horn, waved his arms, shouted. He barged across lanes, undertook on the inside, knocked the wing mirror
off a slower car, jumped the lights and bullied his way across a junction. The suspension bridge was slower than the southern route, but once across, he’d make up the time. The cycle path
along the river … Leigh Woods … Lower Failand, it was all more or less in a line, it was all within easy reach, it was
convenient
. It was
lazy
, just like the burials.
And Ilkin Kaya was lazy.
Benji, get me some cigarettes
. Just voices on a phone. It was thin, Austin would say. It was desperately thin. But it was Cullip who’d be behind it; Cullip
employed Kaya, and in the recording it was him who gave the order.
Go get the bitch
. And they had got her.

Once past Leigh Woods, McLusky found an empty stretch of road and put his foot down. The road was wet but clear; there’d be no ice, there’d better be no ice. He overtook three cars
at once, only just getting back in his lane in time before the car coming the other way whizzed past, horn blaring. He slowed down a little. If he lost it on the road, there’d be no excuse.
He nearly missed the turn-off, braked hard. From here on, it was single-lane. He used his horn on every bend, parping an angry rhythm. If he met someone like himself it would be game over. A
fingerpost whipped past, too quick to read; nearly there now.

A hundred yards ahead a car joined the lane from a side track, travelling in the same direction. It was a silver Mercedes S. McLusky stood on the brake, allowing the car in front to gain some
distance.

Cullip. McLusky couldn’t see the driver, but he remembered part of the number plate. It was him. It had to be him. It had better be him. Where had he just come from? He checked his
mirrors. Nothing but grey hedgerows, bits of dark sky. He slowed a bit more, the Mercedes out of sight Four now. He could go back there, drive up that lane. She wouldn’t be at Cullip’s
house; they wouldn’t have taken her there.
Nineteenth-century brick dust
.

Grab Cullip. He speeded up, chased after the Mercedes along the narrow lane, not using his horn now, swinging through the bends with gritted teeth and diminishing faith. He took the right turn
towards Cullip’s house too fast, bumping through the shallow ditch, dragging the side of the car through the hedge without slowing down.

He caught up with him just as he turned into his brightly lit drive. He followed him in, driving inches behind him, finally scraping along the driver’s side of the Mercedes as it came to a
stop, blocking the door. Cullip scrambled across, sprang from the car on the passenger side and came around the back to confront his pursuer. He was dressed in a blue boiler suit, gloves and black
rubber boots. McLusky waited until the man was close enough, then flung open his door hard. It caught Cullip on one knee and he took a staggering step back, shouting obscenities. McLusky levered
himself out of the car. Cullip looked fit and probably went to the gym, so he wasted no time. He swung his stick and hit him on the shin.

‘You maniac!’ Cullip shouted and staggered back a bit more.

‘Where is she?’ McLusky shouted back.

Cullip reached into his pocket. McLusky swung his stick with force and hit him on the elbow. Cullip cried out in pain. ‘Ow, you arsehole! It’s just my mobile!’

McLusky hit him again, repeating his question, then flipped the stick around, hooked Cullip’s leg up and pushed him to the ground. ‘Where is she, Cullip!’

‘Fuck off, you creep, get off me!’

The man’s suddenly high voice surprised McLusky. He brought the stick down across his nose, splattering blood, breaking it.

‘Whatever happens, you’re finished, McLusky,’ Cullip groaned, holding his face, lifting the other arm to protect his head.

McLusky thought he was probably right; he swung the stick high and hit Cullip’s knee hard. ‘I’m using reasonable force here, but I’m in a hurry. We’re moving fast
towards permanent injury.’

‘You’ll never save her if you waste time beating me up.’

He landed a crack on his wrist, eliciting a sharp cry and a stream of expletives, but the curses became more pleading. ‘You broke it, you bastard, you broke it.’

‘She’s alive then. I had imagined you’d be watching.’

‘Not the girls, McLusky.’ He tried for a laugh, but failed. ‘Never the
girls
. If I tell you the place, you’ll let me go, agreed?’

McLusky lifted the stick.

‘Otherwise why should I tell you? Come on. You can’t beat it out of me. A bargain.’

The stick remained suspended. ‘If you send me on a wild goose chase, I’ll come after you and finish you off. I swear I will.’

‘I won’t. Okay, okay,’ he added quickly as the stick started descending. ‘She’s at Hartings Farm.’

‘How do I get there? Quickly now.’

‘Back along the lane, third turn-off. Keep going.’

McLusky gave a grunt of grudging satisfaction. Then he dug his handcuffs from his jacket and clasped them around Cullip’s unbroken wrist, quickly dragging his protesting prisoner by the
arm until he could thread the other end of the cuff through the rear door handle of the Mercedes. ‘I lied to you,’ McLusky said.

‘So did I,’ Cullip spat. ‘She’s dead.’

McLusky pulled Cullip’s iPhone from his pocket and lobbed it into the garden. ‘Why? Why kill them all?’

‘Blackmail. One of the bastards was blackmailing me. With a picture of how we killed Wayne. Fuck knows how they took that. One of them sent me bits of it. And bits to the
Bristol
Herald
. We took care of the
Herald;
we took care of all of them.’

McLusky got into his car and reversed out of the drive at speed. Once back in the lane, he dialled Austin’s number while he accelerated away.

‘Ah, good thing you called,’ Austin began. ‘The patrol that went round Ellen—’

‘Shut up, Jane, and listen. She’s probably dead. It was Cullip and Kaya. Send someone round Cullip’s place. I left him cuffed to his Merc; make sure they caution him, I
didn’t have time. I’m on my way to Hartings Farm, near here. I think it’s where the killings were done.’

‘I just found out that Cullip bought it. It’s a derelict farm near Lower Failand.’

McLusky turned up the lane from which the Mercedes had emerged. ‘I’m nearly there.’

‘Be careful, Liam. If the girl is dead, why not wait for backup?’

‘Feel free to join me.’ McLusky terminated the call and concentrated on the way ahead. This lane was even narrower; the hedgerows looked neglected. Only a mile further on, he found
it. As soon as the loom of its dark buildings appeared, he killed the lights, stopped and left the car in the lane. Even so, anyone at the farm might well have heard the engine or seen the lights
approaching.

A wind had sprung up, curiously mild after the long wintry spell. There was only the faintest light in the sky now, and it took McLusky a minute for his eyes to adjust. He walked carefully
towards the buildings. After some steps he paused for a few heartbeats, then threw his stick into the hedge and walked back to the car. Half hidden under the driver’s seat and forgotten until
now lay the confiscated shotgun, gold-plated and sawn-off. He was amazed at the confidence the heavy weapon bestowed as he moved swiftly with it up the lane.

Hartings Farm had not been derelict for long but had obviously been neglected for many years. The signs were everywhere. The five-bar gate to the yard stood open but hung on a single hinge; the
yard itself consisted of mud and concrete islands in a sea of melting snow; the old brick-built farmhouse was shuttered and partially boarded up, its roof missing several tiles. A row of low,
sagging outbuildings contained a profusion of junk and rusting machinery. Confused tyre tracks ran all over the yard, some leading straight towards the closed double doors of a large barn.

McLusky stopped just inside the gate. There were thirty yards of open space between him and the barn. If Kaya was armed and had heard him, then it would happen here, between the gate and the
barn. He heard a faint noise from somewhere ahead, a dull thud followed by a thin metallic clang. It was probably the wind. It didn’t sound like a man taking aim. He started to cross the yard
in deliberate loping strides. With a loud splash his foot disappeared up to his shin into a black puddle. He stood still while the icy water flooded his boots. There was no more sound. Slowly he
withdrew his foot and squelched on, shotgun pointing at the uneven ground, until he reached the wall beside the door. Backup. Should have waited for backup. He crept into the dark along the
right-hand side of the building, but his feet instantly snagged on hidden debris among the weeds. He withdrew back to the door, listened. For the fifth time since entering the yard, he felt for the
safety catch, making sure it was off. Then he stretched out a hand for the crude wooden handle on the left leaf of the door and pulled. After opening a foot’s width, the wood gave a creak
that sounded like a shout in McLusky’s ear. He slid through the gap and advanced a few steps into the cavernous dark, then squatted down, shotgun levelled.