Rain on the Dead (33 page)

“I’m not falling for that, no cops,” Terry said.

“Okay, how about it couldn’t have been Max Shelby, because he was cremated last night.”

“You’ve got it wrong. He told me he was being paid more money
by al-Qaeda than MI5, and that next time, he’d drop in to see me instead of phoning. He knows my address.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Billy said quickly. “And where would that be?”

And it worked, for poor drunken Terry answered at once. “
Arabella
, moored at the jetty in St. Jude’s Dock.”

“Well, that’s nice to know, so this is what I want you to do. Have a nice cup of tea, lie down and wait, and I’ll arrange for Max Shelby to come round to see you.”

“All right,” Terry said. “But no cops.”

“Now, would I do that to you?” Billy asked. “I’ll see you soon.”

—

Billy said to Dora, “I’m going out, love, something needs seeing over at the Sash. I’ll take Hasim. We’ll go in the inflatable.”

“Like a monsoon out there, Billy. Is that wise?” she said.

“Things to be done, Dora, and I’d like the lad to get as much experience in that boat as possible.”

“Same as the River Police use,” Hasim told her. “Could have a career in that.”

Dora patted his face. “You’re too nice to be a policeman, but if you have to go, wear those waterproof tunics with the hoods. You’ll be catching your deaths from a cold if you don’t.”

Billy led his way to his office at the end of the bar, opened a cupboard, and took out a couple of bulletproof vests, tossing one to Hasim.

“These things are made of nylon and titanium. They’ll stop any kind of bullet you’re likely to encounter, and at point-blank range. Wear it next to your skin underneath the tunic.”

“Are we likely to be doing some shooting?” Hasim asked.

“I might have to, but your vest is only a precaution where there is a possibility of stray rounds flying around. That is not likely to happen to you, because you’ll be staying with the boat while I’m gone. So let’s get to it.”

—

That the whole business had really got to Terry Harker had given Max Shelby enormous satisfaction, but that could only come from seeing his prey face-to-face, being able to judge their pain, and for that, he’d have to go out.

So he found an old trench coat, tweed cap and scarf, and a conventional umbrella, opened the garage and took off in the black cab, not to telephone this time, for it was no longer enough. Only the reality of Terry Harker and the
Arabella
, tied to the jetty at St. Jude’s Dock, could be that.

—

At the Dark Man,
Hasim had gone ahead to the boat, and Dora came in as Billy finished getting ready. She found him loading his favorite Colt .25, the silenced version.

“Hollow point?” she asked.

“You should know, Dora.”

“Something serious. Forgive me being nosy, but it’s how I feel.”

Billy smiled. “Ain’t life strange? You never thought you’d end up playing grandmother to a homeless Muslim boy, did you?”

“Muslim Cockney,” she corrected him, “and if you want to know, I love him, and when I see you fitting that weapon into its belt holster, I worry, just like I’ve done for you over the years, and it could be starting all over with Hasim.”

“Being with MI5 makes me respectable now. Hasim’s like a kid brother who’s got to learn to handle himself in a dangerous world. That’s where I come in.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t worry, Dora, I’ve got it in hand,” and he was gone.

—

Hasim was enjoying being in charge of the inflatable, had taken it away from its moorings with a certain dash and didn’t mind the rain at all.

“So you know where you’re going?” Billy said.

“Of course I do. Those new Thames charts you got are clear and easy, and we’ll be there in twenty minutes. The one I’m using is under the canopy, well marked, by the binoculars.”

Which Billy quickly found as they turned into the shore, the whole place looking thoroughly miserable, a slight mist, the decaying warehouses in the rain, the crumbling boats, and using the magnification, he managed to identify the target.

“There you are, the
Arabella
,” he told Hasim. “Kill the engine, let her drift in among those boats, though half of them appear to be sinking. I’ll go up those stone steps, keep my head down, and see if anyone’s at home.”

“Is there likely to be trouble?” Hasim asked.

“The guy involved was in a bad way when he phoned me. He has a fever and he’s been drinking too much, but he’s my problem, not yours.” He passed him the binoculars. “Just keep your eyes open, but you must stay down here. That’s an order.”

“Whatever you say,” Hasim told him reluctantly.

Billy mounted the stone steps and paused on the blind side of the wheelhouse. From the sound of Terry coughing his heart out
up in the cabin, he was in an even worse state than he had been earlier.

Changing the situation on impulse, he phoned Roper and got an instant reply. “I thought you’d fallen out of the loop,” Roper said. “I phoned the Dark Man; Harry was out and Dora sounded unhappy. Where are you?”

“I’ll tell you if you’ll listen. A dreadful bloody place called St. Jude’s Dock. I spoke earlier to a very sick Terry Harker, who is holed up here. He phoned to tell me he intended to kill me for what I’d done to Myra and said that the Master had been in touch, claiming to still be Max Shelby. Hasim’s standing off in the inflatable, and I’m visiting the cabin to see how Terry’s getting on.”

“For heaven’s sake, you must let
me
get things moving. Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s there, isn’t that what they say? I’ll just go down and sort out Terry. Weapons being a specialty of his, I think it would be wise of you to let Mr. Teague know that he and his disposal team could be needed.”

“Just think about it again,” Roper pleaded as Billy opened a decaying mahogany door of the old houseboat and went below.

—

“Who is it?” Terry cried. “Stay where you are.”

He was crouching on the narrow bed in the corner in his tracksuit, blankets all over the place, his face wild. The Browning in his right hand constantly shook.

Billy stayed very calm, standing on the bottom step, clutching the steel pole that supported the steps. The smell of brandy was
very obvious, and Terry reached for an open bottle that stood on the bedside table. He held it to his mouth and tossed it away.

“Empty,” he said, and suddenly frowned. “Billy Salter, you bastard. So you’ve finally made it? But not on your own, I won’t believe that.”

“It’s the truth,” Billy said, turning slightly, still clutching the pole in his left hand, but hoping for a chance to grab for his Colt with the right.

“Stand still, damn you,” Terry told him, and everything happened at once.

There was the sound of a vehicle driving up outside and braking. A minute only and the door to the deck opened. Hasim peered in and was immediately pushed headlong down the steps, to be grabbed by Billy, and they fell heavily to the floor together.

Terry Harker shouted up at Max Shelby, framed in the deck doorway. “Who the hell are you?”

All that got him was a bullet between the eyes that drove him backward onto the bed.

Hasim seemed dazed from his fall, but Billy managed to pull him up protectingly, only to receive two shots in the back from Max that drove him across the cabin to fall on his face.

There was silence after the wildness. Hasim sobbing a little as he tried to get up, gasping for breath, and Max moved in to kick. “Crybaby,” he said contemptuously.

“No, brave boy,” Billy Salter replied, crouched in the corner behind, and he fired four of the dreaded hollow-point cartridges into the rear of Max’s skull, exploding it like a watermelon.

Hasim stared at him in awe. “I thought you were dead.”

“I told you there’s nothing like a nylon-and-titanium bulletproof vest for protection, even when a weapon is fired at you at point-blank range.”

“So why wasn’t this man wearing one?”

“I recognized him. His mustache is false.” Billy peeled it off and removed the glasses. “He works for MI5, but forgot that I do. His two bullets in my back were a waste of time. Mine worked because I shot him in the head. But what’s your story?”

“I was worried when I heard some of the things you said to Major Roper, and when you went below and the shouting started, I just had to come and see if there was anything I could do. Then the black cab turned up, and when the driver asked what was going on, I begged him for help. When he got out of the cab, he grabbed me and then shoved me down here. Why was he such a bad bastard?”

“Believe it or not, but he had his problems. It would take time to explain, and from the sound of it, I think the cavalry’s arriving, so let’s steal Terry’s umbrella and go up on deck to receive them.”

—

They stood on the jetty, sheltering from the rain under the old umbrella, and a very large black van coasted in silently and five men in black overalls got out. Their leader was a tall and rather distinguished-looking man with silver hair.

“This is what we call the Disposal Team,” Billy said softly to Hasim. “They’ll see to the bodies and clean up. You won’t know they’ve been here.”

“So they’re undertakers?” Hasim asked.

“Our own
private
undertakers. Ferguson decided too many real
bad guys, terrorists and such, were getting away with their misdeeds, and the courts didn’t seem to be able to do much.”

“So how do you handle it?”

“Summary justice.”

Hasim frowned. “And what’s that?”

“Without the usual legal procedures, just like what’s happened here. We take care of the rough stuff, and our friends who’ve just arrived handle what comes after. Those two corpses will be twelve pounds of gray ash in about two hours from now. They’ll be cremated.”

“Is that legal?” Hasim asked.

“It is to Ferguson. Let’s say it saves a lot of court time and leave it at that,” Billy told him, and held out his hand to the men approaching. “Mr. Teague, how are you?”

“Good, William,” Teague replied. “Your uncle Harry is well, I trust?”

“He always is,” Billy said as Teague’s people joined him with two stretchers, body bags, and cleaning materials. “You’ve two down in the cabin. Terry Harker, a well-known villain in the East End, and Major Max Shelby, whom I believe you knew.”

Teague frowned. “Yes, but there was not much left to recognize of the face of the man we cremated last night. Excuse me for a moment.”

He went below and was back instantly. “This one
is
Major Max Shelby without a doubt. Your bullets, if they were yours, have wreaked most of their damage to the back of the skull. There’s enough of the face for me to confirm his identity. So who was the doppelgänger we sent to the ovens last night?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Hasim said, “That black cab that he turned up in is years old. I’m interested in cars, and a thing like that would carry its registration booklet on board, other stuff like insurance, and definitely an address. That was the law then.”

Teague actually smiled. “Young man, I think you’ve got something here. We’ll impound the vehicle, take it with us, and explore it thoroughly at the workshops. It may offer a solution to the mystery of what Max Shelby was up to in more ways than one.”

Two men with a body bag on a stretcher emerged from the
Arabella
behind them, followed by a second, and they moved quickly to the black van and loaded the stretchers inside. All four men returned at once with brushes and buckets.

“You’ve got half an hour to normalize things as much as possible, and then I want out of here.” They trooped below, he turned to speak to Billy and Hasim again, and a van moved onto the jetty and came toward them. “I do believe that’s our friends from Holland Park.”

Sara was at the wheel, Dillon beside her, getting out as she braked to a halt. “Mr. Teague, good to see you and you, Hasim.”

“And good to see you, Mr. Dillon, what a morning we’ve had,” Hasim said.

“Well, you can tell Major Roper all about it. He’s in the back,” Sara told him, and switched on the hydraulic system that opened the rear door and lowered Roper in his wheelchair to the ground.

“What’s been happening, Billy?” he demanded.

“It’s complicated, but what you should know is the Master turned up here in the flesh, Max Shelby as I live and breathe, and Mr. Teague will confirm that for you.”

Roper turned inquiringly to Teague, who said, “It’s true, I’m afraid, so who we cremated last night is a conundrum, especially as they had the same highly unusual blood group, but that could just have been by chance, Major.”

“A blood group found in only eight percent of the U.K. population? Hardly likely,” Roper said.

“So is winning millions on the National Lottery, but somebody does and frequently,” Billy said. “Mr. Teague is going to pursue inquiries that could give you some answers. You may tell Ferguson on my behalf that Terry Harker is dead, shot between the eyes by Max Shelby in a lively fracas here. Where is he, by the way?”

“Cocktail party at Downing Street to say good-bye to Cazalet and the French Foreign Minister,” Sara said. “Boring stuff with a bunch of politicians.”

“Well, Hasim and I had an interesting time, which involved him being thrown down the cabin steps by Max, who shot me in the back twice, forgetting I was wearing the usual bulletproof vest recommended by MI5. I, of course, made sure of him, blasting four hollow-point cartridges into the back of his skull. So—I’m keeping in practice. I did kill someone today.”

Dillon’s face stayed calm, but Sara looked troubled. Roper said, “Ferguson will need to see you, Billy.”

“What for, another dose of the great and the good waiting graciously to thank the simple foot soldier who’s got things right again? Well, I’ve had it. I need a rest from all that. I’m going to take it, and you can tell the great man I’ve no idea when I’ll be back or if I ever will. Come on, Hasim, let’s get out of this disgusting place.”

He was down the stone steps and into the inflatable and casting off by the time Hasim caught up with him and said, “Where now?”