Spawn (30 page)

The big man tottered, then tumbled forward into the mud, groaning. Randall rolled clear, helped to his feet by PC Higgins. Both of them watched, almost in awe, as Harvey raised himself up on one elbow and tried to get up. Randall stepped forward and, with all the power he could muster, drove his foot into the big man’s face. The impact shattered his nose, blood and small fragments of bone flying into the air.

“Bastard,” muttered Randall, massaging his throat. He prodded the prone body with his foot then turned to Higgins.

“Get an ambulance for him,” snapped the Inspector. “But put the cuffs on the bastard first.”

Higgins scuttled off to call an emergency vehicle while Fowler cuffed the unconscious convict.

“He killed PC Charlton,” said Reed, motioning towards the house. Randall walked slowly towards the deserted dwelling. He did, indeed, find Charlton in the house, his stomach somersaulting as he gazed at the mutilated corpse. He lingered in the reeking cellar for a moment then walked back out into the yard sucking in huge lungfuls of clean air.

An ambulance was approaching, its blue light spinning frenziedly and Randall watched as Harvey was lifted into the back of it by the dark uniformed men. The vehicle turned full circle and sped off in the direction of Fairvale, its siren gradually dying on the wind as it got further away.

“Thank Christ we found him, guv,” said Higgins.

Randall nodded.

“Yeah,” he said acidly. ‘But we were three months too late, weren’t we?

Randall lit up another cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke which diffused in the warm air. It drifted lazily in the lounge bar of “The Gamekeeper”. The pub was quieter than usual but, nevertheless, Ralph the landlord busied himself behind the bar, serving and chatting, dispensing booze and gossip in equal proportions. He was a big man, about four years older than Randall and he carried a bad limp (beneath his trousers he wore callipers). He’d been landlord of the pub for the past eight years, prior to which he’d been in the Scots Guards. The limp was a legacy from one of his spells in Northern Ireland.

Every so often he would look across and nod agreeably at the Inspector who was sitting on the other side of the room beside the blazing log fire which roared in the grate. The hiss and pop of burning wood seemed unnaturally loud in the relative calm of the lounge. From the public bar, the far off sound of a juke-box cut through the subdued nattering. The pub was old but the juke-box was its concession to a livelier, more hectic age, one which was lived out in the public bar, frequented mostly by youngsters. The older regulars were content to down their pints and to play dominoes in the snug. Cocooned within that cosy environment, they were oblivious to all around them.

“Penny for them,” said Maggie, studying Randall’s expression.

He looked up and smiled.

“Sorry, Maggie,” he said. “I was miles away.”

“I noticed. What’s wrong, Lou? You’ve been quiet ever since we got here.”

“Be thankful for small mercies,” he grinned.

“
Is
there something on your mind?” she persisted.

He reached for his pint and took a hefty swallow.

“I was thinking about Harvey,” he confessed. “I rang my superior, Frank Allen, to tell him we’d got Harvey. Do you know what he said? ‘About time’.” He paused. “Bastard.”

“What happens to him now?” Maggie wanted to know.

“They’ll stick him in Rampton or Broadmoor I suppose. He’ll be taken back to Cornford prison in the meantime. Though to be honest, I couldn’t give a toss where they put him as long as he’s out of the way. I just wish I could have got hold of him sooner than I did. Four people are dead now who might still be alive if I had.”

“Come on, Lou, you can’t carry the blame for those deaths too.” There was a note of irritation in her voice. “Stop shouldering the responsibilities for everything that goes wrong. You did your job. What more could you do?”

He raised his glass to her and smiled.

“Point taken.” He wiped some froth from his top lip. “What sort of day have
you
had?”

She considered telling him about Judith Myers but decided against it.

“Routine,” she lied. “You wouldn’t want to hear about it.” She sipped her drink, changing the subject swiftly. “It’s my day off tomorrow, can you get away a little earlier?”

Randall smiled.

“Well, with Harvey out of the way, there’s just the paperwork to be written up.” He reached out and touched her hand. “I should think I can sneak out around five.”

Maggie smiled.

“What do you usually do on your day off?” he asked.

“Lie in bed,” she began.

He cut her short.

“Now that sounds like a perfect way of spending a day.”

They both laughed.

“I clean the flat, watch TV, read. Go shopping.” She raised an eyebrow. “Really exciting isn’t it?”

He smiled thinly, gazing into the bottom of his glass for a moment.

“Maggie, I hope you don’t mind me asking but, well, these other men that you had relationships with –“

It was her turn to interrupt.

“I’d hardly call them relationships.”

“Well, you know what I mean. Haven’t you ever felt anything for any of them?”

“Why does it matter, Lou?” she wanted to know.

He shrugged.

“I’m a copper aren’t I? Asking questions is second nature. I’m curious that’s all.”

She took another sip of her drink.

“No, there hasn’t been anyone serious before. As I said to you the other night, I envy you your memories. All I’ve got is notches on the headboard.” She smiled, bitterly. “And I’m sure that to most of the men I’ve slept with that’s all I’ve been. Just another name in the little black book.” She paused. “There was one man who wanted to marry me.”

“What happened?” he asked.

She smiled.

“He worked for an oil company. They wanted him to move out to Bahrain for six months, he asked me to go with him. I said no. It was as simple as that. I’d just got the job at Fairvale and I didn’t intend letting it go. He said that I wouldn’t need to work, that we’d have plenty of money anyway but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t understand how important it was for me to feel needed. I enjoy the responsibilities I’ve got at the hospital. It makes me feel. . .” She struggled to find the word. “Accepted.” She looked at him. “Anyway, I didn’t love him.” She drained what was left in her glass and put it down.

Ralph appeared at the table, collecting empty glasses.

“Hello, Lou,” he said. “You’d better make sure one of your boys doesn’t catch you boozing, you might get breathalized.” The Scotsman laughed. He looked at Maggie and smiled.

“Mrs Randall,” he said. “How are you?”

Maggie swallowed hard and looked at the policeman, then at the landlord. She smiled thinly in response, colouring slightly as the Scotsman made his way back to the bar.

“I’m sorry, Lou,” she said, softly.

“For what?” he asked, smiling.

‘The barman . . . he thought I was your wife.”

“Nothing to worry about. It’s not your fault and Ralph doesn’t know about Fiona anyway.” He took a hefty swallow from his glass. “Perhaps we look married,” he said.

“Who
does
know about your wife?” asked Maggie. “About what happened to her?”

“I think most of the men on the Exham force know,” he said. “Word travels fast. Coppers like to rabbit as much as anyone else. But, other than them and you,” he glanced up at her, “no one here knows I was ever married or that I had a child.” He lit up a cigarette. “That was one of the reasons I came to Exham. After it happened, I put in for a transfer. I thought if I got away from London and the places that reminded me of the accident, then it might help me to forget it. So, they shunted me around for a couple of years until I ended up here.”

She touched his hand.

“You still miss them?” she asked.

“Naturally.” He touched her hand with his own. “But not as much as I used to.”

He squeezed her hand, as if afraid that she was going to somehow disappear and she felt the urgency in his touch.

Sergeant Norman Willis checked that Paul Harvey was securely strapped down in the back of the ambulance before making his way back to the waiting Panda close by. He slid into the passenger seat, watching as the rear doors of the emergency vehicle were pulled shut. The blue light was spinning but the siren was turned off. Willis looked at his watch and saw that it was approaching 10.08 p.m. The ambulance pulled away, behind it PC Fowler started the engine of the police car and both vehicles pulled out into traffic.

Willis and Fowler had both been ordered by Randall to remain at Fairvale while Harvey was treated for his injuries (a hair-line fracture of the skull and a broken nose) and then to ensure that the captured prisoner reached Cornford prison.

Willis yawned and rubbed his eyes, blowing out his cheeks.

“It’s bloody hot in here, isn’t it?” he said.

“The heater’s up the creek, Sarge,” Fowler told him, without taking his eyes off the ambulance which was travelling at a steady thirty about forty yards ahead of them.

“I think you’d’ better wake me up when we get to Cornford,” said the sergeant, smiling.

Inside the ambulance itself a uniformed attendant sat on the seat opposite the stretcher where Harvey lay. He was reading an old copy of “Reader’s Digest”, alternately looking up to see if Harvey was OK. The big man moved occasionally, once even moaning softly and the attendant got to his feet and looked down at the patient. Harvey’s head was heavily bandaged and a large dressing covered his nose and most of his cheeks. His mouth, however, was open and there was a dribble of thick saliva coming from one corner. The attendant, identified as Peter Smart by the small blue badge on his jacket, looked at the restraining straps and stroked his chin thoughtfully. Harvey was making even louder gurgling sounds now and Smart was worried in case the big man should choke on his own spittle. He hesitated a second longer then began to undo the first of the straps, intending to roll Harvey over onto his side.

The first strap came loose and Smart set to work on the second, the one which secured Harvey’s feet.

With his back to the prisoner, Smart didn’t see Harvey’s eyes flicker open.

For long moments he tried to reorientate himself with his surroundings, with what was going on. There was a dull ache in his head and it felt as if someone were standing on his face but, as he saw the uniformed man undoing the strap on his legs, Harvey realized what was happening.

As the strap came free, he lashed out with his large foot, catching Smart in the solar plexus. The impact of the blow sent the ambulanceman flying backward and he thumped his head hard against the far wall of the vehicle.

Harvey, meantime, was sitting up, tugging wildly at the third and final strap which was across his midsection.

Smart reached for the small box close by, trying to get to the syringe, desperate to inject the prisoner with the 25mg of Promazine before it was too late. He scrambled towards Harvey who, by this time, had managed to free himself and was in the process of getting to his feet.

Smart brought the needle down in a stabbing action, aiming for the big man’s chest but Harvey was too fast for him and he clamped one huge hand around Smart’s wrist, squeezing it like a vice until the appendage went white. With a despairing groan, Smart dropped the syringe. Harvey drove a powerful fist into the uniformed man’s face, feeling bone splinter under the impact. He held his victim by the wrist for a second longer then, using both hands, hurled him against the other wall of the ambulance.

The driver felt the thump and slowed down.

Fowler, following close behind, saw the ambulance brake lights flare and nudged Willis.

“Sarge,” he said, anxiously. “They’re stopping.”

Willis yawned.

“One of them probably wants to have a piss,” he said.

By this time the emergency vehicle had indeed stopped. Fowler brought the Panda to a halt about twenty yards behind, watching as the driver got out and walked to the back of the vehicle. He fumbled with the doors, finally turning the handle.

Harvey came crashing out of the ambulance like a tank through a wall. The door slammed into the driver, knocking him flat and, before anyone could react, he was dashing off into the darkened woods to the left, disappearing like a fading nightmare.

Both Willis and Fowler leapt out of the car, the sergeant dashing after Harvey but it was useless. He saw the big man crashing through the undergrowth in his wild flight but the sergeant knew that he could never catch him. He ran back across the road to check on the injured ambulancemen. The driver was bleeding from a cut on the forehead, his companion inside lay unconscious.

“Get on the two-way, quick,” Willis told Fowler. “Alert all cars. Tell them what’s happened.”

Fowler ran back to the car and snatched up the radio.

Within minutes, every man on the Exham force was picking up his frantic message.

Outside the pub, Maggie pulled up the collar of her coat and waited as Randall fumbled in his pocket for the car keys. A slight fog had come down during the evening and Maggie noticed how halos seemed to have formed around the sodium street lamps. Objects looked blurred and indistinct through the thin film of mist.

Randall finally found the keys and unlocked the car. Both of them climbed in. He was about to start the engine when the two-way hissed into life. Randall picked it up.

“Randall here, what is it?” he asked.

“It’s Harvey,” the voice at the other end said.

Maggie saw Randall’s expression darken.

“Harvey’s loose,” the voice said.

Harold paced the corridors of the deserted asylum agitatedly. The wind was whispering through the many broken windows and it seemed to add an accompaniment to his apparently aimless wanderings. He moved with assurance through the dark avenues, through rooms which he had come to know only too well in the past and with which he was now becoming reacquainted. He could not sleep. It wasn’t that he dare not but, for the first time in many years, the welcome oblivion of unconsciousness eluded him.