He was small, and he was vicious, but even his detractors had to admit he was as brave as a lion. He filled his narrow chest to call for help.
Donovan was too far away to stop him. Payne shook him, hard; which might have introduced an interesting tremolo into his yell but would have done nothing to muffle it.
Sarah Turner lifted the brass candlestick off the
hall table and hit him over the back of the head with it.
Dr Chapel gave a choked little grunt of surprise and dropped where he stood. A spurt of blood painted bright splashes on Elphie's white cheeks.
âGo,' Sarah said, and her voice was hard. âIt'll be ten minutes before they get up the nerve to break in, and that's the only way they're getting in or he's getting out. Leave by the back door and stay close to the wall. If you're careful you can reach the sheds without anyone seeing you; unless they've put a guard on the Land Rover. If they have you'll have to fight your way out.'
Donovan nodded. He knew she wasn't doing this for him but because she saw in him Elphie's only salvation. Still, it would have been easier to do what they'd done before: believe Chapel when he said everything would be all right. She'd trusted a stranger with her most precious possession, and pushed the limits of her own character to buy a chance for both of them. Now wasn't the time to tell her he hadn't the strength to fight his way out of a wet paper bag. âI'll do my best.'
âRemember this,' she said tersely. âNothing matters â
nothing â
besides getting that child safe.'
He nodded. He took Elphie's hand and stepped over the unconscious body on the hall floor, and went from the house.
Â
Â
The doctor who met them on the steps of the fever hospital looked both anxious and relieved. âThat was quick.'
Liz and Shapiro traded a puzzled frown. âSorry?'
âIt can't be ten minutes since I phoned. I wasn't sure you'd come at all, let alone that quickly. I didn't think I was getting through to you about the seriousness of the situation.'
âSituation,' echoed Shapiro. He thought about it but no, it still didn't make any sense. âThis is the first time we've spoken.'
âIt wasn't you on the phone?'
âIt wasn't anyone at Queen's Street.'
âQueen's Street?'
Shapiro took a deep breath and started again. âQueen's Street Police Station, Castlemere. That's where we're from.' Light dawned. âYou've been talking to the police in Cambridge? About Martin Wingrave? Why, what's happened?'
âHe's gone!'
âGone? You don't mean died?'
âThere'd be nothing to worry about if he was dead,' said the doctor impatiently. âHe's not: he's a lot better. Well enough to have put his clothes on and walked out. He knocked one of my nurses down.'
Liz was frowning. âI thought people had the right to discharge themselves.'
âThey have; even from here, most of the time. They don't have the right to help themselves from the samples cabinet before they go.'
Liz stared at him. âSamples of what?'
âAnything from E. coli to haemorrhagic fever, for
God's sake! This is a fever unit: we deal with agents too dangerous to leave in the general hospitals. We're still working out exactly what he got away with, but there was nothing harmless in that cabinet.'
âWhere did he go?' asked Shapiro.
The doctor shook his head. âNobody saw it happen â well, the nurse he knocked down did, but by the time she was up to raising the alarm he'd vanished. We're searching the hospital right now, but nobody's seen him. I think he's gone.'
âHow was he?' asked Liz. âI mean, should we stake out the public conveniences?'
âHe was fine. He was ready for home. Why would he suddenly do this? All right, he's an odd sort, there was a general consensus here that a dose of poisoning might have been God dropping hints, but still â¦'
âMr Wingrave deceived us all,' said Shapiro. âNobody poisoned him: he poisoned himself. We think he's the blackmailer who's been holding Castlemere to ransom.'
The doctor went on staring at him as the implications fell slowly through his eyes and began to hit bottom. âThen â what's he going to do with the samples he's taken?'
Right now that was the only important question. And it wasn't going to be resolved in Cambridge. Liz and Shapiro headed back to their car.
âHe isn't going to win now, is he?' said Liz. âIt's too late for that. We know who he is, he can't take the money and disappear â he's lost.'
Shapiro thought then nodded. âI suppose.'
âThen what he wants those samples for is
vengeance. He's not going to get his money, he's probably going to prison â but by God he can make sure we've no cause to celebrate either. While he expected to succeed he was willing to see how far he could go on threats alone. Now he's lost he's going to show us what he's capable of. He's going to hurt as many people as he can before we catch up to him.'
âSo he's heading for Castlemere.'
âI'm sure of it.'
âEven though that's where we'll catch him? Anywhere else he has a chance, but in Castlemere we will catch him. He must know that.'
âI don't think he cares. I think, if he can't have what he wants, the only thing left that matters to him is punishing those who got in his way. He'd rather go down in history as a mass murderer than someone who tried to blackmail a town and failed.'
âIf it's a numbers game, I suppose the water supply would be a good place to start.' Shapiro called Queen's Street, despatched a patrol to the water treatment works on the edge of The Levels. âWhere else?'
âAnywhere.' Liz shook her head despairingly.
âAnywhere!
If he stands on the castle ramparts and smashes the bottles on the cobbles in the square he can be pretty sure of spreading something nasty. It might be a scattergun approach, but if all he wants is bodies â¦'
Her voice slowed down as her thought processes caught up. âBut that isn't all he wants, is it? He also wants to punish Sheila. He's worked out by now that she's in custody â maybe he's been trying to call her at home, when he couldn't get through he guessed
she'd been picked up and we'd be after him next. That's why he left the hospital, and why he left it equipped to do some damage.'
âSheila's safe enough,' said Shapiro. âHe can't get at her in the cells:
âHe doesn't need to.' Liz's eyes were wide and she took the phone from his hand. âFrank, we
know
what matters most to Sheila, and it isn't her own safety. He's going for her baby.'
They'd have him within the hour. Wingrave wouldn't be sure where Jason was: he might go to Sheila's flat first or he might go to her mother's house. Another phone call sent officers scurrying to both addresses.
He had a half-hour start on them. Even if he'd hijacked a Porsche he couldn't have got from Cambridge to Castlemere in under an hour so there was time to intercept him. When Shapiro had explained the situation to Superintendent Giles he took a deep breath and proposed that firearms officers be part of each group, at Arrow House and at Coronation Row.
Giles sounded shocked. âIs that necessary?'
âYes,' said Shapiro plainly. âThis is a deeply dangerous man. A psychopath equipped for germ warfare: it's hard to imagine a more lethal combination. He raided that hospital cabinet with the explicit intention of spreading fatal diseases. He doesn't care who falls sick, who dies, except that the longer the casualty list the more vindicated he'll feel. It's his way of paying us back for outmanoeuvring him: if he's not going to get his money he's going to create as much mayhem as he can before he's caught.
He won't be stopped by the flash of a warrant card and a firm hand on his collar.'
âCan we prove he's behind the blackmail?'
âI'm sure we can,' said Shapiro. âWith Sheila Crosbie's testimony and a thorough search of his house I'm sure we'll put it beyond any doubt.'
âBut not in the next half hour.'
âWell â no.'
âFrank, before we kill this man we have to be absolutely sure he is who we think he is.'
âI hope it won't be necessary to kill him,' growled Shapiro. âBut if we have to fight him to the ground, a lot of people are going to be in danger. Our people. It isn't reasonable to ask unprotected police officers to engage in a wrestling match with a plague carrier.'
Still Giles thought about it. But in the end he did the only thing he could: he agreed. âAsk Inspector Graham if her reclassification is up to date.'
It was, but Liz wasn't carrying a weapon and going back to Queen's Street to check one out would take too long. âIf he wants my name on the sheet,' she said grimly, âhe'll have to send me something to fire.'
âHe wants it as by-the-book as he can make it,' said Shapiro apologetically. âIf Wingrave ends up dead, it looks better for an inspector to have done it than a constable.'
âAnd better a woman than a man. If Jim Stark does it he's a police thug rampaging out of control. If I do it I'm a plucky heroine protecting a tiny baby.' Under the irony her voice was taut. She had no illusions about what lay ahead. This was not a man who would be deterred by threats. If he arrived at a scene where
she was the authorized firearms officer, she would have to shoot him.
She could do it. That was what all the hours of training, practice and reclassification were all about: so that in an emergency, to protect lives, she could drive enough hot metal into a man's body to stop him. She'd done it once before. But it didn't make it any easier. For some AFOs, once was enough.
She sniffed. âWell. There'll never be a better candidate, or a better cause.'
The car paused in Brick Lane long enough to let Liz out, then proceeded on into The Jubilee. âIf there's nothing doing at the flat I'll catch up with you at Sheila's mum's,' she called after it, and Shapiro waved a hand in acknowledgement.
Stark and WPC Flynn had been at the flat for half an hour but no one had come to bother them. Liz waited with them for perhaps ten minutes, but increasingly came to see it as futile. If Wingrave came here she'd know within thirty seconds anyway, and Stark would deal with the situation until she could return. Probably, though, he would go to the house. With Sheila in custody he'd expect the flat to be empty and Jason at his grandmother's home.
âOK,' said Liz, âI'm going over to Coronation Row. If he turns up here I can be back in two minutes. Just â don't take any chances with this man. I'd rather see him dead than either of you.'
As she walked up Brick Lane someone fell into step beside her. He came from nowhere, suddenly he was at her side, and her first thought was that
somehow it was Martin Wingrave and she still didn't have her firearm.
But it was Mitchell Tyler. He said, âDevelopments?' in a tone heavy with implied criticism. As if she should have told him before haring off to Cambridge.
She spared him an irritated glance. âYes. We know who's behind it. Hang around: he's on his way here now.'
âHe?' The left eyebrow arched. âSo you were right â it wasn't Sheila Crosbie.'
Honesty piqued her. âRight and wrong. She was involved, but only under duress. He threatened her baby. He's still threatening the baby.' She condensed the story into a few brief sentences.
Tyler heard her out in silence, a massive presence beside her. âAnd do we know yet what samples he took?'
The hospital kept scrupulous records, they'd provided a full list within ten minutes. âTyphoid, legionnaire's disease and hepatitis.'
His expression didn't flicker. But he'd understood well enough. âAre your shots up to date?'
She managed a thin smile. âNot against that lot. So be warned: if you do want to be in at the arrest our health authorities may turn you into a pin-cushion for the privilege.'
âJeez!' he swore feelingly. âI've only just got out of the last damned hospital!' That reminded him. âHow's your husband doing?'
It struck her with a pang like knives that, with everything that had happened in the last couple of
hours, she hadn't had the time to find out. She hadn't even had the time to wonder. âHe'll be all right.'
âThat's something, then.'
They turned the corner into Jubilee Terrace. Tyler said, âAt least the stupid girl got one thing right. She put the kid where he'll be safe.'
Liz nodded. âIt was the one thing she always knew: that she had to keep the baby away from his father. Everything she did was geared to that.' They continued half a dozen paces more, then she slowed and stopped, her face creased in a puzzled frown. âMitchell â I didn't tell you what we did with the baby.'
He shook his head, unaware that it mattered. âThe neighbour did.'
âNeighbour?'
âThe flat next to Sheila's. When I got no answer I raised the neighbour. A black woman, mid-fifties? She told me you'd arrested Sheila and taken the baby to the children's home.' He was watching her closely, his gaze like needles. âWhy?'
Liz let out a long breath and shut her eyes for half a second. âBecause if you can know that, so can he. Wingrave. He wouldn't even have to go there. If he knew the neighbour's name he could phone her up and ask what was happening. If she'd tell you, a total stranger, she'd tell him.
âHe's not going to the flat, and he's not going to Coronation Row. He doesn't have to. He knows where Jason is. He's on his way to Dunstan House. He's taking his bugs to a children's home!'
âThen we need to get there.'
It was too far to run. âI have to tell Frank â¦'
âI'll drive, you call him.'
âDrive what?'
He strode back into Brick Lane. A white van was manoeuvring at the junction. It belonged to a rep who'd taken a wrong turn looking for the River Road. He was about to find out just how wrong.
Tyler stepped in front of the van and it stopped. There wasn't much choice: running him down would have been like driving into a brick privy. Nervously, the rep wound down an inch of window. âYes?'
Tyler smiled, not altogether reassuringly, and stepped round to his door. He yanked it open and hauled the rep outside. âYou can get it back from the police in an hour. By then it should have saved some lives.'
He got in behind the wheel; a moment later Liz swallowed her doubts and got in beside him. As they drove off she said reprovingly to the rep, âIf you'd had your seat-belt on that wouldn't have happened.' Then they were gone.
Â
Â
The Land Rover was being watched. Donovan's heart sank. With it he wouldn't have needed a head start: he could have gone through the villagers and any obstacle they were likely to throw in front of him. He'd have done it, too. These were people who'd conspired in one murder and were set upon another. They had too much to lose: they wouldn't listen to reason. If they caught him they'd stamp him into the dust.
Nor was it only his own life at hazard. Whatever Dr Chapel said, whatever these people would say if
they were asked, Donovan knew that the next thing they felt threatened by would suffer the same fate. Fourteen years ago they had embarked on a road by which there was no returning. When they'd killed two men and still didn't feel safe, in no time at all their gaze would turn towards the changeling child who could betray them.
In the circumstances he'd have had no compunction about flattening anyone who stood between him and the road out of here. But there were three of them, and even on a good day, even with surprise on his side, dealing with three men would have been a problem. Today it was a joke. They could have overpowered him and made corn dollies with their other hands.
No Land Rover then. He backed away cautiously, sliding out of sight round the corner. But he still needed transport. He couldn't have walked out of here if nobody had been after them.
Elphie could. Elphie could disappear into the fen and keep herself out of sight until she found help, and a search could pass within a metre of her and never find her if she wanted to stay hidden. But would she do it? She was eight years old; mentally she was less than that. These were people she'd known all her life. If they called to her that the game was over now, they were all going back for tea, she'd pop her head out of the sedges and join them. Frail as he was, Donovan still thought her best chance was with him.
And maybe she could help him in return. He squatted down, face to face with her, his voice an urgent whisper. âElphie â the quad bike. The thing
your dad tows the trailer with. Where does he keep it?'
One red sleeve rose as she pointed. Just in time he slapped a hand over her mouth. âQuietly!'
She nodded obligingly enough. âThe stable.' He followed her finger to the range of outbuildings across the yard. The stable was the last one and backed on to the first of the bulb fields. God knows what he'd do to next year's daffodils, but if he could get it out and started they could cover a lot of ground before a pursuit capable of following could be mustered.
And they'd have to, because the sound of the little engine would be like rifle fire ricocheting between the stone buildings. Their ten minute head start would shrink to the time it takes a strong man to run fifty metres carrying an iron bar.
Even footsteps could betray them now. They tiptoed across the yard and opened the stable door just enough to slip inside.
Donovan didn't do a lot of praying. But he prayed now, and it seemed to work. The key for the bike was on Payne's ring along with the keys to the Land Rover. He made sure, half-turning it in the ignition; when there was no resistance he went to the back of the bike to disengage the trailer.
It was heavier than he expected, or he was weaker: the tow bar dropped to the cobbles with a crash that made his heart leap. Surely someone had heard that? â the men at the Land Rover if not those in front of the house. Instinct told him to freeze and listen. Common sense told him to keep moving, that whether or not
he'd been heard this was his one chance of escape and the sooner he took it the better.
âElphie,' he whispered. âOpen the stable door, then get up here in front of me.'
They were ready. It was now or never: he turned the key and punched the starter. In the confines of the stable the engine roared like a B-52 taking off and the chunky machine shot out of the door like a cannonball.
Elphie shrieked in what Donovan, gob-smacked, recognized as exhilaration. The noise was immaterial now â everyone in East Beckham must have heard the engine fire â but it drove home what he constantly needed to remember. This was a child, and not a normal child. However often he told her they were in danger, she would forget; however much he impressed on her the need for quiet, however well she seemed to understand, she couldn't be relied on. If he was to save her it would be despite her best efforts.
The bulb fields opened before them, newly ploughed, the dark brown corduroy as yet unmisted by green. He had only the vaguest idea which way he was pointing, and right now it didn't seem to matter. All he cared about was putting distance between himself and East Beckham.
He had to stay off the road. It would have made for easier riding than the humps and furrows of the field, but on tarmac the Land Rover and whatever other vehicles they had would overhaul the bike in minutes. With only one road in and out they couldn't have missed him. He had to stick to ground too rough even for the Land Rover, or tracks too narrow for it.