Out of the Night (3 page)

I
yelled again at him, telling him to get away from the door. He ignored me and carried on.

I launched myself at him, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him round. He dropped into a fighting crouch and stabbed the tool he was using at my face. I dodged and stepped back off the step. He kept on coming, his face a vicious snarl.

He was higher than me now. I stooped, grabbed his lead leg and heaved it up. He toppled backwards. I stepped in and stamped hard with my heel on the hand holding the tool. He grabbed my leg with his other hand. I pulled back and kicked out.

Then I was hit by a hurricane from behind. The guy’s mate had arrived. I slammed into the wall with my face. Somehow I rolled sideways and turned to meet him. He stepped back and pointed a knife at me.

‘Come on, then!’ I snarled, enraged. I brushed my face quickly with the back of my hand, getting blood and grit out of my eyes.

He stepped back another pace but he wasn’t really backing off. He was giving himself space.

‘You don’t want trouble with us,’ he sneered.

No more chat. I went for him, ducking and throwing a punch that fell short, moving from side to side. I wanted to get it over with before the other one was back on his feet.

But he kept moving away, holding the knife low in front of him, warding me off. I ducked and weaved, and kept going, crowding him, working to back him up against the stone wall.

Suddenly I had him. He was all backed up, nowhere to go. But it was too late. Out of the corner of my eye I had seen the first guy getting to his feet, and he was behind me. Well, the one with the knife was going down, whatever else happened. The fighting madness was in me now. I coiled, ready to spring.

An explosion tore through the air. I paused, shocked. But only for a moment. The guy with the knife turned sideways to look. I hit him hard, slamming his head against the wall. I grabbed his knife hand and banged his face into the wall again, hard. He dropped. But I kicked him anyway.

‘That’ll do!’ I heard Jimmy Mack boom in his gravelly voice.

I pulled the knife free and spun round. Jimmy had his shotgun at the ready, pointing at the first guy. The man had stopped moving and was weighing up his options, fists dangling by his sides.

I stepped away, doubled up for a moment to catch my breath and then straightened up again. I nodded at Jimmy. He had his elbows on the top of the wall, holding the shotgun rock-steady.

I kicked the one on the ground hard again, making sure he was out. Then I reached down to go through his pockets. Apart from the knife, which was a serious-looking,
commando-style weapon, he carried only car keys and a thin wallet. The wallet contained fifty quid and a couple of bank cards. I kept it and threw the car keys at the other guy. They hit him in the face and fell to the ground.

‘What were you after?’ I demanded.

He stared at me with fierce hatred. ‘You’ll regret this,’ he said. ‘You’ll live to regret the day you were born!’

American accent, I noted.

‘I don’t think so,’ I told him. ‘I really don’t think so. What were you looking for?’

He glared at me with ferocity. I smiled back and considered what to do next. I could call the police, but how long would they take to get here?

And now the other guy was sitting up and preparing to stand. Could we hold them long enough, without shooting at least one of them? And, if that, how long would police inquiries and the inevitable court case take? I could see the headlines now: ‘Householder arrested and charged with grievous bodily harm, and attempted murder’. Would we live long enough to see it through?

Anyway, I knew pretty well what they were looking for. I didn’t need them to tell me.

And they had been thwarted. If Jimmy hadn’t been there I might have taken the chance to work on them and find out for sure. On the other hand, of course, if Jimmy hadn’t appeared I wouldn’t have had the chance.

‘Get him in the car,’ I said to the one still on his feet, ‘and get the hell out of here.’

He glared at me.

‘You don’t frighten me,’ I told him. ‘You may not know who
I am, but I can tell you now you’ve picked on the wrong man. I’ve come across a lot uglier pieces of shit than you. Now get moving before I change my mind!’

A last lingering look of pure hatred. Then he moved. He got his mate on his feet, and them both into the car. Then they took off.

We watched them disappear down the track. As their car turned onto the road, Jimmy turned to me and said, ‘What was all that about?’

I shook my head. ‘It beats me.’

Then I relented. ‘You came at just the right time, Jimmy. Thanks. Fancy a cup of coffee, or a thimble of something else?’

‘It’s a bit early for me,’ he said slowly. ‘For the coffee, I mean.’

I grinned and turned to open the door with a key, the way it should be done.

‘Y
ou’ll not know them fellows, I take it?’ Jimmy said, as he sat nursing his whisky at my kitchen table.

‘Never seen them before in my life.’

‘Thought as much,’ he said dryly. ‘What were they after?’

‘Beats me.’ I shook my head. ‘Burglary?’

‘They didn’t run,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘Pretty tough burglars.’

‘Yeah.’

I wondered whether to tell him about my midnight visitor. Instead I made coffee for us both. He would drink it, whatever he’d said about it being too early, and I needed it.

‘I don’t think they were from round here, Jimmy.’

He kept whatever thoughts he had on that subject to himself. He just nodded and looked around with a fresh eye. ‘I should fix my place up like this,’ he said. ‘Nice curtains, new furniture, and everything. And china,’ he added, turning his coffee mug round so he could study the pattern on the side.

Made there, as well, I thought but didn’t say. I didn’t want him turning the mug upside down to have a look.

‘It’s all right, your place. What’s wrong with it?’

He grinned. ‘All right for me, you mean?’

‘That’s what counts, isn’t it?’

I don’t suppose Jimmy’s cottage has been changed much since his parents passed away. It’s still a fisherman’s cottage, a time capsule. One of these days it will be discovered by a television company and hailed as a cultural relic of outstanding national significance. Not outstanding natural beauty, though.

‘Don’t forget, Jimmy. When you want to tackle that hole in the kitchen roof, let me know. I’ll give you a hand. That polythene sheet won’t last through another winter.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll let you know.’

‘I could even do it for you, if you don’t feel up to it. That’s the least I could do for the man who’s just saved my life.’

‘Would it be done right, though?’ he asked mildly, unimpressed by the flattery.

‘Well … I replaced the whole roof on this cottage. It seems all right, doesn’t it? Keeps the weather out.’

‘We’ll see. There’s some funny things going on these days,’ he added.

I looked at him, wondering where we were now.

‘Bodies on the beach,’ he said. ‘Strange folk around. Now this – gangsters.’

I digested that for a moment. ‘You’ve seen other … people?’

‘A few. I don’t know where they’re coming from, mind. But there’s something going on.’

Something going on? Well, yes. Quite a lot, actually. He was right there. And I suspected he knew more than he was saying.

‘You said yesterday there would be other bodies found – more than the three?’

He nodded and drained his glass. ‘The beaches along this coast are funny places. Lots of nooks and crannies. Fisher folk have always known that. Why would three be all there is?’

Why, indeed. Why stop there?

But I wondered if he was just talking riddles now, and didn’t know anything more.

‘That’s a big fancy boat, as well,’ he added.

I looked at him.

‘At Port Holland. Supposed to be a yacht, but it’s not what I would call a yacht. More a rich man’s toy. To me, a yacht has a sail, and goes with the wind.’

‘To me, too,’ I said gravely. ‘Who does this boat belong to?’

‘Some artist fellow. Foreign, I think. Plenty of money, anyway. Like that other one – Picasso, is it?’

‘He’s dead, Jimmy.’

‘Is he now?’ He looked surprised. Then he gave me a grin that suggested he was having me on. ‘Well, you can’t take it with you, can you?’

I was becoming impatient with the conversation. It was always the same with Jimmy. Instead of just telling you things straight off, he always had to wrap it up in mysteries and riddles. I could never decide whether he couldn’t help himself or if it was for his own entertainment.

Still, it was an interesting bit of information he’d just given me.

‘How’s he got a big, posh boat in there? The old harbour’s nothing but a demolition site.’

‘He’s fixed it up.’

‘Oh?’

Port Holland had been built in the nineteenth century for ships to load iron ore from a local mine and take it to an ironworks and shipyard on the Tyne. The more modern story was that army engineers had blown the harbour up early in the Second World War to prevent the Germans using it as an invasion platform. It had remained a heap of rubble ever since, to my knowledge. But it was a while since I’d last been to have a look.

Jimmy shook his head and chuckled. ‘He’s spent some money on it! He certainly has. You know what they’re like, these fellows. Some of them buy a football club. This one’s different. He likes the sea.’

I was wondering who he meant by ‘these fellows’, but not enough to be able to ward off fatigue indefinitely. I yawned. The events of the past day and night were catching up on me.

Jimmy looked round as a sudden squall rattled the windows. ‘More sleet. It’s going to be a hard winter, starting as early as this.’

‘Probably.’

‘Them two,’ he added with a sly grin, ‘the burglars? They were looking for something, I reckon, something they wanted badly. Before they came over here they went through my shed. They spoke to me, as well.’

I was astonished. ‘They spoke to you?’

He nodded. ‘They wanted to know if I’d seen a girl, a young woman.’

So I’d been right about what they were looking for. It was the girl they wanted. What the hell was it about?

‘What did you tell them, Jimmy?’

‘I told them no, I hadn’t seen one. I hadn’t been so lucky in
a long while. In fact, I told them, it had been so long that I didn’t really want to see one at all now. It’s too late. It would be like winning the football pools after filling them in all your life without success. What good would millions of pounds do me now?’

‘What did they say to that?’

‘Nothing. They just muttered amongst themselves.’

I grinned and looked in the coffee pot. Plenty left. I poured us both some more. It was time I told him something.

‘Jimmy, I have a confession to make.’

He didn’t seem surprised. ‘I wondered about that,’ was all he said.

So I told him about the girl. It wasn’t fair not to, given how he had helped me – and how he might have put himself in jeopardy by doing so. He had a right to know what was going on. As much as I knew, anyway.

He didn’t laugh or make any of the jokes I might reasonably have expected about a naked girl arriving on my doorstep in the middle of the night.

‘So you went out looking for her this morning?’ he said, having heard me out.

‘I did. I didn’t find her, though. To be honest, I was pleased.’ I shrugged and added, ‘It means she’s probably still alive – especially if those two are still looking for her.’

Jimmy was quiet for a while. Then he said, ‘What about the beach? Did you look down there?’

I grimaced and shook my head. ‘I’m going to have to, though, aren’t I?’

‘Aye. I think you’d better.’

We didn’t say much more. Probably neither of us knew
much more worth saying. Shortly afterwards, Jimmy went back to his own place. He was a loner. He couldn’t take much company in one go, or any at all for more than a short time. I didn’t mind his going. I needed to do some thinking, and to make some preparations. What I had in mind wasn’t going to be easy, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

I
t was possible to get down from our place to the little beach at the foot of the cliffs, but it wasn’t easy. The path was very rough and steep – part of what was left of a ‘sailors’ trod’. It started just past Jimmy’s cottage and wound its way down to the small bay from which Jimmy and his forebears had always launched their fishing boats. In good, dry weather it wasn’t too bad. In fierce wind and driving sleet, with the rock wet and slimy, it wasn’t something I would normally do voluntarily. But circumstances were far from normal.

Before I departed I checked round the house again, part of me perhaps subconsciously wondering if the girl might still be here, tucked away in a cupboard somewhere. There was nothing to find. So I prepared to leave. Despite the weather, I made a point of opening a small kitchen window slightly on the leeward side of the house. It was still icy cold outside but a bit of necessary ventilation wouldn’t lower the house temperature much. The stove would stay hot for a few hours now I’d closed it down to slumber mode.

I took with me a backpack containing a few sensible things: first-aid kit, survival blanket, a bottle of water and a flask of coffee, some high-energy food bars and a climbing
rope plus a couple of karabiners. I hoped I wouldn’t need any of them, especially the climbing gear. I also had a good torch, a whistle and a mobile phone that I knew worked sometimes down there. A dead body was one thing, but another possibility was that I would find a badly injured young woman.

The wind spotted me straight away and screamed in fury, trying to dislodge me from the track. I ducked my head and kept going, trying not to think of much beyond the next few steps. The outcrops of wet sandstone weren’t too bad to negotiate, but in places there was nothing for it but to let go and slide down expanses of the slippery shale that constituted much of the cliff. Jimmy’s ancestors had carved footholds here and there in times past but they weren’t much use when they were covered in sleet and running water. Best – quickest at least – just to slide down the rock, and hope coming back up wouldn’t be a problem.

It was about half-tide. So when I hit the beach there was plenty of sand and shingle exposed. I checked the three fishermen’s huts and hunted along the hundred yard stretch to the southern end of the beach, and found nothing. Just the usual junk you find on the North Sea shoreline: plastic bottles, driftwood and, paradoxically, empty halves of grapefruit from some shipboard breakfast table. They weren’t supposed to dump stuff like that any more, but some ships did still.

Thankfully, there was nothing unusual in sight. I turned when I reached the rocks at the end of the beach and scanned the cliffs. Nothing up there either. No dead body hanging suspended. So far, so good.

Now I had a problem. I couldn’t go north. In that direction, the cliff curved and jutted out into deep water, making it impossible to get round.

At the southern end of the bay I could scramble across rocks and get round the protruding cliff – ‘Wreckers’ Nab’ – but I couldn’t stay on the next little beach for long. There, the sea came right up to the cliff even before high water, and as the tide rose I wouldn’t be able to get back here either.

To try it, or not? I stood still for a moment, bracing myself against the wind shrieking in from the sea, closing my eyes against the needle-tipped sleet, and thinking. I could see her face. She was as real to me as if she had been standing in front of me right then. I knew I had to risk it. I had to go on. I had to know if she was there or not.

Ignoring the pounding sea to my left, as well as the sheets of icy spray and the blasts of sleet, I clambered across the boulders at the southern end of the bay and reached round the small headland into the next cove. Back on firm sand, I took stock. This beach was about half a mile in length. Ten minutes to the far end, say, and ten minutes back should do it. It had better. The tide was coming in fast.

The first danger point would be a shallow depression about a hundred yards from where I was standing. That was where the water got deepest quickest. I would have to be back past that in good time. And I would have to come back because there was no other way off the beach.

Jimmy Mack had once told me there was a way but I’d never seen anything to suggest it. The shale walls were not climbable and there was no way round the headland at the far end. Deep water saw to that. Probably Jimmy’s route had
gone with most of the sailors’ trod one day when sections of cliff slid into the sea.

I grimaced and set off, alternating between a fast walk and jogging. As I went I scanned the cliff walls and the beach ahead of me. The sand changed from firm to ultra soft, slowing me down. I ploughed on, breathing hard with the extra effort. My legs began to ache. The tension rose. This was going to take longer than I had allowed but I couldn’t give up. I had to see it through.

I stopped fifty yards short of the rock wall at the far end. That was close enough. She wasn’t here. Not on the beach or spread-eagled halfway down the cliffs either. Time to get back.

Quite soon after I turned round I realized I’d left it a bit late. Ahead of me I could see thin sheets of water spreading across the remaining dry sand faster than I had anticipated. I redoubled my efforts but the sand was so soft that running was impossible. Halfway back I could see that the returning tide was obliterating the footprints I had made on the outward leg. I had to move faster.

I grimaced and urged myself on. Faster! Faster!

I repeated the mantra more and more urgently, and kept on doing it. I willed my aching thighs to lift higher and press down harder.

A wave bigger than the rest suddenly streamed across the sand in front of me and washed over my boots. Another one followed, reaching up to my knees. Before I knew it, I was into the shallow depression and the water was waist-deep. I got through and kept going. Desperately, I floundered over the last fifty yards of sand and hurled myself onto the rocks, to begin the scramble round the headland.

I was up to my chest now in icy water that swirled all around me in violent spasms. Huge surges threatened to suck me out to sea as they retreated. My feet skidded on wet rock and seaweed. Spray arced over my head. I ducked my face against a shower of hail. Then a wall of water towered over me and crashed down to slam me against a big rock. I wrapped my arms around it and hung on desperately, face pressed hard against the icy, slimy surface. My feet slipped, leaving me hanging on by my arms, stretched full-length.

Mercifully, the water level subsided. But I knew it would only be for a moment. I moved on fast, threshing madly through knee-deep water. Panic was close. Another wave like the last one would do for me.

I made it. I felt shingle under my boots, and then I came out of the water and reached sand. I didn’t stop. Not for a moment. I kept going, past Jimmy’s boat and the little fishermens’ huts, going straight for the foot of the track. I was safe from the sea but I was dangerously wet and cold. I had no time to spare.

The climb back up the track took most of my remaining strength. I took risks on wet rock, and forged on. I couldn’t get home fast enough.

I filled the bath, climbed in and indulged myself in a really long soak in wonderfully hot water. What I’d just done was stupid, plain stupid. It could have been fatal. Jimmy would shake his head when I told him I’d nearly been caught by the tide. His opinion of me wouldn’t be enhanced. No two tides were the same, he would tell me. You couldn’t depend on small margins. I hadn’t allowed enough time. And for what?

I knew all that, but as well as being cold I was relieved and happy. What else could I have done? I’d had to satisfy myself that the beaches and cliff walls in at least the immediate vicinity were not occupied by my mysterious visitor, the girl who had come out of the night.

I could have called it in, I suppose. Contacted Bill Peart even. Despite the girl’s plea, and her obvious fear? Well, yes. Despite that I could have done it.

But it didn’t feel like the right thing to have done, and it was too late for that now anyway. At least I’d satisfied myself. She wasn’t dead on the beach, and she wasn’t lying somewhere nearby badly injured. I could rest more easily.

It took me a while to get warmed up. I loaded the stove with wood. Then I closed the little kitchen window. I’d had more than enough ventilation for one day. But I was more relaxed, and even content. The girl had gone. Good luck to her.