Chief Superintendent Rothwell walked into the room in his usual self-assured manner and showing no surprise or fear he looked directly at the two men. Darrington sat at the reception desk his face strained and pallid. Just behind him, with one hand pressed firmly on his shoulder, the other holding a gun firmly and painfully against his head, stood Douglas Hood.
“Well, Hood,” said Rothwell casually, “this looks like the end of the line for you. You can't possibly get away, so you might as well put the gun down before anyone gets hurt.”
In any other scenario, Darrington would have laughed at Rothwell's gift for understatement, but the weapon held by a madman and pressing into his skull kept him perfectly still.
Douglas sneered, “I think I hold all the aces Rothwell, but I must say you don't sound too surprised to find me here. Perhaps Max did call you, after all, although you would have come barging in mob handed if you had your troops with you.”
“No. He didn't call me.” Rothwell looked at Darrington with disapproval. “He certainly should've done, of course, but we've actually been keeping an eye on you since you first showed up in Winchester. This matter's been under investigation since it was brought out into the public arena once again by that troublesome journalist. From the evidence given by Norma Hammond during the War, my team came to the conclusion it had to be one of four police sergeants who frightened off the only witness. They were all on duty in the area the night Rona McLean was killed.”
“You're lying,” growled Douglas the gun pressing ever harder against Darrington's head. “I wasn't in the frame at all; you had no idea who you were looking for. You were just stumbling around in the dark and as always you got lucky.”
“If it makes you feel better to think that, you go ahead,” Rothwell said indifferently. “In fact, originally, because of poor communications during the war, you certainly weren't a contender. When the 1945 report was compiled there were only three suspects because the fact that police officers from other regions were seconded to the capital was overlooked, but this time my team took that into consideration and added your name to the list. One suspect died courtesy of a V2 in 1945 and, of course, we were hoping he was the guilty party â much the more tidy. The other chap moved out of London and was apparently killed in a road accident before the later killings took place leaving just two suspects: Douglas Hood, a retired sergeant with a mediocre sort of reputation and a very high-ranking police officer about to retire. My money was actually on him.” He looked disparagingly at Hood, “I didn't think you had the wherewithal to do all those terrible things and not get caught, but there you are, it's not the first time I've been wrong and I'm sure it won't be the last.”
The more provocative Rothwell became the harder the muzzle of the gun pressed against Darrington's skull. Sweat poured from his face and he glared unbelievingly at Rothwell, who continued in the same vein.
“Of course, we carefully fed both suspects information about a high calibre detective re-examining old documents at the archives and preparing a new report, in the hope we would flush out one of you. I must say, we were getting a bit concerned that nothing was going to happen when we got no reaction and then you came sniffing around Winchester Police Station looking for Max. It seemed as if we had our man and now here you are.”
“I don't believe any of that,” yelled Douglas. “You always were a liar. If you had any concrete evidence, you would've arrested me, not come here alone and unarmed. You never thought much of me did you, Rothwell? That's why I didn't get the promotions I should've had. People like me did all the work and your sort took the credit but this time you've slipped up very badly by underestimating the opposition and you'll pay for that mistake.”
“Never mind about him,” said Darrington trying to calm things down. “You and I were going to work out a plan. We can put him in with the others and get away. I'm in this with you Douglas don't forget.” A painful crash across his head sent him stumbling to his knees.
“You don't think I fell for that bloody rubbish?” Douglas screamed in his ear. “You're not with me. You just want to arrest me. âRed Max' strikes again! You two are exactly the same, that's why you get on so well. You want the credit for yourselves, that's why you haven't involved anyone else, that's how you work but this time it's going to be your downfall.”
Blood streamed across Darrington's face and he felt sick and dizzy as Douglas screamed at him to stand up then pushed him toward Rothwell.
“Now both of you keep quiet and don't move and I'll tell you the plan; no need not to, neither of you will be around to repeat it.” He was in command again and enjoying the power. “Max here, who has been under such dreadful strain and who actually brought a gun with him today, is going to run amok and kill everyone in here with it. I must say I hadn't counted on him having a gun but it works out so well, I couldn't have arranged it better myself. Of course, investigations will show that he first frightened poor Norma Gordon to death. No doubt someone will have seen him at her house or hanging around the hospital and with all those nurses as witnesses, it's quite believable. Even his private life is in a mess, so much so that his wife Sarah has been suggesting he should have psychiatric help. In fact, he's been so difficult to live with she has actually left him.”
Rothwell glanced at Darrington, who didn't flinch but couldn't imagine how Douglas Hood was so well informed.
Enjoying their confusion, Douglas rambled on, “Then poor Chief Superintendent Rothwell, who just happened to walk in on the murder scene, is also shot by Darrington and finally, full of remorse âRed Max', turns the gun on himself. It's all perfectly plausible, I'll use Max's gun and no-one will even know I was here.”
Neither of them moved. The madman had the upper hand. He was armed and they were not and he stood well away from them making sure they couldn't rush him.
“You first Rothwell; on your knees,” bellowed Douglas suddenly.
“Certainly not,” said the Rothwell with not a trace of fear in his pompous voice, “if I'm to be shot what difference does it make? I'm certainly not doing to do anything to give a second-rate copper, and cowardly killer any satisfaction. Just get on with it.”
Shaking with rage, Hood scanned the floor for Darrington's gun while waving his own wildly in the air. “Where's the other gun?” he yelled. “Where's the bloody gun. Tell me Max or you'll get this one.”
“I don't know,” said Darrington, “it's on the floor somewhere, you saw me drop it.”
He looked down at the floor pretending to search and stepped forward slightly as if to help but Hood aimed his gun straight at his face and screamed, “Where's the gun?”
“It's here,” Alice Bevis spoke calmly and as Douglas Hood turned a shot was fired. He fell backwards his head crashing onto the floor propelled by the bullet that left a hole exactly between his eyes. Mouth open, Darrington turned to stare at her through the red veil of blood running into his eyes as she stood motionless between the shelves, her face set in stone, feet apart and holding the pistol in outstretched hands.
Rothwell moved to the body and made sure Hood was actually dead. “Great shot as always my darling Alice,” he said walking toward her and taking the gun from her hand then holding her to him he kissed her long and hard on the mouth.
“It's wonderful to see you again, Harry,” said the blushing Miss Bevis when he released her. “I do like these old guns so much better than the modern ones. You don't see many of them around these days.” She looked quizzically at Darrington, “I wonder where you got it from Chief Inspector?”
Darrington had passed into slow motion, his head pounded and he felt sick, he closed his eyes against the blood running into them and felt himself sinking to his knees. Someone was calling his name and he woke momentarily. He was laid on the floor, his shirt was open and a doctor held a stethoscope to his chest. Fiona's pretty face looked over the top of his head and he realised he was resting on her lap.
“He seems to be all right,” the doctor was saying. “He's not having another heart attack or anything and the bleeding has stopped but I want him in hospital to check out the bang on the head.”
Protest was useless as he couldn't even manage to form the words. Fiona put her arms forward and he felt her ample breasts push against him. “Max are you all right?” she asked anxiously through her tears.
“Fiona, please stop that,” Rothwell's sarcastic voice echoed in the background. “We're hoping to prevent poor the man from having another heart attack.” There was a ripple of laughter and Darrington tried but failed to focus on the surroundings. He was lifted onto a stretcher and in the haze around him saw Alice Bevis standing close to Rothwell, who ran his hand seductively across her buttocks.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In hospital for observation, Max slept around the clock and when he opened his eyes Alice Bevis sat at his bedside. “Are you feeling better?” she enquired in her familiar scratchy voice.
“Yes thanks, Miss Bevis.” He nodded and felt a dull throb in the back of his head.
“Don't you think you should call me Alice after all we've been through together?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“Of course and you should call me Max, after all, you saved my life. What about Matt and Fiona, are they all right?”
“Yes, Fiona got a nasty shock but she's quite recovered and Matt's fine. He was discharged earlier this morning, it was only a flesh wound and a nasty bump on the head when he fell. It would take more than that to put a big chap like him out of action for long.” “That is good news, I'm quite sure that madman would've killed us all if you hadn't intervened. Where on earth did you learn to shoot like that?”
She smiled smugly. “Well it was an old gun, the sort I'm familiar with so I suppose you could say it was a lucky shot. I could hear what was going on when you took the phone off the hook and I'd picked up the gun and put it in the first-aid box. So while Douglas Hood was ranting and raving, I slipped out of the safe room and waited behind the shelves until I had him properly lined up. People aren't always what they seem Max, but you're owed an explanation and Harry, Superintendent Rothwell, will fill in the gaps in this sorry business, but I wanted to speak to you alone first. Are you feeling up to hearing some good advice?”
“How can I refuse?”
“Put this matter behind you,” she said as her small eyes peered into his. “Douglas Hood was a madman who slaughtered at least six girls, including Claudine Duvall, and now he is dead.” She held up her hand at his protest, “I don't want to hear. What I don't know can't hurt you or me. Whatever happened, happened a lifetime ago so leave it there and get on with your own worthwhile life. We all did things at that time that we wouldn't even contemplate in the normal course of events. Harry Rothwell and I served together during the war and God knows I have some blood on my hands, but we have to move on, or at least try. I know your sort, you spend your life doing the right thing, owning up, keeping your integrity but there comes a time to give yourself a break. Taking these things any further can do nothing but harm to yourself and your family and actually helps no-one.”
Max put his head down, “Douglas Hood admitted to killing any number of girls, many more than the ones we know about, so why would he lie about my wife? Since getting involved in all this, I've remembered bits and pieces from that time and those bits and pieces could well add up to the fact that I killed Claudine.”
Alice shook her head, “You can't complete a puzzle without
all
the bits and pieces and you're never going to have them all now; it's dangerous to speculate about what really happened. As a policeman you know that to be true so forget about it now, get on with your life, catch a few more villains, there are plenty of them still out there.” She patted his hand, “I'm a great fatalist, I believe if you are meant to know what really happened, fate will see to it that you are told.”
Rothwell came through the door smiling his largest, smarmy smile and sat down on the bed. “Max, great to see you sitting up and taking notice. I popped in earlier but you were sound asleep so I thought it best to leave you but now, unfortunately, I need to be all official and get on with a debrief then all being well with the medical folks, you can go home.”
Alice Bevis got to her feet. “I'll see if I can rustle up some coffee.” As she passed Rothwell she put her hand on his shoulder, he covered it with his own and looked up adoringly at her.
Hiding a small smile, Darrington looked away. They obviously had a past, even a present and he wondered if Rothwell's wife knew of the intense sensuality between the old comrades in arms.
Rothwell grilled him about Douglas and taking the advice of Alice Bevis, Darrington made no reference to Claudine's file. Blaming his behaviour on a desire to prove himself worthy again overcoming his judgment, he admitted making a terrible mistake in asking his friend Douglas Hood to help investigate something that was just a hunch.
In turn Rothwell expanded on the brief account he had given when confronted by the gun-wielding Hood, and Darrington felt a touch smug when he learned his paranoia was not entirely groundless. Fiona, Matt and Alice were all working for Rothwell and while the Minister had asked for a report, the Chief Superintendent had, of his own volition, set a trap with a vague hope it might net the culprit. “It seemed to me,” said Rothwell, “that we would never again have an opportunity to catch this bastard who would be happily congratulating himself on his abilities to commit such horrors and get away with it. Alice and I went through the records again and came up with one more name â Douglas Hood. I knew he was a colleague and a friend of yours but what I said to him was true, I really didn't think he was clever enough to get away with a crime like this. Perhaps he was right, perhaps I did underestimate him.”