In the week since Campanelli’s return, everything had been quiet. Then, very late one night, the phone trilled sharply in Baxter’s office, where he was hard at work putting some finishing touches to River of Dreams.
‘Damn the phone,’ he said as he reluctantly reached for it.
Julie’s voice was agitated. ‘Greg, they’ve got Ian.’
‘Who have and where?’ he asked, his heart starting to pound.
‘You know I often work into the wee small hours. Well, ever since Campanelli came back, I’ve been driving past his yacht on the way home. Sometimes I’ve pulled over and kept an eye on it for a while—’
‘Julie!’
‘I’ve been careful, Greg. And it was worth it. Tonight I saw Campanelli’s thugs dragging a man up the jetty. I got out of my car and snuck a little closer—’
‘Julie—’
‘I’m sure no one saw me! But I saw it was definitely Ian. They must have woken up to him at last.’
‘You didn’t ring the police, did you?’ Baxter asked, pulling on his jacket.
‘No, of course not. I can’t be sure I won’t get Senior Sergeant Cross.’
‘Good. But how many men are on the boat?’
‘Four, with Campanelli himself. Apart from his two goons there’s a fellow who’s a kind of minder. He looks after the boat and does a lot of odd jobs.’
‘Four men and they may be armed. I think we’re outmatched, Julie. We might have to find a way to get the coppers involved—’
‘There’s no time for that! Look, I’m going with or without you. Right now they’ll be knocking Ian about to get information. Then they’ll dump him in the ocean.’
‘They’ll dump you too if you go meddling with them.’
‘I can’t stand idly by and let them kill Ian!’
Baxter knew she was right—he just didn’t want her anywhere near danger. But he couldn’t take on four men alone, and without the police, it was him and Julie together. In that case, he thought, the more the merrier.
‘All right, I’m in,’ he said. ‘Ring Steve and get him to meet us near the jetty. He isn’t a fighter, but he may be of some use.’
Julie agreed and named a particular side street as a good place to meet.
When Baxter put the phone down, he looked at the old shotgun beside his desk. He was tempted to bring it, but after a moment of thought he vetoed the idea. Instead he rammed a short ironwood stave in his belt. It was incredibly heavy for its length and as hard as iron, hence the name—a very handy weapon at close quarters.
He didn’t even consider bringing Chief. The dog was loyal and trustworthy, but he wasn’t trained for a situation like this. He was an innocent pet, not a police dog, and there was just too much risk of him being shot. Before Baxter rushed out of the house, he gave his mate a pat and told him to hold down the fort.
•
When Baxter arrived in the darkened side street near the jetty, he spotted Lewis and Julie waiting in her car. He parked and walked down to meet them, keeping to the shadows, then knocked on the window and got into the back seat.
Julie hadn’t had to twist her brother-in-law’s arm: when told that Baxter needed his help, he’d given Jane an excuse and left immediately. Julie had put him in the picture, so he was aware that they were almost certainly in for a scrap.
‘How do we tackle it, Greg?’ he asked.
‘Head-on, Steve. There’s no other way. The longer we leave it, the worse it will be for Latham. We’ll have to put Campanelli and his men out of action. But Steve, I’m not expecting you to fight except in an absolute emergency. Julie, remember to go for vulnerable areas like the eyes and ears. And of course, if you get the chance, kick a man as hard as you can in the crotch—as many times as possible.’
She nodded and gave him a grim smile. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Let’s go,’ Baxter said urgently.
They ran up the jetty and then jumped across to the yacht moored alongside. A thick-set fellow wearing a peaked marine cap appeared at the top of the steps that led down into the yacht. ‘Where do you think you fellows are going?’ he growled. ‘This yacht is private property. Clear off.’
‘Mister, you’ve got three options,’ Baxter said. ‘One is to help us. The second is to leave this boat and walk away in one piece. The third is to fight us and cop what comes.’
The trawlerman picked up a fishing gaff and waved it in front of him. Baxter kept walking. As the fellow thrust the gaff at him, he caught it with his ironwood stave, twisted its head and pulled it free. He transferred the stave from his right to his left hand and hit the trawlerman a terrific blow on his jaw that dropped him to the deck.
‘Steve, see if you can find some rope to tie this fellow up, then ring the police and tell them what’s going on. Tell them to bring an ambulance. We’re sure as blazes going to need one.’ Steve nodded and got to work, and Baxter turned to Julie. ‘If you’re going to be in this scrap, stay behind me.’
He pitched the gaff overboard and ran down the steps, followed by Julie. At the bottom he smashed down the door of the yacht’s saloon. Then he paused for a second.
Latham was hanging from a hook in the ceiling and two men were hitting him, one in front and one behind. The first man was big and ginger-haired—Skeeter, Baxter recognised, from the Family Hotel courtyard—and the other man had an Asiatic appearance, so Baxter guessed that he might be Yat Lee. Campanelli was sitting at a table that had been pushed to one side to allow the beating to proceed.
One of Latham’s eyes was closed and blood was running from his nose. The sight of this good man being subjected to such treatment made fury surge through Baxter. His next movements were so swift that later Julie said she had difficulty recalling them.
Baxter jumped closer to Skeeter, then spun around, kicked up and caught the big ginger-haired man under his chin. The kick lifted Skeeter off the ground and broke his neck with a crack. He collapsed at Latham’s feet. He’d been reaching for the pistol in his shoulder holster, but his hand had only closed on its butt.
‘Yat!’ Campanelli shouted. ‘Get him!’
So this was Yat Lee. Lester’s description of the man flashed through Baxter’s mind: If you meet up with him, don’t give him any slack. He’d shoot or knife you and not think twice about it.
The slim man came out fast from behind Latham with a knife in his hand. Its tip caught the top of Baxter’s shoulder and blood began to run down his arm. Yat came at him again, but Baxter ducked then hit him across the arm with the ironwood stave.
Screeching in pain, Yat pressed his arm to his chest. His knife flew across the room towards Campanelli, who’d got to his feet to take a hand in the fight.
Julie moved to block him, then kicked upwards and caught him in the crotch. He grunted and reached down. Julie paused and, taking deliberate aim, repeated the sharp kick—twice. Campanelli swore and bent over, clutching himself, his eyes watering.
Meanwhile, Baxter smashed Yat and then hit him a terrific blow across the throat. Yat slumped to the ground.
Baxter lifted Latham from the hook, lowered him gently to the floor, then untied his hands and talked quietly to him. ‘You’ll be right now, Ian. The ambos will be here shortly and you’ll be in hospital in no time.’
‘Look out, Greg!’ Julie screamed.
Campanelli had seized Yat’s knife and was charging at Baxter.