There were dumbfounded expressions when Heck asked which of the villagers had their car keys with them. Faces previously haggard from lack of sleep jerked into full wakefulness.
‘Sorry guys, but this is important,’ Heck said.
Still there was no instant response. Expressions were now worried as well as mystified.
‘Let me explain,’ he said. ‘PC O’Rourke and I are going to sneak around the village, checking on your vehicles. If possible, we’re going to bring a couple back here and drive you all out of the Cradle. We’ve decided not to wait.’
‘So does this mean the invisible men of your firearms department are going to remain that way?’ Bella McCarthy asked. ‘Invisible?’
‘No,’ Heck said. ‘They’re on their way, and they’re doing their damnedest to get here. But we can be a bit more proactive as well.’
‘Do you think that’s actually necessary?’ Burt Fillingham asked. ‘Or will it just make you feel better about yourselves? Bear in mind it’s our motor vehicles you’ll be smashing up.’
‘I’ll be honest with you,’ Heck replied. ‘I’ve reason to believe your cars may all have been disabled already. Perhaps extensively. But we won’t know unless we go and look.’
‘Is this for real?’ Bella McCarthy wondered. ‘A few minutes ago you told us we’d soon be safe. That reinforcements were coming. Even if they aren’t, it’s only just over four hours to sunrise. Can’t we just sit it out here?’
No obvious reply suggested itself to Heck. It was that tightrope again, where you don’t want to fall on the side where everyone panics and gets hysterical, but likewise don’t want to fall on the other side, where everyone is too complacent because they think there is no danger. Gemma solved the problem for him.
‘The weather forecast has changed,’ she lied. ‘The fog is going to linger all day tomorrow and maybe tomorrow night as well. That means whatever problem may be hampering the specialist firearms unit may persist. As we said before, we’ve no reason to believe anyone who stays in this pub is in imminent danger. But as police officers, we can’t just sit around indefinitely.’
‘The best thing we can do is see if we can find our own way out of the Cradle, guys,’ Mary-Ellen added. Our shooters will likely still turn up, but we don’t want to take any chances. All we need is access to a few cars so we can make a decision.’
There was another silence as the villagers took this in. As usual, the chirpy Irish lass who they dealt with on a more regular basis than their local detective, appeared to have a reassuring effect. One by one, five sets of car keys clattered onto the table.
‘Thanks.’ Heck circled around and scooped them up. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Fillingham. We won’t smash anyone’s vehicle. They’re no use to us if they’re not roadworthy.’
The three cops moved back into the kitchen, where Hazel, with an astonishing degree of domestic thoughtfulness, had now made a pile of cheese sandwiches for them. She shrugged, almost embarrassed. ‘You guys can’t run on air all night.’
Gemma, who would be the least useful out there as she didn’t know the layout of the village, was staying behind in the pub. So she stepped aside while Heck and Mary-Ellen, who hadn’t eaten since the morning before, wolfed the snack down. Mary-Ellen then accompanied Hazel out into the rear yard to see if they could improvise any tools into weapons. Heck polished off the last sandwich, and then turned to face Gemma, who regarded him with a vaguely troubled expression.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked. ‘I mean apart from the obvious … that I’m about to do something massively against my better judgement.’
‘Look … Mark, if you’ve genuinely been looking for some kind of leadership from me in this, I’m sorry I’ve not delivered.’
‘I’m sorry I asked you up here in the first place.’ Heck mopped his lips with a napkin. ‘And I mean that in a nice way.’
‘You think it would have been kinder not to tell me you thought the Stranger was in town?’
‘You’d have found out in due course through the normal channels. But … oh shit, I might as well admit it.’ He blushed. ‘I suppose I saw an opportunity to create a kneejerk response … to pull you out of your comfort zone.’
Rather to his surprise, Gemma smiled. ‘You mean like, where I’d be at your mercy?’
‘Sort of.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t do it deliberately, you understand. It was all in the back of my mind. I must have liked the idea of watching you try to take charge of a situation where you didn’t know the lie of the land, didn’t know the people … all set in the worst weather, in the wildest place imaginable. I thought even Gemma Piper, Scotland Yard’s Little Miss Perfect, will screw that up.’ Heck paused for thought. ‘I ought to have known you’d have the sense to take a back seat and let someone who supposedly knows what he’s doing take all the difficult decisions, only chipping in now and then with useful stuff – like that fib about the weather forecast.’
‘I hope that doesn’t backfire on us.’
‘Well, the alternative is telling the villagers there’s a maniac out there who’s gutting people alive and cutting the eyes out of their heads.’
‘I know, I know … the thing is, you and Mary-Ellen going out there again isn’t just against your better judgement, it’s against mine as well. But I’ve never known anything like this. We really are between the devil and the deep blue sea. I think there’s at least as much chance he’ll attack the pub while you’re out as there is that he’ll attack you two.’
‘Maybe just one of us should go and check the cars …?’
‘Oh, do me a favour. One of us, two of us, three, four … the fact is, he’s armed and we’re not. Just go and find some wheels, and get back here pronto, alright?’
Mary-Ellen and Hazel reappeared in the doorway.
‘Nothing more than a few spades and rakes,’ the former said, having found nothing out in the yard they could use in self-defence. ‘Not even a decent pick-axe.’ She patted the baton and CS canister on her utility belt. ‘I think I prefer my traditional appointments.’
Heck nodded. ‘Good call.’
‘Still no sign of the firearms team?’ she asked.
‘No, still no sign. In which case … you ready?’
Very solemnly, Mary-Ellen saluted.
‘Don’t mess around out there,’ Hazel said brusquely.
‘Not likely,’ Heck replied, as they coated up, pulled their gloves on and stepped out into the yard. The other two women followed.
‘Hazel’s right,’ Gemma said quietly. ‘Be careful. Don’t even think about splitting up. Not for any reason.’
Hazel’s message was to embrace Heck and kiss him on the lips, even forcing her tongue between his teeth. Aware of Gemma watching, he gently resisted that. There was reproach in Hazel’s eyes as he pulled away.
‘Gotta go,’ he said.
She gave a short, terse nod.
He and Mary-Ellen slipped out through the back gate, which was closed behind them. A second later, they heard the pub’s back door slamming as well, and a double-thunk as its bolt was thrown and the barrel-lock turned. They moved one behind the other to the edge of the building, peering over the white picket fence and across the pub beer garden and the leaf-cluttered emptiness of its car park. On all sides, banks of curdled mist corralled their vision. The next nearest building from here was a vaguely visible slate structure housing the pumping equipment that processed water from the tarn.
They crouched to deliberate.
‘The way I see it, we make a circuit of the village anti-clockwise,’ Heck whispered. ‘Start in this northeast corner and work our way around.’
Mary-Ellen nodded.
They clambered over the fence, crossed the pub garden and car park, and circled around the back of the pump-house, following an east–west path which eventually brought them to the low wall at the rear of Dulcie and Sally O’Grady’s property. Here, they paused again – but heard nothing. The fog lay in a deep, motionless gloom. They jumped over the wall, and crept through Dulcie’s frost-hardened flower beds. Beyond that, around the right side of the house, was a car-port wherein sat Sally’s Volkswagen Polo.
All four of its tyres had been sliced to the core.
‘Shit,’ Mary-Ellen said. She hunkered down, fingering the brutal gashes. Before commenting further, she glanced sharply into the murk at the end of the drive.
‘Something wrong?’ Heck asked.
She rose to her feet. ‘Thought I heard something …’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘No, what did you …?’
‘Seriously, Heck. Nothing. Just getting a bit jumpy.’
He understood that, but couldn’t help wondering if she’d heard another of those faint whispers or nasty little snickers.
Be under no illusion … there are some very weird offenders.
They circled around to the front of the house, and crossed a paved area covered with potted plants, doing their level best not to kick any over, before taking a side entry hemmed on the left by spruce firs. This brought them to Dulcie O’Grady’s Mini One, which was parked on Lakeside Row, a gravelled cul-de-sac at the other side of the property. This car too was sitting on its trims, each tyre hacked clean through.
‘Bastard’s been thorough,’ Heck muttered.
Giving up on the O’Grady house, they nipped along a ginnel back to Truscott Drive, emerging at the village green’s northwest corner.
‘Where to next?’ he wondered.
‘Why not try the Fillinghams?’ Mary-Ellen suggested. ‘They’ve got a big Rover. If that’s running, we could probably get everyone out of here in one go.’
This made sense. They headed west up Truscott Drive, bypassing the entrance on their left to Hetherby Close – no lights from the police office were visible, as McGurk had agreed – and moved to the next road on their left, Highview. All the way, the thick vapour retreated ahead of them but filled in the emptiness behind. It was impossible to shake off the sensation they were being watched, but both were experienced enough to know this was common in situations when danger was known to be close by.
The Rover was parked in a narrow entryway at the back of the small terraced cottage/corner shop where the Fillinghams lived. It sat there, lopsided, its tyres again sliced and its bonnet forced open, the engine inside trashed. The Rover belonged to Burt. His wife, Mandy, had a Renault Clio, which was parked at the other end of the alley. But this too was out of service, all four tyres punctured – they saw that before they even reached it.
And they saw something else, too. Or rather, Mary-Ellen did.
Without warning, she grabbed Heck’s shoulder, dragging him down behind a low back wall. They crouched there face to face, barely breathing.
‘Okay, what is it?’ he asked quietly.
She struggled to contain her excitement. ‘There’s someone in Ted’s cottage.’
‘You sure?’
‘I just … I just glanced right. Totally by accident. And his downstairs curtain was twitching. Heck, Ted’s down at the pub. There shouldn’t be anyone in there. It’s got to be him. It’s got to—’
‘Wait a minute.’ He clamped a hand on her shoulder. ‘Remember, if it is him, he’s armed.’
‘Okay … alright.’
Very warily, Heck peeked up and over the wall. Mary-Ellen did the same, removing her hat in the process. Before them stood the rear of a row of three small, detached cottages. Two of these, those at either end, were holiday lets and currently empty. But the one in the middle belonged to Ted Haveloc, who, as Mary-Ellen had said, was currently ensconced in The Witch’s Kettle. His downstairs curtain now hung very still – almost too still, if such a thing was possible.
‘The main question is, did he spot us?’ Heck whispered.
‘I dunno … I just glimpsed a fraction of movement. What do you think?’ Mary-Ellen asked him.
Heck held his crouch as he pondered. The house was ten yards away from them. If someone had been looking out, surely all he’d see was a darkened, foggy alley. But there was no way to be sure.
‘Was he even looking?’ Mary-Ellen wondered. ‘Or just drawing the curtain? Could be he’s taking five in there. It’s been a long night for everyone.’
Heck chewed his lip.
‘You’re the one giving the orders,’ she reminded him. ‘How do you want to play it?’
Ultimately, it wasn’t a difficult decision. For the first time that night, they felt empowered; they finally knew where their opponent was. Not only that, he was indoors while they were out; now he was the one who’d been cornered.
They were going to have to go in there, but still they waited.
‘You don’t suppose …?’ Mary-Ellen began. ‘Nah …’
‘Go on.’
‘You don’t suppose he’d go to all this trouble … I mean, having us running around like blue-arsed flies, thinking the most heinous killer in Britain is here, and all the while it’s just a fucking burglary? It’s a ploy to strip the houses while we’re hiding in the pub?’
Heck didn’t take this idea completely seriously, but he gave it some thought, again wondering what the real motive behind this crime-wave might be. It was so out of the blue – and yet so unremittingly brutal. Was it really possible some schizoid had been wandering the Lake District fells and had happened across this little settlement, which he’d immediately fixed on and had devised a strategy to depopulate, for no real reason? And that wasn’t even considering the possibility it was the Stranger.
‘None of this makes sense,’ he said to himself.
‘I know,’ Mary-Ellen agreed. ‘If he’s got it in for us, why is he sitting in some cottage, letting the minutes tick by?’
‘I don’t mean that. I mean … never mind. Look, I’ll do the back, you do the front.’
‘What, just knock on the door?’
‘Well … maybe check the property out first. He’s obviously found a way in, so there must be a loose window or something. But come and find me before you go in the same way.’
She nodded and scuttled off. Heck waited until she’d vanished from sight, and then waited another couple of minutes just for good measure, before heaving himself up and over the wall, dropping down the other side into another semi-frozen flower bed. From here, he crawled alligator-style across the lawn. It was a slow, cautious process, and all the way his eyes were fixed on the curtained window. When he was halfway across, the hanging material twitched slightly. Not dramatically, but he saw a ripple pass through it. Heck froze on the grass – slow seconds dragged past before he glimpsed movement again, but this time it was to the left, in the corner of his vision.
Mary-Ellen had appeared in the side passage. She signalled to him.
When he reached her, she grabbed his combat jacket, hauling him into the passage. Halfway along it, the rear entrance to the house stood open by a couple of inches, blackness skulking on the other side.
‘Like this when you found it?’ Heck whispered.
She shook her head. ‘Closed, but not locked.’
He slid his gloved fingers around the edge of the door, pushing it slowly open, dreading that it should suddenly creak. Fortunately the hinges proved to be well-oiled, and they slipped inside. They found themselves in a short, slant-roofed corridor under the main stair. There was an immediate scent of must and human sweat; vaguely rancid – outdoorsman Ted wasn’t the cleanest chap in Cragwood Keld.
The gap at the end of the corridor opened into the hall. A pair of work-pants hung on the radiator opposite, while a donkey jacket was draped over the newel post at the foot of the stairway. Beyond that, mist swirled behind the frosted glass panel on the front door. To their right, at the other end of the hall, stood the entrance to the kitchen – and something else. A dim form, which at first looked like a motionless figure, though they soon recognised it as the shadow of a coat stand. Also on the right, on the far side of the passage, was another open door, which they expected would lead into the lounge, where the curtain had twitched.
Mary-Ellen drew her baton. Instead of snapping it out, she eased it open with her fingertips. She nudged Heck, handed him her CS canister, and they padded down the hall together, stopping one to either side of the lounge doorway.
There was a faint noise in there – like a soft, slow breathing.
Heck glanced at Mary-Ellen, bemused.
She mouthed exactly what he was thinking: ‘Asleep?’
Heck was hardly able to believe it. But it sounded as if they were listening to someone snoring. He sucked in a deep breath and held it, then turned his body, stepping through into the room beyond. Mary-Ellen went with him, lithe and stealthy.
The room was so dark with the curtain drawn that it was initially difficult to see anything. They’d still expected to distinguish a humanoid form slumped in the low-slung armchair, or lying on the settee to their right.
But nobody was there.
Bewildered, Heck glanced left. Towards the front of the house, the lounge was being used as a dining room. There was a table there and some chairs, but also a few boxes, overflowing with discarded clothing. He squatted to check if someone was under the table, but spied only a forest of table and chair legs.
They could still hear it – the snoring, or breathing. Whatever it was.
Heck turned a full circle, and saw Mary-Ellen heading for the rear curtain. Immediately, it struck him that whoever was here, he’d stepped around that curtain the moment he’d heard them enter the house, and was now lying in wait.
Heck darted after her, but before he could stop her, she’d reached the material and dragged it back. With an ear-piercing squawk, Buster, Ted Haveloc’s scruffy old ginger tom, flew off the cushion positioned for him under the window radiator, and streaked past them into the hall.
Their own shouts still echoed through the house as, with a resounding crash, the cat exited by the rear door. They stared dumbly at each other, before Mary-Ellen collapsed in fits of guttural giggles. Despite everything, Heck laughed too. Briefly, all concerns about stealth absented themselves.
‘What a pair of pillocks,’ he said, slumping onto the settee.
‘Oh fuck!’ she cackled. ‘Your face. I’m surprised you didn’t mace the poor little sod.’
‘You can talk, I saw your staff go up … I thought you were going to brain him.’
‘Some chance. Fastest cat in the Cradle, that Buster … shit, I should have remembered. He always sleeps under that radiator.’
‘Yeah … well, let’s not forget what we’re here for,’ Heck said, pulling himself back together.
Mary-Ellen made an effort too. ‘Ted’s Volvo’s round the front. It’s kaput.’
Heck nodded, having expected nothing less. ‘Which just leaves Bella’s BMW X5. What’s the chance our resident maniac so admires expensive motors that he’s left that one intact?’
‘At a guess, not much?’
Heck sighed. ‘We’ve still got to check.’