She watched him as he walked to the window, his back to her as he answered the noisy summons.
‘Mario.’ He sounded surprised. ‘Yes, go on.’ As he listened, she could see his back straighten, his shoulders draw back. ‘There is no doubt about this?’ he asked. ‘I see,’ he said eventually, his voice as stiff as his posture. ‘No, don’t do that. I’ll take that on board. I’m better placed than you to do it. I’m with her right now, in fact.’
He ended the call, and slowly turned towards her. Instinctively she held up a hand, as if to keep him at bay.
Fifty-nine
Stevie Steele was no newcomer to helicopter flight; in their short time together he and Dottie Shannon had gone on a clandestine winter break to Las Vegas and, rather than risk their spending cash on the tables, had splashed much of it on an excursion to the Grand Canyon.
Nevertheless he was surprised by the range and speed of the Metropolitan Police aircraft that picked him up from an open area in Regent’s Park, less than twenty minutes after his call to Mario McGuire.
The pilot explained that he would have to make a stop at his depot but that, once fuelled up and under way, they would reach their destination in less than two hours. ‘You’ve made our month, mate,’ he added, jerking a thumb in the direction of the woman in the co-pilot’s seat. ‘We love to take this thing out of the city and really cut loose. Flying over bleedin’ London, day in, day out, stops being fun after a very short while.’
He handed him a headset. ‘You’ll be able to hear us through that,’ he told him, ‘but nobody else. Mostly they’re to stop you going deaf. Noise limitation is the one piece of chopper technology they haven’t cracked yet.’
‘That part I remember,’ he replied.
The warning was well founded: throughout the flight Steele was content to sit strapped in, listening to the background chatter of the pilots and watching as England spread itself out below. The panorama was enthralling; for a while he concentrated on that and nothing else, until they crossed the Tyne and he forced himself to think once more of what might await him in Wooler.
The last part of the journey was over green countryside, flat at first, but gradually becoming more hilly, until they reached the Cheviots, the range that once served as a shield against pillaging Scots. ‘We’ve been ordered to put you down on a flat area at the foot of Humbleton Hill,’ the pilot told him through the headphones, as they approached their destination. ‘You’ll be met there by the local force.’ Steele replied with a thumbs-up sign.
The landing was as smooth as the flight had been. The inspector checked his watch as he jumped out on to the grass, ducking instinctively under the rotors; it showed two minutes after six.
He was near the edge of a big field, mostly hillside, but with an area wide enough and flat enough for the chopper to put down safely. Not far away, there was a gate, where a Land Rover, bright with police markings, stood in waiting. As he made his way towards it a man jumped out; he was in his mid-fifties, big and red-faced, and wore a tweed jacket and grey trousers, tucked into black wellingtons.
‘DI Steele,’ he called out, above the aircraft noise. ‘I’m Les Cairns, deputy chief constable. We’re not far from the location: jump in and I’ll take you straight down there.’
The Scot’s ears were ringing as he climbed into the back seat of the big vehicle. ‘Thanks, sir,’ he said, a little more loudly than was necessary. ‘Have you taken any action?’
‘No, son, this is your investigation, so I felt it only right that you take the decisions. All we’ve done is secure the area, and keep the house under observation. Oh, yes, and we’ve secured the man Spicer and his associate too. We assumed that you’d need them for questioning.’
‘That may depend on what we find in the house. . or don’t find, as the case may be. If it turns out that their failure to tell us about Ballester’s hidey-hole as soon as they knew where it was has led to him getting away, then I’m going to take the biggest book I can lay my hands on and throw it at them as hard as I can. On the other hand, if we make an arrest, I’ll probably thank the pair of them for their assistance and let them go.’
‘That’s what I’d be doing,’ said Cairns. He tapped his driver on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go, Constable.’
The vehicle headed off down a narrow, twisty road until, after no more than half a mile, they came to a crossroads. Facing them was an even narrower road, little more than a driveway, with houses on either side. Two police people-carriers were parked on either side, and beyond, a silver Jaguar S-type.
‘The Jag belongs to Spicer,’ the DCC volunteered, as the Land Rover came to a halt. ‘We’ve taken him and his mate to the local office. This is an armed operation, so we couldn’t allow them anywhere near it. I’ve had the neighbours moved out too, discreetly. One of them told us that she’s seen a man answering Ballester’s description coming and going from Hathaway House.’
‘When was the last time?’
‘She told us that she thought she heard his car on the gravel yesterday, around midday. She can’t swear to it, but she thinks it’s been there ever since. How strong is your evidence against this man, Inspector?’
‘At the moment, it’s circumstantial, but it’s very strong nonetheless. Amy Noone was killed in Edinburgh yesterday morning: if he did that, then drove down here, the neighbour’s arrival time would have been about right. That fits the pattern. A single piece of firm evidence would wrap it up.’
‘Such as?’
‘First, there’s the gun; the murder weapon. Also, items were taken from the first two victims; if we found any of those in his possession, it would seal it.’
‘Yes,’ Cairns murmured. ‘The gun. I’ve got sharpshooters in position, front and back of the house. So far they’ve seen no sign of movement. The fire seems to have gone out, though; there’s no more smoke coming out of the chimney.’
‘Could he have seen your people? We believe that this is a resourceful man.’
‘I doubt it. They’re good. Plus, they can’t actually see into the house themselves. It’s in a gully, so they’re well above all the windows. They’re really waiting for him to come out. If he does, their orders are to let him climb up to the drive where his car’s parked, unless he displays a firearm. I have more men there, waiting to take him down.’
‘That’s sound,’ Steele conceded, ‘but if there’s been no movement since you’ve been here, sooner or later we’re going to have to take the initiative.’
‘I agree with you,’ said the Englishman, ‘and I don’t really want to wait till dark.’
‘Can we get close enough to see inside?’
‘That’s where the risk will lie. Come on; let’s get as close as we can and have a look.’
The two officers stepped out of the Land Rover. Cairns led the way down the narrow road until he came to a sign reading ‘Hathaway House’ fixed on a white-painted post. Beyond, a path, barely wide enough to take a car, led up to a circular area, where a garage faced them. To his left, Steele spotted the roof of what he knew was a blue Suzuki.
Quietly they approached the house, until they could just make out a chimney stack. Suddenly a man in a black assault uniform appeared from behind a hedge. ‘No sign of movement yet, sir,’ he murmured to Cairns, with a nod to Steele.
‘This is Chief Inspector Roberts,’ said DCC. ‘He’s based at our Berwick station.’
‘I want to get closer,’ the Scot told him, as they shook hands.
‘Dodgy,’ Roberts replied. ‘However, there’s a steep bank to the right of the cottage, as we’re looking at it. You could get down from that side. We’ve pulled original drawings of the place from the local-authority office. They show that you can see into the kitchen and the living room. . that’s closest. . from there. You have to go all the way around to access the bedrooms and bathroom. If the chief okays it, I’ll send a man down to take a look.’
‘I’ll do it myself,’ said Steele, at once. ‘This is my shout. Can you give me a flak jacket and a weapon?’