Breaking Point (20 page)

‘Yes I do mind. And my brief told me I don't have to talk to you without him present, so you can sod off.'

‘Just wanted to know if you've heard from your brother-in-law, Bernie. Have you?'

‘No I haven't.' Bernie began to close the door but Tregalles's foot was in the way. ‘Mind if we have a look round the yard, then?' he asked.

‘Yes I do bloody mind! I told you, I'm not talking to you and you can't come in here or in my yard without a warrant, so get your foot out of the door.' For all his bluster, Tregalles could see that the man was nervous to the point where he was sweating, and he wondered why. But Bernie was right. He couldn't force the issue without a warrant.

Tregalles sighed heavily. ‘I'd hate to see you and your wife go down as accessories to murder,' he said. ‘Are you really prepared to spend the next few years in prison for protecting a killer?'

‘I told you I don't know anything about that,' Bernie said. ‘Just because he shifted the bloke's van doesn't mean he killed him.'

‘Oh, not that one, Bernie,' Tregalles said. ‘This is another one. Didn't Gerry mention it? Must have slipped his mind. Mickey Doyle is the name. Somebody – probably Gerry – broke Doyle's neck before dropping him in the river with weights on. Just happens that Doyle was seen talking to Newman not long before they both disappeared, and we suspect that Newman might have gone the same way. Just hasn't come up yet, but he will. Oh, yes, and we have Gerry's prints, as well as those of his mate, on the van we pulled out of the quarry where he dumped it.'

Tregalles turned to indicate Lyons. ‘See that black eye?' he said. ‘Your brother-in-law did that, Bernie, so he's also wanted for assaulting a policeman and evading arrest. You might keep that in mind if Gerry should happen to get in touch. You will let us know if that happens, won't you? I'll leave you my card. You might need it sooner than you think.'

U
pstairs, standing to one side of the window in the front bedroom, Gerry Fletcher eased the curtain aside just enough to watch the two detectives go to their car. But they didn't get in immediately. Instead, they walked along to the entrance to the yard next door to the house, and one of them – the tall skinny one with the bruise on his face where he'd hit him – hoisted himself up to look over the wooden gate. He hung there for a moment, then dropped back and shook his head.

Looking for the bike, Gerry surmised. It was hidden well enough, but not if they came back with a warrant and really searched the place. He watched as the two men returned to the car and drove away, and was about to turn away when something familiar caught his eye. He squeezed his eyes shut and looked again.

There was no mistake.

He moved swiftly to the head of the stairs. ‘Bernie!' he yelled. ‘I need your binoculars.'

Bernie appeared at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Never mind binoculars,' he grated. ‘I want you out of here before they come back with a warrant.'

Fletcher almost leapt down the stairs to push Bernie aside. ‘Shirley?' he bellowed. ‘I need binoculars. Where the hell are they?'

Shirley appeared from the kitchen. ‘What do you want them—' she began, but was cut off by her brother.

‘For Christ's sake, just get the bloody binoculars, Shirl. When I say I need them, I don't mean next bloody week; I mean I need them now!'

‘No need to go on like that,' said Shirley placidly. ‘You only have to ask. Now, where are they, Bernie? You had them last.'

‘Never mind the sodding binoculars,' Bernie yelped. ‘He's wanted for
murder
, for Christ's sake, and I don't want him in my house!'

‘I remember now, they're in the sideboard,' Shirley said. ‘Ah, yes, here they are, Gerald.'

‘For Christ's sake, woman,' Bernie bellowed, ‘didn't you hear what I said? He's wanted for
murder
! That was the police at the door.'

‘And you believed them?' his wife said derisively. ‘They were just winding you up, hoping you'd let them in. But you know as well as I do that Gerry could never
kill
anyone. Now, could you, Gerry?' she said turning to her brother.

‘'Course I couldn't, Shirl,' he snorted. ‘Now, just give me the bloody binoculars and shut up the both of you.'

Back upstairs, Fletcher adjusted the binoculars, parted the curtains just enough to allow him to see clearly, then stepped back to avoid being seen himself as he focussed on a car some distance away on the other side of the street. It was an older car and a familiar one, and someone was sitting in the driver's seat. There was too much light on the windscreen to make out who was behind the wheel, but only one man drove a car like that.

He sat down on the bed. How the hell did they find out that he was here? How could they possibly know?

The answer, he told himself, was they
didn't
know. At least they didn't know he was inside or they would have probably kicked the door in and come for him by now. They were watching the house because they knew it was one of the few places he
could
go. And they'd have someone watching Rose as well in case he was stupid enough to go back there. Rose could take care of herself, but he hoped it wasn't Luka who was watching her. Gerry couldn't suppress a shiver as he thought of the cold-eyed man who rarely spoke, but you only had to look at him to know you wouldn't want to cross him. Luka gave him the creeps. He was probably the one who'd done for Doyle. Breaking a man's neck and dropping him in the river sounded like Luka's style, but he couldn't have done it alone. Someone must have helped him; probably Slater.

Thank God he'd had the sense to run yesterday. He'd been stupid to call the farm; even more stupid to think that they would help him, but he hadn't realized that until it was almost too late.

He'd been surprised, even pleased, when Roper had put Slater on. ‘I've been helping the old man, here, by doing a bit of ploughing for him,' Slater told him, ‘but I'll come and pick you up. Just tell me where you are. And don't worry, Gerry, we'll take care of you.'

Yeah, right! Those words had a whole different meaning now.

He'd remained where he'd told Slater he would be for the first half hour or so, but decided to cross the street to stand beneath an awning when it started to rain. There, he pretended to be interested in the stamps and coins displayed in the window rather than in the reflected image of the street.

He remembered how thankful he'd felt when he saw the van pull in on the other side of the street, and watched Slater get out.

He hadn't sensed any danger as he left the shelter of the awning and stood at the kerb waiting to cross. He saw a gap in the traffic and was about to step off when he saw movement in the van. Someone was in the back; someone who had poked their head over the back of the driver's seat to take a quick look up and down the street. All Fletcher had seen was the back of the head, but it was enough to send a chill down his spine.

Luka!

Sitting there now on the side of the bed, Gerry remembered the fear that had gripped him when it had finally dawned on him that he had become a liability, and they'd sent Luka to take care of him.

Fighting the urge to run, he'd put his head down and joined the steady stream of shoppers and walked away. He'd kept walking until he was well away from the area, finally taking shelter in a small shop in Albert Road. It was a poky old place, selling wools and linens and the like, but it was surely one of the last places they would think of to look for him.

He'd told the shop assistant that his wife had said she would meet him there. There was no one else in the shop, so he'd spent half an hour there before saying his wife must have been held up, and he'd better go out and look for her.

He'd made his way to where he'd left the bike in a narrow service lane behind a row of shops in Church Street. He was thankful he'd had the forethought to throw the plastic tarp over the bike before leaving it, not just because it had kept the rain off, but because both Slater and Luka would have recognized it instantly and waited for him to appear.

Even so, he'd spent close to twenty minutes huddled in a doorway, watching the street and the alley before he'd managed to get up the courage to go for it.

He'd avoided the main roads leaving the town, skirting Worcester and continuing on north until he got to Bridgnorth, where he'd turned west. The tank was barely a quarter full, he had no money, and the last place he wanted to be was Broadminster, but he was tired and he was hungry, and he had no choice. If he could get to his sister's house, she'd let him stay there to rest up for a couple of days, and she'd lend him money. Bernie would object, but he knew how to get around Shirley, so to hell with Bernie.

But now the bastards were out there, waiting, watching the house, and he had to get away. He was tempted to take another look, but decided not to; Slater might be watching with binoculars as well.

Bernie was waiting for him when he came down the stairs. ‘You might fool your sister,' he said coldly, ‘but you're wanted for murder. That's what they said, and I know they weren't bluffing. Who is this Doyle? They said his neck was broken and he'd been dumped in the river.'

‘Don't know what they're talking about.' Gerry's eyes shifted to one side, and Bernie knew he was lying.

‘But you do know about Newman, don't you, Gerry? Because that was his van you brought here. His van they found your fingerprints on.'

‘You going to believe everything they tell you?' Gerry flared. ‘There's no way they can have my prints on there, not after . . .' He cut his own words off and shook his head. ‘There's no way!' he repeated.

‘I should call the police and tell them you're—' Bernie began, but the words were cut off when Gerry grabbed him by the throat and squeezed – hard!

‘You make that call, mate, and it will be the last call you ever make,' he hissed. ‘Now, if you want me out of here, I'll need money. I need a thousand quid, and Shirl is going to go out and get it for me, while you, my friend, will stay here with me. Got it?'

Bernie gasped for breath as Gerry eased his grip on his throat. ‘A thousand quid?' he squeaked. ‘I don't have that much. I can't get that much. The banks are closed, and I?'

The hand was at his throat again. ‘But the bank machines never close, do they, Bernie?' Fletcher hissed. ‘And I know you've got it; because I did a little recce around the house last night while you were asleep, and I just happened to take a look at your bankbook and that bundle of credit cards you keep in the bottom drawer. I know
exactly
how much you've got, and if you mess me about I'll tell Shirl to double it. I'm being kind to you, Bernie, though you don't bloody well deserve it after shopping me. Now, let's go and talk to Shirl.'

Gerry Fletcher spent all day Sunday watching the street from behind the curtain. He'd hardly slept at all during the night, starting up at every creak and crack in the house, wondering if it was Slater creeping up the stairs. He'd make the stairs creak all right, big man like him. But Luka wouldn't. He'd be up there without a sound, and that thought alone was enough to keep anyone awake.

He'd wedged a chair under the door handle, but he wasn't sure how well the legs would hold against the carpet if someone was determined to come in, so he'd spent much of Saturday night and the early hours of Sunday morning pacing between the door and the window, listening and peering down into the street. But the street lights were old and there were too many shadows for him to see anything clearly. There could be a hundred men out there waiting for him – or none.

Perhaps Slater had decided he was wasting his time and had left after dark. On the other hand, he could have simply moved his car and was waiting somewhere else for Gerry to make a run for it.

He spent the rest of the day either at the window or sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, waiting for nightfall. He was dead tired, but afraid to lie down in case he fell asleep.

At the window again, he glanced at the sky. A fitful sun had come and gone throughout the afternoon, but now the clouds were heavier and it would be dark in an hour; dark enough to make a run for it if he could summon up the courage.

He heard footsteps on the stairs, then a light tap on the door as Shirley announced herself. He opened the door. His sister came in, carrying a tray. ‘I knew you wouldn't come down, so I've brought you some supper,' she told him as she set the tray on the bed. ‘There's some hot tea the way you like it. I know you'll have to be going soon, and I don't want you going off on an empty stomach.'

He reached out and touched his sister's hand. ‘You're a good sort, Shirl,' he said. ‘Sorry to cause you so much trouble, but you're right, I will be gone soon.'

‘You're in real trouble this time, aren't you, Gerry?' she said quietly. ‘I'm not going to ask you what you've done or why you did it, but wouldn't it be better if you went to the police? They're not such a bad lot; they'd protect you.'

Gerry shook his head. ‘No good, Shirl,' he said. ‘They might try, but they couldn't protect me. I'd be dead inside a week if I go to gaol.'

Shirley drew in her breath. ‘You didn't . . . It wasn't you who killed that man they were on about yesterday morning at the door, was it, Gerry?'

He shook his head. ‘No, Shirl, I swear, that wasn't me. I'll admit I've done some rotten things in my time, but not murder. Trouble is, I know who did; I know what happened, and they don't like that.'

His sister turned away; tears glistened in her eyes and there was a catch in her voice as she said, ‘Eat your supper before it goes cold. I'd better get back downstairs and keep an eye on Bernie before he does something stupid. He's been wanting to ring the police all day, and I have to keep reminding him that he'll be in a lot more trouble than he is already if he does. Trouble is, he doesn't know when to leave well enough alone.'