Brought in Dead

CHAPTER 14

The marsh at Grimsdyke on the river estuary was a wild lonely place of sea-creeks and mud flats and great pale barriers of reeds higher than a man’s head. Since the beginning of time men had come here for one purpose or another — Roman, Saxon, Dane, Norman, but in the twentieth century it was a place of ghosts, an alien world inhabited mainly by the birds, curlew and redshank and the brent geese coming south from Siberia to winter on the flats.

Miller turned the Cooper off the main road at Culler’s Bend and followed a track no wider than a farm cart that was little more than a raised causeway of grass. On either side, miles of rough marsh grass and reeds marched into the heavy rain and a thin sea mist was drifting in before the wind.

Harriet lowered the window and took a deep breath of the salt-laden air. “Marvellous — I love coming here. It’s like nowhere else on earth — a different world.”

“I must say I’m impressed,” he said. “I’ve never been here before.”

“Lost in a marsh punt in a sea mist it can be terrifying,” she said. “In some places there are quicksands and mud-holes deep enough to swallow a cart.”

The closer they got to the estuary, the more the mist closed in on them until visibility was reduced to no more than twenty yards. Finally the track emerged into a wide clearing of rough grass surrounded by thorn trees. Craig’s Jaguar was parked under one of them and Miller braked to a halt.

“We have to walk from here,” Harriet said. “It isn’t very far.”

They followed a narrow path through the reeds. Wildfowl lifted out of the mist in alarm and somewhere a curlew called eerily. The marsh was stirring now, water swirling through it with an angry sucking noise, gurgling in crab holes, baring shining expanses of black mud.

“If we don’t hurry we might miss him,” Harriet said. “The tide’s on the ebb. The best time for duck.”

She half-ran along the track and Miller followed her and suddenly, the wind was cold on his face and she called through the rain, waving her hand.

The mist had cleared a little so that one could see the river, the houseboat moored to the bank forty or fifty yards away. Duncan Craig was about to step into a flat-bottomed marsh punt and straightened, looking towards them.

He was wearing an old paratrooper’s beret and combat jacket and carried a shotgun under one arm. He stood there staring at them, one hand shielding his eyes from the rain and then ran forward suddenly.

His face was white and set when he grabbed Harriet by the arm, the first time Miller had known him to show real emotion. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Harriet was bewildered by the anger in his voice. “What is it, Daddy? What’s wrong?”

“We tried to arrest Max Vernon early this morning, but he gave us the slip,” Miller told him. “I thought you ought to know he was on the loose.”

Craig gave Harriet a quick push forward. “Get her out of here, Miller! Get her out now before it’s too late!”

Harriet swung round, her face white, and Miller said softly, “My God, you’re actually expecting him, aren’t you? You’ve arranged the whole damned thing?”

“Every step of the way.” Craig patted the shotgun. “Vernon shall have his chance — all part of the game.”

“It isn’t a game any longer, you bloody fool,” Miller said. “Can’t you get that through your head? If Max Vernon comes looking for you he’ll have only one thought on his mind.”

“Which suits me just fine.” Suddenly there was iron in his voice. “No more arguments. Just get Harriet out of here.”

Miller shrugged and said evenly, “All right, if that’s the way you want it. I might point out that the first thing I shall do is contact the County Police.”

“Good luck to you. There’s a village bobby at Culler’s Bend two miles up the road — Jack Berkley. He’s fifty years of age and it takes him all his time to get on his bicycle.”

“They do have such things as patrol cars.”

“Fair enough — it’ll be interesting to see just how efficient they are.”

“He isn’t worth it, Craig,” Miller said desperately. “He isn’t worth what it would do to you.”

“He murdered my daughter,” Craig said calmly. “He wasn’t even fit to tie her shoes, but I’m still giving him his chance, Nick. God help me, but I can’t play the game any other way.”

“Which means only one thing in the final analysis. That you won’t be able to kill him,” Miller said. “Can’t you see that? It’s the essential difference between you and Vernon.”

Craig didn’t reply and Harriet simply stood there, white and terrified. Miller sighed and took her arm. “All right. Let’s get going.”

When they reached the clearing, he helped Harriet into the passenger seat of the Cooper, climbed behind the wheel quickly and started the engine. He slid back the window and leaned out.

“For the last time, Duncan — please.”

Craig smiled strangely and leaned down. “Thanks, Nick — for everything. Now get her out of it, there’s a good chap.”

Miller moved into gear and took the Cooper back along the track and beside him Harriet started to sob bitterly.

“Oh, Nick, I’m so afraid,” she said. “He isn’t like Vernon — not when it comes down to it. He’s going to die. I know he is.”

“Not if I can help it.” Miller said and braked violently as a Ford station wagon appeared from the mist.

The two cars were not more than twenty feet apart. For one horrified moment they stared at Max Vernon and Carver and then Miller slammed the stick into reverse and took the Cooper back along the track.

Vernon jumped out of the Ford, the Luger in his hand, and fired twice, his second shot punching a hole in the Cooper’s windscreen. It slewed wildly and went half over the edge of the track.

As Miller got the door open Duncan Craig appeared on the run. He dropped to one knee and fired once in the direction of the Ford.

“You two all right?”

Harriet nodded shakily. “I think so.”

“Get her down into the reeds,” he told Miller briskly. “I’ll lead them off. As soon as they pass, get her out of here.”

He scrambled to his feet before Miller could argue and ran through the mist towards the Ford.

Vernon waited, the Luger ready, and Carver crouched on the other side of the Ford, a Smith & Wesson revolver in his hand.

“Do you think it was Craig who fired that shot, Mr. Vernon?”

Craig answered for himself, his voice drifting mockingly out of the mist. “So you got here, Vernon? All right, then. Let’s see how good you really are.”

For a brief moment he appeared from the mist and turned and ran and Vernon went after him, cold with excitement.

They reached the Cooper half-blocking the track and Craig called, “This way, Vernon! This way!”

As they disappeared into the mist, Miller emerged from the reeds pulling Harriet behind him. They ran back along the track and paused beside the Ford. The key was missing from the dashboard, but he reached underneath, wrenched out the ignition wires and looped them together quickly. A moment later the engine roared into life.

He turned to Harriet. “Can you get this thing out of here?”

“I think so.”

“Good — I noticed a telephone box about a mile up the road on the way in. Ring through to Grant — he’ll know what to do. The County boys would probably wonder what in the hell you were talking about.”

“What about you?”

“You don’t think I’m going to let him cut his own throat at this stage do you?” He shoved her into the car. “Go on — get out of it!”

As the Ford reversed away, a pistol shot echoed across the marshes that was answered by the blast of a shotgun. Miller turned and ran along the track in the direction of the sound.

Duncan Craig turned off the path to the left, ran across an expanse of coarse marsh grass into the shelter of the mist and doubled back on his tracks. He paused and listened intently. The only sound was the lapping of water and further along, geese lifted into the sky, voicing their annoyance at being disturbed.

By all the rules he should now be behind Vernon and Carver and he moved out of the shelter of the mist and approached the path cautiously. Somewhere to the right, there was the sound of running footsteps and as he crouched, shotgun ready, Nick Miller ran out of the mist.

“Over here!” Craig called softly and Miller paused on the edge of the raised path and looked down at him, chest heaving.

“Thank God — I didn’t think it would be this easy.”

There was a sudden cold laugh and Max Vernon scrambled onto the path from the other side about twenty yards to the left. “It never is,” he called harshly and his hand swung up.

The bullet caught Miller in the upper arm, knocking him back off the path into the soft earth as Craig fired his shotgun in reply. Max Vernon had already slipped back into cover and Craig reached down and dragged Miller to his feet.

“Can you still run?”

Miller nodded, his face white with shock. “I think so.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

They stumbled across the rough ground into the mist, two more bullets chasing them on their way, and suddenly the water was knee-deep and the reeds lifted to meet them.

Another bullet echoed wildly through the mist and Miller crouched instinctively, stumbling to one knee. Craig pulled him to his feet and they moved on through a thick glutinous slime covered by water, which in places was thigh deep.

Miller was conscious of the pain in his arm as the first shock wore off, of the coldness of the water as it ate into his flesh like acid, and struggled for breath.

Suddenly Craig disappeared with a startled cry, the water closing over his head. Miller lurched forward, reaching out, and followed him in. It was a terrible sensation as the filthy, stinking water forced its way into his mouth and nostrils. His feet could find no bottom as he struggled frantically and then an iron hand had him by the collar. A moment later, he was on his hands and knees amongst the reeds and breathing again.

Craig crouched beside him. He had lost his red beret and his face was streaked with black mud and slime. “All right?”

Miller coughed and brought up a little marsh water.

“What about you?”

“Lost the shotgun, I’m afraid. If you think you can keep on the move, we’ve a chance of circling round to the houseboat. There are a couple of sporting rifles and an extra shotgun there.”

Miller nodded, getting to his feet, and they moved forward again. A couple of minutes later the reeds started to thin and a dyke lifted out of the mist. They scrambled up out of the water and Craig started to run at a jogtrot, Miller stumbling after him.

The pain in his arm was much worse now and there was a stitch in his side. He stumbled into a thorn tree at the top of a grassy knoll above a small, scum-covered pool and managed to cry out.

“No use, Duncan. I can’t go on.”

Craig didn’t even attempt to argue. “Get out of sight and wait,” he said crisply. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

There was a clump of bushes just below the path and Miller rolled underneath. He pillowed his cheek against the wet earth, struggling for breath, and was suddenly aware of footsteps approaching from the direction in which they had come. A moment later, Ben Carver came into view.

He paused, his feet no more than a yard away from Miller’s head, the Smith & Wesson held in his left hand, and Miller didn’t hesitate. He grabbed for the ankles with all his force. Carver fell on top of him, the Smith & Wesson flying out of his hand into the pool below.

Miller cried out in agony as the pain in his arm seemed to spread throughout his entire body and he reached for Carver’s throat with his right hand. Together, they burst out of the bushes and rolled down the slope.

For the briefest of moments Miller was on top as they reached the bottom and he used it well. His right hand rose and fell, the edge catching Carver full across the throat. He screamed and turned over, tearing at his collar.

Miller tried to get to his feet and Max Vernon said, “Hold it right there — where’s Craig?”

He was standing half-way down the slope, the Luger ready, his face pale. “Right here, Vernon!” Craig called.

He came down the slope like a rugby forward, head down, catching Vernon round the waist. The Luger exploded once and then they were locked together and falling backwards.

The waters of the pool closed over them and they rose separately. Vernon seemed bewildered, his face black with mud and Craig surged forward and hit him again and again, solid, heavy punches that drove him into the centre of the pool.

Vernon lost his balance and went under the surface. As he got to his feet, he screamed suddenly. “My legs — I can’t move my legs! I’m sinking!”

Craig floundered back towards the edge of the pool, the mud releasing him reluctantly with great sucking noises. When he reached firm ground he turned, a slightly dazed expression on his face and wiped the back of a hand wearily across his eyes.

Vernon was going fast, the quagmire under the surface of the water drawing him down. “For God’s sake, help me, Craig! Help me!”

Miller pushed himself to his feet and staggered forward clutching his arm, blood oozing between his fingers. Vernon was already chest-deep and he went to pieces completely, babbling hysterically, arms thrashing the water.

Miller started forward and Craig pulled him back. “And I thought it was going to be so easy,” he said bitterly.

He unzipped his combat jacket, taking it off as he waded into the pool. He held it by the end of one sleeve and reached out to Vernon.

“Hold on tight if you want to live.”

Vernon grabbed for the other sleeve with both hands like a drowning man and Craig started backwards. He was already beginning to sink himself and for a moment, nothing seemed to be happening. Miller moved to help him, extending his one good arm, and Craig grabbed at his hand. A moment later, Vernon came out of the slime with a rush.

He crawled from the water and lay face down at the side of the pool, his whole body racked by sobbing. Miller and Craig moved back to the bottom of the slope and slumped down.

“So you were right and I was wrong?” Craig sighed wearily. “I should have known I couldn’t go through with it.”

“All part of the service,” Miller said.

Craig turned with a wry grin. “It’s been fun, hasn’t it? We must do it again sometime.”

As they started to laugh, a police whistle sounded somewhere in the distance and scores of brent geese rose in a protesting cloud and flew out to sea.