Dead And Buried

Thirty

There had been little or no conversation as they left London and none on the drive down the A3: Skinner had been locked away with his thoughts, Shannon had been looking at the view from the back seat, as a means of keeping her nerves under control, and Amanda Dennis had been concentrating on the road, her knuckles white as she gripped the wheel.

They had turned off the main road, heading for a place called Churt, and had just driven past an inn called the Pride of the Valley when the inspector broke the silence. ‘Wasn’t that Lloyd George on that hotel sign?’ she remarked.

‘He lived in Churt,’ said Dennis, ‘towards the end of his life. I believe that when he finally married his secretary, Frances Stevenson, it was here they settled.’

‘That sounds like a happy ending.’

‘Yes. I wish there were more of them.’ Her voice was so sad that Skinner reached across and put a hand on her shoulder. She gave it a quick squeeze of acknowledgement and, he supposed, thanks, then focused on the tree-lined road once again. The entrance came almost immediately: she indicated, then swung the car sharply to the left, halfway round a long bend. There had been no signpost, just a gap in the trees.

She drove for half a mile up a narrow avenue, until she came to a barrier. Before it, on the right, was a metal post, with a key-pad mounted on it. Dennis stopped, rolled down her window and punched in a code, then drove slowly through the gate as it opened. ‘They’ll know in the house that we’re on the way. There are cameras that will track us all the way to the door.’

The roadway started to climb steeply: after a couple of hundred yards the forest came to an abrupt end, and they found themselves in open country. On the top of the hill that they were climbing, Skinner saw a two-storey house, in Tudor style complete with thatched roof. ‘I take it that there’s a fence,’ he said. ‘I looked at the gate, but couldn’t see it.’

‘It’s not easy to spot,’ Dennis told him, ‘but it’s there.’

‘Electrified, I take it.’

‘Yes. The first time you touch it, you won’t get much more than a tickle, but if that and the razor wire don’t put you off and you try to climb it, the charge gets stronger, until it’s approaching lethal. Every so often we go round and clear away the dead cats and foxes.’

‘How long has it belonged to the service?’

‘It was acquired about fifty years ago, at the height of the Cold War. Officially, it was purchased as a staff college; occasionally the DG and department heads do use it for away-day meetings, but most of the time you wouldn’t want to come to the kind of course that’s held here. The trees around it were all cleared away long ago, so that all the approaches are clear. It’s as secure as we can make it: there’s even a bunker deep underneath, although we don’t use it now.’

They wound round the long driveway until finally they reached the crest of the hill. Dennis parked the car at the side of the house, then led the two visitors round to the front.

The entrance door was open when they reached it. A bulky, dark-skinned man stood, waiting to greet them: his jacket hung loose, exposing a pistol in a shoulder holster. ‘Hello, Big W,’ said Dennis. ‘This is Winston Chalmers,’ she told Skinner and Shannon. ‘He’s the housemaster here. Winston, these are the visitors you were told about.’

‘How many staff do you have here?’ Skinner asked.

The minder looked at Dennis. She nodded. ‘There are six of us,’ he replied, ‘working twelve-hour shifts, three at a time.’

‘Where are they?’

‘There’s a basement level at the back of the house. The hospitality suite is down there.’

The sound of rock music forced its way through from another part of the house. Skinner thought he recognised the Pat Travers Band. He smiled at Winston. ‘Have you run out of Status Quo?’

The ‘housemaster’ laughed. ‘There is such a thing as a balanced diet. Do you want to see them both together?’

‘Hell, no, one at a time. Who would you say is the stronger of the two?’

‘Rudy Sewell, no doubt about that. He used to be my boss: I know how hard a bastard he is.’

‘Is that right? You’re making him sound like something of a challenge. Let’s warm up on Hassett, in that case. What’s he been on?’

‘What do you mean, sir?’

‘Has he been drugged?’

‘No, sir. He hasn’t had any more than two hours’ sleep at a stretch since he’s been here. That’s as effective as any sedative for keeping people under control.’

‘He’s been given a normal diet?’

‘He’s been eating the same as us.’

‘Clothing?’

Chalmers smiled. ‘We don’t want him to feel special, sir. He’s still wearing the clothes he arrived with, and he hasn’t washed since then.’

‘It’s time he did. Get him showered, shaved and into some fresh clothes, then we’ll talk to him.’

‘Will do.’ He picked up a phone from a hall table, pushed a button and spoke quietly into it.

‘I take it that Hassett and Sewell aren’t able to communicate.’

‘No, they can’t.’

‘Are they close enough together to hear activity around the other’s room?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Do they have windows?’

‘Shatterproof mirror glass: it doesn’t admit any light.’

‘In that case, tell your people to switch off the music and make plenty of noise moving Hassett, but not to tell him where he’s going. Once he’s out of there, stay silent. Go on, catch them before they start.’

He waited while Chalmers phoned again. When he was finished, he said, ‘Come on, big fella, let’s go for a stroll.’ He turned to Shannon. ‘Dottie, come with us; learn some more.’

Leaving Dennis in the hallway, the trio walked out of the front door. ‘How do we get down to the lower level?’ asked Skinner.

‘Over here.’ Chalmers led them along a path and down a flight of stone steps, which opened out into a sunken garden area, enclosed by a six-foot-high stone wall.

The DCC looked around and nodded. ‘Which is Sewell’s room?’

The big man pointed to a double window about twenty feet away.

‘Fine,’ he murmured. ‘Dottie, don’t ask questions, and don’t say anything.’ He took her by the arm and rushed her along the gravel that led past the cell, Winston following, heavy-footed, behind them as they turned into the garden, then stopped. ‘Okay, this’ll do,’ he said, slightly louder than was necessary. ‘Gun,’ he whispered to Chalmers, holding out his hand.

The other man grinned, as he understood what was happening. He took out his pistol and handed it to Skinner. ‘Kneel!’ he barked. Shannon stared at him, then jumped as the DCC fired two shots into the grass, by their feet. The two men retraced their steps along the gravel, past Sewell’s window: Shannon walked beside them but silently, on the grass, as Skinner directed.

It was only when they were back on the upper level that Skinner realised she was trembling. ‘Welcome to the dark side, Dottie,’ he said. ‘I don’t care how hard Sewell is, that’ll have got him thinking. With any luck Hassett heard as well: we’ll find out when they’ve got him ready to talk to us, although it may take them a bit longer after that.’

Dennis was waiting for them inside, not in the hall but in a big lounge that looked out on to the upper garden. ‘He won’t fall for it, you know,’ she said.

‘Oh, no?’ Skinner replied. ‘The seed’s been planted. Winston, when we’ve finished with Hassett, make sure that he doesn’t get anywhere near Sewell. I want to keep that one isolated until I’m ready to talk to him. I may even delay it till tomorrow, to let him live with the uncertainty overnight.’ He saw the frown on Shannon’s face. ‘What is it, Dottie?’ he asked.

‘Well, sir, it’s just,’ she began hesitantly, ‘what you said in London about physical persuasion, and what you’ve just done. .’

‘Remember what I said about Galileo,’ he told her. ‘They only had to show him the rack. Sewell’s been trained to withstand this sort of stuff, but every little helps.’