Fox Evil

26

Afterward, when she had time to think about it, Nancy wondered how many adrenaline rushes a person could tolerate before their legs gave way. She felt she was bathing in the stuff, but when the child started screaming her glands went into overdrive.

The whole incident remained sharp in her memory, as if the stimulus of Wolfie's cry cleared her brain for action. She remembered feeling calm, remembered waiting for the other person to react first, remembered switching off her torch because she didn't need it anymore. She knew where he was now because he swore under his breath as the wailed "No" reached him, and in the fraction of a second that it took him to move, she sorted and computed enough information to predict what he would do.

More than one car suggested police. Someone had alerted them. There were lights at the encampment. The cry was a child's. Only one child had been scared. The psycho's son. This was the psycho. Fox. He carried a razor. His only route to safety was toward the parkland and the valley beyond. Without wheels he'd be trapped between Shenstead and the sea. He needed a guarantee of free passage. The only guarantee was a hostage.

She began to move as soon as he did, cutting off his angled run toward the child's voice. With a shorter distance to cover-almost as if it were preordained-she caught him by Ailsa's last resting place in front of the sundial. His left side was toward her and she scanned for the flash of a blade in his hand. It looked empty and she gambled that he was right-handed. With a backhand swing of her torch, she chopped at his throat before bringing her left hand down in a slamming slice on his right forearm as he turned toward her. Something metal clattered to the flagstones.

"Bitch," he snarled, backing away.

She flicked on the torch, blinding him. "You touch the kid and I'll fucking cripple you," she snarled back, locating the razor with her foot and sweeping it behind her against the sundial plinth. She raised her voice. "Stay away, friend, and stay quiet!" she called to the child. "I don't want you hurt. I'll give your dad a chance to get away as long as you don't come any closer."

Something like amusement flickered briefly in Fox's eyes as Wolfie fell silent. "Get over here, Wolfie. Now!"

No answer.

"You hear me? Now! Do you want me to smash the bitch's face?"

Wolfie's terrified voice stuttered out from a few yards away. "He k-keeps a hammer in his p-pocket. He h-hit m-my m-mum with it."

The warning came too late. Nancy saw only a blur of movement as the hammer, already in his hand, came scything from behind his back in an upward curve toward her jaw.

The despairing high-pitched "No-o-o" stopped almost as soon as it began, giving the men at the front no time to register where it came from. "Which way?" Monroe demanded.

Barker switched on his torch. "The side nearest the Copse," he said. "It sounded like a kid."

"The terrace," said James. "It's his killing ground."

Mark made straight for the Discovery. "Let's see him outrun this bastard," he said, firing the engine and roaring backward.

Nancy could only turn away and raise her right arm to take the impact. The force of the blow caught her below the elbow, sending pain shooting to the top of her skull. She staggered backward against the sundial, losing her footing as the plinth unbalanced her. She twisted sideways to avoid being spread-eagled across the dial, and the torch slid from her numbed fingers, dropping to the flagstones and skittering away from her. As she hit the ground with a jarring thump and rolled frantically to avoid another hammer blow, she caught sight of the child's white-blond hair, lit up like a homing beacon against the black backdrop of the parkland. Ah, shit! What cruel fate had pointed the torch in that direction?

She scrabbled behind the sundial, and heaved herself into a crouch. Keep his attention… keep him talking… "Do you know who I am?" she asked, as Fox dropped into a similar crouch, transferring the hammer to his right hand.

"Lizzie's little bastard."

With her left hand, she felt around the plinth for the razor. "Think again. Fox. I'm your worst nightmare. A woman who fights back." Her straining fingers found the bone handle and folded it into her palm. "Let's see how you do against a soldier."

He brought the hammer around in a pile-driving smash, but it was a predictable move and she was ready for it. She flicked the razor up and slashed at his forearm as she thrust to her right to keep the sundial between herself and him. "That was for my grandmother, fucker." He gave a grunt of pain and shook the hood off his face as if it were stifling him. In the backwash of the torchlight, she saw that his face was glistening with sweat. "You're not used to this, are you? Is that why you pick on kids and old ladies?" He took another wild swipe, and this time she sliced at his wrist. "That was for Wolfie's mum. What did you do to her? Why's he so scared?"

He dropped the hammer and clutched at his wrist, and from the front of the house they heard the Discovery's engine roar to life. She saw a momentary indecision in his pale eyes before he went berserk, charging her down like a maddened bull. She reacted instinctively, flinging the razor away, and curling into a tight ball to present the smallest possible target. It was brief and violent-an orgy of kicking-with Nancy the writhing, squirming punchbag as Fox's boots hit their target every time.

He spoke in breathy grunts. "Ask who I am next time… think I cared about your grandmother?… The bitch owed me…"

She would have surrendered if her Discovery's headlights hadn't split the night and sent Fox running for cover.

She lay on her back on the ground, staring at the wispy moonlight, thinking that every bone in her body was broken. Little fingers felt her face. "Are you dead?" asked Wolfie, kneeling beside her.

"Absolutely not." She smiled up at him, seeing him clearly in the Discovery's headlamps. "You're a brave kid, Wolfie. How's it going with you, friend?"

"Not so good," he said, his mouth wobbling. "I ain't dead, but I reckon my mom is 'n' I dunno what to do. What's gonna happen to me?"

They heard a car door slam and running feet. Mark loomed over them in the Discovery headlamps. "Oh, shit! Are you all right?"

"Fine. Just having a little lie-down." Nancy flexed her left hand and put it gingerly around Wolfie's waist. "It's the cavalry," she told him. "They're always the last to arrive. No," she said firmly as Mark reached down to lift the child away from her. "Leave us be for the moment." She listened to more feet pounding down the terrace. "I mean it, Mark. Do not interfere, and don't let anyone else interfere until I'm ready."

"You're bleeding."

"Not my blood, I'm just winded." She stared up into his anxious eyes. "I need to talk to Wolfie in private. Please," she said. "I walked away when you asked. Do the same for me."

He nodded immediately and strode up to meet the policemen, waving his arms to slow them down. Inside the house the lights came on as James moved from room to room.

Nancy drew Wolfie closer, feeling his bones through his inadequate clothing. She had absolutely no idea what to say to him. She didn't know if Fox was his father or stepfather, if his mother was dead or if he just thought she was dead, where he came from, if he had relatives. Indeed, she had no better idea than he what would happen to him, although she guessed he would be taken into care and processed through the foster system while his circumstances were investigated. She didn't think it would help to tell him that, however. What comfort was there for anyone in abstract ideas?

"I'll tell you how it works in the army," she said. "Everyone looks after everyone else. We call it watching each other's backs. Do you know that expression?"

Wolfie nodded.

"Right, well, when someone watches your back so well that they save your life, then it becomes a debt, and you have to do the same for them. Do you understand?"

"Like the black geezer in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves?"

She smiled. "That's it. You're Robin Hood, and I'm the black geezer. You saved my life, so now I have to save yours."

He shook his head anxiously. "But that ain't what I'm scared of. I don't reckon the cops're gonna kill me. I just reckon they're gonna be real angry about my mum and Cub… 'n' everything." He took a shuddering breath. "'N' they'll send me to strangers… 'n' I'll be all alone."

She squeezed his waist. "I know. It's pretty frightening. I'd be afraid, too. So why don't I pay off my debt by making sure the police don't do anything until you tell me you feel safe? Does that count as saving your life?"

The child thought about it. "I guess. How you gonna do it?"

"First I'm going to wriggle a bit to find out if everything's still working-" her legs seemed to be, but her right arm was numb from the elbow down-"then you're going to grab this hand-" she squeezed his waist again-"and keep holding it till you reckon it's okay to let go. How does that sound?"

Like all children, he was logical. "What happens if I never let go?"

"We'll have to get married," she said with a small laugh, wincing as pain ripped up her side. The bastard had broken a rib.

Ivo was trying to persuade the others to leave. "Wise up," he said. "None of us knows what's been going on, but you can bet your lives the cops won't believe that. If we're lucky, we'll spend twenty-four hours at the flaming nick while they hit us with every unsolved crime in Dorset… if we're not, they'll take our kids off us and bang us up for being accessories to whatever Fox has done. We should take off now. Leave the bastard to face the firing squad alone."

"What do you think?" Zadie asked Bella.

The big woman twisted a roll-up between her stubby fingers and licked the paper. "I think we should stay put and follow Mr. Barker's instructions."

Ivo surged to his feet. "It's not your call," he said aggressively. "You made that deal without asking the rest of us. I say we go… pack up now before we end up in deeper shit than we're in already. I'm a hundred percent sure the cops didn't take anyone's registration except Fox's, so, barring Bella, who he knows from before, he's only got vague descriptions to go on."

"What about Bella?" asked Gray.

"She can talk her way out of it when they catch up with her… say she was scared for her kids and didn't need the aggro. It's the truth. None of us needs the fucking aggro."

They all looked at Bella. "Well?" Zadie asked.

"Can't see the point," she said mildly, taking some heat from the argument. "For a kickoff, we've all got stuff outside that needs bringing in-my kids' bikes for one-and I don't fancy being caught in the open if Fox comes back."

"Safety in numbers," said Ivo, pacing restlessly in the aisle. "If we're all in the open, there'll be too many targets. But we need to move now. The longer we wait, the worse our chances." He jerked his chin at Gray. "You know damn well what's gonna happen. We'll have the busies on our backs for days. It'll be the kids taking the brunt of it, and who needs that?"

Gray looked uncertainly toward his wife. "What do you think?"

"Maybe," said Zadie, with an apologetic shrug for Bella.

"Maybe nothing," she said bluntly, lighting her cigarette and taking a satisfying inhalation. "I told Mr. Barker I'd keep you in, and that's what I'm gonna do." She eyed Ivo thoughtfully through the smoke. "Looks to me like you're the one brought the fuzz down on our heads, and now you're trying to stampede the rest of us to get yourself off the hook."

"How do you make that out?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I ain't got nothing to hide… 'n' I'm fucked if I'm leaving till I know Wolfie's okay. Fox don't worry me, long as I'm in my bus… Mr. Barker don't worry me neither. You fucking do, though. What're you running from, 'n' what's this 'crimes in Dorset' crap, eh? Far as I'm concerned, Fox is a murdering bastard-probably a thief to boot-but he ain't stupid. I gave him more than enough time to get back to his bus-but all the time in the world wouldn't've helped if he didn't know he needed to. Reckon it was you up at the farm after bits of machinery to nick. It's what you do, ain't it? You've got enough equipment in your luggage compartment to start a fucking garden center, mate. I've seen it."

"That's bullshit."

She blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "Don't think so. Maybe you was planning to give the project a whirl when you joined, but you sure as hell gave up on it by lunchtime. You was always gonna scarper tomorrow… so I reckon you went on the prowl looking to compensate yourself for wasted time-" she shrugged-"'n' now you're wetting yourself in case Fox comes back and beats the shit out of you for fouling his patch. Whatever he's up to, he ain't gonna be pleased to have cops crawling all over the place."

"You're in the same boat. You told your copper friend about Vixen and Cub. You think Fox is going to be any more pleased about that?"

"Wouldn't think so."

"Then use some sense and get out while the going's good. The police won't find him. He'll go to ground somewhere, then come after us."

"He won't take us on in here-assuming he can break the door down, which I doubt." She smiled slightly. "It won't help you, mind. Either way, someone's gonna do you. If it ain't Fox, it'll be Mr. Barker when people start reporting their hedge trimmers stolen… but that's your problem, mate. One thing's for sure, I don't plan to get my throat slit 'coz you're too scared to go outside on your own. You wanna save your arse, save it yourself, but don't try 'n' pretend you're doing the rest of us a favor. 'N' don't take your kids and your lady out there, neither," she added, glancing at the introvert woman who claimed to be Ivo's wife. "She can't handle Fox on her own if you decide to leg it."

He launched a frustrated kick at one of her seats. "Maybe Fox isn't the only one who wants to slit your throat, you fat bitch. You're too fucking friendly with the cops. Who's to say it wasn't you brought them out here? You've been carrying on about Wolfie's mum most of the day. It wouldn't surprise me if you decided to do something about it."

She shook her head. "Not me… 'n' I wouldn't be pointing the finger at someone else if had." She jabbed her cigarette at him. "I ain't scared of Fox. He's no different from any other two-bit con artist… throws his weight around, hoping to get his own way… and when it all goes pear-shaped looks for someone else to blame… usually a woman. Remind you of anyone, you little fucker?"

"You've got a big mouth, Bella. Someone should have slapped you down a long time ago."

"Yeah… right. You wanna try?" She shook her head disdainfully. "Nah. Didn't think so. Maybe it's a good thing this project's dead in the water. I'd go mad with a pathetic little weasel like you for a neighbor."

Fox's trail went cold at the end of the terrace. Barker and Wyatt cast around for footprints on the lawn but, even after James had switched on the outside lights, few of which were working, there was nothing to indicate which direction he'd taken. Spots of blood showed here and there on the flagstones but if they continued on the grass they were black on black in the dark. Reluctant to confuse the trail with their own footprints, they abandoned the search and returned to the French windows.

There was a heated debate going on inside the drawing room between Monroe and Mark Ankerton, with Mark Ankerton backed up against the door to the hall and both men wielding their forefingers like clubs. "No, I'm sorry, Sergeant. Captain Smith has made it abundantly clear that she does not wish to go to hospital, nor is she ready at the moment to answer questions about the incident on Colonel Lockyer-Fox's terrace. As her lawyer, I insist that her views are respected."

"For Christ's sake, man," Monroe protested, "she's got blood all over her face, and her arm's obviously broken. It's more than my job's worth to have Dorset police sued because I refused to call an ambulance."

Mark ignored him. "In addition, as Wolfie's lawyer, I am advising him that he should, under no circumstances, answer questions until the legal guidelines regarding the interrogation of children are implemented-principally, a full understanding of what he's being questioned about, absence of pressure, unalarming surroundings, and the presence of an adult he knows and trusts."

"I object to the language you're using, sir. There's no question of interrogation. I merely want to satisfy myself that he's all right."

Martin stepped through the window. "What's going on?" he demanded.

Monroe gave an angry sigh. "The girl and the boy have disappeared with the Colonel, and Mr. Ankerton's refusing to let me call an ambulance or give me access to them."

"It'll be the kid," said Barker, reaching for the telephone on the bureau. "He's terrified of the police. That's why he took off earlier when we were searching the campsite. I'd leave them to it, if I were you. We don't want him vanishing again with his father roaming around outside." He nodded to Ankerton. "May I use the phone?"

"It's disconnected. I'll plug it in if Mr. Monroe agrees to stay away from my clients."

Barker yanked at the lead. "Do it," he ordered Monroe, "or it'll be you carrying the can if this bastard goes to ground in someone's house and takes hostages." He tossed his mobile to him. "If that rings, answer it. It'll be a woman called Bella Preston. As for you, sir," he told Mark, as the younger man went down on all fours to push in the jack plug, "I suggest you lock the Colonel and your clients into a bedroom until I give you the all-clear. I don't trust this man not to come back."

In view of the darkness, the fact that the valley was unlit, and there were too many natural hiding places to justify calling out the police helicopter, a decision was taken to abandon the search for Fox until daybreak. Instead, roadblocks were erected on either side of Shenstead Valley and the occupants of the village and the three outlying farms were given the choice of whether they wished to remain inside their homes or be escorted to temporary accommodation elsewhere.

The tenant farmers and their families chose to remain on site with shotguns leveled at their front doors. The Woodgates and their children went to Stephen's mother in Dorchester, while the banker's twin sons and their girlfriends, bored with household chores, happily accepted hotel rooms for the night. The two commercial rents returned hotfoot to London with demands for compensation ringing in police ears. It was a disgrace. They hadn't come to Dorset on holiday to be terrorized by maniacs.

Prue Weldon threw a fit and refused to leave or be left alone, clinging to Martin Barker's hand like a limpet and begging him to make her husband come home. This he succeeded in doing by impressing on Dick that the police did not have the manpower to protect unoccupied buildings. Drunk as a skunk, he was driven back to Shenstead by Jack and Belinda who decided to stay after he loaded his shotgun and fired it at Prue's chicken casserole.

Surprisingly, the Bartletts were unanimous in their decision to stay, both insisting that there was too much of value in their house to leave it undefended. Eleanor was convinced her rooms would be vandalized-"people like that defecate on the carpets and urinate on the walls"-and Julian feared for his cellar-"there's a fortune in wine down there." They were advised to go upstairs and stay in one room with the door barricaded, but from the way Julian started prowling the hall it seemed doubtful they would take the advice.

As for Vera Dawson, she agreed to be taken up to the Manor House to wait with the Colonel and Mr. Ankerton. Bob was away fishing, she told the two young policemen, as she sucked and mumbled her way into an overcoat before locking the front door. They assured her he'd be stopped at one of the roadblocks when he came back and brought to the Manor to join her. She tapped their hands flirtatiously. Bob would like that, she told them with a happy little smile. He worried about his old lady. She still had her marbles, of course, but her memory wasn't as good as it used to be.

The problem of what to do with the travelers was a difficult one. Police activity around Fox's bus was intense, and the travelers weren't inclined to stand idly by while the vehicle was searched. The Alsatians barked nonstop, and the children kept escaping their parents' clutches. There were also persistent demands to be allowed to leave on the basis that Bella was the only one who knew anything about Fox. Unimpressed, the police decided to escort them in convoy to a site outside Dorchester where they could be questioned the following day.

This rapidly became impossible after one of their number refused to wait his turn or follow instructions, and jammed the exit when his coach bogged down in the softening ground. Furious, Barker ordered him and his family back to Bella's bus while he worked out another strategy for ensuring the safety of nine adults and fourteen children without a vehicle large enough to take them out of the valley.