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?’
‘Yes, if you know how to use it.’
‘I’m qualified.’
‘Qualified and foolhardy,’ Roberts suggested, ‘from the sound of things.’
‘Maybe, but do you want to wait him out for a day or two, only to find that he wasn’t there after all?’
The chief inspector grimaced. ‘Okay, if that’s what you want to do, go ahead. I’ll have two of my shooters give you cover from the top of the bank.’
‘Sure,’ Steele chuckled, with dark humour, ‘and that way I’ll be between them and the target if he makes a break for it. Thanks, but I’d rather trust my luck; it’s been pretty good so far.’
‘Fair enough.’ Roberts eased off his own flak jacket and held it up for Steele to slip on, then took a revolver from his belt and handed it to him. ‘Six shots,’ he said.
‘If I have to use it,’ the Scot told him, ‘I’ll only need one.’ He took the heavy weapon and flicked off the safety.
The chief inspector unstrapped his military-style helmet, and began to take it off. ‘Here, you should wear this too.’
‘By the book, yes, but if I do, it would just make it easier for him to spot me.’
‘It’s Kevlar, man: bulletproof. Are you sure about that?’
‘Certain.’
‘Even if I ordered you to wear it?’
‘As DCC Cairns said, this is my shout.’
‘On your own head . . .’
Stevie grinned. ‘. . . be it not.’
Roberts laughed. ‘
‘Where’s your sniper on this side?’
‘She’s hidden over there in the trees, watching the door in the far gable. It’s the only way in and out of the place.’
‘Do you have a two-way?’
The chief inspector nodded, unclipped a transceiver from his belt, fastened it to the flak jacket, then flicked a switch. ‘That’s it on transmit.’
‘Okay,’ said Steele. ‘I’m off.’
He felt his pulse quicken as he stepped carefully around the edge of the car park, then across, in front of the garage. As he looked around he had his first full view of the long, narrow cottage. The gully in which it sat was so deep that the ridge of its roof was at his eye level. He looked along the building’s length and counted four windows.
