At the same time, Vincent fired another burst from his gun, and bullet holes perforated a diagonal line across the front door. They were high and missed Alison, but one caught Laura and knocked her back into the dining room.
Alison automatically turned at Laura’s scream. Tom almost casually slid his cable-tied hands over Alison’s head, twisted with her, kicked open the lounge door, pulled her through behind him so she formed a shield then took her across the devastated lounge and out through the gap, ducking as a brick fell. She struggled, but Tom was big, strong and desperate.
Shannon had dropped out of the lorry, drawn a pistol and fired a couple of unaimed shots into the house, covering Tom as he backed away with Alison. ‘Come on, bitch, come on,’ he was saying into her ear.
Henry had seen her attempt to have a go at Tom, seen her distracted by Laura’s scream, but then had to drop to the ground instinctively as the bullets came through the front door, by which time Tom had taken Alison as a hostage.
Flynn came up behind Henry, crouched low.
Vincent put another half-magazine into the front of the house.
And then there was silence, followed by the sound of another vehicle drawing up.
‘Henry. Henry Christie,’ Tom shouted. ‘You can look — we won’t shoot.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Whatever… don’t fucking come for us, yeah? You haven’t got the manpower anyway — but if you do, Alison’s dead. Leave it twelve hours, then do what you have to do. Until then, if I see anything I don’t like, she’s dead, and I’ve seen how much you like her.’
A car door slammed, an engine revved.
From the back dining room, Laura screamed, ‘Oh God, oh God… help me.’
Flynn, still positioned on his haunches behind Henry, said, ‘You know she’s dead, don’t you? Whatever we do or don’t do — she’s dead.’
Callard, who had woken properly at last, raised his head and said, ‘He’s right.’
TWENTY-ONE
Flynn stalked the room like a caged tiger, rage simmering. Callard, now fully awake, but still bleary-eyed and smelling, watched him nervously.
Henry leaned on the desk, the phone on loudspeaker, in hurried discussion with FB, the chief constable. Sweat poured down him and he felt faint, his injured shoulder now causing him agony, and after the last burst of activity, he wondered if he was going into some sort of delayed shock. Whatever it was, he was feeling very ill all of a sudden and it was a massive effort to keep going, pushing himself on.
‘You’re saying you don’t even know where they’ve taken her?’ FB said.
‘Not for sure, but Mallowdale House is the best bet. They’re as trapped as we are…’ Henry ended the sentence thoughtfully, ‘But they’ve managed to steal Jonny Cain’s Range Rover and we know they have other four-wheel-drive vehicles at their disposal. Might possibly try to make it through.’
‘Henry, even the snowploughs can’t get through,’ FB pointed out.
‘I know — just thinking… Vincent knows the hills, the quarries.’
‘And you have no idea of their intentions?’
‘No.’ He sighed, and as he did so pain shimmered through him. ‘They took her at gunpoint and drove off, using her as a bargaining chip maybe… but I’m very concerned about her welfare.’
‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Flynn interjected angrily, still pacing.
‘Who was that?’ FB asked.
‘Steve Flynn.’
‘Oh,’ he said dubiously.
Henry waved Flynn to zip it. ‘Also we have a wounded girl in the back room here. It doesn’t look life threatening, but she’s going into shock and I’m worried about her. I’ve turned out the drunken doctor, but she needs to get to hospital ASAP.’
‘As I said, our helicopter’s on standby, as is the air ambulance, but the weather-’
‘I know, I know,’ Henry said shortly. ‘And we’ve three dead bodies down at the pub, and Cain’s been kidnapped too and not been seen since. He could be in a ditch with a bullet in his brain by now.’
‘Not that we care,’ Flynn interrupted again.
‘Steve — you’re not helping here,’ Henry said.
Flynn abruptly stopped his stalking and planted his hands on the desk. ‘We need some action here,’ he said. ‘All this chitter-chatter isn’t getting us anywhere.’
‘Flynn again, I assume,’ FB said. ‘All very well, but you’re not the SAS or a police firearms unit and we don’t want any other lives lost by doing something completely stupid.’
‘We’ve got the firepower — those guns in the kitchen.’
Henry rolled his eyes. He did not want to admit it to Flynn, but if he had been uninjured, then his instinct would have been to go for it. He, too, was a man of action and he knew he would be devastated for the rest of his life if Alison came to serious harm because he’d done nothing to try and prevent it. But he also knew it was plain nuts to go charging in. It wasn’t as though they even knew for certain where she was. ‘We don’t even know the provenance of those guns,’ he said to Flynn. ‘They could’ve been used in murders or robberies.’
‘And they’re all we’ve got, so who gives a shit?’
‘Look, I want her back safe and sound just as much as you do. I also want Tom James’s collar and every other bugger in this blood-soaked village who’s committed a crime — but we’re screwed.’
‘Henry,’ FB interjected from the safety and warmth of the control room some thirty miles away. His voice was firm. ‘You’re on the ground, you have to make the decisions, I’m afraid. Whatever you decide, as long as it’s thought out and justified and reasonable, then I’ll back you one hundred per cent.’
‘Can I have that in writing?’
‘No — just do not get yourself or anyone else killed.’
‘OK boss, thanks.’
The front door of the police house opened. Karl Donaldson entered, accompanied by Ginny and a very frazzled-looking Dr Lott, who was clearly wearing his thick pyjamas underneath his clothes.
‘Keep me informed,’ FB said. ‘And good luck.’
The line went dead. Henry examined the faces now surrounding him: Flynn, Donaldson, Ginny, Dr Lott and Callard.
‘Well, I hate to say it,’ Flynn commented, ‘but you’re the boss and bosses make decisions.’
After giving Flynn a snappy sardonic look, Henry said, ‘We don’t know anything for certain. We don’t know what they think they’ll achieve by taking Alison’ — Ginny had been told of her stepmother’s predicament, and here he caught her look of anguish — ‘and even if they have taken her to Mallowdale. It’s a bloody big place with huge grounds, and there are the quarries nearby, operational and non-operational. They might have some way of getting out of the area. But’ — he changed the subject quickly and turned to Dr Lott — ‘you have a patient in the dining room who needs medical attention.’
The doctor, trying his best not to be too drunk, nodded and left.
Henry’s eyes moved to Callard. ‘You know your way around Mallowdale House and the surrounding area, don’t you?’ It wasn’t really a question, more a statement of fact — and hope.
‘Eh, me? I’m not getting involved.’
‘Oh, you are.’ Henry turned to Flynn and Donaldson, then a feeling of nausea came over him and he had to take a deep breath and started shivering. He fought it, pulled himself together. ‘I’m sorry to admit it, but I’m struggling here, guys. Even if we decided to go in, there’d only really be you fit.’ He pointed to Flynn.
‘And me,’ Donaldson claimed. ‘I’ve just overdosed on Imodium and some mega-strong painkillers, so I reckon I’ve got a good hour to give you.’
Dr Lott bustled back into the office, now very definitely sober. ‘This girl needs a hospital immediately. She’s gone into deep shock and without proper care, her body’s going to close down. The wound isn’t that serious, but
