Johnny wasted no time in getting close enough to toss the halter over the horse’s head and throw back the bolt on the stall door. ‘Come on, my lovely girl,’ Johnny said. Falier’s Friend needed no encouragement. She lunged towards the opening, almost sweeping Johnny from his feet as they both headed out into the yard.
By now, there was a frenzy of activity. The fire’s grip was concentrated at one end of the block, and all around, stable lads and police protection officers were doing what they could to stop it spreading and to rescue the horses. Johnny spent a few valuable seconds trying to calm the chestnut mare, then handed the rope to a cop. He pulled off his sweater and dunked it in a trough of water, then swathed his head in it before he went back in.
If it had been bad before, it was hellish now. He could barely stand the heat as he forced himself forward towards the next horse. Midnight Dancer, a black beauty whose condition was the envy of every yard in the area. Now her glossy dark flanks were dulled with smoke and ash and sweat, her screaming whinny a knife that went through Johnny’s smoke-dulled brain. He burned his hand on the hook that held the nearest halter, but he managed to hold on to the rope.
Lassoing the horse was almost impossible. Tossing head, flashing teeth, twitching ears all made her a treacherous target. Johnny swore softly, trying to make his curses sound like endearments. All at once he was aware of a figure beside him. Through the dense black smoke, he made out the familiar face of Betsy Thorne, his boss and mentor. ‘I’ve got water,’ she shouted. ‘I’ll throw it at her, try to shock her, you get the halter on her.’ It was hard to decipher her words over the crackle of flame, the clatter of hooves and the cacophony of squeals and screams, but Johnny got the gist.
Betsy threw the bucket of water at Midnight Dancer and for a split second, the horse was still. Johnny wasted no time and threw the halter. It caught on the horse’s ears, then slithered down the back of her neck. As Betsy reached for the bolt on the door, there was a loud crack, then a screeching creak. They both looked up as one of the heavy oak joists came away from the roof, a massive flaming missile headed straight for them.
Without pause, Johnny dropped the halter rope and threw himself at Betsy, his slight weight enough to shove her out of the path of the falling beam. Scrambling to her feet, she turned to see Johnny and Midnight Dancer both fatally pinned beneath the still-burning rafter. At the sound of another creak overhead, Betsy swiftly clambered over the dead lad and the beam towards the pale rectangle of the door.
As she stumbled into the yard, Micky swept her into her arms. Betsy pulled away, hot vomit surging from her stomach and splattering the herringbone brick of the yard. Tears were running down her face, and not just from the smoke. As she steadied herself, one hand on the cool wall of a building not on fire, the fire brigade’s engines swung into the yard, splashing blue light on the scarlet flames shooting through the roof.
Betsy panted, legs suddenly weak. So this was what it felt like when Jacko Vance came after your peace of mind. At the thought, she was sick all over again.
46
The boat rocked and Tony’s heart leapt in his chest. Only the impact of a human body had that effect. He tried to scramble to his feet, but the space between the bench seat and the table was too tight. Panicked, he scrabbled for purchase with his feet then nearly wept with relief when he heard Ambrose calling, ‘OK if I come down?’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Tony said. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
Ambrose appeared, legs first. ‘You need to get yourself a doorbell. Or one of those brass bells like some of them have got. Be a proper water person.’ He looked around, taking in the laptop and the scattered papers. ‘DCI Jordan was looking for you,’ he said. ‘I told her you were probably here.’
‘Thanks,’ Tony said. ‘Did I mention she thinks her brother’s murder is my fault?’
‘Ah,’ said Ambrose. ‘She didn’t say anything. I thought … ’
‘Any day before yesterday, you would have thought right.’
‘So where has she gone?’
Tony gestured towards the bows with his head. ‘She’s having a kip.’
Ambrose smiled the weary smile of a married man who knows how these things go. ‘So you sorted things out, then?’
Tony shook his head, trying not to show how upset he was. ‘Armed truce, I think you’d have to call it. Exhaustion in a points victory over rage.’
‘At least she’s talking to you.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a plus,’ Tony said wryly. He was spared any further explanation by the opening of the cabin door.
Looking slightly smudged and tousled, Carol appeared. ‘Does this place have— Oh, Sergeant Ambrose. I had no idea you were here.’
‘Just arrived, ma’am. I hoped I’d find you here. I’ve got an update for you both,’ he said, all serious business now his next boss was in the room.
‘In a minute,’ Carol said. ‘Tony, what do you do for a loo here?’
‘The door on the left,’ he said, pointing right. Carol gave him a pissed-off look and disappeared into the head. ‘It’s actually a proper bathroom,’ he said to Ambrose. ‘She’ll be impressed.’
Ambrose looked doubtful. ‘If you say so.’
‘This update – it’s not good, is it? I can tell by the way you were avoiding looking at either of us.’
Ambrose glared at him. ‘You know better than to ask.’ He looked around the galley appreciatively. ‘This is lovely, this. I’d love a boat. Me and the wife and the kids, we’d properly enjoy ourselves with one of these.’
‘Really?’ Tony tried not to sound bemused.
‘Yeah. What’s not to like? Your own boss, no traffic jams, take things easy, but you’ve still got your home comforts around you.’
‘You could borrow it, you know.’ Tony waved an expansive hand in the air. ‘I hardly use it. You might as well.’
‘You mean it?’
‘Sure. Trust me, Alvin. This is not going to be my home. I’m only here right now because I realised this morning that it’s safer than Bradfield.’
Carol emerged in time to hear the last phrase. She’d managed to smooth out the crumples and looked fresh and alert. ‘I wish you’d thought about safety a bit sooner,’ she said, before giving Ambrose the full wattage of a welcoming smile. Tony wondered how she could find the energy to keep lashing out at him. ‘So, Sergeant. What have you got that’s too important for a phone call?’
The corner of Ambrose’s mouth quirked in something that might have been a smile. ‘To be honest, I needed to get out of the building. There’s a kind of energy that builds up when an inquiry isn’t going the way you want. It’s not a good energy, and sometimes you just got to get out of it. I need to get my mojo back. So I took the opportunity to bring you the latest news myself.’ He sighed. ‘It’s not good, I’m afraid, though it’s a lot less bad than it could have been.’
‘Micky?’ Tony asked. ‘Has he gone for her? Is she OK? Is Betsy OK?’
Ambrose nodded. ‘They’re both fine.’
‘What happened, Sergeant?’ Carol cut in, cool and firm, back in full professional command of herself.
‘Vance got through the security cordon.’ He shook his head in amazement. ‘He was on a quad bike with a bag of stallion stud nuts, whatever they are. Dressed like one of the local landed gentry. One of the stable lads stopped him, but he gave some convincing load of tosh about having promised Micky to drop off this special feed. Drove straight into the barn and set a slow-burning fire. Then drove off on this bloody quad bike in full view of the cops. He was out of sight by the time the barn went up.’
‘Was anyone injured?’
‘A stable lad died trying to save Betsy Thorne. She nearly got hit by a falling beam. Would have, if it hadn’t been for the dead lad knocking her clear. A couple of the stable lads have minor burns, apparently. They think the real target was the stable block itself. He was going for the horses.’ Ambrose looked apologetic. ‘Like Tony said: he’s going for what matters to his victims. So they have to live with the consequences of what they did to him.’
Carol’s face froze in a rigid mask.
‘What happened to the horses?’ Tony asked. It was the first thing that came to mind.
‘Two dead, the rest were either out in the fields or else rescued by the stable lads. They were incredibly brave, according to the officers on the ground.’
‘And they didn’t catch him? He just drove away on his quad bike,’ said Carol, exasperated and angry.
‘They found the quad bike in a wood nearby. Along with a trailer. From the tyre tracks, it looks like he was driving an SUV. West Midlands have already got details of the trailer-hire place, they’re hoping to find out what he’s driving. But it’s Saturday evening and there’s nobody there, so God knows when that’ll pay off.’
‘He wasn’t driving an SUV last night, was he?’ Tony asked. ‘One of your people told me one of the neighbours saw a Ford saloon in the driveway before the fire started.’
‘Yeah, we’ve backtracked on the traffic cameras and we think that’s what he was driving. No clear shots of him, though. And we lose him about a mile away from yours. He must have cut through side streets, away from the main roads.’
‘So he dumped that car and hired an SUV,’ Carol said. ‘Have you checked all the car-hire places in the area? He had to make the swap somewhere, and he wouldn’t have wanted to drive the Ford any longer than he had to. It was tainted, it had to go.’
Ambrose looked startled. ‘I don’t think we’ve done that yet,’ he said, sounding worried. So he should, Tony thought.
Carol fixed him with a cold blue stare. ‘You’re really not used to this scale of operation, are you, Sergeant? Not had much experience of coordinating manhunts down here in West Mercia? Struggling with first principles, are you?’
‘We only just found out about the SUV before I left the office,’ Ambrose said. ‘I expect it’s been actioned by now. But I don’t know, because I’ve not been there. We’re not incompetent, ma’am.’
‘No. I’m sure you’re not.’ Carol sighed. ‘Is it me, or does it seem to you that Micky’s got off very lightly in all of this? Compared to me, and Tony? And Chris, of course, who got what was meant for me.’
‘What’s your point?’ Tony said, butting in before Ambrose could say something she’d flay him for.
She blinked hard, screwing up her eyes. ‘She was his enabler for years. Old habits die hard. Isn’t that what you’re always telling us, Tony? What if this fire was just Vance throwing dust in our eyes? What if Terry Gates wasn’t Vance’s only helper on the outside?’