Jack Higgins – The Violent Enemy

Gregory moved to the nearest car and contacted headquarters on the radio. Vanbrugh looked up at the mountainside. The half dozen policemen were just below the ridge and they went over one by one as he watched.

And a fat lot ofgoodit’ll do them., he told himself.He’ll be half a mile down the other side of the mountain by now and still running.

Dwyer moved to join him. ‘Anyone we know down there, sir?’

‘Jack Pope,’ Vanbrugh said. ‘I couldn’t identify the other two. One of them was burned to a crisp anyway.’ ‘It couldn’t have been Rogan, then?’ ‘I don’t think so. Too small.’

Gregory came back from the patrol car. ‘They’re giving us every spare car and man they’ve got to cover the immediate area.’

‘What about the other valley?’

‘There are two cars on the way there now.’ Gregory wiped rain from his face and smiled confidently. ‘We’re bound to get them, you know. This isn’t the big city with a maze of back streets to hide in. There are damned few roads round here. We can seal them all with no trouble at all.’

‘Then we’ve nothing to worry about,’ Vanbrugh said. ‘I’d like to take a quick look over the farm now if that’s all right with you.’

‘What about this fellow Soames? Should I have him brought up here? Perhaps we could squeeze something useful out of him.’

‘A damned good idea,’ Vanbrugh said. ‘At least we might get a few answers to some rather puzzling questions,’ and he turned and followed Dwyer through the heavy rain towards the patrol car.

Soames’ agile brain was working overtime, seeking a way out of the predicament in which he found himself as the patrol car turned off the Ambleside road and moved up the track towards Scardale.

His wrists were handcuffed together and a constable sat on either side of him. As they came to the place where the accident had occurred, the driver slowed to ease past the parked vehicles and several men staggered over die edge of the road carrying a stretcher.

Soames stared out at the shapeless form beneath the blanket. An arm hung down to the ground, flesh peeling

from the fingers and he shuddered as the wind carried the sickly sweet smell through the open window.

The young constable on his right turned and looked at him coldly. ‘You’ll be lucky to get away with fifteen years for this little lot.’

Soames felt suddenly sick. Only once in his career had he been stupid enough to step just too far over the shadow line between what was legal and what wasn’t. _The subsequent experience had not been pleasant.

It came to him, with a thrill of horror, that this time he had gone in over his head and his mouth went dry. The car turned in through the gate and braked beside another which stood outside the farmhouse door.

The two policemen pulled him out and he followed them inside and along the narrow whitewashed passage. It was like something out of a bad dream and the look on the faces of the three men who waited for him in the sitting room didn’t make him feel any better.

Vanbrugh examined him briefly. ‘Henry Soames?’

Soames moistened dry lips. ‘That’s right. I’d like to know why I’ve been brought here.’ He added feebly, ‘I have my rights. I demand to see a solicitor.’

‘A short while ago, a young policeman was shot by one of your pals,’ Vanbrugh cut in coldly, ‘A man with red hair. If that boy dies, I’ll see you in the dock as an accessory to murder.’

Soames struggled for breath as fear turned his bowels to water. Finally he managed to speak. ‘Morgan, that’s the man you want. Harry Morgan. He’s the one with red hair.’

‘Who else was in on this?’

Soames stumbled over his words in his eagerness to get them out. ‘Jesse Fletcher. He and Morgan came up together from Manchester. And there was the man who owns this farm, Costello.’

‘And his niece?’

‘That’s right.’

‘What about Jack Pope?’ Dwyer put in.

Soames turned to him eagerly. ‘Oh, yes, he was in on it, too.’

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