Rain on the Dead (26 page)

About an hour and a half earlier, it had started to rain, a particularly high tide stirring the Thames, a five-knot current running, and the fresh river smell mingled with the rain to give a sharp edge to things.

The Dark Man
at Wapping had been Harry Salter’s first property and was still his favorite place in the world, in spite of the millions he had made since he’d turned from a life of crime, after making the discovery that using the same talents could make him a fortune from legitimate business, as well.

He still took a lot of pride in the pub, but that early in the evening business was quiet and likely to stay that way in view of the weather. Joe Baxter and Sam Hall were having a beer at the bar, Dora the barmaid reading a newspaper, Harry drinking scotch at the table of his personal booth, Billy enjoying a nice cup of tea because he’d only drunk alcohol once in his life and at the age of fifteen. That once had been enough.

“I don’t think they’ll turn out tonight, Harry,” he said to his uncle.

Harry looked up from the sports page. “Who are we talking about?”

“Well, the punters for a start. It’s hardly an evening for a night out at dear old Wapping, the way the weather is shaping up. I’d say the same will apply for the Sash. Myra Tully won’t know what she’s going to do next with Terry Harker out of the equation. He’s going nowhere, that bastard. He’ll be lifted before he knows what’s hit him.”

“Could be,” Harry said. “He’s too well known. Have you heard from Hasim?”

“No, but I will. He’s never failed to call in yet.”

Harry nodded. “A good kid.”

Hasim was a mixture of East End Cockney and Jamaican and devoted to the Salters, and he’d been inserted into the staff of the Sash as a potboy, a particularly lowly job that involved sweeping the floors, cleaning toilets, and most things in between. His instructions were to keep his head down and listen to every conversation that he could, and he’d proved more than useful.

Harry poured himself another scotch and said, “I like that kid.”

“So do I,” Billy said. “He was doing well with his boxing at
Jacko’s Health Club, but I had to pull him out of that. It would have been a dead giveaway if he’d been recognized by someone from the Sash.”

Sam Hall and Joe Baxter had been listening in, and Sam said, “He’s a brave kid, because if that Tully bitch found out what he was doing, he’d be chopped liver, and she’d take real pleasure in doing it herself.”

“Well, I wouldn’t disagree,” Harry said. “She’s a bleeding nutter, just like her old da.”

“So do you think we should pull the kid out of there?” Billy asked.

The front door of the pub swung open with a crash, a sudden blast of wind sweeping in, rain before it, followed by Hasim, who was soaked to the skin. He lurched toward Harry’s booth and fell into a chair.

“Sorry, Mr. Salter,” he gasped. “I need to catch my breath. I’ve run all the way from the Sash.”

Dora shouted, “Gawd help us, look at the state of him.” She disappeared into the back of the bar, reappeared with a bath towel, and came around and enveloped him. “Poor soul, he’ll catch his death.”

“What’s happened, son?” Harry demanded.

“Well, it’s been a hell of a day, what with you and Billy and Mr. Dillon paying a visit earlier. Myra Tully’s a raving lunatic, if you ask me. She was going on about what she intended to do to you all.”

“And Eric?” Billy said. “The head barman. How was he taking all this?”

“There’s been no sign of Mr. Harker, so from what I’ve heard, it’s Eric this and Eric that, and he seems to be going along with it.”

“Going along with what?” Harry asked.

“She wants to burn you out. I’ve heard her say that more than once. I’m just the sweeper in the background, and I think she forgets I’m there.” He shook his head. “In fact, I think they all do. She told Eric that the time has come to sort you out and destroy the Dark Man
once and for all by burning it down.”

“And how would they do that?” Harry asked.

“Approach from the river using the old motor launch, the
Tara
, Eric Logan, and three or four of their gang.”

“And Eric’s going along with this nonsense?” Harry asked.

“She’s so crazy, she says she intends to take part herself. Walking around with a pistol in her hand, mouthing off.” Hasim shrugged. “Eric seems sort of overwhelmed.”

“But he intends to do it?”

“Well, that was the impression I got when I managed to sneak off. I figured if I grabbed a vehicle from the car park, I’d alert them, so I took to the towpath and ran all the way.”

There was a brief silence, and Dora said, “Well, I never.”

Billy slapped Hasim on the back. “Good lad. You’ve made your bones today. Take him to my bedroom, Dora, fast as you like. Dry him off and find him fresh clothes, boots. I want him down here in fifteen minutes. Now, go.”

Which Hasim and Dora did, both bewildered. Harry said, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go downriver to the Sash in the inflatable. I’ve shown Hasim how to handle it in the past, so now that pays off. I’m just going to change into my wet suit.” He smiled coldly. “You haven’t forgotten that, thanks to Dillon, I’m a master diver?”

“And what’s that got to do with the price of eggs?” his uncle demanded.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage to find something nasty to do to that motor launch,” and Billy hurried behind the bar and went upstairs.

—

Early-evening shadows were falling as Hasim stood at the wheel of the large inflatable, one very similar to those used by the River Police. He was rather enjoying himself.

“What happens when we get there?”

“We’ll see,” Billy told him. “The one thing you couldn’t tell me was when they intended to strike, so we could be hanging around for a while. It’s all in the lap of the gods, Hasim. The older you get, the more you realize that.”

“Anything you say, boss.”

Billy checked his watch and noted it was just after seven. They’d be starting to crowd into the ballroom now at the Dorchester. He had a sudden impulse to phone Roper, but decided not to. No point until he had some good news.

“So what do we do when we actually see them coming?” Hasim asked.

“I’m going to be waiting for them in the engine room.”

“What are you going to do there?”

“Open the seacocks. The water pours in, the
Tara
sinks. It’s very simple. Even better if it takes its passengers with it, particularly when they’re as unpleasant as Myra Tully.”

“Merciful Allah,” Hasim said. “And you would be willing to do this?”

“I don’t see why not. If she boards the
Tara
, that means she intends to burn the Dark Man to the ground and everyone in it. The
Scriptures say an eye for an eye, and I’m sure the Koran says something similar.”

Hasim couldn’t think of a suitable reply, and in any case, they were approaching their destination, and Billy found some binoculars in a side pocket and focused on the Sash.

The rain provided a gray curtain, vehicles in the car park perfectly visible, but not for long before darkness would descend. A number of boats were tied up along the old-fashioned towpath, but there was no sign of anyone around.

He said to Hasim, “That’s the
Tara
with the scarlet-and-cream wheelhouse. Just drop me at the end of the towpath, then drift out and switch off among those smaller vessels. I’m going to explore the
Tara
. If I’m still on board and they arrive, you must follow when they take off. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Hasim said. “Though it sounds a little bit crazy to me.”

“I have my mobile and you have yours. We can keep in touch, so just do as I say.”

The inflatable edged in, Billy took a last look up at the Sash
through the binoculars, and he saw Myra and Eric emerge from the entrance followed by three men.

“They’re coming,” Billy said. “I’m out of it, so you do as I’ve told you.”

He jumped to the towpath, moved quickly to the
Tara
, boarded, and behind him, Hasim took the inflatable away.

—

There was an instant smell of petrol when Billy stepped over the rail. Preparations had already been made and there was a row of
jerry cans at one end of the deck. He slid down into the saloon. There was no smell of petrol there and everything seemed normal, so he went back on deck, crouching. The party from the Sash were closer now and there was raucous laughter, more than hinting that drink had been taken, but he moved to the front of the wheelhouse, opened the hatch to the engine room, and dropped inside.

He could hear everything, Myra laughing drunkenly. “We’ll have another little drink and then depart to give that bastard Harry Salter the surprise of his life.”

Eric sounded far from happy. “Come on, Myra, enough is enough.”

“Don’t you try and tell me what to do, Eric Logan,” she said. “You can take your sodding medal and go and jump in the Thames with it. There’s only one captain on this ship. Now, let’s get moving or I’ll take over the wheel myself. I’ll be with my friends when you want me.”

Peering out of the engine-room hatchway, Billy could see the back of her disappearing down to the saloon, heard Eric’s footsteps as he ascended to the wheelhouse to switch on the engine, which coughed into life. He reached out of the partially raised hatch and shot the bolt of the companionway door leading to the saloon below. Then he dropped down beside the engine again and peered out of a small port window.

Above him, Eric Logan had phoned Terry Harker in desperation and found him resting in bed at the bolt-hole.

“I’m right up the creek, Terry,” Eric said. “And there isn’t a thing I can do about it.”

“Well, tell me, for God’s sake.”

Which Eric did. “Down below with those bastards. God knows what’s going on.”

“Damn you, Eric, you know exactly what’s going on. She’s getting laid. Who in the hell came up with the idea of having a go at the Salters?”

“The Master got in touch with me. He was all for it, and Myra spoke to him. Told him she’d love to burn the Dark Man
down. What do I do?”

“I’m the last man to ask at the moment, Eric. I’m lying here crippled, in hiding from everybody. Why can’t you turn the
Tara
around and sail back?”

“Because she won’t have it. I’ve never seen her so drunk.”

“Then she can go to hell her own way,” Terry said. “I’m in no condition to do anything about it. You’ll have to handle this, old son.”

—

It was really getting dark now, lights flickering everywhere, Hasim in the inflatable some way back.

Billy called him and got a reply at once. Hasim said, “I was getting worried. What’s happening?”

“Myra’s drunk out of her mind and down below with entirely the wrong kind of people.”

“And Eric?”

“I’ll have to have words. Be ready.”

He knelt down and unscrewed the seacocks one after another, then went up the ladder and hauled himself out on deck, to find a furious banging on the companionway door and Myra shouting, “What’s going on? Get this bloody door open.”

The
Tara
was suddenly sluggish with the weight of the water pouring into her, the deck tilting and Billy slipping back against the rail. At the same moment, Eric slid down the rails from the wheelhouse and gaped in astonishment.

“Where the hell did you come from?” In the same moment, he pulled a Browning out of the pocket of the sailor’s pea jacket he was wearing and shot Billy at close quarters, bouncing him against the rail. Billy reached for the silenced Colt .25 he habitually wore in a rear belt clip and shot him between the eyes, driving him back over the rail into the Thames. Thanks to the bulletproof vest he’d been wearing himself, he was only struggling for breath, but knee-deep in water, the
Tara
down by the head. Just in time, Hasim roared up to the rescue. Billy fell into the inflatable and they fled as the
Tara
disappeared.

Hasim cried, “Are you okay? What happened. Did you let them out?”

“I didn’t get a chance. Eric pulled a gun on me and knocked me over. Lucky I’m wearing a vest, but I had to return fire to stop him from doing it again. By that time, it was too late to get the door to the saloon open.”

“I wonder where Eric will wash up.”

“Maybe nowhere. More than half of the bodies that go in are never seen again. The Thames is a tidal river, and on occasion, fierce currents can wash any corpse straight out to sea.”

“So what do you think will happen?” Hasim asked.

“To me and you? Nothing. The kind of people who are involved in an affair like this don’t complain, Hasim, not to the authorities and certainly not to the police. Myra Tully was spawned by as evil a family as any in the criminal underworld. Her husband is doing
fifteen years in Belmarsh Prison. The only word from Scotland Yard will be good riddance. Now let’s get back to the Dark Man.”

“Which will be a distinct pleasure for me after my time at the Sash,” Hasim told him.

“Well, there you are, then,” Billy said. “Take us home.”

—

Back at the pub, Billy showered and changed, noting the severe bruising he’d received from the pistol shot, then he phoned Roper. “You can tell Ferguson from me that Myra Tully and Eric Logan no longer present a problem.”

“Well, that
is
interesting,” Roper said. “Tell me,” which Billy did, and when he was finished, Roper grunted approval. “An unpleasant human being. I can’t see that she’ll be mourned by anyone.”

“Terry Harker, perhaps?” Billy said.

“He’ll be too busy keeping his head down. No, I can’t see a problem there. This was a good one, Billy, but you’re rapidly running out of your nine lives, so take care.”

“Don’t I always?” Billy said. “I’ll let Dillon know.”

—

The events of Billy’s early evening on the river reached Dillon as he was enjoying supper at the fund-raiser in the company of Sara, Hannah, and Declan Rashid.

When it was finished, Dillon said, “What do you think?”

Declan said, “Of Billy? Well, he obviously doesn’t take prisoners.”