Martin Edwards - The Coffin Trail

‘Jean’s dead!’ she shouted. ‘You killed her!’

A siren wailed not far away. The paramedics were turning into the rutted lane.

‘Mrs Dumelow!’ Hannah panted. ‘Please. Come back.’

Tash seemed to spot a movement at an upstairs window. ‘You murdering bastard!’

‘It’s not safe, Mrs Dumelow!’

‘Put that down!’ Tash bellowed at the figure in the window.

Hannah was nearly at the yard. The siren had fallen silent. Tash Dumelow was waving her fist at the man in the farmhouse.

‘You’ll never get away with it!’

‘Mrs Dumelow, please!’

A rifle shot rang out and Tash Dumelow screamed.

Out on the main road, Daniel heard a crack shattering the stillness. Just like the shot he and Miranda had heard at Tarn Cottage. For Christ’s sake, surely Allardyce wasn’t firing at the ambulance or at the police? He could see a police car parked near the front of the Hall. Was Hannah at the farm, checking on Jean Allardyce’s whereabouts after he had passed on the information from Tash Dumelow? He offered up a prayer that she wasn’t indulging in any heroics.

‘Hear that?’ A cyclist pulled up beside him, a tubby man whose voice wobbled with excitement. ‘Sounded like someone’s trying to pot the panda car that just whizzed past. Or maybe even the ambulance. For goodness sake, what’s going on?’

Daniel spread his arms. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

The bullet had kicked up a spray of dirt close to the barn, ten yards away from where Tash was standing. She’d covered her face with her hands, but hadn’t moved. It was as if the shot had paralysed her. Allardyce hadn’t aimed at her, Hannah was certain. A marksman trained by the army, however rusty his aim, would have come much closer to his target.

No time to deliberate. She raced into the yard and seized Tash by the wrist.

‘Come on — quickly!’

Tash stumbled as Hannah dragged her across the cobbles. Her face was glowing, as if being shot vindicated her. By hazarding her safety, she’d induced Allardyce to give himself away. Hannah ducked her head as they moved. At any moment the farmer might fire again.

At last, they reached the barn and safety. Hannah pressed her back against the stone wall. The windows of the farmhouse were out of sight, so they were out of Allardyce’s range. The main risk now was that he might emerge from the front door, rifle in hand.

‘What do you think you were doing?’ Hannah gasped as she let go of Tash’s wrist.

‘I had to confront him. You can see what his temper is like. It was the only way.’

‘You might have been killed.’

‘So might you,’ Tash said. ‘You didn’t have to come and save me.’

Hannah was still trying to catch her breath. ‘What else could I do?’

Tash blinked away tears. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have exposed you to danger.’

‘At least we’re both still in one piece.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Back off and call for help. I’ve had my ration of excitement for the time being.’

She called the control room and told them where she was. ‘We have a firearms situation here. Can you get a couple of ARVs over soonest? Along with dog patrols?’

Tash said, ‘ARVs?’

‘Armed response vehicles.’

‘Why dogs?’

‘We don’t want anyone hurt. Or any thing.’

Tash raised her eyebrows. ‘But if he does shoot again, it’s better for a dog to stop a bullet?’

Hannah grunted. Tash had a knack of putting her at a disadvantage. ‘I don’t want to lose one of my fellow officers.’

Tash paled. ‘I guess you’re right. Tom’s crazy, I’ve thought that for a long time.’

Hannah glanced over her shoulder. In the distance, Simon Dumelow was edging along the path that led to the Hall. He should be safe; not even an SAS veteran could shoot round corners. An unworthy thought flashed into her brain: does it matter to him?

Nick Lowther was approaching. He must have deserted the sheep handling facility on hearing the shot. The ambulance and a police car had pulled up nearby and their occupants were clambering out. She put up a hand to show that she was all right, then waved him back. He still had a job to do with the SOCOs at the crime scene and she didn’t want him to stray into the line of fire.

‘Listen, Mrs Dumelow. I need to keep you out of harm’s way, but we’ll also need information from you, just in case this mess doesn’t sort itself out as quickly as we’d hope.’

‘Anything,’ Tash said. ‘What do you need to know?’

‘The layout of the farmhouse. Apart from the front and back doors, are there any other exits? And what sort of arsenal does Allardyce have in there?’

‘You only need worry about the two main doors. Unless he takes his life in his hands and climbs out of the landing window on to the roof of the lean-to. As for guns, I’d guess he has a stockpile.’

‘Jesus.’

‘He owns a rifle, I think it’s a.22. I remember him showing it off to me.’

‘For killing vermin?’

‘That’s his excuse,’ Tash said. ‘He has a Kestrel shotgun as well, for rabbits and pheasants. But I’m sure he has several other weapons he’s never told us about. He loves just holding them. Caressing them almost, I’ve always found it creepy. It’s like other people collect antiques. Of course, he won’t have them licensed. But I don’t have a clue what might be stashed away inside the house.’

Hannah cursed under her breath. A peaceful backwater in rural Cumbria, and she was facing someone who might possess more firepower than a vanload of Yardies in the East End of London. And who had the training to make use of it. She scanned their surroundings, assessing the available cover between the farm and Brack Hall. The good news was that there was plenty. The bad news was that most of it was soft cover: rhododendrons with their last purple flowers and the spiky hawthorn hedges lining the track between the farm and the Hall. From the first floor of the farm, Allardyce might not be able to see someone hiding behind the greenery, but that wouldn’t stop a stray bullet from doing a lot of damage if you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Apart from a scattering of sycamore and horse chestnut trees, hard cover was scarce between the barn and the Hall.

At her side, Tash Dumelow was shaking. Her skin was taut over her cheekbones and she looked as though it was a long, long time since she’d been a pin-up model. Hannah put her arm on the other woman’s shoulder, felt her tension. Why trust to luck? It wasn’t worth the risk of making a dash for it. The first ARV would be here in another ten minutes, fifteen at the most. They would tough it out until the cavalry arrived.

The tubby cyclist screwed up his eyes and squinted across the fields towards Brack Hall Farm. ‘If you ask me, the shot came from the farmhouse.’

The combination of rifle fire and the sirens had prompted a small crowd to gather at the end of the lane leading to the farm. People were gossiping with perfect strangers, relishing the camaraderie. Daniel felt a stab of embarrassment as he lingered; they were worse than rubber-neckers slowing down to gape at a motorway pile-up. Of course, he ought to keep on walking into the village to perform his errand at Tasker’s. But he was worried about Hannah Scarlett and it would require more self-discipline than he possessed to tear himself away. A drama was being played out at the farm and he couldn’t imagine what was in the script or how the final act would end.

A harassed woman who was failing to calm a neurotic Jack Russell terrier said to nobody in particular, ‘You’re not safe anywhere, these days, are you?’

‘Who lives at the farm?’ the cyclist asked.