CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A Death in the Family
William stared at Gladys in awe at her ridiculously dangerous, foolhardy suggestion in getting into Gribble’s scrapyard. ‘You’re raving bonkers,’ he told her, ‘but I think it’s a brilliant plan – and it just might work.’
‘As plans go – it’s crazy with a cherry on top,’ Alfred added.
‘Crazy or bonkers, it’s the only plan we have,’ said Stewart.
‘You’re all barking,’ Rachel told them despairingly.
‘Sorry, Rachel, but you’re outnumbered – and we’re running out of time,’ declared Gladys. ‘Your parents will think you’ve been shanghaied unless we put our skates on. The tide won’t wait for us or anyone else.’
‘I wish Alice were here to talk you out of this madness, Gladys,’ said Rachel inconsolably. ‘Well, if I can’t stop you, I might as well help.’
Gladys patted Rachel’s arm affectionately. ‘All I need is a few of those lifejackets and my crash helmet,’ she said soothingly.
From neck to toe, Rachel covered Gladys in yellow lifejackets and jammed the crash helmet onto her head. ‘See you on the other side, Gladys – and hopefully all in one piece,’ she said apprehensively and watched William, Alfred and Stewart as they lowered her into the wide barrel of a stocky cannon that glimmered from the light of the moon.
‘What about the cannon’s trajectory, Gladys?’ Stewart asked. ‘What do we aim at?’ he added, pressing home the urgency of his question.
Gladys gave Stewart’s question a moment’s thought. ‘Well, based on the current weather conditions and my weight – you better aim for that pink rocking horse over there on the ridge. I know for a fact, there’s a whole load of loft insulation just below it that should break my fall.’
‘Well, look on the bright side, at least you won’t freeze to death when you land,’ Alfred snorted, shooting William a wily smile.
Rachel gave Alfred a cutting stare. ‘Let me do it, Stewart,’ she told him. ‘I might as well be a part of this insanity.’
William and Alfred moved the cannon into position.
Stewart handed Rachel the rope fuse. ‘Now, just one sharp tug and it should go off,’ he said. ‘Stand well back and to the side of the cannon.’
Rachel took a deep breath. ‘Ready, Gladys…? 3… 2… 1…’ she said and pulled the rope – but she let her hand slip right through. Her eyesight did a double-take, but there wasn’t any mistake: the front gates to Gribble’s scrapyard were wide open.
✽✽✽
‘Well, I can’t see him,’ Stewart said. ‘Look, his bicycle’s by the fence.’
‘His helmet and truncheon are here, too,’ William added.
‘The wind must have kicked up a right old sandstorm,’ said Alfred. ‘The bicycle wheels are stuck fast in the sand dunes.’
Rachel felt the icy chill in the air and hugged herself.
‘Hmmm… now, that’s most peculiar,’ Gladys mumbled and ambled over towards the gate. ‘The padlock is still locked, however…’
They all gathered around.
‘I see what you mean,’ said Stewart mystified.
‘The chain’s been sandblasted to smithereens,’ Alfred inferred.
‘I don’t like it – I don’t like it at all,’ said Rachel ominously. ‘I can feel it in my bones. I just know something’s off about this place. It’s like someone’s just walked over my grave and back again.’
‘It’s a golden opportunity – that what it is,’ spouted Gladys. ‘C’mon – let’s get going. OK, we better split up – now, Stewart, you take Alfred and William and get those spare parts. Rachel and I will go and find Finkle. Whoever gets back to the ship first sounds the foghorn three times. We haven’t got much time – and I don’t want to get stuck here.’
Stewart looked over his shoulder. ‘We’ve got less than an hour before the tide turns,’ he told William and Alfred fixedly. ‘Torches at the ready, boys – let’s go scrumping…’
✽✽✽
‘So, where do we start looking for Finkle?’ Rachel asked Gladys.
‘There’s a small wood cabin up on the ridge over there,’ she replied, pointing between a pile of twisted metal junk and a pile of broken coffins. ‘I guess Gribble – God rest his miserable soul – has Finkle guarding the safe up in there. The old toerag never trusted anyone, so he’s probably taken the lock’s combination to the grave.’
Rachel and Gladys struggled over so many sand drifts they had lost count. The floodlights were more annoying than useful in illuminating their way through the junkyard. The clouds petered out, leaving the stark moonlight to guide them to the shadowy outline of Gribble’s log cabin.
✽✽✽
DS Ian Inchman let out a frustrated sigh. His arduous walk through the sand dunes had been a complete and utter waste of time: his crime scene lay beneath a mountain of sand, and any evidence he might have missed the first time would be nigh on impossible to investigate now.
The pink rocking horse above him rocked silently back and forth. Ian pulled his collar up as the persistent breeze sent a chill down his spine.
The floodlights crackled, fizzed and then died.
Ian sighed again, reached into his coat pocket and switched on his torch. With nothing left to keep him at the crime scene, he turned his head towards the tradesmen’s entrance, but suddenly his ears perked up.
He spun around and used the torch’s beam to scour for the source of the strange sound that kept him alert and riveted to the spot.
A sudden swift gust of wind cut across the yard. The rocking horse hadn’t rocked but made a troubling creaking noise; however, the rusted hulks of discarded metal shivered, as if they too felt the chill in the air.
Right at that moment, his torch decided to give up the ghost. With irritation throbbing through his veins, he smacked his torch, hoping that brute force would bring it back to life, but it just sprang apart. He knelt down and picked up the batteries, but something caught his eye: the moonlight illuminated something right by his right shoe.
With blind luck on his side, he retrieved a plastic bag and tweezers from his top pocket. He popped the black object into a bag and grinned at his newly discovered evidence.
As he quickly placed the bag and tweezers back into his top pocket, the strange sound resurfaced in the sand beneath his sinking knees. A blackened pair of teeth and macabre lips pushed through the oily sand.
Taken by surprise, Ian hadn’t time to feel fear as a pair of gargantuan sandy hands grabbed his shoulders and screamed, ‘Thou shall not steal!’
✽✽✽
‘Where’s it coming from?’ Rachel screeched.
‘IT CAME FROM OVER THERE,’ Gladys bellowed over her shoulder, turning and then bolting through a narrow corridor of twisted metal.
Another terrifying scream cut through the scrapyard.
Spurred on by an instinct she knew all too well, Rachel raced after Gladys and soon caught up, but she reeled in horror and fell to one side, dragging Gladys down with her as a torrential tornado of sand and scrap threatened to whisk them away into the violent spinning vortex.
Riding on the ferocious gale-force wind, three blasts from a foghorn barely reached their ears as the roaring noise intensified.
Above them, the rocking horse’s hooves splintered with a splitting sound. Seconds later, it broke away from its moorings and cartwheeled into the vortex of fiery coloured sparks as metal smashed against metal.
Rising up from the maelstrom, a soaring sand devil came into being. Reaching high above the vortex, its sandy hand held a limp body aloft.
The sand devil’s cruel face licked its black lips in anticipation – but it let out a searing roar of pain and clutched at its gangly throat.
Another spinning disc brought about another agonising cry from the sand devil as it writhed in agony, but as its pain languished, its rage rose up again as it stared down at the lone figure standing on the roof of a dilapidated old school bus, half-submerged in sand and marram grass.
Rachel’s heart fluttered as George snatched another tyre hub from a stack, spun around and threw the improvised metal discus at the sand devil. She wasted no time and flung herself across a couple of car bonnets and over a stack of bald tyres, throwing her arms high to get his attention and bellowed, ‘GEORGE – OVER HERE!’
With grim resolve and a hasty nod, he kicked a stack of hubs down to her and shouted, ‘AIM FOR THE THROAT – IT’S ITS WEAK SPOT.’
Rachel snatched up a couple of hubs and spun the first one, but it wobbled and veered into the vortex; however, her second spin found its mark, and the sand devil staggered but still didn’t fall.
She knew they were too far away, so she grabbed two more hubs and ran full pelt towards the sand devil – and right into harm’s way.
The sand devil roared again and swiped a hand at her, but it missed by a long shot, almost losing its balance in its snarling rage.
Rachel took a chance and darted behind a half-sunken tow truck.
Another raging roar and a swipe, almost tipped the truck over that would have crushed her, but she steadied her nerves and bided her time.
Almost dead ahead of her, three flashing lights came out of the night. Distracted, the sand devil focused its wrath against the blinding beams.
Rachel gripped the hubs and gritted her teeth. The time was now, and she ran straight into the line of fire and leapt into the air.
Twisting her torso, her hub hummed as it sped at lightning speed.
The sand devil’s guttural scream added to the chill in the air as it clutched at its severed throat and stumbled, almost collapsing to the ground with the limp, unmoving body that fell through its fingers.
Chunks of metal kept the sand devil at bay. Like archers from olden times, Alfred, William and Stewart raised their catapults and fired again.
With the sand devil severely wounded and distracted by the barrage, George sped by her with another hub. Rachel felt its rage rise up, and she bellowed out a stark warning as she shot after him, but she wasn’t fast enough, and it took him down with a single stunning blow to the head.
Rachel’s lungs screamed out George’s name, and she felt no other emotion but revenge. With her last remaining hub, she dealt the killing blow to its neck. At the point of exhaustion, she watched the sand devil fall to its knees as it writhed in agony. The wind wailed against the sudden squall that tore the sand devil to shreds, and she covered her head with her arm as mountainous plumes of sand plummeted to the ground.
In the unnerving aftermath that remained, Rachel and Gladys rushed over towards George, pulled him off the ground and set him down against a stack of discarded black wooden coffins.
Gladys felt for his pulse and shrieked, ‘George, are you all right?’
George spluttered and coughed up a lung. ‘Of course, I’m all right,’ he smiled, grinning back at her, but he gave Rachel a look of gratitude.
‘You need an icepack,’ said Gladys. ‘Your face is swelling up a bit.’
‘At least I know how it feels to be swatted like a fly,’ George scoffed.
‘What was that – that thing?’ asked Rachel heatedly.
‘Something malevolent that shouldn’t even exist,’ Gladys hissed.
‘I knew something was off about this place,’ Rachel added.
A stone’s throw away, Stewart bellowed, ‘HEY – COME OVER HERE – I THINK HE’S STILL ALIVE.’
Rachel, George and Gladys joined Stewart, Alfred and William by the heavy pile of loft insulation. The man in the heavy overcoat groaned. Gladys waded into the insulation and gently rolled him over.
William and Alfred slowly backed away.
‘Where are you two going?’ Rachel demanded.
‘That’s Detective Sergeant Inchman,’ William replied. ‘Ian’s our next-door neighbour,’ he added glumly.
Ian’s confused face looked up and asked, ‘I’m I dead?’
‘I’m afraid you’re very much alive, Ian,’ Gladys retorted and helped him to his feet. ‘It was a stroke of luck you landed on this insulation.’
‘Now, did I or did I not imagine that sand thingy?’ he asked them tentatively, not wanting to sound as crazy as he felt.
‘You mean the psycho sand devil?’ Stewart replied. ‘Yep, we all saw it – you’re not going crazy, Ian.’
‘Why did it attack you?’ Rachel asked.
Ian raised a smile and pulled out a plastic bag from his top pocket. ‘It didn’t like me stealing this,’ he said plainly and grinned. ‘It’s all the evidence I have in breaking the case.’
‘Well, it’s pretty obvious who murdered the Gribbles,’ said Stewart, ‘but who would believe it in a court of law.’
Ian put the half-chewed liquorice wheel back into his top pocket. ‘I’d like to keep my job, so I’m asking you to keep mum about all this.’
‘In other words – we were never here,’ said William.
‘Isn’t that our motto?’ Alfred sniggered.
‘Did you see a policeman at the gate?’ Ian asked. ‘PC Taylor must have seen or heard that sand devil,’ he added anxiously.
As they looked blankly at one another, a fluffy white dog – with a floppy plastic toy in its jaws – bounded up to Ian with a wagging tail.
‘Finkle,’ Gladys squeaked. ‘No wonder we couldn’t find you!’
Ian bent down and ruffled the dog’s head. ‘He’s been helping me with my investigations – haven’t you, boy,’ he said in a silly voice.
Gladys turned to Stewart. ‘Did you get the spare parts?’ she asked and then stared at her wristwatch. ‘We need to get going.’
‘We got everything we came for – and a little bit more,’ he replied mischievously, flashing Alfred and William a sideways smile.
William gazed at George. ‘Who’s your boyfriend, Rachel?’ he asked.
‘George isn’t my boyfriend, William,’ she huffed, but she blushed.
‘What you did out there, George – that was impressive with a capital I,’ Alfred said. ‘It’s not every day you take down a monstrous sand devil.’
‘Rachel’s the one that killed it,’ George imparted.
Stewart gave George and Rachel a rueful smile. ‘I’m going to have to agree with you, Alfred – you two make a great team.’
✽✽✽
‘SHE’S TAKING IN WATER,’ Gladys shouted from the mizzenmast. ‘I’VE STARTED THE PUMPS, BUT THEY’RE OVERHEATING, AND THEY LOOK LIKE THEY’RE ABOUT TO PEG OUT – WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW!’
‘C’mon, Ian – we don’t want to get stranded on the island,’ Rachel pressed him. ‘And that goes for you too, Finkle – stop digging holes.’
‘Dammit, Simon – where on earth are you?’ muttered Ian impatiently.
Rachel called Finkle again, but it ignored her and carried on digging. With its lead in her hand, she rushed over towards the disobedient dog, but she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.
The dog’s chilling discovery hit home, and she let out a scream.
Ian rushed over. Down amongst the deepest dune, a policeman’s hat and truncheon lay half-buried in the sand, and right beside them, lay a blue-uniformed man, whose unblinking eyes stared up at the cloudless sky and the moon that hung there.
Ian let out a muffled cry and fell to his knees.
Gladys rushed up to them with Finkle by her side. ‘Are you two tone-deaf – we have to leave –’ she began, but she let out a gasp as her eyes fell upon the dead policeman’s tormented face. ‘He’s been buried alive.’
Ian reached over the body and closed the man’s eyes. He stood up, took his overcoat off and draped it gently over the lifeless body. ‘He was a good man,’ he said reverently, ‘but he didn’t deserve to die and not like this,’ he added embittered, holding back his overwhelming grief.
‘Did you know him well?’ Rachel asked, masking the uneasiness that permeated through her chilled bones.
Ian faced her and composed himself as best he could. ‘I was the best man at his wedding,’ he replied proudly. ‘Simon was my brother.’