Читать книгу The Sacred Sword - Scott Mariani, Scott Mariani - Страница 16

‘See you back at the vicarage,’ Simeon called as he climbed behind the wheel of the Lotus. Shutting the door he gave Ben a meaningful look, as if to say, ‘We’ll be able to talk more then’.

Ben fired up Le Crock and shivered in the blast of air from its ineffective heater. Snowclouds had drawn a veil across the stars, and frost twinkled on the grass verges in the beams of their headlights as Ben followed Simeon out of the car park. If the temperature dropped another half a degree, the roads would start to get slick with ice.

However sweetly the Land Rover might be running now that Bertie had worked his wonders on it, it was never going to be a racing car. Ben didn’t have much chance of keeping up with the Lotus, especially with the spirited way Simeon drove it, the low-slung taillights dipping out of sight around every bend and continually forcing Ben to accelerate to close the distance between them. Powering up the long incline on the approach to Little Denton, the Land Rover lost momentum and its revs began to get bogged down. Ben changed down a gear, then another, and gently cursed Simeon for his impetuous behaviour.

Up ahead, the Lotus sped exuberantly over the top of the rise and vanished from view. Ben smiled to himself at his friend’s antics. Even despite whatever it was that was so clearly and deeply troubling Simeon, he was able to enjoy life. Ben envied that quality in his old friend.

Ben was nearing the top of the hill when a halo of white light appeared on the horizon ahead of him and then burst into a dazzling flash that made him blink and avert his eyes. In the same instant, the shape of a big saloon car came speeding over the crest of the hill in the opposite direction, its engine note high and strained as if the driver had his foot pinned aggressively to the floor. The car was just barely under control, all four wheels leaving the road as it sped over the top of the rise and went plummeting down the slope Ben had just driven up.

Ben was blinded for a second. He blinked away the sunspots, peering hard through the Land Rover’s windscreen to regain his bearings on the road. In the quarter-second before he’d had to look away from the dazzling headlights, he’d registered something unusual about the speeding car: one of the twin lamps on the saloon car’s left side wasn’t working – three blinding lights where there should have been four. But in the next moment the car was already roaring off, its taillights receding fast in his rear-view mirror.

‘Idiot,’ Ben murmured. He cleared the top of the rise and the Land Rover began to pick up speed on the downward incline. He hadn’t expected to see any sign of the Lotus up ahead, and wasn’t surprised by the sight of the empty road. Simeon had obviously cleared the S-bends at the bottom of the hill and was probably almost into the outskirts of the village by now.

Not wanting to throw an ageing Land Rover into the bends with quite so much aplomb, Ben took the corners gently and slowed for the little stone bridge over the river.

Then he saw the black skidmarks that criss-crossed the road like rubber snakes.

And the gaping hole where the side of the little stone bridge should have been.

Ben slammed on the brakes and the Land Rover slewed to a halt at the entrance to the bridge. His heart was hammering, his instincts telling him the worst as he leaped down out of the car and sprinted towards the jagged gap in the stonework.

A strangled cry burst out of him as he looked down at the fast-moving water below.

The frosty riverbank was littered with broken stone and wreckage. The tail end of the Lotus was sticking up out of the river, the rapid current washing over the roof. The car’s headlights were still on, casting a glow under the surface of the water. Ben could see nothing of its two occupants.

The silence was stark and terrible, like a shroud that muted the whole atmosphere around him. Ben had known it many times before. It was the stillness that accompanied the presence of death.

He tore off his leather jacket, kicked off his shoes and dived without hesitation off the side of the wrecked bridge. The shock of the icy-cold water was stunning, heart-stopping, and the powerful current threatened to carry him away downstream. Pressure roared in his ears as he kicked out and swam for all he was worth towards the submerged vehicle. The Lotus’ wedge-shaped nose was buried in rocks and dirt, completely destroyed by the impact. Where the crumpled bonnet joined the bodywork of the car, the windscreen was an opaque mass of fissures. Ben could only just make out the shapes of Simeon and Michaela, behind the glass, still strapped into their seats. He could see no sign of movement from inside. Bubbles streamed from his mouth as he called their names.

Then the Lotus’ lights dimmed and went dark as the water fused the battery terminals. The depths of the river were plunged into darkness. Ben fought a surge of panic that gripped him and made his heart race. He groped his way blindly around the side of the car and yanked at the driver’s side door handle. It wouldn’t budge. Either it was locked, or the pressure inside the car still hadn’t equalised. Which meant there was still a pocket of air in the cabin. Ben knew that it could take up to a couple of minutes for a submerged car to fill up completely. There might still be hope for them inside, but seconds were like minutes. Ben could feel the pressure in his lungs mounting fast and his heartbeat escalating with every passing moment as oxygen starvation crept up on him.

Clambering astride the crumpled bonnet he punched at the cracked windscreen. Punched again. He felt no pain, only dimly registered the injury. The weakened glass sagged inwards and gave way in an explosion of air bubbles. Ben shoved both hands through the broken screen and, bracing himself against the bonnet and roof and yanking with all his strength, ripped the whole thing away. His vision was getting accustomed to the murk now, and he could make out the forms of Simeon and Michaela inside the car.

How long had they been under now? Ninety seconds? Two minutes?

His movements clumsy against the strong current, he threw the shattered windscreen away and plunged inside the Lotus.

Ben had seen enough death in his life to recognise it instantly in Michaela. With only the Lotus’ old-fashioned seatbelts for restraint and no airbag to cushion her body, she’d been thrown forward under impact and collided hard against the dashboard. A murky brown cloud swirled around her head where the skull was crushed in.

Simeon was struggling weakly. His eyes flickered open and seemed to catch sight of Ben. The steering wheel had prevented him from flying forwards. It had almost certainly staved in his ribs, but he was still alive. Ben searched furiously for the seatbelt catch. His chest was bursting. His movements were becoming frantic. Don’t panic. Panic means none of you leaves this river alive.

Ben’s fumbling hands found the seatbelt catch and suddenly it was free. He tore it aside and grabbed Simeon by both arms. Bubbles burst out of Ben’s mouth with the effort of hauling his friend over the dashboard and out through the glassless window. With Simeon’s arm around his neck he pushed hard with both legs against the bonnet of the Lotus, trying to propel himself and the dead weight of his semi-conscious friend upwards towards the surface. He saw lights on the water a few feet from his head. The surface was just there, so close, so out of reach. His strength was failing.

Two and a half minutes under. Maybe three. He was going to drown.

Don’t panic.

Where the strength came from for that final desperate lunge for the surface, Ben would never know. A wheezing gasp erupted from his lungs as his head broke the surface. He dimly heard a yell from across the water. Lights and movement on the bridge. People on the bank. He couldn’t understand what they were saying. He paddled hard, keeping a tight hold on Simeon and his head above the surface.

Then, suddenly, there was soft mud under his feet. Reeds prickled his hands and face. With a roar of effort he heaved Simeon’s limp body up onto the bank, where two of the passersby who’d scrambled down from the bridge were waiting with shouts of encouragement. They seized Simeon’s arms and hauled him clear of the water. Ben scrambled up the muddy bank and crouched over his friend, turning him over and letting the river water drain from his lungs. He yelled his name. The two passersby stood back in grim silence.

Simeon’s eyes were shut. His face was white in the lights from the bridge, his wet hair plastered across his brow. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth and down his cheeks into the mud. More lights were appearing in the distance, a flashing and swirling of blue on the horizon, accompanied by a building chorus of sirens.

Simeon’s pulse was fading. It was barely there at all. Ben knelt helplessly over him, feeling the terrible concavity of his chest where the ribs were crushed inwards and knowing that the emergency chest compressions of cardiopulmonary resuscitation would probably kill him.

Simeon’s eyes opened. For a brief moment, they stared right into Ben’s. His lips pursed and opened, as if he were trying to say something. His hand twitched, then moved upwards to weakly grasp Ben’s arm.

‘Jude …’ Simeon’s voice was a dying whisper. His eyes seemed to be imploring Ben.

Then they closed again.

‘Simeon!’ Ben felt for the pulse once more. This time he could feel nothing at all. He wanted to shake him, slap him, beat him back to life. ‘Simeon!’

The first ambulance had screeched to a halt at the bridge, bathing the scene in a blue swirl, its siren drowning out the shocked murmur of conversation among the growing crowd of bystanders. Paramedics burst out of the ambulance doors and came sprinting down the frosty slope to the river bank with their emergency equipment. Ben moved aside as they clapped the defibrillator to Simeon’s crushed chest and applied the first electric shock in a desperate attempt to revive him. Simeon’s spine arched upwards in an involuntary spasm, as if he was trying to get up. But Ben knew the time for that had come and gone.

‘No pulse,’ one of the paramedics said.

They tried another shock. Simeon’s body arched on the ground, then fell limp again. His face looked like a piece of mud-streaked porcelain, eyes staring upwards.

‘No pulse.’

‘He’s gone, I’m afraid,’ said another. ‘Nothing more we can do.’

A gentle snowfall had begun to spiral down from the dark sky, turning blue in the flashing lights. Ben stared as snowflakes settled on the body of his friend. He turned and gazed at the sunken car, thinking of Michaela inside. He said a silent goodbye to them both.

Another ambulance had arrived at the mouth of the bridge, together with a police emergency response vehicle. The officers were herding the bystanders away to clear the area. The place was alive with voices and crackling radios. A woman was led away, crying, someone’s arm around her shoulders.

Events followed as if in a dream. Emergency crews surrounded the crashed Lotus, struggling to extricate Michaela’s body. By now it was clear to everyone involved that the ambulances would be taking away two corpses that night. There was no longer any need for hurry.

Several minutes passed before Ben even became conscious of the crippling cold and the pain in his torn hands. The paramedics checked him for signs of hypothermia: slurred speech, disorientation, unsteadiness. His wet hair dripping onto the thermal blanket they’d wrapped around him, he sat in the open back of the third ambulance and watched the scene unfold as if from a million miles away. He numbly answered the questions the cops came to ask him before he could be carted off to hospital. Name, address, occupation, relationship to the deceased. He told them what he’d seen. Described the car that had passed him from the direction of the bridge, told them how one of its headlights had appeared to be damaged.

The cops asked him if he’d seen any collision take place between the two vehicles. Ben told them he hadn’t.

But as he spoke, he was visualising the scenario in his mind: the two cars meeting on the narrow road before the bridge. The saloon swerving to avoid the speeding Lotus and catching its headlight on the stone wall at the side of the road. The Lotus swerving the other way and spinning out of control. The driver of the saloon panicking and hitting the gas to escape from the scene. Or maybe not even noticing what happened next.

Or maybe it had all happened differently. Ben thought about the positioning of the skidmarks on the road before the bridge. He thought about how a car could have lain there in wait as the distinctive shape of the Lotus came down the hill. How the driver could have waited until just the right moment before lurching out deliberately into Simeon’s path and forcing him to swerve and crash.

Ben thought back to the restaurant car park. The BMW. The broken headlight. The behaviour of the car’s owner. Like he hadn’t wanted to know. Like he hadn’t wanted attention drawn to him.

But Ben mentioned none of that to the cops.

Through the mist of his thoughts, he heard one of the officers asking about next of kin. Ben remembered what Michaela had said about her parents moving to Antigua. He knew nothing about Simeon’s. ‘They have a son,’ he said. He couldn’t bring himself to use the past tense. ‘Jude Arundel. He’s in Cornwall with friends.’

‘We’ll need to contact him,’ the officer said.

‘I don’t think he’ll be that easy to contact,’ Ben said. He told them he’d be responsible for informing Jude.

After the police had left him alone, Ben watched the paramedic teams wrapping up their kit. He’d no intention of seeing the inside of a hospital that night. He’d seen enough of them already. As the ambulances carrying Simeon and Michaela left in tandem, he slipped away unnoticed and walked to where the police had moved his Land Rover. The snow was falling more steadily now, dusting everything powdery white.

He climbed into the vehicle and headed back alone towards the vicarage. He had nowhere else to go.