Читать книгу The Devil's Whelp - Vin Hammond Jackson - Страница 33

"You can't do it!" Les appeared horrified.

It wasn't too clear how he'd found out about the discussion. Perhaps a spy of his had been lurking in the shadows of the moon pool area when the Inspector had made his ominous suggestion. This was fairly unlikely, knowing how few friends an obnoxious person like Les could be expected to have. No, he was probably just doing his bad-penny imitation again. Whatever the reason, he was there and making Del's life difficult as usual. "We don't really need your permission, Les."

"The hell you don't!" Meyer stormed across the room and slammed a fist down on the toolpusher's desk. "Contrary to what you would have everyone believe, Del, I'm in charge here, not you!"

"There may come a time when I'll argue that point with you, Les, but not now. Anyway, it's academic: it's the Inspector's decision, not mine. I just happen to agree with it."

"The Inspector's?" Les's face was screwed up in disbelief. He looked like a kid who had just shit his pants.

"I'm afraid Del is right, Mr Meyer. I'm the one you should be blaming for the blockade."

"But it's ridiculous! You can't cut us off like this! No choppers at all!"

"It's the only way I can be certain that the murderer or murderers don't escape."

"What about the men finishing their shifts? You can't keep them here against their will!"

"It shouldn't be for too long, Mr Meyer. Be reasonable. What difference is a day or two going to make?"

The argument had a familiar ring to it. It was the same one he had used against Jack Pierce, but this was different. This affected Les personally. Only an hour ago, Les had arranged for his own transfer. It hadn't been easy, but he had pulled some strings and called in a favour. His replacement, Tony Hammond, was due to arrive tomorrow. Tomorrow! Now this bastard-of-a-policeman had screwed it all up. What if Hammond got wind of Olympian's problems while he was cooling his heels in Karratha? Jesus, if he had any sense, he'd clear off back to the city on the next available flight, then where did that leave Les? He was blundering about the room, his fists clenching and unclenching, arms beating at his sides in the manner of a fledgling doing a warm-up for its maiden flight. "But this rig is my Company's property! You don't have any authority here!"

"In this instance, Mr Meyer, I do," insisted the Inspector calmly. "I am conducting a murder investigation. In the past twenty-four hours, three, maybe four men, one of them a police officer, have been murdered on board your oil rig, but I'm sure you are already aware of that."

"I know, I know." Meyer turned to Presswood, his expression now one of desperation. "What's going on, Del?" He hissed through gritted teeth. "What the hell are you doing out there, for Christ's sake?"

"If you weren't so afraid of getting your clothes dirty and came out of your cosy little office once in a while you'd see for yourself." Presswood straightened. "What do you think's going on? We've got some crazy man on board who's slaughtering our crew! I value my life as much as the next guy and I don't fancy being locked up with a psycho, but I've lost three men, Les, and if the Inspector reckons he can catch the bastard who killed them, then I'll go along with him and I'd advise you to do the same."