He was moving slowly and jerkily. With each violent tug pain screamed through his body. Horton could hear grunting. He didn't think it was coming from him but it could have been. Someone was pounding on his head as if they'd found a new substitute for a drum and he was being hauled along the ground. He was drenched from the rain that was beating against his battered body and at any moment he thought the scream inside his head might erupt through his mouth and at the same time spill his stomach's contents. He fought to control his pain and nausea because he realised that he was encased in something.
He tried to get his bearings and some semblance of clear thinking into his befuddled mind and along with the loss of one of his senses came the acuteness of another. He sniffed. Beyond the smell of the sea he could smell dog. He was wrapped in something, a blanket? What had happened to Bellman? Where was he? Perhaps he was still with the dog handler? Perhaps Parnham had killed him too, because by now Melissa must be dead.
The dragging and grunting continue. Where had Parnham brought him? What was he going to do with him? How could he get away? He pushed the drum out of his head and urged his sluggish mind to start thinking of a way out of this. The ground scraped at the blanket and tore into him. His body twisted and turned with the movement. Parnham was pulling him.
He tried to move his legs but they were tied, as were his hands, behind his back. Parnham had mentioned a drowning accident but he would have to untie him before throwing him into the sea if he wanted it to look like suicide. To untie him meant he'd have to lean over and that might be the only chance Horton would get before Parnham knocked him unconscious again. He struggled against his bonds. He was soaked from the rain. What would they say when his body was washed up along the south coast: that he had committed suicide rather than face the disgrace of a suspension? That he couldn't face the fact that he'd killed Lucy Richardson and Colin Jarrett? Melissa would be dead and Uckfield and others would believe she had taken her own life after killing her husband and lover. Her twin brother would be found and inherit the estate. How nice and tidy. What an easy way out for them. And Emma would grow up believing her father to be both a pervert and a murderer. He wouldn't have it, he couldn't. The thought filled him with a fury so fierce that it blotted out any pain he was feeling and he struggled against the bonds.
There would be a moment when Parnham would reach the shore. It was coming now, the hard ground gave way to the shingle and stones, the shells were jarring against him and cutting through the blanket into his flesh. He could hear the waves crashing onto the shore, sucking the stones back as they receded then tossing them again onto the beach. Parnham would be exhausted. He was strong to have hauled him the short distance to the shore but the effort must have weakened him.
Horton tensed his aching body. He had to marshal his strength. There would be a split second when Parnham would stop, then he would need to untie the blanket and him. It was a risk, a big one, a gigantic gamble that could cost him his life but he decided it might be the only one he had.
He let his body go limp as if unconscious. It took all the nerve he could muster. He felt the sea wash against his face, filling his eyes, his mouth, his nose. He tasted the salt and fought to stop himself from choking. The thunder crashed around them.
Parnham was panting heavily. Horton held his breath and remained absolutely still as the sea washed over him and out again. After what seemed like hours, but could only have been a few seconds, Parnham began to unwind whatever it was he had wrapped around him to keep the blanket in place. He kept his eyes closed and his head loose as he felt Parnham's breath on his face. Parnham manhandled him over on to his stomach. His face was pressed into the seabed. His breath coming fast. Parnham undid the bonds that tied his feet and then his hands. Then he turned him over so that he was lying on his back. One satisfied grunt told Horton that Parnham had straightened up and now was his chance. It seemed to be agonisingly slow. He was beginning to feel as if he had spent his whole life in this bloody state. His nerves were stretched to breaking point. His head was pounding so loud that he thought it might explode. With a great cry, totally blind and with all the force he could muster he sprang up and charged at Parnham.
He hit Parnham's unprepared stomach and the two men crashed down into the sea. Horton's battered body rolled over. He heard himself cry out, hardly recognising his own voice. He could hear Parnham's cries against the splashing of the water and the crashing of the thunder. He saw his face in the streak of lightning, startled and manic.
He stumbled up, but Parnham came charging at him, wielding a large stone retrieved from the seabed. Horton rolled out of his reach but it wasn't far enough. It caught a glancing blow on his shoulder and he howled in pain. He knew he had to get away before it would come crashing down again. Summoning his remaining energy, he leapt to his feet. To give himself time, he ran away from Parnham as fast as the large stones on the beach would allow him; his body pitching forward, stumbling.
Parnham was running after him. He would have only seconds to pick up something, turn and bring it down on Parnham's head. He'd underestimated Parnham's fitness. The man's strength surprised him. Parnham pushed him back into the sea, his face ugly with anger, his eyes cold and glaringly mad.
Horton took in a mouthful of salty water, making him choke and his stomach heave. Parnham, seizing his advantage, grabbed hold of his head and forced it under. Horton gasped and let in more seawater. He went down. His fingers reached out for something, anything: a weapon he could use to strike out against the man possessed and intent on drowning him.
His breathing was growing shallower. The world was growing darker. He was taking in too much water. He was going to die without ever seeing Emma again. He couldn't die. He wouldn't let it happen. His body was going slack. Parnham's grip was getting tighter. Parnham's hand was on his head forcing him down and holding him down. He knew he would have to make one last supreme effort and with that he would either live or die.
Mustering every ounce of strength and every fibre of willpower, he stretched out his fingers. It curled around something. He had no idea what it was and he was beyond caring, only that what he held in his hand must save his life. With energy that he dragged up from somewhere deep inside him, and sensing Parnham's loosening his grip through lack of resistance, Horton pushed himself to the surface. Reaching out, he struck Parnham across the face with the long, metal bar. There was a crash of bone and the sound of tearing flesh. Parnham screamed, staggered back, his hands to his bloodied head and face. Horton didn't wait, he crashed his fist into Parnham's bloodied face and the man splashed back into the sea and his body went limp.
Horton reached out for Parnham's shirt, grabbed it and pulled him up. He hit him again and again. And then because he wanted to go on hitting him, finally forced himself to stop. Parnham was unconscious.
He hauled him up the shore and crashed down onto the beach gasping for breath as the sea washed around his aching body. His head pounded violently. His lungs were full of seawater. He retched and was sick on the stones.
A voice came out of the darkness. 'Feeling better now?'
Horton stiffened. Instinctively he knew it meant trouble. This wasn't some concerned passer-by. He looked up. He knew exactly whom he would see.
'Thoughtful of Parnham to leave his gun in the car,' Tom Maddox said, pointing it at Horton. 'Is he dead?'
'No.'
'Pity. I'll have to do it for you.'
This was who Lucy meant when she had told Jane that someone 'high up' had paid her. It wasn't someone in the police force but in import control. Gradually Horton eased his body into a more upright position. It was difficult to see Maddox's expression but he didn't doubt his intentions. God! He'd just escaped from one lunatic only to face another. This time he wasn't sure if he had the strength, both physical and mental, to deal with it. But he had to live to tell his story. Fatigue had drained him but his instinct for survival was still strong. The need to know the truth was sending fresh adrenalin pumping through his pain-racked body and clearing his head.
He said, 'Why would you want to kill Parnham?'
'Why do you think?'
'He knows you're smuggling pornography.' Hadn't Parnham hinted as much? 'Did Jarrett tell him?'
'Jarrett or Culven. Does it matter?'
'Culven was money laundering for the operation and you were the brains behind it all. It was you I saw leaving the pontoon.' Horton's mind grappled for a way out of this. The overhanging branches from the trees were protecting him and Maddox from the worst of the rain. The lightning had lessened and the thunder was now only a distant rumble. If he couldn't see Maddox clearly then perhaps Maddox couldn't see him. Gently he shifted position.
Maddox said, 'I thought you might have recognised me, so I followed you. I was hoping Parnham would do my job for me.'
Slowly Horton stretched out his left arm, his fingers exploring the ground for a possible weapon. 'But why kill Jarrett? Hasn't that ruined your nice little earner?'
'It was over anyway. You saw to that. I thought we'd got rid of you but you kept coming back like a bloody boomerang. Jarrett was too much of a risk. You would have got him to talk, eventually. Anyway it was good while it lasted.'
Horton's hand connected with a piece of wood. His fingers curled around it. 'How did you do it, Maddox?' Got it. He tightened his grip. Maddox hadn't seen.
'You probably know.' Horton did. 'Jarrett recruited men who owned boats and used them to ferry the pornography from France and Spain across the Channel. Jarrett gave you the name of the boat and you made sure they weren't stopped and searched, or if they were then nothing was found. And Parnham was in it with Jarrett.'
Horton turned to look at the inert figure beside him knowing that Maddox would instinctively do the same. He did and in that spilt second, Horton sprang up, striking Maddox a resounding blow across the head with the branch. The gun went off. Throwing himself at Maddox, Horton wrestled him to the ground and the gun spun away. Grabbing Maddox by the jacket Horton lifted his head and bashed it against the stones not once but three times until the man's body went limp. Horton slumped down on to the stones and let out a long exhalation of breath. No time to relax though. He had to get moving. He searched for the gun, found it and pocketed it in his sodden jacket. Then he checked that both men were still unconscious and set off for the telephone box on the corner of Warlingham Lane.