There was easily enough light from under the door for Angel to see Gawber tied to a post about ten feet away and Spencer, still with his head dropped, another ten feet further away in a line down the middle of the barn.

‘What now?’ Gawber said.

‘Can you get out of it, Ron?’ Angel said.

They wriggled and struggled briefly, their faces perspiring and getting redder and redder, but their captors had made a secure job.

‘No, sir. What do think will happen now?’

‘If Waldo White hasn’t got lost, the FSU should be here anytime.’

A car door slammed.

‘Is that them?’

‘Too quiet. It’ll be Glazer’s car, the Mercedes.’

‘They’re going to get away, sir.’

Angel knew he was right, and he was not in a position to stop them. It would be quite dreadful allowing that armed mob back on the streets again. But he was thankful that the gang had left them unharmed. It was really not Glazer’s style. Angel had expected to be shot or tortured or knocked about. As it was, he hoped White would find them, let it not be long.

The barn door suddenly opened. It was Eddie Glazer. He had a wild expression on his face, which was also shining with perspiration. He was carrying what looked like a glass bottle. It had a small trail of cloth hanging out of the neck.

‘I’ll teach you coppers not to come looking for me,’ he yelled, his eyes flashing. ‘But you’ll never do it again!’

Angel could now see what he had in his hand.

It was a Molotov cocktail: a bottle of petrol with a soaked wick hanging out of it. Ignited and thrown into the barn amid all the dry straw, it would create a colossal blaze.

Angel’s heart sank.

Glazer plunged his hand in his pocket. He pulled out a lighter and began to light the wick.

Angel swallowed hard. ‘Don’t be a fool, Glazer,’ he yelled. ‘If you kill us, you’ll be on the run for murder again! And when you’re caught, you’ll die in prison!’

Glazer wasn’t listening.

The cloth wick caught fire.

Angel heard a woman’s voice yell: ‘Come on, Eddie.’

Glazer swung his arm back and then lobbed it beyond Spencer among the big pile of straw at the back of the barn.

The bottle exploded, the petrol spread and the vapour ignited creating a loud explosive whoop. The flames took hold of the petrol soaked straw and were instantly three feet high.

Glazer grinned like a devil and disappeared out of sight.

Angel looked across at Gawber who was as alarmed as he was. He saw Spencer suddenly waken up, observe the wall of flames advancing towards him. His eyes flashed as his body thrashed about the post and he cried out for help.

The ferocity of the blaze made a loud humming noise as the fire turned the straw into glowing white and yellow flames. The flames tracked along the barn floor and then roared upwards. Loose bits of straw danced around the parched barn floor around Angel’s feet, caught in the undercurrent of air sucked in by the colossal heat behind him.

Angel struggled to get free of the rope but it was to no avail. He looked at Spencer who was nearest to the flames and tugged harder at the rope. He felt the surge of fresh air pass by him into the far end of the barn drawn in to replace the oxygen already consumed by the fire.

He fought the ropes that tied his hands. It was useless. His wrists grew sore and tired. His face burned and his eyes smarted as the heat built up.

Gawber looked across at him. He began to cough. The fumes were getting to his chest. Angel wanted to call across and say something encouraging and comforting, but he couldn’t spit the words out.

The roar of the blaze was so close and loud as to cut out all other sound.

Angel thought of Mary. He might never see her on this earth again. He felt angry and exhausted, but there was nothing else he could do. He began to cough. He felt dizzy and his breathing was becoming difficult. His chest hurt. His throat was sore and dry. He closed his eyes. There was no more pain. He felt nothing. He began to hallucinate. He imagined that his hands had come loose from behind his back and that he was being dragged out of the barn by two men, one each side. His own legs began to work and with their support, he stumbled forward. He opened his eyes and he could see a gravel drive and two men in police riot gear, one each side of him. They were holding onto him by his arms. He was alive. He tried to speak. Instead he croaked. He tried to swallow. His throat was burning. He heard voices.

‘His eyes are open, John.’

‘Good. Put him down here. He’ll get some air.’

Two men lowered him gently on to the gravel drive.

Angel closed his eyes. Next time he opened them, he saw the same two men putting Gawber at his side. He saw him blink and heard him cough. He smiled, and then his eyelids slammed shut like a prison cell door.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

There was a hissing noise. A line of oxygen was blowing gently under his nose. He opened his eyes. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. He noticed an identity tag round his wrist and frowned. He looked up. He was on a bed surrounded by green curtains. He licked his lips. His mouth felt like a bag of feathers. He tried to swallow. It wasn’t easy … like swallowing a red hot piece of coke.

A curtain whisked open and a young nurse appeared.

‘Ah. You’re awake. How are you feeling? Got a headache? Got a pain anywhere?’ the nurse said.

‘Has my sergeant, Ron Gawber, been brought here?’ he croaked.

‘He’s in the next cubicle. Have you any pain anywhere?’

‘Is he all right?’

‘Have you any pain anywhere?’ she said again, wheeling up a blood pressure machine.

‘No,’ he croaked irritably. ‘Is he all right?’

‘Yes. You can have a cup of tea after I’ve taken your blood pressure.’

‘Can I see him?’

‘After I’ve taken your blood pressure,’ she said wrapping the plastic sleeve round his arm.

Angel took a deep breath and croaked as loudly as he could. ‘Are you there, Ron?’

There was silence.

The nurse said, ‘I think he’s gone back to sleep.’

The plastic sleeve began to inflate.

‘Ron,’ he bellowed. ‘Are you there?’

The nurse pulled a face. ‘You’ll have to keep still,’ she said impatiently.

‘Yes, I’m here,’ a small husky voice replied. ‘I’m all right, sir.’

It was Gawber. Angel’s face brightened.

‘What about Spencer?’ Angel said.

‘Keep still,’ the nurse snapped.

‘Don’t know about him,’ Gawber said.

Angel turned to the nurse. ‘There’s a man called Spencer. Is he in here?’

‘Don’t know anything about him,’ she said.

The machine stopped pumping air, clicked and the sleeve began to deflate. She noted the numbers on the dial and began to unwrap the sleeve.

‘Still a bit high. You’ll have to rest a bit. There’s a policeman outside, wants to see you. He can’t stay above a minute or so. Now, do you want a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, please.’

She wheeled the machine out through the curtain.

Angel whisked back the blanket that was covering him. He was pleased to find that he was fully dressed in all but his shoes. His tie had been loosened and his collar button undone. He leaned over the side of the bed, looking for his shoes when he saw White’s head sticking through the curtains.

‘Ah, Waldo,’ Angel said brightly.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. Course I am. Did you catch them?’

‘No. Could only have been seconds behind though.’

Angel sighed and pulled a face.

White continued: ‘We searched the house. It was obvious they’d left in a hurry. There was a half-eaten meal on the table. The front door wasn’t even closed. I called the ambulance and the fire brigade.’

‘What about Spencer? The other man in the barn.’

‘Don’t know. He was in a bad way. Been taken to the burns unit. Was he one of the gang?’