Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [121]
Pitt leapt out, thrusting money at the driver—probably twice as much as he owed. He thanked him, and followed after Voisey over the quayside to the water’s edge.
“He’s on that barge,” Voisey said huskily. “He’s been hiding there. They’ll take him out on the turn of the tide…about twenty minutes.” He pointed out into the river. “I’ve got a boat. Borrowed it from one of the ferrymen. It’s not much, but it’ll get us out there.” He started down the dark steps, balancing himself with one hand against the wall of the embankment.
Pitt could see the black shell of a boat riding in the water and the dripping rope that held it knotted to the ring in the stones. The oars were shipped, waiting.
Voisey clambered in and took the oarsman’s seat. Pitt untied the rope, coiling it over his arm, and jumped into the stern. Voisey unshipped the oars, and slipped them into the rowlocks, and then threw his weight against them.
They pulled out into the tide, slithered around for a moment, righted, slewed the other way, then met the waves straight and the oars dug in. Voisey leaned forward, back, found his rhythm, and they sped away.
He slowed as they reached the moored barge, and swung the oars on board again. Pitt stood up carefully, balancing to reach out as they came around. He needed to stop them from bumping the hull of the barge and alerting whoever was there. Piers Denoon would not be alone. He reached forward, catching the side and holding on. Then he jumped and rolled, landing easily and regaining his feet, then dropping onto his knee not to make a high outline against the sky, if anyone were looking. He had a cudgel in his pocket, but at this moment he wished it were a pistol. Thank goodness Voisey was with him, with as much interest in catching Denoon as he had. Voisey was quite a big man, and both powerful and ruthless.
He crept forward and saw the lighted hatchway. There was only one man standing there. He looked about twenty years old, slender and angular. Beyond him there was the shadow of a second man, heavier, but bent forward a little. He did not appear to be armed, as far as Pitt could see.
He did not want to strike the younger man. He put his arm around his neck instead and pulled him backwards. The other man jerked up, startled.
There was a movement on the deck. Pitt turned to look for Voisey, but it was a big man in a woollen hat. Beyond him, the boat with Voisey in it was pulling away, back towards the steps. It was the betrayal at last, at the one time he had not expected it.
11
PITT WATCHED the boat slide over the glittering water with a rage that almost choked him. How unbelievably, fatally stupid of him! But what clue had he missed? Voisey wanted Piers Denoon caught and charged just as much as Pitt did. It was the final connection between Wetron and the bombings. It was proof of police corruption that could not be denied.
The big man on the deck was coming towards him, hunched forward a little as if preparing to lash out. “Get outa my way, Mike!” he snarled at the fair young man struggling in Pitt’s tightening grip. The only other person he could see was the older man inside the cabin.
Why had he believed Voisey that Piers Denoon was here at all? Because he had grown used to believing him. He had been swept away by the fever of the chase, the expectation of victory, and forgotten what Voisey was, what he had always been. Perhaps he even knew where Piers Denoon really was!
The big man stopped, momentarily confused by the fact that Pitt had the young man around the front of his neck, but it would be respite for a very short time. The other man was coming up the steps, an iron bar in his hand.
Pitt’s only chance was to back away and hope to jump over the side without hitting himself too hard on any of the loose spars and boxes on the deck, or anything in the water. Even so he could easily drown. He was thirty yards from the shore; the current was high and pulling out to sea. The water was cold, and he had a coat and boots on.