Killing the Shadows (2000) (55 page)

Fiona stood up and hugged his head to her chest. “I’ll be as quick as I can.” She let him go, and took the craft knife out of the bag, sliding the blade out an inch then putting it carefully in her jacket pocket. Leaving him behind was the hardest thing she had ever done, but the only way out for them was in the Land Rover. She couldn’t afford to wait for Caroline to summon the cavalry, not now she knew Blake had a gun.

She crossed to the front door and inched it open. She stared across the clearing down the track through the trees. Nothing stirred. Her flesh prickled with apprehension. He could be anywhere in those trees, sighting her down the barrel of a gun. He could be lurking behind the Land Rover, axe ready to swing down on her head. The prospect made her stomach cramp. Cautiously, she opened the door further, her free hand slipping into her pocket and gripping the knife handle. Still nothing stirred. If he was watching her with the gun at his shoulder, she’d be a harder target moving than standing still dithering, she told herself firmly. Now or never.

From a standing start, she sprinted across the clearing and down the track. She reached the Land Rover with a rapidity that surprised her, having forgotten how much more direct this route was than the initial approach she’d taken to the bothy. She yanked the door open and jumped inside, then leaned her head on the steering wheel for a moment, a sob of relief escaping from her gasping mouth. Get a grip, she chastised herself, straightening up.

Thrusting the keys into the ignition, she had a moment’s panic. What if Blake had disabled the engine? Quickly, she turned the keys and almost wept with relief when the starter motor turned over and caught first time. She slammed it into gear and roared up the remainder of the track, hauling on the heavy steering as she entered the clearing to swing the vehicle round in a circle so the tailgate faced the cottage door.

Leaving the engine running, she opened the rear door of the Land Rover, then hurried back inside. Kit was more upright now, leaning back against the toilet cistern. He was still deathly pale, but his eyes were open and he seemed more alert. Fiona scrabbled around in the bedroom, unearthing a couple of blankets and a pillow. She grabbed the rest of Kit’s shirts and took her bundle out to the Land Rover, adding the sleeping bag on a second trip. She made a sort of bed on the floor, then returned for Kit.

“I’m going to need some help from you,” she said. “I can’t carry you.”

Kit nodded. “I think I can just about stand up now. There’s a walking stick in the living room. That might help.” His voice was cracked and barely audible.

Fiona found it propped up in a corner. It was a modern aluminium stick, spring-loaded to absorb impact, and telescopic. She extended it slightly, so that Kit could use it as a shepherd would a crook.

Back in the bathroom, she pushed Kit’s hand through the fabric loop and helped him clasp the handgrip. “Pins and needles,” he muttered.

“Trust me, that’s a good sign,” Fiona said. She slipped under his other arm and between them, they got him to his feet.

“Christ, I’ve got cramp,” he moaned, his right leg buckling as it took his weight.

It felt like an eternity before he was able to put one foot in front of the other. Fiona could feel the sweat of fear pooling in the small of her back. Slowly, they stumbled the few yards to the front door. Then they were at the Land Rover. Fiona manoeuvred him so that he was sitting on the tailgate. Then she swung his legs on board and settled him as comfortably as possible. “Are you OK?” she asked.

He managed a wan smile. “Compared to what? My head’s splitting, everything’s spinning, and I feel sick as a dog.”

“It’s only dehydration and low blood pressure. Trust me, Kit.”

A tremendous wave of euphoria flooded Fiona as she finally closed the door and put the Land Rover in gear. She’d made it. Against all the odds, she’d found him in time. They were going to make it! She moved off, almost feeling like singing. Into the woods, then out into the open. She could see the belt of conifers ahead that hid the final approach to the bridge.

As they drew nearer to the trees, Kit’s voice came faintly from the back. “He’s not going to let us go this easy, Fiona,” he said weakly. “Pull up.”

Much as it ran against her instincts to get out as fast as possible—she did as he asked. She squirmed round in her seat to face him. “What’s wrong, Kit?”

“If the bridge is down, we’re stuck,” he said. “In the glove box—binoculars. Go and have a look up ahead. Please.”

“He’s got your gun. Kit. He could be watching us right now.”

“He’d have shot us already. Please?”

Fiona thought for a moment. There was sense in what Kit had said. If Blake had been on this side of the ravine, he could have picked them off easily when they were getting into the Land Rover. And at least she had the conifers for cover. In Kit’s state of shock, she wasn’t prepared to take unnecessary risks. She climbed out and, sticking close to the edge of the trees, walked to the curve in the road that brought the bridge into view. As she rounded the bend, taking cover behind some closely planted spruce, she smiled at the sight of the bridge still in place. Kit’s fears had been groundless, she thought happily.

But, because he’d made her take the binoculars, she decided to check anyway. It wouldn’t hurt just to make certain there was no loose planking. She raised the glasses to her eyes and focused on the bridge. At first, everything seemed to be fine. Then her heart leapt in panic. She lowered the binoculars, took a deep breath and looked again. She could have wept.

On the far side of the bridge, both ropes had been cut part way through, the fraying obvious through the powerful field glasses.

There was no way out. The bridge had changed from a lifeline to a deathtrap.

C
aroline double-checked the number Fiona had given her, and nervously checked her watch again. Sixty-one minutes had passed since she’d waved goodbye to Fiona. Whatever had been waiting at the end of her friend’s journey, it clearly hadn’t been straightforward. Caroline was angry with herself for letting Fiona face the danger alone, but she recognized the sense in what she’d been instructed to do. If Fiona couldn’t deal with it on her own, the chances were that Caroline would have been more of a liability than a help. That knowledge assuaged neither her guilt nor her fear.

Hastily, she shovelled all her change into the coin box of the phone and keyed in the number. The phone on the other end rang three times, then she heard the choked-off ring of a call being diverted to another phone. This time, it was answered on the second ring. “CID, DC Mullen,” a husky male voice grunted.

“I need to speak to Superintendent Sandy Galloway,” Caroline said.

“He’s not available just now. Can I help you?”

Where to begin? “Are you working on the Drew Shand case?” she asked.

“Have you some information pertaining to the inquiry, madam? Can I take your name?”

“No, I don’t have information, as such. I’m calling on behalf of Dr. Fiona Cameron. She’s been consulting with Superintendent Galloway on the case. Look, it’s vital that I speak to him.”

“I’m afraid he’s not on duty. Can I pass on a message?”

Exasperated, Caroline struggled to find a quick way to tell the detective what was going on, conscious that her credit was dribbling away by the second. “She’s following a lead, she thought she might be heading into a dangerous situation. She thinks the killer’s still on the loose, you see. And she asked me to call Superintendent Galloway if she hadn’t come back within the hour,” she gabbled, aware that she wasn’t explaining the situation well. “I think she needs back-up.”

“Back-up for what?” He sounded bemused.

“She thinks the killer’s holed up with his next victim. Nobody would listen to her, she’s gone after him on her own.”

“Look, miss, I think you’re under a misapprehension here. We believe that Drew Shand’s killer is in custody. Where are you calling from?”

“Just outside Lairg. On the shores of Loch Shin.”

“Lairg? I’m afraid you’re a wee bit off our patch,” he said, sounding amused. He’d clearly decided to consign her to the drawer marked ‘crank’. “Maybe you should be talking to Highland Police?”

“Wait, don’t hang up!” Caroline shouted. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m not some kind of nutter. Fiona Cameron’s in danger. I need help here.”

“Talk to the police at Lairg. They’re the men on the spot. They’ll be able to help you. Either that or leave a message with me for Superintendent Galloway.”

“You’ll get it to him right away?” Caroline demanded.

“I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“OK. Tell him Fiona’s at Kit Martin’s bothy. It’s near the Allt a’ Claon on the shores of Loch Shin.” She spelled out the name of the river gorge for him. “She sent him a fax, but I don’t know it he got it. Please, tell him we need help, urgently.” An electronic voice in her ear told her she had ten seconds left. “It’s really important,” she stressed as the line went dead.

Caroline slammed the phone down. “Bugger!” she shouted in frustration. “You really fucked that up, you moron.” She smashed the flat of her hand into the glass wall of the box. She’d blown her one chance with the Edinburgh Police, and every minute that ticked past might put Fiona’s life at even more risk.

She had a horrible feeling that the local police were going to be even less inclined to take her seriously. But there was nothing else for it. She’d have to go back to Lairg anyway for more change to make phone calls.

Still cursing her incompetence, Caroline made for her car, all the time praying that Fiona was still in one piece. “No thanks to you if she is, fuckwit.” she said out loud as she threw the car into a U-turn and headed back into town.

When Gerard Coyne emerged from his flat that morning, Joanne let out a sigh of relief. “He’s not taking the bike,” she said, peering into the rear-view mirror.

“Thank Christ for that,” Neil said. He watched in the carefully angled wing mirror as Coyne drew level with their car and continued on up the street. Before he reached the corner, two detectives were on his tail, one on either side of the street. Joanne started the car and pulled out of the parking spot. The brief was clear. Wait until Coyne was stationary, then close in. The two officers on foot were each shadowed by another back-up, with Joanne and Neil in the car ready to join in the end game.

Coyne cut through the maze of narrow streets and emerged on Caledonian Road near its junction with Holloway Road. As he approached a bike shop with its wares covering most of the pavement outside, his pace slowed and he came to a halt, studying a racing bike. “Time to make a move?” Neil asked Joanne as they crawled towards the shop.

“I think so,” she said, braking to a halt and flicking on the hazard lights.

Neil spoke into the radio set. “Alpha Tango to all units. Move in on suspect now.” He jumped out of the car and strode across the pavement. The other officers had surrounded Coyne, who was standing with his back to the bike display, his eyes wide with astonishment.

“Gerard Patrick Coyne?” Neil said.

“Yeah, who wants to know?” Coyne demanded, trying for cool and missing by a mile.

“I am Detective Constable Neil McCartney of the Metropolitan Police and I would like you to accompany me to a police station to help with my inquiries into a serious matter.”

Coyne shook his head. “You must be mistaken, mate. I’ve done nothing.” His eyes were darting from side to side, as if seeking a way out. But his path was blocked by the police officers, as well as the pedestrians who had stopped to see what was going on.

“In which case, you won’t mind answering a few questions, will you, sir?” Neil took a step closer.

“Am I under arrest?” Coyne demanded.

“That’s up to you at this point, sir. We’d prefer it if you accompanied us on a voluntary basis.”

“I don’t have a lot of choice, do I?” he said, his voice the whine of those who feel victimized.

“I have a car waiting,” was all Neil said.

The officers formed a phalanx around him, and escorted him to the back seat of the car, where he was hemmed in by Neil and another detective. Coyne’s narrow face was set in a petulant mask, his arms tightly folded across his chest. “You’re making a big mistake,” he complained.

“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to put us right,” Neil said pleasantly. He could afford the courtesy; everything had gone according to plan.

Fiona rested her head on the steering wheel. “So what do we do now?” she asked. “I’ve got back-up Caroline should have called the cops by now. But they’re not going to treat this as a matter of urgency, I just know they’re not. Besides, it’ll take them forever to get here. You say there’s no other way out?”

“Not by road,” Kit said. He’d propped himself up into a sitting position. Now the cramps and the pins and needles had passed, he felt slightly less like someone knocking at heaven’s door. His head still felt like he was half-drunk, half-hungover, but he was gradually getting used to that. “On foot. There is a way on foot. It’s about six miles across the hill. I don’t think I can make it. But you could hike out and get help.”

“I can’t leave you here,” Fiona protested, her voice muffled as she spoke into her chest. “There’s nothing to stop Blake coming back for you. We don’t know that he’s left. If I was him, I’d be in the woods on the other side of the ravine waiting for us to plunge to our deaths. And if time passes and we don’t do that, he’ll probably look at the map and figure out what we’re doing. So he’ll come back for you. Even if he has to hike back down the road to the bridge by the loch side and back up again through the woods, he’ll still get to you before I can make it to the main road.”

“What other choice is there? Apart from waiting for your back-up?”

“You need to get to a hospital, Kit. And besides, what’s going to happen when they roll up? Either they’re going to spot what’s happened to the bridge and they’ll be stuck that side of the ravine. Or else they won’t and they’ll end up crashing into the gorge like we’re supposed to have done.”

There was a long pause. Then Kit said, “There is something that might work. But it’s a very long shot…”