The Sister (82 page)

"What's going on here?" he glowered at Miller, and without taking his eyes off him turned his head slightly towards Kathy. "Did he hurt you, lovey?"

Stella whispered soothing words, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Miller stayed seated and spoke softly, "Twenty-three years ago; this poor woman was kidnapped, and as you can see, she's still traumatised. We don't need any kind of scene." The murmuring fell into a hush. He shifted his gaze from the man and glanced over the faces of the small pack beyond his shoulders. "I know how it looks, but we are taking her to get specialist help just outside
Edinburgh. You can all go back to your seats now."

"Oh God," one of the women cried, "it's that poor lass that was on the news a few weeks ago. They thought she was dead." Faces filled with sympathy and heads bobbed around, trying to get a better look at her. The man relaxed his stance. "I'm sorry; I'm no' one to stand by, y'know?" He shrugged.

"That's okay," Miller said. The man lingered for a moment, perhaps wondering if there were anything he could do, he turned and ushered everyone behind him back their seats. "Good luck wi' that," he said over his shoulder.

The train reached
Waverley just after lunchtime. Kathy still wore a troubled expression. Stella watched her carefully, and kept her between herself and Miller as they traipsed out of the station on legs still stiff from the journey. Once outside, as they were about to get in a taxi, Miller's mobile rang, he gestured for them to wait, while he turned his back to the wind, so that he could hear better. It was Tanner.

"I called at the hospital to interview Kathy, and she's not there. And you know why? Because she's with you. What the hell do you think you're playing at, running off with my witness? You had better get back with her, right now!"

"John, we cleared it with the hospital. I'm sorry you were inconvenienced, you should have called Marshall. Besides, she isn't up to a police interrogation at the moment. She's here with us because we're helping her. You can wait."

"Miller, I don't think you understood me—"

"We're back tomorrow; you either wait or come up here." He snapped his phone shut.

"Can you believe that?" he turned and found Stella in the kerb, on her hands and knees.

"Jesus, Stella, are you okay?" he helped her to her feet.

"She jumped me! I can't believe it. My own sister jumped me!"

"Did you see where she went?"

"No, it all happened so fast."

"Don't worry, we'll find her. She can't get far without any money."

"She's taken my handbag," she said, her face grim.

Together, they looked in all directions. No sight of her. They spotted an elderly man at the rank and rushed over to him. "Did you see a woman, dark hair … no, half grey. Scar on her lip, dressed in a black, hooded tracksuit?"

"Did she have the hood up, or down?" The old man said, "I didn't see any face, but someone dressed in black with a hood up, just jumped in that taxi over there." He pointed down the street.

"Stella quick, she's in that cab!"

They dove into the next one, brushing aside a young couple who were about to get in. Once inside the doors locked. Outside, the man banged on the windows, protesting.

The driver sat up abruptly, holding up a two-pound coin he'd retrieved from his footwell. "Thought I'd lost that!" he said gleefully. "What's all the commotion?"

"Follow that cab," Miller said, "I'll explain as we go."

"Where to?" The driver asked with a shrug.

Miller exchanged exasperated glances with Stella. "Just follow it and there's a nice drink in it for you if you catch up with them."

The driver gunned the engine. They began to gain ground. Kathy watched them anxiously through the rear window. The next set of traffic lights turned red. Forced to stop, they watched the car disappear from view.

"Come on!" Stella bounced impatiently on her seat.

Seconds later, the lights changed.

They'd lost her.

"What now?" The driver asked.

"Keep going," Miller said. "How far does this road go south?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned to Stella and said, "How much money do you have in your purse?"

"You don't think she's trying to get back to London . . ."

"No, I just think she's trying to get away. How much have you got?"

"About fifty or sixty quid . . ."

"Driver, can you find out who's got her, the woman in the black tracksuit, in their cab?"

"Okay . . . I'll have a word."

"Tell who ever it is to stall her somewhere, until we get there. There's fifty quid in it for them."

Stella was impressed with his idea. A smile appeared on her face for the first time in what seemed like hours. It was short lived. She realised he'd promised her fifty pounds as the reward money.

After a few minutes of radio chatter, the driver said, "Okay, we got her, but you need to tell me what this is all about before we go any further with this."

"I'll explain," Miller said.

The other driver had taken her to a nearby golf club and pulled into the car park. He popped the bonnet on pretext of checking the water. "The radiator, it's just started losing water the last couple of days, getting worse."

While he played for time, she saw the other cab approaching from behind. Quickly realising she was about to be trapped; she took off onto the golf course, and made for the cover of trees.

Miller took all the paper money from his back pocket, seventy pounds altogether and put it into the driver's hand. "Sort that out between you," he said and ran off in hot pursuit.

"Wait for me!" Stella cried out after him, slowing at the edge of the car park, as she realised she couldn't maintain his pace.

Running downhill in as straight a line as possible, he saw Kathy ahead. He was confident he'd catch her. The ground away from the fairways undulated, and he narrowly escaped falling several times as he pitched forwards through the rough grass. He slowed down.

Where on earth, does she think she's going?

She disappeared into a grove of trees as he reached a flat and even fire road. He put the hammer down, driving his arms faster than ever; his hands came up straight, like blades slashing through the air, legs pumping harder still, desperate to narrow the gap. He ran as if his life depended on it. Clearing the trees, thirty, forty seconds behind her, he couldn't see her.

A group of elderly golfers gathered around the shore of a lake, agitated and pointing. Someone pushed a small boat out. He yelled out to them, without breaking stride. "Have you seen a woman?"

"She's in there, gone under. She just waded in!"

He took the scene in a split second of clarity; the black water trail parted through the green chickweed to the middle, where she'd waded and then gone down. Five more paces to the bank. If he leapt hard enough, he judged he'd make it most of the way. A voice inside his head reminded him.
You can't swim!

Three, two, one - Miller took off . . .

It was a mighty leap, his trajectory Olympian. The flight - three beats of his pounding heart - exhilarated him. He plunged into the water, taking a last desperate gasp of air with him as he sank below the surface.

He didn't attempt to swim, instead feeling the churn of the water around him, he opened his eyes. The water stung them closed. He couldn't see.

Wading along below the water, the weight of his wet clothes kept him down.
You don't have long, Bruce.
The gasp reflex was almost upon him.

Something brushed against his leg; he reached down, his fingers running through a tangle of hair.
It's her!
As he struggled to stay calm, he inwardly thanked the Lord for all the times he'd practiced holding his breath; it was something he'd always done as a child, a habit he'd continued into adulthood. Gripping her under the arms, he launched himself upwards, dragging her; sensing the right moment, and as it came, he bent, and with the strength that desperation had brought to him, swung her upwards. The momentum forced him down. She left his arms; he felt her body surge through the water.

Although he couldn't swim, he was strangely calm. The will to survive had taken over everything. Every pounding heartbeat reminded him he was alive. His last breath, desperately snatched breaking for the surface the third time, was stale, exhausted by his exertions, but still he held it in.

A pulse inside his temple throbbed; his ears split with pain as the pressure built; the muffled beat of his heart grew louder as he continued to sink, and the murky light above slipped further away. All thought must disappear -
mu shin no shin, mu shin
- empty mind,
pusty umysl.
His life depended on his ability to forestall the gulp reflex, to buy time against the odds in the hope of rescue.

All thought disappeared. Autopilot kicked in and at last; he was in survivor mode. Feet touched the bottom first. Knees folded; every ounce of power directed into powerful thighs. Driving up from his haunches, he surged through the water, a human missile shooting for the surface. The initial burst of acceleration died quickly. The mass of water held him down. He battled the last few inches. Getting his face out into the air, he sucked a quick shot into his lungs. It wasn't enough.

Sinking back to the bottom for the fourth time, thoughts intruded.
You should have learned to swim.

He had to save his strength for one final burst.
Mu shin, no shin. Pusty umysl.
All thought must disappear.

Touching the bottom again; his legs folded until his fingers touched the mud; he drove up hard for the surface, again.

Miller's mind was empty, but his heart knew that if he didn't make it this time, he was finished. His face pushed up under the surface of the water, an inch short; he flailed his arms to get higher. His efforts in vain; the chance missed, going under again. His heart sank; he was at the limit of his conscious ability to withstand the body's pre-programmed gulp reaction. He would take in water. Lungs burned, on fire . . . ready to explode. Desperately refocusing -
Mu shin
- It was too late. The fight was lost.

A thought popped into his head.
In those last moments, you don't see your whole life flashing by, but if you're lucky … you get to make some sense of it all.

Reflex took over. Gagging on the first influx of water, he didn't have the strength to do anything but die.

Chapter 154

His world rose within a bubble, mercurial, ballooning upward, dark waters kept at bay, as breath and air deserted him.

The water no longer stung his eyes. A last trail of silver bubbles escaped his lips and nostrils. He watched them go.

With no hope of rescue, he resigned himself to Fate. He'd always known that when the end came, it would come by water … the end of living on borrowed time.

At last, he felt redeemed.
Did you save her? Maybe not, but at least I would have died trying
.

The water churned about him. A funnel formed, dragged him along in its vortex. All the things he'd ever done flashed before him fast, faster, running backwards.
You are receding…

It all made sense.

A strange sensation crept over him. Detachment, but in a way he'd never experienced before. His cold and heavy clothing fell away as the rope of life unwound, releasing him strand by strand, thread by thread. For a moment, he floated above himself, free and untethered, but not wanting to let go. From the corner of his eye, a bright copper bloom appeared in the murk of the water beneath him. He sensed rather than felt something press into the palm of his hand, and he willed his fingers with all his might, overriding disconnected synapses, to hold onto it. Spirit hadn't left him yet. Words formed in his head.
I've got you mate…

Darkness stole him away into nothingness.

A void, black and unyielding held him fast.
How long have I been here?
In the distance, he thought he heard Stella's voice.
Is she here too?
Heart filled with dread; he searched for her in vain.

His father was laughing. Out in the field they picnicked. Bruce laid on his front; face turned into the grass, studying the fine ribbed detailing of its blades close-up, imagining himself as an explorer in the jungle, hacking his way through, beating off monstrous ants and spiders. A feeling descended upon him. Thoughts, not his, intruded. It was the first time he remembered having the sensation of being watched. He rolled over and stared up at blue skies that stretched out forever. High above, a tiny cross-shaped fleck rode the air. He blinked against the brightness, and holding his eyes closed, suddenly felt lighter, more buoyant than the breeze. In his mind's eye, he could see himself and his family far below on the ground.
I am the bird!
Soaring higher, he scoured the land with eyes sharper than a telescope, taking in rocks and trees; everything came into focus in a way he'd never experienced before. Finally, he zoomed in on a girl in a purple dress marching purposefully down the hill into the valley below; she stopped to remove her rucksack—