Bitter Water (38 page)

Rather than wait for an ambulance to drive up from Alexandria, we flung a single mattress into the back of the hotel’s delivery van and laid the hall porter out on it. We tucked him in with pillows and sent him off to hospital; the second cook drove and one of the maids held the wounded man’s hand. We spent the next half-hour trying to calm down a first hysterical then grovelling hotel manager and the other shocked guests. The manager was all for getting the army out or at least a couple of Black Marias up from Glasgow. We finally convinced them that it was a robbery that went wrong and it would keep till the morning. Sam’s legal status and knowhow calmed them down and we retired to our shattered room. Cold air flooded in through the broken window.

‘Were you aiming at it?’

‘It was the only thing I could see that didn’t have someone in front of it.’

‘Good shot, Mrs Carnegie.’

‘Was it the men who wanted to join you for a dip?’

‘Yes. No question.’ I bent and picked up the sharpened bayonet using my hankie. As standard Army issue it was a terrible-enough weapon, but this had been ground down on both sides to razor-sharpness. It could open a man up from navel to throat with one upward rip.

‘Persistent.’

I laid it on the table and picked up the neck of the broken bottle.

‘Shame about this.’ A reek of good Scotch rose from an ugly stain of whisky and fag ash in the carpet.

‘I hate wild parties. Come on. You can’t sleep here.’ She led the way into her bedroom. She went into her wardrobe and pulled out another bottle.

‘For emergencies.’

‘I guess this fits the bill.’

She poured two tooth glasses and we took deep drinks.

‘And you can’t sleep in those.’ She pointed at my pale blue pyjamas, now splattered with the blood of the night porter. ‘Here.’ She slipped off her dressing gown and flung it to me. Her nightdress swung round her slim body as she climbed into bed. I went into the bathroom, took off my night clothes and dropped them into the bath. I put the plug in and ran cold water on them. I donned the dressing gown as well as I could and went back into the bedroom. Sam was sitting up with the bedclothes pulled round her, smoking a cigarette. Her drink was finished.

‘Tight, but suits you,’ she said.

I looked down. ‘Especially the frills.’

‘Come in.’ She patted the bed.

I did as I was told and she lit another cigarette for me. We sat there like an old married couple gazing at the wall after a failed attempt at sex.

‘Did you mean it?’ I asked.

She smiled. ‘All you had to do was knock? Och, Brodie, you know I like you. It would be hard to say no. But you know what? You’re dangerous. I prefer a quiet life.’

‘So says Annie Oakley.’

‘And it just never seems quite the right time for us. If there is something between us, I’d like it to be right. Does that make sense?’

‘Woman’s sense. And I assume this isn’t the right time either?’

We glanced at each other. Glanced again and smiled. Then we laughed until Sam’s laugh turned to sniffs and she was shaking and sobbing. We stubbed out our fags and turned off the bedside lamps. We were left in strong moonlight. I held her to me and felt her hot tears on my skin. I kissed her eyes until they stopped weeping. Then I kissed her mouth and tasted the erotic warmth of whisky and tobacco. I felt her come alive in my arms. Her face was soft in the pale light. A smile had come back. The mood was promising until she stiffened and held herself back from me. I felt the familiar belly-ache of rejection.

‘You look silly in that dressing gown, Douglas.’

I took it off.

FIFTY-TWO

T
he lounge looked no better in the daylight. And no warmer. The wind was whistling through the great hole in the glass. We smiled a bit more at each other and I put my arms round her once without her pulling away. But we had business to do. The grovelling manager was knocking on our door by eight o’clock. He’d roused the local constabulary at Alexandria and a pair of bobbies had driven up and were keen to inspect us and the scene of the battle. On condition that the coppers were accompanied by a gallon of tea and a mountain of toast, we invited them up.

A grey-haired sergeant and a spotty-faced constable. They were excited by the smashed window and the discarded bayonet. They kept fingering the gun Sam had used. It was a step up from dealing with Saturday-night drunks in Alexandria. We gave them a simplified version of events that fitted with the notion of a failed armed robbery. In the process, we disclosed our real names. This drew some old-fashioned looks between the coppers until Sam told them what her job was. That drew them up. They decided, in the circumstances, that it might be better to use our hotel names in their report. When they’d milked the last drop of interest and drama from the crime scene they reluctantly departed to interview the other witnesses.

Once they’d gone, we had the manager move us into an even bigger set of rooms on the top floor and ordered breakfast proper. Over fried eggs and bacon we discussed the real events of the night. We were both dark-eyed.

‘Even though it wasn’t Curly and Fitz I’m assuming they were Maxwell’s men?’ she asked.

‘Unless Rankin has some heavier-handed minions than Calumn?’

She shook her head. ‘I know Kenny. He might be up to his neck in all sorts of nefarious dealings but he’s not a killer. I mean I’ve known them both – Moira and him – since I was a wee girl.’

‘He’s not a Henry the Second sort of boss, is he?
Will no one rid me of this turbulent reporter?
And a couple of his minions took him literally?’

‘He’s never surrounded himself with cutthroats.’

‘Sam, if it wasn’t Rankin’s men, how did Maxwell know we were here? At the very least, Rankin told someone.’

She looked steadily at me. ‘Or Moira.’ She shook her head. ‘Nooo. Too mad for words.’

‘Go on thinking the unthinkable. Stewart?’ He was the only other person we’d told.

‘He wouldn’t!’

‘He might with a gun against his head. Or against his brother’s.’

We let these thoughts simmer in the air for a bit. ‘I’d better check in with Eddie.’

It was a bad decision.

‘Morag? It’s me, Brodie.’

‘Oh, Douglas, I cannae talk to you the noo!’ Her voice was near hysterical.

There was a clunking of the phone and a tearful half-heard conversation.

Elaine’s voice took over. She sounded almost as bad. Tears in it. Had I been such a monster?

‘Mr Brodie, you’d better come by.’

‘What have I done?’

‘It’s no’ you! They came in and shot at us. They actually shot at us! They made us all lie down. They hit Mr Paton, so they did. It was terrible. And there’s the polis. And—’

‘Elaine, Elaine! Stop! Calm down. Just tell me what happened. Who shot at you?’ But I suddenly knew. The whole thing had just spiralled out of hand.

‘Them Marshals. The wans who were hitting a’ thae folk. The wan that talks to you. Oh, it was terrible.’ I let her have a sob or two.

‘Have they gone?’

‘Aye. A wee while noo.’ She sniffed.

‘Are the police still there?’

‘The polis are a’ ower the place. It’s bedlam here, so it is.’

‘Elaine, did they hurt you? Did they hurt any of the girls? Is Morag OK?’ At that moment any residual pity I’d been feeling for Drummond’s lost platoon went out of the broken window in our hotel room. I wanted to break his skinny neck.

‘No. No’ me. But Mr Paton’s been taken away to the infirmary, so he has. A’ covered in blood.’

‘Did they shoot him?!’

‘Naw, naw. Jist hit him with an iron bar. Bad enough, mind! They had balaclavas on, so they did. It was jist like the pictures.’ Elaine’s voice was losing its fear. Excitement was kicking in.

‘But they’re gone?’

‘Aye, the Marshals left when Eddie telt them what they wanted.’

‘Elaine, this is important. What did they make Eddie tell them? What did he say?’

‘They wanted to ken wha killed that pair o’ wee poofs and Jimmie Sheridan and his girlfriend. That was the silly thing, because we a’ thought it was them. The Marshals. They said it wisnae. Course they would, wouldn’t they?’

‘So what
did
Eddie say, Elaine?’

‘Well, it was a’ such a commotion, but Ah’m sure Ah heard Eddie say the word Maxwell. And the Slattery gang. But that’s daft, is it no’?’

‘Damn!’

‘Mr Brodie, Elspeth wants a word with you. Can I put her on?’

There was a pause and a call across the desks, then Elspeth’s cool voice picked up.

‘Brodie? They left another quote.’

I had my pencil poised ready. ‘Fire away.’

‘They said: “And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the Lord stood firm on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, and all the Israelites passed over on dry ground, until all the people were passed clean over Jordan.”’

I looked at my scribbled shorthand. ‘Can you give me that again, please?’

She did and I corrected my shorthand and read the words back to her.

‘What do you think they were saying, Elspeth?’

‘This passage is about salvation. It’s from Joshua 3, verse 17. The Ark is central to the saving of the whole of the Israeli nation. It provides safe passage.’

‘When did they come out with this?’

‘They held us up until they got the information they wanted from Eddie. Then their leader spouted this. I know the verse well and just took a note. But how could Eddie’s information bring them salvation?’

‘I don’t know.’ But I was beginning to worry.

‘Oh, sorry, Brodie, they said one last thing as they were running out. It sounded like, “This time we are the Ark.” As though they saw themselves as the saviours. Does that mean anything?’

‘Nothing I can think of. Thanks, Elspeth.’ And yet, and yet . . . something was nagging at me.

Her voice suddenly dipped and she pressed her mouth to the phone. ‘It’s the polis. They want a word.’

I heard her handing over the handset, then Duncan Todd’s voice came on.

‘You’ve excelled yersel’, Brodie.’

‘Me? I wasn’t even there!’

‘You can cause a rammy in an empty hoose, Brodie.’

‘Are you with Sangster?’

‘Officially on his team. Chief’s orders. All hands to the pump.’

‘About time, Duncan.’

His voice dropped. ‘Except I’m left babysitting Sangster’s yes-man, Sergeant Murdoch.’

‘Divert him. Tell him to interview a wee lassie called Morag.’

‘Brodie, where the hell are you? I’m pretty sure you know what’s going on here. Am I right?’

‘Duncan, I can’t talk just now. I’ll call you later. But can you check on someone for me? Wullie McAllister is missing. His brother Stewart is in danger. Can you get a couple of men round to his house to check?’

I gave him the address in Govan and hung up. I went back up to Sam to break the news that the Marshals were on the move.

‘There’s something about the quote and the last remark that’s troubling me.
This time we are the Ark
. Oh hell!’

‘What is it?’

‘
Ark
Force! 154
^th
Brigade – the Black Watch and the Argylls – was ordered to form a defensive line round Le Havre. The rest of us in the 51
^st
Highland, including the French, were then supposed to withdraw behind Ark Force and get out through the port. But the 7
^th
Panzers cut the line. Ark Force themselves got out through Cherbourg. About four thousand men got home to fight again. But Drummond and the others were trapped in Saint-Valery.’

‘So Drummond’s saying . . .?’

‘Not this time. He won’t be taken again.
He’s
Ark Force. Maybe even him personally, the saviour of his men.’

‘He’s going after Maxwell?’

‘With nothing to lose. They see Maxwell as their only hope. To get him to admit to the murders.’

We gazed at each other. ‘How long does it take to get to the Maxwell estate from Glasgow?’

Sam pulled out her map and showed me the route. Her finger traced the roads north out of the city to Milngavie and up the A81 to Aberfoyle. It was then B roads past Kinlochard and finally dirt tracks into the dense fastness of Loch Ard Forest itself.

‘The road up to Aberfoyle is fine. About an hour and a half, I reckon. Then another half-hour along to Kinlochard on the north side of the loch. From the turn-off it’s an hour to Inverard Castle. After this long summer the forest road should still be firm despite the storms on Monday.’

‘They’ll have stolen a car or a van. It should take them about three hours in total? Four max?’

‘That’s what it used to do. It’s why Charlie got himself a plane to play with.’

‘But will they know how to get there?’

‘They could find the address at the library.’

I looked at my watch. It was eleven o’clock. ‘Let’s say they set out an hour ago. Allow an hour to find the route. The earliest they should get there is three o’clock. Maybe four. Then they’ll need some reconnoitre time. Drummond isn’t the type to just go in guns blazing. MP training. I hope.’