Bitter Water (40 page)

Sam gasped, ‘That’s Kenny Rankin’s car!’

She’d barely uttered it when there was more commotion from the main entrance. Then there were running feet. We dipped down below the window just as the running feet sprinted round the corner and headed our way. Did they know we were here? How? There were two or three sets by the sound of it. We could only wait and be ready for them. I undid the safety lock on the Dixon. Sam did the same.

The running feet went past our window and we heard a door thud open and shut at the other end of the building. The car garage end. Things went quiet. I raised my head cautiously and looked out. A small dust cloud was settling in the wake of the runners. I slid down and sat with Sam.

I whispered, ‘Rankin has driven up with news. Whatever it was has sent them running. Three men? Yes?’ She nodded. ‘. . . have taken up position in the garage. An ambush? Are they looking for us? Or have they heard about Drummond and his crew? How could they?’

Sam shrugged and mouthed:
What do we do?
I put my finger to my lips and signalled wait.

And then we waited.

I closed my eyes and pictured the layout of the estate. If I were Drummond, how would I mount the attack? Where would I come from? Would I assume I had surprise on my side? The castle sat out in the open with a clear field of fire all round. They could do as we did and get close via the riverbank. Or they could wait till it was dark. Alternatively there was the suicide route: straight up the drive in whatever vehicle they’d stolen, hanging out of the windows or standing on the door sills like G-Men, guns blazing. It seemed unlikely even for a bunch of desperate men. Even for a bunch of military police who’d forgotten all their tactical infantry training.

Sam was tugging at my sleeve. She pointed at a door with a big padlock on it. It was at the end of the stalls. Vertical wood slats with an inch gap. I assumed it was just a storeroom. If so, it had rats. Big rats. Rats that made a groaning sound. I moved over and tried to see in through the slats. Too dark. I pressed my ear to the wood. The sounds stopped. I inspected the lock; a simple big padlock controlling a sliding bolt. I looked around. On the wall above the tack bench was a hook with several keys on it. I tried three before I found the one. I undid the padlock and let it hang from its hasp. I slid the bolt across and eased the heavy door back. The hinges were well oiled and cared for but there was still a creak that seemed to echo all round the stable block.

It was lighter now inside but there was a sour smell. I let my eyes get used to the dim light and finally saw him. A body piled on top of some empty sacks. There was rope round the ankles and wrists. The head lolled away from me, but I’d seen that profile too many times in too many bars not to know it.

‘Wullie? Can you hear me?’

There was no answer. I moved closer and clasped his shoulder. He flinched and turned his face to me. It was no wonder he flinched. His face was a mass of congealed blood. The eyes flickered but there was no recognition.

‘Wullie. It’s Brodie. I’ve warned you before about mixing your drinks.’

There was no answering smile. No sarcastic retort. Sam was at my shoulder.

‘Let’s get him out of here,’ she said.

We hauled away at him, me carrying his head and shoulders and Sam his feet. We got him into the comparative daylight of the main stable and tenderly laid him on a pile of straw. The full extent of his injuries became clear. His long fine nose was angled cruelly to one side. His set of false top teeth were missing and the bottom ones were bloody. One eye was ballooned and lacerated. As we’d moved him he’d moaned, and I found blue and tender areas on his chest when I undid his shirt. Some ribs had been caved in. They’d given him a real kicking.

Sam found the tap and a bowl. She tore a bit off his gory shirt and dabbed the blood out of his eyes. I held his battered head while she tried to get him to take some water. The best she could achieve was moistening his cracked and broken lips. For a moment his eyes opened and cleared. There was a puzzled look in them. His tongue licked across his lips and he tried to speak. A gurgle came out, and then he lapsed into unconsciousness.

‘Well, isn’t this a touching sight.’

Sam and I whirled round and sprang to our feet. Standing framed at the open window, a shotgun pointing squarely at us, was Charlie Maxwell.

FIFTY-FIVE

I
glanced over at our own guns. They were carefully stood upright about ten feet away, against the storeroom door.

‘Have a go, Brodie. I prefer a moving target.’ His silky drawl made me tense up, ready to call his bluff. Maxwell nodded to someone outside. The front door was pulled open and Curly walked in with a big grin on his face.

‘Aye, huv a go, Brodie. It would be a real pleasure.’

Sam was on her feet. ‘Charlie, you’re such an idiot! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ She’d taken two angry paces forward when Curly hit her with the stock of his shotgun. It took her on the shoulder and she was flung back and into me. We both stumbled back. I put myself between her and Curly.

‘Aye, missy. We’ve got unfinished business, have we no’?’

‘Enough!’ said Maxwell.

‘Get that bloody gorilla out of my sight, Maxwell!’ she shouted, rubbing her arm and shoulder. ‘He should have a muzzle!’

The gorilla just grinned and stepped forward, raising his gun again like a club.

I pushed her right behind me. ‘How’s the foot, Hopalong?’ I could have asked about his face too. I was pleased to see it still bore the marks of the explosion from our last encounter. Red splotches and white scars.

The grin left him. He swung his shotgun down and aimed at my gut.

Maxwell raised his arm. ‘I said, enough! You’ll have your chance soon enough.’

The gorilla got the message and pulled back, reluctantly. Revenge postponed.

‘How did you and Hopalong meet, Maxwell? Irresistible attraction? Like drawn to like?’

Maxwell’s face turned sour. ‘We’re going to enjoy getting rid of you, Brodie. For my own sake and for Dermot Slattery.’

‘Slattery!’

Maxwell grinned. ‘I thought you’d like to know what you’re going to die for. Dermot and I used to do some business together. Import, export, you might say. You disrupted a nice little income flow.’

Aaah, the pieces were falling into place. ‘Your wee plane? Trips to France? Export what? Kippers? Bring back cocaine?’

Sam gasped. ‘My God, Charlie. I knew you were rotten, but drug-running!’

‘Oh spare me, little Miss Prim and Proper, Miss law-abiding, boring, Samantha Campbell,
LL B
. I don’t give a damn what you think. You’ve been a bloody nuisance all your life and here you are—’

‘—being a bloody nuisance again.’ The woman’s voice came from the window. The light from behind the head obscured the features. But it was a very recognisable voice. I’d heard it only yesterday.

‘You cow!’ said Sam to one of her oldest friends.

The figure disappeared from the window and then reappeared at the door. Moira Rankin sauntered in, cigarette in hand, dressed like us for the country in tweed skirt and jacket. But she’d added pearls. She took a careful drag on her fag and blew the smoke towards us.

‘If you like. But Charlie’s right. You have been such a nuisance, Samantha. You never could leave well enough alone, could you?’

‘You told this – this scum! – that we were at the Tarbet, didn’t you?’

‘Silly you. Pity you woke.’

‘Have you gone stark, staring, raving mad, Moira? You arranged to have me killed? We grew up together!’

Moira’s face contorted. ‘And you know something, Samantha Campbell? I always hated you. Charlie’s right. Such a little goody two-shoes. All that high moral tone over Kenny Rankin and me. No wonder you don’t have a man.’

Maxwell sniggered.

Sam turned to him and deployed her cool lawyer tones. ‘It didn’t seem to put Charlie here off. Did it, Charles? Always trying to get into my knickers, weren’t you? Poor simple Charlie.’

There was a resounding boom and a flash from Maxwell’s shotgun. Pellets smashed into the plaster ceiling and showered us all with dust. When the ringing in our ears stopped we could hear Maxwell screaming at Sam: ‘Any more from you, bitch, and you’ll get the second barrel!’

Even Moira had had the insouciance shocked out of her. ‘For God’s sake, Charlie! Control yourself. We don’t have time for all this.’

‘Expecting visitors, Maxwell?’ I asked.

‘Shut up, Brodie. Just shut the fuck up.’

‘You warned him?’ I asked Lady Rankin. ‘How did you find out?’

She blew a plume at me. ‘I rang up your newsroom. So obliging. Morag the name? Very chatty. I said I was Samantha here.’

‘You twisted, evil . . . cow!’ exclaimed Sam.

I felt my anger rising instantly to boiling point. ‘What did you tell the poor girl?’ I demanded.

‘That you’d been attacked last night. But then I found she already knew. You’d spoken to her this morning. So I told her you’d been very brave and hadn’t mentioned your injury. That you’d taken a turn for the worse. That you, my lover, Douglas Brodie, had died. I even managed a little weep.’

‘You malicious bitch! Why? What the hell did you say that for? Pure bloody spite?’ I shouted.

She pouted prettily. ‘A little. Such fun. But no. I wanted to find out what was happening. Stir things up a bit. Like poking an ants’ nest. Your common little girlfriend told me – tearfully – that those bloody pests, the Marshals, had been given Charlie’s name.’ She paused and checked her watch. ‘We expect them any time now. One of our chaps down at the Lochard turn-off just phoned.’

‘Well, just so you know, the police are on their way too.’

That shook them. They glanced at each other. Charlie stiffened, then relaxed.

‘It’s not a problem, Moira. They’ll get here and find it’s all over. These bloody outlaws dead, and this pair caught in the crossfire. Such a tragedy.’

‘Everything cleared away, Maxwell. All neat and tidy. Including two councillors. Why did you kill them?

‘One wanted out and was threatening to tell everything. The other got greedy, and careless. Flashing it about.’

‘And three young men?’

‘They were very naughty boys. Sheridan told me. He got suspicious that they were passing things to him.’ He nodded at Wullie’s prone body.

As if on cue, Wullie groaned. I moved over to kneel by his side. His face was grey where it wasn’t white. A trickle of spit with flecks of blood oozed from his mouth. I’d seen enough battle wounds to know he was in deep shock. There was no saying what internal damage he was suffering from the cracked ribs. But the worst possibility was bleeding in the brain from the blows to his head.

‘He’s dying. He needs a hospital right now!’

Maxwell spat, ‘Fat chance, Brodie. It was his bloody digging around that caused all this. You think I give a shit what happens to this bloody hack now? You three are just loose ends we’re about to tidy up.’ He’d come through the door and was standing alongside Moira. She turned and tapped his cheek playfully.

‘Just ignore them for a bit, darling. We really do need to get ready.’

Sam’s mouth was open. ‘Darling? Don’t tell me? Don’t tell me you and Charlie are . . .?’

‘Lovers? Why, yes, Samantha. You are slow today. For quite a while now.’ She smiled and Charlie looked, well, like a Charlie.

‘One title not enough for you, Moira? Or has Kenny run out of money?’

‘Something like that. Have you any idea how dreary Helensburgh is?’

‘Christ! I don’t who I feel sorry for the most,’ said Sam.

Moira stepped forward and struck Sam across the mouth. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for years, you stuck-up little bitch!’

Sam threw herself at her tormentor and bundled her to the floor. Moira screamed as Sam grabbed her finely coiffed mane with her left hand and started slapping her with the other.

‘Stuck up, am I, Moira? We’ll see how stuck up I am!’

Maxwell moved to hit her with the stock of his shotgun and I kicked out, smashing him against the wall. He bounced back, the gun coming up, aiming for my chest. I dropped on top of the struggling women. I made sure Moira was well tangled up in our embrace. I shouted at Charlie, ‘Shoot and you’ll hit your lover!’

Maxwell jerked his barrel up in frustration. I held on tight to both women and said in Sam’s ear, ‘Sam, get up slowly but keep her between you and Charlie.’

I helped her haul up the sobbing, screeching Moira, using her body as a shield. ‘Take it easy, Maxwell! We’ll let her go!’

Maxwell stood back, chest heaving, as Moira struggled in our embrace. Her smart locks were a tangled knot of hair and straw. Her eyes were wide and shocked. Her cheeks bore Sam’s hand prints in red. One by one, her pearls began dropping to the floor.

I couldn’t resist. ‘Before swine, eh, Maxwell?’

Moira tore herself free. She wrenched the remaining pearls from her neck and flung them at me. She screamed, ‘Give me the gun, Charlie. Give me the bloody gun!’

Maxwell looked uncertain and then resolute. He began to hand over the shotgun when a shout went up from outside. Then the rumble of a truck could be heard coming from the forest road.