Cold Grave (2 page)

He glanced over at her, seeing her shoulder-length brown hair shine in the glow of the midwinter sun as she drove, and reflected, not for the first time, that whatever their status was, he had done all right for himself. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, although she certainly was. She had ‘been there for him’ too. Maybe he didn’t really know what that meant, given that it was the sort of emotional claptrap that constantly eluded him, but he knew she had. When his demons came to visit, Rachel was always the one who chased them away.

She sensed him looking and turned to stare questioningly at him.

‘What is it?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing. Just thinking. So, an hour or so from Glasgow, heading west. Can we get to Teuchterland in that time?’

‘Of course,’ she answered playfully, ‘given that anywhere north of Glasgow is for teuchters.’

‘But not your proper Highlands, which would take much longer. Hm. Maybe Inverary or Crianlarich. You could just about do either of those in that time.’

She laughed.

‘Keep guessing. And while you’re at it, turn the heating up a bit, will you? It’s freezing in here.’

She was wrapped up in a white woollen coat, buttoned almost to the neck, while he sat comfortably in an open-necked shirt. He’d long stopped trying to argue about their differing resistances to cold temperatures and determined he would sneak the dial back down when she wasn’t looking.

A moment later, Rachel glanced in the rear-view mirror before signalling right at Anniesland Cross and taking the Bearsden road, almost immediately having to bat away further guesses from Tony about their destination. Arrochar? No. Stirling? No? Callander? No.

They slipped through Bearsden and onto the Drymen road, Tony continuing to be amazed at how you could be deep in the countryside just a few minutes after getting out of the city centre. In no time at all, it was all rolling hills, sheep, cattle and a twisting road to somewhere. Finally, Rachel pulled off the A81 and into the car park of the Lake of Menteith Hotel and he still hadn’t worked out where they were going even though they’d arrived.

‘This is it?’ he asked her.

‘Uh huh.’

‘But we’re nowhere. The middle of nowhere, in fact.’

‘Shut up and get out. We are in what is known as “the country”. You’ll get to like it.’

Tony got out of the car in exaggerated wonder, sniffing the air and looking around, seeing only big sky, trees and the church that loomed above them. They’d come no distance at all yet they were a world away from the hustle and bustle of the city. He wasn’t entirely sure that he liked it.

‘Hear that?’ he asked her.

‘What?’ Rachel looked around, puzzled. ‘I don’t hear anything.’

‘Exactly. It’s as quiet as the bloody grave.’

‘Great, isn’t it?’ she grinned. ‘Come on; stop moaning. I hear the sound of a pint being poured with your name on it.’

‘Ah, you always say the right thing. Okay, let’s go.’

The whitewashed walls of the hotel lay before them and Winter picked up his bag and one of Rachel’s, leaving his camera bag in the car’s boot. He’d return for it almost immediately; he never liked it out of his sight for too long. To his right, in the gap between the church and the hotel, he could see a dark, foreboding glimpse of the lake. It looked bloody freezing.

‘Tell me we aren’t going swimming?’

She grinned again.

‘You wouldn’t be tempted by a bit of skinny dipping?’

Winter shook his head.

‘Nope. Not even with you. It’s bound to be almost freezing over out there.’

‘Funny you should say that,’ she murmured. They skated along the icy paving stones, laughing, to the front door, where a solid white porch supported on black pillars reached out to meet them. Winter dropped one of the bags and opened the door for Rachel, ushering her in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

They tumbled into the hotel, immediately hit by a wave of heat that contrasted with the bitter cold outside. An open fire crackled to their left, with tables near the raised hearth that struck Winter as being the perfect place to sit and sample the range of malts he had already spied in the well-stocked bar to their right.

‘I could get used to this sudden impulse for weekends away,’ he told her.

All Rachel offered in return was a shake of her head as she led them to reception to sign in.

‘Hi, we’ve got a lake-view room booked in the name of Narey for two nights,’ she told the bespectacled blonde woman behind the desk.

‘Ah yes, that’s right. We spoke on the phone. How was your journey?’

‘Fine,’ Rachel told the woman. ‘We’ve only come from Glasgow so it took no time at all.’

‘Good, good,’ the receptionist replied brightly. ‘Now, let me get your key. You’re in Osprey.’

‘All the rooms are named after the area and the wildlife,’ Rachel whispered to Tony, seeing the look of confusion on his face.

‘How come you know so much about this place?’

‘I’m a detective,’ she answered. ‘It’s my job to know things.’

The receptionist returned before Winter could question Rachel further and they took possession of the large wooden fish, with a key attached, that was offered to them. ‘It’s a great place you’ve got here,’ Rachel was saying enthusiastically, looking around her. ‘I’ve always meant to come. Have you worked here long?’

‘Oh, it will be nine years now,’ the woman replied. ‘It’s a smashing place to work, I must admit.’

Rachel smiled again, thanked the receptionist and they made for their room.

‘
Very
nice,’ Winter hummed appreciatively as they got inside, the bottle of Prosecco on the table and the large double bed immediately catching his eye. But even they were quickly overtaken by the view across the lake from the floor to ceiling window.

‘Wow,’ he admitted. ‘Quite a view. I’m glad I brought my camera. You did well choosing this place.’

Rachel didn’t answer. Instead she walked over to the window and gazed out at the expanse of lake and the island on the horizon. The lake circled in front of them, almost but not quite coming together in the distance, the island neatly in the middle between either shore, before the lake widened again beyond it.

She watched a pair of ducks scudding low across the glassy surface of the lake, the waters rippled only by a trio of snow-white swans that were gliding gracefully at speed with fifty yards of wake behind them. It was a stunning scene but the beauty was lost on her. All the time, her eyes kept being drawn to the tree-topped skyline of Inchmahome as it blinked at her above the mist.

She stared at the island, lured by its darkness and mesmerised by its secrets. A shiver ran through her that she tried and failed to suppress. She was well aware that Tony, obsessively fascinated as he was with capturing Glasgow’s darkest moments through his camera, would have a very different view of Inchmahome from hers. If only he knew what she knew.

He had always had this thing about seeing beauty in death as he photographed it but Rachel had never been able to understand his thinking. For her, working on the streets of the no mean city meant death was anything but beautiful. It was ugly, and the more brutal the death, the uglier it was. She looked across the lake, beyond the serenity and splendour of the slowly swelling surface and saw only something hideous. She suddenly regretted their trip there, wondering whether they’d be better tucked up together in Highburgh Road instead. She was starting something and she had no idea where it would end — or even if there would be an end.

Lost in her worries, she didn’t hear Tony sneaking back across the room until he was behind her and his arms slipped through hers. She was still shivering.

‘You cold? Want me to turn the heating up a bit?

‘Hm? Yes, please. Full blast.’

‘Paradise, isn’t it?’ he asked as he muzzled into her neck.

‘Yeah. Paradise.’

‘Christ, it’s freezin, man. It’s colder than a witch’s tit oot here.’

‘Tell me aboot it. My bollocks are like ice cubes, Pedro. How much longer are we gonnae stand on this fuckin corner?’

‘Telt ye already. Till we shift all this gear.’

‘Fucksake.’

Pedro cupped his hands together, blowing on them hard in a vain attempt at heat, and glared out at Marky from under his hoodie.

‘Stop moanin, man, will ye? We’re makin good money so shut your hole.’

‘Am just saying.’

‘Aye, well gonnae no, Marky, eh? These student bastards are pure minted and they’re taking this stuff like it’s sweeties. We’ll be oot of here in nae time.’

Marky smiled at that, a manic nodding driven by the cold and the thought of cold cash. His fake Lacoste trainers did a little Ali shuffle on the frosted pavement, a wee dance at the thought of soon being able to buy a real pair. The fact that they were making the dosh from the university poofters just made it all the sweeter.

‘Cool, Pedro, cool, man. I’m seeing a wee burd later and am gonnae need my dick in good working order. No gonnae be any use if it freezes and draps aff.’

Pedro swore under his breath. Sometimes Marky did his head in.

‘Gonnae shut your moanin gub, Marky? Am wantin out of here as quick as possible anaw, man. But it’s no ’cos I’m worried about you getting your Nat King. We’re wantin to be oot o’ here afore someone sees us, know ah mean?’

A muscle on Marky’s cheek twitched the way it always did when he was nervous.

‘Gilmartin’s boys?’

‘Naw, the Salvation Fuckin Army. Course Gilmartin’s boys. No exactly gonnae be chuffed if he hears we’re undercutting his troops, is he?’

Marky did another Ali shuffle but this time it wasn’t one of excitement.

‘He’d go mental, Pedro. Absolutely radio rental. Just as well he disnae know, eh?’

‘Too right, Marky boy. Who’s this wee burd you’re seeing anyway?’

Marky pulled himself deeper inside his dark grey hoodie, turning his head slightly away from Pedro’s flinty gaze.

‘Och, ye dinnae know her,’ he muttered, his feet dancing a slower beat.

‘Whit’s her name?’ Pedro persisted.

‘Disnae matter.’

‘Whit’s her name, ya wee nobber?’

‘Clarice.’

Pedro snorted in disbelief, a malicious grin appearing on his unshaven face.

‘Clarice? That wee skanky blonde thing fae the Springburn that’s always got love bites aw o’er her neck?’

Marky reddened, his cheeks marked by a furious blush that defied the cold.

‘Naw,’ he protested. ‘It’s no her.’

‘It fuckin is, innit? Ya dirty wee bastard. She’s hinging, man.’

‘She’s awrite. She puts oot; that’s good enough for me.’

‘Fucksake, man, she puts oot for half of Glasgow. Just as well we’re making top dollar oot here ’cos you’ll be needin it for clap cream.’

‘Piss off.’

Pedro could barely contain himself, a huge smirk stretching across his lean features as he wallowed in Marky’s discomfort.

‘Tellin you, Marky man,’ he laughed, ‘You keep shaggin her and ye’ll no need to worry about the cold damagin your tadger. Anyway, shut it. Someone’s coming.’

‘Sweet,’ Marky muttered, glad of the diversion.

The dark figure coming towards them was on the side of the street sheltered from the streetlamp’s neon glow, seemingly taking advantage of its gloomy shadow. It was a young guy, fairly tall and broad, casting regular glances over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him. Marky let out a little nervous laugh, glad to see the predictable nervousness on the part of the prospective buyer.

‘Sweet,’ he repeated softly, his hands rammed into the pouch pockets of his sweatshirt.

‘Awrite?’ the stranger asked, nodding his head at them by way of greeting.

‘Awrite,’ Pedro replied, taking a half-step back into the shadow of the corner and letting the stranger follow.

‘You’re the guys, aye?’

Pedro and Marky exchanged quick self-satisfied glances. Aye, they were the men. Marky could almost smell the leather of his new Lacostes, and Pedro was happy they’d soon be done for the night, cash in pocket.

Neither of them saw anything more than a flash of silver in the moonlight, a fleeting, gleaming glimpse that passed from the guy in the long leather coat to the pair of them. The man paid Pedro off first and then did the same to Marky before either could move. It was the first time that night that Pedro had felt any warmth and for a few dizzying seconds he liked the hot feeling that flared and tickled inside him. Marky was different: he’d felt the blade once before, remembered its sting and hated it instantly.

The guy had turned and begun to walk away before it dawned on Pedro and Marky that he had left without buying anything. By the time they realised he’d taken the money and the gear from their pockets, it was far too late for them to do anything about it.