Competition Can Be Murder (25 page)

“Standing by Nessie? You mean he holds still?”

“Ach, big plaster dinosaur is what it is. Tourists love to take their pictures standing there.” His glance shifted from the road ahead to his rearview mirror, to his side mirrors. “Don’t know if it’s anything, but there’s a white vehicle back there. Been staying even with us, back a half-mile or so. Keep your head low.”

I told him my idea of getting out at some point before the drop off place so I could watch the money sack, but we agreed that it wouldn’t be smart to do that if another vehicle was keeping ours in sight.

“Watch him,” I said. “If he’s still back there as we get to the outskirts of town, I’ll furl myself back up on the floor.”

“Better start furling,” he said. “We’re nearly there and that car is still behind us.”

I didn’t relish having the smoky jacket over my head again, but supposed it was inevitable. The tires crunched over gravel and we went up a slight incline.

“Car park’s here,” Robert said. “And the white car just zipped past. Didn’t turn off.”

“I wonder . . . No, I better not take the chance. I’ll stay in here again.”

He angled the car into a slot and reached over the back of his seat. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, tucking the jacket over me and reaching for the money sack.

Again, the heavy car door slammed with a solid thunk, sealing me in tightly. I pulled my cell phone from my purse once more and dialed the Air-Sea number.

“Meggie? Any word from Drake yet?”

I held my breath, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“No, ma’am, and it’s been nearly an hour now.”

“What do your instructions say?”

“Overdue aircraft are to be reported when they’re an hour late,” she said. Panic edged very near the surface.

“Do you have phone numbers to call?”

“Yes, right here on my list.” I heard papers crackling in the background. “Do ye think I should start calling them?”

“What was your last communication from Drake?”

She repeated what she’d told me earlier.

“You’ve been trying all this time to raise him on the radio? What about his cell phone? Have you tried that recently?”

“No, I’d forgotten about that.”

“Okay, try that. I’d come in, but I’m stuck right now. Call me back if you’re able to get him.” I hung up.

Strident footsteps approached the car and I felt the driver’s door being yanked open. “Damn their bloody hides,” Robert shouted. The vehicle sagged as he flung himself into his seat. “Another call!”

I felt my temper rise along with his. “What now, for pete’s sake.”

“Back to Inverness.”

“Robert, I’ve got another potential emergency unfolding. I may have to abandon you at some point.” I filled him in with just a few sketchy details.

“I’ll get us into town as soon as I can,” he promised. “If those bastards don’t keep running us around, this should be over soon.” He backed out of the parking slot and took off with a spurt of gravel.

And if they do, it’s over for me anyway, I thought. My husband’s aircraft that’s missing out over the water is more urgent than whatever little game’s going on here. I flung off Robert’s jacket and dialed Meggie again.

“Oh, Charlie! I’m so glad you called.” The relief in her voice was palpable.

“Did you reach him?” I held my breath.

“Barely. Well, what I mean is, yes.”

“What did he say? Where are they?”

“The connection was very bad. I mostly heard a lot of noise on the line. But he’s on the way.”

Tentative relief washed over me. “That’s it? No indication of how soon he’d land?”

“I’m sorry, Charlie. There was just so much noise on the line.”

“It’s okay, Meggie. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I looked at my watch. It was nearly five. “Please stay at the office, okay?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. I wouldna leave until I know they’re safe.”

“Thank you. I’ll get there somehow.” I clicked off the call and raised my head to speak to Robert. “How far to Inverness?”

“We’re making good time. Another ten minutes.”

“What do we do when we get there?” I tugged my attention back to the current problem.

“Take the money to the churchyard and leave it in the doorway to the rectory. Richie will be near the Dunbar family plot.”

“This time we’re going to end this thing,” I said through gritted teeth. “One way or another.”

Robert didn’t respond. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

Late afternoon shadows stretched across the town. It wouldn’t be fully dark for awhile yet, but the streets had that end-of-day feel to them. Shops were closing, people scattering to their homes and after-work pursuits. The number of cars on the street had dwindled considerably.

“Park a few blocks away,” I suggested to Robert. “This time we’ll lead.”

He found a place near the train station, a small lot where he could get the Bentley off the street. I reconfirmed which churchyard we were talking about. I’d passed it on my walk a couple of days ago. He again picked up the sack and left. I checked my watch, gave him five minutes, then quietly crawled out of the car.

Standing on my own two legs again sent a half-dozen pops and creaks through my joints, from spine to toes. I shook my legs and stretched my arms, the human version of a dog shaking the kinks out. I scanned the surrounding area for anyone paying special attention to the car, but everyone appeared to be busy with their own missions. I set out on mine.

The church stood on a slight hill, alongside the river, bordered by streets on three sides, a narrow alley on the fourth. I crept down the alley, which was nearly dark in the late shadows. It cut through the hill, sloping downward toward the river, with a stone retaining wall that allowed the church and its tiny cemetery to stand on nearly level ground. By the time I came to the fenced graveyard, the retaining wall was over four feet tall, placing the grave stones in easy view. I peered through the black wrought iron fence that topped the retaining wall.

Rows of headstones staggered in drunken imprecision across the plot, which was probably less than an acre in total size. I squinted at the deep shadows, working to discern shapes among the stones. Some were relatively short, while others stood high and majestic and expensive. I expected the Dunbar markers to be the latter. Movement to my right caught my attention.

Robert Dunbar emerged through a doorway in the church. His white hair gleamed in the dying light. His dark silhouette stood still for a moment, both arms down at his sides. I watched him take one sideways step and drop the plastic sack beside the stone doorpost. He walked on, heading purposefully toward his goal.

In the shadow of an obelisk marker about five feet tall, I spotted a huddled figure, waiting. It was male, dressed all in black. Richie Campbell watched his grandfather walk through the center of the cemetery.

My eyes darted to the doorway where Robert had dropped the money. I knew what was about to happen and I had to stop it.

I turned and raced back up the alleyway to the street. There was no way through the iron fence except to go into the building. Shit! How would I find my way around in there?

The front doors faced the street. I ran up the few steps and yanked open one of the double doors. I found myself in a vestibule with four doors, two in the wall directly in front of me, one in each of the narrower end walls. I took the one on the left, figuring it was at least on the same side of the building where I wanted to end up. A startled priest stepped back when I jerked the door open.

“Does this lead to the graveyard out back?” I asked, somewhat breathlessly.

He nodded. “Straight down this corridor, turn left at the end.”

“Call the police,” I said.

He stared, uncomprehending.

“Now! There’s a kidnapping underway.” I turned and ran the length of the stone hallway.

The left-hand turn he’d indicated only led me to more choices. Two more closed doors faced me. I chose the one on the right, again hoping it led in the general direction I wanted. It pulled inward and I found myself on a small stone porch, under a slight protective stone overhang. The plastic sack lay on the ground about ten feet ahead of me. I ducked into the shadows as I watched two black-clad figures approach it.

The taller one picked up the sack, hefting its weight, chuckling. He handed it to the shorter guy and said, “See there? We did it.”

“No you didn’t,” I said, stepping from my concealed spot.

They both stared at me, mouths slack.

“This was really a stupid stunt,” I told them.

Lewis slumped, dropping the bag on the ground. Alasdair made a grab for it, but I reached it first. He spun and bolted for the fence.

A second figure dashed from the middle of the churchyard somewhere and ran for the fence.

“Robert, stop him!” I screamed.

Alasdair grabbed the top of the five foot iron fence and pulled himself to the top. The spear-pointed finials at the top grabbed at his clothing and I heard a rip as he rolled himself over the top and fell to the ground on the other side. It must have been a ten foot drop at that point, and the breath
ugged
out of him.

With a deadly glare at Lewis, I warned him, “Don’t move, buster.” I took off running after the second boy, who also looked determined to make the break.

“No, Richie,” I yelled, tripping over a headstone and windmilling my arms to catch myself. “It’s too far!”

He paused for a fraction of a second. Seeing me, he leaped for the fence. His timing wasn’t as good as Alasdair’s and he missed, his right hand slipping off the top rung, his chin grazing one of the spear points. Blood spurted across his face and neck and he fell to the ground.

I hopped two more headstones and rushed to his side. His face was a white moon in the twilight, the blood flowing blackly as it poured down his neck.

“Here, Richie, lie down,” I said, willing my voice to remain calm. “Let me look at this.” I turned his head to the side and pressed my fingers against the side of his neck. It was slick with blood and his breathing had become shallow.

“Robert, get an ambulance,” I shouted over my shoulder.

Blood continued to run past my fingers. I yanked at Richie’s T-shirt and ripped the tail of it. The small scrap that came away wouldn’t do any good. If he’d cut his carotid artery he’d probably bleed out in a few more seconds. I pressed hard with my bare fingers.

“Now!” I screamed. Left handed, I ripped away more T-shirt material. I pressed it to the wound and felt it saturate way too quickly. In the distance sirens undulated.

Robert dropped to his knees beside me. “Help is on the way,” he said.

I lifted the sodden scrap of cloth and tried to see the wound in the failing light. The source of the flow was at the edge of the boy’s jawbone. A brief gash of white showed through before blood covered it. I turned the cloth over and reapplied pressure. Richie groaned.

“I think it missed the carotid,” I said, “but just barely.” Where were the paramedics?

I looked up to see the priest I’d passed earlier coming toward us, his arm around Lewis’s shoulders. The boy’s freckles stood out against his marshmallow-white face, even in the twilight.

“Did you call for help?” I asked the priest.

“As you asked.”

“Go back inside and direct the paramedics out here. This is a critical situation.” I looked again at Richie. “And send the police after that other kid, the one that jumped the fence.”

He turned, leaving Lewis staring at Richie’s prone form, his dark eyes looking empty as black holes in his skull.

“Will he be okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Lewis.” Richie’s eyelids fluttered and he lost consciousness. “I don’t know.”

Blue and white lights flashed along the lower street and rounded the corner. I looked at the wound again. The blood flow had slowed, thank goodness. I ripped off another patch of shirt and applied it. Richie’s face was whiter than I’d ever seen on any human.

A commotion behind me told me that help had finally come. Bright lights shone across the grass, and I looked up to see four uniforms making their way between the headstones.

“Over here!” Robert shouted.

“We’ll get him now, ma’am,” a deep male voice said. “What’s happened here?”

I scooted aside, letting them get to Richie. With a tight throat, I told them briefly what had happened.

“Okay, good job,” the paramedic told me.

Robert reached for my elbow and I let him lift me and walk me to the side of the action. On the other side of Richie, pushed aside by the medical people, Lewis stood with tears running down his face. My throat tightened at the sight of him, scared and alone. For some reason, I started shaking.

Robert’s arm tightened around my shoulders as I worked to pull myself together. Congealing blood stuck my fingers together and I absentmindedly rubbed them on my jeans. Little incidents fell into place, telling me what had happened—the two boys coming back from the club a day late, the large bags of fast food, the constant misdirection done by cell phones. I just couldn’t figure out why. Why three boys from well-to-do families would go this far for money their parents probably would have given them.