Dark Suits and Sad Songs (35 page)

Hamish looked at the pathetic figure of Alice Taylor in the lopsided cabin, eyes now half open. He puffed at his unlit pipe, Scott and Rainsford watching him hopefully.

‘Aye, it’s a long time since I saw that cabin,’ said Hamish. ‘Well, the inside o’ it, anyhow.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Scott, puzzled by the certainty in the old man’s voice. ‘Hope you’ve not been oot on the bevy again. This is serious. That poor lassie will die if we cannae find her.’

‘Yes, Hamish. No time for mucking about, here,’ added Rainsford.

Hamish took the pipe from his mouth. ‘Aye, thanks very much. If you remember, it’s yous who are the polis, an’ I’m here giein’ you a hand. If I didna know whoot boat that was, I widna say I did. It’s auld Joe Gilchrist’s fishing boat, I’d lay my life on it.’

The two detectives looked at each other.

‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Rainsford.

‘Och, it’s no’ that hard. It was the last o’ its kind left fae the auld design made at the shipyard here. Can ye no’ see the corner o’ that table, an’ the linoleum on the walls and floor, tae. It’s the way they made them in the sixties. He nursed it
through the years, kept it going after he retired, as a hobby, you understand.
The Girl Maggie
, aye, that’s the name o’ her.’

‘So, what happened to the boat when Mr Gilchrist died?’ asked Rainsford.

‘Och, his family selt it tae some private collector who goes around the country buying auld fishing vessels, all sorts. Some folk have so much money they don’t know whoot tae dae with it, except throw it doon the drain. Aye, I wish they would throw some o’ it my way.’

Rainsford wrote a description of the vessel, then rushed off to alert the various agencies searching for Alice Taylor.

‘You’ve come up trumps this time, auld fella,’ said Scott. ‘We might know what boat she’s in, but bugger me, I wish I knew where it was.’

‘When I last saw the vessel, she was . . . Noo, let me think.’

Scott was barely listening. The old man’s help had been invaluable, but he didn’t have time for one of his forays into nostalgia.

‘Aye, she was anchored jeest off the second waters. Still looked good, though the red paint looked a wee bit faded.’

‘An’ I’ll bet the Beatles were number one an’ I was in nappies, tae. What year was this, Hamish?’

‘Aboot two days ago.’

‘What! Did you say two days ago, or two decades?’

‘Two days. Jeest off the Second Waters, like I said. I hadna seen her for a long time . . .’

Before Hamish could finish, a police-car siren sounded and Rainsford swung the door open.

‘Quick, Brian, there’s been a shooting on the promenade. The gaffer’s involved,’ he shouted, then turned on his heel and ran back out of the office.

Years of training had left their mark on Brian Scott: whatever the news, good or bad, he reacted instantly. But this time, for a few seconds, he froze.

The eyes were dull and blood was trickling out of the mouth of the man lying on the paved promenade beside the last bench.

Out on the loch, a white speedboat turned in a wide arc, adjusted its trim as it sped up, and roared away. Gulls screamed as dark clouds from the east obscured the sun and darkened the day.

Sirens wailed as three police cars and a van screeched to a halt on the roadway and men in dark suits ducked across the grass towards the bench.

‘Stay where you are!’ shouted Scott, as he dived out of the car DC Dunn was driving. She paid no attention to him, climbing out of the driver’s side and dashing across the road, neither shutting the door, nor looking for traffic. As she ran, Scott could hear her sobs.

The dark pool of blood around the dead man’s body had spread across the promenade, and was dripping over the edge and down into the loch.

Scott’s vision swam as he took in the scene. Faces, people, shouts, screams: all seemed distant as he stared at the dead body of the man he knew so well, the man he had worked with for so many years.

‘Jim, fuck me, Jim!’

Daley was sitting on the grass, his knees raised to his chin. Mary Dunn fussed over him through her tears, kissing his cheek, all pretence gone.

‘Come on, big guy,’ Scott said, pulling at Daley’s shoulder. ‘Time to get you out of here. Are you OK? You’re no’ hurt?’

‘No, I’m not. But I’m not sure I shouldn’t be dead.’

Scott watched the ambulance skid to a halt on the road. Paramedics rushed across the grass towards the body, but already a policeman was shaking his head. One of the policemen, a fresh-faced young constable, turned away and retched over the grass.

John Donald – ambitious, perfidious, charismatic John Donald – was dead.

Rainsford shouted orders to the assembled police officers, and they started down the promenade to disperse the small crowd that was beginning to gather.

‘Where will it end, Brian?’ Daley looked up at his friend. ‘Death everywhere. Archie, Frank, Sarah, nearly you. One of us lying in a pool of his own blood.’

Scott looked down at his DCI. ‘Come on, big man. Remember, we’ve got tae save Alice Taylor. Aye, an’ we’ve got a lead, tae.’

This news seemed to jolt Daley back to life, expelling some of the shock he was feeling.

‘What? Do you know where she is?’

‘Well, no’ exactly, but we know what she’s in. Noo, up an’ at ’em.’ He reached out a hand to help Daley up off the grass. ‘We need tae get going!’

Daley stood for a heartbeat, looking at the paramedics surrounding Donald. It was clear by the way they handled him that any chance of saving his life had gone.

Daley leaned down and kissed Dunn on the head. ‘I’m OK,’ he told her. ‘I have to get moving, we have a wee girl to save. You know how it is.’

‘I know how it is, Jim,’ she said, smiling up at him, large tears trickling down her face.

Manion was walking across the grass towards them as they made for their cars.

‘Jim, what the hell’s happened?’ He looked both angry and bewildered.

‘You tell me, sir.’

‘We need tae get going, Willie,’ said Scott. ‘We’ve got a lead on the Taylor lassie. Will you handle this?’

Manion hesitated for a moment. He looked towards the body on the seafront, already covered by a green sheet.

‘Aye, off you go. I’ll do the necessary here.’ He looked directly at Scott. ‘And, Brian, be careful.’

As Scott jumped into the car, Daley was already on his phone. ‘It’s a white speed boat with a blue canopy. It’s just passed into the sound now.’ He ended the call. ‘That wasn’t murder, Brian. That was an assassination.’

Scott revved the engine, and they left the knot of policemen and paramedics behind.

Alice Taylor was becoming more aware of her surroundings. She shook her head to try and clear it. She remembered being thirsty, and gulping down a drink. After that, her memory was hazy. Where was she? The movement of the room made her nauseous and she gulped back a wave of sickness.

She couldn’t move; her hands were bound behind her to her ankles. As the drug wore off, she began to feel agonising spasms of cramp in her back and legs. She sobbed quietly.

She became aware that she was wearing something unusual, something heavy. She looked down; a red light blinked at her. She was wearing a dark waistcoat, with wires sprouting from something bulky strapped to the centre of it.
She could make out what looked like the face of a digital watch. As she tried to make sense of this, she realised that the numbers were counting down.

As realisation dawned, she screamed and screamed.

46

The Dragon knew that time was precious and that, for him, the sea was no longer a haven. Finding Alice Taylor would be their priority. But he knew that despite the prospect of the girl being blown to pieces, they would never give in and release Abdic.

He passed the island and veered left, guiding the speedboat towards a rocky shore. He had reconnoitred the coast well and, as he rounded the familiar headland, a small bay opened up on front of him. It had a narrow neck and was tricky to navigate, but he knew the entrance so well he could have sailed in blindfolded. He pointed the craft towards the far side of the inlet, tucked out of sight under the looming rocks above. This place had once been used by smugglers; it was almost impossible to detect the presence of any kind of vessel there from the open sea. His research, as always, had been meticulous.

He drifted towards an ancient stone jetty. As the boat bumped into it, he jumped onto the quayside, secured it to a rusted mooring ring and thudded back aboard. After retrieving the long silver case and other items from the craft, he made his way across the sand and rough machair grass, through some bushes, then over a fence into a small lay-by, where sat a battered old Peugeot.

He placed the metal case carefully in the back, sat in the driver’s seat and, with the rumble and clunk of an aged diesel engine, pulled onto the road.

Soon Abdic, the man who had saved him, trained him, been like a father to him, the man who made him who he was, would be free. The police and all the other agencies would be searching for him and Alice Taylor at sea. On land, those guarding Abdic would be thin on the ground.

Daley paced around his glass box, his mobile phone pressed to his ear. The Royal Navy and the coastguard were looking for the white speedboat.

‘How long will you be?’ asked Daley. He was on the phone to the commander of the police launch, en route to Kinloch.

He slammed the phone back onto its cradle in frustration. ‘He’ll be at least another half an hour, and then they have to refuel. It’ll be an hour at least before we can get out there and look for Alice.’

‘OK, Jim, calm doon. We’ve got everyone out there looking. Even the beat cops are driving around the coast tae try an’ find her. We’ve still got time.’

‘Yes, you’re right. But time is moving on.’ He looked at the blank computer screen in front of him; Alice Taylor had started to scream just after they’d arrived back in the office, and she hadn’t stopped. He couldn’t bear it, so had turned the sound off. He hadn’t forgotten that, as far as her life was concerned, every second counted.

‘Listen, Jim, I’ll nip doon and get some scran. You need somethin’ in your stomach before we head oot tae sea . . . again.’

‘Have a quick one for me, too,’ he said to his DS, who didn’t even attempt to deny that he was going to sneak in a quick dram before another dreaded sea voyage. ‘Half an hour max, Brian, OK?’

‘Aye, gaffer, nae bother.’ Scott shut the door quietly behind him, leaving Daley alone with his thoughts. Seconds later, Abdic’s laughter echoed around the office.

Manion sat in the office from where John Donald had once ruled over Kinloch. Though he had never cared for the man, he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. Colleagues had already made their way to Donald’s home to give his widow the news every police officer’s significant other dreaded. The press had been immediately briefed by the force’s PR team. As the killer was still at large, the story had to be managed.

He looked at his watch, then walked to the CID suite where he found Daley studying a map on the wall.

‘I’ve just taken a conference call with the boss. With all that’s happened, I had tae get him up to speed. I’m going for a wee walk to clear my heid.’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll keep at this. I’m sure the girl is nearby – we just have to find her.’

‘Good man. I’ll be as quick as I can,’ said Manion. ‘Listen, Jim, if you feel you cannae take it, just let me know. Fuck knows, you’ve been through enough today.’

‘I’m fine, sir.’ Daley turned back to the map.

‘Aye, well, as you wish.’

The bell at the front desk of Kinloch Police Office rang through the station corridors. With most of Kinloch’s police
officers still tied up at the scene of Donald’s murder, DC Dunn, standing forlornly at a coffee machine in the corridor, sighed and went to investigate.

‘Hello, sir. Can I help you?’ A tall man in a baseball cap stood at the other side of the counter. He was looking down at his phone, but in one smooth movement he reached into his jacket and produced a pistol, pointing it at Dunn.

‘You have access to the cells, yes?’

‘No,’ said Dunn, desperately trying to stay calm. She realised she was now staring at one of the world’s most wanted killers, but tried to remember her training: think, assess, address. ‘I need to ask a senior officer.’

‘Open this.’ The Dragon gestured at the hinged part of the desk. Dunn’s hand was shaking as she drew back the small bolt that kept it secure.

He stepped through the gap, never taking his eyes from her, the gun still pointed at her face. ‘Walk slowly to where we can find Pavel.’

She turned, her legs trembling, but before she could take a step she was grabbed roughly from behind, the barrel of the gun thrust painfully into her temple.

‘Do what I say, or I will kill you.’

She knew she should have raised the alarm, pressed the panic button – done something. But everything had happened so fast. She did as she was told.

Daley turned around when he heard Dunn enter the room. His smile turned to a look of horror when he saw the swarthy man holding her by the neck with one hand, the other pressing a gun to her head.

The high cheekbones, the scar on his face. Daley knew he was face to face with the Dragon.

47

Brian Scott sucked an extra-strong mint as he strolled back up Main Street towards Kinloch Police Office. He held a bag containing a few filled rolls he’d purchased at the County Hotel to feed himself and Daley; while there, he’d also enjoyed a couple of large vodkas, and was feeling more sanguine about recent events, as well as those yet to come. Thankfully, the bar had been empty, save for one old man often seen muttering to himself behind his whisky. With Annie absent, the young girl behind the bar had seen fit not to ask any awkward questions about earlier events on the promenade. But he had the feeling of being watched from cars and windows as he progressed up the hill.

Scott looked at his watch; his half hour was nearly up, so he hastened his pace. The skies, which had been a clear blue for so long now, had darkened. He felt a spit of rain on his face, and as he neared the front door of the office, shivered at a distant growl of thunder.