Hunt Hunted Murder Murdered (10 page)

'OK, thanks. I don't suppose I could borrow your phone. I can't seem to get any reception.' The old man looked him up and down again.

'No. You'll get no reception down in the village.' Aid nodded and took a step toward the door, which started to shut as soon as he moved.

'You'll get reception about 200 yds up the road. Goodnight son'. And with that the door was closed and Aid stood still for a second feeling a bit foolish. 200yds in what direction? He got back into the car.

---

The coffee smelled good - warm - which was the most important thing.

'I'm sorry Bob. I just got spooked eh? I mean if Ingram thinks I've done this, I'm a dead man. I mean, I did see Ollie Ingram. I did take her to Olive Island, but I'll tell you the same as I told Pam. I didnae kill her man. No fuckin chance.' Spiv puffed on another cigarette, and slumped back again in the couch, while Bob perched forward on the armchair in silence. Pam was clinking the cups in the kitchen.

'But why didn't you tell the police this?'

Spiv rolled his eyes, taking in a long drag, and as he spoke the puff billowed out.

'You think I did it. Fuckin hell man. You do.'

'No Spiv. I want to believe you, but you have just gone and told me that you lied to the fuckin police man. It's difficult to believe someone when they’ve just told you that.'

'I didn't do it', Spiv’s speech was slow and deliberate as he looked straight at Bob.

Bob knew he was not lying this time.

'I believe you Spiv.'

'I believe you'.

The coffee arrived, thankfully, just at the right time. Pam brought through three steaming cups and a plate of scones, a butter dish, a rams horn handled kitchen knife and a smaller dish which contained what looked like home-made raspberry jam.

‘Listen, I better try Marie. I havenae told her I’m away wi her car’

Spiv laughed at this ‘Ho, ho. You’ll be strung up man.’ They shared a laugh as Bob pointed his mobile into the air searching for any kind of signal.

Pam Watters put down the tray on a glass coffee table, condensation appeared as the cup was set on the glass. Bob looked at this and saw Pam and Spiv's reflection in the table surface as he bent over to take hold of his hot drink at last.

Spiv said, 'Ta love'. He lifted the cup to his mouth and without tasting the coffee, he felt warm liquid on his shirt as Pam embraced him. Bob continued to look down at the table and saw Spivs cup rise up in the reflection from the glass. He raised his eyes and saw the white of Pam Watters eyes. The blow was immediate and exact. The force was similar to something he had felt before - a boxing match at school. A punch to the side of his face had left him flailing. His legs weakened and he lost grip of his phone. Although he was conscious, all he could see was Pam Watters taking aim again, teeth clenched. There was a ringing sound in Bob’s ears. He thought that there must be other sound, but he heard nothing more.

---

'Marie?'

'Ai.. whe.. you?', the reception was still patchy, but it was a reception at least.

'Marie, good, listen I've not been able to find them yet. How did you get on?'

'W.. foun... .. ary?’

'What?'

'We .... a diary. It does..... good...she's ...uckin... ..co.'

'I didn't get that. You found a diary? At Pams?’

'...'

'Listen if you can hear me, just answer Yes or No. OK'

'Ye..'

'Did you find a diary at Pams?'

'Ye..Yes..yes', Marie got what Aidrian wanted.

'Did you get to speak to her?'

'No. n.. no'

'Do you know where she is?'

'No. No. .....'

'Shit, whats in the diary?'

'... say's a loa... fuckin scary......'

'Sorry, Is there anything about Dev in it?'

'Y...Ye...es'

'Did Spiv do it? Did Spiv kill him?'

'...o....No...No...', Aid was relieved. At least Bob wasn't going to meet Dev's killer.

'Was it her? Did Pam kill Dev?'

'Yes..w.. thi...so.. Ha..you spo.. to Bob?'

Bob. No. No, I haven't been able to. I'll try again.'

'.... ob.....'

'Listen, Marie, I can't hear you. Stop speaking for a minute. Please. I need to find Bob and Spiv.' Aid paused and the line was quiet.

'Do you know if it says in the diary where Spiv is?'

'It..... he is aw... to Pam's....'

'Marie, can you repeat that. Pams…?'

‘Pam.... day...ome.'

'Sorry Marie, it's breaking up.'

' ...am's hol...home...near wi ..farm.'

“Pams home, near a farm.

'...winton ...ind farm'

'A wind Farm'

'Yes...es.......'

The phone went silent.

'Marie?'

'Marie?'

Aid was alone in the dark again. He walked towards the village again, then started to jog and, despite his large frame, moved into a more vigorous run as he spied the car in front of the house with the green door.

The old man was at the green framed window of his home as Aid approached and made towards the door. He unlocked it quickly this time without question.

'Can a help ye son?'

'Sorry to bother you again', Aid panted, ' What about a Watters family? Do you know if a Watters family have a holiday home round here?'

'Watters? No. No Watters, but there are plenty of holiday homes across the hills and I couldnae tell ye the names of all the owners. Sorry son.' Aid took some deep breaths as his heart pounded through his chest. His lack of fitness showed. Thinking. Thinking.

'What about..... a wind farm?'

---

Spiv sat motionless on the chair as Bob came around.

The window behind Spiv’s head had turned from grey to black in the time he had been out cold. Spiv groaned. Thank god he wasn't dead, but they were still in a shit situation, and at this moment in time Bob had few ideas as to how this would be successfully resolved.

Still groggy, Bob made to move before realising his hands, arms, body and legs had been taped to the armchair he sat in. He couldn't use his mouth to get him out of this one. He didn't know if he still had his phone in his pocket. There was no noise, except the pulsing in his ears and the throbbing of his blood through bruised veins in his forehead ringing through the silence of this barely lit living room. And only one question remained in his head.

Where was Pam Watters?

---

Marie just stared at each page as she flicked through the diary, not really taking in what she was reading anymore. Mon tore along the City Bypass and not even the car's own warnings that the speed was excessive flinched her anymore. Marie read the excerpts again.

Simon and Pamela Deuchar.

Pamela Alice Deuchar.

Mrs P.A Deuchar.

Mr S and Mrs P.A. Deuchar.

A schoolgirl’s scribblings......

Then there were her entries. It felt wrong to read, but they needed to know what was going on.

August 30
^th
2007

Simon and I shared a 'moment' in the bar. He was sitting with some slapper and I casually asked her to leave. Slag. I positioned myself around him on the barstool and gripped him in full view of the little cow. She turned and fled. My man! Just mine.

Si has been strange recently. I think it's because of Dev. Maybe the whole thing was a mistake. But we are still together and I guess that's what's important. He loves me. No-one else. No schoolgirl will take my man.

Poor Dev, though. Still, if it came down to him or me, would I change anything? Exactly.

Si's taking me out tomorrow. Nice meal at Foggia’s then some rampant sex. It's kinda routine, but it's just great spending time with him. He's the one. The only one.

November 5th.

Bonfire night. I feel weird. I haven't seen Si today, and he's not answering his phone
.

November 6th.

All good. Went to Simons mum's at 11 last night. She let me in and we had a nice chat, she isn't too attached to Si, so she can stay. For now. Si turned up at 2. He was all kisses and stories. He is so gentle with me. He is getting over Dev and his Dad's deaths I think. Makes me think it's all going to work out fine. He says he needs me. I feel so good. I want to be the only thing he needs. He is soooooo sexy.

November 30th.

That’s 2 years Simon and I have been together. I think he forgot until I said, but he bought me flowers and we went out. I was thinking about my folks today. I think Simon would have grown on them. But I guess I don't need to worry about that now. I do miss them sometimes. But again, what do you choose? I couldn't let them be my guardians forever could I?

Another page another implicit statement. Another clue. Another question that raised more concern. Pamela Watters was Pamela Watters, but it appeared the Law student was on the wrong side of the law. Christ, she was on the wrong side of the wall to the prison for the criminally insane!

January 28
^th
2008

It’s over. Simon and I can’t stay here. Not with all this. We are going to try and get away together. That’s what he wants. He only wants to be with me. He tells me this. We will be together and then we will go together. We will be eternally together.

Mon took the Biggar road and the police siren sounded as she failed to observe the roundabout, taking the 180 degree crossing instead of the curved approach. It would not have been difficult for a dozing copper to spot her since the national speed limit had been broken – and then some.

9

Aid turned up towards the house which stood off to the right. The curtains were open and firelight flickered. Another gate to open, Aid decided to take the pedestrian gate, nearly falling through the cattle grid, before regaining his footing with only a minor nick to his right ankle. He stood about 100 yards away but felt an impending nervousness about this meeting. There was Marie’s car. There was Spiv’s car. No sign of any other vehicle, so maybe it was just going to be the three of them discussing the revelations brought about by Ian Ingram’s letters. He hoped Spiv wouldn't take it badly that Pam appeared to be involved in the death of Dev Coulding.

His feet crunched lightly on the farm track pebbles - the only thing to break the silence of the cold dark, night. The land would have been empty of people for so many years, Bothies had appeared and disappeared over centuries. Some had been demolished, new ones had been built. The house he approached was a newer build, with wooden frame and plasterboard - and damp. He walked past the car Bob brought down to this place. Maries yellow beemer. Light frost was appearing on the windscreen. It was luminous on such a darkening day. He peered in. The keys were still in the ignition. ‘I don't suppose there are many folk to steal vehicles in these parts’, he thought.

The front door of the house stood ajar.

Aid paused. He would have called out, but he did not feel comfortable. Something wasn't right. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.

‘
Devalue life I am the start

Could it begins, and ending’

The words reflected the night.

Cold.

And in these conditions no-one, but no-one, would leave a front door standing ajar.

The firelight flickered across the track in front of the house. Aid walked slowly and deliberately. Precise movements to minimise impact. Minimise sound. His breathing slowed and halted at times. Listening. Looking for signs. His heart thumped again. Nothing to do with fitness this time.

A few more steps and he could see inside the room. A figure sitting on a chair. He peeked in. The figure had tape on his face. It was Bob. He looked at Bob and Bob stared at him before his eyes pivoted slowly to the side of the window. Where was Spiv? Where was Pam? Bob stared at him again, and again directed his eyes towards the side of the window. The house was made from wooden panels and plasterboard – not suited for this terrain, and it had grown damp, and was in need of repair. Aid calculated. The doorway lay ajar. Light from the fire flickered, and in places he could see it flickering on the walls - holes, gaps. Not suited for this climate even. Aid peered in again. Bob quickly glinted his staring eyes across towards the side of the window again.

There was urgency this time in Bob’s eyes. Aid had to act quickly. The light flickered through the wall where gaps lay and a shadow made slowly for the door. Someone was waiting for him, and by the look of Bob, would not be wasting time with niceties.

Aid stepped back and leaned silently on the car.

His mobile phone was in his pocket, soon in his hand and thrown towards the decking at the front door. The art of deception. It clunked and skidded towards the front door. The shadow moved for the door. Aid was in the car, the light shone for what seemed like an age above his head, but enough time to find the key in the ignition. He turned it. There was life in the engine. There was no visibility as the frost covered the windscreen. But Aid needed no reminder of where he was, or any landmark to tell him where he was going. He had no time to think of anything except what he needed to do.

Foot down. First gear. Accelerate. Forward. Head down was just instinctive as metal sped forward 20 metres and met with wooden panels. Met with glass shattering from house windows and, over the revving of the engine, there was a scream.

The car continued to rev as it was forced to stop by the staircase. Aid continued to press his foot down for moments after, before raising his head to look at the damage - before raising his head to look around for Pamela Watters. Muffled screams come from the room to the right. He eased the car door open, taking out more plasterboard paneling and wooden frames left hanging from the impact.

Aid rubbed his shoulder, where a dull aching pain had emerged, and stepped out of Marie’s car. It didn’t look good. Well, Bob wouldn’t be driving it home anyway. It was a car that had ceased to be. The floor was covered with planks and dust, dust floating around the night air and the wind failing to help out as it gusted briefly to provide more cover. But just within the limits of Aid’s visibility there lay a body. It lay on the stairway in front of the car. He stood and looked. Had he killed her? Did that make him just like her? Aids head was spinning, but he hurried on to see to Bob.

Bob’s eyes were red with tears and angst. The dust made Aid cough and he wafted it about, wincing as his shoulder gave him pain again. Seatbelt. Should have belted up.

‘Bob, you OK?’ Bob nodded, staring at Aid. Maybe there was a smile beneath that tape. Maybe there was just relief that he was not going to be another murder statistic in Scotland.

Aid urgently ripped the tape off Bob’s mouth and then turned to see Spiv lying with bloodied top. He moved over to him and knelt at his side.

‘Spiv? Do you hear me?’ Aid tapped his cheek. Then felt for a pulse.

‘I think he’s OK man. He was breathing a few minutes ago. Thanks Aid. Fuckin Hell. Thanks.’ Bob sat, still tied to the hair. Aids eyes darted around the room.

‘You got her good, man. I saw her fly up in the air when you battered in. I had no idea what the fuck you were going to do. I mean she was going to fucking have you man. She was going to have us all.’

Aid started to look about the room.

‘I need something to cut the ties’

‘There’s a knife’

‘Where?’

‘Table?’

Aid looked around the room. Spilled coffee cups and scones lay scattered across the glass table. Butter dish. Jam.

‘I don’t see it.’

‘Can you get these off me?’

Aid hurried behind Bob’s chair and found a bit of loose tape hanging. He starts to pull at it, but it ripped before the first arm could be freed.

‘Fuck!’

‘What is it?’

‘Thing snapped.’

He continued to pull and tug at the tightly wrapped tape. Eventually he found another loose end and, within a few moments, Bob was able to get his left arm out.

‘Cheers mate.’ Bob twisted himself round, and tugged at the tape on his right arm, while Aid tried to slacken the grip of the tape around his legs.

The tape ripped. The two friends breathed hard, tugging and pulling. Their hearts pounding, breathing nervously as the adrenalin buzzed in their ears, they were two men mutually intent on liberty. To save Simon Deuchar and to get out of here. The floor creaked as someone approached. Neither man sensed the new danger – the approach – the thrust – the gleam of blade. Not until Bob screamed out.

Aid pushed Bob’s chair over to prevent a further frenzied attack, but now the headlights or the glint from the firelight were on him, as the knife flew towards him. He ducked down behind the sofa and ran along behind it - but this unwanted visitor was relentless in her pursuit. Pam Watters was out of control.

Another throw. The knife caught the chair and Aid lunged at this girl whom they had welcomed as one of their own. Her eyes were different. Hate filled and beady, staring and anarchic. She grabbed Aid to pull away from him. The knife is dislodged from her hand and is thrown across the couch. Aid could now only think of stopping the madness and threw his 16 stone frame directly at Pamela Watters.

The scramble was untidy, but Aid was only reacting to the situation. He had to think fast. They rolled on the wooden floorboards and across the rug which wrinkled and finally knocking over the remains of the afternoon tea prepared earlier. The silence was deafening. What words could change anything? There could only be one winner. Aid felt it had to be him.

He lay across Pam’s body, as she squirmed

‘Get off you fat shit. I’ll kill you. I’m going to kill you’

Aid tried to suppress her, but punches rained in on his nose and eyes. He winced again as a foot released itself from beneath him and Pam freed herself with a kick to Aid’s shoulder. He lay in pain momentarily and looked up to Pam who stretched her hand back to the knife and picked it up.

There was a pause - a definite pause as she stood there. Was this the end? Does everything slow down when it’s nearly over? Her premeditation, her composure now collected again as she shrugged this mishap off. She was ready to go again. Aid looked up at Pam. Pam looked down at him and raised her arm, her hand clenching the ram horned knife handle. Aid closed his eyes and thought about his Mon - his Monica who he loved so much - his family - his little girl and her elder brother - the man hugs, the Saturday morning TV, Namir in the 2.40 at Haydock, drinks with friends.

It might have been slow motion. How Bob got those remaining ties off heaven only knew. His fingernails were bleeding, but he managed to grip the wrist of Pamela Watters. It happened so unexpectedly that it appeared she slowed down just to give Bob a chance of saving his friend. A chance to stop the madness.

But again Pam rallied. She had much more to lose. She tore at Bob with her fingernails – first his hands, then his face and eyes. Bob screamed in pain, but he would not fail again. Blood soaking his back and side, he would hold on to this hand. Still Pam scratched and screamed.

Aid opened his eyes and positioned himself on the rug. He was under starters orders. He ran and charged into Pam Watters.

There is a crash of people. Three bodies tumble towards the front window. Arms grab arms, teeth gnash. Eyes stare at each other. Embraced with pain. Limbs break on wooden frames, glass shatters. Three bodies fall as one onto the decking outside. A knife pierces skin. A knife pierces flesh and scrapes at bone. An arterial vein is pierced. Black blood spurts out.

Deep cut.

Deep Red.

Dark blood.

Dark sky.

Aid found himself under two bodies.

He stared up to the night sky.