The Anvil (14 page)

The room was lit solely by the light coming in from a street light. Vernay was in the bath. His huge dead eyes stared up at him from below the surface of the water. MacLean swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and leaned over to turn off the water. He recoiled as he saw that two of Vernay’s fingers had been cut off from his right hand.

‘Yoo hoo! Are you there?’ came the old woman’s voice from the hall. MacLean suddenly realised that she was coming in and it shook him out of his trance. He came out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He stood in front of it as the woman came towards him. ‘I’ve found the trouble,’ he said. ‘My stupid friend left the taps running in the bath and the overflow seems to be blocked. I’ll have a strong word with him when he gets back and tell him in no uncertain terms that he is responsible for the damage to your ceiling.’

The woman seemed pleased at the attention MacLean was giving her. She offered to help him clear up the mess.

MacLean ushered her to the door kindly, ‘I’ll have it cleared up in no time,’ he insisted, breathing a sigh of relief when the door was closed behind her. He steeled himself to examine the other rooms of the flat. He needed to understand what had happened.

There was no evidence of a struggle in any of the rooms. Vernay must have been taken by surprise, thought MacLean. He found nothing out of the ordinary until he went over to the kitchen sink and saw the wooden chopping board with Vernay’s missing fingers on it. MacLean turned away for a moment and suppressed the urge to retch. He looked back and saw with a professional eye that something heavy had been used to cut them off, an axe or a meat cleaver.

It was clear that they had tortured Vernay to make him talk. He would have told them everything he knew. Lehman Steiner knew about Tansy and Carrie. They could even be on their way to the bungalow right now.

A gun! He had to have a gun! Vernay had carried one. Maybe it was still in the flat. MacLean started searching like a man possessed. He pulled open drawers and threw open cupboards until he found what he was looking for under a mattress. The pistol was still in Vernay’s shoulder holster. MacLean took off his jacket and slipped it on. The gun was under the wrong armpit for him but it didn’t matter. It was much more important that he was armed.

MacLean took the stairs three at a time and burst out on to the street. A taxi driver looked the other way when he tried to flag him down. His dress and the way he was behaving said that he was a bad risk. A second one stopped but looked sceptical. He was waiting to hear if MacLean sounded drunk.

‘Craiglockhart canal bridge! As fast as you can!’ said MacLean getting into the back and slamming the door.

‘Aye, ah saw that picture too,’ said the man laconically.

MacLean took out money from his wallet and waved it in front of the driver. ‘I mean it. I’ll pay double if you move it!’

The taxi took seven minutes. MacLean watched all of them pass on his watch. He urged the driver to greater efforts, despite being thrown from side to side at the current rate of progress. The cab screeched to a halt on the bridge and MacLean rammed a handful of notes into the driver’s hand and leapt out. The driver shook his head but MacLean was gone.

There was a black Ford saloon parked thirty yards down the hill from the bridge. How many? MacLean wondered. How many of the bastards? He ran down the slippery earth to the towpath and started to run along it. It was dark but he knew it well enough and reflections on the water helped.

MacLean saw the lights of the bungalow appear through the trees. Carrie would be upstairs in bed. Tansy would be in the sitting room or maybe the kitchen preparing the evening meal. Please God! Let there be time!

There was a movement in the trees ahead and MacLean dropped to one knee. Another movement and this time he saw the silhouette of a man against light coming from the sitting room window. He was holding something in his hand. MacLean thought at first that it was a gun but then he decided it was too big for that. The man drew back his arm and MacLean suddenly realised he was about to throw something. He yelled out a warning to stop but the missile left the man’s hand and crashed threw the French windows of the bungalow. The world was silent for three seconds then an explosion rocked the night as the incendiary grenade went off. A vivid sheet of flame shot skywards.

The man had not heard MacLean call out. He was standing directly in front of him at the bottom of the garden, framed in the firelight. MacLean pulled out the pistol from under his arm and levelled it at the silhouette. He shot the man without compunction, putting three bullets into him before he hit the ground.

He ran towards the flames, which were ripping through the bungalow, sending showers of sparks up into the night sky, continuing to run towards them, oblivious of the heat which seared his eyes but not of a scream. It was a woman’s cry but more of anguish than of pain. It came from Tansy!

MacLean followed the sound on all fours as the intense heat threatened to set his clothing alight. He found Tansy kneeling on the grass staring into the flames. She looked to MacLean as if she had lost her mind, her wide eyes refusing to accept what she saw before her. ‘Carrie!’ she cried out, ‘She’s still in there!’

MacLean tried to pull Tansy back from the flames; she struggled and resisted. ‘Carrie’s upstairs!’ she screamed. ‘Do something!’

The whole ground floor of the house was ablaze. There was no way in for MacLean. He looked up to Carrie’s window and saw black smoke billow out from it. Not only was Carrie going to die, he was going to have to stand there and watch it happen. Tansy tried to break free and rush towards the flames. MacLean held her back. ‘Let go of me, damn you!’ she cried.

An explosion from inside the house shook the ground and MacLean saw the dormer window of Carrie’s room break away from the roof and crash to the ground in a shower of sparks. Through the hole left by the window he caught a glimpse of a small white bundle and knew it was Carrie in her nightdress. She was unconscious or worse. If only he could get on to the roof he might be able to reach her but the heat was intense and he had no ladder.

The joists in front of Carrie’s room had burned away and suddenly the floor of Carrie’s room tilted down towards the roof. The little white bundle started to slide downwards across the tiles. MacLean rushed forward to catch her but it didn’t happen. The child’s nightdress caught in the guttering above him leaving her hanging there, unconscious and out of reach.

MacLean, singed and sweating but with adrenaline driving him on as never before, dragged over some of the debris from the fallen dormer and stood on it to stretch up. He was still half a metre short and cried out in frustration.

There was no time to build a proper platform. The flames had almost reached the child and the heat and smoke was threatening to overwhelm him. He bent his knees and prepared to leap upwards. It would be an all or nothing attempt. There would be no question of him landing on his feet to try again. The pile of debris he was standing on was too frail.

MacLean jumped and the woodpile gave him just enough purchase to bridge the gap. He grabbed Carrie and they both crashed backwards to the ground. MacLean held the child close to him and rolled over and over till they were away from the burning building. He didn’t stop until his cheek touched cold wet grass where he let go of Carrie as Tansy took her from him, searching anxiously for signs of life. Tansy was in shock; she cradled Carrie in her arms, gasping, ‘Oh God. Oh God, no.’

MacLean crawled over to Tansy and took Carrie from her. She was completely black from soot and the earth. He searched for a pulse and found one. ‘She’s alive,’ he said.

‘Thank God,’ gasped Tansy, ‘A hospital! We must get her to a hospital!’

Although it was difficult to do by firelight MacLean examined Carrie for injury and started to feel ill. The soot was obscuring some very real damage to Carrie’s face. What he initially thought was a smudge of carbon at the corner of her mouth was, in fact, a hole. The left side of Carrie’s face had been badly disfigured.’

There was no one to raise the alarm. The bungalow was too isolated. They were all on their own. Tansy was in deep shock and Carrie was badly injured. MacLean made the decisions. He left Carrie in her mother’s arms and found the corpse of the man he had shot. He rifled the pockets until he found the keys to the Ford. He emptied all the dead man’s pockets, removed a medallion from his neck and a signet ring from his finger.

MacLean put all the dead man’s belongings in his haversack and pulled the corpse by its heels towards the flames. He stopped when the heat became too intense. The body weighed around ten stones, not too heavy for what he had in mind. He grabbed hold of one arm and one ankle and lifted it off the ground to swing it round in an arc. After the third revolution he accelerated and gave a mighty heave before letting go. The effort knocked him off his feet but he saw the body sail into the holocaust.

Tansy was oblivious to what had been going on. She knelt on the grass with Carrie in her arms, rocking back and forward as if in a trance. The flames were reflected in her eyes. MacLean who felt numb inside saw that Tansy was sinking even deeper into shock. ‘Let’s go Tansy,’ he said gently. ‘Let’s get Carrie to a hospital.’

MacLean took Carrie from Tansy and cradled her in the crook of his left arm while he took Tansy’s hand with his right. They moved as fast as they could along the towpath, tripping and stumbling as they went, until they reached path up to the road and to where the black Ford was parked. MacLean drove to the hospital at breakneck speed and screeched to a halt outside Accident and Emergency. Leaping out, he burst through the swing doors and called out, There’s been an explosion. I need help out here!’

Two porters came running and helped MacLean get Carrie and Tansy out of the car while a third brought a trolley. They were joined moments later by a posse of nurses and a doctor.

‘The little girl is badly injured,’ said MacLean. ‘Her mother is suffering from shock and bruising.

The medical team, concentrating all their attention on Carrie and Tansy wheeled them inside, leaving MacLean alone in the car park with one of the porters.

‘Who are you?’ asked the man.

‘I was passing at the time,’ said MacLean. ‘I heard the explosion and saw the fire.’

‘You look as if you could do with some attention yourself.’ said the man. ‘You better come inside too.’

MacLean looked at him without expression and then said, ‘No, I’ll be all right.’ He got back into the car and drove off.

MacLean drove round in circles. Tansy was so deeply in shock that she did not know what was going on around her; he too was in shock but could still function, albeit like an automaton. He obeyed all the rules of the road, observed the speed limit, slowed at every GIVE WAY sign and came to an obedient halt at every STOP command. He had no idea where he was going or why.

When he eventually pulled into the side of the road and looked at his watch it was three in the morning. He put both hands over his face and started to weep.

MacLean’s breathing started to even out; he could think clearly again. The spectre of Carrie’s damaged face was still uppermost in his mind. Of all the hellish quirks of fate it had to be an innocent child who got hurt while he himself remained unscathed. Tansy would recover but Carrie? That was another matter. And even if she did, what would she look like?

It started to rain and MacLean switched on the wipers briefly to clear the screen. He had parked in a quiet street in a residential district on the south side of the city. He could not sit there much longer before unseen eyes behind lace curtains started to entertain notions of informing the police that an uninvited stranger was unpleasantly close to their possessions. He started the engine and moved off slowly, still trying to formulate a list of priorities.

With a bit of luck Der Amboss were going to think that Sean MacLean had died in the fire, at least until their own man failed to return. Even then it might take them long enough to work out what had really happened, provided, of course, that he himself remained out of sight. First he would have to get rid of the car, somewhere where it wouldn’t be found for a long time, preferably never. Next he would need somewhere to stay and that meant money.

MacLean stopped the car again and brought out his wallet. It contained thirty-five pounds. He would need more than that. He remembered the bill- fold he had removed from the pockets of the bomber and searched through his haversack to find it. It contained a hundred and sixty pounds in sterling and five hundred US dollars. That would do for the moment. He looked for ID in the back of the billfold but found none. There had been a leather key holder in the man’s pockets however. MacLean opened the zip and found two Yale type keys. The trademarks on them said that they were of French or maybe Swiss/French origin. There were no clues to identity. He wondered who would be waiting behind the door they opened. A wife? A girlfriend? They would be waiting for a man who would most definitely not be coming home.

MacLean headed out of the city. There were a number of secluded small lochs to the south of Edinburgh, which he knew well enough from the fishing trips of his youth. The plan was now to get rid of the car in one of them. He decided on one with a long track leading away from the road to the waters’ edge. He wanted to be out of sight of the main road in case stray headlights should pick him out.