Too Soon a Death: A Scottish mystery where cosy crime meets tartan noir: Borders Mysteries Book 2 (35 page)

The baby started to kick. He was usually inactive at this time of day but the stress hormones coursing through her body must be affecting him too. He was telling Zoe she couldn’t just give up.

When she turned round she saw the man had removed the Royal Mail baseball cap and thrown it on the floor. She stared at his head, at the crescent-shaped scar just above his right ear. This was the man who’d taken Ara into the Duns chemist.

She put a hand behind her back.

‘What are you doing?’ the man demanded.

‘I need to undo my apron.’

‘What?’

‘This.’ Zoe brought one of her hands forward and looped her thumb under the striped material. ‘It’s cutting into me.’

The man grunted. Before he could tell her not to, she pulled the bow loose and dragged the apron away from her bump.

He stared at her stomach and swore. He used an unfamiliar language, but she recognised the explosive and venomous words for what they were. He must have thought she was overweight under the bulky apron, not pregnant, but now he knew better. And unlike Cheek-studs, this seemed to matter to him.

‘Not long to go now.’ She forced a smile and patted her bump.

The gun pointing at her didn’t waver as the man took his mobile from his back pocket and hit a number programmed in it. The call was answered promptly. He spoke again in his own language, giving the person on the other end little time to respond and becoming increasingly agitated. Throughout the conversation, his eyes didn’t leave Zoe’s stomach.

With a shake of his head, he rang off.

‘Didn’t tell you I was pregnant, did they?’

‘Shut up.’

‘You may have found murdering a defenceless boy and throwing him in the Tweed easy, but imagine how you’ll feel if you do the same to me,’ Zoe said. ‘My child is nearly ready to be born, so you’d be killing two of us. A woman and a tiny baby. I don’t think you want to do that.’

‘Shut up, okay.’ The gun started to wobble. She was getting to him.

‘Or is nothing out of bounds to the likes of you? Nobody indispensable?’

‘I didn’t kill that boy.’

‘If not you, one of your friends. While you stood by and did nothing to stop it.’

‘No!’ The fingers of his free hand worried at the scar on his head. ‘We found him already dead. He killed himself.’

‘Oh come on. I know about the injuries he suffered. What happened? Did you hurt him so badly that he couldn’t work and was no more use to you?’

‘I never touched him. He put a metal fork into the electric.’

Zoe remembered the power cables trailing along the floor upstairs in the cannabis factory, coming together in makeshift extension boards, and Patrick’s warning not to touch anything. Then her mind filled with the image of the dead boy on a flat stone beside the River Tweed, his arms stretched out in front of him, one hand bandaged while the other, although just as badly injured, was not. She and the police assumed the second bandage had come off in the water, but what if he’d removed it himself, in order to grasp a piece of metal and thrust it into one of those lethal power-points? Enslaved and abused, had his life had become so intolerable that this was his only remaining option?

The idea appalled her more than thinking someone had murdered him.

‘We only took him away from the house,’ the man said.

‘That’s alright then.’ Zoe wanted to cling to the anger she felt on behalf of the dead boy, hoping it would give her the courage to put into action the desperate plan she’d come up with as she’d stood by the front door. Because there would be no last-minute rescue this time. She only person who could save her child.

They stood in the hall just feet apart, the man still pointing his gun at her, Zoe still holding her apron.

Mac’s barks had stopped.

The man raised his gun, aiming it above Zoe’s stomach.

The bell rang, causing the man to glance involuntarily at the door.

Zoe flicked at the gun with her apron. She’d hoped to knock it from the man’s hand, but instead the limp material simply hung off the barrel. Lunging towards the hall table, she grabbed the can of adhesive and sprayed it in her aggressor’s face.

He yelled and dropped the gun.

She rushed to the door and yanked at the handle, having only pretended to lock it. Dashed outside, slamming the door closed behind her. Ran a few metres towards the road.

Straight into the arms of a young man wearing a red hoodie and aviator sunglasses.

FORTY-THREE

Zoe screamed, less in fear than in rage. This was so unfair. She tried to shove her stalker aside but he clung on to her. He seemed a lot younger up close, with a smattering of acne across his forehead and round his mouth, and smelled of cigarettes.

‘What’s happening?’ he asked. ‘Are you looking for your dog? He’s alright. I found him running loose on the road and put him in my car for safety.’

Too distressed to speak, Zoe waved her hand back towards the house.

He released her. ‘Please don’t be frightened. I know you have every right to be, and angry too, but I’ve come to explain.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe saw the front door open. She had no idea who this new arrival was but his obvious bewilderment told her he had nothing to do with the danger which now faced them both. She grabbed a handful of his red top and pulled at it, dragging him away from the house. ‘We need to leave. Now.’

But it was already too late.

‘Come back here!’ In spite of continuing to wipe at his reddened eyes with one hand, the fake postie held the gun steady with the other.

Zoe felt the young man beside her take a step back as he realised the situation he’d wandered into.

‘In there or out here, it’s all the same. You’re going to shoot me whatever I do,’ she shouted. Now the adrenaline rush which had given her the impetus to flee had abated, her legs felt like jelly again.

A quiet voice behind her said, ‘Do what he says but walk towards the garage, not directly at him.’

Her mind raced. How was that going to help? And who was he, this young man who at their last encounter had nearly driven his car into her? All the same, she did as she was told, staring into the half-closed and still weeping eyes of the man with the gun. He seemed not to grasp what an indirect route she was taking until he had to adjust his position to keep his weapon trained on her.

‘Where are you going? I said come here, okay.’ He flicked the gun sideways as if to influence Zoe’s course.

And at that moment, a flash of red streaked past her, landing on the gunman. He fell backwards, the younger man on top of him.

The gun went off.

FORTY-FOUR

Zoe didn’t move, didn’t even dare breathe. The two men lay, the younger uppermost, at the entrance to Keeper’s Cottage, both equally still. Which of them had been shot?

She watched her hoodie-wearing stalker roll off the man he’d thrown himself at, and felt a surge of relief when he rose to his knees and called over to her. ‘He must have hit his head on your doorstep. Could wake up at any minute. Have you got a piece of rope I can tie him up with?’

Eyes closed, mouth lolling open, the man who had come to kill her no longer looked a threat, but Zoe stood well back as she stared down at him. She shook her head, unable to speak.

‘Well something else, then. Anything.’

She edged past the prone figure, not taking her eyes off him until she was inside the hall, where the spray adhesive and her apron lay on the floor. Rope? Who the hell keeps rope in their house? She was about to go to the kitchen and start looking for an alternative when she spotted Mac’s retractable lead hanging up with the coats.

‘Will this do?’ she asked, returning to the doorway and holding it out.

He took it from her and pulled out several metres. ‘Perfect.’

This probably wasn’t the time to ask, but she had to know. As he turned the gunman over, she said, ‘Who are you? Why have you been following me?’

He peered up at her through the thick, wavy hair which obscured half his face. ‘I’m Ewan. Ewan Balfour.’

‘What? You’re Andrew’s son?’

‘Yes. And I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I—’

The gunman groaned and began to move. Ewan knelt on his back, struggling to bring the other man’s wrists together, but he had regained consciousness enough to fight back, rocking from side to side and kicking up his heels. Gasping with the effort of keeping him restrained, Ewan said, ‘Zoe, can you grab his legs for me?’

She stepped outside, knelt and put a hand round each of the gunman’s ankles and pressed them into the ground. Had he been fully conscious, she doubted this would have subdued him, but he immediately calmed down, enabling Ewan to tie his wrists together.

‘I’ll hogtie him,’ he said, holding the lead’s plastic handle and unreeling another length. He climbed off the gunman and Zoe relaxed her hold of the ankles to move out of his way.

The gunman rolled onto his side and kicked out, hitting her stomach with his foot.

Thrown sideways by the blow, Zoe shrieked in pain and shock. She lay in the foetal position on the ground, clutching her stomach to comfort and protect her baby. ‘Please be alright,’ she whispered. ‘We’ve come this far.’ Dimly aware of the struggle going on next to her between the two men, she pushed herself further away from them as someone’s limb crashed against her back. She knew Ewan needed her help but she couldn’t risk any further injury to her child.

Her foot hit something.

The gun.

Zoe had never held a gun before. It felt heavy and unwieldy, and she had no idea if it had a safety catch let alone if this was on or off. She hoped she wouldn’t need to find out.

She struggled to her knees. ‘I’ve got your gun.’

Ewan lay in the same position she’d been in seconds ago, trying to protect himself from the vicious kicks the gunman, hands still tied behind his back and dangling the dog lead, was inflicting on him.

She staggered to her feet.

‘I’ve got your gun,’ she repeated, more loudly this time. ‘And I’ll use it if you don’t leave him alone.’

Ewan’s attacker froze. He slowly turned to face her, his eyes bulging and his breath rasping. ‘I should have shot you as soon as I arrived, baby or no baby.’

‘Lie down on your front,’ Zoe said, making a conscious effort not to move the gun to emphasise her point. The astonishment she felt as the man obeyed without further comment was replaced by fear as the dull ache she’d felt earlier in her back suddenly got a lot worse and was joined by a searing pain in her abdomen.

She looked down and saw a clear liquid tinged with red coursing down both her legs. Her waters had broken. Her fear was joined by anger; she wasn’t ready, emotionally or physically for this. Her baby needed another month in the peace and comfort of her womb, but instead was being forced to arrive early. If the man to blame for this moved an inch, the temptation to pull the gun’s trigger would be overwhelming.

She took a deep breath and said, ‘Ewan, please get up.’ Her voice sounded as shaky as her legs felt.

Ewan groaned then slowly rose, grimacing as he tried to straighten his back. Rubbing his ribs, he moved towards the figure on the ground and while Zoe stood with the gun trained on its owner, he pulled the dog lead tight and tied the gunman’s ankles too. For good measure, he wrapped the rest of the lead around the metal boot scraper set into a lump of stone and secured it with several knots. ‘He’s going nowhere now.’

Zoe carried the gun indoors and dropped it onto the hall table.

She wanted to phone for help, from the police to deal with the gunman and an ambulance to save her baby, but first she had to get to the bathroom. Two steps along the hall, she fell to her knees.

‘Zoe, did he hurt you?’ Ewan raced to her side and started to help her up.

‘Please, let me stay here. The phone’s in the kitchen, off to the left. You need to dial 999 and ask for the police and an ambulance. Tell them a pregnant woman has gone into labour a month prematurely. Then you can bring me a towel.’

Ewan closed the front door to block out the noise of the gunman shouting obscenities in English and his own language. He knelt down next to Zoe. ‘They said the ambulance’ll be about twenty minutes. Can I do anything?’

‘If they take longer than that, your lambing experience might be needed.’ Despite the pain she was in, Zoe laughed at the look of horror on his face. ‘Just talk,’ she said. ‘Explain why you were stalking me.’

‘I wasn’t
stalking
you. I thought you and Dad were having an affair. Why else would he meet you in secret and delete all your texts as soon as he’d read them? Mum was sick and I hated him for betraying her. So I wanted to find out about you.’

‘Did you think my baby was his too?’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘That must’ve made things worse, given you cause to hate me even more.’

‘But I didn’t plan to hurt you. I’d never do something like that.’

‘You drove straight at me.’

‘No way!’ Ewan shook his head violently. ‘I lost control of the car. It belongs to a friend’s mum, she never drives it, so he’s been letting me use it. The brakes aren’t brilliant.’ He met Zoe’s gaze. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please believe me.’

He looked genuinely remorseful. And so young. With this thought, Zoe remembered something his father—
their
father—had told her. ‘Hold on. You’re only sixteen. You shouldn’t even be driving.’

‘Granddad taught me when I was twelve. He used to let me drive the Land Rover all over his farm. It’s not hard.’

A wave of pain put paid to Zoe’s response. She gripped Ewan’s hand and tried to breathe steadily. As it subsided, she forced herself to keep on talking. ‘When did Andrew tell you about me?’

‘Last night. I couldn’t believe it at first.’

‘I presume he doesn’t know you’re here now.’

‘No. I had to get away and think. And then I realised I had to come and explain. You won’t tell him what I did, will you?’

‘We won’t be able to keep your presence here quiet. And the police won’t let you drive home, once they know how old you are.’