A Wife Worth Dying For

by Wilson Smillie

  Flowers and Podolski barred Moore’s way at an exit. He stopped and grinned at them.

  ‘It’s all fucking birds these days.’

  Reinforcement appeared from the stage wearing a Santa hat. Miss Chris tagged up with Flowers and Podolski at the door.

  ‘If you think you’re hard enough big man—’

  Moore punched Miss Chris full in the face before she’d finished her sentence. The club’s foundations shook when she hit the floor. Flowers stood her ground, but Moore grabbed her by her blonde ponytail and launched her over a table.

  Ellen decided she should let him leave. Stepping over Miss Chris, Moore disappeared through the door.

  When Carter finally got outside, Moore had gone. The bowling green grass was winter long and crowded with crying women and stunned men. He grabbed a girl by the arm. ‘The big guy, did he pass you? Did you see him?’

  ‘Don’t touch me.’ She recognised him in the dim outside lighting. ‘This is all your fault.’ Her boyfriend began to take an interest, but Carter rushed through the gate that led into the car park. It too was full of shocked and bewildered people. Beyond the car park was Hunter Square, with plenty of escape options: lanes, side streets and vennels. To his left, the road climbed up Bonnybank Road. Main Street was fifty metres away, all downhill.

  His phone pinged.

  [2019-01-23:2209] Nice, Carter, very nice, but not nice enough. You’ve hurt a lot of people. I don’t think you’ll get invited back anytime soon. The railway station in 5 mins. J.

  Carter ran the two-hundred-metre length of Main Street, careful not to tumble down the steep hill. The road swung left and down over the railway bridge, past the station some four hundred metres further. He saw no sign of Moore. At the corner of the bridge, he rested past a narrow vennel, breathing hard, hands on his knees.

  Strong arms pulled him inside the narrow passageway, pinballing him hard off its stone walls. A knee found his crotch, and he cried out in pain as Moore pressured his balls and squeezed his throat at the same time. Carter felt his head twist up and around, so his right cheek scraped off the rough sandstone. Moore punched him under the ribs with his right fist.

  ‘It’s no’ your time, Carter, so you’ll live tonight. But listen well.’ His mouth was up against Carter’s left ear. ‘You’re a dead man, an’ I’ll take you when I’m ready. She played you. Told me fuckin’ you was tame, an’ you was soft in the head, as well as the trousers. But you’re special, Carter, ’cos no man shares my girl. You die when I tell you to die. Got it?’

  Carter felt his earlobe being bitten hard but couldn’t scream because of the compression on his throat. As the pressure came off his balls, he relaxed, but it was the wrong thing to do. Moore’s knee smacked him hard in the testicles, twice. He crumpled onto the ancient slabs in agony, throwing up whatever was in his stomach.

  ‘By the way, your patter’s pish.’

  The kick to his face smashed his skull against the wall, and he blacked out.

  78

  Walking Wounded

  Carter woke up on a trolley and tried to get off it. A monitor squealed, alerting NHS reinforcements, who arrived in surgical green.

  ‘Take it easy,’ one of the cavalry said, gently pushing him backwards.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Carter looked around. His sight was blurry, but he could hear Nick Mason’s Glasgow slur and Lisa Flowers’ clipped tones talking, along with those of others he didn’t recognise.

  ‘You’re in A & E. Do you know what that is?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Carter, don’t be more of a clown than you’ve been.’ Nick Mason sat on a seat against a puce-coloured wall and began to take shape through Carter’s fuzzy eyes. Beside Mason, Dr Flowers seemed subdued. As Carter’s eyes adjusted to working again, he was able to see her bruised face, red eyes and dishevelled hair.

  ‘What happened to you?’ he asked.

  ‘He asked me to get out of his way. I didn’t, so he threw me over a table. I was lucky, better than Charli. At least Ellen was able to drive home.’

  The memory jolted him back into focus, causing him to sit up too quickly. His head spun as the blood drained off and he crashed back onto the trolley. The monitor whined its annoyance but was silenced.

  ‘You’ve been sedated, Mr Carter,’ said a man dressed in green, wearing glasses. ‘Don’t get up. You might have a fracture in your skull, so the only place you’re going tonight is radiology.’

  ‘Moore has vanished,’ Mason informed him. ‘Someone called 999. The village was quickly awash with paramedics and ambulances, and you were found lying unconscious on the street. It’s made the late TV news too. The boss is incandescent.’

  ‘What did he do to you?’ Carter asked. ‘I didn’t see it. Or maybe I did.’

  ‘A Glesca kiss,’ Mason replied. ‘Broke my nose again. The docs here reset it. Again.’

  ‘And Charli?’

  ‘Sore head, possible wrecked knee,’ Dr Flowers said. ‘She’s having an MRI scan now. Her neck brace is cautionary. She won’t be training at the gym for a while.’

  Carter turned his head slowly towards the nurse who was adjusting his drip. ‘What’s so bad with me that I’m drugged up?’

  ‘Well . . .’ she started to list his ailments. ‘There’s potential short-term memory loss. Your left earlobe has been bitten off. Your skull may be cracked – and your testicles are traumatised,’ she said. ‘Give it three months at least before you try to use them again.’

  ‘Can I walk?’

  ‘Stand up slowly with support. No running and definitely no wanking.’

  ‘Any bad news?’

  ‘Bruised ribs under your left arm and battered kidneys, too. There might be more internal organ damage, so you’re staying here for twenty-four hours at least. A bed’s coming free, we need this trolley for serious cases.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘You’ll live. Many don’t.’

  ‘There’s a car waiting for us.’ Nick Mason stood up. ‘Any update you want me to give to the boss? Apart from the stunning success of your meticulously planned sting? The inquiry will ream you for not having troops on standby, in case the audience rioted at your shitty punchlines.’

  ‘He turned up though, so it proves he’s tracking me.’

  ‘We’ll be meeting our new colleagues from the MIT later today, no doubt. Not you though, Leccy, you’ll officially be on sick leave. C’mon.’ Dr Flowers and DI Mason got up and walked away.

  ‘Lisa,’ Carter called her. ‘A minute?’

  Lisa Flowers turned back and came to his trolley. The nurse had abandoned him for a moment. ‘Thanks for coming tonight. If I’d thought this would happen—’

  She laid a hand on his bare arm. ‘I learned something tonight.’ Her eyes moistened, and she wiped away the beginnings of tears. ‘I’d always thought I was a big girl. I’d sat across the table with psychos like Moore and never flinched. But tonight, when he confronted me, ready for violence, I realised I was in a cage with a bear. He could’ve killed me anytime he wanted. I’ve got massive respect for you and Nick, for fronting up. With hindsight, you should’ve taken McKinlay’s advice and brought reinforcements.’

  ‘He’d have spotted them early and not shown up. We’ve taken a kicking tonight, but we’ve learned he’s real. Not a ghost.’

  ‘I’m worried about Charli,’ said Dr Flowers.

  ‘You don’t win kickboxing gold without injuries and setbacks.’ Carter’s eyes were glassy, but he couldn’t feel any pain. ‘We’ve got Moore in our sights. It’s a matter of time now.’

  ‘You’re still going after him, aren’t you?’ she said with a tremor in her voice.

  ‘I don’t have a choice. You said it yourself, this is all about me. And Kelsa.’

  ‘Did he say anything when he attacked you?’

  ‘Nothing that helps us find him again.’

  ‘Remember, he wants you to be angry, to lose the plot, so he keeps co
ntrol.’

  ‘He’s a scumbag, Lisa. He might be bigger, and he thinks he’s smarter, but he’s still a scumbag.’ Carter lost his train of thought for a few seconds, then it came back. ‘When this is over – and it’ll be over soon – we’ll have a drink together to celebrate.’

  She smiled, ignoring the tears trickling down her face. She leaned over the trolley and kissed him on the forehead as a brace of A & E nurses came striding down the corridor.

  ‘Time for your scan, Mr Carter. Let’s see what’s inside that thick skull.’

  ‘Do something for me, Lisa,’ he said as they wheeled him away. ‘Go back to Gorebridge and get my car.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Bring it here.’

  ‘You can’t drive.’

  ‘But you can.’

  79

  Reset and Recovery

  Sometime later, Carter woke. He felt disorientated all over again and tried to sit up. A monitor complained about this unregulated movement with a high-pitched blast. Instantly, it was silenced. A hand was placed on his bare chest, pushing him back safely onto the bed. The touch was cool and soft.

  ‘It’s OK,’ a soothing female voice said. ‘You’re fine. You’re in hospital. You asked to see me, remember?’

  Carter turned to the direction of the voice, struggling to connect memory with sight. A woman with long mousey hair tumbling over her shoulders stood beside his bed wearing a stethoscope around her neck. A light blue open-necked blouse revealed cleavage that stirred a sensation in Carter’s bruised testicles. The flat shoes she wore were perfectly designed to conceal her approach to unsuspecting patients.

  ‘Apparently, I didn’t make that much of an impression on you, Sergeant Carter, but your imprint is on me. Nurse Donaldson told me where to find you. Don’t worry if you don’t remember, it’ll be the drugs.’

  Like two pieces of string that just wouldn’t touch, Carter’s memory still couldn’t connect with—

  ‘Angela Murray,’ she put him out of his misery. ‘A doctor of this parish.’

  The fuzziness cleared, and the connections clicked. ‘Alice Deacon.’

  ‘Our mutual friend. You came off worst in a fight with Joe Moore, the rapist.’

  ‘You’re wasted here,’ Carter mumbled. ‘There’s a career as a stage mind-reader calling.’

  ‘I spoke to your colleague in the waiting room, Dr Flowers. She gave me the highlights.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Resting. The waiting room isn’t designed for a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Alice—’

  Murray smiled. ‘As she was, but the signs are good. The brain is an amazing organ, and it’ll bring her back when it feels she’s ready.’

  ‘Speech?’

  ‘You’re full of it, as I remember. Must be a giddy night out when you’re buying the drinks. To answer your eloquent question, I won’t know until she reboots. There’s nothing obvious to prevent her from speaking again, assuming she can remember what happened.’

  ‘As long as she remembers.’

  A nurse approached them, carrying a mobile phone. ‘Your phone keeps buzzing,’ she aimed the device towards Carter. ‘Seeing as you’re awake.’

  Carter took the phone, silenced the buzz and started reading.

  ‘How is he?’ Dr Murray asked the nurse for her opinion.

  ‘He’ll live – no conclusion on the skull fracture, watching brief recommended. Bruised kidneys will make pissing fun. Other than that, and the pain in his bollocks, only the drugs are keeping him from entertaining the dead.’

  Carter came back to the party. ‘Nurse, can you ask Dr Flowers to come through?’

  ‘Duty calls,’ said Dr Murray. ‘Behave yourself, DS Carter, if that is your first name.’

  ‘Lachlan, and only on a Sunday before church. Leccy to everyone else.’

  ‘Don’t be a stranger, Leccy.’ She walked out of the ward just as Dr Flowers came in and gave her second look. The nurse returned to her station.

  ‘What time is it?’ Carter asked.

  Dr Flowers looked exhausted. ‘Four, give or take. I need to go to bed.’

  ‘Not now, Petal. You have the car? Find my clothes, we’re leaving.’

  ‘Where are we going at this time of night?’

  ‘Princes Street Gardens.’

  80

  Trainspotting

  Before they got in the car, Carter deviated to the gents’ toilets.

  ‘I need to check the plumbing,’ he said. ‘Two minutes.’

  ‘Fuck, fuck—’ The stream of piss was like hot iron filings and crushed glass heated to melting point. He grabbed the piping of the urinal to stop himself fainting. Slowly, the pain receded with the flow, but he knew it would be back. Washing his hands, he observed that the man in the mirror had genuinely been in the wars. He took a deep breath and looked closer. His cheeks were puffy like a boxer’s, and his face was covered in cuts and bruises. His left eye was bloodshot, adding colour contrast to the steel-grey iris. A plaster crossed his nose for a reason he couldn’t recall. Only his white hair was fashionable, but it needed a wash. He angled his head to check out the torn earlobe, but it was wrapped in a thin dressing like the rugby players use on TV. It throbbed, and it would remind him of Moore for the rest of his life.

  ‘Why are we here?’ Dr Flowers asked him, twenty minutes later.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Carter replied to her reasonable question. They’d approached the city from the south, along Potterrow, past the McEwan Hall. Now they rumbled along George IV Bridge. There was no traffic in the chill of early morning. Lawnmarket and the Mound were next, then down onto Princes Street where he commanded her to stop. He extracted himself from the Smart car like a farmer lambing a sheep and hobbled across to the West Garden gates. They were locked and chained. Getting into the car was like putting the lamb back in.

  ‘Drive to the next set of gates,’ he pointed along the totally deserted avenue of Princes Street.

  ‘I’ll check them,’ Dr Flowers said. ‘Otherwise, it’ll be daylight before we’re finished.’

  Five minutes later they sat in the car staring at the final set of black-painted gates on King Stables Road at the West End of Princes Street. The timeless monolith of Edinburgh Castle Rock towered above them. The gardens were in darkness, and all the gates were locked.

  ‘So, what drove you to leave your warm hospital bed and drive all the way into town?’ she queried.

  ‘He told me to come here.’

  ‘Joe Moore texted you?’ There was shock in her tone and fear in her face. ‘As himself, or as “J”?’

  ‘As “J”. He knows now that we can track him. Look.’

  She read the message on Carter’s phone.

  [2019-01-24:0405] Princes Street Gardens. The consequence of your rash attempt to interfere with my plan of vengeance. You didn’t take me seriously, so there’s a price to pay. J.

  ‘Are we tracking him?’

  ‘Well, I thought we’d take him down at the club,’ Carter replied, regretfully. ‘So I haven’t asked DCI McKinlay for permission for tracking yet – it requires top brass approval. But it’s unlikely he’ll be using that same phone and SIM anymore.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Call the police.’

  On cue, a strobing neon-blue light pinballed off the buildings at the Grassmarket end of King Stables Road. A police van rounded the corner at speed, heading straight for the Smart car.

  ‘That’s impressive,’ said Dr Flowers.

  Carter said nothing. The van stopped a few feet away but kept its headlights on full beam, dazzling them. Uniformed police tumbled from the van and rushed to the locked gates. One PC came to the driver’s side of the Smart car and tapped on the window. Dr Flowers pressed the window button.

  ‘What you two up to, then?’ said PC, casting his eyes around to see if the occupants’ clothing was loose. ‘You’ll have to move, there’s a police incident.’

  Carter reached into his jacket pocke
t and flashed his card. ‘This is Dr Lisa Flowers, a police psychologist. We were ordered to come here. What do you know?’

  ‘Sir,’ PC said, changing his tone. ‘British Transport Police. We’re securing the scene from this end. The City Council was supposed to open the gate. We don’t usually call the ‘tecs till it’s official.’

  Another set of headlights appeared behind them. A man in plainclothes got out of his car, walked to the gate, unlocked it, returned to his car and drove off. The PCs started blocking off the road and wrapping crime scene tape around the open metal gates.

  ‘It’ll be a woman,’ Carter said.

  ‘Can we drive in?’ Dr Flowers attempted to secure an advantage. ‘The Sergeant here has a disability.’

  PC nodded. Dr Flowers drove through the gates and negotiated the narrow road at crawling speed. She passed a bridge that spanned the railway cutting, but kept right, where the road narrowed to a pathway. She parked tight on the right, leaving space for other vehicles.

  Carter eased himself carefully out of the car.

  ‘You alright there, big man?’ called a uniform, seeing Carter’s struggle. ‘We’ve got a stick if you need it. Left the wheelie back at the depot, mind.’

  ‘Was that a guess?’ Dr Flowers asked quietly. Behind them the coppers had spread out, loosely searching, delaying the moment when they’d find a body.

  ‘Probability says it’s a woman. These guys are not Police Scotland, but Bilston Glen will be aware of what’s going on.’

  On their left was narrow-mesh metal fencing, designed to stop climbers accessing the railway cutting that ran past Castle Rock. Partway down the tarmac slope was a substantial wrought iron gate, locked by a heavy padlock and chain.