A Wife Worth Dying For

by Wilson Smillie

‘What are you doing?’ Carter now knew he’d been set up and Butler had him cornered. How was he going to get out of this?

  ‘Givin’ you a second chance to open the cuffs before you force me to kill you.’ Butler now held the biggest hunting knife Carter had ever seen; a shiny steel blade with a deadly serrated edge designed for slicing up big game. He came in close and pressed the point of the knife against Carter’s neck, under his good ear. He spoke quietly and quickly, confidence honed by years on the battlefield.

  ‘The skin protecting your jugular vein ‘ere is two millimetres thick, no more. Beneath it are the triangles, the muscles that keep your head up. Next to the ear, they’re also two millimetres thick. Below them is the vein and artery.’

  Carter couldn’t argue.

  ‘The point goes in six millimetres, no more.’ There was joy in his voice, this, after all, was his profession. ‘Once I pull out the point, a thin spray of your blood will paint those cars. Seven-and-a-half minutes later, you’re dead. No pain, so the ragheads told me, just a peaceful but inevitable death. If you don’t ‘ave the key, I’ll cut your arm off below the elbow. You’ll survive, but the screaming—?’

  Carter handed him the key. Butler transferred the knife to his cuffed hand and unlocked the cuff. Once free, he dragged Carter towards a car and kicked the plastic cover off the towing eye. Carter resisted and, with his free hand, took his phone from his pocket.

  ‘That won’t save you,’ Butler said.

  ‘Kelsa,’ Carter replied with trepidation. No rescue party would be coming for him.

  Butler smiled like he was indulging a child. ‘You’re too trusting to be a copper. We was to be married. I was to be fixed, and so was she. Kindred spirits, we was. When you came along, I promised to take you out. She begged me not to but knew I would, so we made a pact.’

  ‘A pact?’

  ‘That she would die to save you,’ Butler smirked. ‘But she couldn’t go through with it, so I must ‘ave my blood.’

  Carter couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard, and Butler made no attempt to grab him and cuff him to the car. He just stood over him, waiting, a knowing smile spreading across his face. ‘All the time in the world, Leccy.’

  ‘She’d die for me. But— you’re saying she’s alive?’

  ‘I’ve tracked every move you made since Las Vegas. You saw the messages on her phone when she was in hospital. Then there’s the interdict keepin’ you away from Dunsmuir’s home. She was inside when you was drunk outside. She gave me the knickers, and the stockings, and the key to your house. All she could talk about was us bein’ together again.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ Carter reacted angrily. Butler knew things he couldn’t know unless Kelsa had told him. ‘You couldn’t have seen her in hospital. I was there most days. I didn’t know then that you’d raped her, but she knew you’d hound her forever. She wanted me to promise I’d care for Nathaniel. The doctor called later to say she’d gone. She was so thin.’

  ‘How was it you made detective?’ Butler said. ‘Before all that, she went to court to secure custody of our boy with the family, and you didn’t even know. After you’d left the hospital at night, I’d come in, and we’d refine the plan. She’d been through the whole Anorexia thing many times. She controlled it. It didn’t control her.

  ‘On her last night, I gave her Scoop and DMT. It slowed her vitals right down. It fooled the doctors, and Kelsa’s doctors was expecting death. Once she was in the mortuary, I revived her and switched bodies with another. Swapped the toe tags too.’

  ‘I don’t – I can’t believe that.’ Carter’s thoughts were a maelstrom. ‘There’re processes, procedures, checks and balances in a mortuary. There are door locks, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘You never saw her lying in the parlour because the old man didn’t want anyone near her. He and me has an arrangement, and he has reasons to stick to it.’

  Once more, it seemed everything Carter had thought was true was a lie. Was Kelsa really in the grave? As a police officer with probable cause, an exhumation would resolve it. What would her family agree to that? No, and he knew why.

  ‘I was there,’ Butler sniggered, relaxing on the bonnet of a car while Carter lay on the concrete. ‘Dunsmuir invited me to the funeral. Kelsa told him you wasn’t to be allowed. But I knew you’d come. It was so funny, everybody crying over a corpse that wasn’t her.’

  Carter held out his phone, pressed play on the video and turned it around so Butler could see. ‘Look at this. The Hilton, inside the bedroom of Mr and Mrs Moore. You’re raping her. This isn’t consensual sex. Look at it – she’s screaming at you to stop, to leave her alone. You’re kicking her, punching her, banging her head off the walls.’

  ‘Loved it rough, she did. Was addicted to being knocked about, always came back for more of daddy’s cock. She liked the girls too, we had a foursome once, two blondes—’

  ‘Shut up, you arsehole.’

  ‘You’re weak, Carter, you’re mentally screwed. Your understandin’ was blighted by grief. You never cared about what happened in 1989 until I shoved it in your face. Total coincidence that we were in the same accident and shared the same woman. A coincidence that will see my vengeance satisfied tonight. You’re the worst kind of son a mother could ‘ave. You’ve denied your old folks the release they’ve earned, so you’re ‘avin’ a binary choice tonight because you can’t be trusted to do the right thing on your own.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Once I’ve sorted you, I’m goin’ to her. She’s far away from her family. It’ll be just her and me.’

  The knife came into play again, and shortly Carter found himself cuffed to a black Mercedes. Butler smashed Carter’s phone on the concrete floor with the knife’s hilt, then went to the access cupboard and returned with a hip flask.

  ‘She pleaded I wasn’t to kill you, but she’s not here. If you like the look of Death when you meet him, just say yes.’

  He checked his watch. ‘Ten minutes. Jenny’s in a rental flat and I’ll pin the address on your corpse.’

  With Carter lying cuffed on the concrete floor, Butler stepped inside his legs and kicked him hard in the testicles. Carter screamed with the agony. Butler crouched and forced Carter’s mouth open further, pouring the contents of the flask down his throat. He coughed and choked, but the pressure reflex in his abdomen made him swallow all of the dark liquid.

  ‘Never tried vodka coke on a bloke. Die or live, Carter, your choice.’

  Within seconds Carter’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he lay supine on the concrete, experiencing the beginning of a kaleidoscopic nightmare. His head lolled to one side. He saw Kelsa standing in the car park, only metres away from him, wearing the clothes she’d worn on Leith Walk. He reached for her.

  She sang to him. ‘Bye-bye Leccy baby, don’t cha cry no more.’

  100

  Inner Space

  Lachlan Carter’s world blurred into a high-speed, time-warped, slow-motion movie of his last moments on earth. Detectives, paramedics, doctors, soldiers, ambulance crew all vied for his attention. Deep inside, he didn’t know why they were prodding, probing and poking him, literally and verbally. It was over. The crabs that had been chewing through his brain had retreated. They’d been beaten back by the seals, and as long as both stayed apart, the battle in his head wouldn’t start up again, and he could just peacefully let go. A shadow stood beside him, anticipating.

  ‘I can’t find a pulse,’ someone shouted. ‘Get him to the Western General now.’

  Jolts, bangs, slams, oxygen. Sways, shouts, rips, injection. Bleeps, horns, blues, twos. Harder jolts, louder bangs, brighter lights, inner darkness. A feeling of his insides being sucked out of his body. Rapid tom-tom thumps on his chest.

  Electrical whining, winding up, screaming, louder, louder, louder. Long beeps. ‘Stand clear, everyone.’

  Boom.

  Dr Lisa Flowers sat on a hard chair in the soulless waiting room. Nick Mason was on the phone, pacing up
and down like a nervous first-time father. Finally, he ended the call.

  ‘Well,’ she asked anxiously. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘They’re on their way from Ayr. They’ll be here in ninety minutes.’

  A man in a green smock entered and identified himself as an A & E nurse. ‘You’re his parents?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Jesus,’ Nick Mason said. ‘Just tell us.’ He made the universal survival sign: thumb up, thumb down.

  ‘He’s back with us.’

  ‘Grandparents are on their way. Maw an’ Paw are deid,’ Mason informed the man.

  ‘The rest of the diagnosis can wait till they get here,’ the nurse said, disappearing.

  ‘Any news on Nathan Butler’s whereabouts?’ Dr Flowers asked Mason anxiously because there wasn’t any other topic they could discuss – now that the question of life had been resolved.

  ‘Vanished. We need Carter to tell us what went down in the car park before he was drugged. The hip flask was on the floor, and he had the note in hand when we got in, giving Jenny’s true location.’

  ‘Well after the deadline, though.’ Dr Flowers wasn’t happy about any of it.

  ‘Too risky,’ Mason defended the approach. ‘Once contact was lost, the Chief Super was convinced damage limitation was the only option.’

  ‘Still, Leccy will be pleased his colleagues moved heaven and earth to rescue him.’ Flowers said, sarcastically.

  Mason ignored the bait. ‘Jenny was in Merchiston, and there was no bomb. She’s badly dehydrated but is otherwise OK. We’ll hear her story once she’s recovered.’

  ‘How will you catch him again?’

  ‘A nationwide campaign on TV and radio, pictures in all the papers, ports and airports alerted, increased searches of vehicles leaving the country. A fugitive can stay in hiding for two or three days, maybe a week, but eventually the milk will turn sour. Somebody will shop him. You don’t look convinced, Lisa. You think he’s got special psycho-powers?’

  ‘You’ve continually underestimated him,’ she retorted. ‘He planned all of this, knowing you couldn’t dismiss the bomb threat as a hoax. He’d planned his escape from custody before you’d even caught him. Realistically, when will you give up?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘He’ll be drinking with Lord Lucan in a few days, I’m sure,’ she said.

  ‘Aye, and he’s deid too,’ said Mason, emphatically.

  Deek and Sarah Carter were shown into the waiting room. After the introductions, Nick Mason gave them a summary of what the police knew. The nurse entered the room again, and the Carters agreed that the police should hear everything he had to say.

  ‘Can we see him?’ Deek Carter asked.

  ‘He’s in intensive care and won’t be going anywhere today. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Will he die?’ Sarah asked fearfully. ‘Deek, what are we going to do?’

  ‘The drug slowed his heartbeat down and caused much of his brain to shut down too,’ the nurse said. ‘When heartbeat and brain function fall to these levels, God casts the dice, and the mix of chemicals in his body decides what happens. He died on the table, but we brought him back with adrenaline.’

  ‘I’m sure Cheryl will allow him a day’s sick leave once she hears that,’ said Mason.

  ‘It’s down to him now,’ said the nurse.

  The door to the waiting room opened, and a woman walked in and identified herself. ‘Angela Murray, orthopaedic trauma, RiE.’ She nodded to the nurse then turned to Lisa Flowers and Nick Mason. ‘I’ve seen you two before. I heard about the incident on TV. They said a policeman had been taken to hospital, so I bet my consulting exam score it was Leccy.’

  ‘You know him?’ the nurse asked.

  ‘We’ve been sparring over a patient of mine, who’s now recovering consciousness. Leccy wanted to know when she re-joined the living.’

  ‘Mr Carter is sedated at the moment.’

  ‘Is it the same drug Alice was given? Ironically, she’s awakened from it, and he’s now under it.’ Dr Murray turned to the nurse again. ‘Can we see him?’

  ‘Well – we don’t usually—’

  ‘I’ll keep them under control.’

  ‘How is Alice?’ Dr Flowers asked. ‘Can she remember anything? Can she speak?’

  ‘She is speaking words, but she can’t hold a conversation.’

  ‘Can I send a couple of constables to question her?’ Nick Mason asked. ‘We only need to know if Butler was the one who raped her.’

  ‘I’ll let you know in a day or two, Inspector.’

  Five minutes later, they were at Carter’s bedside. Around him, five other patients received similar treatment: monitors, wires, oxygen, IVs and hot and cold running nurses. Leccy Carter lay with his head back, eyes closed and taped, propped up with pillows supporting his neck and shoulders, like the other patients. Unlike them, he had no traction wires and no stookies.

  To Deek and Sarah, the distinction between Lachlan, the grandson, and Daniel, the son, was long blurred; they’d never been given a choice to see Daniel fight for his life.

  ‘Oh, Deek,’ Sarah said, tears flowing. ‘He doesn’t look good.’

  ‘What’s the prognosis, Sister?’ Deek asked the oldest of the nurses beside him.

  ‘It’s touch and go right now. It’ll be another day or two before we’ll know for sure.’

  101

  Heels and Toes

  Thirty-six hours later, Deek Carter arrived at the Western General to collect his grandson. Carter walked out unaided and got in the car. ‘How’re you feeling, son?’

  ‘Fine, Faither, just fine,’ Carter said. In truth, his physical wounds would heal, but the man who walked out of hospital wasn’t the same man who’d walked away cuffed to a killer.

  ‘Your gran is keen to look after ye, so don’t disappoint her, eh?’

  ‘Can I use your phone? Mine got broken.’

  ‘Aye.’ The older man handed it over.

  ‘Drive to Murrayfield, Faither, Easter Murray Avenue.’

  ‘What’s there, son?’

  ‘The ghost house.’

  Twenty minutes later they pulled up next to a couple of uniformed coppers. Carter identified himself. ‘Is Nick Mason here?’

  ‘No, Sarge. They were all here yesterday. Crime scene examiners only today.’

  ‘Faither, I can’t take you in. I won’t be long.’

  He identified himself to the lead CSE, was given gloves, shoe covers and a mask.

  ‘Has anything been removed from the house?’

  ‘Not yet, I’m waiting for the nod from your lot.’

  ‘Who’s in charge?’

  ‘DCI McKinlay.’

  ‘Anything you consider interesting? You know the suspect and what he’s alleged to have done?’

  ‘The back room, right-hand side. Big picture window, floor to ceiling glass. Curved, like a rare first-generation New Town property. Your man had class.’

  The double doors that defied him a week ago now invited him in. The hallway was as large as his sitting-room in Liberton and led to the kitchen at the back. The flooring was an intricate, symmetrical parquet design of polished hardwood laid decades ago, in keeping with the exterior design. Butler had bought the place, not built it. Carter assumed someone was tracing where the funds came from. He glanced in the downstairs rooms: modern upgrade, but not the sleek monochrome minimalist look that many moneyed houses chose to adopt.

  The kitchen was as up to date as he expected. There were additional rooms for garden, utilities and a shower-cum-toilet. Outside, the gardens were in winter hibernation, but looked after and tended – not by its owner, he assumed. There would be time for a more in-depth look into the house later. Butler wouldn’t return here, and that meant the police had unfettered access.

  The staircase off the hallway featured a balustrade made from the same wood as the floor. It had a runner with a 180-degree curve, halfway up. Gran’s house, in Gorebridge, had a stair runner, with two ninety-degree
curves, one at the bottom and one at the top. Nowhere near as grand as this one, and he wondered if there was a sinuous connection to Butler’s family home in Deptford. He smiled as he climbed the stairs, careful of the pain between his legs, remembering how he used to slide down the runner on his bum, much to his gran’s annoyance.

  The room the CSE highlighted was easy to find. It offered a fabulous view over the rugby stadium and the city in the foreground and then onwards to the Pentland Hills in the background, twenty miles away. But it was the other contents of the room that got Carter’s attention. A leather-covered armchair occupied the centre of the room; next to it was a side table. On the room’s right-hand side, a bar and gantry were sunk into the wall and stocked with various whiskies, vodkas, rums, and more. He scanned the brands and distilleries; Butler’s preference was islands and lowlands: smoke, peat and lightness, and this again revealed them as men of difference, not concurrence.

  On the left-hand side of the room was a built-in hi-fi. The CSE had opened a set of concealed wooden doors that folded back the whole length of the room, from the back wall to the window, revealing another sunken alcove. Lighting inside the recess, from top, sides and bottom, could be manipulated to pick out cherished items. The lowest shelving held shoes, lots of shoes, two rows high. Women’s dress shoes, all neatly set in their own places, all polished like new. Carter counted twenty pairs for twenty women. In the centre of the top row, a pair of leopard-print shoes with four-inch heels stood out from the rest on a raised plinth.

  Kelsa’s.

  102

  Private Enterprise

  Carter eased himself down the stairs into the isolation tent, where he divested himself of the shoe covers, mask and gloves. He oozed into the car beside Deek and gave him directions into town. On the way, he made a call on Deek’s phone.

  ‘Any luck with Alice?’ he asked his superior officer.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ replied DI Mason. ‘Glad you’ve recovered. Now we’ve been polite, why the fuck are you working? You’re on sick leave.’