* * *
‘I’m not that much of a sci-fi fan myself,’ Russell was saying. Weber and Fischer had told him about their fascination with the Outlander series and that they were going to Drumlanrig because an episode had been filmed there.
‘You haven’t seen it?’ Fischer asked.
‘I don’t watch much television. My sister-in-law does, though. I’ve heard her mention it,’ Russell said.
‘You’re not married?’ Fischer asked.
‘No,’ Russell replied. He glanced over, first at Fischer, then at Weber. He didn’t think much of the brunette, but the blonde sitting next to him was a real beauty. She had high cheekbones, a pert, dimpled chin, and cobalt-blue eyes. She wore her hair plaited in the German style at either side of her head, and there was no doubt in his mind that the colour was natural.
He’d have preferred if the blonde had been on her own, and had hesitated for a moment before picking them up.
Still, there might be a way that could be resolved…
‘I could take you all the way to Drumlanrig if you like,’ he said, then nodded to the rear of the van. ‘I’ve only one more parcel to deliver in Thornhill. It’s only a short distance farther on. If you’d wait till I drop it off.’
Weber smiled. He was gratified to see she had perfect teeth, too.
‘You wouldn’t mind?’ she said.
He grinned. ‘Mind? Of course not. Actually, the castle’s a wee bit off the A76. Three or four miles. It would save you a walk.’
Weber smiled again. ‘That is really very kind of you.’
‘Yes,’ Fischer agreed. ‘We would be happy to stay with you until you deliver your parcel.’
Good, Russell thought. An idea of how to separate them had formed in his mind. Andrew Logan Engineering’s premises was located off the A76 a mile the other side of Thornhill. It was a squat, red-brick building on one level at the foot of a steep, single-track road. There was enough room to turn the van in the car park, which was where he’d put his plan into action.
He had now left the B797 and joined the A76, and the women were still babbling excitedly about Drumlanrig and the two central characters in the Outlander series, Claire Randall and Jamie Fraser.
‘It is such a beautiful country, Scotland,’ Weber said. ‘The mountains, the lochs, and the castles.’
‘Yes,’ Fischer agreed. ‘Many things look as they must have been during Jacobean times.’ She turned to Russell. ‘Do you not think so, John?’
He’d never been all that interested in the past. All that mattered to him was the here and now. But he went along with their enthusiasm.
‘Yes, the country is pretty much unspoilt. As you say, nothing much has changed in centuries,’ he said.
A few minutes later, he gestured at the windscreen. ‘Here we are, girls. Thornhill. The place I’m delivering to is just up ahead.’
He carried on for a couple of miles, then indicated left and turned onto the narrow track leading to Logan’s premises.
The road was flanked by tall hedgerows on either side and, after negotiating a sharp bend halfway down, he arrived at the car park, which was just wide enough to enable him to execute a three-point turn.
He came to a stop with the van facing the exit, then leaned over to Fischer and smiled. ‘Imke,’ he said, ‘would you do me a favour?’
Fischer eyed him curiously. ‘A favour?’
He reached behind the driver’s seat and took out a small leather satchel, opened it, and removed a card-covered notebook. ‘This is my last drop of the day,’ he said. ‘I’m required by law to make a record of delivery times and the van’s mileage.’ He nodded to Logan’s entrance. ‘It’s just a small parcel. Would you take it to the desk and give it to the receptionist?’ He took a pen from his shirt pocket and indicated the journal. ‘Meanwhile I can update my logbook. It’ll save time. We can be on our way to Drumlanrig sooner.’
Fischer nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘Good,’ he said.
Fischer exited the van and waited until he came around and slid open the side door. He took out a small cardboard box, handed it to her, then motioned to the building. ‘Thanks, Imke,’ he said. ‘Just hand it over. It doesn’t need a signature.’
Fischer began walking towards the building. Russell slid back the door and waited until she’d entered, then dashed back around and got inside.
He started the engine and put the van into gear.
‘What are you doing?’ Weber said, a look of alarm on her face. As the vehicle edged forward, she added, ‘No! Wait for Imke.’
‘We’re going without her, sweetheart.’
When Weber turned to the door, Russell put a hand into the satchel, took out the Glock, and pressed it into her side. ‘Try that, sweetheart, and I swear I’ll shoot you.’
Weber glanced at the gun, then shook her head. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked.
‘Never mind,’ Russell said. ‘Just do as I tell you, understand?’
Weber bit her lip. ‘Yes,’ she replied.
Russell placed the pistol on his lap, then drove back up the hill. He had almost reached the top when a police patrol car turned into the road, blocking his escape.
His face clouded with anger as he was forced to stop, then the officer at the passenger side exited the car. He pointed to Russell and shouted, ‘Out of the van.’
Russell wound down the window, then grabbed the Glock and fired twice. The first shot shattered the car’s nearside headlamp, and the second caught the officer in the shoulder.
The patrolman staggered back inside the car, then the driver rapidly backed up the hill, reversing into the road leading to the A76.
Russell drove to the junction. Seeing his exit to the main road blocked by the patrol car, he turned left onto the B2370. A couple of miles farther on, he rounded a bend and saw another police car straddling the road a short distance ahead.
Russell slowed, checked his mirror, and saw the strobing blue light of a second police vehicle at his rear. He was weighing up the chances of ramming the patrol car ahead when it was joined by a police Land Rover.
His eyes scanned for a way out, then he saw a sign fifty yards ahead, which read: ‘FARM COTTAGE TO RENT’.
He turned onto the track and drove a short distance, coming to a halt at a gate behind which was a red-brick cottage. He motioned to Weber and said, ‘Out!’
The girl did as he asked, standing immobile as he walked around the van and grabbed her arm. Russell led her to the door of the cottage and tried the handle, but found it was locked.
He let Weber go, waving the muzzle of the pistol in her face. ‘Don’t make a move,’ he said.
He stuck the Glock in his waistband, took a couple of paces back, then thrust his shoulder at the door. He repeated the action twice more, then the jamb splintered and the door gave way. Russell retrieved the gun and pointed it at his hostage. ‘Inside,’ he said. ‘You and I are going to be here till I sort things out.’
* * *
Knox and the others were passing through Carronbridge on the A76 when Naismith’s phone rang. The caller was the Dumfries and Galloway officer the DCI had spoken to earlier, DI Stewart Campbell.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Campbell said. ‘But Russell’s managed to escape.’
‘What happened?’ Naismith asked.
‘I had three men posted inside Logan Engineering’s premises,’ Campbell replied. ‘I asked them to make sure no cars were visible at the front of the building. The idea was to wait until Russell entered the premises and we’d collar him at reception. But he sent in a girl.’
‘A girl?’
‘Yes. A German tourist by the name of Imke Fischer. She and her friend were hitch-hiking to Thornhill with the intention of visiting Drumlanrig Castle. Russell picked them up near Abington.’
‘What happened to her friend?’
‘I was coming to that, sir,’ Campbell said. ‘After Fischer went in with the parcel, Russell took off with her. The moment my officers r
ealised what was happening, they radioed their colleagues. A patrol car tried to block Russell’s van on the narrow road leading to Logan’s premises. He took a shot at one officer, who was wounded. The driver backed out of the way, but managed to stop him rejoining the A76. Russell turned into the B2370, where two of our vehicles were waiting. When Russell saw them, he turned off the road.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He forced his way into an empty farm cottage,’ Campbell replied. ‘My men have the place surrounded.’
‘Is the ARV team there, too?’ Naismith asked.
‘Only just arrived, sir. It came all the way from Annan.’
‘You’re at the scene?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Knox keyed in the B2370 coordinates into his Passat’s sat nav, then turned to Naismith. ‘We’re about six miles away, Alan.’
The DCI nodded, then spoke into his phone. ‘Okay, Stewart,’ he said. ‘We’ll be with you in ten minutes.’
Chapter Twenty-two
When they arrived at the scene, Knox saw five police vehicles and a dozen or so officers clustered around the start of a short, rutted track.
Russell’s van was parked at a gate at the end. A small yard was located to the left of the cottage, at the edge of which stood a barn that was partially obscured by trees.
Campbell introduced the others, among whom was a four-man armed response team headed by a tall sergeant called McCarthy.
‘Have you tried to contact Russell yet?’ Naismith asked Campbell after the DI affected introductions.
‘No,’ Campbell replied. ‘We’ve the owner’s landline number, but the phone’s disconnected.’
Knox took out his mobile, scrolled through its contacts list, then pressed call. A moment later Hathaway answered, ‘Yes, boss?’
‘Is Mackenzie still with you?’ Knox asked.
‘Yes, boss. I detained him in case Russell got back in touch.’
‘Good, Mark. Get Russell’s mobile number off him, will you? Text it to me ASAP.’
‘Okay, boss.’
Knox ended the call and turned to Campbell. ‘Are any of your team trained in hostage negotiation?’
Campbell shook his head. ‘Dave Cosgrove’s the only one at Dumfries who’s completed the course. He’s currently on another job.’
Knox acknowledged this with a nod, then his phone beeped as Hathaway’s text arrived. He turned to Naismith, who shrugged. ‘You speak to him, Jack,’ the DCI said. ‘We can’t wait until Cosgrove’s dragged off whatever case he’s on and brought here.’
Knox keyed in the number and a moment later Russell answered, ‘Yeah?’
‘Don?’ Knox said.
‘Who’s that?’ Russell sounded edgy, ill-at-ease.
‘Detective Inspector Jack Knox. We spoke at Merchiston.’ He paused. ‘You’ve got a young woman with you? Lena Weber?’
‘I have,’ Russell replied. A moment’s silence, then, ‘I’ve got a gun, too. A Glock 17. Plus two spare clips.’
‘Yes, I know. I spoke to your brother.’
‘Ryan said I’d a gun? I told him I’d got rid of it.’
‘He wasn’t sure if you had or not,’ Knox said. ‘Look, Don, Ryan’s only concerned for your welfare.’ A pause, then, ‘Why don’t you give yourself up?’
‘Oh, aye,’ Russell said mockingly. ‘And spend the rest of my life in Saughton?’ There was a moment’s silence, then he added, ‘Or Carstairs? Maybe you think I’m some kind of nutjob?’ A short pause, then he continued, ‘Give myself up? Not bloody likely. Your lot had better bugger off and allow me free passage out of here. You know what’ll happen if you don’t.’
‘We can’t do that, Don,’ Knox said. ‘Come on, son. Let the girl go. She’s done you no harm.’
Knox heard Russell give a snort of derision. ‘She’s done me no harm, I agree,’ he said, ‘but I swear I’ll do her some. A fucking bullet in the head, if you don’t do as I say.’ He said nothing for a long moment, then added, ‘I’m switching this phone off now. You’ve five minutes, then I’m coming out. The bitch will have the Glock’s muzzle pressed to her throat and my finger on the trigger. I want clear passage back to the A76 and no tails – on the road or in the air. If I see a cop anywhere near, I’ll let her have it.’
Knox had his mobile switched to speaker mode and the others had heard the conversation. As he ended the call, Naismith said, ‘We can’t bargain with him.’
Knox shook his head. ‘No, Alan, we can’t. There’s a real chance he’ll kill her.’
Sergeant McCarthy, the senior armed response officer, addressed Naismith. ‘The roof of that barn gives clear sight of the cottage,’ he said. ‘More, the approach is obscured by trees.’ He nodded to one of his men who, like himself, was clad in black fatigues. The man was in his mid-thirties, slightly-built, with close-cropped hair. ‘Rory Gifford’s my best marksman,’ he added. ‘With your permission, sir, I’d like to go to the barn and help him onto the roof. He’ll be armed with a Heckler and Koch G3, rifle and sight.’
‘You think Gifford can take him out?’ Naismith asked.
McCarthy nodded. ‘Yes, sir. No question.’
‘You understand Russell will have the Glock at her neck?’ Knox said.
‘I do, sir,’ McCarthy replied. ‘All Gifford needs is for him to take the muzzle away for a fraction of a second. Then he’ll act.’
Knox turned to Naismith, who nodded. ‘There’s no other way, Jack,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ Knox said, then to McCarthy, ‘Do you have a megaphone?’
‘Yes,’ McCarthy replied, pointing to the Range Rover. ‘There’s one in the ARV.’
‘Good,’ Knox said. ‘I’ll wait till Gifford’s in place then tell Russell we’re agreeing to his demands. We’ll move the vehicles back out of sight of the track. Radio me when you’re in position. But, sergeant…’
‘Sir?’
‘Tell Gifford to take the shot only if he’s sure he can get Russell without risking the hostage.’
‘Sir.’
McCarthy went to the Range Rover and removed a megaphone, which he gave to Knox; then he and Gifford took their weapons and moved cautiously along the path, taking care to keep to the trees and out of sight of the farmhouse.
A few moments later they arrived at the rear of the barn. Gifford slung the rifle over his shoulder, then McCarthy cupped his hands and gave his colleague a leg-up. Once Gifford had elbowed his way into position on the sloping roof, the sergeant radioed Knox.
‘We’re in place,’ he said. ‘Gifford’s got a clear line of sight to the cottage door.’
‘Okay,’ Knox replied. ‘We’ve moved the cars. Tell Gifford to get ready. I’m about to give Russell a shout.’
The radio crackled in response. ‘Sir,’ McCarthy replied.
Knox switched on the megaphone and called out: ‘Russell! This is Knox speaking. We’ve moved away from the entrance and you’ve clear access to the A76. You can come out now. But remember… no harm must come to the girl.’
The radio crackled into life again. McCarthy said, ‘He’s coming out with the hostage.’
McCarthy relayed this information from the corner of the barn, then dodged back out of sight. As he moved, the heel of his boot caught a length of dry twig, which snapped with a resounding crack. His colleague, meanwhile, had the G3 sighted on Russell’s forehead.
What happened next was over in seconds.
When he heard the snap, Russell flinched, then took the pistol from Weber’s throat and swung it in the direction of the barn.
Gifford chose that exact moment to trigger the rifle. The high-velocity round ripped into Russell’s head just above his right eye, throwing him back through the doorway.
Weber screamed and ran to the gate. ‘Target hit,’ McCarthy said over the radio. ‘I repeat, Russell is down and the hostage is making her way towards you now.’
* * *
McCann and Herkiss drove Weber back to Logan Engineering, where they picked up Fischer and re
turned both girls back to Edinburgh. There, Weber was treated for a mild case of shock and the women’s statements were taken. Naismith arranged transport back to the airport, where the companions boarded a flight back to Stuttgart.
‘Mr Andrew Logan, boss of Logan Engineering, offered the girls a return trip for early next year,’ McCann told Knox. ‘He’s offered to pay for flights, accommodation, transport and admittance to Drumlanrig Castle.’
‘Nice gesture,’ Knox said.
‘It was,’ McCann agreed. ‘The girls were delighted, despite their ordeal.’
The detectives were assembled in the Major Incident Inquiry Room, and a few moments later Naismith left his office and joined them. ‘I’ve just taken a call from the Chief Constable,’ he said. ‘The media have been quite fulsome in their praise, and of course he’s delighted with the outcome. He’s asked me to extend my congratulations to you all.’
He turned to Mason and added, ‘You’ll be pleased to hear, Yvonne, that the Procurator Fiscal won’t be taking further action on the stop by Traffic officers at Abbeyhill. What’s more, Chief Superintendent Mullin’s upheld my charge against Reilly for insubordination and attempting to bring the reputation of a fellow officer into disrepute. Reilly has been knocked back two grades to Detective Constable and suspended from duty for six months.’
Mason gave a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Alan,’ she said.
‘You’re welcome, Yvonne,’ Naismith said.
The DCI rubbed his hands together, looked at Knox, and then Herkiss and McCann. ‘The Chief’s called us back to Gartcosh, Jack. Effective immediately. Warburton’s been advised he can return and take up his post here again tomorrow morning.’ He grinned. ‘Your fiefdom is all yours again.’
Knox extended his hand. ‘It’s been a pleasure working with you and your colleagues, Alan.’
Fulton, Hathaway and Mason chimed their agreement, then Naismith said, ‘With the exception of Reilly, eh?’
‘There are always exceptions,’ Knox said.
* * *
After the Gartcosh officers had left, Knox said goodnight to Fulton and Hathaway, then went over to Mason. ‘We never did get around to celebrating my birthday properly, did we?’ he said.
Murder at Flood Tide Page 15
