The Demon Club

by Scott Mariani

‘Stop worrying. If they were going to make their move on her, they’d have done it during the night.’

  ‘Still, I’ll be happier when we get there.’

  The Police Scotland HQ was situated right on the edge of town, off an open stretch of bypass road with misty hills and the looming shape of Ben Nevis dominating the background and nothing but empty fields opposite. A large car park separated the building from the road. It was after eight a.m. when Jeff passed the car park entrance, slowing down so he and Tuesday could take in the scene.

  A number of vehicles were already there as officers and station staff reported for work. Sure enough, Grace’s old green Land Rover was among them, mud-spattered and incongruous next to her co-workers’ shiny newer saloons and hatchbacks. And just as expected, not far away from the Landy the black Range Rover was parked. The tinted windows hid its occupants from sight, but Jeff and Tuesday were sure the two watchers were sitting inside it, observing the station entrance.

  Jeff rolled on by, drove a little further up the road and found a layby next to some unmanned roadworks where a battered old Transit van wouldn’t look out of place.

  Tuesday was still fretting. ‘Great, so she’s here and so are we, but how the hell can we make contact with her?’

  ‘We’re just going to have to improvise,’ Jeff said. He tore open a sandwich pack from his bag of provisions. ‘Breakfast?’

  ‘What’ve we got?’

  ‘Anything you like, as long as it’s ham and egg.’

  ‘Guess I’ll have ham and egg.’

  More waiting, more watching. Jeff and Tuesday took turns observing the car park and the building through Reaper’s compact binoculars. Vehicles arrived at the police station. Others left. People went in and out of the entrance, some in uniform, others in civilian clothes. Grace didn’t appear. The black Range Rover just sat there, no sign of movement from within. The watchers didn’t seem concerned that anyone might come out to question what they were doing there.

  Midday came. The inside of the van grew hot. Jeff produced a bottle of spring water and said, ‘Ye need tae hydrate, laddie.’

  ‘Knock off the accent, will you? It hurts my ears.’

  ‘Touchy.’

  They kept watching the building, knowing that they could be here for some time. But then, at 12.27 p.m., Tuesday nudged Jeff’s arm and said, ‘She’s coming out.’

  Grace wasn’t alone. With her was a sandy-haired woman of about the same age, dressed in civvies, either a plain-clothes officer or a civilian admin staffer. Grace was still wearing most of her uniform but could have passed for a regular citizen, in the same raincoat and cap she’d left home with. Jeff took the binoculars from Tuesday and tracked her as she and her companion trotted down the steps from the building and crossed the car park towards her Land Rover. The breeze off the hills made Grace’s black hair stream out from under her cap. The two women were laughing as though sharing a joke.

  ‘She really has no idea she’s being followed, does she?’ Jeff commented.

  Tuesday asked, ‘Where are they going?’

  ‘Lunch break, maybe.’

  ‘They don’t have a staff canteen?’

  ‘Have you ever eaten in a cop shop canteen?’ Jeff asked. ‘I have.’

  ‘Bad?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  Grace and her sandy-haired friend got in the Landy and it pulled out of its parking space with a puff of smoke. As it neared the gates the black Range Rover came to life and followed. Jeff started up the Transit. ‘Show time.’

  Grace turned left onto the bypass. The Range Rover shadowed her at a discreet distance. Jeff hung back, keeping about twenty car lengths between himself and the watchers. There was little other traffic. At the end of the road Grace took another left off a roundabout and headed towards town. Her driving style was relaxed and casual. After about quarter of a mile she turned into another car park, this one belonging to an edge-of-town pub called the Thistle.

  It was now 12.34 p.m. and the place seemed to be doing a roaring lunchtime trade. Grace slotted into one of the few remaining spaces and she and her friend got out just as the black Range Rover rolled into the car park. They didn’t so much as glance at it. Jeff passed by the Thistle and halted fifty yards down the street, within sight of the entrance. They watched as Grace and her friend entered the crowded pub. The watchers stayed put inside their car.

  Tuesday said, ‘Now what? We’re still no closer to her than before, with those guys sticking to her like a magnet. Soon as she’s finished lunch she’ll go back to work and we’ll be back where we started.’

  ‘I’ve had an idea,’ Jeff replied with a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Wait. Let them get settled in first.’

  Tuesday scowled. ‘I have no problem with waiting, as long as I know what the hell I’m waiting for.’

  ‘Chill out. You’ll see. We might have caught a break here.’

  Exactly four minutes after Grace and her friend had vanished inside the pub, at 12.38 p.m., Jeff took out his burner phone.

  Tuesday’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘What are you doing? You can’t call her, remember? The bad guys could be listening in to every word.’

  Jeff grinned. He replied, ‘I’m not calling her.’

  Chapter 35

  Wolf tossed Ben the remains of the miniature body cam the dead guy had been wearing. Ben examined it. There was no doubt about what it was. Saunders and his associates hadn’t been content for the clean-up team simply to report back to them. They’d wanted a live-streamed window on the entire process. Whatever they’d come here to find, they were extremely serious about it.

  A terrible chill filled the whole of Ben’s body as the realisation of what that meant hit him like a striking bullet. There was no longer any chance of concealing what had happened here, or of trying to play for more time. His energy drained away and he wanted to curl up on the floor beside Frank’s body. Because he understood that Grace was dead, or soon would be. Hidden in their towers, the enemy had observed every detail of what just happened, and who had killed their men. They knew that Jaden Wolf was still alive. Knew that they’d been tricked.

  The same all-seeing eye that had caught out Wolf in the grounds of Karswell Hall that night had now done the same to Ben. He’d walked right into their trap. And now he would have to face the consequences.

  Ben slowly trudged down the stairs, stepped over the other two dead bodies and brushed past Wolf without even looking at him. He felt as if he was walking through a trance.

  Wolf asked, ‘Where are you going?’

  Ben didn’t reply.

  Wolf said, ‘Well, you might not be interested, but I’m going back up for that computer. Otherwise we’ll have come here for sweet bugger all.’

  Ben no longer cared about the laptop. He crossed the hallway without bothering to walk around the blood pool, and left a trail of sticky red prints all the way into the kitchen where he made a bee-line for the collection of whisky bottles on the side. Quality single malts, all of them, though it wouldn’t have mattered if they’d been the worst kind of rot-gut. He grabbed two. Stuck one in his pocket and carried the other back out into the hallway. Wolf had come back downstairs with the Dell. He looked at Ben with concern and asked, ‘You okay?’

  Ben replied, ‘No.’

  Wolf checked his watch. 12.32 p.m. They’d been inside the house longer than felt comfortable. Neighbours could have heard the sounds of gunfire. ‘We’d better get out of here.’

  It seemed like an endless trek back to where they’d concealed the Alpina. By the time they got there, Ben was dragging his feet and bowed like a man on his way to the gallows. Wolf said, ‘Probably best if I drive,’ and held his hand out for the keys. Ben nodded dumbly and passed them to him, then slumped in the passenger side. Wolf laid Abbott’s laptop on the back seat, jumped in behind the wheel and they took off with a roar.

  Wolf sped along the rural roads to put as much distance as possible
, as fast as possible, between them and Abbott’s place. He had no idea where he was meant to be going. He blitzed through a place called Devil’s Dyke. Past wide open stretches of countryside, woodland and farm land, one golf course and then another. They’d been driving aimlessly for almost twenty minutes when Wolf finally pulled off the road. He killed the engine and turned to Ben, who hadn’t spoken a word.

  Wolf said, ‘I can’t do this on my own. You going to say something or what?’

  ‘I killed her,’ Ben said sullenly.

  ‘Don’t be bloody daft. You can’t know that.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Ben replied. ‘I might as well have put the gun to her head myself. What else do you think they’ll do, after what we’ve just done? They saw us, Jaden.’

  Wolf said nothing for a while, then shook his head. ‘You couldn’t have known, Ben.’

  ‘Yes, I could. I should have seen it from the start. Should have gone straight up there to Scotland to take care of things, instead of messing around London and Spain looking for you.’

  ‘You said yourself, it was too risky,’ Wolf reminded him. ‘There were a dozen reasons why it would’ve been a bad idea, remember? Besides, if you hadn’t come looking for me, I’d be a dead man now. The guy with the hook.’

  ‘Saved one, sacrificed another,’ Ben said with a dark laugh that came out more like a groan.

  ‘I know you’d have sooner had it the other way round, pal. I don’t blame you for that. And I’m sorry.’

  Ben’s reply was to grab one of the whisky bottles, tear off the foil and twist out the cork.

  Wolf said, ‘Bit early for that, don’t you think?’

  Ben said nothing. He put the bottle to his lips and drank down a long, stinging gulp. It tasted like what he needed. He took another gulp.

  Wolf stared at him, then heaved an exasperated sigh. ‘Here, give me your damn phone.’ He leaned across and fished in Ben’s pocket. Ben didn’t try to stop him. Wolf found Abbott’s burner in there, too, and shoved it into the glove box. ‘Never mind that worthless prick for now. What’s Grace’s mobile number?’

  Ben knew it by heart and reeled it off. He swallowed another gulp. Still just a short way down the road to oblivion. Two full bottles should just about get him to where he wanted to be.

  ‘While some of us are drinking themselves to death,’ Wolf said, ‘others are gonna get things done.’ He dialled the number for Grace’s mobile, but there was no reply. ‘She’s got it turned off. Does she have a landline?’

  Ben knew that too. He recited the number, and Wolf keyed it in. Same result. ‘Damn it,’ Wolf breathed. Jumping online, he ran a search for ‘PC Grace Kirk Scotland’ and found the number of the station in Fort William. He called it and asked if she was available. The receptionist checked, then came back a moment later and told him that PC Kirk had left the station for her lunch break but was expected back soon.

  Wolf glanced again at his watch. It was just gone one p.m. Bad timing. He asked, ‘Do you know where she went?’

  ‘Sorry, sir, I can’t give out that information, even if I knew.’

  ‘I get it. Can you ask her to call me back the moment she returns from lunch? Tell her it’s Ben and give her this number.’ Wolf read out the number of the burner. ‘Please tell her it’s extremely important that she call me immediately.’

  The receptionist said she’d pass the message along. Wolf thanked her, ended the call and then turned to Ben. ‘See? She’s not dead. Which means this ain’t over yet.’

  Ben said nothing. It had been a long, long time since he’d last broken down and resorted to the bottle like this. Several inches of whisky were gone. Plenty more to go.

  Wolf said, ‘Fine. If you’re passed out unconscious by the time she calls back, I’ll tell her to get the hell away. Disappear. We’ll RV with her somewhere and get her out. Are you listening to a word I say?’

  Ben would have given anything in the world for it to be that simple. But he and Wolf were hundreds of miles from Grace, right at the opposite end of the long, narrow, stretched-out land mass that was Britain, and Saunders’ men were just seconds away from closing in any time they received the order. On paper, it was the most hopelessly doomed hostage rescue scenario imaginable.

  ‘Maybe it’s true,’ he muttered.

  ‘So you’re ready to see sense now,’ Wolf said.

  Ben said, ‘No, I meant maybe it’s true that I’m cursed.’

  Wolf screwed up his face. ‘What the fuck are you talking about, cursed?’

  ‘I used to feel that way, a lot. Like everything I touched turned bad. Everyone I got close to ended up getting hurt. And it was all my fault.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Wolf said. ‘You saved people. Hundreds of them. You were my fucking hero. You know that, don’t you?’

  Ben didn’t reply. He raised the bottle back up to his lips.

  Wolf said, ‘Enough. Give me that bottle.’ He made a grab for it.

  Ben snatched it away. ‘Try taking it.’

  ‘I will take it, if I have to break your bloody arm to get it off you.’

  Ben flashed him a warning look. ‘Don’t even think about it, Jaden. Back off. I’m telling you. Let it be. Let me be.’

  Wolf stared at him. ‘Hey, if you happen to run into my old friend Ben Hope, tell him to give me a call. I’d like to see him again sometime soon.’

  Wolf was still clutching Ben’s burner phone in his other hand. Just then, without warning, it started to ring.

  Seven minutes past one in the afternoon. Things were about to turn upside down for Ben and Wolf.

  Chapter 36

  Fort William, Scotland

  Twenty-seven minutes earlier

  Jeff used his burner mobile to get the number for the Thistle pub in Fort William. When he made the call, he could hear the lively background buzz of conversation, the clink of glasses and the general bustle of a popular drinking hole in full swing. A bright, cheery voice greeted him with, ‘Thistle. Barb speaking.’

  Putting on his most charming manner Jeff said, ‘Hi, Barb. I know this is a little unusual but I really need your help. At this moment there’s a particular lovely lady having lunch with a friend in your establishment. She has black hair and a blue cap and her name’s Grace, Grace Kirk. Could I ask you to get her to come to the phone?’

  Barb was initially suspicious and ready to hang up, until Jeff explained: ‘Thing is, see, I’m her boyfriend. Just got back from active duty overseas and she doesn’t know I’m here. In fact I’m standing outside the pub right now with a big bunch of red roses and a diamond ring in my pocket. Today’s the day I’m gonna pop the question to the love of my life.’

  The returning war hero, covered in medals, bouquet in hand and proposing marriage. How could it fail to melt a lady’s heart with visions of Richard Gere, clad in his pearly-white naval dress uniform, sweeping Debra Winger off her feet and straight off to the church to be wed? That was what Jeff was betting on, at any rate.

  ‘This is why I need your help, Barb. It’s got to be a big surprise. Just tell her it’s Ben calling. He’s her brother. Say he wants to meet her outside. That’s when I’ll appear from nowhere, get down on my knee and ask her to be my wife, right in front of everyone. Are you up for it?’

  Tuesday was gawking at Jeff as though he’d lost his mind. The crazy Scottish accent had been nothing compared to this. But Barb was totally smitten with the idea, and probably with the handsome war hero as well. With a conspiratorial warmth in her voice she said, ‘Hold on.’

  Jeff heard Barb’s muffled voice calling ‘Grace Kirk? It’s your brother Ben on the phone, love.’ Moments later, Grace came on the line, sounding bemused but full of happiness.

  ‘Hello? Ben? Is that you? How’d you know I was here? What’s this about you being my brother?’

  Jeff was suddenly rock-hard serious. ‘Miss Kirk, I need you to listen to me very carefully, and whatever you do, please don’t hang up the phone. My name is Jeff Dekker. I’m Ben’s business pa
rtner and his oldest friend. I’m calling you like this because you’re in danger and I’m here to get you out of it.’

  Now Grace’s confusion was off the scale and the happiness had melted like a snowball tossed into a volcano. ‘Whoa, hold on. Where is he? Is he all right? What’s happening?’

  ‘I’ll explain what I know, but I don’t have time to talk right now.’

  ‘Ben’s mentioned a Jeff Dekker, but how do I know you’re him?’

  Grace had launched into full-on suspect-grilling mode. Jeff had anticipated she’d act this way, given who she was. He said, ‘Ask me something Ben would never tell anyone except the people closest to him.’

  She thought for a moment. ‘Okay. What happened to his sister Sally?’

  Nice try, Jeff thought. ‘He doesn’t have a sister Sally. Her name’s Ruth and she was kidnapped during a family holiday to Morocco when she was a little girl. Ben found her again, years later. Now she lives in Switzerland.’

  ‘And what’s his son’s name?’

  ‘Jude. He’s been living in the States with his ball-breaker girlfriend Rae, but they’ve split up and he’s coming back home to live in Oxfordshire. He’s got a little dog called Scruffy, who Ben was taking care of at Le Val. Please trust me, Grace. This is real.’

  Jeff could hear the wheels spinning furiously in her mind. After a long pause she said, ‘This is pretty wild. But let’s say I believe you are who you say. Tell me what I’m supposed to do.’

  ‘Act casual. They’re watching.’

  ‘Who’s watching?’

  Jeff didn’t want to tell her about the two men in the black Range Rover, in case she went storming outside to confront them – or worse, to try to arrest them. ‘The woman you’re having lunch with. She works with you at the station, correct?’

  ‘Kirsty,’ Grace said, sounding more baffled than ever. ‘She’s in admin.’

  ‘Is she carrying a mobile?’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’

  ‘Okay. I need you to borrow Kirsty’s phone. Make up some excuse, like you’ve lost yours and an emergency’s come up. Then I want you to get in your car, leave the pub alone, right now, and drive somewhere as remote as possible, but not too far away from here. If you notice anyone following you, do not react, or stop, or deviate from your course. Just drive, nice and calm.’