It looked like the opportunity was about to be presented to them. If the old man grassed them up, they would kill him first, and then get rid of the reporter.
Chapter Three
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A Soldier's Story
Edinburgh.
Six Months Before
March
7.25 PM
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.
Neil Wallace pulled the curtains tightly closed, before switching on the overhead light. He didn't want anyone outside to see into his sitting room. He felt a little nervous now about what he was about to do, but the anger within him was urging him on. Someone had to do something about the bastards terrorising the estate, and if nobody else was man enough, he would do it himself. Even if it was the last battle he fought.
Neil had been in several wars, had seen his fair share of misery and despair, and over the past year life on the estate had become like living in one of the war zones he used to frequent professionally. But this was peace time. This was Scotland. And this was his home.
The old man sat down and relaxed back in his favourite brown armchair.
"Thanks for letting me speak to you, Mr Wallace," the reporter began. "I think you know that I'm on your side. I just want to help everyone who lives here to get back some quality of life. I've talked to quite a few people on the estate...I know what's going on, but no one is willing to tell me who is behind it all. I was hoping that maybe, if you felt comfortable..."
"Dinnie worry son," Mr Wallace interrupted. "I know what you want. A story. Something sensational that will help you sell the News. I winnie disappoint you..."
"No, actually, you are wrong. That’s not what this is all about," the reporter from the News immediately replied. It was important that the Craigmillar Community all understood that he really was doing this to try and help. Making news was secondary to his desire to raising awareness of Craigmillar’s social problems and exposing the villains who were making victims of the innocent people of the community. "This is personal. Two weeks ago a young cyclist in Portobello was killed by a joyrider from this estate. The Police have not been able to find out who did it, but I know that someone here knows who did. And whereas they might not want to talk to the police, perhaps I can get them to talk to me."
"And why do you care sae much, Mr...sorry son, what did you say yir name wis?" Mr Wallace asked, leaning forward in his chair, scrutinising the reporter's face.
"Peter, ...it's Peter Nicolson."
"And why do you care sae much..." Mr Wallace asked again. "Because if you are asking me to tell you wit this is all aboot and risk my neck in dain so, I certainly want to understand yir motivation!"
It was a fair question. And one that went right to the core of Peter's crusade against the street gangs and the scum who destroyed the lives of the other decent people in their community.
Peter cast his mind back a few years. The smell of flowers that filled the crematorium; the sound of tears, mostly his mothers and his own, and a coffin at the front of the church with his favourite photograph of his twenty two year old brother placed on top of the brown coffin lid.
"Like I said. It's personal. Very personal. My brother was killed by a gang on the streets of Glasgow. Accidentally knifed one Friday night when two street gangs went head-to-head against each other in the city centre. An innocent man, whose life was ruined by the same type of scum who are now beginning to take a foothold in Craigmillar again. Last week someone died because of them. If we don't do something, someone else will die again...and I want to help stop that from happening..."
A loud crash suddenly deafened them, and the window behind Peter's head smashed inwards, the glass and a large rock being caught in mid-air by the curtain and then dropping noisily to the floor.
Both Peter and Mr Wallace jumped to their feet, and moved away from the window, Peter automatically stepping in front of the old man.
"The bastards!" Mr Wallace shouted. "The wee shites!"
Recovering his senses, Peter stepped quickly through the door into the hallway, opened up the front door and rushed outside into the street.
A tall hooded youth stood on the other side of the road a hundred yards away. He looked at Peter. Looked directly at him. Then slowly but deliberately bent down and climbed into the car parked beside him.
It drove off into the dark, before Peter could decide what to do.
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--------------------
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"It was a warning." Mr Wallace said from his armchair, as Peter walked back into the room. "They're warning me off. Telling me no to tell ye onything. But I'll be buggered if them wee shites are gonnie scare me. The wee toads."
"And who are they, Mr Wallace," Peter asked, as he walked to the window, and peered behind the curtain to look at the broken window and the glass on the carpet beneath. "And who was the big hooded youth that I saw standing on the other side of the road when I ran outside?"
"Tall lanky lad, o'er six foot?" Mr Wallace asked.
"Yes."
"That'll be Big Wee Rab then," Mr Wallace said with conviction. "He's the wan ye want. He's the biggest bastard o' them all. Big Wee Rab. Big on account o' the fact that he ain't so wee anymore. Not like he was four years ago when 'Wee' Rab was the smallest shite o' them all."
Chapter Four
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Big Wee Rab's Car
Craigmillar, Edinburgh
Six Months Before
March
.
.
The anger surged within Big Wee Rab, and Rab nurtured it, allowing it to grow and consume him. It made him mad to think that as they sat outside waiting, the old man Mr Wallace was sitting inside his house giving the reporter from the Evening News all the information he needed: grassing them all up, and dishing the dirt on himself and his gang.
And if Mr Wallace then also agreed to help the Police, Rab could be in for some real trouble.
Rab knew that if he wanted to turn the CME Team into something far more than it already was, an example had to be made. And he knew that this was something he had to do himself, and soon. At the same time, he knew that what he was about to do had to be visible, both to all the members of his gang, and to the residents of the Craigmillar Estate. They had to know that it was him that had done this.
The anger would be his friend, and would accompany him in the car as he did the deed. It would help him overcome the nerves that he felt, and guide him along the path of his destiny.
If things worked out, and his Team grew, maybe they would soon be able to challenge the idiots from Portobello, and then take them over.
‘Perfect!’ The death of the Evening News reporter would be a stepping stone to far greater things.
But to make sure that the others didn't back out and grass him up, Rab knew that in some way they had to be made accomplices to the crime. It would also allow them to share the euphoria afterwards, when the word got out. They would feel part of it, as if Rab's victory was somehow also theirs. That was it...they had to look at this as some sort of team bonding exercise.
Deciding to share out the tasks, Rab instructed the others in the car that when he went after the reporter, two of them would have to go after old Mr Wallace.
"Dinnie kill him, like...just scare the fucking shit oot of him. Push him aboot a little, ken, then brake a few windies or something..." Rab told them. "As soon as the gobshite frae the News comes oot, I'll follow him and then ram him in his car and push him in tae the loch as we go roond the corner tae Duddingston. Hopefully he'll droon in the car when he goes in tae the loch!"
It seemed like quite a good plan.
Rab would wait a hundred metres up the road from the house, pointing his car in the direction that the reporter would take in order to leave the estate. He would follow him out as he left, making sure that he was just behind the reporter's car as he turned the corner towards Duddingston.
Ahead of them the road would then lead downward
towards a hairpin bend that skirted around the edges of the deep end of Duddingston Loch. The only thing separating any cars on the road and the cold grip of the deep water in the loch was an old black metal fence that the locals had long been campaigning to have replaced with something more sturdy. Accidents were always happening in the winter when ice covered the road and people couldn’t navigate the corner in time. Thankfully, all the locals knew how dangerous it was, and they at least drove this part slowly. Nevertheless, there had been three serious accidents this year alone, and still the council had done nothing.
But for once, the council's neglect of Craigmillar would work in favour of Big Wee Rab. As the reporter started to take the bend, Rab would accelerate towards the car, cutting the corner and driving straight into the side of the other car at speed, shunting it sideways into the fence... hopefully their combined momentum would easily knock the fence down and allow Rab to propel the reporter into the loch.
Rab was a good driver, so the only danger to him would be if he wasn't able to reverse away from the other car after impact. Just in case, he would be ready to jump.
The car Rab was in had been stolen earlier that afternoon. He had worn gloves all day long, so there should be nothing connecting him to the scene, but just in case, he would toss in a bottle of petrol before he ran off, and set fire to the car. Rab chuckled to himself at the thought of it all. The spurt of flames, the explosion and the fire at the end... it would all draw attention to his deed from people on the estate. Soon his name would be legendary!
.
"Hey guys," Rab shouted at Tam and the other gang members. "Shift yir arses oot o' here now, and get ready to do over the old guy. And you Jamsie, you can go roond the bend tae Duddingston and hide in a bush somewhere an' watch. I want you to see this, so you can tell everybody else aboot it later, ken?"
The others grunted, and starting jumping out of the car in obedience, muttering words of encouragement and patting Big Wee Rab on the back.
A minute later he was alone, sitting watching the house, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. For better or for worse, Rab knew that tonight his life was going to change. Not that it had been much of a life so far: one of two brothers who grew up in a council flat with a mother who was a drunk and a father who was doing time in prison with five years still to go, Rab had been in and out of care for the past eight years.
With no decent parent to mentor him or set an example, and the only education that helped him in any way coming from gang-life on the street, Rab's biggest achievement to date was to have grown as tall as he was, thus giving him an air of authority and power over others that knew him. People respected him. Or at least, people were scared of him. And for Rab that was good enough. In his world, hierarchy in society was measured by how many people were scared of you.
After tonight, that number would increase dramatically.
It was dark and quite late before the green door opened, and the reporter stepped out. An hour had gone past, and Rab was beginning to feel quite dozy.
Rab immediately sat up, flicking the spliff he had been smoking out of the window, and nervously checking the bottle of petrol on the seat beside him to make sure it was not leaking. He looked at it again, and then decided to pick it up and move it to the floor behind him, just to make sure it didn't explode when he finally rammed the reporter's car.
He heard a car engine start, and he looked up quickly, focusing on the reporter's blue Golf. The indicator went on, and it began to pull out.
"Fuck..." Rab muttered under his breath, suddenly noticing just how high the marijuana had made him. He snatched for the gear and started to pull out behind the Golf, but the gear grated and didn't engage properly, grinding noisily for a few seconds, before Rab managed to push the clutch down and force it into gear properly. "Fuck..." Rab shouted aloud.
The blue Golf was already at the traffic lights, starting to turn the corner as the lights began to change from red to green.
Rab pushed the accelerator down and lurched forward, leaving a trail of rubber behind him, and waking up any of the neighbourhood that might already have decided to go to bed.
As he reached the lights they had begun to change back, and he just made it through, swerving right after the Golf in front.
Ahead, he saw the reporter's head turn and look at his rear view mirror. Although Rab was not yet fully alert, a random thought managed to sneak into his dim brain, heralding the fact that this was actually a good thing...If the reporter was looking in his mirror, then we wasn't fully focusing on the road, and if he wasn't expecting the corner just up ahead, he would be going too fast when he hit the curve.
Rab waved and beeped his horn loudly.
He saw the reporter look in the mirror again and then turn and glance backwards over his shoulder.
Rab's lights were already on, but instinctively he flicked them on to full beam, blinding the driver in front.
Thankfully, as Rab had hoped for, the road at this time of night was quiet, which would make it easy for him to cut the corner without hitting oncoming traffic. The road ahead began to dip and Rab knew that it would only be seconds before the road began to curve to the right. Rab eased off the accelerator a little, dropping slightly behind the Golf, anticipating that any second the reporter would see the oncoming fence and swerve tightly to make the corner.
It was just then that Rab began to have second thoughts. Perhaps this was not such a good idea...
The car in front braked suddenly, and the gap between them filled with bright red lights as the reporter slammed his foot down and spun the wheel around.
Slowly the front of the car began to turn and move to the right, at the same time losing traction on the surface of the road and beginning to slip sideways towards the metal fence separating the road from the dark, black water of the Loch.
The adrenaline surged within Rab, and he knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for. Pressing down hard on the accelerator, the Saab lurched forward, responding to Rab's light touch on the steering wheel which directed it to cut the corner and smash broadside into the Golf as it took the curve.
The force of the impact took Rab by surprise, the car temporarily coming to a grinding halt against the Golf in front. Suddenly the world around him went crazy, a big balloon momentarily appearing from nowhere and pushing Rab backwards into his seat and knocking the air out of him.
Spinning... his car was spinning now..., then suddenly it was bouncing hard against the railing, and the Golf in front was spinning away from him, careering across to the other side of the road, before coming to a halt against the grassy verge twenty metres further along.
Rab shook his head, and fought for air, his arms flaying wildly in front of him and trying to push the now deflating white airbag away from his body.
A sudden, pungent smell filled the air...
Petrol.
"Fuck!"
The bottle of petrol had smashed in the impact and the car was filling with fumes.
"Get out...quick...I've got to get out now!" Rab thought to himself as his mind slowly began to clear, and he fought with his body to get it to respond.
Steam was hissing from the crumpled bonnet, as Rab fought with the door and struggled to get out of the car. But no matter how hard he shook and shoved the door, it would not open. Looking through the window he realised that his car was broadside against the metal fence, which contrary to expectations, had held its own against the impact of the oncoming cars and bounced them both back onto the road.
Suddenly he could smell smoke, and from the corner of his eye he saw a flicker of light coming from the front of the car.
Fire!
Rab turned to the other door, now facing towards the road, stretched out and flicked the handle on the inside and dived through the door as it opened.
Falling awkwardly on to his wrist, he felt it crack and a stab of pain shoot up his arm. Panicking, he managed to lift himself up with his other hand and stagger away from the car t
owards the fence running alongside the curve of the road they had just come round.
There was a tremendous flash of light, and Rab screamed as a gust of hot air caught him from behind and lifted him into the air, propelling him over the fence and into the cold deep water of the loch.
As he fell through the air, the darkness reached up and engulfed him and Rab disappeared beneath the surface of Duddingston Loch.
Chapter Five
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Craigmillar Estate
Edinburgh
Six Months Before
March
8.30 p.m.
.
.
Sergeant Cameron Angus had been looking forward to the end of his shift when the call came in. There had been a disturbance on the Craigmillar Estate, an ambulance was on its way, and he was to attend the scene immediately.
Cammy, as the Sergeant was known to his friends, was one of the newly formed 'Craigmillar Response Team', a core group of officers from across the branch who were tasked with trying to build relationships with the residents of Craigmillar. Whenever possible, the team members were first on the list to be asked to attend any incidents on the estate. Unfortunately, resources were tight, so being proactive in the community was not as possible as they would have liked. Their duties in the wider community spread them too thin on the ground to spend sufficient time on the estate to develop the relationships they needed.
BOX SET of THREE TOP 10 MEDICAL THRILLERS Page 2
