Crow Bait

by Douglas Skelton

  ‘There’s more,’ said Fraser, his voice shaking and he pointed to a photo album on a table in the corner. Davie moved past the blackboard, grateful for the opportunity to take his eyes off the pictures, and flicked the book open. The first few pages were filled with newspaper cuttings, some about him, others with a single by-line.

  ‘Audrey’s stories,’ said Fraser. ‘He’s been stalking her, too. He’s got more pictures of her at the back. Her and me. One outside the church we got married in.’

  Davie felt chill fingers caress the nape of his neck as he flicked the pages and found the photographs Fraser mentioned. His mouth was suddenly very dry and he licked his lips.

  Davie stared at the picture of a smiling Audrey, in a cream dress, hanging on a kilted Les Fraser’s arm outside a church. The sun was shining and they were smiling, laughing, happy. And Danny McCall had been there. Davie had not. Davie had been banged up in Barlinnie and Danny McCall was out, taking pictures of Audrey. He could have snatched her anytime he’d wanted.

  Fraser said, his voice hoarse, ‘What the hell kind of creep is your dad?’

  ‘A dangerous one,’ he said.

  * * *

  Les Fraser watched Davie as he studied the pictures, knowing that the guy was as horrified with the idea of the bastard following Audrey around as he was. He’d got through the back door easily, a couple of kicks under the lock had splintered the frame no problem. Fraser didn’t really care if anyone heard, that was the idea. If Danny McCall was inside they’d bring him down in no time, he was confident of that, if he wasn’t and a neighbour heard then so what? But the house was empty. He heard Davie talking to the neighbour outside so he’d taken the opportunity for a quiet poke around. He found a very interesting item in the bedroom, which he slipped in his pocket, before he’d entered the living room and came upon the picture gallery. He felt something sour churn in his belly as he gazed at the images of his wife, snapped without her knowing.

  And now, as he stared at the younger McCall, watching him turn pale as he understood just how sick a puppy his father was, his hand snaked into his jacket pocket, where he felt the comforting weight of the automatic he’d found in the bedroom. His training as a copper told him he should have left it where it was, but he wasn’t a copper today. Davie McCall had talked about having an edge earlier on. This was his edge. And something told him he’d need it.

  * * *

  Audrey winced as the rusty metal sliced the flesh on her wrist, but she didn’t stop sawing at it with the bonds. She’d spotted the old hoe propped against one cobweb covered corner while she’d eaten the sandwich Danny McCall had brought her. She purposely did not look in its direction again throughout the period he was with her, for fear he might see it too. So she dutifully munched the food and drained the orange can then let him bind her wrists once more and thrust the gag back into her mouth but not the blindfold, which was something at least. He hadn’t said anything more throughout his visit. He’d gone into a kind of funk, as if he was about to do something he really didn’t want to but some force was dictating his actions. And then he’d left her. She waited for a few minutes listening to the sound of his receding footsteps crunch on the pebble beach outside, then began to writhe across the floor towards the old garden tool, her bound feet pushing her along. It was difficult but she made it in a few minutes and sat with her back to it, the ropes around her wrist resting on the blade. Then she began a sawing motion, hoping the rusting metal was sharp enough to cut the fronds. Every now and then her wrists slipped and the metal nipped at her flesh but she ignored it, although she did make a mental note to have a tetanus shot as soon as she could. It was slow going and she had no way of knowing if it was working but she knew she had to try. So she kept rubbing at the ropes, occasionally tugging her wrists apart to see if there was any give. She had no idea how long he would be gone but she had one chance at freedom, she knew that.

  But the damn bonds would not loosen…

  * * *

  Davie led Fraser from the street to the grassy area that separated the shorefront houses of Ballantrae from the beach, which was no wide expanse of sand but a pebble and rock-strewn area that stretched southwards to more desolate shoreline and north to the harbour peppered with branches, barrels and wood thrown up by the tide He knew there was a similar beach beyond the harbour, running towards the hills and cliffs of Bennane Head. The wind was strengthening now, coming straight off the water, and he could taste salt in the air. He paused for a moment, trying to dredge a memory of a fisherman’s hut up that way but he had no recollection of it. He remembered many things about his holidays here, back when things had been good. He had played on the putting green, he had explored the shoreline in each direction, he had visited the ruins of the castle at the edge of the village, he had listened to his dad’s stories. He spoke of smugglers and cannibals, for a cave at Bennane Head was said to be the home of Sawney Beane, a robber turned eater of human flesh. His dad was a great reader and he had regaled the young Davie with all these legends and he had lapped them up. He also told Davie of the Kennedy family, who had owned much of the land around here in bygone days. His dad was filled with tales of the internecine struggle within that family for dominance and had taken him to the vault of Gilbert Kennedy in the village kirkyard and told him how he had been murdered by his own kinfolk. Brother had turned against brother and father against son.

  And now here he was, seeking out his own father.

  Beyond the harbour, the woman had said, and he could see the red-tinged stonework of the sea wall at the end of the grassy area. Waves crashed up against the sturdy buttress, sending salt water spray over the top like a plague of insects, while the grey sea beyond rose and fell as if something huge was swirling beneath the surface. The wind snatched at their clothes and picked at their hair as they set off at a lope towards the harbour.

  * * *

  She didn’t know how long she’d been sawing at the ropes, didn’t know how many times she’d nicked her wrists, but she did know she was bleeding because she could feel the blood sliding under the bonds, making them slippy. She worried about slicing open a vein and her skin stung where she’d been cut but she didn’t stop, didn’t give up. If anything she became even more frenzied in her efforts. And she was crying, not because of the pain, but simply because she couldn’t help it.

  And then, suddenly, her arms sprang loose.

  One minute she was scraping away, the next she felt the bonds give and she was free. Gingerly, she raised her wrists to inspect the myriad of slashes she’d inflicted on herself, each one streaming blood. None of them were particularly deep, thankfully, but they nipped like buggery. She wiped the blood onto her dressing gown and wiggled her frozen fingers before she pulled the gag from her mouth and then got to work on the knots at her ankles. It took a minute or two, because her fingers really were not in the mood, but she finally managed to free her feet. She rubbed the skin where the ropes had left red welts, and then tried to stand. She’d been immobile for too long and she was numb with cold so it took a few moments for the strength and circulation to get back into her legs. She was unsteady as she moved to the door, using the long handle of the hoe as a makeshift walking stick to help her along. She hadn’t heard a chain clanking or a lock turning when he had left earlier so she was confident it would open. She leaned against it, noting with satisfaction it moved fairly freely, then opened it enough to peek out.

  A strong wind bit at her face as she pressed it to the gap. A deserted shoreline stretched off to hills one way, houses and the harbour in the other. The grey sea drove relentlessly onto the rocky sand before her, the white-tipped waves rising then dying against the land. She could hear nothing but the roar of the wind and the crash of the water. She knew she was on the Ayrshire coast as she could just make out the dark outline of the Ailsa Craig, although the Isle of Arran which should have been visible beyond it and to the right was lost in the gloom and the mist. The salty tang of the air was mixed with the sickly sten
ch of the decaying seaweed that carpeted parts of the shoreline. Taking a deep breath, as if this was the first gulp of air she’d had in a long time, she put her shoulder to the door, eased it wider and stepped out. She turned to her left, knowing it was wiser to make for civilisation.

  He was waiting for her just out of sight around the corner of the wooden boathouse. She didn’t see him at first but her heart hammered when she heard him say, ‘Took your time, darling. Thought you were never going to work it out.’

  She whirled to see him leaning against the wall of the shed, smiling at her. And in that instant she realised he’d been playing with her. He did that, she knew. He played with Davie, he played with her, maybe he even played with his victims. He enjoyed tormenting people. And she knew that she hated him. She hated his smile. She hated the way he thought. She hated the fact that he looked so much like Davie.

  She’d swung the hoe before she even knew she was moving. He hadn’t been expecting it, either, for she saw his smile falter just before the wooden handle cracked against his temple. His head snapped to the right and he staggered back a couple of paces but she didn’t wait to see if he lost his footing completely because she was moving herself, running across the beach towards the harbour walls. They were only a couple of hundred yards away but it felt longer as shattered shells and sharp stones pierced her bare feet and she slid on slimy seaweed. She didn’t want to look behind her but she did it instinctively and saw him pushing himself off the wooden slats of the boathouse wall and coming after her. There was a trace of red at his forehead and she felt some satisfaction at having hurt the bastard. Then she concentrated on reaching that harbour and the houses whose roofs she could see to the left. There had to be someone there, someone who could help her, anyone.

  But she could hear him now, his booted feet not being sliced and torn on the uneven ground. She could hear him pounding closer and she shot another glance back. He was there but he was still unsteady, so she’d hurt him worse than she thought. Good, she thought. But he was still gaining so she ignored the pain, ignored the blood oozing from the many tiny cuts and gouges on her soles and ankles and forced her legs to move faster because she could see a partially tarred rise ahead, leading to the harbour, more sheds like the one she’d escaped from and the safety she felt certain that lay beyond. The wind swept across the sand, whipping loose grains up and creating a fine mist at ground level. Seabirds and black crows were sheltering from the gale here but she ran through them, putting them up in a scramble of wings and screeches. They flapped around her body and head, unable to get much higher because of the weather. Waving her arms around her to keep them at bay, she powered through the flurry of black and white before stumbling onto the pathway and limping towards the crest, the wind easing as the huge red wall across the small harbour stood guard against the elements.

  Audrey forced herself up the slight incline, her strength all but spent but she really thought she’d make it, really thought she’d get there, really thought she’d pulled it off.

  But she hadn’t.

  He grabbed her just as she reached the sheds at the top, just as she could see the line of neat bungalows and the stretch of grass before them and the beach continuing southwards beyond the harbour.

  And she could see the two figures racing towards her and her heart leaped as she recognised Davie and Les. She was about to cry out to them, to wave her arms, to tell them she was here when she felt her head being jerked back as Danny McCall grabbed her by the hair and dragged her closer to him. He buried his face into her ear and breathed, ‘Nice try, darling.’ He reached down with his other hand and snatched the hoe from her grasp, tossing it aside. Then he pulled both her wrists together and clamped them in an iron grip.

  She struggled but it didn’t do any good, he had too firm a hold. He pressed something cold and hard against her throat and whispered, ‘Don’t make me do it, hen.’ She didn’t know what was biting into the soft flesh of her neck but she knew it was sharp. So she forced herself to remain immobile, her eyes fixed on Davie and on Les, who was holding onto the pocket of his jacket as he ran, clearly something heavy in there. But then she was looking only at Davie, who was the faster of the two and he slowed down a few feet away, his face immobile as he came to a halt.

  Then she heard Danny McCall breathe the word ‘Shit’, and she knew this was not part of his plan at all.

  33

  DAVIE COULD SENSE that Les Fraser wanted to lunge at his father but the time was not right. He held out his right hand to slow the detective down and, thankfully, the guy did as he was told. Davie saw the terror in Audrey’s green eyes and wanted to reach out to her. He glanced at her feet, at the blood streaming from tiny cuts, and his anger began to swell. But he kept it in, kept his expression blank, kept his eyes on his father from then on. An uneasy feeling had crept through him as he saw the carpet knife dimple the skin at Audrey’s throat, but he took some comfort from the cautious look on Danny McCall’s face. He had not expected to see him. Not yet.

  Danny McCall looked over Audrey’s shoulder straight at his son, his eyes beginning to dance with something close to amusement. ‘So you found me, eh, son?’

  Davie contemplated not responding but felt it was better to start some kind of dialogue. ‘It was easy.’

  Danny raised an eyebrow then flicked his gaze to Les. ‘You’re the husband, right?’

  Fraser wasn’t in the mood for chatting. His voice was low, his lips stretched tight as he spoke. ‘Let her go, fucker.’

  Danny gave him a disdainful sneer but Fraser was not going to be ignored. The next thing Davie knew, there was a gun in the cop’s hand. ‘I said, let her go.’

  Davie had no idea where the weapon had come from, but he knew it would do no good. His father stepped even closer to Audrey, his body concealed by hers, only part of his face visible behind her head. She struggled but stiffened as he tightened his grip. ‘Crack shot, are you, son?’

  Les’s hand wavered slightly, even though he had steadied it with his left.

  ‘You’ve not thought this through, have you?’ Danny said, smiling, but keeping Davie in his sights. ‘You sure you’d get me?’

  ‘Let her go,’ said Les, but his voice trembled.

  Danny gave him a dismissive shake of the head, while still watching Davie. ‘Chuck it away before you hurt someone.’ It was only when Les failed to move that Danny glared at him, while simultaneously pressing the blade harder against Audrey’s throat. ‘Do it.’

  Les shot a glance at Davie, who gave him a brief nod. The gun was no good here. Les looked back to Danny and Audrey, exhaled with a ragged sigh, then threw the gun to his right, where it landed among some tall grass.

  Danny McCall smiled as he stepped out from behind Audrey and looked back at Davie. ‘Needed a hand, eh, son? Disappointing, that.’

  Davie remained silent, refusing to be goaded. He was convinced his father was on the back foot. Not only had he not expected to see Davie in Ballantrae, he was unhappy with the idea that he was not alone. He knew that Mulvey was gone but he didn’t know that he had talked. For the first time Davie felt he had something like an upper hand. Now, if he could just get Audrey away from him...

  ‘So what now, son?’ Danny said. ‘We stand like this for the rest of the day?’ He looked around the sky. ‘It’ll be really dark soon.’

  Davie wanted to finish it, there and then, but it was too risky, not with that carpet knife at Audrey’s throat. He needed to get closer. And there were things he needed to know first. ‘Why’d you do it?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Everything.’

  Danny McCall’s face creased as he thought about this. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why now? You’ve been watching me for years.’

  Danny’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve been in the house?’

  Davie nodded. ‘You were back in the city before Joe was killed.’

  ‘Only a few times, didn’t want to risk that old bastard catching me. Just wanted to keep up t
o date on my boy, you know? I saw you fight Boyle that night, you didn’t see me. I saw you with him and another lad, wee while before that, in Duke Street. Thought he was going to do for you then…’

  Davie thought back. He hadn’t seen anyone when he and Clem Boyle tangled for the last time but then he had other things on his mind that night. The other encounter, along with Jazz Sinclair, had taken place a few nights before. Davie ran it over in his mind and recalled a drunk man, weaving along the road. He wondered if that had been his father. He really didn’t care, though. He flicked a glance at Audrey, who was watching him carefully. He hoped she knew what he was trying to do, edging forward slightly, keeping his father distracted with his questions. ‘Did you kill Joe?’

  Danny shook his head. ‘Believe me, I wanted to. But no, it wasn’t me. And it wasn’t that young guy, either. Joe was too canny a player to be caught unawares by the likes of him. Someone else did for him, someone he trusted.’ He squinted at his son, seeing this did not surprise him. ‘But you know all this, don’t you?’

  Davie nodded. ‘So why all this? Why kill that girl? Beat up Vari? Lomas. Harris. The pictures. What was it all about?’

  ‘Simple. I want back in. Couldn’t do that with you around.’

  And then Davie understood. It was all a strategy to keep him on edge, to keep him guessing, to create fear. His father would have known that he was the bogey man in Davie’s mind and he played on it, ramping up the pressure, tightening the screws on Davie’s nerves until he made a mistake. He knew that sooner or later they would clash and he wanted to have the edge when it came. And with Davie stressed out, spooked, that might be enough.