See Them Run

by See Them Run (epub)

  ‘I’ll have to go,’ she said.

  ‘Will you be late?’

  ‘Depends what happens. The other hit-and-runs have all been around midnight, we think, so if nothing’s happened by the back of one, I may come home.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll head back to Glasgow in the morning. But I’ll hang about until the shops open. I forgot your charity shop bags so I’ll take them in on my way back.’

  ‘Honestly, Tom, it’s fine. I can do it when I’m not so busy.’

  ‘It’s no trouble. I’ll be passing close to the shops anyway. Just leave them so I can’t get out of the house without tripping over them.’

  * * *

  The station was buzzing with extra cops when Clare arrived back. She looked for Connor and Phil and found them chatting to Sara and a couple of other uniformed cops. ‘Any luck with Angela Robb?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, positive ID,’ Connor said. ‘She wanted to know where the photos had come from but I didn’t give any details.’

  ‘Gave us a look, though,’ Phil said. ‘I reckon she won’t be surprised when it all comes out.’

  Clare thanked them and turned her thoughts to the night ahead. She took Chris into the incident room and looked at a map of the area. ‘Is the cop in place opposite Fergus Bain’s cottage?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s been there since you went home. He’s been calling in every thirty minutes. All quiet at the moment. Bain’s at home and no sign of him stirring.’

  ‘You’ve not left a car there?’

  ‘No. Too conspicuous. There’s a plain-clothes guy on a motorbike two minutes away, tucked in behind a hedge. If Fergus makes a move the bike will follow him.’

  Clare nodded. ‘So, it’s just a waiting game now.’

  ‘Yep. I just hope we’re watching the right guy.’

  Clare didn’t want to think what might happen if they were concentrating their resources on an innocent man while the real culprit was roaming free. ‘You know what, Chris, I think I’ll just take another run out to that road.’

  ‘Are you not risking him seeing you?’

  ‘Might not be a bad thing if he did. If he is involved, it could scare him off going out tonight. But I’ll try and sneak under his radar.’

  ‘Want me to come with you?’

  ‘No, I’d rather you were here in case something happens. Let me know right away if there are any developments.’

  ‘Right-o.’

  Clare left the station and picked up a pool car. She decided to approach the road from the other end so she wouldn’t be driving into the sun. Ten minutes along the A91 took her to the Strathkinness turn-off and she drove up a winding road until she crested the rise and the village came into view. Carrying straight on she headed down through the village and over the crossroads at the bottom. The trees lining this section of road were in full leaf now and, in parts, the overhang was sufficient for the automatic headlights to come on. Clare was not given to nerves but there was something about this road. She was only a mile or so from Strathkinness and close to the St Andrews road now, but there was a sense of isolation and she was relieved to see the trees clear and the signpost for St Andrews come into view.

  She drove slowly, allowing a few cars to overtake, her eyes flicking from left to right. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she was glad of something to do while she waited for darkness to fall. Clare stopped briefly as she reached the cottage that was for sale, the red bricks warmed in the evening sun. It looked more appealing than ever and she determined to follow it up, just as soon as this investigation was out of the way. It occurred to her that, if Fergus Bain was innocent, or if they didn’t find enough evidence to convict him, she could end up being his near neighbour. His cottage could be no more than a mile further up the road. It was an uncomfortable thought. She put it to the back of her mind and drew away again.

  She passed the field where the Beer Bonanza was taking shape, scanning the makeshift car park for Land Rovers, more in hope than expectation. There were none of course. As if the driver would park it in full view.

  The trees and fields were bathed in rich sunlight and, at that moment, it seemed impossible to Clare that they were hunting a killer, a deranged driver intent on picking off members of a paedophile ring, one by one. As she drove along this quiet country road, Clare thought the world was far too lovely for such horrors to be happening. But happening they were.

  Something glinted, but she was past it before she had the chance to look. Glancing in her rear-view mirror, she signalled into the side, allowing the car behind to pass her, then reversed back a short distance and scanned the foliage.

  Nothing.

  She reversed again, further back until she found a suitable spot to park. Locking the car, Clare crossed the road and walked along the verge to the point where something had caught her eye; but still she couldn’t see anything.

  The trees at the roadside were overgrown with ivy which had almost bridged the gap from one tree to its neighbour. And then she saw it again.

  The glint came from a stout padlock which secured the doors of a wooden garage, set back from the road and hooded by the ivy-clad trees on either side. Stepping in, under the ivy Clare could see that the garage was as old as the padlock was new.

  Her heart was beating fast now. Someone had put a new, substantial padlock on an old, run-down garage, so well hidden that she and Chris had missed it every time they had driven past. She looked around and stood, listening. There was nothing to suggest that she might be in danger, but training and experience had taught her caution.

  Picking her steps carefully, she walked noiselessly round the garage, squeezing past where trees were leaning into its walls, and stepping round a large water butt at the side. There was no window, but at the back there was a small hole where a knot in the wood had once been. Clare took out her phone and turned on the torch, but there wasn’t enough room to shine the torch and peer inside. She stood back and looked at the garage again. There was a narrow gap between two of the vertical planks where the wood had started to shrink. She looked down at her feet until she found a twig and forced this in between the two planks. This gave her enough of a gap to shine the torch into the garage. She then pressed her eye to the knot hole.

  There wasn’t enough light to see the vehicle clearly or even to see the colour but the light fell on the square rear number plate which clearly showed the letters SJ on the top row and the number seven on the bottom.

  She took out her mobile phone and checked for a signal. One bar. Better to get out on the road and call from there. And then she heard footsteps and metallic sounds. Someone was undoing the padlock. She hadn’t heard anyone approaching but someone was there now. Clare cursed herself for coming out alone. If she had Chris with her or even a uniformed cop she could arrest the driver. She contemplated calling for backup and attempting an arrest herself, when she heard a dull thud from the grass in front of the garage. She stole a quick glance round the side and her heart began to thump in her chest. The dull thud had come from a shotgun that had fallen over. Clare’s time in the Armed Response Unit told her the gun was a Remington. Probably an 870. She wouldn’t stand much chance at close range. There was a rustling sound. The driver had picked the gun up and was back at the padlock now. She would have to sit it out.

  As the lock sprang free, Clare felt a familiar buzzing and realised, to her horror, that a call was coming through on her mobile. She flicked frantically at the mute button but her hands were clammy and her fingers would not obey. Seconds later, the still evening air was cut by her ring tone. She didn’t wait for the driver’s reaction but turned and plunged into the trees behind the garage. As she ran, her training kicked in and she weaved left and right, mentally calculating the range of the gun. The noise made by her feet and the pulse beating in her head prevented her hearing if she was being followed but she knew not to stop and check. She could hear the sound of fast breathing, twigs cracking beneath feet but was it her breathing? Her feet? No time to chec
k. She ran on, leaping over fallen branches, taking the less obvious path. Only when she could see a break in the trees ahead did she dare to stop. She found a gnarled oak among the larch and pine trees and hid behind the trunk. She listened and heard nothing. She waited for a minute then, when there was still no sound, she peeped out from behind the trunk. Nothing. She looked all around and, when she was sure she hadn’t been followed, began walking steadily towards the gap in the trees. A road was up ahead and she could hear the sound of traffic. She picked up the pace, jogging gently towards the road and, when she was clear of the trees, took out her phone and dialled.

  ‘Chris! I’ve found the garage. And the Land Rover.’ Her breath was coming fast now as the tension was released from her body. ‘Can you come and get me? Head for Fergus’s cottage. Carry on past and I’ll flag you down. Get the cop on the motorbike to check if he’s still at home. If he’s there then he’s not our man. But if he’s slipped out… oh and make sure everyone knows – our driver’s armed.’ She put the phone back in her pocket with shaking hands and leaned against a tree for support. The reality of what had just happened was dawning on her and she hugged her arms across her chest to try and control the shaking.

  Chris wasted no time. Clare heard the car before she saw it and climbed in, thankfully. He threw the car into reverse, bumping up against the verge then took off again back towards St Andrews.

  ‘My car’s about half a mile along the road. If you drop me…’

  ‘Forget the bloody car. You’re driving nowhere. You’ve had a shock. I’ll get a cop to pick it up later. Meantime, tell me.’

  ‘In a minute. Slow down,’ she said, as they neared the location of the garage. ‘And stop! Stop here.’

  Chris pulled up at the side of the road and looked across to where Clare had indicated. He could see nothing. Clare jumped out of the car, surprised at how weak her legs felt. Chris followed, his hand at her elbow. Clare ignored this and reached up to pull back the curtain of ivy.

  ‘There,’ she said.

  The padlock was gone. She fished a glove out of her pocket and pulled it on then eased one of the wooden doors open. Empty.

  ‘Shit.’ Her mind whirled. ‘Get on to the motorbike cop. See if a Land Rover or Fergus’s moped has passed him in the last half hour.’

  As Chris spoke into his radio, Clare stared at the garage, reliving the moment her phone had gone off. She looked down at where the Remington must have fallen and shivered.

  ‘And get a SOCO team out here,’ she added. ‘Might be something that will help us.’

  Chris’s radio crackled and Clare’s heart sank.

  ‘Sorry, Chris,’ Jim’s voice said. ‘No Land Rover’s passed our bike man. No moped either.’

  ‘Any news on Fergus?’ Chris asked.

  There was a crackle and then, ‘Negative. House empty.’

  Clare’s phone began to ring again. She fished it out of her pocket.

  ‘Inspector?’ It was Ralph Paterson, the night watchman. ‘You asked me to let you know if I saw a Land Rover… Well, I’m pretty sure one went past here a few minutes ago. Heading for the Strathkinness junction.’

  ‘Did you see the driver, Ralph? Or any visible damage to the vehicle?’

  ‘Sorry, no. It’s almost dark now. And I was up at the cabin. Just saw the lights and noticed it. Going pretty fast.’

  ‘Okay thanks, Ralph. Much appreciated.’ She hung up. ‘Bastard’s gone the other way.’ She looked along the road.

  ‘Could he have gone through Strathkinness then headed for the main road, back to St Andrews?’

  ‘I doubt it. He’d risk being caught on the ANPR cameras at that end of town. No, he must be headed away from St Andrews.’ Clare clicked the map icon on her phone and zoomed out to widen the area. ‘He could be going anywhere. So many villages dotted around this part of Fife. Chris, get a message out to all stations in north-east Fife and tell them to get out on patrol. Give them descriptions of Fergus and the vehicle, plus what we know of the registration and tell them it’s a murder hunt.’

  Back at the station, there seemed little for Clare to do. Every available cop was out on patrol, looking for the Land Rover. Raymond from SOCO had arrived at the garage with a team and they were combing it for anything that might help identify the driver.

  The adrenaline that had kept her running through the woods, weaving away from the driver had all but gone, and she sat at her desk, cradling the cup of coffee Chris had insisted she drink, poring over a map of the area.

  The call came in just after midnight. Chris put down the phone and Clare knew by his face. Victim number four.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Dairsie. It’s a little village on the way to Cupar. Six or seven miles from here. A man called Professor Harris, according to a neighbour. Lived up a dead end. Same MO. Card with a number two written on it, placed on top of the body. On the plus side, one more then we’ll have the full set.’

  She didn’t smile. ‘I’ll have to call the DCI. Can you get onto Raymond and see if he can get another SOCO team out? Pathologist too. What about Fergus Bain? Any sign of him?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Call the press office. Name and photograph. Wanted in connection with a murder investigation. Bring him in. We’ll fingerprint him and take DNA.’

  The DCI arrived at five to one and asked for an update.

  ‘We have reason to believe Fergus Bain, the accordion player from the wedding, is involved,’ said Clare. ‘He lives out on the Strathkinness road. We were watching his house, but it seems he’s slipped out.’

  ‘How the hell did that happen?’ DCI Gibson demanded.

  ‘Sorry, sir. He must have slipped out the back door. Meanwhile, I located the vehicle in a garage.’

  ‘So, we’ve got the car at least.’

  ‘Actually, no. I found the garage, just off the Strathkinness road and was round the back looking through a hole in the wood when I heard someone approaching. I’d seen enough of the number plate to know it was the murder vehicle. But I wanted to wait until whoever it was unlocked the garage so I could prove he or she had the Land Rover all along. And then I saw the gun.’

  The DCI swore under his breath. ‘What kind of gun, Inspector?’

  ‘A shotgun. Remington, I think. Looked like an 870.’

  The DCI stared. ‘An 870? A pump-action shotgun?’

  ‘It was hard to see but I think so.’

  ‘Christ Almighty! A nutter on the loose with one of those.’ He shook his head. ‘I take it you stayed quiet until he’d gone?’

  ‘Not exactly. My mobile…’

  ‘You hadn’t switched it to silent?’

  Clare shook her head. ‘No time.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I ran. Through the woods behind the garage.’

  ‘Did he chase you?’

  ‘Didn’t stop to look, sir.’

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No, sir, I’m fine.’ She glanced at Chris, daring him to contradict her.

  DCI Gibson took a few moments to process this and then he spoke. ‘So, you lost the man and you lost the car, despite having both under observation?’

  ‘To be fair, sir, I had only just located the car and I was there on my own. There was no prospect of making an arrest without assistance. I thought about it but then I saw the gun.’

  ‘At the risk of stating the bleedin’ obvious, Inspector, why the hell didn’t you cover the road from Bain’s house in both directions?’

  Clare hesitated. He had a point. But hindsight was a wonderful thing. ‘The cop observing the cottage from across the road would have seen him if he’d gone off on his moped. And we had the road between his cottage and St Andrews covered in case he made a move. All the attacks have been in the town…’

  ‘Until tonight.’

  ‘Until tonight,’ Clare admitted. ‘But we couldn’t have anticipated him slipping out the back and going over the fields to reach the garage. And there was no way we could know the vehicle was f
urther along the same road, in the other direction.’

  ‘And you think this Fergus Bain is our man?’

  ‘It’s starting to look that way. He does have alibis for two of the attacks but it’s too much of a coincidence, him slipping out of his house and the Land Rover being driven away. And, as a farm worker, he would have a shotgun.’

  ‘Not a bloody Remington 870, though, surely?’

  ‘Depends, sir. If he was doing a bit of game-keeping…’

  ‘And now we have another body, is that right?’ the DCI went on. He slapped the desk with his hand. ‘Jesus Chris, Inspector, did it not occur to you to fingerprint Fergus Bain when you interviewed him?’

  ‘We had no grounds, sir. He had a cast iron alibi for the first murder and for the attempted murder of Nat Dryden.’

  ‘So, he has an accomplice. It’s not exactly difficult.’

  ‘With respect, sir, if I had picked him up earlier we might have lost him for lack of evidence. If I could have arrested him at the garage I would have. But he was armed. Even if he hadn’t been, if I’d arrested him before he got into the garage, he could have argued he was nosing around, trying to find his stolen Land Rover. Any DNA or prints on the car would simply be put down to him being the owner. I wanted to catch him red-handed.’

  ‘You cost a man his life tonight.’

  ‘I don’t agree, sir. We couldn’t possibly have known who his next victim was. And we have every available man out looking for Fergus Bain and the car.’

  ‘Bit late for that now, isn’t it?’ He moved his face closer to Clare’s. ‘Have you been drinking?’

  Clare silently cursed the small splash of wine Tom had poured her. ‘I had a red wine sauce with my evening meal.’

  ‘Don’t give me that, Inspector. I know boozy breath when I smell it. You’re drunk! You’re drunk and you’re not fit to be running this investigation. I said from the start you weren’t up to it and I was right. You’re way out of your depth, Inspector Mackay.’