See Them Run

by See Them Run (epub)

  ‘Car over here, please, Inspector,’ he said, indicating a small offshoot which curved round behind a thicket of trees. Following the track, Clare came across several police vehicles hidden from the main drive and house. She parked where the officer pointed and stepped out of the car.

  As she did so, Drew appeared out of the trees. ‘We’ll need it to be dark to be absolutely sure but I don’t think there’s anyone concealed in the grounds. But once we use the thermal imaging we’ll have a better idea.’

  Clare looked towards the house. ‘Who’s inside?’

  ‘Two of my team. Ronnie and Eva. Both experienced. They’ll look after you.’

  ‘I have done armed response before, Drew. Remember?’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘Sun’s low now. Better get yourself in there. The constable here will show you where to go. The rest of us will get out of sight now.’

  ‘The DCI?’

  ‘Back at the station. We don’t want him cluttering things up.’

  Chris slapped Clare on the back and gave her a cheery smile but his eyes told a different story. ‘You take care in there, boss.’

  She nodded, then turned away. She couldn’t think about Chris – or her family. There was a job to be done. Clare followed the constable through the trees and round to the back of the castle. A small flight of steps led down to a dark green, wooden basement door. It opened noiselessly and Clare found herself in a room that smelled faintly of damp. She blinked, trying to accustom her eyes to the near dark, following the constable to another door, which in turn opened onto a flight of stairs.

  ‘This takes you up to the main hallway,’ said the constable. ‘Ronnie and Eva are in the front room, just off the hall.’

  Clare thanked him and made her way up the stairs, emerging through a worn, velvet curtain into a tiled hallway with a broad staircase to the left and the front entrance to the right. All round her was the Grinling Gibbons wood panelling and she knew she was in the right house. Across the hall, light poured out from an open door. She went to join the two officers. Although it was not quite dark they had drawn the curtains and lit some lamps around the room.

  ‘Makes it look lived-in,’ Ronnie said.

  ‘Could be a long night,’ Eva added. ‘Make yourself at home, Inspector.’

  Clare took out her mobile phone to text Chris her location but there was no signal.

  ‘Walls two feet thick,’ Eva said. ‘There’s probably radio reception somewhere in the house.’

  Clare shook her head. ‘It’s fine. Not a problem.’ And she settled herself in an easy chair with a clear view of the door.

  Chapter 23

  Clare was bored out of her skull. She had walked round the room, admiring the ornate wood panels, trying unsuccessfully to find the carved peapod. This wasn’t the room where the photos had been taken but there was no doubting the similarities in style. She wandered round the edge of the room, looking at the books in the bookcase, flicking through a few, and marvelled at the plasterwork on the ceiling but still there was no sign of Edward Collinson.

  ‘Anything happening outside?’ she asked Ronnie and Eva.

  They shook their heads. ‘I’ll head upstairs in a bit to see if I can pick up a signal,’ Eva said.

  Clare moved to the door. ‘Fancy a coffee?’

  ‘Please,’ Eva said. ‘Both milk, no sugar.’

  ‘Nice and easy, then.’ Clare went back out to the hall and looked round. The kitchen would be to the rear of the house, she supposed. She walked along the hall, passing the main staircase on her left and found a door tucked in behind it. She opened this and felt in the dark for a light switch. Her fingers found it and the room was bathed in light. Despite the age of the building the kitchen was modern. It was fitted out with a cream Aga, the walls lined with light oak units. The floor was covered with large black and white tiles arranged diagonally and a substantial waxed refectory table stood in the centre of the room.

  A lot of kitchen for one man.

  She moved to the sink to fill the kettle. The water pressure took her by surprise and she overfilled it, spilling some water as she carried the kettle over to the plug next to the Aga. As she waited for it to boil she looked round at the kitchen. It was a lovely room, no expense spared. But it was lacking something. She thought Edward Collinson probably didn’t do much beyond heating ready meals in the microwave. Suddenly her phone buzzed as she picked up a signal. She took it out of her pocket and saw the voicemail icon flashing. Chris. She put it to her ear and listened.

  ‘Clare, it’s Chris. We think Fergus might be in the house. The Land Rover’s hidden in trees, further down the road. The engine’s cold and there’s no sign of him in the grounds. Stick to those ARU guys like glue. Drew’s sending the team in.’

  Clare’s heart was beating fast now. Fergus in the house. She had a vest on but no weapon. The sensible thing would be to get herself back to Ronnie and Eva. If they had no radio signal they wouldn’t know either. But, if Fergus was in the house, somewhere, was it possible he might trust her? He would see she was unarmed. The kettle came to the boil with a rush of steam and a click. A second, softer click came from the kitchen door being closed very gently.

  ‘Hands where I can see them,’ Fergus said. ‘Then turn round.’

  ‘I’m unarmed,’ she said, turning slowly.

  He smiled. ‘I know.’

  Clare thought Fergus Bain looked leaner, more haunted, than when they had interviewed him – was it only yesterday? It seemed a lifetime ago. The thick fringe made his eyes look darker than ever. He stood now, back against the kitchen door, shotgun trained on Clare. He nudged a chair towards her.

  ‘Sit.’

  ‘I’d be a lot happier if you would lower your gun, Fergus.’

  He responded by lowering the gun slightly so it was aimed closer to her feet. She fought back the nerves she felt, trying to ignore the memory of the last time she was facing what she thought was a gun. But this time it was the real thing. The Remington 870. She wouldn’t stand much of a chance if this one went off.

  Clare forced a smile. ‘I’d like it if you and I could go into the station and have a proper chat. Without all the other cops outside. You do know there are armed police outside, Fergus?’

  ‘Out and in. They’ll no’ let me out of here alive. But as long as I have you—’

  ‘I won’t be your hostage.’

  He raised the gun again.

  ‘You’ll have to shoot me right here. And then they’ll shoot you.’ She looked at the gun again and he lowered it slightly. ‘And we want you to live, Fergus. We want you to help us nail the man who lives here.’

  Fergus said something that sounded like ‘sick bastard’, but Clare wasn’t completely sure.

  ‘Is this how it was for you? At Garthley House? Is that why you set out on this vendetta?’

  Clare watched him carefully. Was there a flicker of something in those dark eyes? She tried again. ‘We know it went on. Back then, at Garthley. They just couldn’t prove it at the time. But then you know all about that, don’t you Fergus?’

  The flicker again. Was she getting somewhere with him? Starting to reach him?

  ‘It never leaves you, does it?’ Clare went on. ‘Something like that. Scars you for life.’

  He ran a tongue round his lips. ‘You must have seen the photos.’ His voice was flat. ‘If I could get into their laptops, your lot certainly could. The men who did those things to me…’ He broke off.

  Clare waited.

  Then he began again. ‘They’re long gone,’ he said. ‘Some dead, some – dinnae ken. But it still goes on. You’ve seen it.’ He raised his eyes to meet hers and she saw they were bright with tears.

  ‘I have, Fergus. And I can assure you that the man who’s in hospital and the owner of this house will feel the full force of the law. I promise you that.’

  ‘Hospital?’

  Clare nodded. ‘Your third victim didn’t die. Life-changing injuries, but he’ll
live.’

  ‘She said it hadn’t gone to plan.’

  She. It had been a woman.

  ‘Who said that, Fergus? Your accomplice? Someone who’s been helping you with these killings?’

  Suddenly he seemed to recall himself. ‘I’m saying nothing more. Now let’s you and I get out of here.’

  It was the softest creak. Clare only just heard it. She didn’t think Fergus had but perhaps her face gave it away.

  Fergus whirled round to face the kitchen door and raised the gun.

  Clare saw her chance and leapt from her chair, aiming low.

  As his finger crooked round the trigger she rugby tackled his legs, wrapping her arms tightly around them, pulling him down and away from the door. His head collided with one of the stout oak cupboards. The gun went off with an ear-splitting boom. The recoil caused Fergus to lurch backward, away from Clare, and he lost his grip on the gun. The slug blasted straight through the cupboard door, shattering china as it went, lodging in the thick stone wall behind. Dazed as he was, Fergus reached out for the gun, but Clare was quicker. She jumped forward and shoved the gun across the floor. Then, grabbing his arm, she forced it up his back. The training from her days in the armed response team kicked in and she remembered the protocol.

  ‘Hold fire! Weapon secure. Room clear,’ she shouted, her ears still buzzing from the blast.

  The armed officers entered and one immediately sprang to Clare’s side. Another took up position, a few feet from Fergus, weapon trained on him. Clare, with an eye on Fergus, got unsteadily to her feet.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘or I will be once my ears stop ringing.’ She looked at one of the masked officers, gun trained on Fergus. The head was obscured by a balaclava but something about the eyes seemed familiar and Clare stared, trying to remember.

  ‘It’s Pam,’ the officer said. ‘Pam Cassidy.’ Pam’s eyes fell on the shotgun and the hole in the oak cabinet. ‘That’s one hell of a hole. What’s he used?’

  ‘Certainly not pellets,’ Clare said. ‘Pretty big slug by the looks of it.’

  Pam looked at the kitchen door. It wasn’t original, but a newer design and panelled. Thin, compared to the solid oak cupboard doors. Had Clare not brought Fergus down, the slug would have gone straight through the kitchen door and through the person on the other side of it. Pam. She looked it and Clare followed her gaze.

  ‘Pam,’ Clare said, her voice soft, cutting through her colleague’s thoughts. ‘Let’s get him cuffed and in the van. And no rough stuff. He has valuable information.’

  * * *

  ‘You’re going to hospital,’ DCI Gibson insisted.

  ‘With respect, sir, I’m bloody not.’

  ‘Don’t make me order you, Inspector.’

  ‘Sir, I am absolutely fine. I banged my elbow, but that’s about it.’

  ‘Oh you’re a doctor now, are you Inspector? You probably have a perforated eardrum from the blast, for starters. You could even be suffering from shock.’

  ‘Do I look like I’m in shock? Remember I used to do this sort of thing, day in, day out.’

  Chris weighed in. ‘How about I take you, get them to give you a quick once-over then I’ll run you home?’

  ‘We have witnesses to interview.’

  ‘Not tonight, we don’t, Inspector. We have two suspects, both on their way to the station now and we’re doing nothing until we’ve had Drew’s debrief which will be at least another hour. I want a doctor to look you over, then you can join us for the interviews tomorrow, if the doc says you’re okay. We’ll meet at nine and sort out who’s seeing who.’

  ‘Two suspects?’ Clare said, alert again. ‘The other driver?’

  The DCI shook his head. ‘No. Collinson. DS West can fill you in on your way to hospital.’

  Clare shook her head. ‘Nope. Not going.’

  ‘Then you’ll not be back to work tomorrow,’ the DCI said. ‘And even Saint Elaine of Carter will back me up on this one.’

  Clare had to smile at that.

  Chris saw his chance. ‘Come on, Detective Inspector. Let’s get you seen to then we can all get home to bed.’ He checked his watch. ‘We might just make the community hospital before it shuts,’ he said. ‘Save a trip to Dundee…’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake! Come on then – let’s get it over with.’ And she began walking towards Chris’s car.

  ‘Phone me, DS West, once the doctor has seen the Inspector,’ DCI Gibson called after them.

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  * * *

  In the car, Chris filled Clare in with the events of the evening.

  ‘Collinson’s Audi flashed up on a camera, north-west of Dundee. The traffic lads picked him up at the Tay Road Bridge.’

  ‘What’s he saying?’

  ‘Livid. Demanding to be allowed to go home, threatening to call the Chief Constable. Usual wanker stuff.’

  ‘Is he an influential wanker though?’

  ‘Not sure. But the DCI’s happy to have him arrested if he becomes difficult. At the moment he’s been persuaded to attend on a voluntary basis. But the boss says to detain him if necessary.’

  ‘But, if Nat Dryden positively identifies him…’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  They reached the community hospital half an hour before it was due to shut for the night. After Chris explained the situation, Clare was seen straight away. The doctor examined her ears and found both eardrums perforated.

  ‘No treatment, I’m afraid,’ she said, ‘just avoid blowing your nose, swimming, flying and keep them clean. No dusting or digging the garden.’

  Clare took the proffered painkillers and swallowed a couple. The doctor wanted to give her a sedative and recommended forty-eight hours rest, away from work. Clare took the sedative, tucked it in her pocket and promised she would follow the doctor’s instructions. Outside, a wind had blown up and she was suddenly cold.

  ‘It’s the shock,’ Chris said. ‘Come on – I’m driving you home and you are not to come in before nine tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant.’

  ‘That’s a good Inspector.’

  Chapter 24

  Friday, 24th May

  Clare was surprised when she turned over in bed and squinted at her bedside clock. Ten past eight! After the events of the previous night, she hadn’t expected to sleep at all. But tiredness had overtaken her and, apart from the ringing in her ears which had now given way to a muffled buzzing, she felt rested. She also felt completely empty. When had she last eaten?

  She padded downstairs, pulling her dressing gown round her and filled the kettle. Rooting around in the freezer she found a bag of ready-to-bake croissants and put two of these in the oven. She felt a strange sense of calm, at odds with the experience of staring down the barrel of a Remington 870. Fergus and Collinson had both been detained and she was hopeful that Fergus and Nat Dryden would talk, giving them enough to charge Collinson. It wasn’t the best result with three men dead and one seriously wounded but, with luck, they could find the children in the photos and save them from any further abuse.

  In the bathroom she turned on the shower. Recalling the doctor’s instructions the night before, she plugged her ears with cotton wool then stepped under the stream of water, her face turned up. As she stood, she reflected on the events of the past week. It hadn’t even been a week. Barely six days. And they weren’t done yet. There was still an unknown, female driver to find – Fergus’s accomplice.

  Despite her uninterrupted sleep, she yawned. ‘You need a holiday, Clare,’ she told herself turning off the stream of water and reaching for a towel. Her thoughts turned to the cottage she had seen. With Fergus in custody she need have no more fears about a house so close to his. Maybe if they charged both men – and found the accomplice – she could think about viewing the house. But there was still the prospect of the private prosecution hanging over her. Until that was resolved there could be no plans.

  She heard a beeping from the kitchen and r
an back downstairs, towel on her head, to take the croissants out of the oven.

  * * *

  By the time Clare arrived at the station Edward Collinson’s solicitor had been there for forty minutes. He was minded to be awkward. ‘My client agreed to attend for interview, voluntarily last night at – what was it, eleven o’clock? And you have not yet questioned him?’ He looked at his watch. ‘I believe you have trespassed on his good nature long enough, officers. Mr Collinson is leaving.’

  DCI Gibson was ready for this. ‘Our enquiries were delayed, sir, until your own arrival. We can begin the interview now, though.’

  ‘And if he declines?’

  DCI Gibson smiled. ‘I hope, sir, that won’t be an issue. I might add that we advised your client to accompany us to the station, initially for his own safety. We had reason to believe that his life was in imminent danger.’

  ‘Perhaps you would clarify that,’ the solicitor said.

  ‘We’ll discuss that during the interview,’ the DCI said.

  ‘If that was indeed the case,’ Edward Collinson piped up, ‘I’d have thought a hotel with a policeman in attendance would have been more appropriate.’

  Jesus, Clare thought, where do these people get their ideas from? Instead, she pushed a form across the table towards him and began her formal preamble.

  ‘Mr Collinson, this is a form which you have signed confirming you are attending the station voluntarily to assist us with enquiries. Are you still happy to be interviewed on that basis?’

  Edward Collinson pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘I rather think not, Inspector. It’s been a long night and I would like to return home now.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir. Your house is currently a crime scene.’

  ‘Then, as I said, perhaps a hotel…’

  Clare took a deep breath. ‘Very well, sir. Edward Collinson, I am detaining you formally in connection with offences against minors which we believe to have taken place at your home, Mortaine Castle. You are not obliged to say anything but anything you do say will be noted and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?’