Designer Crime

by Allen Whitehead

  When Joe reached the roundabout he had to give way to traffic coming from Edinburgh, and Doig drew near. An articulated lorry approached and slowed as it moved on to the roundabout. Suddenly, Joe accelerated and shot out in front of the truck. The driver blasted his horn in annoyance.

  'The bastard!' swore Doig,

  Joe drove the Dacia part of the way round the roundabout, then whipped the wheel over and quickly took a minor road heading south into the Lammermuir Hills. His move was masked by the slowly moving lorry and the planting on the roundabout. Doig gunned the BMW, skimming past the rear of the lorry, and was about to head right on to the A1 when Antonelli shouted.

  'No, Shane. He's off up there, look!'

  'Fuck,' swore Doig wrenching at the steering wheel.

  He made a full circuit of the roundabout and took the turn on to the road taken by the Dacia but, by this time, Joe was three hundred metres ahead. Beyond the roundabout the road quickly narrowed, wide enough for vehicles to pass each other, but only with care. It was also a winding route with sharp blind corners and vision was impaired by high hedges, ivy covered walls, and steep embankments topped by trees and hedges. On a straight road, the powerful engine of the BMW made it much faster vehicle than the Dacia, but on winding roads the utilitarian car was at less of a disadvantage.

  Joe drove down a hill to a sharp left-hand turn at a small, narrow bridge over a stream, with another right angle bend at the opposite side, then up a tree-lined hill. There were few buildings, only an occasional cottage or farm building, until he reached a small linear village. Here the cottages lined the roadside, with a small pavement and several parked cars, and again there was no way that Doig would have been able to overtake, although he made up some of the distance as Joe slowed down to pass through the village. As soon as he left the village behind, Joe accelerated again and the road narrowed even more until it was almost a single track with no markings.

  'I'm catching the fucker now,' laughed Doig, but he spoke too soon.

  The Council's gritting vehicle must have stopped and turned at the village, because the road beyond had not been treated with salt and grit. The thin coating of snow on the surface had begun to melt, but underneath the road surface remained icy. Joe's Dacia hugged the bends, but the BMW began to fishtail alarmingly whenever Doig tried to go fast.

  'He's not so fucking daft, after all,' said Antonelli, grimly. 'I wondered why he'd taken the back roads.'

  Ahead was a small road junction and a sign which stated “Unsuitable for wide vehicles.” Joe slowed and took the sharp right on to an extremely narrow road that was little more than a surfaced cart track. It had a deep ditch on the lower side and Doig had to fight hard to keep his car from sliding into it. At the bottom of the hill the Dacia bounced through a ford. At it's deepest part there was almost half a metre of melt water running in the stream and Joe's car splashed through it sending spray high into the air. Doig had also seen the sign for the ford, but underestimated how deep it might be. It was too late to apply the brakes, so he gunned the car through the water, grimacing as the underside of the BMW, with it's sports suspension, scraped the concrete bed below the water surface.

  Beyond the ford, the Duster had started climbing up a steep hill through a tunnel formed by the trees on either side. It emerged at the top into an open countryside of scattered hill farms. Far in the distance could be seen the Firth of Forth and the coastal villages of Fife. Half a mile further on, with Doig once again catching up, Joe suddenly braked and turned into a field through an open gateway. He stopped, switched off the engine and, leaving the car blocking the field entrance, jumped out and began to run across the field along a deeply rutted track. The BMW slid to a halt, across Joe's car, blocking the field entrance, and Doig jumped out after Antonelli who was already on his way, following in Joe's footprints.

  * * *

  Joe ran easily and comfortably. He was wearing fell-running shoes and a track suit, and he glanced behind him from time to time to check on his closest pursuer.

  That was Antonelli who prided himself on his fitness. He worked out twice a week at the gym and was also a member of a triathlon club. His absence from Edinburgh since December, however, meant that he had not trained with the club for a while, and his level of fitness had suffered as a consequence. Also, he hadn't dressed for running and his shoes slipped on patches of ice in the frozen ruts of the track. Nevertheless, he managed to keep Joe in sight, without reducing the distance between them.

  Doig began to suffer, though. He also kept himself fit in the gym, lifting weights and boxing, and he was very strong. A heavily built and stocky man, cross-country running was not for him. Antonelli saw that he was beginning to labour and slowed.

  'Get after him, Mario,' Doig gasped. 'I'll catch you up.'

  The track led uphill for half a kilometre through a very large field, that had been sown with barley in the previous autumn, and from there through a gateway in the hedgerow into another. The second field was even bigger than the first and, at the top of a rolling hill, it levelled off and then began to descend to the south west. Beyond it was more arable land that gave way to high pasture and, above that, the heather and gorse of the Lammermuir hills. The track eventually led to a traditional farm steading. The farmer had retired several years earlier, and the farmhouse together with a stable block and a small paddock had been sold to an Edinburgh banker. The remainder of the farm lands, and the old steading that was remote from the house, had been bought by a neighbouring farm estate.

  Joe ran down the track and through a large open doorway below the gable of one of the steading buildings.

  Inside was a large open space with stone walls and exposed roof trusses. Once the winter housing for cattle, it was now used by the farmer to store logs. The estate managed a large acreage of mixed woodland, and trees were cut and seasoned in the shed as firewood for sale to residents in the local area. Large branches and sections of trunks were stacked inside the entrance, ready to be reduced by chainsaw and a diesel log splitter, before being added to the huge pile of logs, cut during the previous spring, that were drying at the back of the space.

  Joe turned, breathing hard, and saw Antonelli, eighty metres away, running down the hill towards the barn.

  * * *

  Antonelli came in through the doorway. He was red-faced, sweating and he was breathing hard, but it was not laboured.

  'You can't fucking run from us forever, Sutherland.'

  'I know,' said Joe taking a step towards him.

  Antonelli reached inside his jacket and pulled out his knife. He began waving it from side to side with a fierce gleam in his eyes.

  'Any stupid move and I'll cut you.'

  'You must be the one who cut Madalina's face?' Joe said, and took another step towards him, his hands hanging loosely by his sides.

  'The bitch deserved it,' he sneered, smiling.

  As Joe took another step forwards, Antonelli's nerve failed.

  'I warned you!' he shouted, lunging forward, swinging the knife fast, upwards towards Joe's belly.

  Joe moved swiftly to the left, deflecting the swinging arm with his forearm and turning, he grabbed hold of Antonelli's arm, jerking him forward, closed in and elbowed him in the face. Pinning the knife arm between his body and upper arm, he gripped Antonelli's elbow with both hands and dug his thumbs deep into the pressure point. Antonelli felt as if his arm was on fire, as an excruciating pain shot up the length of his arm. The knife dropped from nerveless fingers, clattering on to the floor. Twisting his body, Joe slid his hands down to Antonelli's wrist and, gripping it tight in his right hand, snatched hold of his thumb. He jerked it back and snapped it at the joint.

  A piercing scream echoed around the barn.

  Stepping back on to his right foot, Joe swung a lightning horizontal kick into Antonelli's midriff. When he doubled up, Joe stepped in, kicked his legs from under him and punched him to the floor where he lay face down. He bent and picked the knife up from the floor. Taking h
old of Antonelli's left arm, he dragged the stricken man across the floor to where an old railway sleeper lay.

  'Maddie sends her love!' he shouted, lifting the blade high.

  'No!' Antonelli shrieked, as the knife came down, stabbing through the back of his hand, and burying itself into the blackened timber.

  As Joe got up and turned away from him, Doig arrived, out of breath. He looked around him, wild-eyed and red-faced, the scar on his face livid. He stood taking in the scene before him as Antonelli moaned and whimpered.

  'You do that, yer fucking cunt? he snarled furiously.

  'Shane … watch out for him … he does martial arts!' Antonelli cried.

  'Oh, so yer know some fancy stuff do yer?' Doig sneered. 'Well, where I grew up, we learned fighting on the streets – no rules.'

  'You must be the one they call “Pit Bull”,' Joe said quietly. 'Is it 'cos you look like one?'

  'Very funny – come on then, pretty boy, give us yer best shot.'

  In his teenage years, Doig had been an amateur boxer for a time, but he was frequently disqualified for his lack of control and failing to obey the referee's instructions. Eventually he abandoned the sport, only returning to boxing in more recent times. Now, he entered to the ring to train and sharpen up his reactions, after having first expended some of his anger on the heavy punchbag.

  Crouching and balling his massive fists, he began to move towards the taller man, who stood lightly on the balls of his feet, with his arms hanging loose at his sides. Doig circled cautiously, trying to manoeuvre Joe into a corner, but he saw the threat and kept him out of range. Changing his tactics, Doig suddenly rushed at him, throwing a flurry of punches, trying to get close and wrestle him to the ground. Fast on his feet, Joe slid to one side, evading the onslaught, and he whirled punching the other man hard in the ribs.

  'Fuck!' grunted Doig.

  Infuriated, he whirled round, surprising Joe by how fast he could move. He charged again, catching the taller man with a heavy blow to the side of the head. For a couple of moments Joe saw stars but, shaking his head, he backed off as Doig, scenting blood, moved in to finish him off. He swung a vicious left hook, but Joe slid to the right, and ducked under it. Joe then executed a fast stamping kick against the side of Doig's knee, making him fall heavily, face first. Leaping high in the air, Joe landed with his heel on one of Doig's outstretched hands breaking some small bones.

  'Arghhhh! he cried in agony … Yer'll pay for that yer bastard!'

  From where he lay, he picked up a log and hurled it at the tall fair-haired man. It hit Joe a glancing blow on the forehead, cutting him above his eye, causing blood to trickle down the side of his cheek. Ignoring the pain in his hand, Doig pushed himself to his feet and charged again, wild-eyed, arms flailing. This time Joe stood his ground and, using his longer reach, dropped low and punched him, hard and straight, in the solar plexus. Doig dropped his fists and a lightning fast follow-up punch from Joe hit him in the throat. As Doig gulped, choking, Joe grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him forward, off-balance, making him stumble over a pile of the logs that were lying on the floor. Doig reached out as he fell, trying to break his fall with his hands, and Joe immediately leaped on to one of the outstretched arms breaking it at the elbow. He screamed once, then lay against the side of the log pile groaning as Joe stepped forward.

  'Is this the boot you kicked Sam with?' he said, nudging Doig's right leg with his foot.

  'She that little wild-cat bitch?… The one that tried to take Mario's eye out?

  'That's right. You remember her – you stamped on her head too.'

  'Oh, aye, I remember her, right enough. She squealed like a fucking little pig!' he said with a smirk.

  Joe turned and walked over to where a large axe was leaning against the wall. He picked it up, strode back and stood over Doig.

  'Well, you won't kick her again.'

  'Yer, wouldn't dare,' sneered Doig. 'I ken your sort. Yer just a pussy!'

  Joe swung the axe back and high above his head. Doig's eyes widened in disbelief.

  'Nooo...!' he screamed, as he saw it come down.

  When he swung the axe back, Joe turned it in the moment that it paused above his head, so that when he brought it down, it was the back of the axe head and not the sharp blade that smashed into Doig's ankle. Nevertheless there was a loud crack as the bone shattered – quickly lost in the midst of Doig's shriek of pain.

  'That's for Sam and wee Josie,' Joe said, hurling the axe across the shed on to the log pile.

  He moved back to the white-faced Doig, who flinched, as he bent over him, expecting further punishment, but Joe only searched the pockets of his jacket. He took out the car keys, then he turned his back and walked out into the frosty morning, as the sun began to rise higher in the sky.

  * * *

  Joe moved Doig's car away from the field entrance and reversed his Duster back out into the road. Leaving the engine running, he drove the BMW up into the field and left it on the track. He let the air out of three of the tyres and threw the ignition keys into a hedge before getting back behind the wheel of his own car. Heaving a huge sigh of relief, he started back for Edinburgh.

  Joe drove slowly down the winding country road towards the A1. He pulled off the road beside a small wooded area, at the top of a hill, where he guessed he might be able to get a signal on his mobile phone.

  He took it out and dialled 999.

  As soon as he got a response, he ignored all questions and simply said 'There are two criminals waiting for the police to collect them' and gave the GPS co-ordinates for the steading. After that he pressed the buttons, dialling another number.

  'Good morning, CAT Architects. How can we help you?' answered the husky voice.

  'Hi, Ali, it's me Joe.'

  'Oh, Joe, thank goodness. Is everything okay? I've been worried about you, all morning.'

  'Everything's fine. Can I have a word with Paul.'

  'But the guys on the phone. What was that all about?'

  'It was a case of mistaken identity, Ali. They now know they should have been looking for someone else.'

  'Oh, thank goodness. That's okay then … I'll just see if Paul's available. Hold on.'

  The phone went quiet for a couple of minutes and he watched a squirrel come cautiously down an old oak tree and begin digging furiously in the earth between two large roots.

  'Joe, I'm so pleased to hear from you.' Paul said with relief in his voice. 'I haven't been able to concentrate on anything since I got into work this morning. What happened?'

  'It all went according to plan, Paul. I've called the cops and told them where they can pick up Pit Bull and Antonelli. They're not going anywhere. It's all over, now.'

  'Oh, man, I'm so relieved. Now we can all get back to our day jobs.'

  'Yeah, that's right. Bye, Paul. I'll see you soon. I've just got one more phone call to make, then I'm coming back to Edinburgh.'

  The squirrel found what it was looking for and raced back up the tree with something in it's mouth. He dialled again.

  A quavering voice answered, 'Hello?'

  'Hi, Mum, it's Joe. Is Sam there?'

  'Oh, Joe, lad. It's you son ... Aye, she's right here by the fire.' Maggie raised her voice, 'Samantha, it's Joe wants to speak to you.'

  The small dark-haired woman picked up the handset. 'Hi, love, what's up?'

  'Hi, Sam … You can pack your bag, love. I'm coming up on Friday evening. You're coming home.'

  * * *

  Chapter 25 May

  It was a beautiful spring morning, calm, with a warm sun shining though the cherry blossom on the trees in Harrison Gardens. Joe had woken early for no particular reason. He'd filled the cafetiere and was putting marmalade on some toast when Sam walked into the kitchen.

  'What woke you up?' she asked, running a hand through her long black hair. She yawned and stretched.

  'I dunno. It's a lovely morning though. Look at the blue sky. Come on, get some breakfast and then let's go
for a walk along the canal before we go to work.'

  Four weeks earlier, Samantha had returned to work at the Leisure Centre where she was employed as an instructor. She took classes in fitness training, self-defence and rock climbing – her specialist activity.

  They strolled, hand in hand, along the tow-path, chatting. Some early morning joggers and cyclists, on their way to work, passed by them. Near the footbridge, they were overtaken by a crew of eight, from a nearby public school, who earnestly rowed past urged on by their cox. Further along the canal, a pair of mallard ducks took to the air ahead of the boat, calling with alarm, while five ducklings, floating balls of fluff, tried to hide in a patch of reeds.

  * * *

  When Joe arrived at the office he met Neil, standing in the courtyard, looking downcast.

  'Hi, man, what's up? Bad news?'

  Although Neil was a very independent man and generally kept his own council, he and Joe had formed a close friendship during the last six months.

  'Nah. It's nothing, really.'

  'Well, it doesn't look like nothing to me – I haven't seen you looking so unhappy for ages.'

  Neil shrugged and pushed open the door. Joe saw him again, later that morning, sitting in the library space. He had a catalogue open in front of him, but his mind was obviously elsewhere, and he was staring absently at the wall. At lunchtime, Joe watched, as the young staff from Neil's studio went out to buy sandwiches, and he took the opportunity to catch him alone.

  'Come on, Neil, man. Tell me what the trouble is – a problem shared and all that.'

  'It's Maddie, Joe.' he blurted out. 'I thought we were getting on really well, and then last night I suggested to her that maybe we could get married.'

  'But that's great!'

  'Yeah. I thought so too … I thought she'd be pleased, but she just turned me down flat ... Looks like it's all over between us, Joe.'

  Although he tried to persuade him differently, there was nothing that the younger man could say that was able to lift the cloud of melancholy that had descended on him.

  * * *