by Chris Ryan
‘Good plan,’ said Amber. She looked at her watch. ‘It’s lunch time. What are we going to do with Miss Congeniality this afternoon?’
Paulo looked out of the window down the valley. ‘The mist has cleared quite a lot. How about your rock climbing, Li?’
Li shook her head. ‘No, it’s up by the Kyle. It’ll be too wet and slippery. We’d be better leaving that until another day.’
‘OK, then,’ said Paulo. ‘There’s the riding stables down at Glaickvullin. I’ll phone them – how many are coming?’
Amber stood up. ‘I’ll sit this one out,’ she said. ‘Someone else go.’
Paulo looked surprised. Just the previous week the highlight for Amber was taking Fleur and Claire, two experienced riders, out for a gallop on the moors.
Amber got up and went to the door. ‘It’s my turn to cook tonight. I’ll do something American while you guys are out.’ As she passed Alex, she shook him gently by the shoulders. ‘Alex, are you worrying about those poachers?’
‘No,’ said Alex, but he knew very well his face said yes.
Paulo was riffling through the phone book, looking for the number of the stables. ‘It’s just a few deer, Alex. If the poachers didn’t shoot them the tourists or gamekeepers would.’
Alex nodded. ‘I’ll have a word with Rob at the lodge, when I take you guys down to the stables. He can decide if there’s anything to worry about.’ But something was nagging at the back of his mind. Poaching? Was that all it was? He didn’t think so.
Hex followed Amber out to the kitchen. ‘Giving up the prospect of riding? Are you feeling well?’
Amber picked up the cutlery tray and took it to the drawer. ‘I’d love to go riding. I just don’t want it ruined by her.’
Hex picked up some plates from the draining board and stacked them in the cupboard. ‘She’s really getting to you, isn’t she?’
Behind him he heard the sound of cutlery crashing together. He looked round. Amber was practically throwing the knives, forks and spoons into their trays. ‘She’s like a cloud of bad vibes. She hates everything. Everything’s “minging”. She hates our guts and I have a natural aversion to being around people who would gladly stab me in the back. I can’t wait for the weekend.’
‘Rich girl who hates the world? You know, she reminds me of someone I used to know.’ Hex looked at Amber, dreading her response. The words had come out before he’d even thought about them.
Amber was standing facing the sink, her back to him. She was very, very still.
‘OK,’ said Hex. ‘I’ll take my punishment like a man. Execute me now.’
Amber pivoted on her heel. Her eye had a cold look in it. In her hand was a big, heavy frying pan. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Death by cast-iron frisbee.’
But Amber didn’t clobber him. She smiled. ‘You’re in luck. I nearly had a huge sense of humour failure, huh?’ She passed him the pan.
Hex took it and put it away.
Alex drove out of the stable yard. In his rear-view mirror he could see Tiff waving her hand in front of her face, her nose wrinkled in disgust, while Paulo and Li talked to the yard manager. He was relieved to have a break from her for a while, too. He changed down a gear and headed up the hill. The castellated turrets of Glaickvullin Lodge peeped out over the tops of the tall fir trees. Now the sun was out and its upper windows glinted like slivers of obsidian.
The road levelled out by the lodge gates. Coming down from the moors was a Land Rover marked GLAICKVULLIN LODGE, the carcass of a magnificent red stag tied to the roof rack. It was just about to turn in and Alex pulled onto the grass to give them room. As it came alongside he saw the face of the driver. It was Rob, the gamekeeper, and he had a passenger: a slim-built man in a checked shirt and a green waxed jacket.
Rob waved to Alex and braked. The head of the stag nodded with the impact, antlers drumming on the vehicle roof. The window slid down smoothly.
‘Hi, Rob,’ Alex called.
‘I spoke to the vet today. That dog your friends rescued is going to be fine. The owners asked me to thank you.’
‘That’s great news,’ said Alex. ‘I’ll pass it on.’ He nodded at the beast on the roof. ‘Looks like you’ve had a good day.’
The man in the passenger seat leaned forward and smiled. ‘All thanks to my wonderful gamekeepers. They just tell me where to point the gun and I shoot. I’m Frank Allen, the laird. Everything all right up at the hostel?’
‘Fine, thanks,’ said Alex. ‘Good facilities. Great area.’ He waved to Rob and moved off. Better to wait until he could get Rob in private to mention their suspicions about the other gamekeeper. He didn’t want to get Rob into trouble. Instead he swung the Range Rover up the hill. As he drove, his mind was gnawing away at something. The laird wasn’t what Alex was expecting. His accent wasn’t local; not even Scottish. More like London. And street London, not stockbroker London. Hex’s kind of accent. There was more. Alex had taken in a lot about the man during their short meeting. His waxed jacket was brand new; it still had that glossy patina. Where Rob’s had scuff marks, particularly on his right shoulder, from constant friction with the stock of a rifle, the laird’s was pristine. Either he’d just bought it or he rarely went out shooting.
12
STRANGE CARGO
Li thought how funny it was to compare the riding styles of her two companions. Paulo rode with long reins, his hips swaying as he let the big ex-racehorse find her own way up the steep bridle path. Behind him, on a small, stocky piebald, Tiff sat very straight in the saddle, as though she was having a deportment lesson. Every now and then she would try to slouch, but when she forgot herself, she sat erect with her heels down and her reins short, making sure her pony was on the bit. It was funny to see her doing something properly for once, despite her conscious efforts not to. She had obviously learned to ride quite well.
Li preferred Paulo’s style – hardly surprising, as he had been her teacher on vacations on his parents’ ranch. He’d taught her to go with the horse’s own sense of balance, and that was what she was doing now, her chestnut Arab finding her own path behind Tiff’s Welsh cob.
They reached the top. A long stretch of grass lay ahead, running along a gently undulating ridge line. Paulo gathered up the reins, ready for a canter. Jess, his mount, pranced a few steps, knowing what was coming. Then two men in green tweeds appeared on the left-hand side of the ridge, leading a black pony with hairy legs like flared trousers. On the pony’s back was a deer carcass, tethered to an adapted saddle with elastic rope. The deer’s head moved in rhythm with the pony’s steps.
Paulo squeezed the reins and calmed Jess’s bouncy stride. They would have their canter later, once the other pony was well out of the way, otherwise they might upset it. Horses were herd animals and if one started galloping, the others tended to join in. He looked behind him. The other horses were under control, walking obediently.
Suddenly the pack pony stumbled. It lurched forwards, its hooves scrabbling to find a purchase. Instead of turf they found slippery rock. The pony lost its footing altogether and crashed to the ground. The gamekeepers yelled, startled. In moments the pony was on its feet and galloping straight at Paulo. He caught a glimpse of two white-rimmed, panicked eyes in a black face, like a little demon. It went past and Tiff’s pony surged after it as if leaping out of the starting gates.
Jess jogged, eager to follow, but Paulo held her in. Tiff and the other pony were hurtling back towards the edge of the ridge they had just climbed. It was very steep and rocky and if they went down there at speed, they’d fall for sure.
Paulo eased the reins. Jess took off in pursuit, her ears fixed on the two rumps in front of her. Behind, Li’s horse had joined the stampede.
In moments Jess passed Tiff’s pony, then the little black draught pony. Paulo swerved in front of them, sat down firmly in the saddle and squeezed the reins.
But instead of slowing, Jess powered on. Paulo pulled sharply and the horse yanked back hard, still galloping.
She didn’t want to stop. She was winning the race.
The edge was three strides away. If he didn’t stop, the others would follow him down and there would be an accident. Paulo relaxed his fingers, sat down hard and squeezed with his legs. Jess’s weight shifted backwards. At that moment he turned the top half of his body and Jess suddenly found herself facing the oncoming horses. She stopped, puzzled.
Tiff’s piebald cob saw the big mare ahead, stuck his heels in the turf and slid to a stop as did the little pack pony. Tiff went forwards onto his neck, but she didn’t fall. Li’s chestnut Arab ploughed into the group, but Li kept her balance.
Paulo heaved a sigh of relief. Crisis averted. ‘Everyone OK?’
Li’s eyes were dancing. He could see she had enjoyed every moment. Tiff was out of breath and didn’t look amused as she pushed herself back off the horse’s neck and into the saddle. The horses stood blowing, their sides heaving, their eyes bright. They loved a race.
‘Good handbrake turn, Paulo,’ said Li.
Jess put her head up and skipped on the spot. She was ready to go again. Paulo patted her. ‘Yes, you won, old girl. Wish I could give you a proper race.’
But there were other things to do. The pack pony was standing a little way away, looking at Paulo, its eyes wide and wary. If it took off again, Jess would follow. He’d better catch it before it caused more chaos.
He dismounted. ‘You two stay there.’ He pulled Jess’s reins over her head and handed them to Li, then walked towards the black pony. He kept his walk deliberately unhurried, his hands down, his posture unthreatening. The pony would be easily spooked. He talked softly, in the coaxing tones he used when soothing a nervous animal on the ranch. He could see the triangle of sweat on the pony’s neck, the salmon-pink flesh inside the widened nostrils, the white rim around the eyes. The reins were broken, hanging down like uneven shoelaces. He could have made a grab for them, but instead he ran a reassuring hand down the pony’s sweaty neck. Then he grasped the rein.
The pony flinched, but Paulo was ready with a soothing word. It flicked an ear and slid its eye sideways, but relaxed. Paulo felt a few spots of rain, big, splashy drops. Dios, this Scottish weather, he thought. What next, a hurricane?
The green figures of the gamekeepers were running towards him. The pony saw them and flinched, but Paulo comforted it again. He put up his hand to tell the gamekeepers to slow down, but they took no notice. Paulo decided to walk the pony back to them. Maybe then they would stop running, which was only upsetting it.
They slowed to a walk as Paulo approached. One had a rifle over the crook of his arm, the breech broken. The other one grabbed the pony’s rein. It threw up its head in alarm. ‘Gently,’ said Paulo. ‘He’s had a scare.’
‘Thanks,’ said the gamekeeper gruffly, and tugged on the rein.
As the pony was pulled past him, Paulo noticed something odd about the deer carcass on its back. There was a plastic bag inside it and something slowly spilling out: small white beads were sticking to the pony’s dark flank.
Paulo brushed them away and they stuck to his hand. When he looked at them he realized what they were: pills.
The other gamekeeper pushed Paulo out of the way and shoved the bag back into the carcass. The pony jogged, upset. Paulo recognized the man – the pale blue eyes, the acne scars and the longer scar like a cut. It was the gamekeeper who had been staring at him the previous day in the yard by the lodge. He turned to Paulo and brushed the white beads firmly off Paulo’s hand, the rifle still over the crook of his arm.
‘Polystyrene packing,’ said the gamekeeper. ‘Punters don’t like to see a big bloody hole.’ He wiped his hands on his trousers and snapped the rifle together. He looked as though he was checking it but the safety catch was off. Paulo was in no doubt that it was a warning to leave. He turned and walked back to the others.
Tiff’s pony was munching the grass, while Li had dismounted to hold her Arab and Jess. Jess’s ears pricked up as she caught sight of Paulo.
‘What’s up?’ said Li.
‘Have you got a hoof pick?’ said Paulo.
Li handed him a hooked piece of metal from the pocket of her jacket.
Paulo lifted his right foot. In the tread of his boot were a couple of white dots. He eased them out with the end of the hoof pick, then scraped them carefully off the metal into his hand. Jess tried to sniff them and Paulo pushed her questing muzzle gently away.
Li watched, intrigued. ‘What are those?’
‘Polystyrene packing, so I’m told,’ said Paulo. He got a tissue out of his pocket, carefully picked the mud off the pills, then wrapped them up and put them away. Jess sniffed at his pocket, curious. Paulo stroked her. ‘Jess, they’re not mints.’ He took the reins back from Li and prepared to mount.
Tiff watched, wondering what on earth Li and Paulo were up to.
Paulo threw his jacket in the back of the Range Rover and climbed into the front seat beside Alex.
‘Polystyrene packing?’ said Alex incredulously.
Paulo did up his seat belt. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Tiff wouldn’t be able to hear. She was taking her time putting her coat in the boot. ‘Yeah. This guy said they used polystyrene packing to pack the body cavity after gutting. It’s so the punters don’t get upset.’
‘Utter rubbish,’ said Alex. ‘I’ve been hunting with my dad enough times. Anyone who’s prepared to shoot an animal doesn’t mind a little blood.’
Li climbed in and did up her seat belt. ‘They don’t mind leaving entrails on the ground outside the bothy, but they pack the carcasses with polystyrene? It doesn’t add up.’
‘I saw the laird out with Rob this afternoon,’ said Alex. ‘They had a gutted stag on the roof rack. It wasn’t full of pretty polystyrene beads.’
Tiff got in, her coat dragging across the seat. Alex started the engine and switched on the wipers. They would talk about this later.
Alex pulled up in the garage beside the hostel. Tiff opened the door before he’d even cut the engine and jumped out, then ran to the front door.
Li, Paulo and Alex looked at each other. ‘What’s got into her?’
Li looked at her watch. ‘Is it time for EastEnders?’
Paulo grabbed his jacket from the back seat. ‘Conference – while she’s occupied.’
They took their boots off and went straight to the kitchen. Delicious smells of baking wafted around them. ‘Wow, Amber,’ said Alex. ‘What’s that?’
A large roasting dish stood on a wire rack. Inside was something with a golden crust, slightly cracked to reveal a yellow spongy interior. ‘Cornbread,’ she replied. ‘It’s Roseanne’s recipe; I got her to text it.’
‘Wow,’ said Paulo. He remembered Roseanne’s cornbread well; Roseanne was Amber’s housekeeper and had cooked for them when they’d all been over in New York. He leaned over the golden square and breathed in the warm fragrance. ‘Mmmm,’ he said.
Hex was perched on a kitchen stool. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you saw Amber’s attempt. That’s my version.’
Li looked at Hex. ‘You cooked this?’
Hex shrugged. ‘I just followed the instructions, that’s all. No great mystery.’
‘Speaking of mysteries’ – Paulo threw his jacket on the stool and began to fish around in the pocket – ‘I have something rather interesting.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It’s not poaching that’s going on around here. It’s drug smuggling.’
Hex and Amber looked at him incredulously. ‘It’s what?’
‘We met a pair of gamekeepers,’ said Paulo. ‘They were transporting a dead deer on a pony and it fell over. The deer carcass split and inside was a bag full of little white pills.’ He searched his inside pocket, then picked up the Range Rover keys. ‘Back in a moment.’ He went out and they heard the front door shut.
‘Of course,’ said Hex. ‘That’s why we found that gutted deer in the water this morning. They transport the pills in the carcass, put them in the boat, then they don’t want the car
cass any more. They throw them overboard.’
‘I wonder what drugs they’re smuggling?’ said Li. ‘And where they’re coming from?’
Paulo came back in and began searching on the floor. ‘Has anyone seen a tissue? I picked up some of those pills and they’re inside it.’
For a moment they all looked around on the floor. Paulo picked up his jacket and went through the pockets again.
‘And now you can’t find them?’ said Alex.
‘I definitely put them in my pocket.’ Paulo stopped. He remembered Tiff had been in the back seat next to his jacket. ‘Tiff,’ he said. ‘Do you think she would know what I had? Would she take them?’
‘No wonder she dashed inside like a bat out of hell,’ said Li.
Amber rolled her eyes. ‘Oh brother.’
Alex stood up. ‘If she has, she’d better not be alone. If it’s like the stuff I had it’s horrible.’
He went out into the corridor. The sound of the TV floated towards him – the news on high volume.
At the far end, the TV room door opened. Tiff twirled into the corridor, and skipped lightly towards the crowd coming to join her.
Alex caught her in his arms. He’d expected her to struggle and maybe even kick him but instead she swayed to and fro. She was trying to get him to dance. He looked into her face. Her expression was cherubic – completely unlike the sour Tiff they knew. Her eyes were flicking quickly from side to side. She had definitely taken something.
She slithered past him and ran into Paulo. ‘Got any music, cowboy? Do you dance?’ She twirled in front of him, round and round, delighted by the movement.
Paulo gave Alex a long-suffering look and pushed her back into the TV room. She went easily, but he didn’t follow her in. He slammed the door as though he’d trapped a rat in there.
‘Should we call a doctor?’ asked Li.
Alex shook his head. ‘She seems OK. She’s not like I was; she’s having a good time.’
‘How long does it last?’
