by T F Muir
Martha looked at him, no longer smiling.
He returned her dead gaze. ‘It matters, because he has to come back.’
Her mouth opened as if to speak, but he beat her to it.
‘He’s not going to leave without the money, Martha. But you knew that, didn’t you? As long as we were interviewing you, you thought we weren’t looking for him. But he knows we’re on to him now. He knows it’s over for him, there’s no turning back. So, what options does he have?’ He let a couple of beats pass, then said, ‘He’s about to leave the area, Martha, maybe even the country. But before he does, he’s going to come back for the money. He has to.’
Her eyes smouldered.
‘And he’ll be heading to your cottage,’ he said. ‘Because that’s where it is.’
‘It’s not,’ she said.
Jessie said, ‘She speaks after all.’
Martha’s eyes flared for a fearful moment, then settled on Gilchrist. ‘There’s nothing there,’ she said. ‘He’s got bank accounts everywhere. All over the world.’
‘No, he doesn’t.’ Gilchrist didn’t know that for sure, but he was intrigued by the way her mind seemed to work through the movement of her eyes. ‘He would leave an electronic trail whenever he accessed foreign bank accounts, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that our IT experts have found no such trail.’ Again, he could not say for sure, but sometimes you just have to press.
‘You’re wrong,’ she said.
He took pleasure from her discomfort, the way her gaze darted around, how her fingers curled into weak fists. ‘He has a number of bank accounts, we know that. But they contain nothing close to the sums he inherited from two wives.’ He smiled, hoping to portray a confidence he didn’t feel. ‘So, what did he do with all that cash? Where did he keep it?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m willing to bet we’ll find it in Raven Cottage.’
‘You’ll find nothing.’ Her eyes gleamed.
Gilchrist’s antennae sparked alive. Wrong answer. No denial that the cash wasn’t there. Rather a statement that it was, and they’d never find it. ‘And I’m also willing to bet that you’re bluffing,’ he said, ‘because after all these hours of no comments you’re talking to me now. Telling me I’m wrong. Telling me I’ll find nothing.’ He gave a victory grin. ‘Which, when you think about it, Martha, says that I’ve hit the nail smack dab on the head.’
She bit her lip, as if to ensure she couldn’t say anything more.
But she was too late. The damage was done.
Gilchrist nodded to Jessie. ‘Charge her with obstructing a police investigation and attempting to pervert the course of justice. We can discuss other charges in the morning.’
Thorncroft spluttered in defiance, but Jessie said, ‘You had your chance. You were warned,’ then pushed on with the formal charges.
As Gilchrist left the interview room, he glanced at Martha as he closed the door, and thought he caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
CHAPTER 38
Gilchrist walked across the car park, remote fob in his hand. His plan was simple, at least he hoped it was: to pick up the search warrant for Raven Cottage, then strip the place if they had to, searching for what he hoped would be the hidden stash. Of course, there was always the worry he was wrong, that he’d misinterpreted Martha’s body language, even her spoken answers. So the fewer people who knew about this sketchy plan of his, at least in its early stages, the better.
He would play it softly, proceed with the utmost caution.
And for the time being, stay well away from Smiler.
He switched on his car’s engine, turned up the fan and let the cabin warm up. As he waited for Jessie, he tried to work through the pluses and minuses of moving forward.
He didn’t think that Scott Black, or whatever his name was, would be armed if he turned up at Raven Cottage. They’d found no firearms certificates under his name, although that was never a guarantee. So it seemed reasonable to carry out an authorised search of the cottage unarmed. And besides, securing firearms would need to be authorised by a senior officer, so any plans he had for that, whether or not he tried to keep them quiet, would wing their way back to Chief Superintendent Smiley.
Still, it would be prudent to wear body armour.
But first things first.
He phoned Mhairi. ‘What’s the latest on the warrant for Raven Cottage?’
‘It’s not been approved yet, sir.’
Bloody hell. This was the problem when you followed protocol – too many people could insert too many spanners into your works. ‘Can you push it through for me?’ he said.
‘Already tried, sir, but it’s still on Smiler’s desk.’
He gasped a curse, and said, ‘What the hell’s she doing with it?’
‘I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.’
A surge of anger zapped through him. There was no reason for Smiler to be involved in the application for a search warrant, other than to be kept in the loop. But he berated himself for his naivety. Their relationship had got off to a rocky start, and this was Smiler’s way of trying to rein him in, control that maverick side of his – on and on with petty admin processes until she ground him into submission, or issued the final ultimatum: retire or be fired.
‘Would you like me to try again, sir?’
‘No, Mhairi. I’ll take care of it.’
He got through to Smiler straight away.
‘Good evening, DCI Gilchrist.’
‘Why haven’t you processed the search warrant?’
‘I had some questions—’
‘Then why haven’t you contacted me about them?’
‘I’m not sure I care for your tone, DCI Gilchrist.’
‘Well what tone would you like me to use when time is running out?’
‘If time is running out, then the sooner you get in here, the sooner your warrant will be processed.’
Gilchrist had more chance of hammering his head through a brick wall than Smiler signing off on his application over the phone. ‘This isn’t working for me,’ he said.
‘Nor for me, DCI Gilchrist.’
Well, there he had it. Her endgame in sight. The line died before he could come back with some biting quip. But if the truth be known, he was just about done with it all. He tossed his mobile into the back just as Jessie opened the passenger door.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said. ‘This weather would freeze the balls off you.’
‘That’s more information than I need to know.’ He slipped into gear, reversed into the travel lane, then powered across the car park.
‘So you think Black’s really going to come back to the cottage?’ she said.
What could he tell her? That it was another stab in the dark? But if they had a search warrant, at least they might find the money – if it was ever there in the first place.
Bloody hell, what a mess.
‘What do you think?’ he tried.
‘I think you drive too fast.’
He tried to slow down as he exited on to Napier Road, but the tyres slid on the slush, and he had to give a hard tug of the wheel to avoid hitting the kerb.
‘See?’
He accelerated to thirty-five, then set the cruise control. ‘Is that better?’
‘Getting there,’ she said. ‘So you’re saying Black’s been hiding close to the cottage so that he can come back and recover a stash of hidden money?’
In plain language, his rationale sounded weak, even to his own ears. He managed a smile, and said, ‘It’s possible. Yes.’
‘And he’s going to come back when, exactly?’
Again, it all sounded iffy. ‘The sooner the better, I’d say.’
‘As soon as today?’
He eased into traffic. ‘As soon as tonight.’
‘You want me to organise a team?’
‘No team. We don’t have a search warrant.’ He drove on, conscious of Jessie’s eyes on his, her silence demanding an answer. ‘It’s stuck on Smiler’s desk,’ he exp
lained.
‘Shit. So we’re going to have to wait until—’
‘I’m not waiting.’
‘What?’ She stared at him. ‘Jesus, Andy. You could get into serious trouble for this. Not to mention that anything we find would be inadmissible.’
He chanced a look at her. ‘We?’
‘You’re not doing this on your own. And that’s non-negotiable.’
‘This is my mess, Jessie, so don’t get—’
‘What about baton guns?’
He shook his head. ‘Forget it.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Baton guns wouldn’t work. Smiler would stop us.’
‘Us?’
‘Get over it, Andy. I’ve told you. You’re not doing this alone.’
He tightened his grip on the wheel. Jessie was right. It would be folly to risk tackling Black alone. He knew Jessie could handle herself, but without baton guns, they might be at a serious disadvantage. With a show of reluctance, he said, ‘OK, but we’ll pick up body armour, just in case.’
Jessie glanced at her watch. ‘If your theory’s right,’ she said, ‘then that bastard might come back to the cottage as soon as it’s dark.’
Gilchrist already had his car’s sidelights on. In another thirty minutes, it could be dark enough for headlights. It would take over an hour to collect body armour then drive to the cottage. Time was indeed running out.
‘Phone Mhairi and have her organise body armour.’
‘If I know Mhairi, she’ll want to come with us.’
‘Two sets only,’ he said. ‘And that’s non-negotiable.’
They met Mhairi in the car park close to the East Sands, in a corner devoid of streetlighting, courtesy of local vandals. She opened the boot of her car and removed two sets of Kevlar body armour. She handed Jessie her set first, then Gilchrist his, and waited for him to strap his on securely before saying, ‘I would like to come along, too, sir.’
‘No chance, Mhairi.’
‘I could help—’
‘No, Mhairi. I’m not dragging you into this. It’ll get you into trouble with Smiler,’ he said, and opened his car door.
‘I’m already in trouble, sir.’
He froze, the door half-open. ‘What do you mean?’
‘When I was leaving the Office, Smiler saw me. She called out, but I just ignored her and kept on walking.’
‘Did she see the body armour?’
‘I think so, sir. All three sets.’
Jessie said, ‘Well, you can’t return a set to the Office now.’
Gilchrist had to agree. They would need to face the consequences in the morning.
‘I could be a lookout, sir. Let you know as soon as anyone’s coming.’
Even in the darkness, he could make out the glint of youthful expectation in her eyes. What was she hoping for? A hands-on struggle and a hard-fought arrest? A wild chase through dark country roads? But in all likelihood, his plan was a waste of time, with them all sitting around in the freezing cold, waiting for Black to turn up and being disappointed, or maybe relieved, when he didn’t.
Perhaps his plan was nowhere near as treacherous as he feared.
‘Lookout it is, then,’ he said. And even though it was likely nothing was going to happen, added, ‘And no heroics.’
‘No heroics, sir,’ she said, and winked at Jessie as she took her seat in the back.
Gilchrist parked outside the third to last house on the road to Raven Cottage. The three of them then walked briskly up a shallow incline that steepened as they neared the cottage. A covering of snow – threadbare thin in parts, wind-drift thick in others – troubled Gilchrist. Their footprints along the road could be noticed by anyone, meaning Scott Black. But they managed to skirt the worst of it, picking their way with care in single file, and a glance behind assured him that their tracks were more or less hidden.
In the pitch black of a windswept countryside, Raven Cottage looked as if it had been abandoned for decades. The slated roof lay white with snow. A north wind had stiffened, shovelling clouds across the sky, offering glimpses of a gibbous moon and sprinkling the ground-frost with a million diamonds.
Gilchrist’s heart was racing, his breathing laboured. Jessie puffed hard in the cold, but Mhairi could’ve finished a casual stroll down the street for all the strain she was showing. As his heart settled, he took his bearings. He had intended to inspect the cottage, to make sure it was locked up, and importantly, that Black had in fact not been and gone. It would have been helpful, too, if they could break in – leaving no trace of having done so, of course – and begin a search for whatever stash he hoped to find. And if that proved successful, he would gladly face Smiler’s wrath in the morning, secure in the knowledge that a late-approved warrant would provide positive results.
But as he eyed the area, he realised they had a problem. They could not get close to the cottage without leaving fresh footprints. If Black turned up, he would know they’d been there, and could turn and run. So, rather than risk it, they positioned themselves in the woods around the property, and settled down for the wait.
But now they were there, sheltering against the bitter cold, this plan of his had to be the most stupid he had ever devised.
Time crept past. Minutes turned to hours.
And the cold set in with a vengeance.
Frost pressed through his clothes and gnawed at his bones. Ice nibbled his nose and ears, and bit into his fingers. He eyed the length of the road leading to town to confirm that it still lay clear. Black was not on his way. He pulled his mobile from his jacket again, taking care to conceal the light from its screen, and checked the time – 11.34. He tried to work out how long they had been there – three hours? four? – but his mind seemed to have frozen, too.
He shielded his mobile’s screen, and dialled Jessie’s number. He thought he caught the flicker of her phone’s screen high in the woods to the side of the cottage. Then it settled into darkness again. He had warned both of them that even the tiniest flicker of light could appear magnified in pitch blackness.
‘Any thoughts?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘Plenty,’ she said. ‘Mostly about jumping into a hot bath.’
He blew into his hands, but even his breath seemed to have chilled. ‘We’ll give it until midnight,’ he said, ‘then call it a day.’
‘Or a night.’
From where he stood, he couldn’t see Mhairi, who had positioned herself on the other side of the cottage from him. But they each had an unrestricted view of the road into town.
‘Have you heard from Mhairi?’ he asked.
‘Spoke to her a few minutes ago. She’s thinking of a hot bath, too.’
He gave a silent groan. Not only had his plan been idiotic, it had failed magnificently, and frozen the three of them senseless. He was on the point of calling it off right there and then when Jessie said, ‘Hang on, Andy.’
‘What is it?’
‘Sshh.’
He pulled his jacket collar up around his face to smother all light from his phone, then eyed the cottage. ‘You still there?’ he said.
‘I see something moving.’
‘Where?’
‘In the fields.’
He peered into the darkness. ‘A fox?’
‘Bigger.’
‘Sheep?’
‘Man size,’ she said. ‘And it’s walking.’
Of course. How could he have been so stupid? Black would not approach the cottage from town. He would walk across the fields, take the same route he’d driven the motorbike, the same way he and Jessie had walked a couple of days ago. But an acid nip of worry stung his gut at that thought. Black was approaching where Mhairi had positioned herself.
‘What about Mhairi?’ he said.
‘I don’t see her.’
‘Is she anywhere near—?’
‘Can you see him now?’ Jessie interrupted. ‘He’s almost at the corner of the cottage.’
‘Alone?’
‘Looks like it.’
He thought of telling Jessie to check with Mhairi, make sure she was OK, but Mhairi’s mobile’s screen might light up and give the game away.
‘You see him?’ Jessie hissed.
Gilchrist focused all his senses on the corner by the fields. But he could be looking at a black screen. His sight seemed to shimmer and fade, but it was only the clouds shifting in the sky. The moon burst through at that moment, and for just an instant he caught movement by the gable end.
‘I see him,’ he said.
‘You think it’s him?’
‘Don’t know yet. I’m switching off. Check with Mhairi. Not by phone. Make sure she’s OK.’
‘Will do.’
‘I’m moving in.’
‘Andy.’
The sharpness of her voice stopped him. ‘What?’
‘If it’s Black,’ she said, ‘don’t tackle him alone.’
He suspected that Jessie was worried not only for his safety, but for hers and Mhairi’s, too. ‘Call the local Office for backup,’ he said. ‘If it’s not Black, then it’s somebody else trespassing.’
‘Just one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘There are no trespass laws in Scotland.’
‘Shit, Jessie. We’ll catch him breaking in, then.’
He ended the call and crawled out from behind a copse of shrubs that had provided protection from the wind. A gust cold enough to strip flesh from bone hit him face on. It had to be ten below, with a wind chill of God knew what. He fought off the urge to clap his hands, stomp his feet, work some warmth into his freezing body.
Instead, he crouched lower and crept towards the cottage.
The figure was clearer now, black silhouetted on grey, working its way along the front of the cottage towards the steps where they’d first seen Martha. He tried to judge the size of the figure; man-sized and man-shaped, no doubt about that, wide shoulders, too.
But was it Black?
Silent, he watched and waited.
CHAPTER 39
Gilchrist held his breath as the figure crept with slow deliberation – two steps, then still as a statue for a couple of beats, and on again. From where he watched, everything about the figure’s shape matched his memory of Black – its bulk that hinted of hard muscle, the careful approach that spoke of stealth and guilt.
