by Iain Cameron
In any case, she didn’t think she could run anywhere as an earlier thump on the face felt like it had fractured her jaw, her kicked ribs were aching and making movement difficult, one of her eyes was closing up and a kick she received to her knee had left it swollen.
‘The good news is,’ Perry said, dropping his phone back into his pocket, ‘Hal can’t make it as he’s been picked up by your lot in London, the bastards. The bad news is Alex is available. Alex is a horny bastard and who knows what will happen when I leave you two lovebirds and head up to Scotland to find your boss?’
‘Why are you telling me this? I thought you said you weren’t going to kill me.’
He shrugged. ‘A man can change his mind can’t he?’
‘You’ll never get away with it. You killed Brook and now Interpol are hunting for you. If you kill me, every copper in Britain will know your face, if they don’t know already.’
‘Don’t I get credit for all the others?’
‘What others?’
‘There’s a few I could mention, but don’t go looking for Jim Bennett and his dopey son Kenny, if you know what I mean.’
‘Jim Bennett and his son? What did you kill them for?’
‘They cocked up once too often for my liking, that’s what.’
‘Does that list include Chris Fletcher?’
‘Who’s he?’
‘The lad who was killed on a cross-Channel ferry.’
‘Ah yes, Chris Fletcher. Now I think about it, another cock-up by Bennett. I should have cut off his balls for that one.’
‘What happened to Harvey Miller?’
‘Stop it Walters, I’m bored with this. Go into the kitchen and make me a coffee and don’t fuck around. You come at me with a knife, I’ll put a bullet through your head without hesitation. Understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Milk and two sugars. Go get.’
She rose from the settee with some difficulty and headed into the kitchen. She owned a smart coffee machine that made a lovely cup, but she didn’t want to waste good coffee on a man like Perry. She reached for the kettle, filled it and switched it on.
If Perry thought she would lie back and be raped by Alex and then shot without putting up a fight, he had another think coming. She often went out to work in a skirt but last week she’d taken several to the dry cleaners so today she wore trousers. Thank the Lord she did as this particular pair had a side pocket and there she could hide her expensive but ultra-sharp three-inch paring knife.
She carried a cup of coffee through to the lounge, but tempting as it might be, she didn’t spit in it, or if the kitchen was more secluded, her preferred choice would be to piss in it. She could always chuck it over him, but knowing Perry in the short time she did, the cold bastard would ignore the pain and still manage to shoot her.
‘Ta,’ he said when she handed it to him. ‘Are you not partaking?’
‘No.’
You don’t like coffee? There’s not something wrong with it, I hope.’
‘No, there’s nothing wrong with it. I like coffee well enough, I just don’t fancy one right now.’ She wanted to say her bashed up jaw would make it difficult to take a drink, but she didn’t want to provoke him.
‘Fair enough.’
He started to chit-chat about meaningless trivia: how long she’d lived there, what the neighbours were like, what sort of people used the park which could be seen from the front window; like an old pal who just dropped by for a coffee and a catch-up.
The door buzzer sounded, sending her spirits soaring, as it might be her friend Michael who was a big lad, or Sally Graham from work dropping round to borrow something for her new but sparsely furnished flat. However, her spirits sank fast when she looked at Perry. He was holding the gun in a tight grip and would have no hesitation in killing them too.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Henderson and Rachel arrived in Kilchoan, a village on the western end of the Ardnamurchan peninsula, a few minutes before three in the afternoon. They had intended being earlier but he insisted on stopping at various places along the way, evoking memories of the times he’d been there before.
He’d almost forgotten how quiet and peaceful this part of the UK could be after the bustle of Sussex with its tourist filled towns, rowdy weekend nights and flights leaving and arriving at Gatwick Airport every couple of minutes. Any time they stopped for a break, they could hear water lapping on the shore of Loch Sunart, the rustle of small animals in the heather and the light flap of a buzzard’s wing in the air above them.
Bay Cottage sounded like something with panoramic views over the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz, and not a double-fronted house with two large windows on a raised position overlooking Kilchoan Bay. Such views to him were the equal of anything on the Californian coast, but while Kilchoan couldn’t boast 24-hour coffee shops or waterfront bars, it didn’t have a morning fog to chill the bones or noisy cable cars, a fatal hazard for the deaf or unwary.
They got out of the car and stretched. Although it hadn’t been an arduous journey as there had been so many stops, it felt good to get out in the fresh air and walk around at the end of a trip. They heard a door close and saw, walking towards them, a tall, stout man with a mop of curly black hair and trotting alongside, a lively collie dog.
‘Mr Henderson,’ he said when he got closer, ‘and Ms Jones. Pleased to meet you. I’m Donnie McLean the owner of the house you see behind me here, and Bay Cottage where you will be staying.’
They shook hands.
‘Did you have a pleasant journey?’
‘I certainly did, remembering places I’d been to be before but I guess it might not have been so interesting for my passenger.’
‘I had my heart in my mouth a few times on those single track roads,’ Rachel said.
‘Aye, I admit they can be a bit tricky until you get used to them. By the sound of your accent, you’re from these parts, Mr Henderson.’
‘Call me Angus, Donnie. I grew up in Fort William and moved away in my early twenties, first to Glasgow and then to Brighton.’
‘You couldn’t get further away.’
‘It wasn’t deliberate, but there may have been something in my subconscious about getting far away.’
They had been talking for nearly ten minutes, when he noticed Rachel fidgeting, something she did when out of her comfort zone. He imagined it would be something that could happen often up here, as people had a different view of time from those scurrying about in the city; they were interested in other people, where they came from, where they were going, and didn’t feel the need to be constantly checking their phones.
Donnie showed them around the house and even though he knew that villages in this area were only connected to mains electricity and received colour television broadcasts within living memory, this place had the lot. In truth, neither of them came to watch television and it was doubtful they would need to put on the heating, as the air felt warm and in any case, after a day out hill walking it would take all his energy to climb the stairs and fall into a bath or bed.
‘Well, I’ll leave you both to it,’ Donnie said at the door.
‘Thanks for all your help.’
‘No problem. If you need anything at all, Ferry Stores will have it or they can get it for you. If you want to go fishing or shooting, and it’s really good around here, I know the best places and I can either take you myself or show you where to go and lend you the equipment if you need it.’
They thanked Donnie and went inside. Rachel put the kettle on while he carried their bags upstairs. He dumped them into the largest room and walked to the window. Thanks to a bright, sunny sky with little cloud, he could see across to the island of Mull and down the Sound of Mull, past Morvern towards Oban.
He was so engrossed in the majesty of it all, he didn’t realise Rachel had come up the stairs and jumped when she wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled into his neck.
‘The views up here are terrific, don’t you
think?’ he said.
‘The views down here are pretty terrific too. Close the curtains, all this fresh air is making me frisky.’
He turned to face her and kissed her passionately on the lips. ‘No need for such niceties around here, we’re not overlooked.’
**
Daniel Perry walked out into the hall where the video unit in Carol Walters’s flat was hooked on a wall. He talked briefly to the caller before pressing the ‘Open’ button, and stood waiting while someone walked up the stairs.
A young guy came into the flat, early thirties, handsome in a rough way, wearing a polo shirt, chinos and a light jacket. Perry hugged him like a long-lost relative.
‘How are you doing, Alex?’ Perry said. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘No problem. I was just having a few drinks with a couple of mates in Crawley.’
‘Good. She’s in there,’ he said jerking a thumb towards Walters. He lowered his voice but she could still make out what they were saying. ‘Look after her until you get my call and then get rid of her.’
‘But she’s a cop.’
‘So what? You know the score, Alex, these are tough times, we need to make tough choices.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. Why not now?’
‘I need her for insurance, in case her boss refuses to cooperate.’
‘Got it. I’ve to wait for your call. When should I expect to hear from you, approx?’
‘Let me think. Late tomorrow afternoon should do it. Sound ok to you?’
‘Count on it.’
‘Good man,’ Perry said, clapping him on the back. ‘Got to go and catch some transport to Scotland. See you later, Alex.’
The door slammed, Perry exited and Alex walked into the room.
‘Christ,’ he said looking at her for the first time, ‘he’s made a bloody mess of you.’
She was about to say, ‘I’ll live,’ but thought better of it and said nothing.
‘You shouldn’t have held out. You should just have given him what he wanted at the start and saved all the aggravation. He always gets what he wants.’
‘Hindsight’s a wonderful thing.’
‘I suppose you’re right. Now what am I going to do with you? I’m here all night and most of tomorrow, I reckon.’
‘Let me go.’
‘Ha, I couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t want to put me in your shoes, would you?’
‘Chance would be a fine thing.’
He pulled out a gun from the back of his waistband and pointed it at her. ‘Into the bedroom.’
She laboriously got up, her hand brushing against the knife in her trouser pocket. No way would she let him have his way with her. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, she would reach for it and even though he was armed, she would take her chance and make it count.
‘On the bed, flat on your back.’
She did as she was told. He walked around the bed and fiddled with his clothing, mercifully not unbuttoning his trousers but trying to remove a rope from his jacket. He reached out and grabbed her wrist in a tight grip and quickly wrapped a section of rope around it before securing it to the metal headboard.
He walked around to the other side of the bed and did the same to her right wrist. When he’d finished, she steeled herself to kick him with all her might if he reached for her trouser buttons, but instead, he grabbed her ankle. Taken by surprise, her first instinct was to pull away.
‘Don’t even think about trying to kick me or I’ll shoot you, contrary to my boss’s instructions. If you did manage to do something, and say you knocked me out, you’d never get out of this place. How are you going to get off the bed with both hands tied? Think on sister, behave if you don’t want to starve to death.’
He pulled her leg and tied one ankle and then did the same with the other. He could try and rape her, helpless as she was, but it would be much more difficult now as he would need to cut her trousers off. If that didn’t serve to curb a rapist’s ardour, she didn’t know what would.
‘If you start shouting or bang the bed against the wall or something, I’ll tie the ropes tighter and stick this rag in your mouth. You don’t want me to that, do you?’
She shook her head.
‘I thought not. Right, catch you later. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’
‘Fat chance.’
He made to walk out when she called him back.
‘What if I need to go to the loo?’
He laughed. ‘It’s your bed, sister, piss in it all you like.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Henderson woke early as he often did, and seeing Rachel still in a deep slumber, headed downstairs. It was a few minutes before seven, and looking out of the window while filling the kettle, he imagined he was the only one awake, but he could see Donnie with his collie, Jet, herding a small herd of cows in for milking.
He had spotted a bottle of milk in the fridge when they first arrived, in what didn’t look like a shop-bought container. He now knew Donnie had put it there and according to an information sheet left on the kitchen table, a fresh pint would be delivered every day. He looked forward to pouring it over his bowl of granola later, or perhaps now he was in Scotland, porridge.
There were maps in the house, better than the ones they’d brought with them. He pulled them all out, selected one and spread it out over the kitchen table. This area, like much of the West Coast of Scotland, was a hill walker’s dream with dozens or even hundreds of places to explore. Yesterday, the day after they arrived, they’d gone to Ardnamurchan Lighthouse and afterwards walked along the fine, white sands of Sanna Bay, Rachel amazed at the amount of driftwood and flotsam thrown in by the strong Atlantic tide. Today would be their first serious hill walk.
By the time Rachel surfaced, he’d narrowed today’s walk down to a shortlist of three, and as it was her holiday too, she could have her choice. After he poured her a cup of tea, they both sat down and she began to look at his suggestions.
‘First off,’ he said, ‘we could tackle the hill above the Ferry Stores. It leads into a volcano-like crater and at one end we’ll see the remains of a crashed German bomber from World War Two, according to Donnie. It’s a short walk and I suggest we carry on a bit further over the tops of the hills where we should get a good view of the lighthouse and out to some of the islands.’
‘Ok, sounds promising. What’s number two on your list?’
‘We climb the hill you can see behind the cottage, called Glasbhein. At the top, we’ll get great views of this whole area down there,’ he said pointing out the window at the front of the house, ‘towards Mull and down the Sound of Mull, eventually to Oban. When we’re up there, we can walk for miles into the hills if we’ve a mind to. We should see deer, pine martins, foxes; you name it.’
‘An equally interesting option. We’re spoiled for choice around here. What’s the third?’
‘Route number three is we climb the mountain you can see out the window to our left, the one we noticed on the way here called Ben Hiant. It’s about two thousand feet high, and as I understand it, we’ll be walking not climbing. We should see buzzards and maybe a Golden Eagle. So, what’s your choice?’
‘I think number three sounds the best bet. I’ve never seen a Golden Eagle in the wild.’
‘Donnie says it’s not definite we’ll see one, but we might be lucky.’
‘Great, that’s settled. Hang on though, it sounds like we’ll be doing a lot of walking, but we didn’t buy anything for a packed lunch when we were in the shop yesterday. We’ll need some sustenance if we’re out in the hills all day. You know what you’re like, twenty minutes in and you’re looking for something to eat.’
‘You’re right. Give me a list of what you want and I’ll nip down to the Ferry Stores and buy it.’
‘While you’re doing that I can crack on and make a hearty breakfast. What do you fancy: bacon, eggs, and some of that black pudding the woman in the shop said was delicious?’
‘I’ll have the lot; I
’ll look forward to it after my walk. See you later.’
**
The plan forming in Carol Walters’s head before she fell asleep was still fresh in her mind; today was decision day, double or twist. She had to try and force her way out of captivity or die in the attempt. Not only did she not want to be around when Daniel Perry phoned Alex and told him he no longer needed her, Henderson was in real danger and she had to warn him.
Yesterday was her first full day in captivity. Alex periodically let her loose from her bindings, allowing her to go to the loo and have something to eat, but at all other times he trussed her up to the bed. It was bloody uncomfortable as she couldn’t scratch an itch, go to the toilet when she wanted, and the tight bindings were playing merry hell with her circulation.
He spent all day watching television or talking to fellow criminals on the phone. On occasion, he would leave the apartment and she dreaded to think what he told neighbours if he bumped into them. She had heard of the Stockholm Syndrome, when kidnapped victims gradually sided with their kidnapper, and in some cases, eventually joined their gangs. With confidence, she thought it wouldn’t happen here.
One conversation made her smile. She knew now Alex and a bloke called Steve were the people who tried to hijack David Frankland from hospital. Steve was now on the run to Spain, fearing the wrath of Perry while Alex stayed put to tough it out, having less to fear as Perry was his uncle. On the phone, Steve was pleading with Alex to speak to Perry as he wanted to come home, but Alex was telling him it was too early and to stay put. At one time, he quoted the phrase Perry said when referring to her: ‘These are tough times, Steve, we need to make tough choices.’
Like all good foot soldiers doing a repetitive task, Alex was starting to get sloppy. She could see gaps opening up in the way he treated her, and in one lapsed moment, her chance would present itself, but could she take advantage of it? Ordinarily, the answer would be ‘yes’ as she was resilient and tenacious but after being beaten and tied up for such a long time, it would take a while for her muscles and joints to get back to full capacity and she worried something would fail right at the crucial moment.
