Ten minutes later Anita returned clutching a carrier bag full of pot noodles, the food of kings. That explained her complexion. He scanned the surrounding area and smiled when he saw it was deserted, no sign of the neds.
This time nothing was going to save her.
He watched as she got nearer, lips drawing back in his version of a smile to reveal small white teeth. His senses soared, he could hear the insects crawling on the ground around him, the televisions blaring in the flats, the gentle slap of Anita’s trainers on the tarmac as well as his own excited breathing.
He waited until she was level with his hiding place then he sprung, wrapping an arm around her waist and clamping a hand over her mouth. Her limbs flailed wildly, eyes bulging with panic as she was dragged backwards into the bushes, spilling pot noodles everywhere. Docherty slammed her down on the ground and straddled her, pinning her arms over her head.
“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth now Anita. If you scream I’ll break your fucking neck. Understand?”
She nodded, a tear falling from the corner of one eye.
“Remember me?”
“N…no. Sorry,” she rasped, so scared she could hardly speak.
With a snarl of annoyance he pulled off the baseball cap and her mouth fell open.
“You’re supposed to be inside.”
“I escaped you stupid bitch, I’ve unfinished business.”
“Me?”
“You’re number two of four. I’ve already battered Sally to death.”
“No,” she whispered, starting to cry.
“After you Freya’s next then that bastard DCI Gray.” From the back of his jeans he pulled the knife that he’d nicked off Sally and pressed it to her throat. “All the fuckers who took my life from me. Now it’s your turn.”
“Please don’t kill me,” she screamed, her cry cut off when he plunged the blade into her neck.
CHAPTER 7
James, his wife Veronica and their two year old son Fraser had come down to the marina to wave Craig and Freya off on their journey. James and Freya had a history, had fallen in love as teenagers, but while James’s life went on the up leading to him becoming a respected hospital doctor, Freya’s had gone down the toilet. It had taken them many years to lay their relationship to rest but now they were happily settled with their respective partners and were just good friends.
“I envy you, it’s gorgeous,” said Veronica, eyeing the boat. She looked to James. “We should do this one day.”
“I don’t know how to sail a boat,” he replied.
“It’s fortunate I do. My dad’s got a yacht at Largs Marina. We could tour the islands.”
James didn’t appear to be enamoured by the prospect. “Aren’t yachts all ropes and pulleys?”
“And your point is?”
“Wouldn’t two weeks in Italy in a five star hotel be more relaxing?”
Veronica rolled her eyes. “My husband, the great explorer. His idea of adventure is driving through Govan.”
“I can be adventurous when the occasion requires it,” he sniffed.
“No you can’t my darling.”
“Come on Craig, let’s go before they have a full-blown domestic,” said Freya. She kissed Veronica and James on the cheek in turn then bent down to Fraser, who was holding his mum’s hand. “Bye wee man. I’ll miss you.”
She hugged him and the boy hugged her back, gurgling happily in her ear, making Freya want to smile and cry at the same time. If she could have her own gorgeous little bundle like this boy she’d have everything she needed in life.
Craig watched her from the deck of the boat, saw the longing in her eyes when she looked at the child and thought what an amazing mum she’d make. It scared him what might happen if they couldn’t conceive. Would she want to find a man who was fertile?
When he caught James giving him a sympathetic look he turned away. They’d gone to James and Veronica’s last night for dinner, the four of them had become close friends and Craig had confided in him while Freya helped Veronica with the washing up. The two women were an odd pairing. Who would have thought the goth with a criminal record would ever have been friends with the elegant surgeon, but they were very close.
Craig liked and respected James and had asked him his professional opinion as to their chances of getting pregnant. He’d just reiterated what they’d already been told but also warned him that no two cases were alike, miracles did happen. It hadn’t made him feel any better. Craig had also confided that his worst fear was losing Freya, which James had assured him would never happen. However the sheer yearning in her eyes when she looked at little Fraser made them both uncertain.
Tentatively Freya started to mount the ladders, trying not to think about the rocking of the boat.
“Are you okay?” said Craig as he helped her over the side.
“I wish it would stop moving,” she replied, feet riveted to the spot.
“You’ll feel better when we set sail.”
“You’re not seasick, are you?” called James.
“No, fine,” she replied, convincing no one. “Are you laughing at me James Pierce?”
“No,” he replied, attempting to keep a straight face, Veronica slapping him on the arm.
“Fix your vision on a stable object and keep head and body movements to a minimum, you’ll feel much better.”
“Thanks Vee,” Freya called back.
Freya swallowed hard as Craig steered the boat, rather expertly she had to admit, out of dock, watching James, Veronica and Fraser get smaller and smaller, all three frantically waving. She waved back, giving them her most carefree smile. She released a small squeal and clung onto the guard rail when the boat caught the edge of the dock.
“Sorry,” Craig called over his shoulder.
“Be careful or you can turn back right now,” she said, realising how panicky she sounded. It wasn’t what had happened to her dad that gave her the fear, it was just that this was all so new. She was a city girl, always had been and always would be. “I’ll get used to it soon,” she whispered to herself, her heart in her mouth as they exited the marina and drifted into the Clyde estuary.
DCI Gray stared down at the mangled remains of Anita Kelly and was overcome with sadness. He remembered her well, he’d spent hours trying to convince her to testify against Docherty and then coaching her on what to say and what to expect during the trial. Even though she’d been terrified she’d agreed to do it. The experience had empowered her and she’d got herself off the streets. Unfortunately she’d moved in with a drug dealing prick but at least she’d tried to better herself. It wasn’t right that she’d died like this.
Her handbag lay on the ground beside her, the purse missing, but Gray wasn’t buying it. If this was a mugging gone wrong then why this level of violence? It wasn’t a case of wrong time wrong place. This was personal.
He looked back over his shoulder at the bunch of neds who’d found her, the bravado knocked out of them. They were huddled together, pale and quiet as their statements were taken by uniformed officers. The one who’d actually fallen over her body when he’d gone into the bushes to take a piss had puke stains down the front of his tracksuit.
Gray’s prime suspect had been Anita’s scummy boyfriend but when he’d gone up to the flat they’d shared he’d found him in a drugged-up stupor surrounded by seven other people, all of whom swore blind he hadn’t left the flat all day. When he’d been informed of his girlfriend’s violent death his reaction had been to lapse into unconsciousness. It wasn’t him. An old lady who lived in the flats had noticed a stocky man in a baseball cap running from the scene a few minutes before the neds found the body but as she was so high up she’d been unable to give him any more details.
Gray scanned the crowd being ushered back from the crime scene cordon by uniform. They’d come pouring out of the flats to have a nosey, ghoulish bastards. He studied the faces in the crowd in case the killer had come back for a second look, it was well known they lik
ed to see the chaos they’d created.
This was ned territory and there were dozens of the fannies all wearing baseball caps. So much for their eyewitness’s statement. When he turned his back to the crowd he was seized by the feeling that he was being watched, all the hairs rising on the back of his neck. He spun back round but no one was paying any attention to him, too busy ogling the white tent that had been erected over Anita’s body. He was disgusted to see some of them filming it on their mobile phones. He grabbed one of his officers.
“I want all their names,” he said, pointing to the crowd. If it didn’t lead him anywhere at least it would shit the bastards up, he hated how some people revelled in the tragedy of others. One of his officers was already discreetly filming the crowd. He’d study the footage later personally. Something was telling him the killer was here, right now.
He scowled at a couple of neds who were laughing and making sick jokes. Sometimes he hated this fucking job, hated how he was constantly exposed to the worst of humanity. Anita’s parents were decent hardworking people who’d tried everything they could to save their daughter from herself and they would be devastated by this senseless loss. He rubbed a hand over his large forehead. He’d tried too and failed. Now look what had happened.
Docherty watched Gray from the crowd, enjoying how uneasy he looked. Give him his due he had a nose like a bloodhound, that famous instinct of his was telling him there was more to this murder than met the eye. The DCI still looked like a monkey with his extra long arms that he threw forwards when he walked, the knuckles thick and knobbly, forehead large and domed. Despite his odd appearance he’d managed to get married - and divorced - three times.
Docherty’s beard was coming along nicely now and with his shaved head he was unrecognisable. Gray didn’t pick him out from the crowd. It gratified him to see his nemesis up close. He enjoyed listening to the wild theories the spectators were coming up with as to who had murdered Anita. They’d get a fucking fright if they realised they were standing right next to the person responsible, he’d bet they wouldn’t be so fucking smart-mouthed then. Docherty revelled in the mayhem he’d caused but he was also a little irritated. None of them had a clue that he’d just escaped from one of Scotland’s toughest prisons and it was starting to annoy him. He wanted Freya and Gray scared, wondering when he was going to come for them. Of course that would make accomplishing his task so much harder but he wanted the fear factor, the manhunt, the entire country knowing his name and fearing it. When were the numpties finally going to discover the truth?
Will was dismayed when he felt himself slowly floating back up into consciousness. For a few minutes he lay still with his eyes closed, assessing how he felt before daring to open his eyes and face the horror and scorn. The pain was still present but it was now a throbbing ache, his face no longer felt like it had been doused with petrol and set alight. He was hot and feverish too and he would have killed for a drink. He was so weak he couldn’t even raise his hand but he could feel the bandages pressing on his face, thick and smothering, and it was difficult to breathe. His eyes flew open when he started to hyperventilate, body rigid with panic, handcuffs clanking against the bed frame.
It wasn’t Clive who peered over him this time but Harry Jacobs, the head guard. Will went rigid as he stared up into his big face. Even the rest of the guards were frightened of Harry, who liked to inflict his sadistic tortures on Docherty, the most despised of inmates.
Jacobs’ cold hard eyes filled with scorn. “So you’re finally awake again you bastard. Just fucking peg it and stop wasting vital resources.” He misinterpreted Will’s whimper of fear. “You’re in pain? Good.”
Will screamed into the bandages when Jacobs’ massive hand pressed down on the stab wound in his stomach.
“That’s just a little taster of what you’ll get when you’re back on my turf. You’re going to suffer like you’ve never suffered before you fucking huge honkin joaby.”
Tears stained Will’s bandages and he released another odd gurgle when he tried to explain that he wasn’t Docherty.
“What are you saying you piece of shite? Crying for your mummy?”
Will groaned in frustration, hands curling into fists, nails digging into the palms so hard he drew blood. Panic took over and he flung himself from side to side, spine arching up off the bed and a cry of anguish leaving his lips.
“Alright, calm down you freak. Never mind him love, he’s just having a drama, as usual,” Jacobs told the nurse when she entered the room, concerned by the noise her patient was making.
She ignored him and placed a soothing hand on top of Will’s head. It was the same nurse with the pretty round face. Once again she worked her magic and he went still, eyes wide and fixed on her, basking in her kindness.
“It’s alright,” she said softly. “There’s nothing to worry about, you’re getting better.”
Will kept his gaze riveted on her. Although she looked to be a few years older than himself and she wasn’t exactly slim he thought how pretty she was with her big soft light brown eyes and rosy cheeks. She had a gentle sing-song voice and he didn’t want her to leave his side for an instant.
“I wouldn’t bother being nice to him after all the horrible things he’s done,” said Jacobs.
“If we all showed each other a bit of kindness the world would be a much happier place,” she retorted, keeping her gaze on Will.
Jacobs pulled a face at this homespun wisdom.
“You’ve got a bit of an infection,” she told Will. “So we’re going to give you a course of Penicillin to clear it up.”
Panic gripped him again with renewed violence. He had a severe allergy to Penicillin, but of course they thought he was Docherty.
“Now it’s okay, you won’t even feel it,” she soothed when he started to thrash on the bed, a cry of despair rattling in the back of his throat. “It goes straight into the IV,” she said, brandishing the syringe. “It’s for your own good. Please calm down Mr Docherty.” When he continued to writhe and groan she looked to Jacobs. “Could you explain to him that this won’t hurt?”
“I’m not consoling that arsehole. A bit of fear will do him good.”
Will was helpless to prevent what was about to happen. All he could do was watch as she injected the poison into his drip. He didn’t know which was worse, what was about to come or the pretty kindly woman thinking she was helping him when she was about to kill him.
“There you go, you’ll soon be all better,” she said.
The innocence in her lovely eyes broke his heart and he wailed loudly into his bandages.
“Stop greetin you poof,” said Jacobs. “You’re only tough when you’re beating up little girls.”
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t insult my patient.”
“Listen Sweetheart, if you had to put up with shite bags like him on a daily basis you wouldn’t be so sentimental.”
“I believe everyone deserves a second chance.”
“No they bloody well don’t. That lying on the bed is keech, the lowest of the low.”
“You can’t talk like that about another human being.”
“He’s not a human being, he’s a big boabie with as much right to live as a cockroach.”
The nurse’s face flushed with anger, unable to bear a helpless individual being abused. Besides, anyone with such pretty eyes couldn’t be that bad and her patient’s eyes were so vibrant, the brightest blue she’d ever seen. She loved the hope and happiness that filled them whenever she came into view. They were so expressive too, making it easy for her to translate his needs, which was fortunate given that his face was covered.
“You are out of order Mr Jacobs,” she told him, ready to defend her patient.
While they bickered Will was forced to lie there as the poison threaded its way through his veins. His allergy was so severe that in a matter of minutes his body would react violently. At least he was in a hospital, but would they realise what was wrong? After all, they thought
he didn’t have an allergy.
He felt it descending upon him, the sense of impending doom draping over him like a black veil, announcing the arrival of the poison in his organs, sending his heart rate skyrocketing. He managed to roll his head to one side and release a low groan when in his head he was screaming for help. He wished his lips would work properly.
The nurse threw Jacobs a disgusted look before bending over her patient, placing her warm hand on top of his head. It failed to have its usual soothing effect as the fear gripped him. She frowned, not liking the way his eyes bulged through the bandages.
“Did we scare you with the arguing? I’m sorry. Don’t worry, we’ve stopped now.”
Jacobs snorted with disgust before returning to his newspaper.
Will groaned again as his throat tightened, a wheeze rattling in his chest and the panic squeezed him harder. As he struggled to breathe he started to kick and thrash.
The nurse frowned. “Something’s wrong.”
“Good,” muttered Jacobs, not looking up from his newspaper. “Want me to sign a do not resuscitate order?”
The nurse took one of Will’s hands in her own, running her fingertips over the red rash forming on the skin then took his pulse. As suddenly as it started the thrashing ceased and he lapsed into unconsciousness. She recalled the fear in his pretty eyes when she told him she was going to inject Penicillin into his drip and she hit the crash button.
“I need adrenaline now,” she yelled.
CHAPTER 8
DCI Gray sat at his desk, brooding over the death of Anita Kelly. The rage that had been imprinted on her body niggled him. Her boyfriend hadn’t done it and they couldn’t come up with anyone else who harboured such violent emotions against her.
Gray had personally escorted her parents down to the mortuary to view the body and her mother had collapsed. They’d tried so hard to entice their daughter back home, never given up on her. Both Anita and her dad had strong personalities and they’d constantly clashed, leading to blazing rows. Anita herself had once told Gray that they’d never been abusive or unkind, she’d just wanted freedom to grow and she felt they were stifling her by setting rules no different to any other household. Gray thought they were just trying to be parents and had done his best to persuade her to go home but she’d refused. Now he wished he’d tried harder. He felt partly responsible for what had happened to her. He’d seen victims of horrible physical and mental abuse run away from home to escape a life so hopeless they’d rather take their chances on the streets but Anita had been brought up in middle class comfort, cocooned in love, and he’d thought her reasons for running away petty and childish. It was too late to get through to her now.
The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) Page 6
