Craig stood in the middle of the room, puffing and panting as he tried to rein in his temper. His hand went to his injured side, which he’d just realised was pulsing with pain. The adrenaline must have temporarily numbed it but now it was wearing off.
Nora hugged him tight, relieved he was alive and in one piece, but she put pressure on his wound and he winced.
“Let me look at you,” said Lizzy.
“I’m fine, you need to see to Gary.”
“There’s nothing else I can do for him. I don’t mean it like that,” she added when he looked horrified. “His prospects are good, he’s not bleeding much and the bullet seems to have missed his lungs. I just can’t do anything because I’m not a surgeon. You on the other hand I can help. Sit down and let me see that lovely stomach again.”
Too tired to argue he flopped into a chair. “You okay mate?” he called to Gary.
“Aye fucking marvellous,” he called back, voice tight with pain, an anxious Steve keeping vigil by his side and trying to get his radio to work.
“Thanks by the way Gordon,” said Craig as Lizzy began tending to his wound. “You saved our lives.”
“It was a pleasure to shoot at that bastard. I only wish I’d hit him.”
“We saw him fire into the pub. Was anyone hurt?”
“Howard was cut by flying glass,” said Lizzy. “Fortunately we all had the good sense to stay away from the windows.”
Craig saw the wee man sat at the back of the room with half a dozen long, thin cuts to his face, Toby sitting beside him in quiet solidarity.
“And Jimmy was grazed by a bullet,” said Lizzy.
“Again? Is he alright?”
He turned in his seat to see Jimmy sat on the floor on a heap of cushions, his back against the bar, a thick wad of bandages taped to his other arm.
“You got shot in the other arm?” said Craig.
“I know, what are the odds?” said Jimmy, voice shaking with anger.
“You’re a jinx,” said Bill, plonking himself down on the floor beside him.
“Yeah, thanks for that,” Jimmy said sarcastically. “At least I’ve got my painkillers, they’re keeping me nice and mellow and stopping me from losing my fucking mind. I’d feel even better if Lizzy would let me have some of Gordon’s finest whisky.”
“No alcohol,” his wife told him firmly. “I’ve only just managed to stop the bleeding. Do you want it to start up again?”
“The boss has spoken,” he said wryly, eyes heavy.
“I can’t believe you Jimmy Clark. Shot twice and you’re still going strong. You always were a stubborn bugger,” she said, tears trickling from her eyes, her normally steady hands shaking as she tended to Craig’s wound.
“Craig,” called a weak voice from the back of the room.
He looked round to see Jeanette waving a wrinkled hand in the air. “Yes Jenny?” he said gently.
“Iza left the pub. She’s been my best friend since we were bairns. Is she…did you…” She broke off when her voice was choked with tears.
“Yes Jenny, I saw her. I’m sorry.”
“Was it quick?”
Craig considered lying then thought what was the point? The truth would come out eventually. Besides, he found himself lacking the energy to form a lie. “No. She survived the first shot. The sniper shot her again.”
A horrified murmur ran around the room while Jeanette burst into tears.
Nora plonked herself down in the chair beside Craig, leaning forward on her crutches. “You saw that?” she said quietly.
He nodded grimly.
“My poor boy,” she whispered.
“I’ll be fine. I’m a lot better off than Iza anyway.”
His eyes scanned the scared, weary faces assembled together and wondered how many of them would make it through the night. There must have been eleven people in the room in total, what remained of the residents of Blair Dubh trapped together in the place that had once been a warm, cosy sanctuary against the world. The vast majority of them were over sixty five. Now Jimmy and Gary - two of the youngest and strongest - were out of commission. The two tourists, like everyone else, had abandoned the chairs and tables and were crouched on the floor, below the level of the windows, using cushions and seat pads to soften the hard wooden floor. They didn’t seem to find murder so entertaining anymore.
“What are your names?” he called to them.
They seemed surprised to have been spoken to, everyone but Toby had chosen to ignore them. “I’m Deborah Quinn and this is my husband, Todd,” replied the woman.
“Where are you from?”
“Leicester. We came to Scotland for a holiday, we thought it would be fun to visit Blair Dubh after we saw everything on the telly. Worst idea we’ve ever had.”
“Not so much fun when you’re in the thick of it, is it?” scowled Nora.
Deborah hung her head. “No it’s not. I’m sorry.”
The maternal part of Nora softened to the woman’s obvious repentance. “Well, we all do things we regret. Look on the bright side, if you get out of here alive you’ll never come back, if you’re sensible.”
This didn’t cheer them up any and tears filled Deborah’s eyes.
Craig was surprised by the level of calm in the room. He’d expected crying and shouting and the sound of a lot of traumatised people panicking, but on the contrary it was almost silent, as though they’d gone beyond fear and were stuck in a desolate nether place no one should have to go to as they confronted the fact that they might not make it through the night, that this might be their time to die.
Craig thought of that tall, spindly figure then realised who that shadow fit perfectly, who wasn’t here.
“Has anyone seen Graeme?” he asked the room.
Everyone shook their heads.
“When did you last see him?”
“In here after Adam was found,” said Toby.
“Anyone see him after that? Gordon?”
“He hung around for a bit then disappeared when the police left.”
Craig thought of Graeme casually strolling down the street with his little dog just after the shooting. He’d been in the vicinity at the time. What a perfect way to allay suspicion, by making himself look like a possible target.
“It’s him,” he whispered.
CHAPTER 13
“Graeme, he’s the sniper,” Craig said loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.
“How do you know?” said Jimmy.
“I don’t for sure but the man I saw outside fits his build and he disappeared before the second shooting even started.”
“No, that can’t be right. He was hiding at my house when the first shooting started,” called Toby from across the room.
“Correction, he came out after the shooting stopped. He was trying to make himself look innocent.”
“Granted he’s a bit weird but he’s not a killer,” said Howard.
“How do you know?” said Nora. “No one’s got close to him, he keeps us all at arms’ length, sitting there all quiet, listening to us talk.” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “I always said he was creepy.”
“I need to get into his cottage,” said Craig.
“You are not going outside again,” Nora said firmly. “You nearly died out there.”
“I have to confirm it’s him. I don’t need to go out into the main street, I can get into his cottage using the back lane, I’ll be hidden.”
“It’s too dangerous,” insisted Nora. “You don’t know where he is.”
They all jumped when there was a loud burst of static and a voice filled the air.
“My radio’s working,” exclaimed Steve joyfully before he began frantically talking into it, trying to get as much information through as he could before the signal was lost again.
“Tell them we’ve got a possible suspect, Graeme Doggett,” said Craig.
“You don’t know it’s him for sure,” insisted Bill, unwilling to believe the person responsible for t
he slaughter had lived among them for so long.
Nevertheless Steve relayed the message. He ended the transmission with a big grin. “They’re on their way.”
“There you go, the cavalry’s coming, you don’t need to go outside now,” Nora told Craig.
“Alright, I’ll stay put,” he replied, a little relieved. He didn’t want to set foot outside until the sniper was under arrest or preferably lying in the street with a police bullet in his head. Karma was a bitch.
“Does that feel better?” Lizzy asked him as she finished redressing his wound. “There’s not much I can do I’m afraid, it needs stitches but I’ve stopped the bleeding again.”
“Thanks,” he said, pulling his t-shirt back down
“So we just wait?” said Bill.
“Aye we do. Unless someone fancies popping their head out the door to see if the sniper’s gone?” said Craig with a touch of facetiousness.
“I’m good,” said Bill, holding up his hands. He was sat crossed-legged on the floor, looking like an overgrown schoolboy, broad back resting against the bar. “Get us a pint will you Gordon? If I don’t have a drink I’m going to snap.”
“Sod off. I have to stand up to do it. I’m not getting my head blown off because you want a bevvy.”
“The sniper won’t be able to see anything through those thick curtains.”
“We can’t know that for sure. What if he’s got some fancy equipment?”
“Yeah, because the British Army are renowned for their velvet curtain-seeking technology,” quipped Bill.
“I’m not taking the chance.”
“What about a bottle then? The fridges are below the level of the bar. I’ll get it myself if you’re worried.”
Gordon looked to Craig, who nodded.
“Aye go on then,” relented Gordon. “If you’re that desperate.”
“I am,” he replied, belly-crawling across the floor, snaking behind the bar. “Anyone else want one?”
A chorus of yes’s went up so a human chain was formed around the bar, all the men keeping low and passing along the line every bottle Bill could get his hands on without having to raise his head above the parapet.
“I’m keeping track of who’s drinking what. You’re going to pay me for all this booze when this is over,” said Gordon severely.
“Stop being a fanny Gordon,” said Bill.
“It’s not you being drunk dry. The next delivery isn’t due for another six days.”
“So you’ll have to arrange another one.”
“Will you two please stop bickering?” chided Nora. “People are dead, our friends and neighbours, and you’re arguing over alcohol. It’s a disgrace.”
Both men hung their heads.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” said Bill.
“Me too,” added Gordon. “In the end, the booze doesn’t matter.”
The argument over, everyone settled down with their drinks. Just as peace was restored to the room there was an explosion of glass around them.
“Get down,” yelled Craig, covering his head as the optics behind the bar smashed and the walls rained plaster down on them. They all flung themselves to the floor, hands over their heads as more bullets flew overhead.
“Not again,” cried Deborah, cowering under a table, tears standing out in her eyes.
A few seconds later the volley ended.
“Anyone hurt?” Craig asked the room.
In response a high-pitched scream filled the air. They all looked to the corner of the room where Toby was desperately trying to drag himself out from beneath Howard’s limp body.
“Get him off me, get him off me,” cried Toby, his face splattered with his dead friend’s blood.
Steve and Craig were the first to react while the others looked on in silent horror. They tried to get across the room as quickly as they could while remaining below the level of the windows, not knowing whether to expect another salvo of bullets. Together they hauled Howard up to a sitting position.
“Jesus, the back of his head’s been blown out,” said Steve a little too loudly, sending up a wail from the surviving residents.
“Keep your voice down,” spat Craig.
“Sorry Sarge.”
Although he thought it futile Craig still pressed his fingers to the pulse point on Howard’s neck. Of course there was nothing.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” repeated Toby, scrunched up into a ball in the corner, arms wrapped around his head, shaking.
“Toby, are you hurt?” said Craig.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he continued.
“Toby.” When he didn’t reply Craig knocked his arms away and slapped him hard across the face. “Get it together. Are you hurt?”
“No…no…I don’t think so.” Toby looked down at his bloodied clothes and screamed again. “Oh my God, he’s on me. Bits of Howard are on me.”
He leapt to his feet and began running around the room, frantically wiping at the mess on his front. “Dear God, his brains, it’s his brains.”
“Toby get down,” yelled Craig, attempting to drag him back to the floor but he couldn’t get a grip on him. “Get the fuck down.”
More screams filled the air when a fresh round bullets whistled into the building, shredding the already torn curtains. They all cowered beneath the tables, except for Toby, who did a strange dance as some of the projectiles slammed into him. Craig could only stare up at him, powerless to save him. When the bombardment eventually ended Toby swayed for a moment, rocking back on forth on the balls of his feet, blood seeping from every hole that had opened up in his chest and stomach, before toppling forwards.
“Everyone stay the fuck down,” yelled Steve.
Craig was paralysed as he stared at Toby, the blood singing in his head. He felt like he was rooted to the spot as the full horror of their situation expanded and consumed him. The stillness drew out as the singing in his head grew louder until it became an unbearable high-pitched whine then suddenly it stopped and he could move again.
Remaining in a crouch he turned to the rest of the room. “Everyone okay? Mum?”
“I’m far from okay son, but at least I don’t have any holes in me,” Nora called back.
Fortunately no one else seemed to be hurt but large, gaping holes had been torn through one of the heavy velvet curtains, the roll of thunder drifting in through the smashed window. Anyone outside would be able to see in. “Get to the right side of the pub, away from that window,” he called out. “And for God’s sake keep your heads down. Gordon, turn out the lights.”
A whimper of fear ran around the room as it was plunged into blackness.
Steve and Craig concentrated on rounding everyone up while crawling about on their hands and knees and avoiding all the broken glass, shepherding them all to the right side of the room, crouching beside the thick, steadfast bar. To Craig’s disgust Hughes slithered across the floor on his belly, quietly sobbing. Somehow he didn’t think he’d have to put in a complaint about the man’s poor conduct, he prophesied he’d quit voluntarily if he got out of this alive.
Bill and Steve between them hauled Gary to safety, who did his best to stand firm against the pain, but couldn’t help releasing a groan of pain. He quietened down once he was settled in the corner of the room, well away from all the windows.
“Hang in there pal,” said Steve, patting his shoulder.
Gary just grimaced and nodded. His hands, which were screwed up into tight balls, were shaking.
When Craig heard a second groan of pain he assumed it was Gary again, but squeals alerted him to the fact that it wasn’t. One of the old men collapsed to the floor, clutching at his chest.
“Help, I think he’s having a heart attack,” cried Jeanette.
“Out of my way,” said Lizzy, leaping to his aid.
“Oh my God, I can’t fucking take this,” cried Deborah, her hands clamped over her ears, rocking back and forth on the floor. “Why did we come here Todd? Why?”
“It was your idea
. I wanted to see where Robert Burns was born.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, don’t you fucking talk to me,” she screamed at him.
“Oh shut up. I’m sick of your dramatics.”
“How can you be so cruel to me?” she croaked. “You’re my husband, you should be protecting me.”
“Give it a rest. A man’s dying Deb.”
Everyone was relieved when this shut her up.
This time there were no screams, no pleas, no cries. They all watched in sombre silence as Lizzy pumped the old man’s chest and breathed into his mouth. After ten minutes of trying she sat back on her haunches and wiped the sweat from her brow, tears shining in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t…he was…I mean…”
“It’s not your fault Lizzy,” said Nora gently. “At least he’s not afraid anymore.”
Some of the residents actually envied the old man in that moment.
Graeme stormed towards the single road leading into the village, clutching the rifle tightly. Fucking Craig Donaldson again. How did he keep foiling him? Still, he had to give the man his due, he had huge balls. He’d even had him in his sights, but he’d been smart and zigzagged instead of running in a straight line, making it harder for him to be hit. Graeme had actually been aiming for the fat little copper, the one who’d put Freya in danger, but had accidentally hit the bald one in the back instead. He wondered if he was still alive. Even if he was he didn’t pose a threat anymore. It was Donaldson he needed to take out, he was the one with all the sneaky plans, the one who kept thwarting him.
He dragged his mind off his nemesis and concentrated on the sound of approaching engines. Graeme took refuge in the woods to watch the convoy of police vehicles making their way in - two big police vans, no doubt containing armed officers, accompanied by two police cars. Right at the very bottom of the road he could just about make out an ambulance and more police to make sure no one entered the village. He didn’t need to make a move, all he had to do was sit and wait. Another few metres and they were going to encounter his little surprise.
Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) Page 11
