“I see you Graeme,” said a mocking voice.
Graeme frowned. That was definitely Donaldson, but how could he see him? It was then he recalled the spare set of night vision goggles he’d kept in his house, the same house Donaldson had recently rifled through.
He pushed himself away from the side of the house just as a lethal volley of shot was unleashed where he’d been stood a few seconds ago, smashing into the corner of the house. He ran through the small garden and flew through the wooden gate at the end. Then he was on the little path that ran behind this row of houses, the woods on his right, beckoning him towards them, offering sanctuary. But, despite his careful preparations, Donaldson still knew the woods better than he did, he wouldn’t be able to hide from him for long in there. Graeme saw his mission slipping away from him. He was going to fail, for the first time in his life.
As he ran he turned and fired with the pistol and saw Craig duck down behind a wall.
A man stepped out on the path before him, blocking his path towards the woods. It felt like a large hand had grabbed Graeme around the middle and squeezed when he saw the shotgun in the man’s hands. Before his eyes Malcolm did his death dance, jumping and jerking as the shot ripped into him. That was what was going to happen to him right now on this lonely path in this shitty little village.
“Shoot him,” Craig called from behind him.
Graeme wanted to laugh out loud. It was Hughes standing before him, the stupid, incompetent wee fud, and he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. The double barrels of the shotgun were aimed right at him but what was the use if the idiot on the other end was gutless.
“Shoot him,” repeated Craig more urgently. He couldn’t shoot because there was a good chance his shot would hit his colleague.
“This is for Freya,” said Graeme, raising the pistol. He pumped three shots into Hughes, careful not to kill him outright. He wanted him to suffer a bit first before he died.
Hughes staggered about on his feet but somehow managed to remain upright, not allowing Craig a clear shot.
Graeme turned and ran for the woods. Only then did Craig start blasting but the downside of the shotgun was that its range wasn’t very far, about sixty yards at the most, so his weapon was ineffective as Graeme reached the safety of the woods.
Bill finally puffed around the corner, limping. One of the bullets Graeme had fired from the roof of his cottage had ricocheted and hit him in the calf. He’d limped along, ignoring Craig’s order to stay put, clutching his gun, sweating and in a lot of pain just in time to see Hughes get shot. He caught him as he finally toppled over. It was a shock when the man’s weight pulled Bill down, a testament to how weakened he was.
Craig looked from the tantalising figure of Graeme running into the woods to Hughes lying on the ground, an injured Bill unable to help him.
“Help me get him up Craig, I can’t do it on my own,” said Bill.
Once again Craig looked into the woods, frantically scanning them with the night vision goggles. He could just about make out Graeme’s retreating figure. If he went after him now he could still catch him up.
“Craig,” repeated Bill. “He needs your help.” Bill was surprised by the look of cold contempt in Craig’s eyes when he looked back at Hughes bleeding on the ground.
“He brought it on himself.”
“Yeah but still…Jesus Craig, we can’t leave him.”
Hughes gripped onto Bill’s arm with a shaky, bloodied hand. “Help me…hospital.”
“He had his chance and he bottled it,” continued Craig, his attention already drifting from Hughes back to the woods. Graeme had disappeared from sight but he still thought the odds of catching him good.
“Craig, you have to help him, it’s your job,” Bill yelled in an effort to get through to him.
It worked.
“Bugger it,” Craig said, hurrying to Hughes’s side.
“About time,” said Bill, puzzled by his out of character behaviour.
“I couldn’t do it,” mumbled Hughes, “I couldn’t.”
Craig muttered something under his breath as he assessed Hughes’s wounds. Although Bill couldn’t quite catch what he said he gathered it wasn’t very complimentary to Hughes.
“It’s okay Hughes, just stay quiet and try and keep calm,” said Bill. “We’ll get you back to the pub, Lizzy can help you.”
“Help me…please,” said Hughes, voice growing increasingly weak.
“How’s he looking?” said Bill.
Craig stared at the two holes in his chest and the one in his stomach and shook his head. He wasn’t a doctor but even he could see it was hopeless. Graeme was too experienced to miss a kill shot. “This is going to hurt George,” said Craig, wrapping one of Hughes’s arms around his neck and hauling him to his feet. Hughes screeched with pain, the sound barely human.
“Sorry,” said Craig, sounding as though he didn’t mean it.
CHAPTER 20
Craig managed to stagger back to the main street, Hughes on one arm, clutching the heavy shotgun in the other hand. Bill limped behind carrying both his gun and Hughes’s. The pain in Craig’s side started up again and he prayed Lizzy’s dressing held the wound together.
“Call to them, let them know it’s us,” Craig told Bill when they approached the back of the pub. “We don’t want Steve blasting a hole through the door with his shotgun.”
“Oy, it’s me, Bill. Open the door, we’ve got a wounded man,” he called, banging on the door with the butt of the shotgun.
“How do we know the sniper’s not holding you hostage to get us to open up?” called back Steve.
“Stop being a dick. Hughes has been shot. If you don’t open up I’ll break the fucking door down.”
There was a moment of silence during which Craig looked back over his shoulder, not liking how exposed they were. Finally there was the sound of it being unlocked and they were greeted by Steve, shotgun at the ready.
“Quick, get inside,” he told them, lowering the weapon and standing aside to allow them to enter. When they were all in he locked the door behind them.
“Get on your radio if it’s working, tell them Graeme’s run into the woods,” said Craig.
“The bastard’s still alive then?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I’ll give it a go but it’s pretty sporadic,” said Steve, talking into his radio, grimacing when he got nothing but static again.
“Who’s hurt? Please, don’t say it’s my boy,” said Nora, hurrying towards them, almost stumbling over her cane. “Oh thank God for that, it’s Hughes.”
“Mum,” exclaimed Craig as he hauled the man through to the bar area.
“Sorry but better him than you,” she said, head held high.
“That’s not helping,” he frowned as he lay Hughes back on the floor. “Lizzy.”
Lizzy had been pushed to the very limit. Her frizzy hair was stuck up all over the place, she had huge bags under eyes and her body was limp, as though all the energy had been sucked out of her.
“I can’t do this again,” she said quietly.
“You’re the only one who knows what to do,” said Craig. “Do I open his stab vest or not?”
Lizzy just shrugged.
“Lizzy, answer me,” he yelled.
“Check his back,” she eventually said.
“I’ll help,” said Steve, I can’t get through anyway yet.”
“The storm’s getting worse outside,” said Craig.
Craig and Steve laid Hughes on his side. “There are three holes in his back,” replied Steve.
“Then the bullets passed through and he’s bleeding out. Keep the vest on,” she said resignedly. “If you take it off he’ll only bleed more.”
Deborah handed them a bundle of tea towels and Craig and Steve grabbed a handful each and pressed down on the wounds in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. Hughes screamed in pain and it was becoming difficult for him to breathe. He coughed and blood sprayed out of
his mouth, covering Steve’s face who, despite his revulsion, didn’t flinch.
“Lizzy, help us,” Craig called to her.
“I can’t watch another man die,” she said in a soft, faraway voice. “I just can’t.”
“I don’t want to die,” wailed Hughes, more blood pouring from his mouth.
Nora slapped Lizzy hard around the face. “Pull yourself together you silly moo. You’re not the one who’s been shot.”
“What do you want me to do?” Lizzy screamed in her face. “He’s dying and I can’t stop it.”
“I’m not dying,” groaned Hughes, tears filling his eyes.
Craig and Steve looked at each other helplessly as the blood continued to pump out of him, forming a large pool on the floor. They both knew Lizzy was right.
“We told you not to go out there. Why did you do it?” said Steve, face glistening with droplets of Hughes’s blood.
“Had to show everyone…I could do the job,” he said, eyes rolling back in his head.
“And you did,” said Bill encouragingly, suddenly feeling sorry for him. “You were out there doing it. You tackled a mass murderer. You proved yourself, didn’t he Craig?”
Craig didn’t reply, the knot of muscle in his jaw twitching as he pressed down even harder on his wounds.
Hughes smiled weakly. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Come on George, hang in there,” said Steve. “Help’s on it’s way, just hang on.”
“I did it,” whispered Hughes to himself. “I’m a real police officer.”
“Yes you are. Just concentrate on keeping going so you can tell everyone when we finally get out of here.”
“Did…it,” he breathed before his eyes rolled shut and his head lolled to one side.
Silenced reigned as they all stared at Hughes, waiting for him to move, but he didn’t.
“Is he…?” began Steve.
Craig pressed his fingertips to his throat. “He’s gone.”
“See, what did I tell you,” cried Lizzy with something akin to triumph in her voice.
“Yes, he was dying. You were right. Well done you,” said Deborah sarcastically.
Lizzy rounded on her. “You don’t know what it feels like when you’re trying to save someone’s life and no matter what you do they die anyway. I’ve gone through it four times already tonight and I won’t do it again. I just won’t,” she said before burying her face in her hands and starting to cry.
“Leave her alone the lot of you,” said Jimmy. “Come here Lizzy hen.”
She threw herself down at his side and buried her face in his chest. Jimmy wanted to hold her but couldn’t with both arms bandaged.
“I’m sorry,” said Deborah, feeling horribly guilty in the face of the woman’s distress.
“Lizzy, you can help Bill. He got shot in the leg,” said Jeanette, who was sat by his side looking uncertainly at the blood on his trouser leg.
“Aye I did and don’t worry Lizzy sweetheart, I’m far from finished,” said Bill, slumped on the floor, his injured leg stuck straight out before him.
Lizzy raised her head and turned to look at him, delighted to see someone she could actually help. She scrambled over to him, rolled up his trouser leg and began studying the wound in the calf.
“Good news, the bullet passed right through the muscle and missed the bone. I can bandage it up for you.”
“Course you can hen,” he smiled, swigging at a bottle of whisky as she worked.
“What happened out there?” said Steve as he and Craig moved Hughes’s body over to the other side of the room to join the others and covered it with a tablecloth.
“Me and Bill were in Jimmy’s house,” replied Craig. “We went for your shotgun,” he called across to Jimmy.
“You find it okay?” he called back, watching his wife work on Bill with anxiety in his eyes. No one looked at Hughes’s body, they were becoming accustomed to death.
“Aye, fine. Graeme patched himself up in your kitchen by the way, he used your first aid kit. Gordon winged him good.”
“That animal was in my house?” said Lizzy, appalled.
“Afraid so. Anyway, Hughes turned up there and insisted on helping. He showed us he was competent with a shotgun so we decided to let him help, we thought we could use the extra back-up. After confirming Graeme really was the sniper we cornered him in his cottage. He snuck up onto the roof and fired down at us. A bullet ricocheted and hit Bill in the leg. We chased Graeme to Mum’s house.”
“Don’t tell me he was in my house too,” exclaimed Nora.
“Not in it, just outside it. We confronted him in the back lane.” Craig screwed his fists up. “I had a clear shot, I could have taken him.”
“Only Hughes came round the corner and stood on the other side of Graeme,” said Bill. “Craig couldn’t have fired without hitting him too.”
“I should have done more,” said Craig.
“You could have if Hughes hadn’t fucked it up for you,” said Jimmy.
“Hughes raised his gun, ready to fire,” continued Craig. “But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.”
“He couldn’t shoot a man who’s killed so many people?” said Nora, incredulous.
“He didn’t have it in him,” said Bill contemptuously. “He should have stayed here out of the way. If he had then Graeme would be dead by now and this would be over.”
“Bill, please,” said Jeanette. “Have some respect for the dead.”
“I didn’t have any respect for the wee fud when he was alive and I certainly don’t now. Craig always said his incompetence would kill someone one day and he was right, but none of us guessed it would kill Hughes himself. The man was a walking accident.”
“He’s right,” said Steve. “Hughes went off on one in here. He grabbed the shotgun and pointed it at me.”
“Jesus,” exclaimed Craig.
“Luckily I managed to talk him down.”
“Steve was wonderful,” said Nora. “He’s a real police officer, just like you Craig. Hughes was a little boy playing at it and he got himself killed. Don’t you dare blame yourself for his mistakes.”
Craig looked down at the shape beneath the bloodstained tablecloth, unable to summon up any sympathy for him. “He just wanted to prove that he could do the job.”
“And he proved the opposite,” said Bill.
“I’ll try my radio again,” said Steve, holding it in his bloodied hands.
“When you do get through tell them we’ve confirmed it definitely is Graeme Doggett.”
Steve nodded as he spoke into his radio, hoping for a response and receiving none.
“So you know for sure?” said Jimmy.
“We found the white paper suit he wore to kill Adam, which explains why forensics found no evidence of another person at the scene. These too,” he added, holding up the night vision goggles.
“Poor Adam,” said Jeanette. “We were all thinking so badly of him when he was another victim.”
“Graeme used him like Lynch did,” said Bill.
“So Graeme’s in the woods now?” said Jimmy.
“We saw him run in there. With any luck he’ll fall and break his neck, just like Docherty,” said Bill, glancing at Craig.
“Hopefully,” was all Craig replied.
“So we sit and wait?” said Nora. “You’re not going back out there, are you Craig? Please tell me you’re not, my nerves couldn’t take it.”
“No, I think we scared him off. He looked terrified of the shotguns.”
“Which just proves what a coward he is. He’s only tough when he’s shooting people at a distance.”
“How are you holding up Gary?” Craig called over to him.
Gary was still laid on his side, skin even paler, the only movement the rapid, shallow rise and fall of his chest. “Still alive Sarge,” he rasped.
“Good. Keep it that way.”
“Working on it.”
“Keep on the radio Steve. We have to let them know where h
e’s headed.”
“Will do Sarge.”
Craig leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He was so tired he could drop off, but it was vital he stayed alert so he forced his eyes open. To occupy himself he took out his phone and tried dialling out but there was still no signal. Instead he flicked through the photos, leaving behind the stink of blood and sweat and the pile of bodies as he lost himself in images of Freya and Petie and their little house back in Glasgow. He’d give anything to be there right now with them. Still, it was a blessing they were well out of this. They were safe.
Freya didn’t think she’d be able to tolerate the night vision goggles, despite what she’d told Thorne, but she was dealing with them better than she’d thought she would, probably because there was so much at stake. All five of them carried small GPS trackers in their pockets, so they could be located if they lost their way in the dark.
The storm was still growling above their heads but the trees were so dense here that they blocked most of it out. Vague flashes of light could be seen at the tree line and occasionally in the distance they heard a faint rumble of thunder but nothing more. The foliage smothered all sound in these woods, making them feel like the loneliest place on earth.
The officers were following her closely, clutching their guns and they had all been warned by Thorne not to utter a word. They were halfway through the woods and Freya knew they didn’t have too far to go, although they couldn’t actually see the village yet.
They all heard the sound to their right - a loud crack, like a twig being broken underfoot. Thorne indicated for them all to stop by screwing up his hand into a fist and holding it aloft. Freya went still, holding her breath, waiting to see if the sound repeated itself but she could hear nothing over her own pounding heart. She prayed for a fox or a badger to come running out of the undergrowth but everything was perfectly still, eerily so, as though the wildlife knew something bad was coming and had fled.
Thorne gestured for one of the other officers to follow him and the remaining two to stay with Freya. The trio stood awkwardly together, the two men constantly scanning the surrounding area, keeping vigil while Freya leaned back against a tree to catch her breath and control her frustration at this delay. Craig was so close.
Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) Page 17
