An Unfolding Trap

by Jo A. Hiestand

  “It may take me a while. I’ll have to do this off hours when the climate is better for personal projects.”

  “Just don’t get caught, Jamie.”

  “You don’t have to remind me, but thanks for the God speed. I’ll ring you back as soon as I’ve got it.”

  McLaren crossed the brook, emerging from the forest twenty minutes later. Open grassland spread before him, treeless and dotted occasionally with boulders and outcroppings on the hill face. The long grass and ferns bowed in the wind, the dry stalks and seed heads rustling as they knocked against each other. The sky stretched like a broad canopy in blue and gray, and seemed to touch the hilltops in every direction.

  Several hundred yards ahead sat the shieling, a small stone cottage perhaps twenty by ten feet. The sod roof was intact but for the area farthest from the wooden door. The door and the hole in the roof where smoke from the fire escaped were the only means of light for the long-ago residents. The rock walls were solid; the two small squares on either end of the house had been plugged with sod years ago. A footpath, worn into the soil and overgrown in parts, wandered to the door.

  An off-road vehicle was parked near the door. McLaren yanked his notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket and wrote down the number plate.

  As he approached the shieling he heard voices. They grew louder the nearer he got to the structure.

  He stood at the end of the cottage, where the roof had fallen in. The conversation was clearest there. He listened, hoping Lanny was one of the men. Shielings were not so plentiful anymore that there would be more on the hill.

  The rock wall was cold against his back. Bits of turf, stuffed like insulation into the chinks between the rocks, had frozen into rigid saw-like blades, sharp and cold beneath his touch. He ignored the cold; the conversation was more chilling.

  “What the bloody hell are we gonna do with her?” The male voice exploded from the confines of the rock structure, the anger evident even without seeing the speaker’s expression.

  “Why do we have to decide?” snapped another male voice. Though lower in tone and volume, the words crackled with underlying hatred. And perhaps a touch of rivalry.

  “Because you, as usual, made a cock-up of the job.”

  “I don’t see how you can say that, Fowler. I snatched her before she talked to the coppers. I saved your worthless neck. You were looking at a murder charge if you’d got nicked.”

  The man called Fowler snorted, a blast of cuss words following. “You’re dreamin’, mate. You’re the yob who drove the car. I wasn’t even around.”

  “Of course not. You were safely away from the scene, as usual. Never want to get your lily-white hands the least bit soiled in any way. Leave it for barmy Lanny. He’s not got the brains for anything but the grunt work. Well, I’m not gonna carry the can for this. I snatched her and I did what I was told to do: prevent her and that bloke from talking.”

  “Aw, shut it. Cry on someone else’s shoulder. And do it some other time. We’re still in a jam. I’d wring your neck if I didn’t need your muscles to cart her off.” A silence fell between them and McLaren could hear a woman crying within the hut. There was the sound of metal hitting rock, followed by Fowler’s heated voice. “Damned coffee’s cold. What’s the good of coffee if it’s cold? Can’t you do anything right?”

  “I wanted to build a fire, but no, you wouldn’t have it. It’d give away our position, you said. Who to? Nobody’s lookin’ for her. I’ve been listenin’ to the radio in the car. No one’s put in a missing person report. We’re fine.” A clatter of wood on stone sounded. “You got a match?”

  “You git. There might be a hiker around. He’d see the smoke.”

  “I’m bloody freezin’. Why’d we have to stash her here? No one’d look in my flat, and we’d be warm.”

  “And one of your nosey parker neighbors might see us toting her inside, or hear her blasted crying. You’re gormless. Think it through before you say anything. Better yet, before you do anything. We’re in the perfect spot. And we’re going to stay in this perfect spot until we get word from Roper.”

  “That’ll be a bloody great trick, Fowler, with him in the nick.”

  “He’s got his network. You forget how he got word out about him going to Leeds General Hospital? He’s got ways, Lanny. We’ll hear from him.”

  “I still think it’s time to put someone else in charge of the gang. Someone who can make decisions on the spot. It takes too long to get word back and forth from Roper. We need a man outside.”

  “And just who do you have in mind for this job? Wouldn’t be you, Lanny, would it?”

  There was something in Fowler’s voice or his expression that must have warned Lanny off the subject. He muttered something McLaren couldn’t hear. His voice picked up a bit in volume when he asked the woman if she wanted anything.

  “Worry about yourself.” Fowler’s voice moved closer to McLaren. “Miss Liza Skene’s not going to be with us much longer, anyway, so I doubt if she’s worried about a cold cup of coffee.”

  “Just so it looks like an accident.”

  “Afraid someone’ll look for you if we top her outright?”

  “There are other ways than leaving a knife in her back. Why can’t we make it look like an accident?” Lanny’s words rushed out as he warmed to the idea. “Yeah. An accident. Like she fell into a ravine up here, or died of exposure. It’s bloody cold enough for the coppers to believe that.”

  “We’d have to knock her out and leave her in the snow or chuck her down the gorge. Make it look like she stumbled and hit her head. You willing to risk the cops won’t find rope burns on her arms and think something’s a tad fishy?”

  “They won’t think it suspicious if she dies by fallin’ down a ravine. It’s a cinch to walk to it and push her over the edge. Another careless hiker who stumbled off the rock face.” His voice came stronger now that he was confident of the scenario. “Yeah. Like McLaren. We left him in the snow. Probably froze to death or got hypothermia or somethin’. A death that the cops couldn’t pin to us. Same with her. An accident. No possible link to us, so no coppers breathin’ down our necks. Harvester’s brilliant.”

  The woman cried louder. A sharp retort, like a hand hitting flesh, a growled “Shut it!” and the crying stopped.

  “So, what about it, Fowler? Brilliant, eh?”

  The door squeaked open and McLaren ran to the end of the hut. Fowler’s voice sounded as if the man stood beside McLaren.

  “I don’t know how I got into this. Doing jobs of work for two different blokes. Roper consumes enough of my time, then you hook me up with this other guy.” He mumbled something beneath his breath.

  “That’s just it, Fowler. We pick up these odd jobs when Roper doesn’t need us. Nothin’ wrong with makin’ a few extra quid on the side.” Lanny fell silent and McLaren could hear the woman softly crying. “This was just the one-time thing. I doubt if he’ll hire us again. We did our job; he’s happy and we’ll get our money.”

  “When? He’s had time enough to give it to us.”

  “He’ll pay us when McLaren’s body is found, when an account of his tragic accident runs in the newspapers. That’ll be proof enough and we’ll get our money. End of association.”

  “How you ever got hooked up with this bloke is something I’ll never understand.”

  Lanny laughed. “Mutual friend.”

  “If you’ve got any more friends like that, I don’t want any part of.”

  “So, what about leavin’ her in a gorge? Or make it look like a rock hit her on the head?”

  “I’ll think about it. I’m leaving now. I’ll pick up some food, maybe make arrangements for her accident. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Lock the damned door behind you. I don’t want anyone burstin’ in here and findin’ me with…her.”

  “You’ve got the key, lame brain. Harvester gave it to you when he put the lock on the door last month. Remember?”

  “I just though he gave you o
ne, too.”

  “Yeah, well, he didn’t. Probably didn’t want to spend the extra quid.”

  “I’ll let you back in. Don’t be stupid. Now, go on.”

  The hinges shrieked at being moved. “Don’t do anything more stupid than you can help, Lanny.”

  The door slammed shut, cutting off Lanny’s retort. Seconds later the vehicle’s motor started and Fowler drove off.

  McLaren eased back to the door. Lanny’s voice seeped through the hole in the roof.

  “I didn’t think it’d end like this, lady. I truly didn’t. If I could make it different, I would.”

  “You could let me go.” Liza’s tone was sharp and wavered, her words hurried. “We could make it look like I hit you on the head with one of those logs. Fowler would never know you released me. I’ll stay with a friend down south in Devon. I’ll be out of the way, I’ll keep quiet. He’ll never know.” She paused and McLaren wondered if Lanny was considering the woman’s suggestion. “Please, Lanny. I won’t go to the police. I’ll never say a thing about Hurd or about this. Please! I-I’ll give you money. £3,000. I’ve got that much. You could go away, get away from Fowler. Start life over. Please!”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry, but it’d be my life if Fowler found you gone.”

  “If that’s not enough, maybe I could get more. Yes! My car. It’s only a few months old. You can have that. Plus my ring. See?” She must have held a hand out to Lanny, for he whistled. “I’ve got a matching necklace at home. Real diamonds. You can have that and my other good jewelry, too.” Her voice quivered, betraying her fright. “Please let me go! I’m begging you.”

  McLaren stepped in front of the door and pounded on it with his fist. The door shook in its wooden frame.

  “Just a minute, Fowler,” Lanny called out. “Why’re you back? Forget something?” Lanny opened the door, muttering that Fowler’s chief talent in life was pestering people. He never finished the remark. McLaren grabbed Lanny and pulled him outside. He uttered an exclamation before McLaren’s fist slammed into his stomach. As Lanny grabbed his stomach and bent over, McLaren kicked the back of his knees. Lanny’s legs folded and he crashed to the ground like a collapsed deck chair. Lanny bent his legs beneath him and pushed his palms into the grass, struggling to get up but McLaren slugged him again in the jaw, and Lanny crumpled, spread out on the ground.

  McLaren dashed into the shieling. Liza Skene sat on the floor in the far corner, her hands, arms, and legs tied with rope. The hems of her trouser legs and her tartan muffler were caked with mud and her coat was matted with spots where water had dried. Her hair hung uncombed to her shoulders, her one barrette dangling over her left ear. She stared at him with eyes that were puffy from crying, yet held the fear of her capture and relief that he had appeared. He pulled out his pocketknife as he ran over to her.

  “Mike!” Liza gasped, the words barely more than a whisper. “How’d you find me?”

  “We’ll talk about that later.” His knife blade cut through the rope and he threw the pieces into the fireplace. “First thing is to get out of here and make sure you’re all right.” He gave her his hand and pulled gently. “Can you stand?”

  She doubled her legs beneath her and pushed against the rock wall with her left hand. Nodding, she got to her feet. “A bit wobbly. If you can give me a few minutes…” The fingers of her left hand wove around McLaren’s as she steadied herself. “Nice to see you again. Especially under these circumstances.”

  “I’m rather pleased, too.” He rubbed her ankles and wrists where the rope had chaffed her skin. “Feel any better? Are you able to walk? It’s a bit of a hike, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Mike. I’ll make it. I could scale Ben Nevis if it meant my freedom.”

  “How’d they grab you?”

  “Quite easily. I was walking down the street. It was dusk. Fowler came up to me from behind, showed me a knife and ordered me into their car. Lanny was in the driver’s seat. I thought about screaming, but he nudged me with the knife, so I got into the car. I know I shouldn’t have. I know that once a victim ends up in the abductor’s territory the abductor has the advantage and it’s harder for the victim to escape. But it happened so quickly; he seemed to pop out of nowhere. And the car was within a yard or so of us. He pushed me into it and we drove off before it really dawned on me what was happening.”

  “Why’d they grab you? Did they say?”

  “I don’t know for certain. But I infer it was to keep me from talking about Hurd’s project.”

  “His project? The one he worked on at the library?”

  “They never said which one, but I gather it was one of the ones Hurd worked on during his off hours, moonlighting for other people. It must’ve been secretive or important, or they’d not be so anxious to keep me from talking.”

  McLaren nodded. “Again assuming you knew about it. But they’d not want to take a chance Hurd spoke to you about it. If Fowler and Lanny knew you two worked together, they would easily believe Hurd might have told you something of it. Or that you helped him. Better safe than sorry.” He rubbed her wrists, getting her circulation going again. “Those kind don’t care if they’re right or wrong about a person. It’s best to eliminate everyone, clean up loose ends so the threat’s gone.”

  Liza flexed her fingers and stamped her feet. “Lanny and Fowler argued a lot over that. I gathered that was why they finally caught up with me in the city. They kept squabbling over how much Hurd had told me, how to silence me so I wouldn’t talk…” She trembled, as though hearing the argument again, or envisioning her fate. “I’m supposed to know something that’s damning to them. That’s the only thing I can think of.” She grimaced and avoided McLaren’s gaze. “I know what a berk I’ve been, that I should’ve fought or fainted or something, but it’s hard to think when it happens so quickly.”

  McLaren squeezed her hand. “Don’t beat yourself up, Liza. Not many people would do any differently.”

  “I do know another thing I’d do differently.”

  “Oh yes? What’s that?”

  “Not tell Fowler about that Edinburgh brochure.”

  “The one you tore to give me?”

  “Yes. It was fairly soon after…my capture. He went through my handbag and found the brochure. I guess I shuddered or blinked, for he realized it had some significance to me. He…slapped and punched me until I told him about it, how I’d given you the part about Greyfriars.”

  McLaren swore softly and stared at her face, aware of the dark bruises that were shifting to yellow and purple hues. “Is…that all that happened to you?”

  She nodded and gave him a smile. “He didn’t do anything about the brochure for a while, but he kept it. He’d look at it periodically, then he laughed and phoned someone on his mobile. This was before they moved me here. I think we were still in Edinburgh. It was some city setting, at least, because I could hear the traffic noises.”

  McLaren nodded at her muffler. “Is that when he ripped that?”

  “Yes. He also wrote something on a sheet of paper. Then he rolled it up, tied it with the fabric strip, grabbed the brochure and left. I haven’t a clue as to what became of them, but if they hurt or jeopardized you in any way, I’m extremely sorry. I guess I wasn’t very smart. Or strong.” She eyed him, frowning. “Did he use them against you somehow?”

  “Yes, but I’ll tell you about it later. Now, however, I think it prudent for us to get out of here.”

  Outside the door, Lanny still lay sprawled on the ground. McLaren pulled his mobile from his jacket pocket and punched in a phone number. “Why don’t you tell the police where we are—just north of Balquhidder. Tell them to follow the trail behind the kirk, heading toward Creag Mac Ranaich. Come to the shieling on the other side of the burn. There might be a different route up the hill, something drivable. I know Fowler drove down the other side. They’re familiar with the area, so they would know. Anyway, tell them what happened, and that they might want to pick up Lanny.”
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  “You’re not leaving?” Fear crept back into her voice and her eyes widened.

  “No. I just want to have a quick look around the shieling. I won’t be long.” He shoved the mobile into her hand and went back inside.

  He crossed the room and followed the same routine he had in Donald MacLaren’s cottage. There was no woodpile to sort through, so he examined the rocks comprising the walls. He poked and nudged and pulled, replaced sod that became dislodged, felt around the holes of the few rocks he did manage to extricate. No coins, notebook, or piece of paper presented itself.

  He did the same with the rocks serving as the fire pit. He pulled them from the haphazard ring on the ground, then examined the exposed soil. The odor of old ashes and partially charred wood assailed his nostrils, making him cough. Ignoring the stench, he restacked them. Nothing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’m sorry, Mike.” Liza handed him his mobile phone as he emerged from the shieling. “I can’t get a signal up here. Or the company’s having some kind of trouble.”

  McLaren nodded and pocketed the phone. He glanced at the stand of trees bordering the brook, at the ruined cottage and the rows of mountaintops that looked like ocean swells. The peaks appeared to change hues from chocolate brown to dingy gray, fading into the distance and mingling with low-hanging clouds. He’d assumed there would be no mobile phone service in this wild area, but he had to try. He had to contact the police. When they got back to Balquhidder…

  Liza rubbed her wrists watching McLaren’s every move. “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure the police have something to pick up when they get here.” He tied Lanny’s hands and feet with lengths of rope formerly used on Liza. Giving the knots a tug, he nodded. “I’d hate for them to make a trip for nothing.” He glanced at his watch, then at the sky. Somber clouds were building in the west and the air held the scent of snow. He grabbed her arm and gently nudged her. “Come on. I think we best be going.”