by Tom Benson
The pair travelled in silence for several minutes.
“It was a low point in my life?” Rachel murmured.
“Have you ever talked to anybody about this Uncle Eric episode?”
“No.” She continued to stare at the approaching bright lights of the city streets.
Phil didn’t push the matter and concentrated on his driving. Rachel portrayed herself as a strong character, but she might have a fragile side. Phil turned on the stereo, but on medium volume. He switched from late-night radio to a classical CD.
It was dark above the height of the buildings, but at street level, the kaleidoscope of shop fronts, vehicle lights, and street lighting illuminated the city centre. People were wandering the streets, inebriated and happy. Some ate takeaway meals, while others tried to stay on their feet. In dark side streets, drunken relationships were developing. No fear, no guilt, no sense, and no condoms.
“It was in the summer of 1987,” Rachel said, staring ahead. “I was fourteen, and my parents said we’d be spending a day out on Uncle Eric’s boat.”
Phil lowered the volume of the stereo.
“As usual,” Rachel said, “when everything appeared to be great, my parents had an argument. They didn’t go but insisted I should. It was warm and sunny, and when out in the estuary, my Uncle Eric changed into his swimming trunks. He suggested I wear my swimming costume to sunbathe on the deck.”
When Phil next changed gear, he reduced the stereo volume to zero but left it on, so lights showed. He concentrated on driving and listening to Rachel.
Rachel sniffed and swallowed hard, before turning to gaze out of the side window. A minute of silence passed before she faced forward. “When the boat was out in open water, my uncle stared at me, and it felt wrong. I said I wanted to get dressed.”
Phil kept his speed down and glanced at Rachel occasionally to assure her he was listening.
Rachel wiped away tears. “He put his hand on my knee. At first, I froze, but I saw him lick his lips, and I asked him to leave me alone.” She stared into the night. “He adjusted the bulge in the front of trunks. I told him he was making me feel upset. He said I was a beautiful girl, and he would make me a woman.” Tears poured down her face, and she sniffed.
Phil pulled a clean hanky from his pocket and handed it to her.
Rachel used the hanky. “He knelt over me, and said I could scream, but nobody would hear. He said he’d fetch some rope so he could teach me about submission.” The tears flowed unchecked.
They’d covered most of the distance to Scotstoun. Phil kept his speed down.
“He went below for his rope. I secured the cabin door with the straps of a life-jacket, and I used an emergency flare to set fire to the seat cushions on the deck. He shouted at first and pleaded. Finally, he screamed for mercy when the cabin caught fire.”
They were a few minutes from Rachel’s house. Phil remained silent.
“I put on a life-jacket but stayed onboard until his screaming stopped. It was a gloriously warm day, but the water was freezing. I was picked up by fishermen, and they wrapped me in a blanket. They were asking who was onboard when Eric’s boat exploded.”
Phil parked outside his colleague’s house. “Could I impose on you for a coffee?”
“Yes, of course.” Rachel said, continuing in the same detached manner.
Phil stood at the kitchen door watching Rachel prepare the drinks. This wasn’t the vivacious and exciting woman Phil had got to know. She turned to face him.
“I murdered a man for touching me.” She burst into floods of tears. Years of secrecy reached the surface, and Rachel’s body was wracked with the power of her sobbing.
“Let it all out.” Phil’s strong arms embraced her.
For five minutes they stood - the defenceless child, crying through an independent, young woman, reassured by the most influential man she’d ever met.
Phil coaxed her to the sofa. As they drank coffee, Phil kept a comforting arm around her. It took several minutes before Rachel was calm enough to talk. Nothing shocked Phil, but Rachel’s tale filled him with anger—because he’d never get to meet Uncle Eric.
It took encouragement, but Rachel talked of the aftermath. She explained about being placed in a special clinic for months, but she never told anybody what had happened on the boat. It was considered a tragedy her uncle had perished, and a miracle she’d donned a life-vest and jumped.
“He was my mother’s brother,” Rachel said. “Shortly after I returned home, the arguments recommenced. When my mother blamed me for Eric’s death, my father told her to leave. Since their split, I’ve been considered a cold bitch, but I don’t care.”
“I think you do,” Phil said. “You’re an attractive woman who could have any guy she wanted. Don’t let the past hold you back.”
“Not quite any man,” she said and gave a weak smile as she held his gaze.
“Nobody will hear any of this from me, and I want you to promise me something.”
“Anything ....”
“Never tell anybody in authority. Understood?”
“Understood,” she murmured.
“I can understand it being brought to mind by those lowlife’s tonight?”
“Something good has come of tonight. I’ve never trusted anybody, but maybe with my attitude to what we did tonight, I didn’t want you to think I was deranged.”
Phil smiled and shook his head. “Do you feel better?”
“I do, and thank you.”
“Remember, I’ll be here for you.”
“Will you tell Annabel?”
“No, but if you were asking my opinion, I’d suggest telling her. You two are close. She’ll treat it the same as me—in confidence.” He lifted her chin. “It won’t be discussed.”
“Thank you,” she said and held his hand. “You’d better get back to Bearsden.”
“Will you be okay?”
“If you’re on my side, I’ll be fine.”
At the front door, Phil embraced her. “It wasn’t a pleasant task tonight, but you did well.”
“I got you to myself for a while.” She met his gaze. “Good night.”
“Good night, Rachel.” He kissed her cheek, winked, and left.
As Phil walked up the driveway, Annabel eased the front door open. She held her forefinger to her lips before whispering. “Stella’s asleep on the sofa. I covered her with a blanket. It took a while to calm her, and I didn’t want to wake her.”
“Thanks for tonight.”
“How did it go?”
“It went well, but it might have been disturbing for Rachel. We’ll have to allow her some leeway.”
“I reckon she has issues, but she’ll open up when she sees fit. Leave it with me lover boy.” She paused. “It was heart-warming for me earlier, being described as, a close, personal friend.” She arched an eyebrow. “Good night, Phil.”
“Good night, Annabel.”
.
Saturday 20th July
Stella woke from a nightmare in the early hours. Her guardian sent her to bed, and he returned to the armchair.
Phil made coffee at 07:00, and stood at the kitchen window watching the birds in the large back garden. He considered making breakfast for Stella but decided to let her get up and into her morning routine. She was distant and in trauma when she went to bed. Phil’s policy was, no pampering.
At breakfast, the conversation was stilted, and Stella didn’t meet Phil’s gaze. He suggested she report a disturbance in her driveway on the previous evening. He told her to leave out knowledge of seeing her ex-husband. She should say, a dark-coloured car pulled up in the evening, there was a scuffle involving three men, and the car drove off.
“Why should I involve myself?” she said. “Surely it would bring police attention to me?”
“It will do the opposite,” Phil said. “If your neighbours saw a disturbance in your driveway, but you didn’t, it would be unusual. You’re reporting three, or perhaps four indistinct figure
s - no detail.”
Stella nodded. She agreed to Phil’s suggestion and opened up about her fear of Brian’s visits. The local news headlines on the radio silenced her. It was 07:30.
‘Two naked men were discovered in Glasgow Green this morning by a man walking his dog. The men were manacled together and had suffered several injuries. One man was pronounced dead at the scene, while the other is in the Royal Infirmary. Both men had been indecently assaulted.’
“Oh my God,” Stella gasped.
Phil sipped his coffee.
‘A police spokesman said the dead man fitted the description of Dougie Radnor, aged twenty-nine, recently released, following a four-year prison term for a series of sexual assaults. The other man who hasn’t been identified is said to be in a stable condition.’
“Is Brian the other one?”
Phil nodded. “Consider what he intended for you.”
“I’m sorry, Phil, I don’t love him anymore, but it’s hard to switch off all feeling for somebody who shared your life.”
“I understand,” Phil said. “I’ll be going shortly, but before I do, I’ll put your mind at rest.” He sipped his coffee while waiting for eye contact.
“Put my mind at rest, about what?”
“First of all, I believe part of our arrangement has been damaged irreparably. I’m sure you couldn’t witness my violence and let me near you, but please don’t worry.”
Stella swallowed hard and looked down briefly. “I’m sorry Phil, but I couldn’t—”
“Am I right?”
“Yes, you’re right,” she murmured.
“The second point to consider—Brian’s latest girlfriend.”
“The police wouldn’t suspect her of anything. I was married to him, and now he’s in Intensive Care. The police might think I hired somebody?”
“Your ex-husband recently appeared in court for assault. He slapped his new girlfriend around, and she has three big brothers. If anybody gets hassle from the police, it will be those brothers.”
“What should I do Phil? I can’t handle this.”
“The police will send somebody to take a statement. Tell them you fear for your safety, and when the police have gone, book a holiday for a week or two. You’ve got a business partner who can run the agency.”
“Annabel suggested the same last night. Have you two discussed it?”
“We didn’t have to Stella. It’s the logical way to deal with your situation.”
“Thank you for understanding Phil. If you can trust me, I’ll help whenever possible, regarding properties and suchlike. I want us to remain friends.”
“Me too.” He smiled. “I want an excuse to drop in at your office for a chat and a coffee. I might treat you to lunch occasionally to show my gratitude.”
They embraced at the doorway, and Phil kissed her on the forehead. “Call me from the airport, okay?”
“I will. Please thank Annabel for me. She’s a lovely woman.”
“I will,” he said, and he agreed.
Phil left Bearsden on Drymen Road and turned onto Station Road. He passed the Bowling Club and pulled over a few metres before the old railway bridge. He lifted the envelope he’d slipped into a protective plastic sleeve and double-checked what he’d written on the outside. ‘Jake - Don’t open this until I call you. Hawk.’
Appropriately, a post box stood near the bridge. Phil ensured he wasn’t being observed before placing the plastic sleeve in the undergrowth behind the distinctive red pillar box. A few minutes later, he was heading home to Southbank Street.
Phil was pleased to see the article in the Daily Record about the shootings in Drumchapel. He dialled a number. “Hi, Jake, how are things?”
Jake talked about the unusually happy mood his mother had been in when he got home the day before. She would feel relieved with her money returned, plus interest. Jake didn’t have to know the details.
“I’ve got a task for you,” Phil said. “I’ll give you directions to a dead-drop. Listen up.” Phil explained where he had hidden the weatherproof package. Jake repeated the instructions and said he’d call to confirm pick-up.
Phil said it was crucial to deliver the enclosed envelope about the same time as the regular post.
Jake had performed a recce of the area outside Kirkintilloch and already knew where to go. He’d checked the postman’s delivery time to the house off Campsie Road. The letterbox was fitted to decorative wall at the driveway entrance.
Phil was in Flat Three watching the weather forecast when his mobile phone buzzed. It was 08:55. He lifted the Motorola from the coffee table, and thought, well done Jake.
“Hello,” Phil said. When he heard the trembling female voice, he sat up. “Lindsey, take your time.”
Lindsey Watt was whispering. Phil could hardly hear her but didn’t interrupt. He reached for the remote and switched off the weather report. Lindsey was somewhere in her B & B hotel, and Kirsten was upstairs. Nobody else should be there, but they had an uninvited guest. The call ended before Phil could ask questions or make a suggestion.
Phil dialled 999, and was about to hit the call button, but thought better of it. He couldn’t involve the police when he considered the bigger picture. Phil had every faith Lindsey would have prepared an escape plan. He called Rachel.
Phil weaved in and out of the traffic and was grateful for the modernised routes through the city. The M8 Ring Road and the Clydeside Expressway cut journey times dramatically.
Phil turned off Dumbarton Road into Dunglass Avenue. As he drove along the tree-lined street, he stopped at each junction. Children on school holidays were out on their bikes because of the pleasant weather. The big yellow Norton was sitting at the kerbside, and Rachel was dressed and ready to go.
“What’s happened?” Rachel asked, standing with her helmet in her hands.
Phil closed his car door. “It sounds like somebody has found Kirsten.”
“We ride for Loch Lomond and don’t spare the horses?”
“You’ve got it.” Phil opened the car boot and lifted out his helmet and leather jacket. Jeans would be enough for today. He trusted Rachel implicitly. He checked his watch—09:35. Less than a minute later, the pair thundered along Lincoln Avenue, through Knightswood. Five minutes after parking his car, Phil was being whisked along the A82 by a highly-skilled biker.
Annabel received a brief update from Phil. She was in no position to help because she was covering Jake’s back, albeit in a covert manner.
“Hi Jake,” Annabel said when her phone buzzed. “Yes, I’ll pass it on to Hawk. Did he tell you about the next phase?” She listened, and cast an eye over her map. “Okay, you’ve delivered the letter, and the mail was collected by Cameron’s wife?”
Jake would be eager to prove himself.
Annabel was guarded in the way she held him back. “Jake. Stay hidden, and watch for a reaction. It will be important to know who leaves, and I’d like you to call with updates.” She listened. “No Jake, Hawk will be busy for a while. I’ll take your calls, mate.” She got organised and left for the location.
It was 10:00 when Annabel’s phone buzzed. “Hello, Jake.” She hit loudspeaker and listened while she steered at speed around a tractor and trailer. She saw the fist-waving tractor driver in her rear-view mirror. “Fuck off you ugly bastard,” she muttered.
Annabel maintained her speed on the country roads. “Jake, did I hear right—Cameron and his wife left in the Jaguar?” No response. “Hello, Jake ... hello,” She glanced at the screen—no signal. “Bollocks.” Annabel checked her rear-view and floored the pedal as she crossed the white lines, and leant the Golf into the next series of bends.
When she was five hundred metres from the house, Annabel slowed to check the many tracks. Woodland stretched along both sides of the road, and the track entries were narrow. In one of these, she expected to see motorbike tracks.
It was fifty metres from Cameron’s driveway when she saw a hint of chrome through the undergrowth. Annabel p
ulled in to make sure it was Jake’s bike. She was glad his attempt at camouflage wasn’t brilliant—otherwise, she wouldn’t have seen the machine’s front forks.
She pulled out onto the road and drove past the gangster’s driveway. Annabel found another woodland entry one hundred metres away. It wasn’t great, but it would have to do. She got the car tucked in but parked to allow rapid egress. Annabel lifted her Glock 9mm from the glove-box, released, checked and replaced the magazine. The suppressor was already fitted. She set off through the trees.
On the journey, the Norton had exceeded every speed limit from Knightswood to Loch Lomond. It was 10:10 when Rachel and Phil rode through the tiny hamlet of Luss and reached the section of the A82 known as the Old Military Road.
They had been riding fast alongside Loch Lomond for a few minutes, but from this point, the road was traditional biking territory. Crazy car drivers might consider overtaking along the next few miles, but a rider like Rachel would demonstrate her prowess.
To the left were foothills and woodland. To the right, a few metres away, were the beauty of the loch and across the placid water, the magnificent mountain; Ben Lomond. A small parapet fence separated the traffic from the water, but it was never a consideration for Rachel. The bike reacted like an extension of the rider.
At Tarbet, the A83 branched left, heading west for Loch Long, Inverary, and the Mull of Kintyre. The A82 continued north along the side of Loch Lomond. Beyond the junction, Phil pointed to the left, and Rachel passed the Highland Heaven to pull over twenty metres away.
Phil removed his helmet and handed it to Rachel. He pulled his Sig Sauer from inside his leather jacket and checked the magazine before cocking the weapon. It was a more substantial piece than the Browning, but it was reliable.
“If it isn’t me who comes out,” Phil said, “get the fuck away, and contact Alpha.”
“Okay.” She wouldn’t leave him. As soon as Phil set off for the house, Rachel removed the false number plate from the back of the bike. It was printed onto a thin sheet of coloured film and was easy to crush into a pocket.
