by V Clifford
Wounded Knights
A Viv Fraser Mystery
V. Clifford
Inverardoch Press
This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
Published by Inverardoch Press
Copyright © Vicki Clifford
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter One
The plane touched down in the dreariest weather imaginable but Viv let out a huge sigh of pleasure. There was nothing like being back on Scottish tarmac. She grinned and felt like clicking her heels together in a no-place-like-home moment.
At baggage reclaim, a tall, heavy man yawned and it repeated along the line of travellers like a Mexican wave. This early in the morning theirs was the only transatlantic arrival and it didn’t take long for the bell to ring and the carousel to chug round disgorging vast pieces of luggage. Viv grabbed her rucksack with one hand, tossed it over her shoulder and headed straight through customs. First one out gets the taxi but before she reached the exit a man in an airport security uniform approached her and said, ‘Are you Dr Fraser?’
She put her hand up to her mouth to stifle another yawn. ‘Who’s asking?’
He gestured to the side with his head. ‘I have a call for you.’
She fell into step with him. ‘Why would you have a call for me?’
She reached into a side pocket in her sack and took out her mobile. She’d switched it off before boarding and hadn’t had any intention of putting it back on until she’d been home and had some sleep. Reluctantly she followed the man to an office and accepted the handset that he offered her.
‘Hello.’
A familiar voice said, ‘Hi Viv. There’s a passenger on the flight you just arrived on that we’d like you to keep an eye on. I’ve sent a photograph; airport security will give it to you.’
She tried to interrupt him but he, Ruddy, a seasoned negotiator, said, ‘Welcome home. Keep me posted.’
‘Fine, any clues?’ Dead tone.
She shook her head and handed the receiver back to the man in uniform then rubbed her eyes. A printer nearby spat out an A5 sheet, which he passed to her. She looked at the face and knew she had seen him on the flight but the idea of tailing someone so early in the day made her heart sink.
The man from airport security said, ‘I can take you back to baggage reclaim through this way.’
The hall was now bustling and she approached the carousel as if she’d just come through the door leading from the runway. There were still a few pieces of luggage circling round followed by about a dozen sets of very smart golf bags. The man from the photograph was part of the group of golfers. Tall, tanned, well dressed in a golfer’s sort of way, but he looked exhausted. He, and his buddies, hauled clubs off the carousel and dumped them onto a trolley. She kept her back to them and faffed around with her phone; it beeped and beeped as texts from Ruddy and Mac arrived in her inbox. The golfers took off and she followed.
As ever, there was that one guy, the morning person, who was the life and soul of the party. The others did a sterling job of ignoring him but she had to give him credit for tenacity. They were all dressed in chinos in a variety of colours; v-neck sleeveless sweaters in pastels and short sleeved shirts which, judging by the way they were rooting around in their golf bags for something warmer, they regretted. They began to don navy jackets with a logo on them and she edged closer so that she could see what it was. Once out through customs again the airport was busy. She was amazed at how many people were queueing for the red-eye. Edinburgh to London four or five days a week had to lead to an early grave. How many survived beyond fifty? Her man being part of such a large group wasn’t difficult to tail but when a minibus bearing the same logo as their jackets pulled up at the kerb, she knew she was in trouble.
Her mobile rang. She switched it to vibrate before jumping the queue for a taxi, ignoring the snippy comment from a guy in a pinstriped suit whose manners failed to live up to his attire. Perhaps he’d never had manners to begin with. Tempted to tell the driver to follow that car she said, ‘See that minibus? Don’t let it out of your sight.’
The driver shook his head. ‘This isnae the movies, hen. I’ve got tae keep within the speed limit.’
‘Imagine you’re on your way home and a big juicy steak awaits you.’
‘Aye right! What planet are you oan? There’s mair chance o’ me flyin tae the moon.’
He didn’t keep to the speed limit any more than the minibus driver did. They took the Glasgow road away from the city towards Newbridge, but before they reached the big roundabout they turned off to Ratho. Viv knew this road was narrow and wiggled, and she hoped she’d remember to hang on to her stomach when they reached the humpback bridge over the canal. She guessed where they were heading but didn’t want to risk slowing the driver down in case she’d got it wrong.
She hadn’t. They followed the minibus all the way up the well-manicured driveway of Dalmahoy Golf and Country Club where it pulled up outside the grand Georgian hotel and the guys spilled out onto the gravel to be met by wives or partners. Golf bags and suitcases were safely stored in the boots of expensive cars. This was followed by a session of backslapping and vigorous handshakes.
Her driver said, ‘Whaes been unfaithful then?’
‘The one that’s getting into the blue Beamer.’
‘Ah, I see he’s the only one who hasnae got a bonnie lass tae greet him. Mibbe he’s no the ful shullin. Ye’d think drivin a smart car like that he’d hae a bit mair upstairs.’ He pointed repeatedly to his temple.
Viv grinned, enjoying his reasoning. ‘You could be right there. Anyway, if you’re up for it we’ll have to keep up with him on his own now.’
‘It’s aw one tae me. So long as ye can foot the bill.’
Viv sat back and relished the melody of her native language. At school she’d been reprimanded for not speaking properly when she used the vernacular. At home and on the streets it was fine, but in the classroom it was regarded as gutter language. Then at university, with so many students from around the world, she’d made an effort to slow her speech down and enunciate clearly, but she’d also realised that people thought you were thick if you spoke in dialect. Thank God for changed days. Now there was nothing she enjoyed so much as hearing a broad Scots accent. Even though she’d only been away for ten days she was warmed by how reassuring it was to come home to it. This was probably an over-reaction in the light of Sal’s easy adoption of an American drawl. She bristled at the thought of it. Why had Sal been so insecure, so desperate to fit in? People the world over loved the Scots tongue.
They followed the Beamer back onto the Calder Road then east toward the city centre. They hadn’t gone far when it turned off onto Wester Ha
iles Road. Viv sat forward praying that she wouldn’t need to take action anytime soon. He continued south until he reached the Gillespie crossroads where he carried on into Colinton. He was in no hurry.
The driver said, ‘Nae sizzlin steak waitin fur him hen.’
Viv laughed. ‘Doesn’t seem like it does it?’
‘A hope he’s worth aw this bother. I wouldnae gie ‘im hoose room.’
Viv had to agree. He was what you’d call classically good looking, but there was something insipid about him. It might be the golfing get-up. She wondered why grown men thought they needed to dress in ice cream parlour colours to chase a ball round a course. She quickly dismissed this thought since if Ruddy believed he was worth following he was bound to be the opposite of insipid. He turned into Spylaw Bank Road, a cul-de-sac too difficult for the taxi to follow without being spotted.
‘Just wait here.’
‘Ahm no goan anywhere unless you say so hen.’ He glanced at the meter and then smirked in the rear view mirror. This was money for old rope. Viv jumped out of the taxi and trotted down the road that had cars parked on either side. The golfer had turned into a driveway and was now unlocking the house door.’
She rang Ruddy and gave him the address. ‘What now?’
‘That’s fine. We thought he’d go somewhere else first. I’ll get someone to take over now. You can stand down.’
Viv snorted. ‘What the hell? Anyone could have done this.’
‘Yeah, they could have if we’d known he was going straight home. That wasn’t our intel. You know the form.’
She jogged back to the taxi and gave the driver her address.
The West Bow was such a lovely sight. Traders were gearing up for Christmas and window displays were at their best, way too early, but cheerful. Fancy streetlights were already in place but not yet officially turned on. She thanked the driver and asked for his card.
‘Here.’ Along with his card and her receipt he offered her a parting tip, ‘Ma advice, I wouldnae gee him anither thought. A bonnie lass like you can dae much better than that meely moothed smoothie.’
She smiled as he drove off and left her standing on the Bow. If only her life were as black and white as that.
Chapter Two
Viv Fraser slept like the dead until the sound of her landline’s shrill ring shocked her awake. She pulled back the duvet and padded through to the sitting room, her new policy of not having a phone in the bedroom now in doubt. Just as she reached the handset it stopped ringing. ‘Shit!’ She rubbed her hands over her face and through her hair, which stuck out in every direction - the downside of going to bed with it wet. No matter. It was only one of the many good things about living alone: no one could see her and pass comment. The number in the phone’s digital readout was familiar.
She redialled. ‘What can possibly be so important that you’d need to ring me this early in the morning?’
‘I’m on my way round.’
‘No way. I’ve just rolled out of bed. Whatever it is can wait.’
‘No it can’t. See you in three minutes.’
She glared at the phone as if it was solely responsible for the dial tone.
She went to the bathroom to pee and brush her teeth. Mac was pushing his luck muscling in on her weekend.
The buzzer sounded and she let him in on the ground floor. If he bolted it would take him two minutes tops to reach her landing. She left the door ajar and went to fill the kettle.
He tapped gently on the door. ‘Hi, is it safe to come in?’
‘Don’t push it, matey! I feel as if I just got off a flight from the US.’
‘How could you? You’ve slept round the clock.’
She snorted, ‘Yeah sure.’
He said, ‘You have, honestly. Check your mobile.’
She glanced at him to gauge whether he was taking the piss but sensed that he wasn’t and stomped off to get her mobile, which was switched off inside her jacket pocket. She scrolled through her emails. ‘Holy shit! How the hell did that happen?’
Mac came to her side. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you forever. Been round twice ringing the doorbell, phoning, emailing - nothing. I thought you must have gone elsewhere, but I met Ronnie and he said he’d heard you come back and not leave again. He’s pretty reliable so I persisted.’
She put her hand up, ‘It’s okay, I believe you. I’ve lost a whole day. I’m so groggy, I must have caught a bug on the flight.’ She shook her head in utter disbelief. ‘For God’s sake. I’ve got hair clients to contact and a stack of things I said I’d do for Sal before . . .’
‘That’s why I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Sal’s . . .’
His tone made her spin round and stare at him. ‘What? What is it?’
‘She’s had an accident.’
She lifted her hand to her throat. ‘What kind of accident?’
‘I’ll tell you if you give me a chance.’
‘Is she okay?’
His hesitation was enough.
‘What kind of accident?’
‘We don’t have the particulars yet but it’s not good.’
‘What do you mean “not good”?’
She stood leaning against the worktop, now with her arms firmly linked across her chest. ‘But she’s going to be all right?’
He placed his hands on his hips. ‘There’s no easy way to say this. She’s been shot.’
She drew in a breath, ‘No. You’re kidding me?’ The look on his face told her otherwise. Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘She said they wouldn’t let her go on anything active.’
‘This was a lone shooter outside in the car park.’
‘No way. Quantico’s a veritable Fort Knox.’
He shook his head. ‘Yes, it’s supposed to be, but it happened at a fast food drive-thru on site.’
‘I’ll get dressed.’
‘There’s nothing you can do Viv.’
‘Like hell.’ She took off and left him in the kitchen, her mind spinning with fear and frustration.
When she joined him in the sitting room he’d made coffee and handed her a mug. She took it but immediately put it on the desk and booted up her laptop. As it warmed up she handed him a USB. ‘This is why you’ve really come. To make sure I got what you needed.’
‘Don’t, Viv. We didn’t have any doubt you’d get what you went for.’
She interrupted him, ‘I went to see Sal. I just so happened to be in a position to help you guys out.’
It was Mac’s turn to put up his hands and he nodded towards her laptop screen. ‘Okay, okay. Check CNN. They seemed to be the only station who were covering the story.’
‘When did it happen?’
‘The night that you left.’
She scratched at her scalp. ‘I can’t have slept round the clock. I’ve never done that in my life. More than forty-eight hours have passed. That’s the most crucial time.’
He nodded. ‘They’re all over it, Viv. We’re talking best teams in the FBI . . . What happened over there? I mean, in that text you sent me, it didn’t sound as if things were going to plan.’
She slumped on the chair by her desk elbows on her knees. ‘I knew that something wasn’t right when I arrived. She was tetchy. I guessed it was that thing of leading a double life. She’d started speaking differently. Weird, totally weird. I mean who does that unless you’re a teenager trying to fit in?’
‘You do know she was on duty for us.’
‘Oh, I got that, but something else was going on.’ She glanced at him. ‘She had no clue though what I was after. I mean I didn’t let her know.’
‘No. That would have been counter-productive. We needed you to make sure that she hadn’t been seduced by . . .’
‘Oh, she’d definitely been seduced. It took a couple of days before she remembered who she was dealing with. First day I thought she’d had some kind of lobotomy. She was hiding something. My best guess, she actually had been seduced by someone in the biblical sense, someone in her depart
ment, not just by the work. Then she sort of relaxed and was like the old Sal again until the day before I was leaving I sensed her angst returning. When I asked her about it she didn’t want to go there. You know what she’s like. She’s stubborn . . .’
He smiled. ‘Well you’d know about that.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Come on, Viv, if anyone’s stubborn it’s not Sal.’
‘What are you implying? You think it was me who was anxious?’
‘It’s not rocket science but it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we find out exactly what’s happened and whether her cover had been compromised.’
‘You mean whether they’ve found out that she was on a mission for you guys?’
‘I wouldn’t exactly call it a mission but yes. It would be bad if they find out that she was . . .’
‘A mole working for the British.’
‘God, Viv, you make it sound as if . . .’
‘As if she was a mole working for the British?’ You must have realised how vulnerable she would be.’
He nodded. ‘She was actually invited to be there. We just asked her to keep us posted.’
‘Yeah, with what? You know how loyal she is. She’d take risks.’
‘She might have taken one risk too many. We don’t know yet if this really was an accident, that she was caught in some kind of cross fire, or if they were after her and others were . . .’
‘Shit! How many?’
‘Only two casualties and Sal.’
She snorted again. ‘“Only”, for God’s sake. A life is a life.’
‘They’re not dead yet!’
‘Wow. Are we having this conversation? I mean, it’s a terrible day if we’re reduced to this kind of attitude over a shooting. I don’t like it. I don’t think in terms of casualties. I think in terms of people who have families like me. Flesh and blood not numbers.’
She rubbed her face again. She was being unfair and she knew it. He would be just as affected as her. He looked sheepish but didn’t speak. He folded his fingers round the USB in his palm. ‘Thanks for this. Come with me to the office and we can go through it.’
