Buried Secrets (DCI MacBain Scottish Crimes Book 1)

by Oliver Davies

  Fletcher was already running, but with only five metres between us, I caught up quickly, and together, we sprinted towards the far end of the street. There was no way to glance behind me without falling, but I could hear footsteps coming after us. A bullet whizzed past my head, close enough that I could hear the buzz of its passage. At the far end of the quiet, back street, I spotted cars zipping by, heedless of our peril. I could only hope these goons would call off their attack if there were witnesses around.

  Fletcher and I poured on the speed. My boots were heavy and ill-suited for running, but I forced my legs to churn faster and faster, and then Fletcher and I shot out of the cobble-stoned street and into the light traffic of the larger road. A car honked at us, but we didn’t stop until we were on the far side of the pavement. There, I stopped and spun around, chest heaving.

  Our four assailants skidded to a halt just inside the shadows of the building flanking the side street where they attacked us, guns hidden by their thighs. The six of us stared at each other without blinking. I swallowed heavily, wondering if they were going to make a move with a car trundling by every few seconds and the pedestrians roaming the pavement on either side of the road, wondering what we would do if they did.

  But finally, Turtleneck jerked his head, and he and his cronies disappeared back into the shadows. Once they were gone, I let out a long breath and slumped against the brick wall behind me.

  What exactly had we gotten ourselves into?

  Ten

  Fletcher called for backup as soon as our assailants were out of sight as my phone seemed to have fallen out of my pocket during one of the many times I hit the ground during the fight. My entire right side hurt, my wrist throbbed, and no doubt my entire backside was black and blue. Luckily, my duster remained unscathed even after my many falls, perks of good quality leather.

  “Are you okay?” Fletcher asked once she’d hung up the phone. We were going to stay right where we were until backup arrived.

  I nodded. “I’ll live. What about you?”

  “I didn’t get hit by a car.”

  “It seemed like you handled yourself well back there, from what I saw between my many falls.”

  “I’ve been taking martial arts classes since I was yea high.” She waved her hand below her waist. “This was my first time in a real fight, though.” Her face began to glow a little bit. “It was kind of exhilarating.”

  “That’s one word for it.”

  Our backup arrived, two yellow and blue police cars zipping down the street with their lights blazing. Fletcher raised a hand to flag them down as I was still rather attached to the wall, and the cars skidded to a halt in front of us.

  Dunnel himself climbed out of the lead vehicle, quickly followed by three other constables. He marched right up to us, all business, though I thought I could see a hint of worry in his eyes.

  “What the hell happened?” he demanded.

  “We got hit by a car,” I said flatly.

  Dunnel glared at me and opened his mouth to gripe at me for being flippant, but Fletcher cut him off before he could.

  “Haruto Sato, the man who thought someone’s been following him, called us after we finished speaking with Finn’s friends.,” she explained. “He said that white delivery van was back, so we decided to go check it out. When we spoke with the driver, he got defensive. They took off, we followed, they did hit us with a car,” I nodded vehemently in confirmation, “we got in a fight, and we, well, ran away.”

  “It was more than just a fight,” I added and finally pushed myself off the wall into a mostly upright position. My entire body groaned at me in protest. “I think they were actually trying to kill us. They left us alone once there were witnesses around.”

  Dunnel motioned to the constables he had in tow. “Clear the scene.”

  The constables nodded and jogged off down the side street, moving carefully in case any of our assailants were still around. I started after them, walking much slower. I needed to grab my gun before anyone realized I’d lost it or else I would never hear the end of it at the station.

  “I got the licence plate of the van and the car that hit us. Maybe that will turn something up.” Fletcher had her notepad out and was writing down the numbers so she wouldn’t forget them even as she spoke, following me across the street.

  “You need an ambulance, MacBain?” Dunnel asked, eyeing the way I was walking.

  I glared over my shoulder at him. “No.”

  Our attackers were gone when we arrived. My car was still there, driver’s side smashed like a crisp under the hand, half the front bumper scraping the pavement, but the white delivery van and SUV had disappeared, shards of glass from the SUV’s headlamps and a few burnt rubber tire tracks on the cobblestones the only evidence that they’d ever been there.

  Fletcher took Dunnel over to my car to explain more of what happened and what we learned from Finn’s friends, and while everyone was distracted, I quickly dropped to my stomach and fished my gun out from under the dumpster. As I stood, Fletcher glanced over her shoulder and winked at me, and I nodded back in thanks before I tucked the gun away and walked over to join them. She handed me my phone, scooped up off the ground near my car, the screen miraculously unbroken.

  “I’m sorry I dismissed Mr Sato earlier,” Dunnel said. “It’s just that we get a lot of people coming to the station to claim that they’re being stalked, and it’s usually nothing. I guess this is that one in a thousand time when it’s actually true.”

  “Can you send an officer to the Highland Archive Centre?” I asked, suddenly afraid that our stalkers would double back and go after Haruto. “Mr Sato is still there. Have the officer bring him to the station for his own safety until we can come up with a plan.”

  Dunnel snapped his fingers and summoned one of the nearby constables, quickly relaying my orders to him. “Be on the lookout. He might be in danger.”

  The constable saluted and ran off down the alley towards the cars. Dunnel turned his attention back to us. “Update me on the Wair case.”

  “We’re looking into the father right now, but there’s not much on him.” I touched my cheek and winced, finding a hefty scrape there. “I think maybe it’s some kind of weird bid for custody, though that doesn’t really fit with what we do know about him.”

  “Abducting his kid isn’t going to help his case,” Fletcher pointed out.

  “True.” There had to be a second side to the story that we hadn’t seen yet. If we could just find and talk to Richard Smith, maybe we could figure it out.

  “Head back to the station. Get yourselves cleaned up.” Dunnel tossed his keys at my chest, and I caught them one-handed. “See if the lab can scrounge anything up on those plates and the perps’ descriptions. We’ll get the scene processed and cleaned up.”

  “And my car?” I asked. It may have been a rather plain sedan, but it was still my car, and I was very attached to it.

  “I’ll see that it gets to the shop,” Dunnel promised.

  After we left the scene and crossed the street to the marked police cars, I reluctantly held the keys out to Fletcher. She looked at me with wide, only slightly mocking eyes and fought to keep the grin off her face.

  “I get to drive? Really?”

  “Don’t get used to it,” I said gruffly. “This is only because my entire leg is one big bruise.”

  She swiped the keys from my hand as if she thought I was going to change my mind, and I climbed painfully into the passenger’s seat. The motorists along the road slowed down, attracted by the police cars still spewing red and blue light, craning their necks to see what was going on down the street as one of the constables came forward with yellow police tape and began to block everything off. The civilians all yielded to us as Fletcher signalled and pulled into the lane, and then she flicked the lights off, and we cruised back towards the station.

  I rooted around in the glove compartment to see if there was any paracetamol, but I came up empty and sat back with a groan.
I could feel my entire body beginning to stiffen up. It was going to make for a pleasant couple of days.

  We made it to the station without incident, though I was constantly casting my eyes up each and every street, searching for an attack, muscles tense even as they protested. Fletcher pulled smoothly into the parking lot and took a spot near the front of the station. I let out a long groan as I heaved myself out of the car. Fletcher was at least smart enough not to make any old man jokes or offer me a hand, and we walked through the doors in silence. Then she headed off to give the plate numbers and suspect descriptions to the lab while I went hunting down some much-needed painkillers. I took three, washing them down with old coffee from the break room. I dropped into my chair while I waited for Fletcher to return, wishing its worn-out seat was softer against my aching bones.

  The constable arrived with Haruto in tow just as Fletcher returned from the lab. The young man looked absolutely flabbergasted, mouth hung slightly open as he struggled to understand that his fears actually held water. He had a leather satchel clasped protectively to his chest, and it looked like it was the only thing holding him together.

  I waved them over, and Fletcher pulled up an empty chair. “Sit before you fall over,” I said to Haruto, and he sank rather bonelessly into the seat.

  He noticed the red scrape across my cheek almost immediately and then took in the way I leaned gingerly in my chair, and his eyes widened behind his glasses, guilt flashing within them. “Did those people attack you? Who were they? What do they want?”

  I held up a tired hand to forestall his oncoming barrage of questions. “They ambushed us. I suppose they had friends nearby. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to get any information out of them.” Before we had to tuck tail and run, I added in my head, but I figured Haruto wouldn’t find that terribly comforting. Nor did I mention how incredibly hard they were trying to kill us.

  “I did get their licence plates,” Fletcher said, trying to inject some pep into her voice. “Martin the lab tech said it wouldn’t take him long to run them.”

  “So what’s next?” Haruto asked, settling back in his chair with his hands clasped tightly together.

  “We’ll set you up with a protection detail until this is all over,” I promised. “You’ll be okay.”

  Fletcher had a thoughtful look on her face as she drummed her fingers against the wooden arm of her chair. “That book you’re restoring…” she began. “Is it valuable?”

  “It’s certainly one of a kind,” Haruto said. He clutched his satchel closer to him. “I suppose it would have some monetary value, but manuscripts like these, they spend their time being passed from museum to archive, being studied, admired, learned from. They’re never sold.”

  “But if someone wanted to sell it for a hefty profit, could they?” Fletcher pressed.

  Haruto looked completely affronted by the idea. “I suppose so,” he answered in a rather snippy tone. “But anyone interested in buying it would certainly understand that something like this doesn’t belong in a private collection, but somewhere it can be shared amongst scholars.” He took a deep breath and forced his voice to steady. “Besides, no one knows we’re working on it yet. We haven’t made the project public.”

  “That collector who found it does,” I pointed out. “Maybe someone on your team has loose lips.”

  If we hadn’t offended Haruto before, we had now. His chest puffed up, his eyebrows plunged towards the bridge of his nose, and he drew in a breath to give me a piece of his mind, but before he could get a word out, Martin called me, my phone’s shrill ringtone cutting Haruto off.

  “I’ve got a match for your licence plates,” Martin said. I could hear some kind of commotion in the background as if someone were having an argument.

  “Yes, because someone’s got to do their job right,” he shouted, assumedly over his shoulder at his assistants. The arguing immediately cut off.

  I smirked. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “Don’t even get me started,” he grumbled. “Anyway, both vehicles are registered to a rental agency here in town. Let’s see… Johnson and Son Rentals. I’ve emailed you the file with the address.”

  I checked my email, and sure enough, there it was. “Thanks, Martin. Good work, as always.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, I’ve got to go before my assistants kill each other.

  The line went dead, and I glanced at the address in the file. It was only ten minutes away from the station. “Martin gave us a lead on your stalkers,” I said to Haruto. “I’m going to introduce you to Chief Inspector Dunnel who’s in charge of assigning protection detail. Then Fletcher and I will take a poke around this rental agency.”

  Haruto nodded a couple of times, swallowing nervously as my words dragged him back into the reality of his situation. I stood, every muscle protesting, and motioned for him to follow me across the station to Dunnel’s office. He was on the phone, so I knocked lightly and then waited for him to hang up and wave us inside.

  “Chief, this is Haruto Sato from the stalking case. I was hoping you could set him up with a protection detail.”

  “Of course. Please, sit down.” Dunnel pointed towards the chair across from him. Haruto glanced at me for permission, and I nodded for him to go ahead. He entered Dunnel’s office as if he were walking on eggshells and perched on the edge of the chair. I flashed him a thumb’s up and turned to go. “Where are you off to?” Dunnel asked before I’d taken a step.

  “Rental agency,” I said. “That’s where the vehicles that attacked us are registered.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Dunnel said.

  “Never do,” I replied, and he gave me a glare that could wither grass.

  Fletcher already had her coat on and was ready to go when I returned to my desk. She bounced a set of keys in her hand as she grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. I scowled at her as I stuffed my arms into my duster. “Yes, fine. You can drive.”

  The grin widened. “This is really bugging you, isn’t it?”

  “What?” I snapped as I stormed towards the door. “I like to drive. Is that a crime?”

  “Is it because you have control issues?” Fletcher asked, barely holding in her laughter.

  I pushed the door open and refused to hold it for her. “Would you focus? We have two high-pressure cases on our hands.”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” Fletcher pointed out, and I made a face at her. She just laughed and took the lead as we threaded our way through the parking lot, clicking a button on her keys so the taillights on her vehicle would flash.

  Fletcher’s car was a small, sporty thing, a black Renault, all sleek lines and polished exterior. “Damn, impressive,” I said, running a hand along the top of the boot.

  “It has terrible fuel economy, and I blew all my money on it, but I love it.” She patted the mirror as she unlocked it, a smile on her face.

  I had to fold my long legs into the small car and then pushed the seat back all the way. The scent of leather enveloped me as I shut the door, and the chair seemed to hug me as I sank into it. Fletcher revved the engine rather unnecessarily, and the car began to rumble and purr beneath me in a smooth, quietly powerful way that I couldn’t help but be jealous of.

  We sped quickly through the streets towards Johnson and Son Rentals. It was one of those rather plain and unassuming businesses that looked like it could just fold up and disappear without anyone being the wiser. The building sat by itself at the top of a hill, surrounded by its fleet of rental vehicles. Most were white delivery vans similar to the one following Haruto, but there were a few plain sedans and a truck or two.

  Fletcher parked by the glass windows which looked in on the lobby with its drab carpet, ancient-looking coffee maker, and beige desk imprisoning a man who seemed about ready to keel over and die of boredom.

  A bell chimed over our heads, as we stepped into the room. The man behind the counter barely glanced up at the sound, and it wasn’t until I was standing right in fron
t of him with my hand on the desk that he finally drew himself upright and blinked at me.

  “Can I help you?” he sighed.

  Fletcher and I showed him our badges, and then I took the registration page from Martin’s file out of my pocket and placed it on the desk between us. The man, one half of Johnson and Son presumably, glanced them both over but didn’t change his expression. “We need to know who you rented these two vehicles to.”

  “Why?” Johnson had the laconic look of a retail zombie who would be as unhelpful as conceivably possible.

  “Because they attacked us,” I said, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of him.

  But he just blinked again. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to give out that information. I’ll get my dad.” He swivelled his chair away from the desk, and hopped off, slouching over to the door labelled ‘Office.’ He poked his head inside. “Dad, do you want to talk to these cops?”

  “Cops?” an older man yelped from within. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “I just did,” Johnson Jr mumbled. He shut the door and returned to his stool, propping himself up against the counter again. “He’ll be right with you.” He then proceeded to forget we were there.

  I glanced at Fletcher and raised an eyebrow. A few seconds later, the office door banged open, and a portly man in an ugly brown suit stepped out, his face flushed. A slick, too-wide smile spread across his lips when he saw us standing there, and he practically bounded across the short space between us to shake my hand, pumping my arm up and down far too many times for my liking.

  “Inspectors, what can I do for you?” he boomed. I instantly did not trust him.

  Fletcher pulled her hand back with a grimace and shook it out. “We need to know who rented these,” I said and slid the paper towards him.

  Johnson Sr’s eyes flicked rapidly across the page. “Of course, of course. Might I ask what for? I certainly hope none of my vehicles is caught up in something nefarious.”