In Harm's Way

by Owen Mullen

  ‘A team’s on the way. Don’t lose the fucker. Stay on him!’

  Gavin sensed his sister leaning forward between them and looked at her. Mackenzie’s eyes were locked on the Audi and the stranger who’d been her husband. There was hate in them.

  Inside the A5, Crawford hunched forward, completely focussed on escape. Blue flashing lights in the wing-mirror and the distant sound of sirens signalled they’d been joined in the chase. Derek Crawford would hear them too and know the net was closing in. As the police cars roared by in the outside lane the Audi seemed to slow, drifting to straddle the middle of the motorway. The police caught up and boxed it in and Gavin was certain it was almost over.

  But he was wrong.

  The Audi swung right, smashing the outside car against the crash barrier. The car flipped on its side and slid into the centre of the road, losing its exhaust in the process. Crawford turned his attention to the second police car; like a mad bull playing the same manoeuvre on his other side, hitting the driver’s door and pinning it against the rails. The car burst into flames, the noise of tearing steel incredible. Anybody directly behind didn’t have a chance. Screeching brakes and the smell of burning rubber rose in the air as vehicle after vehicle piled into the one in front.

  The sheer audacity of it took them by surprise. Gavin was going too fast to stop and had no time to consider the options. He did the only thing possible, threw the steering wheel one way then the other, somehow squeezing between the lines of crashed vehicles. When he looked again, Crawford was still ahead of them.

  Their brush with death had stunned Andrew Geddes. He hadn’t spoken since the first police car came to grief, his thoughts with the policemen. But what was there to say? He was fortunate, he was alive. By the end of today that wouldn’t be true for everybody.

  For what seemed like forever, yet could only have been minutes, they kept pace with the Audi, neither losing nor gaining. Drivers, recognising the danger, shrank from it and let it pass. Geddes had the radio stuck to his ear, his expression frozen on his face. Whatever he was hearing wasn’t good. He shared the news. ‘Tanker carrying hazardous material has jack-knifed at Easterhouse, going west. Christ knows what’s in it but it’s all over the road: a major incident. They’ve blocked off the carriageway. They’ll do the same the other side.’

  ‘What’re you saying?’

  ‘Closing the bridge is out of the question. It isn’t going to happen. They won’t get there in time. We’re on our own.’

  The statement fell like a hammer blow and for the first time since the chase began, Geddes realised Crawford might get away. ‘Stay with him. Just stay with him.’

  ‘I’m trying, but he’s crazy. Got nothing left to lose.’

  Derek Crawford had destroyed two police cars and more than a dozen others. At this stage, it was anybody’s guess how many people were injured or dead. Gavin zigzagged between lanes, dodging in and out, living every boy racer’s dream, while Geddes gave a commentary of what was going on to someone in the control room, someone with an overview and the authority to send officers to calls. Frustration marked the corners of his mouth, the stark reality of his words echoing around them.

  we’re on our own

  The sign for the Tradeston turn-off appeared on the left and the motorway rose towards the Kingston Bridge, high above the brown water of the River Clyde.

  Geddes said, ‘He might not be ready to give up but he can’t know what’s ahead. If he stays where he is we’ve got him.’

  Gavin was less confident; he gritted his teeth. ‘If the bastard takes the City off-ramp and ditches the Audi, he could lose himself in Glasgow.’

  When his next attempt to bully his way to the inside lane failed, Crawford did as he’d done with the police cars and intentionally crashed into the side of a green Fiat. Metal scraped against twisted metal, the Fiat’s front tyres blew out, it rolled over, raked the barrier in a shower of sparks, then spun like a toy on its roof. The driver behind ploughed into it. Sixty yards back they saw his body fire through the windscreen and land in a shower of shards, two lanes over. Gavin Darroch swerved to avoid the wreckage and shuddered.

  Mackenzie covered her eyes and moaned.

  In the seat in front the policeman said, ‘Cold-blooded murder.’

  But the Audi hadn’t escaped unscathed. Crawford lost control and they stared in disbelief as it mounted the sloping back of a Volkswagen Beetle like a mating insect, for a moment welded to it, before shooting over the safety barrier and clipping the top of a Renault on the SECC turn-off, somersaulting into space. At one point, it seemed to glide, then, dragged down by its own weight, it lost height, descending in a lazy roll with the sun glancing like bolts of lightning from its battered silver chassis until it entered the water nose first, throwing spray into the air.

  On the bridge, people abandoned their cars, keen to witness a lunatic on his journey to the bottom of the river. Gavin was already running, Andrew behind him, shouting ‘Can you see him? Can you see him?’

  The Audi’s tail hung suspended by an invisible force before it disappeared into the Clyde. Geddes’ eyes were hard. When he spoke he was thinking of Mackenzie’s ordeal and the carnage this monster had caused.

  ‘We’ve been robbed.’

  Gavin legs were close to buckling under him. Suddenly, he was dog-tired. It was finished but his emotions hadn’t got the message. Geddes’ features were white with anger. ‘The bastard fucking robbed us.’

  Gavin didn’t agree or disagree. He went back to the car, parked at an insane angle and spoke to his sister. ‘It’s over, Mackenzie. This time it really is over.’

  ‘It can’t be. He can’t get away like this. Not like this.’

  She leapt out and ran to the barrier where DS Geddes was talking into his radio.

  ‘Let him live. Please, let him live. It can’t end like this.’

  * * *

  The Finnieston Crane was a black mangle against the cloudless sky.

  It had been a long day and it still wasn’t over. The crowd patiently watching from Lancefield quay hadn’t got what they’d come for, not so far, but they wouldn’t forget what they’d seen. This was Glasgow. Stuff like this happened in New York or L.A., mostly in crime movies, not here. Except it had.

  The Police Scotland Marine Unit launch appeared. Shortly after, the arrival of a boat owned by an independent specialist contractor, lying low in the water with a winch rising like a phallus from its deck and SANDERSON in red letters on the hull, suggested it wouldn’t be much longer. Three divers in wetsuits and facemasks did a recce to establish where the Audi was and to come up with a plan to retrieve it from the murky depths. In one of his frequent calls during the afternoon, Andrew told Gavin that, just three feet down, visibility was close to nil.

  ‘They say you can’t see your hand in front of your face. No use hanging around. It’s a slow process. Won’t be much going on for a while.’

  Gavin read between the lines. ‘You’re saying we should leave, Andrew?’

  ‘I’m saying you should leave.’ He softened his tone. ‘It’s better your sister isn’t here when the car comes up.’

  Good advice. But Mackenzie wasn’t ready to hear it.

  ‘Geddes thinks we shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘You mean he thinks I shouldn’t be here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She bowed her head. ‘I can’t. I just can’t. This won’t be finished until I see it myself.’

  Her brother didn’t argue. He understood.

  Closing the Kingston Bridge had caused serious disruption all the way to Ayrshire and it would reopen only when the crime scene examination was complete, a decision that lay with the men by the side of the river. DS Andrew Geddes was one of them.

  Meanwhile, chaos reigned: people crowded behind the police barrier, and from the flats along the Quay eyes followed the excitement from every window and balcony. TV crews jostled for the best positions while press reporters interviewed everyone and anyone. On the eveni
ng news and in tomorrow’s headlines, this would be the number one story. It seemed like the whole of Glasgow was squashed into a quarter mile and all around phones and cameras flashed, attempting to get the shot which would guarantee fifteen minutes of fame.

  Gavin and Mackenzie had made their way to the walkway. Further along, Geddes stood in a circle talking with DI Taylor, the lead officer from the Marine Unit, and the senior diver while two more divers floated in the muddy water. It was an animated conversation, lots of pointing and shaking heads. Even from this distance, Gavin could read Geddes’ body language. He was on edge. Eventually, he stepped away and took a long look towards them, dug a hand into his coat pocket and brought out his mobile. A moment later, Gavin’s rang.

  ‘Is she listening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay.’ He sounded weary. Gavin guessed the long hours weren’t the reason. His tiredness went beyond physical. ‘They’ve finally got a line they think will hold on the back axle. They’re ready to bring the car up.’

  Gavin imagined Crawford’s car rising from the river, water cascading from the plush interior of the most expensive scrap metal in the city. The detective hesitated, the words when they came, falling like stones dropped from a height, each one heavier than the one before.

  ‘Pitch dark down there. Just shapes. Not even shapes.’

  ‘And what?’

  Geddes realised he should talk to the brother and sister face to face and broke away from his colleagues. What he had to say wouldn’t reassure anybody.

  * * *

  The detective joined them and drew them aside. Gavin was impatient. ‘Spit it out, Andrew.’

  Geddes tried again with Mackenzie, his characteristic brusqueness gone. ‘It would be better if you weren’t here. Really it would. We’ve no idea how badly he’s been injured.’

  ‘You mean he’s not…’

  Gavin had to take hold of her arm to keep her from falling. She stared at the policeman, her voice trembling. ‘He has to be dead. He has to be.’

  The DS saw the fear in her eyes. Until Crawford was on a mortuary slab his wife wouldn’t feel safe. Clearly, she didn’t understand what he was saying. Her brother did. He said, ‘So it could be bad, then?’

  Geddes let the question go unanswered.

  Mackenzie was on the verge of a panic attack. ‘I have to get out of here.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No. I need to be by myself. You stay…please. I need to know.’

  He didn’t argue.

  She pushed through the throng excitedly waiting for the car to be brought to the surface, shielding her face from the unwanted attention of strangers. For them this was an event, an entertainment, for her it was a tragedy. Mackenzie had to get away.

  Under an arch of the George V bridge, she stopped and tried to process this latest horror; too much to take in. Derek had done this to her in a desperate attempt to keep her. A strong woman was a woman he couldn’t control. He needed her to be weak, weak enough to depend on him totally. And he’d almost succeeded.

  She couldn’t run from the pictures in her head. Suddenly, she wanted a drink. The craving gnawed at her, as powerful as it had ever been. Her fingers tingled. She started to shake. A film of sweat broke on her brow. Desperation overwhelmed her. She didn’t know this part of Glasgow: where could she get one?

  A cheer went up behind her and brought her back. They’d raised the Audi. Bitter bile burned her throat. Her stomach turned over. The man in the balaclava flashed in front of her eyes. Sitting in the chair. Watching her. A hand went to her mouth in a vain attempt to stem the vomit spewing between her fingers. She leaned on the railing where the giant foundations ended and let it happen.

  Who cared if someone saw?

  On the other side of the bridge recovering the Audi was cause for celebration. Applause broke out, scattered at first, building to a cheer as the lines tightened and the silver tail broke the surface and hung suspended above the water, both doors open like twisted wings, no longer the sleek machine it had been.

  Gavin Darroch heard the reaction and didn’t share it. There was little to feel good about.

  ‘Fucking ghouls.’

  Geddes ran towards him to give him the news. ‘Crawford isn’t in the car.’

  ‘So where is he?’

  ‘We don’t know. The Marine Unit officers are good lads. Give them time. They’ll find him.’

  ‘Could he have survived?’

  ‘Wouldn’t have thought so. Even if he was thrown from the car, you’d expect the damage to his body to be fatal.’

  ‘How deep is it down there?’

  ‘About twenty-eight feet.’ Geddes looked towards the river. ‘Tide’s coming in so maybe deeper.’

  ‘Could he be on the bottom?’

  ‘Stuck in the silt? Not likely.’

  ‘So where can he be?’

  The detective leaned towards him. ‘Fucked if I know.’

  * * *

  The jetsam of the city – scraps of newspapers, plastic bottles, rags and leaves and worse – floated on the dirty-brown surface. Mackenzie wiped her mouth, about to turn away when she saw him.

  Derek Crawford’s hair was matted above ashen skin, his face cut and bruised. One eye was a bloody hole the other closed as he blindly grasped the wall, trying to get a hold. Mackenzie fell back, unable to believe he was there.

  She whispered. ‘Derek. Derek.’

  Crawford didn’t respond. She spoke again, louder. ‘Derek.’

  The remaining eye opened and her heart missed a beat. His lips moved. ‘Mackenzie, help me. Help me.’

  Realising she could save him she climbed over the railing and balanced on the cold stone ledge, stretching her leg towards him as far as she could. Not close enough. She tried again, holding on with one hand, reaching until her foot rested on top of his head. Derek let go of the wall. His fingers closed round her ankle. He mouthed a silent ‘Thank you.’

  An unnatural calm washed through her. She looked into the baleful eye that had calmly watched her pain, saw her terror and let it go on.

  The man who had put her in harm’s way.

  The memory gave her the strength she needed. She pushed down until his head disappeared. Crawford thrashed the water and tightened his grip and Mackenzie felt her hand slip; he was going to take her with him.

  ’til death us do part

  With a strength borne of loathing she leaned forward, prised his fingers from her foot and held him under. A line of bubbles broke the surface, then less, then none.

  no one saw

  like a leaf falling to the ground, it went unnoticed

  Epilogue

  The Lowther Hills, South Lanarkshire

  Mackenzie was standing alone on the pavement opposite the Mount Florida Bowling Club, a fragile figure in the pre-dawn darkness. She’d been careful not to wake Monica and the boys when she slipped out. This wasn’t about them. Better they weren’t involved.

  A day after his car had gone over the Kingston Bridge, Derek Crawford’s body was dragged from the River Clyde. His wife was the wrong person to identify it. Gavin confirmed it was him.

  The human spirit was reckoned to be remarkably resilient and it was true. Moving in with Adele and Adam and Richard had been good for all of them, Mackenzie especially. Once or twice, in random moments, Adele caught a glimpse of the sister she’d known. Then the barrier came down and she retreated into silence, sometimes lasting a week.

  How he could help came from an almost forgotten promise. Gavin dialled the number. The conversation was brief and one-sided. Explanations were unnecessary.

  ‘5am. Be ready.’

  She didn’t ask why or where they were going.

  He turned off the M74, nosed past a stand of trees and on through a silent Abington before crossing to the other side of the motorway to begin the final part of the journey from Glasgow. He felt the road rise under him and changed down through the gears. In forty miles they’d seen less than a dozen ve
hicles. Thinking was the enemy – if he allowed doubt into his mind he’d come to his senses and wouldn’t go through with it.

  And Mackenzie would be denied the closure she craved.

  Leadhills village was asleep. Beside him, she said nothing.

  The Baxter house was a shadow against the lightening sky and when Gavin brought the petrol cans from the boot they felt heavy in his hands. He opened the car door and spoke to his sister.

  ‘Do you want to do it?’

  She shook her head. He nodded and walked to the front door.

  His footsteps on the stairs sent a rat scurrying to its lair. Gavin turned on the light in time to see a long brown tail disappear through a crack. The familiar dank smell filled his nostrils, images of what he’d witnessed here filled his head and he went down into the basement, sloshing fuel up the walls and over the bed, dousing everything; gagging on the fumes, retracing his steps, cursing quietly. On the ground floor he did the same until both cans were empty, then he tossed them in a corner.

  Outside, he sheltered a flickering match in the palm of his hand and glanced towards his sister. God alone knew what she was feeling. He threw the match inside. Nothing happened and he thought it must have died. Then it exploded into life.

  Gavin didn’t notice her until she was next to him. He anxiously searched her face, hoping she was strong enough. He needn’t have worried. She put her hand in his and let it rest there.

  Tendrils of yellow and red flames crackled over the building, devouring everything they touched. The gap in the roof became the rim of a cauldron, pouring a black cloud into the new dawn. The fire roared and the building burned. The heat was intense, flushing Mackenzie’s face, making her eyes water. But she didn’t move away.

  Suddenly, the Baxter house sighed and fell in on itself, throwing dust and sparks and charred fragments into the air.