by Val McDermid
The complaint ran back and forth across the group for a while. Then Kenny had his brainwave. "I ken what we can do. Fun, and money. And no comebacks."
"What's that, then?" Brian demanded.
"Let's go and mug a few nancy boys."
They looked at him as if he was speaking Swahili. "What?" Donny said.
"It'll be a laugh. And they'll have money on them. They're not going to put up much of a fight, are they? They're a bunch of jessies."
"You're talking about going and robbing people?" Donny said, doubt in his voice.
Kenny shrugged. "They're poofs. They don't count. And they're not going to go running to the polis, are they? Otherwise they'd have to explain what they were doing hanging about St. Mary's Church in the dark."
"Could be a laugh," Brian slurred. "Scare the shit out of the shirtlifters." He giggled. "Scare the shit out of them. That could be bad news for somebody." He drained his pint and got to his feet. "Come on, then. What's keeping you?"
They lurched out into the night, nudging each other in the ribs and guffawing. It was a short walk up The Shore to the church ruins. A half-moon peeped out from fitful clouds, silvering the sea and lighting their way. As they approached they fell silent, prowling on the balls of their feet. They rounded the corner of the building. Nothing. They crept up the side and through the remains of a doorway. And there, in an alcove, they found what they were looking for.
A man leaned against the wall, head back, small noises of pleasure spilling from his lips. In front of him, another knelt, head bobbing back and forward.
"Well, well, well," Donny slurred. "What have we here?"
Startled, Ziggy pulled his head away and gazed in horror at his worst nightmare.
Brian Duff stepped forward. "I'm really going to enjoy this."
15
Ziggy had never been so scared. He stumbled to his feet and backed away. But Brian was upon him, his hand grabbing at the lapel of the sheepskin. Brian threw him against the wall, knocking the breath from him. Donny and Kenny stood uncertain as the other man hastily zipped himself up and took to his heels. "Brian, you want us to go after the other one?" Kenny said.
"No, this is perfect. You know who this creepy little fairy is?"
"Naw," Donny said. "Who is he?"
"He's only one of those bastards that killed Rosie." His hands bunched into fists, his eyes daring Ziggy to make an attempt at escape.
"We didn't kill Rosie," Ziggy said, unable to keep the tremor of fear out of his voice. "I'm the one who tried to save her."
"Aye, after you'd raped and stabbed her first. Were you trying to prove to your mates that you were a real man and not a poof?" Brian shouted. "Well, son, it's confession time. You're going to tell me the truth about what happened to my sister."
"I'm telling you the truth. We never harmed a hair on her head."
"I don't believe you. And I'm going to make you tell the truth. I know the very thing." Without taking his eyes off Ziggy, he said, "Kenny, away down the harbor and get me a rope. A good long length, mind."
Ziggy had no idea what lay ahead, but he knew it wasn't going to be pleasant. The only chance he had was to talk his way out. "This isn't a good idea," he said. "I didn't kill your sister. And I know the cops have already warned you to leave us alone. Don't think I'm not going to report this."
Brian laughed. "You think I'm stupid? You're going to go to the police and say, 'Please, sir, I was sucking some cunt's cock and Brian Duff came along and gave me a slap?' You must think I came up the Forth on a biscuit. You're not going to tell anybody about this. Because then they'd all know you're an arse bandit."
"I don't care," Ziggy said. And at this point, it seemed a fate less terrible than whatever an uncurbed Brian Duff might mete out. "I'll take my chances. Do you really want another load of grief dumped on your mother's doorstep?"
As soon as the words were out, Ziggy knew he'd miscalculated. Brian's face closed down. He raised his hand and slapped Ziggy so hard he heard the vertebrae in his neck crack. "Don't you mention my mother, cocksucker. She never knew grief before you bastards killed my sister." He slapped him again. "Admit it. You know you're going to have to pay sooner or later."
"I'm not admitting something I didn't do," Ziggy choked out. He could taste blood; the inside of his cheek had torn on the sharp edge of a tooth.
Brian pulled his hand back and gut-punched him with all his considerable strength. Ziggy folded, staggering. Hot vomit cascaded to the ground, splashing his feet. Gasping for breath, he felt the rough stone at his back, the only thing that was holding him upright.
"Tell me," Brian hissed.
Ziggy closed his eyes. "Nothing to tell," he squeezed out.
By the time Kenny returned, he'd taken a few more blows. He didn't know it was possible to feel this much pain without passing out. Blood covered his chin from a split lip, and his kidneys were sending sharp stabs of agony through his body.
"What kept you?" Brian demanded. He yanked Ziggy's hands in front of him. "Tie one end round his wrists," he ordered Kenny.
"What are you going to do to me?" Ziggy asked through swollen lips.
Brian grinned. "Make you talk, cocksucker."
When Kenny had finished, Brian took the rope. He wound a loop round Ziggy's waist, tying it tightly. Now his hands were held firm against his body. Brian yanked on the rope. "Come on, we've got business to attend to." Ziggy dug his heels in, but Donny grabbed the rope with Brian and yanked so hard they nearly pulled him off his feet. "Kenny, check it's all clear."
Kenny ran ahead to the archway. He looked up The Scores. There was no sign of life. It was too cold to be out walking for pleasure, and still too early for the last-minute dog walkers. "Nobody around, Bri," he called softly.
Hauling on the rope, Brian and Donny set off. "Faster," Brian said to Donny. They trotted up The Scores, Ziggy desperately trying to keep his balance while also tugging at his hands to see if he could free himself. What the hell were they going to do to him? It was high tide. Surely they weren't going to lower him into the sea? People died in the North Sea in a matter of minutes. Whatever they had planned, he knew instinctively it was going to be worse than anything he could imagine. The ground fell away under his feet without warning and Ziggy tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over, crashing into Brian and Donny's legs. A storm of swearing, then hands on his body, pulling him roughly to his feet, shoving him face first into a wall. Ziggy slowly orientated himself. They were standing on the path that ran alongside the wall that surrounded the castle. This wasn't a medieval rampart, just a modern barrier to deter vandals and lovers. Were they going to take him inside and hang him from the battlements?
"What are we doing here?" Donny asked uneasily. He wasn't sure he had the stomach for whatever Brian had planned.
"Kenny, over the wall," Brian said.
Accustomed to Brian's leadership, Kenny did as he was told, scrambling up the six feet and disappearing over the other side. "I'm throwing the rope over, Kenny," Brian shouted. "Grab a hold of it."
He turned to Donny. "We're going to have to hoist him over. Like tossing the caber, only two-handed."
"You'll break my neck," Ziggy protested.
"Not if you're careful. We'll give you a leg up. You can turn yourself around when you get to the top and drop down."
"I can't do that."
Brian shrugged. "It's your choice. You can go head first or feet first, but you're going. Unless, that is, you're ready to tell me the truth?"
"I've told you the truth," Ziggy yelled. "You've got to believe me."
Brian shook his head. "I'll know the truth when I hear it. You right, Donny?"
Ziggy tried to make a break for it, but they were on him. They whirled him round to face the wall then, taking a leg each, they heaved Ziggy precariously aloft. He didn't dare struggle; he knew how fragile the spinal cord's protection was at the base of the skull and he didn't want to end up paraplegic. He ended up bent over the wall like a sack of po
tatoes. Slowly, with infinite caution, he worked his way round till he had one leg on either side of the wall. Then, even more slowly, he inched round till the other leg was on top of the wall. His scraped knuckles seared fresh pain up his arms. "Come on, cocksucker," Brian shouted impatiently.
He launched himself at the wall and within seconds, he was alongside Ziggy's foot. He shoved it roughly to the side, throwing him off balance. Ziggy's bladder gave up its contents as he fell backward through the air, alarm pumping his adrenaline levels even higher. He landed heavily on his feet, knees and ankles collapsing under the strain. He lay huddled on the ground, tears of shame and pain stinging his eyes. Brian jumped down beside him. "Nice one, Kenny," he said, taking the rope back.
Donny's face appeared over the top of the wall. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" he demanded.
"And spoil the surprise? No way." Brian jerked on the rope. "Come on, cocksucker. Let's go for a walk."
They clambered up the grassy slope toward the low stub of the ruined castle's east wall. Ziggy stumbled and fell a few times, but there were always hands at the ready to haul him upright. They crossed the wall and they were in the courtyard. The moon slid out from behind a cloud, bathing them in an eerie radiance. "Me and my brother used to love coming here when we were kids," Brian said as he slowed to a stroll. "It was the church that built this castle. Not a king. Did you know that, cocksucker?"
Ziggy shook his head. "I've never been here before."
"You should have. It's great. The mine and the countermine. Two of the greatest siege works anywhere in the world." They were heading toward the north range, the Kitchen Tower to the right of them and the Sea Tower to the left. "It was some place, this. It was a residence, it was a fortress." He turned to face Ziggy, walking backward. "And it was a prison."
"Why are you telling me this?" Ziggy said.
"Because it's interesting. They murdered a cardinal here too. They killed him, then they hung his naked body from the castle walls. I bet you never thought of that, did you, cocksucker?"
"I didn't kill your sister," Ziggy repeated.
By now, they were at the entrance to the Sea Tower. "There are two vaulted chambers in the lower story here," Brian said conversationally, leading the way inside. "The eastern one contains something almost as interesting as the mine and countermine. Do you know what that is?"
Ziggy stood mute. But Kenny answered the question for him. "You're not going to put him down the Bottle Dungeon?"
Brian grinned. "Well done, Kenny. Go to the top of the class." He reached into his pocket and produced a cigarette lighter. "Donny, give me your paper."
Donny produced a copy of the EveningTelegraphfrom his inside pocket. Brian rolled it tightly and lit one end of it as he walked into the eastern chamber. By the flare of the makeshift torch, Ziggy could see a hole in the floor covered with a heavy iron grille. "They cut a hole in the rock. It's in the shape of a bottle. And it's a long way down."
Donny and Kenny looked at each other. This was growing a bit too serious for their taste. "Hang on, Brian," Donny protested.
"What? You're the ones that said poofters don't count. Come on, give me a hand." He tied the end of Ziggy's rope to the grille. "It'll take the three of us to get this off."
They gripped the grille, hunkering down to the task. They grunted and strained. For a long, happy minute Ziggy thought they weren't going to be able to raise it. But eventually, with a harsh grating of metal on stone, it shifted. They moved it to one side and turned as one to Ziggy.
"You got anything to say to me?" Brian Duff demanded.
"I didn't kill your sister," Ziggy said, desperate now. "Do you really think you can get away with dropping me down a fucking dungeon and leaving me to die?"
"The castle's open at the weekends in the winter. That's only a couple of days away. You willnae die. Well, probably not, anyway." He dug Donny in the ribs and laughed. "OK, boys, bombs away."
They rushed Ziggy in a group and manhandled him toward the narrow opening. He kicked out furiously, twisting in their grasp. But three to one, six hands to none, he never had a chance. In seconds, he was sitting on the edge of the circular hole, his legs dangling into space. "Don't do this," he said. "Please, don't do this. They'll send you to jail for a very long time for this. Don't do it. Please." He sniffed, trying not to give way to the panicked tears that choked his throat. "I'm begging you."
"Just tell me the truth," Brian said. "It's your last chance."
"I never," Ziggy sobbed. "I never."
Brian kicked the small of his back, sending him hurtling down for a few feet, his shoulders bouncing painfully against the stone walls of the narrow funnel. Then he jerked to a halt, the rope biting cruelly into his stomach. Brian's laughter echoed around him. "Did you think we were going to drop you all the way?"
"Please," Ziggy sobbed. "I never killed her. I don't know who killed her. Please…"
Now he was moving again, the rope lowering him in short spurts. He thought it would cut him in half. He could hear the heavy breathing of the men above him, the occasional curse as the rope burned a careless hand. Every foot took him further into darkness, the faint flickers from above fading in the dank, freezing air.
It seemed to go on forever. Eventually, he felt a difference in the quality of the air around him and he stopped bumping the sides. The bottle was widening from the neck. They were really going to do it. They were really going to abandon him here. "No," he shouted at the top of his lungs. "No."
His toes scraped solid ground and blessedly took the strain off the rope biting into his gut. The rope above him slackened. A dissonant, disembodied voice echoed from above. "Last chance, cocksucker. Confess and we'll pull you out."
It would have been so easy. But it would have been a lie that would lead him into impossible places. Even to save himself, Ziggy couldn't name himself a murderer. "You're wrong," he shouted from the bottom of his battered lungs.
The rope landed on his head, its whipping coils surprisingly heavy. He heard a last jeering laugh, then silence. Total, overwhelming silence. The glimmer of light from the top of the shaft died. He was immured in blackness. No matter how hard he strained his eyes, he could see nothing at all. He had been cast into outer darkness.
Ziggy edged sideways. There was no way of telling how far he was from the walls, and he didn't want to walk his tender face into solid rock. He remembered reading about blind white crabs that had evolved in an underground cave. Somewhere in the Canary Islands, he thought. Generations of darkness had made eyes redundant. That was what he had become, a blind white crab sidewinding in impenetrability.
The wall came sooner than he expected. He turned and let his fingertips feel the grainy sandstone. He was struggling to keep his panic at bay, concentrating on his physical environment. He couldn't let himself speculate on how long he would be here. He'd go mad, fall to pieces, dash his brains out on the stone if he thought about the possibilities. Surely they wouldn't leave him to die? Brian Duff might, but he didn't think his friends would take that chance.
Ziggy turned his back to the wall and slowly slid down till he was sitting on the chill floor. He ached all over. He didn't think anything was broken, but he knew now that you didn't have to have fractures to suffer the sort of pain that demanded serious analgesia.
He knew he couldn't afford just to sit there and do nothing. His body was going to stiffen, his joints cramp if he didn't keep moving. He'd die of exposure in these temperatures if he couldn't keep his circulation going, and he wasn't about to give those barbaric bastards the satisfaction. He had to get his hands free. Ziggy bent his head as low as possible, wincing at the pain from his bruised ribs and spine. If he pulled his hands up to the limit of the rope, he could just get his teeth on the knotted end.
As silent tears of pain and self-pity dripped down his nose, Ziggy began the most crucial battle of his life.
16
Alex was surprised to find the house empty when he arrived home. Zig
gy hadn't said anything about going out and Alex presumed he'd planned an evening working. Maybe he'd gone round to see one of his fellow medics. Maybe Mondo had come back and they'd gone for a drink together. Not that he was worried. Just because he'd been rousted by Cavendish and his crew was no reason to believe anything bad had happened to Ziggy.
Alex made himself a cup of coffee and a pile of toast. He sat at the kitchen table, his notes from the lecture in front of him. He'd always struggled to hold the Venetian painters distinct in his head, but tonight's slideshow had clarified certain elements he wanted to be sure he'd grasped. He was scribbling in the margin when Weird bounced in, full of earnest bonhomie. "Wow, what a night I've had," he enthused. "Lloyd did an absolutely inspirational Bible study on the Letter to the Ephesians. It's awesome how much he draws out from the text."
"I'm glad you had a good time," Alex said absently. Weird's entrances were as repetitive as they were dramatic ever since he'd started hanging out with the Christians. Alex had long since stopped paying attention.
"Where's Zig? He working?"
"He's out. Don't know where. If you're putting the kettle on, I'll have another coffee."
The kettle had barely boiled when they heard the front door open. To their surprise, it was Mondo who walked in, not Ziggy. "Hello, stranger," Alex said. "She throw you out?"
"She's got an essay crisis," Mondo said, reaching for a mug and tipping coffee into it. "If I hang around, she'll only keep me awake moaning about it. So I thought I'd grace you guys with my presence. Where's Ziggy?"