The Distant Echo

by Val McDermid

  Alex followed another yellow-jacketed officer to a white minibus. He opened the door and Lynn leaped out of her seat, falling into his arms on the steps. Her body was trembling and he could feel her heart thudding against him. There were no words for what ailed them. They simply clung to each other, their anguish and fear palpable.

  For a long time, no one spoke. Then Alex said, "It's going to be OK. I can end this now."

  Lynn looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. "How, Alex? You can't fix this."

  "I can, Lynn. I know the truth now." He looked over her shoulder and saw Karen Pirie sitting by the door, next to Weird. "Where's Lawson?"

  "He's at a briefing," Lynn said. "He'll be back soon. You can talk to him then."

  Alex shook his head. "I don't want to talk to him. I want to talk to Macfadyen."

  "That won't be possible, Mr. Gilbey. It's being dealt with by trained negotiators. They know what they're doing."

  "You don't understand. There are things he needs to hear that only I can tell him. I don't want to threaten him. I don't even want to plead with him. I just need to tell him something."

  Karen sighed. "I know you're very upset, Mr. Gilbey. But you could do a lot of harm thinking you're doing good."

  Alex gently disengaged himself from Lynn's arms. "This is about Rosie Duff, right? This is happening because he thinks I had something to do with Rosie Duff's murder, isn't it?"

  "That would appear to be the case, sir." Karen spoke cautiously.

  "What if I told you that I can answer his questions?"

  "If you have information pertaining to the case, I'm the one you should be talking to."

  "All in good time, I promise. But Graham Macfadyen deserves to be the first to hear the truth. Please. Trust me. I've got my reasons. It's my daughter's life that's at stake here. If you won't let me talk to Macfadyen, I'm walking away from here and telling the press what I know. And believe me, you don't want me to do it that way."

  Karen weighed up the situation. Gilbey seemed calm. Almost too calm. She wasn't trained in dealing with situations like this. Normally, she'd pass it up the line. But Lawson was busy elsewhere. Maybe the person to deal with this was the hostage negotiator. "Let's go and talk to Inspector Duncan. He's been speaking to Macfadyen."

  She climbed out of the van and called one of the uniformed officers over. "Please stay with Mrs. Gilbey and Mr. Mackie."

  "I'm going with Alex," Lynn said mutinously. "I'm not leaving his side."

  Alex took her hand. "We go together," he said to Karen.

  She knew when she was beaten. "OK, let's go," she said, leading the way toward the cordon that blocked the entrance to Macfadyen's street.

  Alex had never felt so alive. He was conscious of the movements of his muscles with every step he took. His senses seemed heightened, every sound and smell amplified almost beyond bearing. He would never forget this short walk. This was the most important moment of his life and he was determined to do the right thing, the right way. He'd rehearsed the conversation on his helter-skelter drive to St. Monans and he was sure he'd found the words to win his daughter's freedom.

  Karen brought them to a white van parked outside the familiar house. In the gathering dusk, everything seemed overlaid with gloom, reflecting the spirits of those involved in the siege. Karen banged on the side of the van and the door slid open. John Duncan's head appeared in the gap. "DC Pirie, isn't it? What can I do for you?"

  "This is Mr. and Mrs. Gilbey. He wants to speak to Macfadyen, sir."

  Duncan's eyebrows rose in alarm. "I don't think that's a good idea. The only person Macfadyen wants to speak to is ACC Lawson. And he's given orders for no more calls till he gets back."

  "He needs to hear what I have to say," Alex said heavily. "He's doing this because he wants the world to know who killed his mother. He thinks it was me and my friends. But he's wrong. I found out the truth today and he should be the first person to hear it."

  Duncan failed to hide his astonishment. "You're saying you know who killed Rosie Duff?"

  "I do."

  "Then you should be making a statement to one of our officers," he said firmly.

  A tremor of emotion flickered across Alex's face, betraying how tightly he was holding himself in. "That's my daughter in there. I can end this now. Every minute you delay letting me talk to him is a minute when she's at risk. I'm not talking to anybody but Macfadyen. And if you won't let me talk to him, I'm going to the press. I'm going to tell them I have the means to finish this siege and you won't let me use them. Do you really want that to be your professional epitaph?"

  "You don't know what you're doing here. You're not a trained negotiator." Alex could tell it was Duncan's last throw of the dice.

  "All your training doesn't seem to have done you much good, does it?" Lynn interjected. "Alex spends all his working life negotiating with people. He's very good at it. Let him try. We'll take full responsibility for the outcome."

  Duncan looked at Karen. She shrugged. He took a deep breath and sighed. "I'll be listening in," he said. "If I think the situation is getting out of control, I'll end the call."

  Relief made Alex dizzy. "Fine. Let's do it," he said.

  Duncan brought out the phone and clamped headphones over his ears. He handed a pair to Karen and the receiver to Alex. "It's all yours."

  The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Halfway through the fourth ring, it was picked up. "Back for more, Lawson?" the voice on the other end said.

  He sounded so ordinary, Alex thought. Not like a man who would kidnap a baby and dangle its life in the balance. "This isn't Lawson. This is Alex Gilbey."

  "I've got nothing to say to you, you murdering bastard."

  "Give me a minute of your time. I've got something to tell you."

  "If you're going to deny you killed my mother, save your breath. I won't believe you."

  "I know who killed your mother, Graham. And I have proof. It's here in my pocket. I've got paint flakes that match the paint on your mother's clothes. I took them this afternoon from a caravan by Loch Leven." No response other than a sharp intake of breath. Alex soldiered on. "There was someone else there that night. Someone nobody paid any attention to because he had a reason to be there. Someone who met your mother after work and took her back to his caravan. I don't know what happened, but I suspect she probably refused to have sex with him and he raped her. When he came to his senses, he realized he couldn't let her go to tell her tale. It would be the end of everything for him. So he stabbed her. And he took her up to Hallow Hill and left her there to die. And nobody ever suspected him because he was on the side of the law." Karen Pirie was staring at him now, open-mouthed and horrorstruck as she grasped the implications of what he was saying.

  "Say his name," Macfadyen whispered.

  "Jimmy Lawson. It was Jimmy Lawson who murdered your mother, Graham. Not me."

  "Lawson?" It was almost a sob. "This is a trick, Gilbey."

  "No trick, Graham. Like I said, I've got proof. What have you got to lose by believing me? End this now, you get the chance to see justice done at last."

  There was a long silence. Duncan edged forward, poised to take the phone from Alex. Alex deliberately turned away, gripping the handset tighter. Then Macfadyen spoke.

  "I thought he was doing it because it was the only way of getting some kind of justice. And I didn't want it his way because I wanted you to suffer. But he was doing it to cover his back," Macfadyen said, his words meaning nothing to a bewildered Alex.

  "Doing what?" Alex said.

  "Killing you guys."

  45

  A pall of darkness hung over Carlton Way. Within the gloom, darker shapes moved, semiautomatic weapons held close to their bulletproof vests. They covered the terrain with the silent delicacy of a lion stalking an antelope. As they approached the house, they fanned out, crouching to stay below window sills, then regrouping on either side of front and back doors. Each man fought to keep his breathing soft and steady, hea
rt pounding like a drum calling him to battle. Fingers checked that earpieces were in place. None wanted to miss the clarion call to action when it came. If it came. This was no time for ambivalence. When the word sounded, they'd demonstrate their commitment.

  Above their heads, the helicopter hovered, the technicians glued to their thermalimaging screens. Theirs was the responsibility for making sure the moment was right. Sweat prickled their eyes and dampened their palms as they focused on the two bright shapes. As long as they stayed apart, they could give the go-ahead. But if they merged into one, everyone stayed on pause. There was no room for error here. Not with a life at stake.

  Now it was all in the hands of one man. Assistant Chief Constable James Lawson walked down Carlton Way, knowing this was the last throw of the dice.

  * * *

  Alex struggled to make sense of Macfadyen's words. "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "I saw him last night. With the baseball bat. Under the bridge. Hitting your pal. I thought he wanted justice. I thought that's why he was doing it. But if Lawson killed my mother…"

  Alex clung to the one thing he knew to be true. "He killed her, Graham. I've got the evidence." Suddenly the line went dead. Baffled, Alex rounded on Duncan. "What the fuck?" he said.

  "Enough," Duncan said, wrenching the headphones from his head. "I'm not having this broadcast to the world. What the hell is this, Gilbey? Some kind of pact between you and Macfadyen to fit up Lawson?"

  "What are you talking about?" Lynn demanded.

  "It was Lawson," Alex said.

  "I heard you, Lawson killed Rosie," Lynn said, gripping his arm.

  "Not just Rosie. He killed Ziggy and Mondo too. And he tried to kill Weird. Macfadyen saw him," Alex said wonderingly.

  "I don't know what you think you're playing at…" Duncan began. He was stopped in his tracks by the arrival of Lawson. Pale and sweating, the ACC looked around the group, puzzled and clearly angry.

  "What the hell are you two doing here?" he demanded, pointing at Alex and Lynn. He rounded on Karen. "I told you to keep her in the ARU van. Christ, this is a fucking circus. Get them out of here."

  There was a moment of silence, then Karen Pirie said, "Sir, some very serious allegations have been made that we need to talk about…"

  "Karen, this is not a fucking debating society. We're in the middle of a life-and-death operation," Lawson shouted. He raised his radio to his lips. "Is everyone in position?"

  Alex dashed the radio from Lawson's hand. "Listen to me, you bastard." Before he could say more, Duncan was grappling him to the ground. Alex wrestled the policeman, dragging his head free to shout, "We know the truth, Lawson. You killed Rosie. And you killed my friends. It's over. You can't hide any longer."

  Lawson's eyes blazed fury. "You're as mad as he is." He bent down and retrieved his radio as a couple of uniformed officers dived on top of Alex.

  "Sir," Karen said urgently.

  "Not now, Karen," Lawson exploded. He turned away, his radio to his face again. "Is everyone in position?"

  The replies crackled back through his earpiece. Before Lawson could respond, he heard the voice of the technical-support commander in the helicopter. "Hold fire. Target with hostage."

  He hesitated for only a second. "Go," he said. "Go, go, go."

  * * *

  Macfadyen was ready to face the world. Alex Gilbey's words had restored his faith in the possibility of justice. He would give the man his daughter back. To ensure safe passage, he'd take a knife with him. One final insurance policy to get him safely out the door and into the arms of the waiting police.

  He was halfway to the front door, Davina tucked under his arm like a parcel, a kitchen knife in his free hand, when his world exploded. Doors caved in front and back. Men shouted, a deafening cacophony. Brilliant white flares exploded, blinding him. Instinctively, he pulled the child round to his chest. The hand holding the knife came up toward her. Through the chaos, he thought he heard someone shout, "Drop her."

  He felt paralyzed. He couldn't let go.

  The lead marksman saw a child's life at risk. He spread his feet, steadied his gun hand and aimed for the head.

  46

  April 2004; Blue Mountains, Georgia

  The spring sunshine shimmered over the trees as Alex and Weird emerged onto the ridge. Weird led the way to an outcropping of rock that jutted over the slope and clambered up, settling down with his long legs dangling over the edge. He reached into his backpack and came out with a small pair of binoculars. He trained them down the hillside then passed them over to Alex.

  "Straight down, then slightly to your left." Alex adjusted the focus and ranged over the territory below. All of a sudden, he realized he was looking at the roof of their cabin. The figures running around outside were Weird's kids. The adults sitting by the picnic table were Lynn and Paul. And the baby kicking on the rug at her feet was Davina. He watched as his daughter spread her arms wide and chuckled up at the trees. His love for her pierced him like stigmata.

  He'd come so close to losing her. When he'd heard the gunshot, he thought his heart would explode. Lynn's scream had echoed in his head like the end of the world. An eternity had passed before one of the armed cops had emerged with Davina in his arms, and even that had been no relief. As they approached, all he could see was blood.

  But the blood had all been Macfadyen's. The marksman had hit his target unflinchingly. Lawson's face could have been carved from granite for all the expression he showed.

  In the mayhem that had followed, Alex had torn himself away from his wife and daughter long enough to grab Karen Pirie. "You need to secure that caravan."

  "What caravan?"

  "Lawson's fishing caravan. Up at Loch Leven. That's where he killed Rosie Duff. The paint on his ceiling matches the paint on Rosie's cardigan. You never know, there might even be blood traces still."

  She'd looked at him with distaste. "You expect me to take that shit seriously?"

  "It's the truth." He pulled the envelope out of his pocket. "I've got the paint that will prove I'm right. If you let Lawson get back to the caravan, he'll destroy it. The evidence will go up in smoke. You've got to stop him doing that. I'm not making this up," he said, desperate to make her believe him. "Duncan heard Macfadyen too. He saw Lawson attacking Tom Mackie last night. Your boss will stop at nothing to cover his tracks. Take him into custody and secure that caravan."

  Karen's face had remained expressionless. "You're suggesting I arrest my Assistant Chief Constable?"

  "Strathclyde Police took Hélène Kerr and Jackie Donaldson into custody on a lot less evidence than you've heard here this afternoon." Alex struggled to stay calm. He couldn't believe this was all slipping away from him now. "If Lawson wasn't who he is, you wouldn't be hesitating."

  "But he is who he is. He's a highly respected senior police officer."

  "Caesar's wife, officer. All the more reason why you should take this seriously. You think this isn't going to be all over the papers tomorrow morning? If you think Lawson's clean, then show him to be clean."

  "Your wife's calling you, sir," Karen had said icily. She'd walked away, leaving him stranded.

  But she'd taken his words on board. She hadn't arrested Lawson, but she had gathered a couple of uniformed officers and unobtrusively left the scene. Next morning, Alex had had a call from Jason, exultantly informing him that he'd heard on the forensic grapevine that his colleagues in Dundee had taken possession of a caravan late the previous night. Game on.

  Alex lowered the glasses. "They know you spy on them?"

  Weird grinned. "I tell them God sees everything, and I have a direct line to him."

  "I bet you do." Alex lay back, letting the sun dry the sweat from his face. It had been a steep and breathless climb up here. No time for talking. This was the first chance he'd had alone with Weird since they'd arrived the previous day. "Karen Pirie came to see us last week," he said.

  "How was she?"

  It was, Alex had come to
understand, a typical Weird question. Not, "What did she have to say for herself?" but rather, "How was she?" He'd underestimated his friend too often in the past. Now perhaps he'd have the chance to make up for that. "I think she's still pretty shaken up. Her and most of the cops in Fife. It's a bit of a stunner when you find out that your Assistant Chief Constable's a rapist and a multiple murderer. The reverberations are pretty serious. I think half the force still believes that Graham Macfadyen and I made the whole thing up between us."

  "So Karen came to debrief you?"

  "Sort of. It's not her case anymore, of course. She had to hand over the Rosie Duff investigation to officers from an outside force, but she's made pals with one of their team. Which means she's still got an inside track. Credit to her, she wanted to come and fill us in on the latest."

  "Which is what?" "All the forensics have been completed on the caravan. As well as the paint matches, they found some tiny spots of blood where the bench seat meets the floor. They took blood samples from Rosie's brothers and from Macfadyen's body, because of course there's nothing left of Rosie's DNA for comparison so they have to go with close relatives. And the overwhelming odds are that the blood in Lawson's caravan came from Rosie Duff."

  "That's incredible," Weird said. "After all this time, he gets caught by a flake of paint and a drop of blood."

  "One of his former colleagues has come forward with a statement that Lawson used to boast about passing the time on the night shift by taking lassies back to his caravan and having sex with them. And our evidence puts him very close to where the body was found. Karen says the fiscal's office were a bit wobbly at first, but they decided to go ahead with a prosecution. When he heard that, Lawson just crumbled. She said it was as if he just couldn't carry the load any longer. Apparently, it's not an uncommon phenomenon. Karen told me that, when they're cornered, it's not unusual for murderers to feel the need to unburden themselves of every single bad thing they've ever done."