BOX SET of THREE TOP 10 MEDICAL THRILLERS

by Ian C. P. Irvine

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  .

  The tea cups were empty. They were all sitting silently, staring at Mr Wallace.

  He had told them all about Robert returning the medal. How he had changed, how he was now transformed. How Robert was now a new man, and one of Mr Wallace's friends.

  Mr Wallace had forgiven him, and he hoped that the others would too.

  "Everyone makes mistakes in their lives. Most of us never get the chance to see the bad we have done, to recognise it and then repent for it. Few of us ever get a second chance. Robert went to prison. In the eyes of the law he has paid society back for the bad deeds that he has done. Dinnie forget that prison is meant to reform people...and in this case, it has. Big Wee Rab went in, and somehow, Robert came out. Incredibly, maybe for the first time ever, prison actually worked. And since then, Robert has continued on the new path that he started to take in prison. We have to support him on his journey!"

  "...Thanks to you Peter," Mr Wallace continued. "Robert heard about the medal on the news. He realised what he had done was wrong. He felt guilty. He brought it back, apologised and asked me for forgiveness. I forgave him. And now he is my friend."

  Mr Wallace looked at Peter.

  "I know what that bastard Big Wee Rab did tae you, son. It's up to you whether or not you can forgive him, but honestly, I believe that the man who did that tae you, is noo dead. He's gone. Ne'er coming back. Unless we let him, and treat Robert like Rab."

  "I dinnie ken, if you can understand what I'm asking for, but if you can, please forgive the lad too. Gee him a chance. A second chance. Life is too short to hold a grudge. It'll eat you up from the inside and kill you slowly. Peter...please, forgive the lad..."

  Peter was staring at Mr Wallace. Unless he had heard it with his own ears, he would not have believed it.

  Susie and the Sergeant were looking at him, not saying anything. This was Peter's decision.

  Peter swallowed hard, turning to look at the curtains. His head hurt, he felt sick, and his arms were beginning to ache.

  A tear came to his eye, and ran down his cheek. He blinked, and turned to Mr Wallace.

  "Okay, Mr Wallace. I will. I did not mean to harm him. It's too difficult to explain just now, ...but that was not me back then...it was someone else completely. But I'm back now. I heard everything you said. And I agree. I will forgive him."

  Mr Wallace smiled.

  "Please, Mr Wallace, tell Robert to come in. I need to apologise for hitting him."

  Mr Wallace nodded, left the room, and a moment later returned followed by Robert.

  His face was beginning to swell on one side, and his cheek had been cut by the impact of Peter's fist.

  Peter was just about to say sorry, when Robert spoke first.

  "I'm truly sorry for crashing my car into yours before, Mr Nicolson. I was mad back then. It was a crazy bad thing to do, and I am so very sorry. I know I did wrong. I know how you have suffered as a result...Mr Wallace has told me, like. And I know it wiz all my fault. I cannie say anything else, except, please...I'm so sorry..."

  Peter heard the remorse in his words, that subtle edge of tone, which proved to Peter at least, that Robert was telling the truth. That he meant what he said. That he was truly sorry.

  "I'm not going to shake your hand, ...'Robert'...not today at least, ...and anyway I can't..." Peter said, half-turning his torso to show the cufflinks behind his back. "...But I've listened to Mr Wallace, and I accept what he has said...and what you have said. And I think that you actually do deserve a second chance...we all do... a second chance to live... a better life... so, to make sure I don't become the world's biggest hypocrite, I am going to forgive you too!"

  Robert smiled.

  "Thank you. It means more to me, like, than you will ever understand."

  Robert turned to the Sergeant.

  "Could you please let Peter's hands go? It must be hurting him a lot..."

  Chapter Ninety Four

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  .

  The Craigmillar Estate

  Mr Wallace's House

  May 8th

  9.16 p.m.

  .

  .

  Peter rubbed his wrists and hands, and smiled at the policeman who had just set him free.

  "You know, I can't believe this...I was just released from one police station this morning, drove straight up to Scotland, and within minutes I find myself in a pair of handcuffs. Not exactly the best police record in the world is it? What's next...? A spell in Alcatraz?"

  "Are you okay, now?" the Sergeant asked, genuinely concerned.

  Susie wrapped an arm around Peter, saying. "He will be. Soon. Mr Wallace, please don't think us rude, but Peter and I have to leave in about an hour. We have to be at the infirmary at 10.30 p.m. to see a doctor there.

  "That will be fine..." Mr Wallace started to reply, before bursting into another fit of coughing.

  "That cough's much worse since the last time I saw you," Peter said. "You've been coughing badly since we arrived, and you look absolutely exhausted. I think you should see a doctor, and get lots more rest."

  "Peter, there's nothing that seeing a doctor can do for me, now, son. But thanks for asking, and I'll soon be getting all the sleep I'll ever need. Believe me..."

  Mr Wallace looked at them all. Susie and Peter were sitting on the sofa. The Sergeant was sitting on the other armchair, and Robert was kneeling on the floor beside the window, between the sofa and the armchair.

  "I think it's high time I tell you my other two pieces of news...The first piece is no' so good, so I'm warning you...but dinnie be too shocked. The fact is I'm used to the idea now, and I want to tell you because I've been making some plans..." Mr Wallace coughed a few times, sipped some water, and then carried on.

  "The thing is, this is going to be the last time I see you again. Turns out, that I'm dying. In fact, the doctors say I'll be dead, probably, within the week. Cancer...I'm getting weaker every day now...I probably winnie actually make the week, which will disappoint anybody who's running a sweepstake..."

  Peter and Susie looked stunned, Robert stood up, frustration and sorrow sweeping over him. "Mr Wallace... No... Are you sure? ..."

  "As sure as is possible to be sure, son."

  "I should have come weeks ago! I'm so sorry, Mr Wallace... I should have returned your medal ages ago!"

  "It's okay son. You brought it back, and I've got it now. I got to see it and hold it in my hands again afore I died, and you have given me that pleasure. That's all I asked for, lad. Thanks! It was the best gift that anyone could realistically give me just now."

  Mr Wallace reached out his hand, and Robert came forward and shook it.

  "Sit here, son. I have something I want to give you," and Mr Wallace waived at the floor beside his feet. "I want everyone else to see what I am going to give you, especially Sergeant Angus. I'm no wanting anyone accusing you of stealing this from me."

  Mr Wallace reached down beside him, underneath the pile of newspapers on the floor beside his armchair. He pulled out the blue plastic bag that he had hidden underneath the floorboards of his bedroom.

  He looked at Robert, coughed to clear his throat, and then spoke solemnly.

  "When you broke into my wee flat, you only did so because you were trying to escape this shitty life on the estate, and for some daft reason you really thought that I had some cash hidden away somewhere. You turned the flat upside doon but ye never found nowt. Next time you should be more careful. You didn't look underneath my bed properly. Otherwise you would have found this..."

  Mr Wallace handed the bag over to Robert, who took one look inside and then handed it straight back to Mr Wallace.

  "No son, I want you to have this. Now. To keep it. I know what courage you have shown to come back here to face your accusers and to make amends for the wrong doings o' your past. I respect that son. You should respect yourself too, son. You deserve your own respect now. You've started your new life in the best possible way. I know your dr
eam is to go to France, to...," Mr Wallace started coughing violently, and Robert rushed into the kitchen, filling up Mr Wallace's now empty glass, and hurried the water back to him.

  "Thanks son, thanks... I was saying...I know your dream is tae go to France, but you cannie, at least yet, because you havnie any cash. Well, if you end up back on the estate, you'll soon be dead like them others that used to be in your bloody 'Team', so some daft bastard in this world had better give you the cash now, so that you can get the bloody hell as far away frae here as possible!"

  Mr Wallace pushed the blue bag back at Robert.

  "Sergeant Angus, just for the record, and please take a note o' this..., Robert has just been given £15,000 from my Life Assurance policy that paid oot, AND another five grand that I had kicking aboot. Twenty grand in all. Enough to make it to France and to start a new life, I hope!"

  There were tears flowing down Robert's cheeks now.

  "Hush, now, son. I want you to take this cash away with you tonight. I'll be dead in a week, and I will no be needin' the money where I'm going, so I want you to take it, today. Now!"

  Robert stood up, and spontaneously leant forward and hugged the old man sitting in the armchair.

  "I ....I...can't take this, Mr Wallace. I dinnie deserve it!"

  "And so who does? The taxman? This is your second chance in life, son. Maybe your only chance. Seize it. Take it." Mr Wallace put his hands on top of Roberts, squeezing his grip closed on the bag, and pushing him gently away.

  Mr Wallace looked across at Sergeant Angus, who simply smiled and nodded back.

  "Now I am going to ask you to go, Robert. To leave here and no' come back. But before you do, I want you to write down the address and telephone number of the commune in Wales where you told me you will be staying before you go to France. When I die, which I know will be sooner than any of you think, I want the good Sergeant here to make sure that you are given and receive my Victoria Cross. I am awarding it to you for 'Gallantry' and fir 'Bravery'. I've seen more bravery in you, son, than I've seen in any o' my fellow men in many a year, I can telly you that!"

  Robert looked at Mr Wallace, then at Sergeant Angus...Robert burst into tears again, covering his face with his hands.

  "I canna take your medal, Mister Wallace. I just canna take it..."

  "You will son, because I'm asking you to...I need someone to look after it for me..."

  Mr Wallace seemed to close his eyes for a few moments. He was suddenly very quiet. Susie looked at Peter. Mr Wallace was very still. She got up, and moved towards him to check that he was okay, but as she bent closer he spoke again.

  "I'm right tired. I don't think I have much time or energy left... Sergeant Angus, can you please oblige me by showing Robert out now, but taking his details before he goes? Son...before you go, shake my hand one more time."

  The old man struggled to his feet and put out his hand. Robert gripped his hand back. Mr Wallace looked him in the eye. "Go now, make something of yer life. Do something good with the time you have left, and when you are one hundred years old and rich and happy, please drink a toast to me, and smile at the memory of tonight! Now...leave...please..."

  Robert let go of the hand. He stepped away from Mr Wallace and walked two steps towards the door. Then abruptly he turned and came back, quickly embracing Mr Wallace in another full but gentle hug.

  "Wherever you are going, Mr Wallace. Find an' keep a place nearby for me. One day I will join you, and I promise, I swear to you, that I will tell you lots o' stories about the good life that I am going to lead now. About how I will help others and make something o' the gift that God...and you...have given me. I swear it, Mr Wallace. I swear it!" And then he turned and hurried outside the house. Sergeant Angus followed him.

  A few minutes later, the Sergeant came back in.

  "I've got his details."

  "Good. Keep them. You'll be needing them sooner than you think."

  Chapter Ninety Five

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  The Craigmillar Estate

  Mr Wallace's House

  May 8th

  9.55 p.m.

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  Mr Wallace looked tired. The past few hours had been exhausting for him, and his guests could almost literally see the energy draining out of him before their eyes.

  "Peter, can you stay another ten minutes? I know you have to rush off, but I have something else I want to say to you all. But before I do, could you use your camera to take a few photographs of me wearing my Victoria Cross. I think it would be good if you included it in the newspaper article you'll be writing about what I tell ye all next..."

  Peter agreed, and got busy snapping, while Mr Wallace smiled, stood up and posed for a few shots.

  "That's enough now lad," the old man said. "I'm exhausted. I'll need to sit myself down...I think I've overdone it all today. I've been very busy..." his voice trailed off.

  "Peter, have you been keeping up tae speed on all the nonsense that's been happening here on the estate? Dae ye ken all aboot the "CRAIGMILLAR RESIDENTS FOR LAW AND ORDER 'CREW'?"

  "Yes, Susie told me about it in the car coming over. Robert's lucky he's not living here any longer, as he would likely be dead by now too. Susie says that almost everyone in his old gang has been killed? Apart from Robert and someone else called Davie?"

  "Yes," said Susie. "Someone formed a Craigmillar militia to fight back for their rights and reclaim the streets! I know that murder is wrong, but I can't help but feel a lot of sympathy for everyone who lives here. I would never say it publicly but to a certain extent, I actually support what they are doing. They're just doing a job that the police are not able to do, because they are hampered by the courts all the time. Hopefully it will really scare the hell out of anyone whose left, and you will get your estate back!"

  Sergeant Angus joined in, "Actually, there is a lot of sympathy for what's been happening right across the country. Copycat killings and movements have started all over the country. Yesterday, some drug pushers were found shot in London, one in Bristol, and a couple of others in Birmingham and Manchester. Apparently they were all committed by members of local resident militia who've 'all had enough' . They're copying the name of the CRAIGMILLAR RESIDENTS FOR LAW AND ORDER 'CREW', so now we also have the MANCHESTER or the BIRMINGHAM RESIDENTS FOR LAW AND ORDER 'CREW' as well. And these are on top of the other killings we have already had, all of the same ilk... Whoever started this has struck a common chord with people everywhere. It's begun to take on a life of itself.

  Mr Wallace smiled, laughed and clapped his hands.

  "That's great. People are finally beginning to stop being scared and to stand up for themselves! That's brilliant. Brilliant! It's no' what I meant to happen, but I'm right pleased that it has, like!"'

  "What do you mean, Mr Wallace?" Susie asked.

  "I mean, who do you think is in this incredible CRAIGMILLAR RESIDENTS FOR LAW AND ORDER 'CREW'? How many people? When do they meet? How do they organise?"

  "The police are asking that exact same question. Can you tell us?" The Sergeant asked, wondering where this was going, but already beginning to feel slightly nervous.

  "I will if ye really want. But ye'll be a little surprised. But afore I tell ye, I just want to say that when ye write yir article on this in the News, please be kind. Ye have to understand that sometimes a person just has to do what they believe to be right, regardless of the consequences..." The old man started coughing violently, and they waited for him to continue, Peter offering him the glass of water.

  "Sometimes people dinnie stand up for themselves because they're worried about what they've got to lose. Me, I've got nothing to lose. I've already lost it all. I'll be dead very soon. Very soon. I've got nowt to be scared of now. So, I decided that if anyone should do something about it, it would have to be me."

  "What do you mean? Are you saying that you helped organise the 'CRAIGMILLAR RESIDENTS FOR LAW AND ORDER 'CREW'?" the Sergeant asked.

&nb
sp; "No," Mr Wallace replied. "What I am saying is that I am the CRAIGMILLAR RESIDENTS FOR LAW AND ORDER 'CREW'! It was me. I killed all them bastards that have died. I promised myself I'd help clear up the estate before I died, and I have!"

  Peter, Susie and the Sergeant all jumped to their feet at the same time, and almost unanimously said "You!?"

  "Yes, me. It's amazing what you can achieve if you really want tae. Now, please sit down. Sergeant, you can arrest me later, if ye want, but please let me finish first. I want you to ken that no one else was involved. I did it all. You can end your hunt here, tonight. But before you do, I think you should call an ambulance and send some police over to the derelict tenement at the back o' the estate...the wan wi' the radio mast on top...go to Davie's flat on the third floor. You'll find him there. He's probably dead now, although I'm not certain, 'cos I ran oot o' bullets. I only had a couple left when I went to see him this afternoon, and there was some other geezer there buying a gun frae Davie, so I shot him too! If Davie's still alive, then he's in luck. I've no got the energy or any bullets left to go after anyone else. But if he's dead, then my job is well done! Sergeant... call the ambulance now, but come straight back...I've no finished my story, and it's only fir your ears. Naebody else's, ye ken?"

  The Sergeant stood up, stared at the old man sitting slumped in the armchair and walked out into the street to make a few hurried phone calls.

  When he returned a few minutes later, he was very serious.

  "I've sent the ambulance and a police unit over there. Mr Wallace, you've put me in a very difficult situation...If we find out that you are telling the truth, I will have to arrest you, even though you only have a few days...even though you are very ill!"

  "I know. I know. Sorry, I wanted to tell you the truth myself. Face to face. To come clean...but let's make this clear, I have no regrets! Now it's done, I'm no sorry about killing them bastards. Peter, when you write yer article, please tell others that nobody should sit back and let the enemy walk all o'er them. This is oor country, oor land. We have to fight for what is oors! What the hell is the point of letting the troops fight the drug makers in Afghanistan, if we all let the bastards sell the drugs on oor own streets and do nothing about it. We have to start fighting oor wars here! We've taken too much shit fir far too long! It has to end...and it's down to everyone to stand up for themselves and do what's right! Now! Nae tomorrow. Nae next week. Now!"