Snared

by Ed James

  A Taser sparked in front of her. Vicky’s muscles released as the electricity tingled all over her body. Just like in Fintry.

  John accelerated hard as he shouted at her. “You think you’ve won, bitch?”

  Vicky slumped down, unable to stop herself.

  Blue lights ahead of them, sirens from behind.

  “Shite.” John tugged the wheel to the left, heading the wrong way down a one-way street, dodging the parked cars on the single-lane road. He sped up, mounted the pavement and knocked over some wheelie bins as the road curved back round. They passed a green gate and a stone wall as they powered down the lane.

  Vicky clicked her jaw. “You won’t get away.”

  “Just watch me.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Publicity.”

  “Is that for the animals or yourself?”

  “Both.” John nudged his glasses back up his nose then stabbed her with the Taser again.

  Vicky slumped in the seat once more. She could only watch as they drove. Who’d look after Bella?

  They shot out at the bottom of the road.

  Vicky recognised the street — they were back on Constitution Road. They’d done a loop.

  Police cars shot up the hill in the direction they’d come from.

  John gained speed as they went downhill before pulling onto the Marketgait, narrowly missing a car as he merged in. He darted into the right-hand lane, easing past the traffic, before cutting in again. The needle was hitting ninety. He squeezed through the roundabout, braking to avoid a crawling lorry.

  Vicky felt her fingers start to respond. The light cut out as they entered the tunnel. She reached over and tugged the wheel to the left.

  John looked over, Taser in the air.

  The van crashed into the wall and bounced back, hitting the concrete central reservation, before going into a slow spin.

  John let go of the Taser and started wrestling with the wheel. The Taser dropped into the middle of the cabin.

  Vicky reached down for it.

  John slapped a hand across her face, pushing her backwards.

  A police car thundered into the front of the van, sending them both flying backwards. Something else hit John’s side of the van.

  They lurched over, down becoming up. The seatbelt tore into Vicky’s shoulders, cutting into her left breast. She glanced over.

  John was gone, his door hanging open.

  Through the crumpled windscreen, she saw him hobbling away, stepping between the smashed police cars.

  Vicky braced herself and released the seatbelt. She fell to the roof of the vehicle, landing on her shoulders.

  Something jarred against her neck. The Taser. She put it in the pocket of the hoodie and shoved open her door.

  She got out, noticing a deep cut to her right hand as pain started to make its way through the adrenaline. She started towards John, weaving through the cars. An officer was slumped against the wheel of the nearest one.

  The other car was a dark grey Subaru, its bonnet mangled. Considine was pushed up against the windscreen. The passenger door was open.

  Behind, a wall of yellow hazard lights and blue police sirens blazed out. She ran on, speeding up as she went, the turn-ups on her jeans unfolding.

  Beyond the cars, MacDonald jumped at John from behind, sending them both sprawling along the carriageway.

  John was first to his feet. His glasses had been knocked off. He aimed a fist at MacDonald’s head as he got to his knees. The blow sent MacDonald staggering backwards and he toppled to the ground. She was almost there when John started in with his feet, kicking at MacDonald’s prone body.

  Vicky stabbed the Taser into John’s back.

  He fell backwards, his body spasming. She held it against him for a few seconds before taking a swing with her foot and connecting with his balls.

  Arms grabbed her from behind. “Easy, Vicky, easy.” Forrester.

  Karen Woods knelt down and cuffed John.

  Forrester helped Vicky over to the wall in the middle of the carriageway. She collapsed against it, focusing on the traffic in the opposite direction. Rubberneckers stared at her and the mangled cars. She smelled a fire from somewhere. “Where’s Calum?”

  “Oh, shite.” Forrester looked back at the crumpled mess of cars.

  Vicky staggered to her feet and started towards the van.

  Forrester jogged ahead. He stopped and started fiddling with the back doors.

  Vicky gripped the handle, pulled it open.

  Calum lay upside down in the middle of the van, unconscious. He was naked from the waist up — black ink marked out his organs.

  Forrester got in the back, stood on the inverted roof. He felt the boy’s neck for a pulse, his eyes on Vicky. He let out a breath. “He’s alive.”

  Vicky collapsed to her knees, tasting blood in the back of her throat.

  Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven

  That was good work back there, Vicky. Quick thinking.”

  Vicky sat in front of Forrester’s desk, fingers playing with the bandage on her arm. “Just glad we caught him, sir.”

  “Considine’s fine, by the way.” MacDonald stood up again, rubbing at his buttocks. His face was bandaged in places. “Shame about his car. The Python’s a write-off.”

  Vicky grinned. “The next one will have to be the Cobra.”

  MacDonald laughed. Then winced with pain. “How’s Calum doing?”

  Forrester grimaced. “Not great, Mac. But he’ll live.” He shook his head. “Being stuck in the back of the van like that. Christ.”

  Vicky stood up and found the pain eased off a touch. “I still don’t get why he did it.”

  “He’s not talking. Not with his balls in his ribs now, thanks to you, Vicky. Laing and Greig have been in with Yvonne and Brian Morton again.” Forrester chuckled. “That was a good touch, by the way. Cheeky bugger was just faking it.”

  “Did they get anything?”

  Forrester raised his shoulders. “Nearest we can get is it was a power trip for John. The boy worked in PR. This all seems to be an advertising campaign for him. You can bet the court case will be just the same.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  Forrester leaned forward. “Marianne Smith started speaking a bit once she knew Yvonne was talking. They’re part of some organisation, no names given yet. Marianne recruited Yvonne and she got Brian involved. The boy’s a prodigy with computers. We could use someone like that were it not for the fact he’s going away for life.”

  MacDonald leaned against the window. “Did he spill on his brother?”

  “Aye.” Forrester leaned on his elbows. “John and Brian’s mother died of cancer two years ago. John had just been made redundant so moved back from London-shire to look after Brian. Marianne was Yvonne’s partner in their cell last summer. She moved upstairs and became her handler. They got John in at that point. He came at them with this advertising campaign idea. Started with that snare trap, then shoving Irene Henderson in a bin. They saw they could get away with it so their ambitions grew.”

  MacDonald shook his head. “It certainly got them publicity.”

  Forrester shrugged. “Found a list of dead CCTV cameras he’d got off the internet somewhere. Also, he had some notes on other attacks. Nothing on Camperdown Zoo but they had plans for an attack on a racehorse stable, someone charged with poisoning cats in Aberdeen and the Musselburgh Racecourse.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Vicky thought it through. “So we’ve stopped this escalating into a much wider attack?”

  “Looks that way.” Forrester sat back in his chair, nodding. “Thank Christ we don’t do any whaling in this city anymore.”

  “Reckon we’ll get a conviction?”

  “They’re all going away for a long time.”

 
; “Except Yvonne.”

  “Well, there’s that. She’ll get placed under witness protection. Someone will make sure she’s not getting involved in any more shite like this.”

  “I think she’s learnt.”

  “Me too, Vicky.” Forrester laughed. “I’d ask you if you wanted a pint but I got such a doing last night after the state I got into. You pair can get off home now, if you want.”

  “Thanks, sir.” Vicky got to her feet. She followed MacDonald out of the office.

  He stopped just outside. “Do you fancy a drink?”

  Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight

  Did you catch the baddies, Mummy?”

  Vicky undid Bella’s seatbelt and helped her out of the car, her breast aching. “I did, Bells. For once.”

  “Mummy’s my hero.”

  Vicky picked her up and cuddled her, wincing at the pain in her back. “I love you, too.”

  “Where are we going, Mummy?”

  “Mummy needs to speak to someone. Have you been a good girl for Granny?”

  “Granny said so.”

  “Granny might be biased. Well, if you’ve been a good girl you might get to meet a new friend.”

  “I’ve got lots of friends.”

  “This might be a special one.”

  “Okay.”

  Vicky led her up the drive and knocked on Robert’s door.

  He opened the door and frowned. “Vicky?”

  “Hi, Robert.”

  The frown turned to a smile when he saw her daughter. “How’s Bella?”

  Bella kicked her foot out. “I’m fine.”

  Vicky smiled. “Can we come in?”

  “Sure, Vicky. Come on in.” Robert led them through into the hall.

  His greyhounds raced through from the living room and started jumping everywhere, tails wagging and mouths open.

  Bella covered her face with her hands and started squealing.

  Robert tugged at the collars. “I’ll just put these two outside.” He took the dogs into the kitchen. The patio doors slid open and shut again.

  Vicky knelt down and patted Bella’s shoulders. “It’s okay. The dogs won’t bother you again.”

  “Sorry about that.” Robert came through to the hall. “Come on in. Sorry the place is such a state.”

  Vicky inspected the living room from the doorway. Bookshelves lined three walls, all filled with novels. An expensive hi-fi sat in the corner underneath a large TV. “No worse than our place.”

  Robert’s son, Jamie, lay on the ground playing with a Lego set.

  “Jamie, this is Bella. Bella’s mummy is friends with Daddy.”

  The boy sat up, pushing his glasses up his nose. He tilted his head to the side as he inspected Bella. “Do you like Lego?”

  Bella looked up at Vicky. “Can I play, Mummy?”

  “Go on.”

  Bella joined Jamie on the floor and began amassing her army of bricks.

  Robert stared at Vicky, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Do you want a tea or a coffee?”

  Vicky nodded. “I’ll make an exception for once. Tea.”

  Robert led them through a doorway into the kitchen, went to the sink and filled the kettle.

  “This is a nice house you’ve got, Robert. Seems bigger than Liz’s.”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay, I suppose. The bungalow next to Dave and Liz’s is much bigger.”

  “How much bigger do you need?”

  “I’ve got a lot of books, believe me.” He chucked teabags in the mugs and poured water in, before mashing them against the sides. “Do you take milk?”

  Vicky nodded, her heart thudding in her chest, the nerve throbbing. What the hell could she say? How could she explain her behaviour? “Lots of milk, please.”

  Robert poured some in and handed her a mug, his jaw clenched. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  “This is the best cup of tea you’ll ever taste, mark my words.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Robert took a drink. “You’ve not come here to talk about tea, though, have you?”

  Vicky leaned against the counter. “No, I haven’t.” She put the mug down and pinched her nose. “When you introduced Bella to Jamie, you said I was your friend.”

  Robert nodded. “That’s true.”

  “Just a friend?”

  Robert shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe I could be more if you just let me in.”

  Vicky rubbed her eyes. “I’ve been such an idiot.”

  “How?”

  “I thought you were involved in this case.”

  He lowered his head. “Is that why the police came around this afternoon?”

  “Yes.”

  He set his mug on the counter. “How could you think that about me?”

  Vicky looked up at the ceiling. “I found your name on a list of donors to the animal shelter on Brown Street.”

  “I told you about that. It’s what happened when Moira died. It was in her will.”

  “Well, I flagged it. Last night, I came here when I got back to Carnoustie, wanting to apologise for cancelling like that. I saw your car was a black Audi, which matched the one we were looking for.”

  “You’re a cop. I get it.” He pointed through to the living room. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve got a large collection of British and American detective novels. I know what you go through.”

  Vicky raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know the half of it, believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  “When I noticed those things, I was duty-bound to report it, Robert.”

  “I see.” He stared out of the kitchen window, along the main road in Barry. The dogs were chasing each other in the garden, tearing chunks of turf out of the lawn. “In some ways, I’m glad you did.”

  “How?”

  “If I’d been involved and you’d done nothing about it, you’d really be in the shit.”

  Vicky concentrated on the rim of her mug. “One of my colleagues tried to kiss me last night.”

  Robert tightened his grip on the handle of his mug. “Was he successful?”

  “I was drunk.”

  “You were drunk? I thought you were working.”

  “I had been working. We went for a drink afterwards. Things got out of hand and I had to get a taxi home.”

  Robert put his mug in the sink. “Right.”

  Vicky grabbed his arm. “Robert, I’m a mess, okay? I’m fucked up. I have this commitment phobia thing. It’s one of the things I still have from my relationship with Alan, I guess. I can be a cold bitch. I have to . . . I have to put this switch on in my head when I go to work. I have to keep work and home separate. Otherwise, I’d —”

  “Vicky, what’re you trying to say? Are you letting me down gently?”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m saying if you’ll have me and work through the shit in my head, then I want to give it a go.”

  Robert stared at the floor. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He nodded. “Okay.”

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks for reading SNARED — I seriously hope you enjoyed the book and Vicky.

  It wouldn’t have been possible without the help of a lot of people. In chronological order . . . Thanks to Kitty for helping with the initial idea, alpha reading and constant moral support throughout; to Pat, Geoff and Rhona for the invaluable feedback on the initial draft; to Allan Guthrie for helping tear the book apart, for teaching me to write properly and for being the best agent I could hope for; and, last but certainly not least, to Emilie and everyone at Thomas & Mercer for having faith in me and the book.

  Ed James,

  East Lothian, October 2014

  About the Author

  Photo © 2014 Kitty Harri
son

  Ed James is the author of the self-published Scott Cullen series of Scottish police procedurals, featuring a young Edinburgh Detective Constable investigating crimes from the bottom rung of the career ladder he’s desperate to climb. The first book, Ghost in the Machine, has been downloaded over 300,000 times, hitting the Amazon UK top five and US top 50.

  In order to write full-time, Ed gave up a lucrative career in IT project management, where he filled his weekly commute to London by writing on planes, trains, and automobiles, managing to complete three full-length novels in just seven months. He lives in East Lothian, Scotland.