Bloody Reckoning

by Rafe McGregor

  Ten, twenty, thirty seconds passed; a minute.

  Keeping my head above water, I finally struck out for the landing next to the Bonding Warehouse. I dragged myself out of the Ouse, crawled for a couple of metres, and collapsed.

  There was no sign of Putnam. I didn’t know how he could’ve found the SIG, but not the grenade, practically in plain sight in the fruit bowl. Perhaps Maikel was right and it was a lucky charm. It didn’t matter. Siân’s absence wasn’t luck; it was planned. Anyone who’s been taught anything about fighting knows your defence is at its weakest precisely when you strike. I’d wanted her out the flat when we took Cowan – just in case. In case of what? I don’t know, but it worked out pretty well. She was half a mile away from where I was lying, safe and sound in the Dean Court Hotel. I just lay there, naked except for my socks, waiting for the police.

  There was nothing else I could do: I was locked out of the flat.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  I watched with no small amount of joy as Maikel did just that, following the orders of Major Jewell, as any good soldier should. He bent to kiss Siân, and they were illuminated by the flash of the photographer’s camera in the tiny chapel. She was the most beautiful bride I’d ever seen, either in the flesh or in the media, and Maikel was groomed to perfection, in the midnight blue tunic and trousers of his No.1 uniform. They kissed for a few seconds and then pulled away, both beaming like children.

  “It is my privilege to introduce for the first time, Sergeant and Mrs Maikelekelevesi.”

  Maikel, Siân, the padre, and I were squeezed into the chancel of St Margaret’s chapel, in front of the altar. I turned with the couple to face the two dozen guests inside the nave as the One O’Clock Gun fired on Mills Mount Battery. Major Jewell was running the ceremony like a military operation, timed to perfection. St Margaret’s, the chapel of Edinburgh Castle and the city’s oldest surviving building, was packed to full capacity. The guests rose on cue, with smiles all round, but remained silent out of respect. For the same reason, all the soldiers had removed their headgear. The recessional proceeded in reverse order, with the eight men at the rear of the chapel leaving first, to form the guard of honour.

  There were four other uniforms in addition to the Parachute Regiment, including my RMP No.1, which was also midnight blue with red facings and a white stable belt. My white gloves and red cap had been left on a bench near the door, the former having being removed so I didn’t fumble with the ring when I handed it to Maikel. Over my heart I wore the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross, the Distinguished Service Order, the Iraq Medal with a silver oak leaf for a mention in despatches, and the Operation Service Medal for Afghanistan. On both shoulders, my captain’s rank was represented by three gold pips. Like the other officers present, I wore an infantry sword in a silver scabbard. The DSO was new, for the four years in Afghanistan.

  It was the first Saturday in September of 2014, sixteen months to the day since Lance Corporal Haywood’s murder. Siân had risked the Scottish autumn in order to avoid the crowds and congestion of the Edinburgh Festival. She needn’t have worried; the day was bright, clear, and warm, with a light breeze blowing in from the sea. Maikel’s mother and father followed his CO outside, and Siân’s brother, mother, and father filed after them. I smiled at the bridesmaid, and ushered her in front of me. Then I picked up my cap and gloves, and walked the few steps down the wooden ramp to the cobbled battlements of the castle. The guard of honour had formed up in two tight rows of four, and were standing smartly at ease, bayonets fixed on their rifles. I walked past Mons Meg, the medieval siege gun, and joined the small crowd assembled at the wall.

  I stood up straight, my hands clasped behind my back, the peak of my cap pulled down low, and chatted to Calum and his boyfriend. Moments later, Maikel came into view, bending his large frame low under the arch, and donned his maroon beret. Then he reached for Siân, who also had to duck. They took a step forward onto the ramp to make room for the chaplain, who stood behind them, and the RSM called the guard to attention, his voice booming across the upper ward of the castle. The RSM’s voice cut through the air a second time and the guard raised their rifles to their shoulders, forming an arch of bayonets as a symbol of ensuring the couple’s safe passage into their new life.

  Siân wore a strapless silk chiffon dress, with a ruched waistband and flared skirt. The close-fitting fabric emphasised the perfect figure I remembered so well from years before. She’d selected a lacy bib-front bodice, which gave her dress a hint of the Victorian, an ideal complement to the uniforms. She’d opted to wear her hair down, which suited her best, although she would’ve looked gorgeous with Maikel’s crew-cut. Her loose platinum curls hung six inches or so below her shoulders, lustrous and thick. She wore a thin, diamond tiara with matching earrings and necklace, and no other jewellery except for her engagement and wedding rings.

  Maikel was immaculate in his No.1s, with his back rigid and Siân on his arm. He was wearing a red worsted sash across his tunic, from right shoulder to left hip. His parachute wings were at the top of his right arm, above three gold sergeant’s stripes etched in red. Over his heart, he wore the Military Cross, the Iraq Medal with silver oak leaf, the Operation Service Medal for Afghanistan with silver oak leaf, and the NATO Operation Unified Protector Libya Medal. I’d not seen the oak leaf for Afghanistan before, so I assumed it was for doing whatever he’d been doing when he’d been shot in the arm. My two friends walked through the arch and then paused for a photo, whereupon I led the company in a hearty round of applause.

  The noise was drowned out by the RSM’s crisp commands as the guard of honour fell out. The chaplain would take the couple to the New Barracks next, where they would sign the registry, and then pose for formal photos at a number of different vantage points in the castle grounds. Later, a carriage would take them down the Royal Mile to The Hub, the former Tolbooth Church, where Mr Matthews had booked the reception. I’d been delighted when Maikel had asked me to be his best man as, in my experience, Fijian families tend to be more close-knit than British ones. They were a perfect couple, if I’d ever seen one, and I only hoped their happiness lasted. There was no reason it shouldn’t.

  Putnam’s body was found a few hours after I killed him, and I was exonerated at the inquest. I’d completed my leave without further incident and resumed my role as second-in-command of 33 Section in June. Major West never congratulated me for my work on Claymore, but she didn’t give me a hard time either, which seemed fair. The Baby Browning had been confirmed as the weapon Cowan used in three of the murders, and the bullet size was a perfect fit for the groove in Marillier’s skull. The capsules on her necklace contained blood from each of the five men she’d killed, although Richardson’s wasn’t definite as his body hadn’t been found. It was luck on my part, but I’d remembered an article I’d read as a teenager about women wearing similar sexual trophies. Cowan’s trial had begun in July and she was found guilty of four counts of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment. She’d hung herself as soon as her application for an appeal was rejected.

  I hate posing for photos, but I managed to put on a brave face throughout the lengthy session that afternoon. The torturer’s apprentice with the camera completed his circuit at the Half-Moon Battery, where he was able to use Arthur’s Seat and Holyrood Park as a backdrop. Immediately below us, on the esplanade, the horse and carriage had arrived, and the guests shuffled off towards it, accompanied by a crowd of tourists. The pomp and circumstance aside, they only had to take one look at the beautiful bride to see that this was indeed a rare photo opportunity.

  Siân had followed her plan, staying with me in York for three weeks before visiting her family. Her strength of character had triumphed over any need for drugs and she’d restored her health and looks completely through diet and exercise. I would like to have said that she looked as stunning today as she had with me, but I’d have been lying if I did. She looked better, possessed of a kind of inne
r radiance derived from her happiness. That was perhaps what made me happiest. Since her return I’d come to know her more intimately than before, and I knew Maikel made her far happier than I ever could.

  I wasn’t sure when they’d started seeing each other, but Siân had moved back to Thame after three months with her family and had been with him when I’d seen him over Christmas. They’d announced their engagement in April, and I was obliged to Maikel’s uncle and Siân’s father for their help with the organisation, as I’d been up to my eyes in some of the dullest work I’ve ever had to do. August had been even worse as Major West had been transferred without a replacement being announced, so I was temporary OC. As luck would have it, the two men had actually served together and knew one another quite well. I was pretty sure they’d both been in the SAS in the nineties, but they wouldn’t say.

  Bavister had failed to report for duty with his new regiment and resigned his commission. I don’t know how naïve Mrs Bavister had actually been, but she’d divorced him at the end of last year. Mrs Vaughan followed suit. Her husband was found two days after Lawson arrested Cowan, holed up with his long-term lover in a house in Headingley, in Leeds. Vaughan had been with the man when Haywood was murdered. Vaughan was demoted, and rejoined 3 LANCS as a corporal.

  I had a second wedding to attend in a few months, which was much more of a surprise than Maikel’s. Despite trying to fob as much of it off on me as he could, Lawson received full credit for Cowan’s conviction. But no force in the country was going to make a cop like him an officer, no matter what he did, so he never got his promotion to inspector. In truth, I’m not sure he ever wanted it. His main goal appeared to have been to impress Marie, and he’d succeeded to the extent that she’d agreed to marry him. I’d worked with him on a couple of occasions since the trial and I have to say that her influence on him was barely discernible. He remained as obnoxious as when we’d first met, and just as dangerous. Marie had a lifetime’s work ahead of her.

  I hung back from the crowd, in no rush to reach the carriage, which wasn’t due to depart for another twenty minutes. I wandered down to the Argyll Battery, and looked out over the battlements. The New Town stretched out below, on the other side of the railway tracks leading into Waverley Station. To my right, the dark Gothic spire of The Hub loomed above the surrounding buildings. Though I shared my aerie with dozens of visitors – many of whom gave my sword curious glances – they soon faded from my awareness.

  I thought about how close I’d come to sleeping with Cowan. It had been her choice to abstain, not mine. I tried not to think about how easy it would’ve been to fall in love with her, or how infatuated I already was by the time I learned the truth. I’d been badly shaken by the experience, and grateful that my life as a soldier had been non-stop once I was back on duty. Every time I felt any pity for Cowan, I considered the five young men she’d murdered for sport, and the children she’d helped her grandfather torture. That made her death easier to live with, and I kept my regret for my own failings. The police hadn’t found Adamson-Woods’ killer, and I hoped they never did.

  I’m not sure how long I was lost in my reverie before I heard my name called. I turned to see Siân gliding towards me, an angel in white. She was…utterly perfect. “My wild angel,” I said under my breath. It had been my pet name for her before.

  She threw herself into my arms, hugged me tight, and kissed me on the cheek. “What was that?”

  “I said I’m jealous.”

  She held me at arm’s length and looked into my eyes. “You’re just saying that to be kind, really. But I could never have married you, even if you’d loved me as much as Maikel does.”

  “Why not?”

  She held my hands and laughed, a peculiar combination of rue and joy. “I left you because I didn’t think you’d live very long once you went back to Afghanistan. I don’t know what it is, but there’s…there’s something crazy inside you. You’re too much of a heroic knob to live long.”

  I smiled. “He’s one of the bravest men I’ve ever met.”

  Siân shook her head, her curls bouncing slightly with the movement. “Not like you, he isn’t. If he was, we wouldn’t all be here today, I promise you. Why do you think I turned up at your flat?”

  “Because there was no one else?”

  “There were plenty of other people I could’ve gone to for help. I picked you because I thought that suicidal heroism that scared the shit out of me was exactly what I needed to deal with Mick.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “I hope you’re wrong.”

  She stroked my cheek. “I hope I am too, but I know I’m not. This is the last time I’m going to say this, but thank you for giving me my life back, and thank you for giving me Maikel.”

  I couldn’t think of an apt response, but I was saved by a maroon beret bobbing in the background. I let go of Siân’s hand. Then she smiled and turned away.

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