by Jo McCready
They were both exhausted by the time they reached the gate. Their immense relief mitigated when they realized there was no way for Stuart to get through the fence without putting weight on his ankle. He let out a groan as he thrust his good leg through the space RJ had made for him, leaning painfully on his bad ankle, one arm across RJ’s back as he tried to transfer as much of his weight as possible to her.
Although the road to the pub was easier going as it was flat and held no unseen surprises, it was this part of the journey that seemed to last the longest, so desperate were they to reach sanctuary. A light drizzle of rain started to fall as they neared their temporary home. By the time they reached the gate, it was pouring down, soaking them through, flowing down their faces and down their necks into their already wet collars.
“Just gets better and better,” RJ muttered sarcastically as she wiped the water from her face.
“It’s better,” Stuart assured her, his voice tired. “The rain will hopefully erase any trace that we were even there tonight. They’ll attribute the slip on the cliff to the weather, if we’re lucky.”
Lucky. Did she feel lucky after tonight? The events of the evening would sink in at some point, but RJ didn’t know if she would call them lucky. Lucky to be alive maybe, but not lucky.
RJ eased the gate open, praying for it not to creak. The downpour helped to mask any noise it made. Once through, they broached the stairs painstakingly slowly. There wasn’t room enough for both of them side by side, so RJ went ahead, walking backwards, with Stuart’s hands on her shoulders and hers supporting his torso as best she could. Even then, it was slow, and she could see it was painful for Stuart. She watched him try to mask the wince on his face each time he had to bear weight on his bad ankle and found herself wincing in anticipation each time he did. The entire night had been exhausting. RJ used the last of her energy to force the door open with her shoulder. They barely made it through the door of the cabin before collapsing in a heap on the floor.
Chapter 13
She had hidden in the cover of the bushes and watched the woman who had unexpectedly turned up where she had made her kill those weeks ago. The body of the hunter had disappeared when she had returned to the scene. Now, it seemed the woman was looking for it, just as she herself had when she had first returned. The woman was remarkably close to where the body had lain, but seemed none the wiser.
She’d made a mistake in her movements and the woman had almost seen her. Luckily, the woman had been too preoccupied to investigate further. Lucky for the woman, that is. If she had discovered her, then she’d have been taken down in much the same way as the hunter had.
But the woman hadn’t discovered her hiding place and another man had soon joined her. The odds were much less in her favor with two opponents, so she managed to slink away without drawing attention to herself. A shame, really; she would have enjoyed a good kill tonight.
When she turned back to look at them, the sight of headlights in the distance startled her. She broke her cover, running over and around rocks and tufts of grass, determined to outrun the people who were looking for her.
She retreated to a tight cave that had been the home of a fox before she had chased it away and settled in to watch the headlights in the distance.
Chapter 14
RJ spent the next few hours tending to Stuart’s injuries. He’d cried out when she removed his boot from his bad ankle, despite how gentle she’d been. It hadn’t been easy to get it off, and the boot’s tightness had likely kept the swelling under control until they’d had the chance to pull the injured limb free; the footwear providing an efficient compress. The removal of his sock had revealed a mess of swollen red and purple flesh that continued to swell to a horrific size, no doubt worsened by the distance they’d had to cover to get back. She found ice in the freezer, wrapped it in a dish cloth and packed it around his ankle as best she could before elevating it on a pillow. She refilled the ice tray, knowing that she’d need to change the dressing in a few hours.
She took her first-aid kit from her pack, cursing at just how ineffective it had been out on the hills with no time or light for it to have been any use.
“Here, take these,” she ordered, handing Stuart a couple of painkillers and a glass of water. He swallowed dutifully, leaning up on his arms so as not to disturb his leg. She boiled the kettle and let the water cool, adding some disinfectant to a bowl with the cooled water and plunged his scraped hands in to soak. He didn’t utter a sound, but she saw the pain he attempted to hide. The fall had caused a long abrasion on his cheek that neither of them had noticed until they were back in the light of the cabin. It had taken a long time of careful dabbing with the gauze to ensure it was clean and free of debris. When Stuart’s hands were as clean as they were going to get, RJ dabbed them dry with a towel, careful to avoid the areas around the tips of his nails that had been ripped off.
“I’ve been tortured more gently than this,” Stuart told her, only half joking, before they both fell into an exhausted sleep on the bed, their animosity towards each other forgotten.
#
RJ awoke with a headache as light started to stream in the window. She got up and replaced the ice around Stuart’s ankle. “The swelling’s gone down a bit, but I don’t think you’ll be much use for the next few days.” She looked up to see his reaction and was greeted by the monstrosity that was his face. As they’d slept, blood and pus had oozed out of the graze that ran the length of his cheek. The fluids had crusted over, completely engulfing his right eye. The crust formed a grotesque pirate patch that continued down towards his chin.
Her sharp intake of breath alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. “What is it? Is it my ankle? Does it look broken?”
“Your ankle is doing well,” RJ assured him as she handed him some more painkillers.
“Aah . . . shit,” he said as he tried to sit up and open his eyes. His hand went to his face and probed his encrusted mask. “That bad, eh?”
“It’s not so . . . yeah, that bad.”
“That’s inconvenient, to say the least.”
“Yeah, but at least you’ll live to fight another day.”
“Just not today,” he grumbled.
“Not today.” RJ tried to figure out what that meant for their investigation. She was too exhausted to devote much brain power to anything and Stuart wasn’t in any fit state to add anything constructive. They’d figure out something later. Right now, what they both needed was rest.
They lay down and slept for another much-needed few hours. RJ woke before Stuart, gently eased herself off the bed so as not to disturb him, and went into the bathroom to take a hot shower. As she undressed and looked in the mirror, she realized just what a state she was in. Her face was streaked with what she hoped was mud, her hair was wild and tangled with foliage of some sort entwined in the knotted strands. Her hands were the only exposed part of her that were clean, and that was only due to her extensive cleaning of Stuart the night before. She stood under the hot stream in the shower, washing the dirt and grime off as best she could under the low pressure of the old electric shower.
She felt a lot better once she stepped out and dried off. She quickly dressed, then as quietly as she could, left the sleeping Stuart as she went to investigate the local shop for more first-aid supplies.
It didn’t look like much from outside. Just a double-fronted shop under a flat. It looked to have been a large house before it was converted to serve the community. Notices and signs of special offers covered the surfaces of the windows, letting little light into the low-ceilinged and crowded interior. Halogen strip lights did the job that natural light couldn’t, harshly illuminating every recess of the busy space. Being the only shop for miles, it seemed to stock everything under the sun and had an impressive range. RJ walked up and down the aisles, peering at the shelves, searching for what she needed.
“Help you there?” asked the friendly shop owner. He wore a white apron and held his thumbs in his
pockets as he rolled back on his heels. All he needed to complete the look of a caricature was a well-groomed moustache.
She smiled at him. “My husband went over on his ankle when we were out walking. Stepped right in a rabbit hole.” She shook her head in mock disbelief. “I’m just stocking up on anything I might need.”
He held his finger up and walked one aisle over, and she trailed after him.
“Ah, then you’ll need this.” He handed her an elastic bandage, then rummaged about on the bottom shelf. “And maybe this. It’s a gel cool pack. Reusable, and it molds to the shape of whatever body part you need it for.”
She took two.
“Do you need any paracetamol or ibuprofen?”
“I’ll take both.” She also picked up a tube of antiseptic cream.
“And, of course, you’ll need one of these.” The shopkeeper lifted a bottle of Lucozade from a shelf as he led her back to the counter.
RJ looked at the panacea that every British person was well familiar with. She could almost taste the sharp orange liquid as she followed him down. It reminded her of days home from school, sick, curled up on the couch under a blanket and being tended to by either her mum or dad, depending on who could get the time off work. “Yeah, I’ll take a bottle.” She smiled. He was certainly good at the upsell.
“So, you’re the folks looking to start up an artist colony.”
Word had obviously got around about their presence in the village.
“Retreat,” RJ corrected him. “And yes, that’s us.”
“Welcome to the area. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
If there was ever anyone who knew what was going on in an area, it was shopkeepers and taxi drivers. She could use that to her advantage.
“Thanks, it’s a beautiful place. We didn’t realize it was affected by so much tragedy until we got here.”
“Aye, the estate’s had a hard time of it lately. That’s for sure.”
RJ waited for him to continue but he just smiled blandly at her.
“You have a nice day,” he told her.
RJ left the shop more than a little bewildered. Surely if she was to get any gossip from any one, it would be the local shopkeeper?
After a quick stop at the pub, she returned to find Stuart awake and sitting up in bed.
“Supplies,” she explained and lifted her bag in demonstration. “Feeling any better?”
“My ankle is.” He lifted the cold compress she had draped over his foot before she’d left. It looked better than it had the night before, but it was still quite swollen and had started to turn a deeper shade of purple.
“We’ll keep icing it. I’ve got these gel packs. We’ll just keep rotating them until we’re sure the swelling has gone down.” She popped them in the freezer to chill. “Your face on the other hand . . .”
“That rough?” Stuart asked her. “Actually, you don’t have to answer that. I can feel it every time I try to move my face.”
“Here, I’ll just get a mirror and you can see for yourself.” She handed him some gauze along with the antiseptic cream. She unhooked the mirror on the wall in the bathroom and brought it back, sitting down on the bed beside him.
“Jesus,” he said. “It’s worse than I thought. This is going to be more of a problem than the ankle, isn’t it?”
“Looks that way. You can’t go out like that. And you certainly can’t do any investigating looking like that. You’d attract too much attention. No, I think to the outside world you’ll just need to be cooped up your walking injury for the next few weeks. You did step in a pretty deep rabbit hole after all.”
She let that information sink in as Stuart gingerly dabbed at the wound on his face with the antiseptic cream, his torn fingernails looking even worse this morning now that they were covered in dried blood.
“Seems like I’m a bit of a jinx for you,” RJ said sheepishly.
“You’ve got to be kidding. You’re the one who saved me. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be a lot worse off this morning. Besides, I’ve had a lot worse than a twisted ankle and scrape on my face. You’ll know all about that soon enough.” His voice dropped lower. “It’s a dangerous business. People get hurt.”
“I know, and I’m prepared for that.”
“You think you are, but the first time’s the worst. Have they shot at you with Kevlar yet?”
RJ nodded. It wasn’t a pleasant memory. Penelope, the organization’s weapons expert, had strapped her up in a Kevlar vest then had her stand and watch while she took a shot at her. The impact had winded her and brought her to her knees. “It hurt like hell, but the psychological impact was harder.”
“It’s the same with real bullets, except you bleed, and depending on what they hit, it is so much more painful. It’s the panic that’s the worst, though.” He stared over her shoulder at nothing in particular. “Never panic, that’s what will put you in danger. Not the bullet wound or whatever else might have happened. It’s the panic. Stay calm and your chances of recovery or even survival are much higher.” He looked her straight in the eye with his good eye and gripped her forearms. “Just don’t panic.”
She broke the suddenly serious connection. “Whoa there. Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren’t we? Just because you’re all laid up doesn’t mean I’m suddenly in more danger.”
“No, I don’t suppose it does.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just reacting to being put out of action and feeling pretty useless to the mission just now.” He smiled in what RJ thought might have been apology, but he actually looked like a deranged monster from a sick horror movie, his half-face mask made up of scabs distorting his expression. RJ was sure it hadn’t been the look he was going for.
“Look, I’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, everything will be fine. I can still go about my business out there. You can do some research in here. I’ll be less conspicuous on my own, anyway. A woman on her own is usually perceived as less threatening.”
He laughed at that. “If only they knew.”
“If only they knew,” she agreed. “I’ll stick around today. Which makes sense anyway for a wife to do for her injured spouse. Tomorrow, I’ll go into town. I want to see the fiscal in action.”
“Sounds good.”
“Yeah, there’s a fatal accident enquiry into a fisherman who went overboard. I want to see the sort of death he does commission an enquiry into.”
“Any that don’t occur on the estate, it seems.”
“While I do that, perhaps you can find out just what the owner of the estate has over him. What possible reason he might have for helping them to cover up these deaths. Today, though, we rest. We both need it after last night’s excitement.”
“You’re not going to get any argument from me.”
“Good. Now for the difficult bit.” She returned to the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. “Maltesers or M&Ms,” she said, holding up the bags.
“Maltesers, no question.”
“And this might be contentious, but Highlander or Brave?” she asked, holding up the DVDs she had picked up from the collection at the pub on the way back.
“They didn’t have any others?”
“Sure, but these were the best ones. No problem, we can watch them both.” She gave him her widest grin and placed one in the DVD player. “Heaven,” she exclaimed, leaning back against Stuart’s good side and making herself comfy.
Chapter 15
RJ parked at the Tesco supermarket car park and made her way to Albany Street. The Sheriff Court was on the corner. It looked small from the outside—a two-story building with double-height windows on the second floor. It must cost a fortune to heat in the winter, even with the thick sandstone walls. It was less grand than she’d expected. Imposing, yes, and more austere than the municipal buildings across the road, but somehow not as dramatic as she’d thought it would look. The location up a simple road in the town center, with no fanfare or display of their power and status—other than the simple signs on the buildings�
�added to the anticlimactic feeling. It made sense, she supposed. The date on the building announced that it had been built in 1890, when the town was already well established. There wouldn’t have been space for it in any of the more prominent positions it would have been better suited to. And they hadn’t needed a bigger court due to the size of the population it served. Still, it felt lacking in some way, and she hoped it wasn’t an indication of the inadequacies she suspected of the legal establishment.
The inside was no more impressive. A sign on a brass stand told her the case she was looking for was to be held in the courtroom on the ground floor. She made her way there and found a seat in the public gallery at the back. A handful of onlookers, the victim’s family and friends, and a solitary reporter at the ready with his notepad and pen were in attendance.
Procurator Fiscal Alexander Dunn sat at a table at the front, going over his notes. The gold pen in his hand hovered over the pages, coming down to scribble notes or circle certain words or passages. He was tall, even sitting down, and when he stood up, RJ was surprised at his height. He remained standing for a minute, his lips moving as he closed his eyes, his head held skywards. Sitting back down, he shuffled his notes, then leaned forward, palms together and his forefingers resting just below his nose. His jet-black hair belied his years. RJ had been told he was fifty-three, but the man in front of her looked nowhere near it. Solemn but fresh-faced, not a frown line or wrinkle in sight despite his weighty job. He didn’t appear to be a man troubled by his conscience, but what that might look like she didn’t know. His unfashionable Lego-man haircut indicated a disinterest in the more mundane and frivolous aspects of daily life that might have been important to others. Just what was important to Alexander Dunn?