by Gray, Alex
‘Well, now,’ Calum said finally, wiping the last of the crumbs from his uniform. ‘I’ve been talking to a lot of people back in Tobermory, trying to find out why the Maloneys left in such a hurry.’
‘Yes?’ Lorimer raised his eyebrows.
Calum sighed, settling his bulky body further into the armchair. ‘It was something Fiona Taig said,’ he began. ‘About Richard Maloney and the Dalgleish boy.’
Lorimer nodded slowly, wondering what was coming, half suspecting that he knew already.
‘She seemed to think they were pals,’ Calum said, frowning. ‘But how could that be when Rory worked down at Kilbeg and Richard was up in Tobermory?’
‘Didn’t Rory go up to Tobermory for a bit of a social life? He’d been at the dances, hadn’t he?’
‘Aye, but how had he become so chummy with a local lad?’ Calum shifted from side to side, visibly uncomfortable with what he was saying.
‘Is Richard Maloney gay?’ Lorimer asked abruptly.
Calum folded his arms and looked down at his feet. ‘Well, now. That’s a big question to ask, isn’t it? Not sure if I’m qualified to answer it.’
Lorimer looked at him for a long moment. It must be hard for a man like Calum to have to consider that someone he knew from this island might have been mixed up in a sadomasochistic relationship. These were things that the gruff police sergeant would wish to leave to others on the team, of that he was certain.
‘I have good reason to think that Rory Dalgleish was gay,’ Lorimer persisted, despite the obvious embarrassment the big policeman was suffering at his words. ‘Could Richard’s disappearance have anything to do with his relationship to the dead boy?’
The police sergeant twisted his mouth in a moue of uncertainty. ‘I think,’ he began, ‘that the best person to ask would be Jamie Kennedy. He knows all the locals in Tobermory a lot better than I do. And he was at school with Keith, Richard’s older brother, so he’ll know the family all right.’
‘It did worry you, though, didn’t it? What Fiona Taig told you?’
‘Aye,’ Calum replied gloomily. ‘And that… what you said… crossed my mind. Richard’s a quiet sort of lad, by all accounts,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Oh, well, takes all sorts I suppose.’ He sighed, rising to his feet. ‘Thanks for these delicious scones, Mrs Lorimer. Your wife’s a real treasure, Detective Superintendent,’ he nodded, smiling broadly at Maggie.
They stood side by side as the police sergeant made his way out of the gate then Lorimer stepped forward to swing it shut.
‘Well,’ Maggie remarked, ‘he seemed very coy about the idea of homosexuality, didn’t he?’
‘Didn’t want to voice his innermost thoughts to DI Crozier, I expect. Especially after they found those images on Rory’s laptop. Just simple embarrassment.’ Lorimer sighed. ‘Not homophobic, as such,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘just part of a different generation.’
‘Will you speak to PC Kennedy?’ Maggie looked up at her husband as they strolled back to the cottage door,
‘Fancy a wee trip to Tobermory?’
‘Solly and Rosie are still there,’ Maggie said. ‘And they did mention a picnic trip to Calgary Bay.’ She grinned, taking her mobile from her trouser pocket. ‘Maybe we can salvage something out of this holiday after all,’ she added with a rueful glance at her husband.
‘Better look out your swimming costume, in that case,’ Lorimer said, slinging an affectionate arm around his wife’s shoulders as they made their way back to the cottage. ‘I know one little lady who’ll love paddling with her Aunty Maggie.’
The dry twig cracked ominously under his boot as Maloney stepped off the track.
He froze, hands by his sides, not daring to make a move. Images of crouched figures watching him through the darkened undergrowth, their weapons loaded and ready to fire, crowded his brain, pictures from the past; but those days were long gone. Now the threat was not those menacing silent men from the IRA but British police officers, people he had believed were on his side.
The sound of a vehicle in the distance made him lift the heavy field glasses and look towards the road end. There was no sign of anything stirring, no single movement within the trees. Nothing.
Had they stopped further along the track? And were they even now coming towards the bothy? Or had it just been a passing car, a farmer’s wife visiting a friend nearer to Kilchoan? There was a farm a couple of miles along the road. He had seen it before they had driven off the track. But he was certain the engine noise had ceased close to where the trees opened out at the road end. Not a local, he grimaced, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck, some sixth sense warning him that their hiding place was no longer safe.
He hurried back to the bothy, eyes straining for any treacherous twigs, back bent as he ran. Keeping low down had been second nature to him once. Memories of those dark nights came unbidden, nights when he and his fellow squaddies had moved along the roads of Northern Ireland, half fearful that an incendiary device would blow them all to smithereens. But this was daytime and the light filtering through gaps in the thick pine trees made him blink suddenly.
Maloney stopped once more, listening, but there was only the heavy brooding forest all around, not even the cry of a bird. He moved forward again, creeping on careful feet until he reached the place where he had left the pickup. They’d find it easily enough, Maloney thought, despite the attempt to camouflage it with foliage. And driving on the open road would be like saying Here I am: come and get me. No, they’d be better off on foot from now on.
But first there were certain things that he needed to retrieve from the hidden vehicle.
When the door opened, Richard looked up from where he was sitting, hands clutching the sides of the makeshift bed. There was an unspoken question in the boy’s eyes as he saw the shotgun in his father’s hands.
‘We’re getting out,’ Jock said. ‘Now. Come on, quiet as you can.’
Richard opened his mouth to protest but a glare from his father silenced him before he could utter a single word.
‘Will you move!’ Jock hissed, grabbing the boy’s shoulder and pulling him to his feet.
‘Where are we going?’ Richard whined as his father closed the wooden door behind them.
‘Just follow me and keep quiet,’ Maloney hissed. ‘Understand?’
Richard looked up at his father’s face. Ever since he had been picked up on the Back Brae and swept away from the island he had been wary of the older man. There was no smell of drink on him, nothing to account for Jock Maloney’s strange behaviour. Nor had there been any explanation about the necessity to quit the island, just some curt commands to do as he was told or the police would come after them. Gone was the cheerful man whose speech was full of jokes and wisecracks. The laughing eyes were dulled now and Jock hardly spoke at all except to bark an order at his son.
Something had happened to change his dad. And Richard Maloney was afraid to think what that might be.
The boy nodded and fell into step with his father. He looked round once at the track: he too had heard the sound of a car engine. Yet at this moment he was less afraid of the police officers searching for them than he was of this man carrying the gun striding out in front of him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
‘Where are you?’ Crozier’s voice came over the telephone as Lorimer drove past the entrance to Kilbeg Country House Hotel.
‘Just approaching Salen,’ he replied, the hands-free telephone allowing him to respond.
‘Can you meet us at the ferry terminal? At Fishnish? They’re on Maloney’s trail and I’ve got orders to bring you with me.’
‘Be there in less than twenty minutes,’ Lorimer replied, his eyes already seeking out a place to turn the big car.
‘I’ll leave you the car,’ he told Maggie after he’d cut the call. ‘Go with Rosie like you planned.’
‘What are you going to do? Is it safe?’ Maggie looked at him, sudden anxiety in her face. ‘Do you have to go?’ The si
gh that left her lips seemed to express all of her pent–up frustrations and fears.
He placed a reassuring hand over hers. ‘I’ll be fine. They probably just want me along to have the Eurocopter scrambled. That’s all.’
Maggie nodded but the fine lines around her eyes had deepened. There was a gunman on the loose in the wilds of Ardnamurchan; that much she knew and she was not one bit reassured by her husband’s words.
‘Keep down!’ Maloney hissed, waving his hand at Richard.
The boy squatted beside a tree, the bark chafing his cheek as he huddled in the shadows. The darkness within the forest was like a cloak, softening every sound. Even their feet had made no noise on the carpet of pine needles as they had crept away from the safety of the bothy, venturing deeper and deeper into the mass of trees. Somehow his father led the way, winding through small tracks, ducking beneath the massive branches, the scent of pine heavy in the gloomy air. Several times he had been signalled to halt, Jock raising a warning hand, his head up to listen for their pursuers. But Richard heard nothing at all, only the occasional dull snap of an aged twig beneath his booted feet.
He was thirsty now and eyed the pack on his father’s back with resentment. Have to ration it till we find another burn, Jock had whispered, snatching the water bottle from his son and stuffing it into the bag. Where are we going? Richard wanted to ask. And when will we be able to find something to eat? But he was afraid to ask such questions, dreading what the answers might be.
The ferry crossing took just over fifteen minutes, time enough for Lorimer to call the Glasgow Division and talk to the pilot of the Eurocopter where it sat in its stance by the River Clyde, preparing for take-off. Beside him he saw Crozier drum her fingers on the dashboard as though to hurry the small car ferry along. He let his gaze travel away from the green ramp that separated them from the waters ahead and the sides of the boat blocking out any view. Looking upwards to the clouds wheeling above them, the detective superintendent realised that the ferry was making its turn towards the shore at last.
‘It should be with us by the time we reach the road end,’ Crozier said, looking at her wristwatch. ‘It’s mostly single-track roads from here on,’ she muttered as the ferry began to lower the dark green ramp at Lochaline, its yellow painted footprints to one side indicating the pathway for foot passengers. But for once the pedestrians would be made to wait until the police left the ferry first; every moment of delay was giving more time for Maloney to disappear further into the wilds.
Lorimer nodded. He was seated in the rear of a Police Scotland Land Rover; Crozier’s Merc had been left at Tobermory and his own Lexus was probably half way to Calgary by now, Maggie driving towards their friends and a picnic with their little goddaughter. He should be with them, he thought, a strange resentment filling him, not chasing after the man who had fixed his old Lexus. He ought to be having some fun, taking off his socks and shoes, paddling in the shallows with little Abby. But the holiday had been soured the moment that Lorimer had seen the gulls and crows at the edge of Fishnish Bay.
DS Langley was at the wheel of the vehicle, Crozier sitting in the passenger seat beside him as they bumped along the pitted road. Time and again they came to a halt, their progress impeded by an approaching vehicle or contrary sheep deciding to dash across in front of them. Glancing out of the rear window, Lorimer half expected to see the Eurocopter against the clear blue skies but, even if it had left Glasgow by now, it was still some time away from Britain’s most westerly peninsula. The Morvern hills loured over this winding road, massive and brooding as though to remind the occupants of the vehicle that here was a far greater force than the one presented by mere humankind.
Then, as if the twisting road had finally decided to give up, a vista appeared below the trees: Loch Sunart and the mountains beyond, sun and shadows etching their peaks against the blue skies.
Lorimer bent forwards as they reached a T-junction. ‘Are they sure he drove left?’ he asked, glancing at the sign for Strontian.
‘Yep.’ Crozier did not even turn her head so he sat back down, resigned to the narrow road that hugged the shoreline for many miles more as the Land Rover hastened ever westwards. Even now, in high summer, there were not so many vehicles on the road so perhaps that earlier sighting of Maloney’s pickup had been genuine. Where were they now? he wondered, glancing through the trees at the waters on their left, this grey ribbon of road leading them further and further into the wilderness.
‘Listen!’ Richard halted, tugging at his father’s sleeve to make him stop. ‘What’s that?’
Jock Maloney stood still, his eyes turned towards the rhythmic noise high above the treetops.
‘Helicopter,’ he said at last, his mouth closing in a thin line of resignation.
Richard followed his father’s gaze. ‘They’ll find us now, won’t they, Dad? Dad?’
He struggled against the hand that was dragging him further and further into the depths of the forest. ‘What’re you doing? It’s no use!’
‘Get a move on,’ Jock snarled, dropping his hand and nudging his son with the tip of the rifle. ‘Damned if I’m going to let them get us.’
‘But why? What’s going on, Dad? Why won’t you tell me anything?’ Richard stumbled away from his father, his hands raised in alarm.
‘You know fine why we’re on the run,’ Maloney retorted. ‘Now, move!’
Richard felt the gun against the small of his back as he staggered forwards, all the questions he wanted to ask tumbling around his brain as they moved deeper and deeper into the shadowed quiet of the woods.
The EC135 was like a giant wasp in the air, its yellow and black livery vivid against the cloudless skies.
‘Sierra Papa Seventy,’ the uniformed officer in the rear spoke into the mouthpiece, his voice battling against the din from the aircraft’s propellers.
‘Sierra Papa Seventy, we read you,’ a female voice called back.
‘Four minutes from you, west-north-west,’ the officer replied. Heading towards our target now.’
Down below, leaning against the side of the Land Rover, Lorimer watched as the Eurocopter shifted its position and headed slowly over the treetops. They had been in contact with the officer for the last half-hour, his pilot and police observer sitting up front so that they might make eye contact with any running figures on the ground. Given the thick forest cover, that would be impossible, Lorimer knew. However, they did have one advantage over their quarry: there was a special surveillance camera fitted in this craft, one that could detect human fugitives in any conditions. Normally used as a night-time device, the thermal imaging camera could pick out anybody hiding in these woods, images being recorded as the men fled through the trees.
He craned his neck as the helicopter disappeared over the dark green mass of pines, the sound of its rotor blades drumming in the air. There was no way that Maloney and his son could escape them now.
Lorimer looked round as a white van drew up beside them, armed officers in protective clothing scrambling out.
‘Detective Superintendent Lorimer?’ A police officer stepped towards them, his eyes glancing briefly over Crozier before he smiled warmly, putting out a hand to Lorimer.
‘Chief Inspector Pinder. Didn’t expect to see you up here,’ Lorimer said, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
‘Oh, I get around,’ the man replied laconically.
Lorimer nodded, recalling a previous case on which they had collaborated. The uniformed senior officer had some links to MI6, his role in Police Scotland being to liaise with intelligence and counter-terrorism amongst other things.
‘This is DI Crozier, our SIO up here,’ Lorimer said, turning to face the woman who was standing a little apart from them, her arms folded.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Martin Pinder said, giving her a perfunctory nod. ‘Glad you brought this fellow along, DI Crozier.’ He tilted his head, giving Lorimer an appraising look.
‘Lorimer, we want you to come along with us. Chief C
onstable asked specifically that you be in on this one.’ He shrugged, giving the blonde woman an apologetic smile. ‘Grab a spare stab vest and stay with me,’ he added, patting his bulky chest to show that he was already prepared with body armour beneath his jacket.
Stevie took a step forward. ‘You don’t want me to come with you?’
‘I think your role as liaison with the officers is more important,’ Pinder replied. ‘We need you to be out here in constant radio contact with the ’copter.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she nodded. If she were disappointed at not being kitted up to join the armed officers, Stevie Crozier did not show it. If anything were to go wrong inside this wooded area she would carry the responsibility of reporting it all back to base.
‘We’ll keep in touch with you both as we approach the target. All right?’ Pinder patted Lorimer on the arm and indicated that he should follow.
‘They’re coming closer!’ Richard stumbled on a tree root, losing his footing as he looked upwards. ‘Dad! They’re going to find us!’ he screamed.
‘Shut up and stay down,’ Jock commanded. ‘Make yourself as small as possible.’
He crouched beside his son, holding his arms to prevent him from getting up and making a dash through the woods. ‘They’re looking for two figures running. Let’s not give them that, eh?’
Richard looked up. There was a grim smile on Jock Maloney’s face and for a moment Richard wondered if it was really possible to outwit the might of the police force. He had trusted his father this far, he thought, crouching behind the trunk of an immense pine tree. Surely he could trust him for a little longer?
The sound of the Eurocopter was like a droning insect high above them as Lorimer and Pinder stepped into the forest, a line of darkly clad officers ahead of them. Pinder touched the headset he was wearing and glanced at the tall man at his side.