Adam tried to think about tides. There were two a day, right? How long had they been away? What time was it now anyway? He thought he could detect a lightening in the sky in the east, the black grading to purple at the edge of the horizon, and distant clouds brightening a little.
They picked up the pace, urged on by the sight of the car, still casting nervous glances out to sea. There was no sign of the police boat, just the slick undulations of the vast expanse of water stretching to infinity.
They finally slumped exhausted just uphill from the car, Roddy easing himself down to lie flat out on the snow-covered grass, Molly and Adam heaving the barrel onto its end next to Ethan’s body. The sight of Ethan brought everything back to Adam, the sick feeling in his gut, the terrible guilt. He felt rage bubble up inside him, but was too weak to do anything about it.
He slumped down onto the ground next to Roddy and put his head on the cold land. The clouds above him seemed to whirl round in a complicated dance, and he felt sick and disoriented looking at them.
He tried to take deliberate breaths, stop the nausea, but he felt bile rise in his gut. He sat up just in time to puke, angling his head to the side but still dribbling down his clothes. The vomit left a taste of bitter moonshine in his mouth, reminding him of the still and everything that had happened there. He sat panting and spitting for a while, then grabbed a handful of snow and washed his mouth out with it.
He looked up at the cliff towering over them. It was insane to think they had driven off that ledge and crumpled underneath less than twenty-four hours ago. This time yesterday he’d been sitting in Molly’s flat in Port Ellen drinking her thirty-year-old and talking quietly, sharing that one clumsy, tender kiss. He couldn’t imagine ever kissing her again.
She was gazing at the Audi, playing with the torch Roddy had dumped, deep in her own thoughts. In one way he felt closer to her than anyone else in the world now, but the shared experience was a barrier as well – they would always remind each other of this nightmare.
And anyway, it wasn’t over yet, not by a long way.
He looked at the car. The tide was receding; there was more of the undercarriage showing and now part of the boot as well. He was distracted by Roddy coughing violently, his body convulsing with the force of it. He put a hand on Roddy’s chest and felt his breath rattling. His whole right side was soaked in blood, his face totally white now, ghostly.
‘We need to get help soon,’ said Molly, looking at Roddy.
‘Roddy?’ said Adam.
Roddy opened his eyes and a faint smile appeared on his blue lips. He winked slowly.
‘I wouldn’t go to sleep if I were you,’ said Adam. ‘You might not wake up again.’
Roddy coughed.
‘Fuck you,’ he croaked. ‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily.’
‘So,’ said Adam, turning to Molly. ‘It feels like I’m always saying this, but what do we do now?’
She sighed, got up, walked over to the barrel and put one hand on the rim.
‘The bullet in Luke’s head. We have to get it out.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Yeah.’ She carefully tipped the barrel over onto its side and sat down, bracing her legs against the rim. ‘Help me get him out, then.’
Adam sat next to her and took one of Luke’s arms as she took the other. They both pulled, leaning back, pushing their legs against the barrel to prise him free. A handful of heaves and he was out.
They rolled him onto his back, then peered into the mess at the side of his head, Adam feeling his stomach clench at the sight. There was a mash of skull fragments, brains, blood and matted hair.
‘Are we sure the bullet’s definitely still in there?’ said Adam, turning away.
‘That’s what Joe thought, anyway.’
‘Maybe it worked its way out on the trip back here.’
Molly smiled a joyless smile. ‘Wishful thinking.’
‘So what do we do?’
Molly dragged her hands down her face in a tired movement and looked at him. ‘Get it out.’
‘How?’
‘How do you think?’
Adam stared at her. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
Molly raised her eyebrows and shrugged.
‘We can’t leave the bullet in there,’ she said. ‘It ties us to Joe, Grant and the still. You know that.’
Eventually Adam nodded. ‘I know.’
‘One of us has to get in there and get the bullet out.’
Adam stared at Molly, then glanced at the mess of Luke’s head. He looked away as he felt his mouth start to sweat. Luke was his friend. It was his fault they were in this mess, his fault Luke was dead. It was his responsibility.
33
Nothing could’ve prepared him for the gut-wrenching, visceral sickness of this.
Of course he’d seen autopsies on television dramas, but those were sterilised, one step removed from reality.
They’d searched their pockets for a useful implement, but all they came up with was a pen of Molly’s. Adam cursed their stupidity for not bringing tools from the still.
He took a deep breath and began tentatively poking into the gaping wound in Luke’s head with the pen, his trembling hands making it impossible to control it with any precision. There was a deep fluttering in his stomach, teetering on the brink of vomiting at any minute.
At least a quarter of Luke’s head was smashed in where Joe had hacked away at it, one side of the face a hash of minced flesh and broken bone, the eye just a sticky mess of creamy mucus. The surrounding hair was matted and thick with blood, the ear completely missing, or in there but unrecognisable, the whole thing a shiny red-and-black hellhole of flesh.
Molly pointed the torch at the wound but looked away. Adam heard a faint squelching sound as he pushed some purple material aside, a chunk of something fleshy falling out. His stomach lurched and he coughed stinging bile onto the snow to his side. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked back at the wound.
Molly’s torch beam had moved, so he positioned her hand again. He stuck the pen in, unsure what the hell he was even looking for, why the fuck he was doing this. He lifted a flap of something out of the way and saw sickly grey jelly oozing out from underneath. The brain. Everything that made Luke who he was, or had been, was in that gruesome lump of soft putty. He caught a faint whiff of a smell, like something rotting in the back of the fridge, and he gagged, retching again into the snow as he turned from the mess of Luke’s head.
‘Want me to do it?’ said Molly.
He shook his head and turned back. He forced himself to poke about in the gaping maw, moving loose bits aside, flicking under and into crevices, trying to work out where a bullet might be, if it was in there at all. But it had to still be in there, didn’t it? That’s what had puzzled Joe back at the still, there was no exit wound. Adam knew from Luke’s scar that the metal plate was somewhere round the back of his head, did that mean the bullet was in the same area? Or could it have ricocheted back inside his skull?
Adam was getting frustrated, digging deeper and deeper into the flesh and muscle and skull and brains and finding nothing. He could feel sweat cooling and freezing on his brow. His stomach had got used to what he was doing, but his mind hadn’t. He would see this image every night while he slept for the rest of his life. Luke’s open head would haunt him into eternity.
He couldn’t find anything. Maybe the bullet had made it out after all. Or maybe it was buried deep in the middle of the brain, or stuck in the skull somewhere, or lodged in the metal plate at the other side. He pushed the pen in almost as far as it would go, then felt a gentle clunk as it tapped the metal plate. He pulled it out and examined it, several inches of slime and blood down its length. He was fucked if he was going to dig that deep into Luke’s consciousness. But maybe he would have to. He started again in the debris he could see, gradually sweeping through the layers of fleshy mess. He saw something glimmer amongst the carnage, something metallic.
‘Hold the torch closer,’ he said, moving Molly’s wrist again. ‘I’ve found something.’
Molly glanced at the wound then looked away. ‘The bullet?’
‘I think so.’
He stuck the pen in. To reach it, he had to rest his hands against the cold, bloody flesh of the wound, holding the pen in both hands to try to keep it steady. A shudder went through his body as he touched Luke’s raw flesh. He flicked at the object with the pen but it didn’t budge. He leaned in further and tried again, but it still wouldn’t move. He tried a third time and the thing slipped further into the surrounding grey matter, so that only the very end was visible.
‘Shit.’
‘What?’
‘It’s fucking slippery.’ He turned to Molly. ‘I’m going to have to get it with my fingers.’
Molly closed her eyes and Adam turned back. He took a deep breath. Serenity now.
‘Wish me luck.’
‘Good luck.’
Grimacing, he reached in and began scraping flesh and brain out of the way. It felt like raw mince, but he kept going. He reached for the object lodged in the brain but it slipped from his shaking hands, burying itself deeper into the mess. He grabbed a handful of brain and ripped it out of the way, wiping his hand on the adjacent eye socket. The object was exposed. He reached back in and dug it out, getting brain under his fingernails, his stomach now spasm after spasm, his eyes watering, his forehead sweating, his whole body shivering with the cold and the stress and the repulsive truth of what he was doing.
He lifted it out and held it up.
‘Thank fuck,’ he said, showing the bullet to Molly.
‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘Well done.’
He stared at the bloody mess of his hands.
‘What now?’
Molly looked along the coast, Adam’s eyes following. It was definitely getting close to dawn, the sky light in the east now. It looked like it might be a nice day.
‘Throw it in the sea,’ said Molly. ‘But not here, along the coast a bit. And make sure it goes further than low tide.’
‘How do I know where low tide is?’
Molly shrugged. ‘Just throw it as far as you can.’
Adam eased himself up, holding the bullet between his fingers like a gemstone. He began walking away to the east.
‘And don’t forget to wash your hands,’ Molly said after him.
He walked a couple of hundred yards and stopped. He looked at the bullet. Such a tiny thing to kill someone. Such a minuscule thing to end a life, to change everything so irrevocably, to put an end to someone’s hopes and dreams and everything in their future.
He held it tight in his palm then launched it into the sea, watching as it arced through the pinkish sky and landed with a gentle plop, breaking the surface of the perfectly calm black water.
He bent down at the water’s edge and began rubbing his hands together in the wash. The water was shockingly cold, his fingers numb, but he could still feel the small specks of grit under his nails, reminders of Luke’s life. He laughed bitterly to himself as he scrubbed at his fingers and palms, scratching at the skin with his nails until his hands were raw and sore. He felt pain as he scraped away, and it felt like sweet relief.
He walked back.
Roddy was out cold. He had Ethan’s jacket over him as a blanket.
‘He OK?’ said Adam.
Molly nodded. ‘Just checked. His pulse is a bit shallow, but he’s still breathing fine.’
They both turned to Luke, Molly playing the torch beam over his head. It was an unholy mess.
‘Think it looks like a gunshot wound?’ she said.
Adam stared at it. ‘I have no idea. A shotgun, maybe. What do you think?’
Molly shrugged. ‘We shouldn’t take the chance.’
Adam turned to her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve seen the forensic stuff on telly. I know it’s probably bullshit, but they might still be able to tell he was shot.’
‘So what can we do?’
Molly looked out at the implacable spread of water. ‘I think we should throw him in the sea.’
‘What?’
‘If they examine the body now, they might find gunshot residue or something, I don’t know. But if it spends a couple of days in open water getting nibbled by fish and seagulls, maybe they won’t be able to detect anything. Deterioration of evidence, something like that.’
‘Do you have any idea what you’re talking about?’
Molly stared at him. ‘Not really, but don’t you think it’s worth trying?’
Adam sat down, utterly exhausted. ‘To be honest, I don’t give a shit any more. What does it matter if we’re connected with Joe? Our lives are fucking meaningless now anyway. How are we supposed to go on after all this?’
He waved his arm around aimlessly.
‘You don’t mean that,’ said Molly.
‘I do.’
Molly sat down next to him. ‘Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail for murdering two cops?’
‘But if we just tell the truth …’
‘It’s too late for the truth. Forget about the truth.’
Adam examined his fingers closely. It felt like he still had something under his fingernails, but when he dug into them he found nothing. He spotted a small, dark fleck of something on his finger. He peered at it. It was the skelf he got from the cask at Laphroaig, when Molly gave them the tour. He prodded it, feeling a slight twinge under the skin.
‘Forget about the truth?’ he said quietly.
‘Yes.’
He hauled himself up with immense tiredness, his entire body aching beyond words, his mind blank.
‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘Let’s throw Luke in the sea.’
34
‘Wake up.’
Adam shook Roddy, gently at first, then harder when he didn’t respond.
‘Wake up.’
He felt Roddy’s neck. For a moment, all Adam could feel was his frozen fingers pressing against warm flesh, then he thought he detected something. A faint pulse, slowing and speeding up haphazardly, leaping all over the place.
‘Roddy!’
He removed Ethan’s jacket from him and grabbed the front of Roddy’s coat, lifting him up and shaking him.
‘Fucking Jesus,’ said Roddy, his eyes snapping open, his hand reaching for his shoulder. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
Adam let go, not realising Roddy wasn’t supporting himself. Roddy slumped to the ground with a thud.
‘Fucking hell, Strachan, you trying to kill me?’
‘Sorry,’ said Adam. ‘I panicked. I thought you were dying.’
Roddy smiled and winced. ‘Wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.’
‘Don’t be a dickhead all your life,’ said Adam.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ said Roddy as Molly appeared. ‘I’m in need of some TLC here. Fancy it?’
His voice was weak and croaky, despite the bullshit.
Molly gave him a withering glare. ‘We need to get our stories straight.’ She looked around. ‘When we get rescued.’
‘If we get rescued, you mean,’ said Adam.
Molly looked at him. ‘I mean when. I’m not going through all this shit just to die here.’
Roddy struggled on his good elbow to sit up. ‘Someone give me a fucking hand, eh?’
Adam lifted him to a sitting position and sat next to him. Molly stood over them, scanning the horizon. The sea was black glass.
Roddy tried to get something out of his jacket, grimacing.
‘Help me out here,’ he said, pointing at his pocket.
Adam delved in and pulled out the coke case. He looked at it.
‘I can’t believe you’re still taking this shit,’ he said.
Roddy grabbed it from him and opened it one-handed with practised skill. He lifted a mound out on his finger and snorted it, wiping the leftovers on his gums.
‘Purely medicinal,’ he said, licking his teeth and snorting again.
‘Does coke even have any painkilling properties?’
Roddy stared at him. ‘When you’ve got a fucking gaping wound in your shoulder with a piece of fucking metal sticking out of it, feel free to come back and ask me about pain relief, OK?’
He looked around.
‘Where’s Luke?’
Adam and Molly exchanged a glance.
‘In the sea,’ said Adam.
‘Want to tell me why?’ Roddy seemed immediately bolstered by the coke.
‘We thought it was best,’ said Molly.
‘Why?’
‘Adam got the bullet out, but …’
‘Wait,’ Roddy turned to Adam. ‘You got the bullet out?’
Adam looked down. ‘Yeah.’
‘How?’
Adam stared at his hands, then lifted them and showed them to Roddy, waggling his fingers solemnly.
‘Jesus,’ said Roddy.
‘Yeah.’
Molly cut in. ‘Anyway, we didn’t know if they could still tell it was a gunshot wound, so we dumped him in the sea, from that ledge over there.’
Roddy followed her finger.
‘Couldn’t we have just done that miles back, instead of rolling him all the way here in that thing?’ He pointed at the barrel.
Molly looked out to sea again. ‘We needed to get away from the still fast, didn’t we? And we had to get the bullet out, remember. Anyway, it’s better that we threw him in here, maybe some smart police bastard knows the tides in this area. If we’d thrown him in along the coast, he might have washed up somewhere that conflicts with our story. All we have to say now is that we have no idea where Luke is. He must’ve been thrown clear in the crash, all the way into the water. That could’ve happened.’
Roddy and Adam looked at each other.
‘It could’ve,’ insisted Molly.
‘You sound like you’ve got it all worked out,’ said Roddy.
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