‘Stop! OK, you’re right!’ Logan held his hands out again. Flicked his eyes towards Graham Stirling – kneeling there with his eyes screwed shut and his teeth bared, waiting for the blow to come. Waiting to die. Logan cleared his throat. ‘I was lying. He didn’t do that to your dad. I picked him, because I didn’t know who did it. Put the baton down.’
No one moved.
David stared at him. Then lowered his arm. The colour faded from his face, leaving him ghost-pale again. ‘You were right.’
Stirling looked up. Smiled. ‘What did I tell you? Sergeant McRae lied.’ He worked his way to his feet. ‘All that time, lying about me.’ He pulled his hands apart. The rope had been wrapped around his wrists, not tied. It was all for show. ‘A dirty, filthy, liar.’
Logan stepped back. ‘You planned it?’
‘I helped David and Catherine see through your lies, McRae. They came to me, and they were angry and upset, and I helped them.’
‘I only said that because they were going to kill you!’
‘See? I told you. He lies, and he schemes, and he could’ve saved your dad, but he was too busy fitting me up to care.’
David looked up at the lowering clouds.
Boom – another wave hit the sea wall, sending spray bursting over it like fireworks.
Then down again.
He turned to his sister. ‘Like we practised.’
She grabbed hold of the wheelchair and wrenched the handles upwards, pitching it and Samantha forward into the pool.
61
‘NO!’
Samantha hit the water, and the weight of the wheelchair pulled her straight under.
Logan ran for the edge, then David crashed into him. A one-shouldered tackle that sent them both crunching onto the walkway.
A grunt, then pain flashed across Logan’s ribs as the extendable baton cracked into them.
He raised an arm, covering his head. Kicked out, missed.
But David didn’t. The baton smashed into Logan’s upper arm. Numbness followed a wave of broken glass, from his shoulder to his fingertips. Flat on his back, one leg in the cold water.
David scrambled on top, hauled the baton up again.
Logan jerked up a knee and made contact. But it didn’t make any difference.
The baton cracked down again, tearing into his scalp. Echoing through his skull on waves of burning coal.
His fist jabbed up and round. Caught David on the side of the nose, snapping it. Warm blood pattered down.
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!’ David reared back, one hand covering his ruined nose, bright red oozing between his fingers.
Logan forced himself up on his numb arm and battered his right elbow into David’s face, mashing those bloody fingers into teeth and bone. Then grabbed a handful of long dark hair and yanked him forwards. Turning. Putting his weight behind it.
David’s head bounced off the concrete with a dull thunk. Twice. Three times.
Catherine screamed.
Logan pushed the limp body off of him and tumbled into the swimming pool. Cold, squeezed his body, forcing the air out of his lungs.
The wheelchair was only a couple of feet underwater, on its front, pinning Samantha to the rocky floor of the pool. She wasn’t moving. Wasn’t trying to save herself. She sat there, face down, strapped in, still like the dead.
He wrapped his arms around the chair’s back and heaved, dragging the whole thing up.
She flopped in her seat, head lolling, skin pale as ivory, lips granite grey. Water cascaded from her open mouth.
Thunder growled through the sky, reverberating back from the hills. A squall of rain pebbled the surface of the pool, bounced off the concrete walkway.
He snatched at the Velcro straps holding her in the chair. Tore them free, then dragged her out of it. Half wading, half swimming to the ramp at the side of the water leading up onto the tiered apron.
‘Come on …’ He pulled her up onto the walkway by her collar, knelt beside her and felt for a pulse. Nothing. ‘No, no, no, no, no.’
Logan tipped her head to the side and shook it, till water stopped running from her mouth and nostrils. Chest compressions. One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
Hands snatched at his back.
Catherine – eyes wide and bloodshot, face streaming with rainwater, black hair plastered to her head. ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
Then a fist thumped into his back.
‘KILL YOU!’
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
A palm slapped the side of his head.
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
Nails dug into his neck.
He snapped an elbow back. Caught her in the mouth.
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
She stumbled back, moaning and spluttering. Scarlet smeared her lips and chin, dripped onto her denim jacket, spreading into the damp fabric like poppy blooms. Then one white trainer caught in a crumbling pothole and she fell, arms out. The dull crack when her head hit the concrete was like a distant gun going off.
Logan laced his hands together and pushed against Samantha’s chest again. ‘Come on!’
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
He tilted Samantha’s head back, pinched her nose and breathed for her. Did it again.
More chest compressions: one one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
Something solid cracked off his head, hard enough to send him sprawling as broken bells and sirens screamed through his skull. Gagh … Black and yellow dots sparkled in the dark clouds above his face, riding the wave of heat trying to push his eyeballs free.
Then everything faded to grey, hiding the pool and the hills and the buildings. Like being wrapped in a shroud that muffled the sound of rain and pounding blood in his ears.
…
Get up.
Nothing but grey.
…
Then the world snapped back into Technicolor.
Graham Stirling stood over him, extendable baton clutched in both hands like a baseball bat. ‘Well, well, well. Looks like it’s just you and me again.’
‘Gnnn …’
‘I’d really love to take my time, but this has all turned into a bit of a mess, hasn’t it?’
The baton cracked into Logan’s leg. Glass and barbed wire ripped through the muscle.
Up. Get up.
‘You’ve spoiled it.’
It battered against his chest. Knives and needles, cracking through his ribs.
GET UP!
‘I had them all nice and trained. But you couldn’t …’ He stopped. Stared off at the entrance to the outdoor pool.
The ringing in Logan’s ears changed tone, wailing up and down, regular and electronic. And it wasn’t in his head any more.
Stirling put his hands up and the baton clattered to the concrete apron as two patrol cars screeched to a halt by the pool buildings. ‘Your word against mine again. David and Catherine tried to kill you. I tried to stop them, but I was so weak after they attacked me.’
The Big Car’s doors sprang open and Nicholson and Steel charged out into the rain. Sprinting across the crumbling poolside. Tufty and Deano jumped out of the other car.
Oh, thank God.
‘No jury’s going to believe anything else.’
Logan rolled onto his front, forced himself to his knees, and shuffled over to Samantha.
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
Breathe …
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
Breathe.
‘You lied about me last time, why would they think this was any different?’
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
SODDING BREATHE!
Samantha’s chest co
nvulsed and foul-smelling water spewed out of her mouth. Coughing and spluttering. Heaving in great ragged breaths, eyes wide, staring up into the thick black sky. Hands pressing against her chest.
He scooped her up and held her: cold, clammy, but warming up.
Steel’s voice cut through the downpour. ‘You! Where the hell do you think you’re going?’
Graham Stirling faked a couple of sobs. ‘They tried to kill me! They attacked me in my house and beat me and I was so scared.’
‘Get your arse over here.’
‘Samantha.’ Logan brushed the hair from her face and she blinked up at him.
Frowned. ‘L …’ She licked her lips. Swallowed. ‘Logan?’
Holy shit.
He almost dropped her. Squeezed her tighter instead as something warm burst inside his chest. ‘Hey you.’
‘Where am … Why am I all wet?’ Samantha reached for his hand, but hers wouldn’t work, the fingers stayed curled into a claw. ‘What—’
‘You haven’t moved in four years. But it’s going to be OK. I promise.’ He leaned in and kissed her.
62
Samantha’s claw scraped down his cheek.
Grey …
…
Cold …
Logan cracked open his eyes.
He was lying on his side, being dragged along the concrete walkway by one leg.
‘Gnnnph …’ His head throbbed, as if something living in there was trying to dig its way out.
‘Oh, you’re awake?’ Graham Stirling gave his leg another tug. ‘Good. Wouldn’t want you to miss this. A man shouldn’t be late for his own funeral.’
But … Where were the patrol cars? Where were Steel, Deano, Nicholson, and Tufty?
Samantha. Where the hell was Samantha?
Move. Get up.
But Logan’s arms and legs were like strips of rubber. ‘Nnngh …’
‘Thought I’d hit you too hard there.’
They’d reached the middle of the walkway between the two pools, where David Bisset lay still as the grave. Rain bounced off his body, turning the pool of blood seeping out of his nose and mouth a delicate shade of pink.
Stirling let go and Logan’s leg thumped against the walkway.
‘Have to say, I’d expected more of them. But they’re only kids, so what can you do?’ He knelt and rummaged through the equipment belt fastened around David’s waist. ‘Limb restraints and handcuffs. You learn a lot about this kind of stuff when you’re remanded for trial.’
He unrolled both of the bright yellow restraints. Then squeezed Logan’s knees together and wrapped them tight. Then did the same with his ankles.
‘Four months in that stinking cell with a junkie. You think that was nice for me?’ Stirling unclipped the cuffs from their holder. ‘He’d go to sleep every night, talking about all the things he was going to do to me if I didn’t get him some money, or cigarettes, or drugs.’
MOVE.
Logan forced himself onto his side.
Samantha lay on the concrete apron, spread-eagled. Catherine wasn’t far away, flat on her back with her arms outstretched. What happened to Nicholson and Steel? Where was the cavalry? ‘Nnnng …’
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Kill … you.’ The words hurt, echoing around his battered skull.
‘Wrong way round.’ Stirling put a foot against Logan’s shoulder and pushed him over onto his back. ‘They broke into my house in the middle of the night. Little David and Catherine Bisset, all bitter and fired up and ready for revenge.’
Rain pattered down against his face.
Deep breath. And MOVE.
Stirling grabbed Logan’s left wrist and snapped the handcuff on, squeezing the metal arm until it was far too tight.
COME ON AND BLOODY MOVE!
Logan’s right hand trembled. He hauled it off the ground and fumbled at Stirling’s face. Gouge his eyes out, rip them from his nasty bruised little face.
But Stirling pulled his head back, grabbed at the hand. Missed. Fought for it. ‘It’s time … for you … to go … away.’
Don’t let him. Don’t.
Click, the handcuff closed around the other wrist.
Stirling frowned. ‘They were waiting for me, in the kitchen. Attacked me in my own house, can you believe that? Thought David was going to kill me.’ A shudder. ‘But I stuck to my guns: told them what they wanted to hear. It was all lies of course. You set me up. Their dad wasn’t a pervert. And eventually, they stopped kicking me and hitting me and stamping on me and curled up against the fridge and cried instead.’
He stepped back. Took hold of the limb restraint around Logan’s ankles and hauled – pulling them to the edge of the walkway.
‘Was quite sweet really. They’re so suggestible when they’re that age, aren’t they? Didn’t take much to convince them to come after you and the coma girl.’ Stirling wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. ‘I’ve never worked in a team before. I like it. Definitely going to try this again.’
The words had to be forced out, like mouthfuls of stone. ‘They’ll … They’ll find you. … They’ll stop … you.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ He squatted down, patted Logan on the cheek. ‘Now you go in the water, and you sink, and you die. And everyone thinks David and Catherine did it. Yet another horrible Jacobean revenge tragedy, played out in the northeast of Scotland.’ A grin. ‘You should see your—’
Logan snapped both wrists forward, slamming the cuff’s centre bar into Stirling’s face.
He went over backwards, into the water.
MOVE!
Logan groaned onto his side again and coiled up into the foetal position, fingers searching for the Velcro end of the limb restraints around his ankles. He scrabbled at the edge and yanked. The restraint ripped free. Knees next. Grab the end and—
Graham Stirling burst from the water, a thick slash of purple across his top lip, pouring blood down his face. ‘AAAAGH!’ He grabbed Logan and dragged him backward off the walkway and into the pool.
Cold water enveloped him in its jagged arms. Dug its claws into the back of his head as Stirling climbed on top, keeping him under.
Logan opened his mouth. Salt water burned in his nose. One last tug and the restraint around his knees tore free. He kicked, shoved, and finally got his head above the surface. Gasped in a huge breath.
Sirens. Real ones this time, getting closer.
Graham Stirling backed off. ‘It’s your word against mine. They abducted me, and you tried to kill— Ulk …’
Logan grabbed two handfuls of Stirling’s collar and pulled him off his feet, turned and forced his head beneath the water. Face up. Blood seeping from the gash in his top lip. Arms and legs thrashing. ‘YOU DO NOT COME AFTER SAMANTHA!’
Fingers scrabbling at Logan’s wrists. Grabbing at the handcuff’s centre bar.
Eyes wide.
‘YOU HEAR ME?’ Logan shook him, forced him further under, arms locked, pushing until the water brushed his own chin. Held him there. ‘NEVER AGAIN!’
Stirling’s hands reached up, like they were trying to find the light.
The sirens were getting louder.
This was taking too long.
Any minute now they’d clear the hill and it would be all over. Graham Stirling would lie and weasel his way out of another attempted murder charge. And Samantha would never be safe.
No.
Charles Anderson was right. Some people didn’t deserve the law.
He gave Stirling’s collar a shake. ‘DROWN DAMN YOU!’
‘Logan.’
‘DROWN AND DIE YOU FILTHY—’
‘Logan.’ A hand on his arm. ‘Stop.’
He blinked. Looked around.
Samantha stood beside him, the water lapping around her chest. She shook her head. ‘This isn’t you, Logan. This is him.’
‘But …’ He turned. Samantha lay on the concrete apron,
spread-eagled, motionless, where he’d left her. ‘Are you …?’ A lump formed in his throat, almost too big to swallow. ‘Are you dead?’
‘Let him go. Please.’ Her hand was cool against his cheek. ‘For me.’
A wave boomed against the sea wall, sending up an explosion of spray.
She lay on the concrete. She stood by his side. ‘You know this isn’t right. Let him go.’
Stirling’s fingers clutched at the air, as if he could grab a handful and take it down beneath the water to breathe.
Logan let go. ‘I miss you.’
‘I know you do.’ Her smile was a knife in his chest. ‘Thank you.’
Graham Stirling thrashed to the surface, coughing and spluttering, face an unhealthy shade of purple. ‘Aaaaaaaagh!’
‘What for?’
‘For everything.’ She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. ‘For still being you.’
Stirling waded to the concrete walkway, clutched onto the edge, retching and trembling as a patrol car appeared at the entrance to the pool.
Its swirling blue-and-whites made sapphires and diamonds in the pounding rain. The doors sprang open and Deano, Tufty, and Nicholson jumped out. An ambulance screeched to a halt beside the patrol car, siren adding to the din.
Logan turned his back on them. ‘Samantha, I …’
But she was gone.
63
‘Here.’ Steel held out a plastic cup from the machine down the corridor. The smell of burned coffee and chemical creamer oozed into the air like a seeping wound.
‘Thanks.’ He reached up to take it. A line of dark-red bruising encircled his wrist, marking where the cuffs had dug in.
A nurse scuffed by, trainers making tortured squeaks on the green terrazzo floor.
Steel sank into the plastic seat next to his. ‘I would’ve been here sooner, but we were searching Dr Kidfiddler’s place. Found a digital camera in the garage with photos of the dead wee girl on them. Before she was dead, anyway. No’ to mention a stash of phenobarbital – same stuff they found in her bloodstream.’
‘Good.’ The coffee tasted every bit as bad as it smelled.
‘Denies it all, mind. Like that’s a shock.’ Steel had a good long frown at Logan’s clothes. ‘You should go home and change.’
‘Nearly dry now.’
‘Nothing’s going to happen if you leave her for half an hour. Go home, get something to eat.’ She put a hand on his shoulder, warm and firm. ‘I’ll stay and make sure everything’s under control.’
Logan McRae 09 - The Missing and the Dead Page 53