Fire in the Blood

by George McCartney

  ‘Old Jack will definitely have a car stashed somewhere up by the main road. I’ll find it, bring it down here and then park it outside. It’ll look like the two of you were staying here and probably got a bit careless with the gas cooker. Okay then, I’ve got a question for you Annie. Something that’s always puzzled me ever since I became fascinated by fires. Explain to me what is it about Glasgow people and chip pan fires? I mean everybody gets the munchies when they’ve been out for a night on the lash, fair enough. I get that. But why not just buy a take-away on the way home? Why go to all the bother of dragging out the chip pan, peeling potatoes and then fall asleep on the couch with another drink, as your house goes up in flames around your ears. I mean, people make out that I’m crazy, but even I wouldn’t attempt that kind of mad shit.’

  ‘You just can’t beat the taste of home-made chips,’ said Annie, thinking that she might shortly have an unwelcome insight into exactly how it felt to be a deep fried chip.

  Burke smiled and shook his head in puzzlement, then said, ‘I think they’ll probably need DNA tests or dental records to make the ID’s on the pair of you. Caravan fires happen all the time, especially in old heaps of junk like this one. And by the time the police and fire brigade work out what actually happened, I’ll be long gone. I’m thinking I might get the ferry back across the water to Ireland, for a while and look up any of my old pals who are still alive.’

  Burke obviously relished the challenge of having to make last minute changes to his meticulous plans, and took great pride in his ability to manipulate situations and outwit opponents. Then having covered all bases to his satisfaction, he muttered, ‘Damn, you’re good, Thomas.’

  Annie fought back tears yet again, and grudgingly conceded that it was hard to disagree with Burke’s self-assessment. He had always been one step ahead of them right from the start and had anticipated their every move.

  Chapter 55

  The two and a half hours that had passed since Annie was abducted from the park, had sped by in a total blur for Jack. His emotions had see-sawed from the utter depths of despair and self-recrimination, to the beginnings of hope with the thought that his terrified young partner might actually be still alive just a few feet away him. That thought was almost too much to bear and he had to restrain himself from trying to tear the caravan door off its hinges. But throughout this time there had been something nagging away at his sub-conscious, like the beginnings of toothache. He couldn’t pin it down, but he had the inescapable, unsettling feeling either that he’d done something wrong, or had forgotten to do something really important. In this deadly battle of wits with Thomas Burke, he’d somehow made yet another mistake. A big one. And then it came to him and he cursed his stupidity.

  He’d forgotten to turn off the GPS tracker, which had been sitting right in front of him on the dashboard of the Land Rover. So, if Burke was still monitoring the device, he would know that Jack had first gone from the park back to his office, and had then driven straight out of the city towards Mossdyke.

  Jack cursed himself inwardly, ‘You dozy bastard. If Burke suspects that you’re coming, he’s bound to be ready and waiting. So you can forget all about having the element of surprise. Who knows, maybe that was his plan all along, to somehow lure me out to this place? And what better way to ensure that I would rush headlong straight into a trap, than by seizing Annie.’

  He took out his phone and checked again for signal strength. It was very weak, flickering between one bar and zero. The hope was that Burke’s and Annie’s phones were similarly affected. Reception was also likely to be further degraded inside the aluminium shell of the caravan and, if that was the case, Burke might well have stopped checking the movements of the tracker altogether. Please God, give me a break.

  Jack took a deep breath, then switched off the Honda generator and took up position behind the corner of a neighbouring caravan, where he had clear sight of the Vectra boot containing the stock of petrol cans. Instantly, as the electrical power went off inside the caravan, Jack felt a surge of adrenalin. This definitely felt like the end game and there were only two possible outcomes. In a few seconds he might be confronting his nemesis, Thomas Burke, for the first time in eighteen years, since he had seen him carried bodily out of a Glasgow courtroom, screaming blue murder and swearing revenge.

  Or, if he was completely wrong and it wasn’t Thomas Burke who stepped out of the caravan, Jack intended to tip-toe away silently into the night, heading back to the drawing board after telling Andy Welch to score the Mossdyke location off their search list.

  But, worryingly, the occupant of the caravan hadn’t immediately come out to investigate why the generator had fallen silent. Of course, he could be in the toilet, or even asleep. But then Jack heard the caravan door swing open followed by the creak of footsteps on the makeshift wooden access steps and then … nothing. Had he gone back inside the caravan to get a torch, or to retrieve the keys for the Vectra? His question was answered when he felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed hard against the back of his neck.

  ‘You’re just in time, Jack, I’ve been explaining to Annie that we’re going to have a barbecue.’ Burke chuckled madly and said, ‘It’ll be great fun, so it will. Although I’ll probably enjoy it a wee bit more than you two. Remember how I promised in court, eighteen years ago, that you would burn in hell for what you did to me? Well I’m a man of my word and tonight’s the night, Jackie boy.’

  Jack was betting that Burke would be reluctant to kill him before the planned big finish. The symbolic fire. So there was maybe a tiny window of opportunity to try something, before he was tied up, rendered helpless and burned alive. He decided to attempt a trick remembered from an old cowboy movie. For the ruse to work, it required a certain reluctance to kill, on the part of the man holding the gun. Jack was certain that Thomas Burke wasn’t remotely reluctant to kill, but his options were strictly limited.

  It had all worked beautifully in the film where, under similar circumstances, the hero pretended to co-operate by immediately putting both hands above his head, in the universal gesture of surrender. And then ducked quickly to one side and simultaneously grabbed behind him for the bad guy’s gun. It might have worked. In fact Jack felt, all things considered, that he executed the feint and grab move pretty well for a first timer. Unfortunately, Burke appeared to have seen the same movie and he stepped back smartly, as Jack ducked and swung his right arm back through fresh air. Then as Jack stumbled, losing balance, Burke crashed the butt of the pistol down on the back of his head, knocking him to the ground. Grunting in satisfaction, he then kicked Jack viciously in the side of the head. Oblivion mercifully beckoned.

  When he came round, Jack’s heart sank. His hands were securely bound behind his back, probably with his own duct tape, and he was lying on the floor of the caravan. The back of his head hurt and the right side of his face was completely numb and sticky with congealed blood. But what really hurt was the realisation that Thomas Burke had outsmarted him once again. The only good news was that he was reunited with Annie, who was still alive and frantically digging him in the ribs with her elbow. Burke was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Wake up boss, for fuck’s sake,’ hissed Annie. ‘I think he’s gone back outside to get more petrol cans. I’m pretty sure he’s going to torch the caravan, with us inside it.’

  ‘Don’t worry Annie, everything’s under control,’ Jack mumbled, as he tried to prevent the room spinning wildly around him. He concentrated hard, but couldn’t remember if he’d pressed the “send” button on his phone, before he lost consciousness. If he had, then they still had an outside chance of getting out of the caravan alive. That was assuming the network signal had been strong enough and his Plan B text to Andy had gone. But if it he hadn’t pressed “send”, or there was no network signal, then they were well and truly screwed. It would be left to the forensic crime scene technicians to scrape up their remains from the ashes and try and make sense of what happened.

  ‘Wake up and p
ay attention, will you. I’ve got a knife,’ said Annie urgently.

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ said Jack thickly, through swollen bloodied lips. ‘I’ve got a knuckleduster as well and a gun. Unfortunately they’re all in a fucking bag, lying on the ground outside.’

  ‘No, you idiot, I mean I have a knife in here. It’s tucked into the top of my boot. If we can work out a way to get it out, I might be able to cut through the duct tape round your wrists and …’

  Burke came back into the caravan carrying the remaining three cans of petrol and announced, ‘There’s been a last minute change of plan, guys.’ Grinning maniacally he continued, ‘I was hoping to spend some quality time with young Annie, but if Jack has managed to track me here, then I’m betting that the filth won’t be very far behind. So, sincere apologies Annie, but we won’t be getting down and dirty like I planned. Instead we’re going to fast forward to something I’ve always enjoyed much more than sex. This will be a proper fire, my first big one for eighteen years. I reckon six gallons of petrol splashed around a crappy old wood-frame caravan like this will make a pretty decent blaze, especially when I turn the gas cooker and fire controls to “on”. I’ve never done one exactly like this before. But once the whole place fills up with propane gas and then the petrol ignites, it should be quite something.’

  Burke then picked up a can of petrol in each hand, and began to liberally douse the interior of the caravan lounge and kitchen with petrol. He used a further two cans to similarly soak the two bedrooms and bathroom. The fifth five litre can was saved for the wooden access steps and the plywood boarding over the front windows. He then unscrewed the cap off the final container, and poured the contents over Jack and Annie’s clothes, saturating them both with petrol.

  Then, in the manner of a visiting professor of arson studies, he advised, ‘You see, this is where all the amateurs usually make an arse of it, Jack. You’ve really got to use enough petrol to do a proper job, otherwise you don’t get that lovely flashover effect when all the flammable gases in the room heat up to a thousand degrees Fahrenheit and incinerate everything inside. I always say, better to use too much than not enough.’

  As he shook the last drops of petrol out onto the carpet, Burke paused and then said, ‘I think I must be going soft in my old age, but I’ve really enjoyed matching wits with the pair of you over the last three weeks. And since Annie was such a good sport, chatting away to me tonight like we were on a first date, I’m going to give the pair of you five minutes alone to say your goodbyes, or pray, while I go outside for a fag. Then, when I come back with the old burning rag … whoooosh, it’s ShowTime! I’m going to film it all on your iPhone camera, Annie. I might even put it up on YouTube, with the tagline “The Best Way to Roast a Large Pig”. What do you think? Good one, eh?’

  As soon as Burke stepped out the door, Jack said, ‘Okay then, we’ve maybe got five minutes tops, before the crazy bastard comes back. So if there was ever a time for some improvisation, this is it. If I try and twist round as far as I can and then you lift your feet up a little bit off the floor towards me, I might be able to squeeze the tips of my fingers into the top of your boot and pull the knife out.’

  They both wriggled into position and as Jack began to fumble frantically inside the top of her Doc Marten, he could feel her leg trembling uncontrollably. ‘Shit, I can’t find anything. Are you sure that he didn’t take it? Or maybe it’s slipped right down inside the boot.’

  ‘Sorry boss, it’s the other boot. My brain’s stopped working. Sorry.’

  ‘Come on, don’t give up, Annie. We’re not finished yet.’

  A swift readjustment of their respective body positions allowed Jack to finally retrieve the evil looking blade from its snug plastic sheath in the top of her left boot. Further contortions allowed him to then carefully pass the knife to Annie’s bound hands. She first sliced through the rope which secured her handcuffs to the floor bolt and then immediately began cutting through the duct tape at his wrists. With his hands free, Jack then took back possession of the knife and frantically started hacking at the duct tape around his ankles.

  He was almost finished when Burke re-appeared back in the doorway, with his gun tucked in the waistband of his trousers. He paused momentarily and looked back into the darkness, distracted by the sound of a wailing siren away in the distance, and then said, ‘Okay then, this is it guys … no more fannying around. I don’t expect an apology, but have you got any last words you want to share with me, Jack?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got three … fuck you, Burke.’

  ‘Well good man, yourself, Jack,’ said Burke, nodding approvingly. ‘That’s the way to go out. Like a real man, with no last minute regrets or two-faced apologies to anyone, right?’

  Although his ankles weren’t completely free of the duct tape bindings, Jack then launched himself across the room at Burke, who was standing in the doorway flicking a lighter under a petrol-soaked rag held at arm’s length. His desperate lunge caught the psychopath unawares and the pair became locked together in a deadly embrace, swaying back and forth in a desperate struggle for control of the gun.

  The deadlock was broken when Burke felt his foot slip off the edge of the petrol-soaked decking boards at the entrance. He relaxed his grip slightly, as he tried to regain his balance, and Jack then shoved him with all his strength backwards off the steps. Burke’s head struck a discarded Propane bottle as his body hit the ground and he lay still. The burning rag dropped under the wooden access steps, which immediately caught fire.

  Framed in the doorway by leaping flames, Jack quickly turned back inside and reached his arm out towards Annie, when three shots from Burke’s pistol rang out in the night. ‘I’m sorry, kiddo,’ said Jack, staggering forward with a look of surprise on his face, as a crimson stain began spreading slowly across his chest. Sinking down towards the carpet and inky darkness, he was certain that he could hear a rising chorus of police sirens. Or maybe it was angels.

  Annie screamed and started to drag herself across the floor towards Jack’s body. Burke then re-appeared in the doorway, having retrieved the flaming rag. She cursed angrily and threw her knife at him, but it bounced harmlessly off his chest and landed on the floor. Burke then laughed out loud and said, ‘I won’t forget you, Annie … see you in hell,’ before swinging his arm back to throw the burning rag inside. Then he saw it and froze. A sinister bright red dot, from a sniper’s laser sight, was dancing and flickering on the side of the caravan a few inches away from his head.

  Full beam headlights from the Swat team’s two lead vehicles then brilliantly illuminated the scene and an amplified, disembodied voice from a bullhorn behind the lights bellowed, ‘Don’t do it, Burke. Drop the gun and the rag right now, or I’ll fire.’

  A wry smile was playing around Thomas Burke’s lips as he tossed the burning rag towards Jack’s body. He half-turned, fired a single defiant shot in the direction of the lights and then the side of his face exploded, as a high velocity bullet tore through it, killing him instantly.

  Thirty seconds later, four members of the Swat team, two carrying fire extinguishers, burst into the caravan and quickly brought the nascent blaze under control, before it had a chance to fully take hold and engulf the whole caravan. They found Annie kneeling in the middle of the floor, with her hair singed and her clothes smouldering. She appeared oblivious to the burns affecting the skin on her hands and arms, received as she had frantically beat at the flames covering Jack’s clothing.

  Then, with the fire no longer a threat, she cradled Jack’s head in her lap. With tears streaming down her face, she said softly, ‘It’s over, we’re safe now … please don’t be dead, boss. They got him, they got him.’

  Ten minutes later, Andy Welch arrived on the scene and quickly ran past a parked convoy of emergency vehicles, which was blocking the access road. When he reached the caravan he grabbed the arm of the SWAT team leader and asked, ‘Jesus Christ, what happened?’

  The man shook his head and replied, ‘I
t’s a real mess, Andy. But the location is secure and the last bits of the fire inside the caravan are being doused down. We have one male suspect, who is dead. Killed by a single shot to the head. Looks to me like a classic “death by cop” job. He obviously didn’t fancy going back to the slammer.’

  Looking around him Andy then said, ‘But what about Jack and Annie? Where are they?’

  ‘I think the girl will be fine. She’s just been taken away by the ambulance crew. Looked like superficial burns to her hands, otherwise okay. Although she’s badly shaken up, obviously. No wonder, the bastard was all set to burn them both alive.’

  ‘And Jack Davidson? Where’s he?’

  ‘I don’t know about him. It’s not looking too good, to be honest. He took three shots at close range, two to the back and one to the head. He’s lost a lot of blood and I couldn’t find a pulse. The only good thing is that the ambulance guys, who arrived on site right behind us, were able to start working on him right away, as soon as we got the fire out and turned the gas off. So you never know. He went off in the same ambulance as the girl.’

  Andy Welch turned away and savagely kicked out at an empty plastic bottle in frustration. ‘I fucking told him, I made him promise me. If you find anything out at Mossdyke, withdraw and then wait for back-up. Let us handle it. Fuck … Fuck …’

  ‘I never knew the guy personally, Andy, he was well before my time. So why do you think he didn’t, you know, wait?’

  ‘Because he was always a pig-headed bastard, that’s why. The original one man band, who was famous for letting any orders he didn’t agree with go straight in one ear and out the other, before doing what he wanted. But he was a bloody good cop, back in the day, no question. One of the best I ever worked with.’

  Chapter 56

  A week later, Annie was sitting beside a hospital bed at Glasgow Royal Infirmary chatting away to Jack’s ex-wife, Mags, when the man himself, true to form, stirred underneath a mass of tubes and bandages, groaned and then let go an ominous hissy fart. Annie struggled to open a window, because of her still bandaged hands, whilst the former Mrs Davidson frantically fanned the air with a magazine, to try and disperse the miasma that was threatening to engulf the room.