Dead Man's Grave

by Neil Lancaster

  Max moved into the silent hall, agonisingly slowly, and into the small living room, the baton held low, the PAVA extended in front of him, his finger resting on the trigger, ready to spray.

  Nothing. Empty and silent again. He checked his watch. It was only 7.30 p.m. Quickly checking the rest of the house, he found it empty, and in its normal, immaculate state with not so much as a rumple on a bedspread, nor a misplaced knick-knack, of which there were many.

  Max exhaled, deeply. Surely if there had been any kind of confrontation, there would be evidence of it. He had an uncanny sense at crime scenes, in being able to come up with a reasonable hypothesis as to what had occurred. He searched his mind for that workable hypotheses now.

  Nothing had happened here. That didn’t mean that something hadn’t happened elsewhere. But where was Elspeth?

  Almost on cue, there was a noise at the front door, the handle moved and Elspeth walked in, her face flushed, her eyes bright, a large-lensed camera hanging around her neck.

  As she entered, her eyes moved up and locked on Max’s. She visibly jumped, startled. ‘Jesus Christ!’ she exclaimed, her mouth wide open with the fright. ‘Max, for God’s sake. Max, you scared the holy crap out of me.’

  Max ran to Elspeth and enveloped her in a hug, overcome with relief at seeing his only living relative.

  ‘What’s up, and what happened to your face?’ she said, from within his embrace. Max pulled away so she could see him, touching the dressing on his temple.

  ‘Your phone is off. Your phone is never off,’ he said, sure that the emotion would be obvious in his voice.

  ‘My battery died. I was at the point and the dolphins were putting on the display of a lifetime. I just couldn’t leave. What’s up?’ She looked at him quizzically.

  ‘I was concerned. I was at Inverness and wanted to call in, but when I saw your phone was switched off, I got worried.’ Max decided that now wasn’t the time to mention it. He thought that his chances were better of getting her to relocate for a while if she wasn’t aware of the reason. She could be stubborn, so he had to tread carefully.

  ‘Elspeth …’ Max began but was stopped in his tracks by a knock at the door. His head snapped like a whip to the entrance. A figure was visible through the small glass panel. He was a man in his late forties, wearing blue overalls, with sparse, wispy hair. Vaguely familiar, but Max couldn’t place him.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he asked, looking directly at his aunt, whilst firming his grip on the PAVA.

  Elspeth squinted at the door, a perplexed look on her face.

  ‘Och, it’s only James H. You know James, from the garage in Fortrose? He looks after my old heap of a car. Wonder what he wants?’ Elspeth began to walk towards the door, but something in Max’s mind told him that this was wrong. It was all wrong. He tried to remember where he had seen the man before and link it with the name. James H? Garage in Fortrose? Then it came to him in a flash, in a mental picture of the small, scruffy garage he had once visited with Elspeth a few years ago. Hardies’ Garage, Fortrose. Tam Hardie’s words from their first meeting flooded back to him with a crash. His cousin’s garage.

  Elspeth pulled the door open. ‘James, man. What brings you all the way here?’ she said, a smile stretching across her face.

  The door exploded inwards after a violent shove from James, and he stepped inside, pushing Elspeth back with a firm palm to the chest. The old woman fell with a cry, hitting the floor with sickening force.

  Max dropped the PAVA, realising in a fraction of a second that to use it in this enclosed space would be just as likely to impact Elspeth. Instead, Max threw himself towards the staircase, body-checking the big man into the wall. He collided with force, smashing into a line of photographs that had been hung on the wall. The man spun and recovered almost immediately, and Max took him in properly for the first time. He was much taller and clearly heavier than Max, and his bent and broken nose bore the hallmarks of a fighter. He was unmistakably a Hardie.

  ‘Bastard,’ he spat and launched himself forward. Max sidestepped at the last second, extending a foot over which the big man stumbled. Max sprang back, putting himself between the man and Elspeth, who was writhing around on the tiled floor, trying to stand.

  ‘Elspeth, get out the back and call the police,’ Max shouted, his eyes fixed on his attacker. She managed to get up and hobble away into the kitchen, out of sight. Max flicked the extendable baton out with a reassuring click, and a smile extended across his face.

  ‘You messed up, pal. Coming here to attack an old lady. Never thought I’d be here, eh, and you’d have to face someone who’d fight back.’ Max flipped the baton, between hands, the dulled steel flashing and drawing James’s eyes. ‘Imagine the damage this will do when I smash the bastard between your eyes? I’m cracking skulls today, Jim-boy, because I’m feeling pretty angry, and very fucking mean, right now,’ said Max, his voice even and low, dripping with menace. He almost willed the bigger man to attack. Max saw it in the man’s eyes. Doubt, tinged with fear.

  Max switched the baton to his left hand, watching as James’s eyes followed it. It was just as the big man’s eyes swivelled, following the weapon as it moved from side to side. He didn’t look sure of himself, and Max could tell just from his stance that the big man was no fighter. Max was correct. The punch when it came was telegraphed with a large backswing, ready to add momentum to a haymaker of a right cross that, had it connected, would have almost taken Max’s head off. Max watched the fist approaching with almost a casual interest, moving his head to the left, just as it approached and sailed harmlessly past his ear. The momentum caused the big man to overbalance as the impetus of the punch threw him too far forward, exposing the back of his head to Max. It was just too inviting, so his right hand flashed forward, the baton extended. It smashed hard into the back of James’s head. The skin split and blood immediately flowed, and James’s hands reflexively reached up to the wound as he gasped in pain. Max drew the baton back again, and smashed it down, full force on the back of James’s knee, which collapsed under the weight of the hard, pressed steel. He hit the floor as if his legs had suddenly disappeared, letting out a howl of agony.

  Max moved in, already pulling the rigid cuffs from the harness and snapping one on a wrist. He pulled the man to the bannister and secured the other restraint to one of the rails. He didn’t resist. All the fight was out of the big man, who just lay there whimpering.

  ‘You okay, Elspeth?’ said Max standing up, but still keeping his eyes on James, who just lay still, groaning.

  ‘Elspeth?’ Max repeated. ‘We need to call the cops.’

  He turned his eyes towards the kitchen, already half-expecting the sight that met him.

  Tam Hardie was at the kitchen door, standing directly behind Elspeth, one hand clutching her shoulder, the other hand pointing a Glock directly at Max. Hatred flashed in Hardie’s pale blue eyes.

  74

  ‘Max fucking Craigie. You’ve no idea how much trouble you’ve caused and how much money you’ve cost me,’ he snarled between gritted teeth.

  ‘Leave Elspeth, Hardie. She’s nothing to do with this. She’s just an old lady. Surely, you’ve more pride than this. I thought you had old-school values.’

  ‘Shut up. Just shut up.’

  ‘Your old man would be turning in his grave. Elspeth is an innocent. An old lady and an innocent. You remember those rules, right?’

  ‘You take my father’s name out of your mouth, or God help me I’ll shoot you and the bitch right now.’ Hardie’s eyes flashed.

  ‘Let her go,’ said Max, his voice rising.

  ‘Screw you, Craigie. You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? What are you trying to be, the only straight cop in Scotland?’

  ‘Let her go, and we’ll talk.’

  ‘In the lounge, now. Hands where I can see them.’ He flicked the barrel of the Glock towards the open door of the small lounge. ‘If I even think you are trying something, I’ll put a bullet in the bitch,
’ he said, his voice shaking with anger.

  Max raised his hands at shoulder height, hoping to portray a non-threatening figure. Hardie had nothing to lose, and Max had nothing to offer. All he could reasonably hope for was to get Elspeth out of this alive.

  Max walked into the small, over-furnished lounge and stopped by the large, wing-backed armchair.

  ‘Sit,’ said Hardie, entering the room, the pistol pointed at Elspeth. He pushed her inside, where she stumbled and fell to her knees on the carpet. She didn’t make a sound, just glared at the large form of Hardie, looming above her.

  ‘Stay on the floor,’ he barked, switching the pistol to point directly at Max, Elspeth already forgotten.

  ‘You just couldn’t leave it, could you? Why be the crusader cop, eh?’ said Hardie, his voice becoming harder, his eyes getting that fixed, blank look. It was the look of a man preparing to kill. Max just stared directly into Hardie’s blazing eyes.

  ‘I can’t let you live.’

  Max looked away, as if scared, gazing at Elspeth who sat on the floor, her hand up her sleeve, a familiar look on her face. Her hands began to move, almost imperceptibly. Max watched, still affecting fear. Elspeth was signing. Max’s heart leaped. Max had learned British Sign Language as a child, spending so much time with Elspeth, and he still was able to hold conversations with her. So, he could read what she was saying. A finger in the air, “I.” An upturned hand, “Have,” and finally a subtle action with her hand of spraying an aerosol.

  “I have spray,” she signed once more. It hit Max like a jolt; Elspeth had obviously picked up the PAVA from the floor in the hall. She was about six feet away from Hardie. Well within range.

  She signed again. “In five seconds.”

  ‘You’re a coward, Hardie,’ Max said, turning to face him. ‘A snake, and your father is rightly rotting in that grave,’ he spat, enunciating every word, slowly and steadily forcing the gangster’s focus one hundred per cent on him, and not Elspeth.

  Hardie laughed nastily. ‘I was just going to shoot you in the head, Craigie, but now I’m going to shoot you to pieces, you bast—’ At that moment the long stream PAVA spray jetted from the canister that Elspeth was holding and hit him straight in the eyes. The concentrated irritant instantly bit and Hardie let out a howl. With a roar Max rushed at Hardie with his shoulder smashing directly into his kneecaps, in what would have now been called a “chop tackle” in rugby. Hardie fell in a heap to the floor, a hand clawing at his eyes, whilst the other still clutched the pistol. His attempts to clear the agonising pain and temporary blindness were futile. He roared again, just as Max rolled away, his own eyes stinging, and picked up the poker from the hearth in front of the wood burner. Hardie let out a wild kick from his prone position, which caught Max on the temple. Pain exploded and stars danced across his vision.

  Hardie blindly swung the pistol, firing wildly, the bullets burying into the wall above the wood burner. The air filled with the smell of cordite and Max’s ears rang. He forced the pain in his head away, his instinct to survive and protect Elspeth stronger than the effects of the blow. His eyes regained their focus, still streaming with the secondary effect of the irritant spray. He turned to see Hardie kneeling, bringing the pistol to bear in his direction. Max swung the poker, catching the hand holding the gun, sending it spinning from Hardie’s grip. Max launched himself at the bigger man, landing in a heap on top of him, the poker slipping from his grasp and falling onto the floor. Twisting his arm free, he drove his elbow repeatedly into Hardie’s face, feeling the crunch of bone and cartilage under the sharp point of his limb.

  Hardie struggled, desperately trying to escape the onslaught, managing to turn his head, deflecting the blows still raining down on his nose, cheeks and mouth. Max barely felt the stab of pain as the blows into Hardie’s mouth broke teeth that dug into the exposed flesh. Max kept pounding, again, and again.

  Elspeth filtered through the burning rage, firstly her faint voice that he could ignore, then a stronger one he could not.

  ‘Max, that’s enough. He’s finished. Please don’t kill him, not in my home. Max, please. Please stop,’ said Elspeth, shock written all over her sweet face, tears running down her cheeks. A faint wail of sirens sounded in the distance, presumably prompted by the gunfire. The noise began to filter through the fog in Max’s mind. He stopped, and stood, his face and clothes flecked with blood. He looked down, and the gangster’s face was just a mask of exposed flesh and blood.

  He turned to his aunt. ‘It’s okay, Elspeth. It’s over, I’m done.’

  ‘Oh, Max,’ she said, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly, sobbing.

  Max returned her hug, feeling her heaving shoulders. ‘Police on their way, by the sounds of it. Why don’t you go and meet them? I need to make sure that Hardie is secure, okay?’

  ‘Thank you. I’ve no idea why this has happened, but I can see that you came for me.’ She rested her hand on his head and left the room.

  Max sat on the chair, panting heavily and coming to his senses. Hardie was unmoving but breathing. Max quickly stood again, the rage dissipating, and rolled the big man into the recovery position. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a new-looking iPhone. He swiped and the phone asked for a code. He lifted Hardie’s left hand and pressed the thumb to the reader. Nothing. He tried the index finger and this time the phone sparked to life. Max opened the messaging function, seeing that there were no messages. He looked at WhatsApp and saw the familiar number. The mystery bent cop.

  Max knew what to do. He dialled a number from his burner, which was answered immediately.

  ‘Max?’ the firm voice of Chief Constable Chris Macdonald answered.

  ‘I have Hardie. He went after my aunt in Avoch, but I managed to intervene. Can you get everyone we need here? CSIs and the like. He discharged a firearm multiple times. I’ve no injuries. Well, no new ones anyway, but he may need a little attention,’ said Max looking down at the destroyed face of Tam Hardie.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Aye, I’m fine. I also have a plan to finish this whole thing off. I have to go now, Guvnor. Locals are here, and I have a little explaining to do. Maybe make some calls, eh?’

  ‘Sure. Max?’ the chief questioned.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘No bother. One thing. Can you get onto the duty officer at Burnett Road? Hardie will need to go to hospital, but we need this closing down. Nothing can get out. Full incommunicado. No one can know that Hardie is nicked, okay?’

  ‘I’ll make it happen.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll need Janie and Ross as well, and maybe one or two others.’

  ‘I’ll personally make sure you get whatever you need, with one proviso?’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘We end this tonight.’ The chief ended the call.

  75

  Max was exhausted. Truly exhausted as he sat in the rear of the control car in a Glasgow suburb, with Ross and Janie up front. Hardie’s phone was on his lap, the display switched on. It had been a very quick bit of work by one of the tech gurus to override the fingerprint recognition and leave the phone unlocked.

  Hardie was safely secured in a small sub police station after being patched up at hospital. Max’s elbow strikes had left him with a large gash, a broken nose and a fractured cheekbone. There was a single custody officer and no other prisoners in the unit that had hastily been opened once Chief Constable Macdonald began throwing his weight around. He was also being kept fully incommunicado. No calls out, no calls in, and definitely no attendance by Leo Hamilton. An independent but security-vetted solicitor had offered legal advice to Hardie, who had vehemently declined it, saying he would wait for his own man.

  A story had been leaked to the press about an incident in Avoch that was ongoing and “domestic in nature”. The lid had to be kept on the whole incident, or the rumours would fly. They had to move fast. If the bent cop knew that Hardie had been arrested, he would be sure to d
itch the mobile phone he had been communicating with.

  ‘You ready?’ asked Ross.

  ‘I’m knackered, but ready,’ said Max, looking at his watch. He was shocked to see that it was almost 7 a.m. He had been awake for almost thirty hours.

  ‘Send it then,’ said Ross picking up his phone and dialling. ‘We’re sending now, standby, and call us as soon as you have a location.’

  Max pressed the green arrow icon in WhatsApp and the message went with the familiar “pop”.

  We need to meet, urgent.

  The message bubble showed a single greyed-out tick to indicate that it had been sent, but was yet to be received.

  ‘Think he’ll bite?’ asked Janie.

  ‘Yep, he doesn’t have a lot of choice. I just hope it works,’ said Max.

  ‘It’ll work. There’s no way whoever this is can stay out of touch with Hardie for any length of time.’

  Ross’s phone buzzed. ‘Yeah?’ he said, brusquely. There was a pause as he scrawled on a notepad.

  ‘Hitting a mast at Hillhead. Get moving, Janie.’

  ‘Roger that, only ten minutes away,’ she said, starting the engine and moving the BMW off.

  ‘Roger that? What are you, SAS?’

  ‘Does it make me sound all tough?’

  ‘Nope, just daft as a brush,’ said Ross.

  ‘Tick’s still grey, so whoever it is either hasn’t seen the message or is choosing to ignore it,’ said Max, looking at Hardie’s phone.

  ‘They’ll look. They have no choice. Who wants an angry Hardie getting impatient? Never know what he’d do,’ said Ross.

  The car was silent as Janie negotiated the quiet Glasgow streets, heading towards the West End.

  Ross’s phone buzzed once more. ‘Yep?’ he barked into the handset, listening and scribbling.

  ‘Azimuth has the handset signal somewhere north of the Hilton hotel, pushing up through the Royal Botanical Gardens and into Kelvinside, medium signal strength so probably within a couple of kilometres,’ said Ross. Still scribbling.