Bitter Water

by Ferris, Gordon

  Once they’d gone, we had the manager move us into an even bigger set of rooms on the top floor and ordered breakfast proper. Over fried eggs and bacon we discussed the real events of the night. We were both dark-eyed.

  ‘Even though it wasn’t Curly and Fitz I’m assuming they were Maxwell’s men?’ she asked.

  ‘Unless Rankin has some heavier-handed minions than Calumn?’

  She shook her head. ‘I know Kenny. He might be up to his neck in all sorts of nefarious dealings but he’s not a killer. I mean I’ve known them both – Moira and him – since I was a wee girl.’

  ‘He’s not a Henry the Second sort of boss, is he? Will no one rid me of this turbulent reporter? And a couple of his minions took him literally?’

  ‘He’s never surrounded himself with cutthroats.’

  ‘Sam, if it wasn’t Rankin’s men, how did Maxwell know we were here? At the very least, Rankin told someone.’

  She looked steadily at me. ‘Or Moira.’ She shook her head. ‘Nooo. Too mad for words.’

  ‘Go on thinking the unthinkable. Stewart?’ He was the only other person we’d told.

  ‘He wouldn’t!’

  ‘He might with a gun against his head. Or against his brother’s.’

  We let these thoughts simmer in the air for a bit. ‘I’d better check in with Eddie.’

  It was a bad decision.

  ‘Morag? It’s me, Brodie.’

  ‘Oh, Douglas, I cannae talk to you the noo!’ Her voice was near hysterical.

  There was a clunking of the phone and a tearful half-heard conversation.

  Elaine’s voice took over. She sounded almost as bad. Tears in it. Had I been such a monster?

  ‘Mr Brodie, you’d better come by.’

  ‘What have I done?’

  ‘It’s no’ you! They came in and shot at us. They actually shot at us! They made us all lie down. They hit Mr Paton, so they did. It was terrible. And there’s the polis. And—’

  ‘Elaine, Elaine! Stop! Calm down. Just tell me what happened. Who shot at you?’ But I suddenly knew. The whole thing had just spiralled out of hand.

  ‘Them Marshals. The wans who were hitting a’ thae folk. The wan that talks to you. Oh, it was terrible.’ I let her have a sob or two.

  ‘Have they gone?’

  ‘Aye. A wee while noo.’ She sniffed.

  ‘Are the police still there?’

  ‘The polis are a’ ower the place. It’s bedlam here, so it is.’

  ‘Elaine, did they hurt you? Did they hurt any of the girls? Is Morag OK?’ At that moment any residual pity I’d been feeling for Drummond’s lost platoon went out of the broken window in our hotel room. I wanted to break his skinny neck.

  ‘No. No’ me. But Mr Paton’s been taken away to the infirmary, so he has. A’ covered in blood.’

  ‘Did they shoot him?!’

  ‘Naw, naw. Jist hit him with an iron bar. Bad enough, mind! They had balaclavas on, so they did. It was jist like the pictures.’ Elaine’s voice was losing its fear. Excitement was kicking in.

  ‘But they’re gone?’

  ‘Aye, the Marshals left when Eddie telt them what they wanted.’

  ‘Elaine, this is important. What did they make Eddie tell them? What did he say?’

  ‘They wanted to ken wha killed that pair o’ wee poofs and Jimmie Sheridan and his girlfriend. That was the silly thing, because we a’ thought it was them. The Marshals. They said it wisnae. Course they would, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘So what did Eddie say, Elaine?’

  ‘Well, it was a’ such a commotion, but Ah’m sure Ah heard Eddie say the word Maxwell. And the Slattery gang. But that’s daft, is it no’?’

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘Mr Brodie, Elspeth wants a word with you. Can I put her on?’

  There was a pause and a call across the desks, then Elspeth’s cool voice picked up.

  ‘Brodie? They left another quote.’

  I had my pencil poised ready. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘They said: “And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the Lord stood firm on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, and all the Israelites passed over on dry ground, until all the people were passed clean over Jordan.”’

  I looked at my scribbled shorthand. ‘Can you give me that again, please?’

  She did and I corrected my shorthand and read the words back to her.

  ‘What do you think they were saying, Elspeth?’

  ‘This passage is about salvation. It’s from Joshua 3, verse 17. The Ark is central to the saving of the whole of the Israeli nation. It provides safe passage.’

  ‘When did they come out with this?’

  ‘They held us up until they got the information they wanted from Eddie. Then their leader spouted this. I know the verse well and just took a note. But how could Eddie’s information bring them salvation?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ But I was beginning to worry.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Brodie, they said one last thing as they were running out. It sounded like, “This time we are the Ark.” As though they saw themselves as the saviours. Does that mean anything?’

  ‘Nothing I can think of. Thanks, Elspeth.’ And yet, and yet . . . something was nagging at me.

  Her voice suddenly dipped and she pressed her mouth to the phone. ‘It’s the polis. They want a word.’

  I heard her handing over the handset, then Duncan Todd’s voice came on.

  ‘You’ve excelled yersel’, Brodie.’

  ‘Me? I wasn’t even there!’

  ‘You can cause a rammy in an empty hoose, Brodie.’

  ‘Are you with Sangster?’

  ‘Officially on his team. Chief’s orders. All hands to the pump.’

  ‘About time, Duncan.’

  His voice dropped. ‘Except I’m left babysitting Sangster’s yes-man, Sergeant Murdoch.’

  ‘Divert him. Tell him to interview a wee lassie called Morag.’

  ‘Brodie, where the hell are you? I’m pretty sure you know what’s going on here. Am I right?’

  ‘Duncan, I can’t talk just now. I’ll call you later. But can you check on someone for me? Wullie McAllister is missing. His brother Stewart is in danger. Can you get a couple of men round to his house to check?’

  I gave him the address in Govan and hung up. I went back up to Sam to break the news that the Marshals were on the move.

  ‘There’s something about the quote and the last remark that’s troubling me. This time we are the Ark. Oh hell!’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Ark Force! 154th Brigade – the Black Watch and the Argylls – was ordered to form a defensive line round Le Havre. The rest of us in the 51st Highland, including the French, were then supposed to withdraw behind Ark Force and get out through the port. But the 7th Panzers cut the line. Ark Force themselves got out through Cherbourg. About four thousand men got home to fight again. But Drummond and the others were trapped in Saint-Valery.’

  ‘So Drummond’s saying . . .?’

  ‘Not this time. He won’t be taken again. He’s Ark Force. Maybe even him personally, the saviour of his men.’

  ‘He’s going after Maxwell?’

  ‘With nothing to lose. They see Maxwell as their only hope. To get him to admit to the murders.’

  We gazed at each other. ‘How long does it take to get to the Maxwell estate from Glasgow?’

  Sam pulled out her map and showed me the route. Her finger traced the roads north out of the city to Milngavie and up the A81 to Aberfoyle. It was then B roads past Kinlochard and finally dirt tracks into the dense fastness of Loch Ard Forest itself.

  ‘The road up to Aberfoyle is fine. About an hour and a half, I reckon. Then another half-hour along to Kinlochard on the north side of the loch. From the turn-off it’s an hour to Inverard Castle. After this long summer the forest road should still be firm despite the storms on Monday.’

  ‘They’ll have stolen a car or a van. It should take them about three hours in total? Four max?
’

  ‘That’s what it used to do. It’s why Charlie got himself a plane to play with.’

  ‘But will they know how to get there?’

  ‘They could find the address at the library.’

  I looked at my watch. It was eleven o’clock. ‘Let’s say they set out an hour ago. Allow an hour to find the route. The earliest they should get there is three o’clock. Maybe four. Then they’ll need some reconnoitre time. Drummond isn’t the type to just go in guns blazing. MP training. I hope.’

  ‘What are you planning?’

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘On?’

  ‘Whether there’s any way we can get there before them.’ I was inspecting the map. ‘We’d never get round there by car in time, if we have to drive back down to Glasgow. What about these ferries?’ I pointed to two marked crossings of Loch Lomond, north of us at Inveruglas and south at Inverbeg.

  She shook her head. ‘Foot ferries only. Do you fancy a hike?’

  ‘Rowardennan?’ I pointed at the crossing south from Inverbeg to Rowardennan. From there it was a stiff climb over the top and into Loch Ard Forest.

  ‘We did it once. My folks and me. Met Colin and his dead wife, Clarinda, for a shoot. I was fourteen. Charlie was there. Being smug. Showing off. Beating his poor horse and his dog.’

  ‘How long did it take?’

  ‘About two hours from Rowardennan. It’s a tough climb, mind.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m not up to it?’

  ‘I’m saying I was fourteen the last time. And didn’t smoke or drink.’

  ‘What are we waiting for?’

  FIFTY-THREE

  We dressed in our tweeds and checked the Dixons. We filled the two knapsacks with spare shells, water bottles and binoculars, a slab of Dundee cake and some chocolate. I called the newsroom again. Duncan had left, so I asked Elaine to get hold of him at Central Division and tell him to get some armed coppers to Maxwell’s estate. On the double. We piled everything into the Riley and drove south.

  The ferry was little more than a wooden raft tethered to a landing at the prominence of Inverbeg. We parked and walked on board with our shotguns over our arm and our knapsacks firm on our backs.

  We chugged across under the thoughtful gaze of a monosyllabic ferryman. The loch was mirror calm so that the inverted image of the approaching mountains seemed like a drowned landscape. It took twenty minutes to beach at a similar ramshackle jetty at Rowardennan.

  The day was warm and still. By the time we reached the foothills of Ben Uird we’d opened our jackets and stowed our caps. Then the real work began. My legs protested to begin with but soon loosened up. Sam climbed steadily with as little apparent effort as the 14-year-old version. The slope steepened so that we had to work our way diagonally, twenty paces one way then back. We paused at what seemed halfway and gazed back over the shimmering water. The massive mountains rolled to the horizon on all sides, here and there interrupted by flashes and darts of rivers and lochs. We shared some chocolate and gulped from our water bottles, the cool fluid tasting of rubber and reminding me of North Africa.

  The going got tough across a huge expanse of purple heather. The deep springy branches clutched at our ankles and slowed us to half-pace. After a hard hour, with the sweat pouring down my back and my thighs shrieking, the top was in sight. But as is the way with Scottish hills, it was a pitiless illusion. Another summit beckoned. Then another. At least it was cooler. A breeze rolled over the rounded top, ruffled Sam’s short blonde hair and cooled her flaming cheeks.

  We reached the real summit, panting, by one thirty. Behind us the loch stretched north and south, glistening dully like escaped quicksilver in the school science lab. Ben Lomond’s mighty shoulders still towered above us to the north but we could turn east and look down over the Forest of Ard.

  ‘There,’ she said and pointed to a distant cleared strip by a winding river. We took out our binoculars and focused.

  The clearing swam into view. At its centre was a castle, one of the fashionable Victorian fortresses with four or five floors and jutting towers. The sort that was built for vanity rather than protection and would be full of the skulls of slaughtered deer. The heating bill would be enormous.

  The castle sat at a horseshoe bend of the river, with clear views up both arms of the horseshoe leading away from the buildings. Good salmon, I’d expect. A road emerged from the forest to the east of the castle and terminated in a flight of steps up to a heavy front portal. I let my glasses follow an imaginary line through the woods until they found another clearing and a glittering stretch of water which I presumed was Loch Ard itself.

  To the right of the castle stood a single-storey building studded with windows and half-doors: the stables. Around the castle grounds, at the extremities of the cleared area, were outbuildings and a cottage or two. I lowered the binoculars and took a broader view, then raised them to my eyes again. On the side closer to us, running east to west, was a long field delineated by parallel lines of markers. A pole with a drooping wind sock stood to one side. Alongside was a building with a wide front door, like a large garage. Inside, with its nose and propeller jutting out, was a small plane.

  ‘How far?’ I asked.

  ‘About two miles. If we head down and to the left we’ll pick up a path that follows the river.’

  We took on more water and set off, making much faster progress on the downward slope. As the ground steepened we again had to switch to diagonal progress rather than straight. Within twenty minutes we were entering the woods, and savouring the tang of hot pine resin. Our going slowed again as we picked our way through the trees, but at least we had shade. Sam brought us out by the river and we walked with its flow towards Inverard.

  We lost all sense of time and distance, and any perspective on why we were there and what we were doing. I had no plan. I just assumed something would come to me as the situation became clearer. When in doubt, press forward.

  Suddenly we were in a clearing. Dead ahead was a pair of labourer’s cottages. Beyond rose the bulk of the castle. We crouched down behind some rhododendrons. I peered through the bush, being careful not to disturb the shrubs.

  ‘Now what, Davy Crockett?’ asked Sam. ‘I hope there’s a plan?’

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘On?’

  ‘Who’s here. My first objective is to find McAllister. If he’s alive.’

  ‘Why would they bother to bring him here? Why would they treat him differently to Sheridan, for example? Wouldn’t they just dump his body somewhere?’

  I looked at her. Her pale skin face was freckling up nicely. But it wasn’t the hectic flush of a woman about to confront a bunch of sadistic murderers. She looked as if she was out for a Sunday hike, maybe planning to pick a few bluebells on the way back, before sitting down to high tea.

  ‘His body hasn’t been found. They might be holding him, trying to find out what else he knows. Who else knows.’

  As I said it, a giant pang of concern welled up for Wullie. The old rascal was hard work at times, but he was my old rascal. The idea had been growing since he went missing. The idea that he was dead. And we would be next if weren’t careful.

  ‘Would they bring him here?’

  ‘It’s quiet. All they had to do was wait till closing time and pick him up. They probably wouldn’t have needed the chloroform. But if he’s here he’s not likely to be wandering about the grounds taking his ease.’

  ‘We could knock on the front door and ask. Just like at Rankin’s.’

  ‘Kenny and Moira had old Calumn. Maxwell has at least two former hit men for a Glasgow razor king, and two thugs who tried to murder us in our beds last night.’

  She nodded and her face finally began to take on the gravity of the situation.

  ‘So, what do we do?’

  ‘We need to get closer to find out if old Colin and Charlie boy are here and with how many of their hoodlums. There’s no sign yet of the Marshals but I don’t expect them to rip up here
in a stolen truck shooting from the hip. They’re more likely to be parked down the road somewhere and sneaking up on the place, like we are.’

  ‘Assuming this is where they were headed.’

  ‘We’re making a lot of assumptions, aren’t we?’

  ‘We could wait for the police . . .’

  ‘If they get the message, and if they act on it, they’ll still be a couple of hours behind the Marshals.’

  She raised her eyebrows, then dug into her pack and pulled out her binoculars. ‘Let’s see.’

  We both peered through our glasses, quartering the castle, the grounds and the outbuildings. We looked down past the castle towards the road that ran east to Kinlochard. It might as well have been a plague village in the Middle Ages. All we lacked were scavenging dogs. As if in response to my thought, barking started up in the castle.

  ‘Tell me what you know.’

  ‘Inverard was built about eighty years ago. A mad folly by a former Maxwell to ingratiate himself with Victoria. Everybody was doing it. So it’s a kind of mock castle. Solid enough, I suppose, but not built to withstand a siege.’

  ‘That’s a relief. I’ve only got half a bar of chocolate left.’

  ‘It’s been a few years, but I used to run around the kitchens and cellars. Usually being chased by Charlie and his pals in a game of sadistic hide and seek.’

  ‘Dare I ask?’

  ‘Oh, you know, if you get caught you got Chinese burns or your pigtails pulled.’

  ‘You’d look cute in pigtails.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did.’

  ‘So there’s a lower ground area. Kitchens and storerooms. Ground floor?’

  ‘Big baronial hall. Lots of shields, claymores, flags . . .’

  ‘Antlers?’

  ‘Dozens. Great sweeping staircase up to umpteen draughty bedrooms and freezing bathrooms. The place is a maze.’

  ‘The buildings alongside the castle?’

  ‘Stables. Cars and a few horses now. Tack room. Smithy. The usual.’