Killer Contract (Best Defence series Book 4)

by William H. S. McIntyre

  ‘The West Port Hotel has a room,’ I said, and there being no other alternative venue that was within easy reach of Linlithgow, Malky agreed to book it for the following Friday night.

  That settled, my brother went off to make himself some toast. He came through a short time later with the phone Joanna had loaned me. I’d left it charging in the kitchen. It was lit up and buzzing. ‘New mobile?’ He lobbed it at me. ‘Nice.’

  It was Danny Boyd. ‘I thought you were coming to see me?’ he said.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch those numbers you gave me.’

  ‘Five, three—’

  ‘Just tell me where you are.’

  ‘What if someone’s listening in?’

  ‘Then they’ll be noting down the numbers too and will know better than me what to do with them.’

  There was a short pause while young Danny processed this information. ‘Do you know the Refuge Stone?’

  I didn’t.

  ‘You’ve got a car, right?’

  I did.

  ‘Drive up to Cockleroy. Do you know where that is?’

  Everyone in Linlithgow knew Cockleroy, the extinct volcano that lay a mile or so to the south.

  ‘Go straight on by. There are woods on both sides, don’t take the turn for Torphichen and you’ll come to a farm on the right hand side. Go past that for—’

  ‘Is this really necessary?’

  ‘Go past the farm and after a wee bit there's only trees on one side of the road. When the trees end, park there and walk down the track on your right. I’ll find you.’

  ‘Listen, Danny. If you’ll just—’

  ‘And bring food. I’m starving.’

  Chapter 28

  The Refuge Stone turned out to be a six foot standing stone in the middle of a field. By the time I’d found it, and Danny Boyd had found me, it was getting on for dark, and the fish and chips I’d brought for him were cold.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said, getting stuck into the fish supper. We set off down an endless, bumpy track until we came to the ruins of a walled garden and a derelict outhouse, not far from Lochcote Reservoir, obscured by an entanglement of trees and bushes. Any glass in the windows was long gone, and through the disintegrating frames and into the dilapidated building grew a snarl of weeds and bramble briars.

  We came to a door. A few flakes of blue paint remained on its exterior and there was a large gap at the bottom where the wood was rotten and chewed. Danny pushed it open. Inside, the only source of light was a fire, more smoke than flame, encircled by a ring of stones. A battered, soot-stained tin can sat in the centre, steaming gently. Danny ate the last chip, screwed up the fish-supper paper and chucked it onto the smouldering heap of twigs and leaves, some far too green to burn. In the brief burst of illumination that followed, I could see he had cleared an area, ten feet by ten, and that there was a sleeping bag and holdall of clothes at one end of it. ‘Thanks,’ he said, after a long pull from the bottle of Irn Bru I’d brought with me. He took another drink, burped, wiped his mouth. ‘I’ve been boiling water from the reservoir.’

  He crossed to his sleeping bag and sat down on it. I perched on a segment of partially demolished wall.

  ‘You want to tell me what this is all about?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m hiding.’

  I'd worked that out for myself. ‘You can’t stay out here in the wilds, drinking loch water out of a tin can forever.’ Danny's only response was to hug his knees closer to his chest. ‘Your mum’s bound to be really worried,’ I said. The fire was giving out little heat and a chill wind whipped the back of my neck. ‘Danny, you asked me to come and see you. Well, here I am. Talk to me.’

  ‘When’s Nathan’s funeral? Has it been yet?’

  ‘No, and I don’t know when it will be. Could be some way off yet.’

  ‘Will you come and tell me when it is?’

  ‘Look Danny, this is stupid. You’re going to have to hand yourself in sometime.’

  ‘Hand myself in where?’

  ‘To the police.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you… because they think you killed Nathan.’

  Danny leapt to his feet. ‘What?’

  ‘Why else would you be on the run?’

  ‘They think I killed my own brother?’

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Where were you when Nathan was killed?’

  ‘Taking samples of jam and stuff for my mum to the new farm shop up at Aberdovan. I never got back till about tea-time and there was polis everywhere. I could see Nathan lying, covered in blood. They were taking photos of him. I knew what had happened, so I came up here. This is where we used to camp out when me and Nate were ferreting. We kept a stash of food here. Beans and that. There's none left now.’

  ‘Then come back to town with me. We’ll this sort this out and get you back home.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  What was wrong with the boy? ‘Then why am I here?’

  ‘I want you to find out how I can get rid the curse.’

  ‘What curse?’

  ‘The one on that tomb.’

  Was he talking about the attempted break in at the Binny mausoleum?

  ‘I told Nathan no to go there, but he wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘What are you talking about? A curse? That's rubbish. Do you think your brother got killed by a ghost or something?’ I didn’t want to make fun of the boy; however, the wind was really picking up and it had started to rain. My back was getting wet and my clothes were filling with reek from the damp fire. ‘Come on. I’ll take you home. You can stay the night in your own bed and we can speak to the police in the morning. Actually, not me. Mr Sharp's your lawyer. I'll contact him and—’

  ‘You're my lawyer.’

  ‘It doesn't work like that, Danny. You went to see Mr Sharp first, it's like an unwritten rule us lawyers have.’

  ‘I don't care, I want you to be my lawyer. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm staying here. I’m not ending up like Nate. Find out what I have to do to make things right. I can live without food for a few days more.’

  ‘You’re being stupid, Danny. If a curse can get you at home it can get you anywhere.’

  ‘Not if it doesn't know where I am. Not if I keep on the move.’

  I wasn't having this conversation. ‘Look, I’ve no idea how you make things right with a curse. It’s all superstition. Someone real killed Nathan, and the longer you stay in hiding the more the police are going to think it was you.’

  Danny climbed into his sleeping bag. He was going nowhere.

  ‘At least let me tell your mum where you are and that you’re okay.’

  Danny shook his head. ‘I don’t want her involved. Just find out what I need to do. I won’t be able to call you again because my phone’s just about out of batteries.’ He lay down and turned onto his side, facing the wall. ‘I’ll wait here until you come back.’

  Chapter 29

  ‘How did you sleep?’ Thursday morning, I brought my dad his breakfast on a tray. He was using my bed and I had been decanted to the sofa.

  He looked at the bowl of porridge. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, son. I like my porridge lumpy and my mattress smooth.’

  Cracking jokes, first thing in the morning. Not like him.

  ‘That the tie I got you for your last birthday?’ It was and I’d been wearing it off and on ever since. The pattern wasn’t that great, but it was made of some indestructible material that repelled all kinds of spillages. ‘I’ve always had good taste,’ he said. ‘What have you got on today?’ Showing an interest in my business: even more unusual.

  ‘Oh, same old, same old.’ I would have looked at my watch if I had one. Not that I was in any hurry. I only had a few last minute things to do for Kirkslap’s preliminary hearing the next day, as Joanna was going to court to deal with the remand court that morning. ‘Right, I’ll be off then. Busy day ahead. Take it easy. No need to be getting over-energetic, you want to let that bone kni
t. I’ll maybe come back and see you at lunchtime.’

  But probably not. I almost made it to the bedroom door.

  ‘Joanna get her hairbrush okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’

  ‘It wasn’t Jill’s after all, then?’ he said casually; way too casually.

  It was either now or later. There was no escape. ‘Okay I didn’t tell you the whole truth about that.’

  ‘You lied.’

  ‘I thought it would be easier to make something up rather than start with a big explanation when none was needed.’

  ‘Lied to your father.’

  It wasn’t like it was the first time. ‘Yes. Sorry about that. It was just—’

  ‘Don’t give me any of your lawyer excuses. If I find out that you’re cheating on that lassie. My best friend’s daughter—’

  ‘There’s nothing going on between me and Joanna. She stayed over-night on Monday because we were working on a case.’

  ‘D'ye expect me to believe that?’

  ‘Dad, I love Jill. You know I’m going to ask her to marry me. Joanna is a work colleague. If it had been Andy staying over, and he left his comb lying about, you wouldn’t be accusing me of anything would you?’

  He took a spoonful of porridge, chewed for a moment.

  ‘Well would you?’

  He sniffed and chomped on another spoonful. ‘Aye, well, Andy never had a pair of legs like yon.’

  I laughed. He joined in. I sat down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Dad, what do you know about curses?’

  ‘What kind of curses?’

  Bad ones obviously, but there was no need to be facetious when we were getting along so well. ‘You know my client, Danny Boyd?’

  ‘You mean Paul Sharp’s client, don't you?’ His memory was as good as ever.

  ‘He thinks he’s cursed,’ I said.

  My dad leaned forward and had me push another pillow behind his back. ‘You know where he is?’

  ‘We’ve been in communication, let’s leave it at that. The point is, he’s not handing himself in. He thinks his brother’s murder was because of them breaking into that mausoleum, and he’s staying in hiding, more worried about a curse than the cops.’

  ‘Killed by a curse? Think up that defence yourself?’ My dad finished his porridge and wiped his moustache with the square of kitchen roll I’d provided. ‘I’ve got news for you – it’s not going to work.’

  ‘Seriously, dad. What can I say to him? He won’t come out of hiding until I find a way to stop the curse. It’s no good me telling him it’s all bollocks.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not. I don’t suppose you can go breaking into tombs without expecting bad luck to follow.’

  ‘That’s a bit superstitious of you,’ I said.

  ‘Tell that to Lord Carnarvon. One minute he’s digging up Tutankhamen, the next they’re digging his grave. And,’ he said forcefully, lest I come in at that point and suggest it was all nonsense, ‘the rest of his archaeology team all got bumped off one way or another. I saw it on the Discovery Channel.’

  ‘Dad, we’re talking about a forgotten wee mausoleum on the outskirts of Linlithgow, not the great pyramid of Giza. It’s about two miles from your house and I’ll bet you never even knew it existed.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Pure coincidence is it. That mausoleum is hundreds of years old and the first person who tampers with it...’ he banged a fist down onto the tray, striking the handle of the spoon that was sticking out of the bowl, sending it spinning across the room and against the wall. ‘Ach, on you go. Believe what you like,’ he said, as though I were flying in the face of over-whelming evidence; not an entirely novel experience for me, it had to be said, ‘but there are tombs all over the place if you look hard enough. There’s Forbes’s mausoleum in Falkirk at Callendar Park, there’s the Dunmore mausoleum in Airth. I think there’s one at The Binns too, and Greyfriars Kirkyard is full of them, so is the Necropolis up at Glasgow Cathedral. You can hardly chuck your bunnet without it landing on one.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘When do you ever hear of one being broken into?’

  ‘Apart from the one down the road from you?’

  He shook his head at my patent stupidity. ‘That’s what I’m saying. Break into a tomb and bad things will happen to you – that’s why no-one does it. You’d need to be a daft laddie like that Boyd boy. There’s nothing inside apart from dead men’s bones and every chance that you’re going to get a very unpleasant comeuppance.’

  ‘So what’s the answer? What do I tell him? What’s worse? The curse or the cops?’

  My dad took the tray from his lap and set it to one side. He swung his plaster-cast leg out of bed. ‘Tell him he’s stuffed whatever he does.’

  Chapter 30

  ‘Mr Crowe,’ Lord Haldane, adjusted his spectacles, folded his hands on the bench in front of him and peered down to his left at counsel for the defence. ‘It is of no concern to this court should your client choose to switch horses mid-stream.’ The High Court judge brushed a hand down the starched-white fall that draped from his wing collars over his silk cape, two red crosses visible either side of his chest. ‘This defence has been prepared and ready for some considerable time, indeed, Mr Staedtler advised the court so himself, only a week ago.’

  ‘My Lord, Mr Staedtler’s concept of preparedness does not coincide with my own; furthermore, I received the papers in this case only—’

  ‘If senior counsel tells this court the defence is prepared, then it's prepared, Mr Crowe. Your apparent inability to properly organise your affairs is a problem for you to resolve, and does not represent a cogent reason why I should grant your motions to continue this preliminary hearing and postpone the fixing of a trial date.’

  ‘M’Lord, in my respectful submission—’

  ‘The answer is no, Mr Crowe.’ The judge looked benignly down to his right where sat the Lord Advocate’s depute. ‘Miss Faye?’

  Fiona Faye rose to her feet in a swirl of black silk gown and frilly-white blouse. Now I knew why she had been unavailable for Kirkslap’s original trial. Fiona had moved to the dark side. Crown Office. She was already a Q.C. Clearly someone, somewhere, had enticed her to Castle Greyskull on the promise of high office if she did the right thing. ‘If it please the court, I understand your Lordship’s clerk has identified a week on Monday as a suitable start date for trial and I can confirm the Crown's readiness to proceed.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Lord Haldane, ‘now if there are no further motions...’

  There were, but it was clear any requests from the defence weren't going to find favour with the judge.

  ‘Court!’ called out the macer, and we all stood. Lord Haldane bowed. Fiona bowed back. Cameron Crowe barely lowered his chin.

  ‘What’s got into Haldane?’ I asked Crowe, as we exited to meet a worried looking Kirkslap on the marble landing outside Court 3. At the foot of the brass-banistered staircase, a knot of journalists had formed, notepads at the ready, and beyond, at the front door to the building, television cameras.

  Crowe swiped the horse-hair wig from his head and gripped it tightly by his side. ‘Someone’s got to him. He’s had a word from on high to get this trial restarted, which means that we're going to trial in a week's time, come hell or high-water.’ He turned his attention to the client. ‘Mr Kirkslap, time is rapidly running out. You are going to have to come up with a lot more information than you have already and quickly.’

  During our consultation earlier that morning, it had become increasingly clear that the accused had done very little of the homework he'd been set by Joanna a couple of evenings before. There remained holes in his defence through which the Crown would be more than happy to drive an evidential coach and horse.

  Crowe fixed Kirkslap with his evil eye. ‘Mr Staedtler might have been happy to sit back and enjoy the scenery while the Crown literally threw everything at you but the kitchen sink - I don't work that way.’

  ‘I don't think you mean, literally,�
� Mike said, arriving with Zack.

  ‘I was using literally, figuratively,’ Crowe said. ‘Now if we can stop picking holes in my grammar and start filling a few of the gaping holes in the defence, Mr Kirkslap might not spend the rest of his life behind bars.’

  I gave Joanna a little, told-you-so look, in vindication of my choice of counsel.

  ‘And as for you,’ Crowe pointed a finger in my face and bared his fangs. ‘You are going to drop all your sordid little legal aid cases and concentrate solely on Mr Kirkslap’s defence. Understand?’

  If this had been one of my sordid little legal aid cases, Crowe might very well have been eating his horse-hair bunnet by now, but for what I was charging my time out to Kirkslap’s company, I could take the occasional kick in the shins from counsel. I gave my assurances and waited with Crowe, Joanna and Mike at the top of the stairs while the dour-faced directors of P45 walked down them to meet the press. I would have liked to have gone with them. If you can't afford a cheesy TV advertising campaign, the next best thing is to get your face on the local news beside a high-profile accused.

  ‘I'm not joking,’ Crowe said, as though I might have thought he’d been having a laugh. ‘There is a great deal of work to be done and little time in which to do it. That man is impossible. I've never heard anyone talk so much and yet reveal so little useful information.’ I found that hard to believe from someone who spent so many years at the Bar. ‘If we're going to win this case, we're going to need to give the jury some alternatives.’

  ‘An alternative,’ Mike chipped in. ‘You can only have one alternative...’

  He tailed off as Crowe cleared his throat impatiently. ‘If I'm going to have to surf the wave, make that a Tsunami, of Prosecution evidence in this case, I want to throw some other options to the jury. I need someone—’