‘And what did you tell him?’
‘Not much he didn't know already.’
‘Do you know somebody called Danny Boyd,’ I asked. I looked her in the eye and she looked right back at me.
‘No. Should I?’
I checked the clock. Seven-twenty. My dad’s party would kick off in forty minutes.
I phoned Cameron Crowe’s mobile. No answer. I left a message on his answering service, fairly certain that he’d recognised my number and bumped me. There was only one thing for it.
‘This is really improper even by your standards, Robbie,’ Fiona Faye said.
‘I’ve found a new witness. An important one.’
‘Then call her for the defence.’
‘We can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t think you or Lord Haldane will let us.’
‘Go on, then. Tell me why not.’
‘She’s part of a proposed incrimination—’
‘And you haven’t so much as lodged a notice and, of course, your defence statement is completely silent on any impeachment defence. Tut, tut.’
‘Speak to her, Fiona. That’s all I ask. If you believe what she has to say, call her as part of the Crown case.’
‘I’m trying to win. Why would I want to help by calling a potential defence witness?’
‘Because you’re prosecuting in the public interest, remember?’ That was what the Crown always said to align themselves with the jury, but you seldom caught a Procurator Fiscal or Advocate Depute call a witness who was saying anything remotely favourable for the defence. ‘Isn’t getting to the truth the most important thing?’
‘The truth? Robbie, is this one of those prank calls you’re so famous for? Do us your Sheriff Brechin impersonation, will you?’
Fiona heard all the gossip.
‘Okay,’ she relented. ‘I’m about to settle down with a warm husband and a glass of chilled Sancerre. I’ll give you ten minutes if you’re here before eight. Otherwise forget it.’
Chapter 57
We decided to take Candy’s car. It was a red BMW, more likely than mine to make the journey to Fiona’s place in Edinburgh within the next thirty minutes, mainly because it had fuel in it.
I climbed into the front passenger seat, Candy started the engine, and we had hardly turned onto the High Street when something jammed into the back of my neck. I half turned to see Mike Summers.
‘Face front or I’ll blast your head off,’ he said. The words didn’t suit him, but, still, they were clear enough.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, my eyes firmly fixed on the windscreen.
‘Don’t worry, Candy knows where to take us,’ Mike said.
At the east end of the High Street Candy pressed a button on the dash. ‘At the roundabout take the second exit onto the B nine oh eight oh,’ said an electronic voice.
We were taking the old Edinburgh Road. One I travelled a lot these days. A couple more robotic directions, and I had guessed where we were headed. Candy was a clever girl. She’d remembered our conversation of a couple of nights before, when I had told her my dad’s house was unoccupied and well out of the way. I couldn’t believe that I’d fallen for the same damsel in distress line in the space of a few days.
The car sped on. It was impossible to relax with a gun pressed against the back of my neck, but I did feel better now that I knew the uninhabited cottage Mike thought he was taking me to, was actually populated by twenty or thirty party guests of whom at least half were cops. I said nothing. Just sat there watching the headlights cut through the darkness on that windy road. Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.
A few more electronic commands and we were pulling into the small driveway at the front of my dad’s cottage. The place was in darkness. The clock on the dashboard said seven fifty-five. The party guests would be inside now, hiding, awaiting the arrival of the man of the moment. Malky would have taken dad for a drive to kill time. They'd return at eight, all set for the big surprise. Not half as big as the one Mike and Candy were in for.
Candy alighted, came around and opened the door for me.
‘Get out,’ Mike said.
I turned in my seat, and, as I did, saw that whatever Mike had in his gloved hand, it wasn't a gun. I clenched my fist. As soon as both Mike and I were out of the car I was going to deck him. Heart pumping, muscles tightening, fists clenching. I was going to enjoy this.
How did I end up on the ground? How long had I been there? I looked up at the face of Candy, peering down at me. Mike joined her.
‘Up,’ Mike said, brandishing an object at me. A blue bolt of light flashed in the gloom.
We walked down the side of the house, Mike at my back, one hand gripping the top of my left arm, the other pressing the stun-gun into the side of my neck.
My foot struck something. We stopped. There was a stack of slates, as well as bags of cement and sand still lined up against the gable wall of the cottage. At the corner I could see scaffolding erected. The roof wasn’t finished. The party venue, if there was one, was elsewhere. I remembered the message to call Malky. Why hadn’t I done so?
We continued round to the back of the cottage. Candy tried the handle on the door. It opened.
‘Careless,’ Mike said.
Candy pushed the door open. I didn’t remember going in, only finding myself on the floor, my limbs like jelly, Mike, standing over me, pointing the stun-gun from me to a kitchen chair. ‘Sit.’
I could hear Mike clearly, I wasn’t particularly dazed. I knew what was happening and what he wanted me to do, it was just that my body refused to respond.
‘Sit!’ he yelled.
Somehow I managed to drag myself off the floor and onto the chair.
‘Where’s Boyd?’ Mike asked.
I shook my head. ‘I really, really, have no idea.’
He must have believed me, for he turned to Candy and told her to find a knife. ‘Bigger,’ he told her, when she held out a small vegetable knife to him.
Candy rummaged in a drawer and found a large chopping knife. Like Mike she was now wearing a pair of cream surgical gloves .
I shifted in my seat, took my eyes off Mike for a second and wham! I found myself on the floor again feeling like I’d been poured out onto it.
‘We’ll do this now and get out of here,’ Mike said. He was holding the stun-gun, keeping me at bay as though I were fit to do anything other than just lie there.
‘Me?’ Candy made a face. ‘I’m not doing it.’ She held out the knife to Mike. He took it, switching the stun-gun to his other hand. He looked down at me, a sick and worried expression etched across his face that couldn’t have looked sicker or more worried than the one on mine.
The muscles in my arms and legs were slowly beginning to get their act together. Mike readied himself, gripping the handle of the knife tightly. I had to stall for time.
Mouth dry, I managed to croak, ‘what’s so important about Danny Boyd?’
Mike was not going to let himself be engaged in small talk. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to do what he’d rather have paid others to do for him. He gave the stun-gun to Candy. ‘You zap him again,’ he told her, ‘I’ll stab him.’
Candy hesitated. What was she thinking? That it was all right setting someone up; not so good if you had to be there when the blood was spilled? ‘Mike...’
‘Zap him!’ Mike roared.
She came closer, the arm holding the zapper out-stretched, shaking.
My legs had regained some power, the strength in my arms was returning, aided by the flow of adrenalin. I tried to squirm away across the kitchen floor. Mike kicked me hard in the side. I grabbed his ankle, trying to trip him.
‘Hurry up!’ he screamed at Candy, wrenching his foot free from my grip.
As soon as she struck out with the stun-gun, I’d try to kick it out of her hand. I propped myself up on an elbow. I’d only get one shot at it. If those electrodes touched any part of my b
ody, it was over. Once I was incapacitated, Mike would finish me off.
‘Mr Munro?’ The door from the livingroom into the kitchen opened and Danny Boyd stood there, hair tousled, face puffy, as though he’d just woken up.
Candy spun around. Danny took in the scene through widening eyes and slammed the door shut again. Seeing Mike distracted, I hurled myself at him. The knife ripped through the left sleeve of my shirt. I jumped back, grabbed a chair and, lion tamer-like, held him at bay. Mike feinted with the knife, but could get nowhere near me. He reached out and grabbed the stun-gun from Candy. Zapper in one hand, chopping knife in the other, he shuffled towards me. I backed away. There wasn’t much room in the kitchen. Two steps and I was at a kitchen drawer. I wrenched it open, one hand rummaging about inside, the other jabbing the chair legs at Mike. I felt around, eyes fixed on stun-gun and knife. A fish slice, a wooden spoon, both useless. A rolling pin: better. I’d no sooner pulled it from the drawer than Mike, threw the chopping knife at me. I had barely time to react. I dropped the chair, flung my arms up to protect my head. The knife hit the rolling pin, bounced off and clattered into the sink. Mike lunged at me, blue lightning crackling. I kicked the fallen chair. It struck one of his legs below the knee. Off balance, he put out a hand to steady himself. Instead of touching the wooden table top, he leaned heavily on a dirty coffee mug. His hand skidded away. He fell sideways, hip striking the edge of the table. As he tried to regain his balance, I struck out back-handed with the rolling pin, catching him across the top of his arm. Ignoring the blow he came straight for me, bringing the stun-gun to bear. Before he could do so, I swung the rolling pin again. It was supposed to knock his head off, but my muscles were still recovering, the effort was weak and I connected with little more than a glancing blow. As he shimmied to avoid my next attempt, Mike's feet caught in the fallen chair. He stumbled, toppled backwards and fell, the stun-gun smashing on the hard floor.
Candy looked down at the zapper. The plastic casing had split open, the innards scattered, a single nine volt battery still attached by an electrical umbilical cord.
Blood oozed from Mike's nose. I raised the rolling pin. ‘You wanted to find Danny Boyd? Well you have. Now you can tell me why. Danny!’
The boy never appeared. I shouted his name again. Still no show.
‘Danny!’
The door to the livingroom opened slowly and Danny Boyd came into the kitchen.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It was really cold and I—’
‘Who’s he to you?’ I asked pointing the rolling pin at Mike.
Danny stared at Mike for a while and then at me. ‘I dunno. Who is he?’
Despite his sore face and a flow of blood from his nose which he was trying to stem with the sleeve of his coat, Mike managed a smile.
I seized Danny by the back of the head and pushed his face down for a closer look at the fallen Mike. ‘Who is he? This man is trying to kill you!’
‘I told you I don’t know!’ The teenager broke free of my grip, stepped over Mike and walked out of the back door.
Mike watched him go and then clambered to his feet. He produced a white handkerchief, dabbed his nose and checked it for blood. Satisfied that things were drying up, he stuffed the hanky back into his pocket. ‘That’s that, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll be off.’
I kept a tight grip on the rolling pin. ‘You’re going nowhere,’ I said.
Mike laughed. ‘What are you going to do? Call the cops? I’m the one bleeding here. I’m also the one with the independent witness.’ He took Candy’s wrist and pulled her towards him. ‘By the way,’ he said, when they’d taken the few steps to the door, ‘you’re sacked. I’ll break the news to Larry. I can take things from here. Culpable homicide. He'll know it makes sense.’
Chapter 58
I was clearing up the mess in the kitchen when Danny Boyd re-appeared, sheepish and soaking wet.
‘It’s raining,’ he said, unnecessarily. ‘I’ve come back for my stuff.’
‘Where have you been living?’ I asked him, after he’d returned from the spare bedroom wearing a waterproof jacket and lugging a rucksack.
He jerked his head towards the door. ‘Out there. Down by the canal. I’ve got a tent. Had a tent. It blew away last night. ‘
‘It’s all over,’ I told him.
‘But what about the curse?’
‘There is no curse any more. That man just now, he was the curse. He had your brother killed. He wanted to kill you. He tried to kill me. Twice. But he’s not interested in us anymore.’ Whatever Mike had thought Danny knew, the boy obviously didn’t; which meant he couldn’t have passed the information onto me. Contract terminated. Mike had won. Whether Larry Kirkslap was convicted of murder or managed to silver-tongue his way to a culpable homicide verdict, he was going to jail for a long time and Mike was scooping one-half of his shares. ‘You can go home now, Danny.’
I phoned a taxi and, after much persuasion, dropped Danny and his wet camping gear off at his home. I didn’t go in with him. As the taxi pulled away again, Mrs Boyd came to the door and waved. Even the dog had dragged itself off the couch and was sitting on the porch, scratching an ear.
Back home, I found some money to pay the taxi and then wondered how I could find out where the party had moved to. Without my mobile and the numbers saved to the SIM card, I had no means of contacting anyone. I gave up at eleven, sat about until midnight and went to bed, shattered but unable to sleep, turning over and over in my mind the events of that night. I got up a couple of hours later and had a drink of milk. Then I realised I hadn't eaten in a while and put some bread in the toaster. While I was waiting for it to pop, a taxi pulled up outside and my dad and Malky rolled in.
The old man walked straight past me. He ran himself a glass of water and then without a word, or so much as a glance in my direction, went off to bed.
‘Don’t worry,’ Malky said. ‘You know what Dad’s like, he’s rubbish at staying in the huff. He always forgets that he’s in the huff and starts speaking. By the time he remembers it’s too late. Once you’re out of the huff, re-entry is not really an option.’
I thanked him for his booze-fuelled words of wisdom and asked how things had gone.
‘Yeah, it wasn’t that bad. The party kicked off at eight and the buffet was scoffed by half-past. You know what these old guys are like. You'd think some of them had never seen a sausage roll before. Most people started to drift away about midnight. I wish I had. When you start thinking the Red River trio are playing in tune, you know it’s time to go home.’ He stared into the toaster to see if there was a problem. ‘So, anyway where'd you get to?’ he asked, satisfied on the ETA of the toast.
‘Where did I get to? Where did the party get to?’
Malky laughed. ‘You never turfed up at the little house on the prairie, did you? If you'd have phoned me, like you were supposed to, you would have found out.’ The toast popped. ‘One slice do you?’ He took a knife off the draining board, butter from the fridge.
‘Well? Where did it all happen?’ I asked.
‘Jill's.’
‘Jill's? My Jill's?’
‘Yeah. That Arthur bloke had another job he had to go to, or was short of materials or something. It was all last minute, and then I remembered…’ He picked up one of the slices of toast he'd buttered and crunched into it. ‘That time when me and dad were out there watering her plants... I thought, if Jill is away skiing—’
‘She's working and you didn't have permission—’
‘We tried to contact you,’ he chomped. ‘It's not our fault you never answer your mobile.’ He took another bite. In a departure from the norms of polite company, my brother seemed to only speak when his mouth was full. ‘Jill won't mind. If she does, you can put your foot down. You’ll soon be master of the house.’
‘Not if you’ve damaged her precious plants I won’t be.’
He grimaced. ‘About that. Jorge had a bit of a trip. Over a rug.’ From recollection of Jorge Klein
man’s footballing career he had a habit of falling over, especially in the opposition’s eighteen yard box. ‘He landed on something prickly.’ Malky shoved the rest of his toast into his mouth. ‘I think we managed to patch it all right. Jill will never notice.’
My dad came through. ‘Will you two shut up? I’m trying to get to sleep.’ He looked at my, as yet, untouched slice of toast. ‘You having that?’
I stepped to the side to give him a free run at the toast on the bread board. ‘Sorry about tonight, Dad. Something cropped up. It was really—’
‘Important. Of course it was.’
‘I’d have been there if I’d known where it was.’
‘You should have phoned Malky.’
‘I know. I went to the cottage. I thought you said Arthur would have the job done?’
Malky sniggered. Apparently, the thought of me turning up to a party at a derelict house, was pure comedy gold.
‘Arthur had to go to another job.’ He parted his moustache with a snort. ‘A more important customer than me, obviously.’
‘By important customer Dad means, a paying customer,’ Malky said, dropping another couple of slices of bread in the toaster. ‘Just as well I was there to save the day. That’s me…’ He tapped the side of a head from which far too many footballs had bounced. ‘Always thinking.’ He walked out of the kitchen.
Suddenly I felt quite tired; like I could sleep. And sleep. Where did Malky think he was spending the night? My dad had commandeered the bed and I had the sofa. The sofa?
I dashed through to the livingroom to find Malky already divested of most of his outerwear and snuggling down to sleep under my sleeping bag. He still had two slices of bread in the toaster. Had he meant to eat them or were they to lull me into a false sense of security? Could Malky really be that smart?
I found the bottle of 18 year-old Springbank and returned to the kitchen where my dad was finishing off my toast. ‘Happy birthday,’ I said. It had officially been his birthday for the past two hours. ‘The distillery at Campbeltown has a tour. You can watch them making this stuff. Might be a good wee trip for us, once your leg is...’
Killer Contract (Best Defence series Book 4) Page 26