by CJ Carver
Gustav looked shell-shocked. He was still trembling.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said to Dan. ‘I suspected something was going on, but I didn’t know what.’
‘Why did you follow me?’
‘Ah.’ Gustav exhaled, ran a quivering hand over his head. ‘My father was always anxious about where you were going, what you were doing. I didn’t know for sure that he’d killed your father, but if he had . . . I didn’t want him to do the same to you.’
‘You were trying to protect me.’
Gustav grimaced. ‘I didn’t do a very good job.’
‘You probably saved my life.’ Dan gripped Gustav’s arm briefly. ‘Thank you.’
‘I can’t believe it. My mother?! She is crazy. She has to be.’ He put a hand across his eyes. ‘My God. They are both crazy. Rafe and Gordon too. How did they even think they’d get away with it? And all those poor people . . . Their children . . .’
A tear rolled down his cheek. Sophie came over and took him into her arms. She looked at Dan over Gustav’s shoulder. Her pistol, Dan noticed, was now tucked into her waistband.
‘HMIC trained you well,’ he told her.
‘I took the odd weapons course. Livened things up a bit.’
‘Sorry about your dad.’
Sorrow filled her face. ‘I got your message. Thanks.’ She rocked Gustav close, kissed his cheek. ‘I came here to be comforted, and now look at me.’
He decided not to mention her husband, or go into her father’s history or Project Snowbank and how it had led to this, and she seemed to realise it because she gave him a rueful smile. ‘It’s going to be awful. I might go overseas until 2028.’
There would undoubtedly be a global media feeding frenzy when all this came out, and as the children of the scientists involved, they’d be in the spotlight.
‘I’ll probably join you,’ Dan said.
Heading overseas wasn’t such a daft idea, he thought. At least until the media interest died down. Persuading Jenny to undertake a two-month long holiday somewhere like Australia, however, would be another matter.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
In the pitch dark, Mac drove straight to Glenallen Lodge. He’d already rung Murdoch and told him to meet him there with all the back-up he could find, and now he pushed his car as hard as he dared, wanting to find out where Lucy was, wanting to see her, wanting to know she was safe.
His headlights swept over a handsome granite lodge standing at the entrance to a drive. A green and white sign read GLENALLEN ESTATE. Murdoch had told him that the Bairds’ old lodge, a huge pile with turrets and sweeping lawns, was a mile down the drive. When the estate had been sold, the family had moved into the smaller lodge near the estate’s entrance.
How the mighty have fallen, Mac thought. He pulled over, reversing in behind a Land Rover and making sure he could get away easily if he needed to. He knew he should wait until Murdoch arrived, but how could he sit around doing nothing while Lucy was still missing?
Grabbing a torch from the glovebox, he scrambled outside. When he closed his door and the interior light went out, the darkness was complete. He waited a few seconds for his night vision to kick in. Not a pinprick of light showed anywhere. Something rustled nearby and he stepped away, turned on the torch. He didn’t want a broken ankle walking to the front door.
As he walked along the front path a security light came on and at the same time, dogs began barking. He switched off the torch. Went to the door and raised his fist.
Bang-bang-bang.
His policeman’s knock.
The dogs went crazy.
He thumped again.
Bang-bang-bang.
Lights came on upstairs. Then one downstairs.
The dogs continued to go insane.
A man called out in broad Scots, ‘Who is it?’
‘The police.’
‘Let me see your warrant card. In the window to your left, if you please.’
Mac turned to see another light snapping on inside. Then a beaky old man in a tartan dressing gown appeared, standing expectantly next to the bay window. Mac pushed his warrant card against the glass. The old man nodded.
‘Just a minute.’
He flung the door open. Two dogs launched themselves outside and for a moment Mac felt a surge of horror – why the fuck hadn’t he waited for Murdoch? – but the dogs wound themselves around him, sniffing, growling half-heartedly, their tails wagging.
‘They’re all bark,’ said the man.
‘Gordon Baird?’
‘Aye.’ He stepped back, opening the door wide. ‘Come in. Don’t be standing there in the dark like some kind of ugly night creature.’
Mac walked inside. Heard the door shut behind him.
‘I’m looking for my colleague, DC Lucy Davies. She went missing two days ago.’
At that, Gordon Baird’s eyes widened. ‘Lucy Davies? She’s a policewoman?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought there was something about her.’ He was shaking his head. ‘But I never knew she was from the polis.’
Mac stepped close to the man. He didn’t do it consciously, but his muscles filled out, making him look bigger and more forceful.
‘I want to know where she is.’
Absolute confusion rose in Baird’s eyes. ‘Why would I know where she is?’
‘Don’t fuck me around,’ Mac snapped.
‘I’m not.’ The man’s expression turned bewildered. ‘I swear it.’
Mac drew back his fist. ‘If you don’t tell me, then so help me God I will pulverise you until you are nothing but a bloody mush.’
‘You can hit me all you like but I won’t be able to tell you anything because I don’t fucking know!’
‘I don’t care that you’re a pensioner,’ Mac snarled. ‘Nor do I care that I’ll lose my job, go to jail even, because I WANT TO KNOW WHERE SHE IS!’
The dogs suddenly erupted into another round of furious barking and rushed to the door where someone was thumping.
‘Why the fuck don’t you lot ring the fucking doorbell?’ Baird said, stalking to the door and flinging it open. ‘Come on in and join the fucking party,’ he told Murdoch.
‘Where is she?’ Murdoch asked.
‘For Chrissakes, how many times do I have to say it?! I don’t fucking know!’
Dan strode back to the old man. ‘You wanted to get rid of her because she was going to expose Project Snowbank.’
Baird’s eyes just about popped from his head. ‘Project what?’
‘Snowbank.’
‘How the fuck do you know about that?’ He was staring at Mac as though he’d seen a ghost.
‘Tell me where Lucy is, and I’ll tell you how we found you out.’
The old man glanced at Murdoch, then back at Mac. ‘Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to disappear an attractive woman like that? Let alone a fucking DC. I’d have to be completely off my trolley.’
For the first time, Mac began to realise that Gordon Baird was telling the truth. He looked at Murdoch. ‘Bring him in.’
Baird looked horrified. ‘What the fuck for?’
‘Injecting dozens of babies with some experimental shit in the 1950s, for a start.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY
When Dan told Sophie he was heading to Duncaid to see Christopher, she said although she’d like to come too because ‘us kids should stick together’, she wanted to be with Gustav for a bit.
‘He’s really shaken up.’
‘He’s not the only one,’ Dan replied, looking at her pale skin and haunted eyes.
‘I’ll be OK.’ She gave him a brave smile of old that reminded him of the little girl who’d scraped all the skin off her knees but refused to cry. ‘I’m tough, me.’
All three of them had spent the remainder of the night at Polizeiwache Isterberg being debriefed, and by the time they’d signed their statements and been released it was 10 a.m.
Outside, Gustav shook Dan’s hand and Dan surpris
ed himself by pulling Gustav into a hug, clapping him on the back. He must be getting old. Or sentimental. Or maybe a bit of both.
It was the first time Dan had seen Gustav give a smile since they were kids. It was weary, but it was still a smile.
‘Look after yourself, Dan.’
There were no flights from Hanover to Inverness or Aberdeen until late evening, so Didrika Weber offered to drive Dan to Berlin.
‘No baby on the way this time,’ she said. ‘Which means I won’t get hauled in front of my boss and bawled out for abusing my position.’
‘No,’ Dan agreed.
‘Is your wife talking to you?’
‘No.’
‘Flowers, chocolates, an expensive holiday, all those have their place, but in this case I think there’s only one thing for it.’
Curious, Dan said, ‘What’s that?’
‘Diamonds. Lots of them.’
‘Diamonds?’ A startled laugh broke through. ‘You really think something as cheesy as that would work?’
She turned her head briefly to look at him. ‘Us women like cheesy.’
He didn’t think even a lorry load of diamonds would help matters. He’d broken his promises to Jenny time and again, and this time he thought it was probably too late. She would have had enough and he couldn’t blame her. He’d tried to change, he honestly had, but when the whistle of a mission shrilled, when people needed him, called on him, he just couldn’t help it. He had to join the chase. It was imprinted on his DNA as well as his psyche. It was who he was.
As Didrika pulled her Beetle outside departures, he said, ‘Thanks.’
‘You may not thank me when you see the prices.’ She grinned.
Dan spent the journey to Scotland alternately napping and thinking. He still couldn’t see how Connor’s murder tied into all this. Or Lucy’s disappearance. Gordon Baird wouldn’t kill his own grandson, surely, and Mac had already called and said he was fairly sure Gordon Baird hadn’t disappeared Lucy either. Christopher had a listening device in his car. What did that mean? Who was listening to him? Why?
Dan was convinced that if he could find who’d put the device in the car, he’d uncover the person who was behind all this. The person who’d put Joanna Loxton on his tail and then moved her out of sight. The person who’d set Sirius Thiele onto Jenny and onto the journalist Murray Peterson.
All he had to do was find them.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Lucy awoke from her dream, and for a blissful moment she didn’t know where she was – she thought she might be in her old childhood bed in Southwark – but then reality crashed in.
A pale light filtered down from the patch of sky. Dawn had come.
She tried to go back to sleep. Anything but look at her prison, but she was too cold, too uncomfortable, her mouth too dry. She struggled up. She felt slightly sick and very tired.
She trudged around the bottom of the well. Two steps forward. Two steps to the side. Two steps back. It required effort and she wondered why she bothered. Nobody was going to find her. She knew she wasn’t going to make it. She may as well lie down and give up. Would death come faster if she willed it? She wished she could fall asleep and die without knowing it. She didn’t want to slowly rot to her death down here, frightened and alone. She’d much rather get shot or even eaten by a shark. At least it would be quick.
Three days without water.
Today was the last full day she would be alive.
*
She had been dreaming for hours, weaving fantastic plans of what she’d do when she got out of here, when the longing for a full English breakfast struck her.
Sausages, black pudding, fried bread, fried eggs, baked beans, no tomatoes. She liked tomatoes very much, but not when they were cooked and went soggy.
Oh, and some mushrooms too. Preferably those really big field mushrooms that went almost black when they were cooked.
Her stomach rumbled noisily.
She was so thirsty, her mouth so dry, she felt as though she could drink a river dry and she’d still be dehydrated.
She was slurping down her third mug of imaginary tea when she became aware of a distant drone. A plane, she thought. Several had gone over, including a couple of fighter planes, no doubt practising out of RAF Lossiemouth. She discounted it, having heard a variety of imaginary engines, cars and jeeps coming to rescue her.
The drone grew louder.
It wasn’t an aircraft. In fact, it sounded like a car engine and it was getting louder and louder. She leaped to her feet, ignoring the stab of pain in her ankle. The engine was loud and real.
Please God someone’s come to rescue me!
The engine was abruptly shut off.
‘Help!’ she yelled, but her throat was so dry, hardly any sound came out.
Frantically she swallowed, desperate to lubricate her throat but she had no saliva.
‘HELP!’ she shouted, hoarse and weak.
She thought she heard a noise from above and stopped trying to shout for a moment. A soft scraping sound, as though something or someone was walking through the heather.
It grew louder. It was heading her way.
Lucy began to yell. ‘HELP ME! HELP, HELP!’
Pain shot through her nose and into her head as she shouted, but she didn’t stop.
‘HELP, HELP!’
After a little while she paused but couldn’t hear anything, so she yelled some more, praying it was a farmer come to check his sheep, a hiker, a photographer wanting to take pictures of the rotting farmyard.
‘HELP!’ Lucy screamed.
The next second something peered down at her.
Big ears, broad head, long pink tongue.
It was a dog.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Mac was questioning Gordon Baird, desperately trying to find a clue that would lead him to Lucy, but he was struggling.
The man had already confessed to being part of Project Snowbank. He’d also confessed to persuading the practice nurse at Duncaid’s surgery to administer the injection to the town’s babies under false pretences.
‘We didn’t know that DNA methylation was going to occur in the next generation.’ He suddenly looked very tired. ‘We were horrified, to be honest, but couldn’t think of anything to do aside from letting them die, and hope that they didn’t have children who might die even younger.’
Mac was having trouble keeping a neutral expression. These men had played God with people’s lives. Children’s lives. It made him feel physically sick.
‘Didn’t you try and find a solution?’
‘Of course.’ Baird looked affronted. ‘What do you think we are? Animals?’
Something worse, thought Mac, but held his tongue.
‘I took blood samples from patients. I sent them to Arne. He has a huge laboratory in Isterberg. But we couldn’t find any kind of cure. We decided to let nature take its course.’
‘And let everyone die.’
‘That way their genes wouldn’t be passed on to do further damage.’
‘No chance of that,’ Mac said harshly.
Gordon Baird lifted his chin. Held Mac’s gaze with steady purpose. He exuded dignity and gravity that Mac may have admired had they met elsewhere.
‘You forget what we were trying to achieve,’ he said.
Mac ignored him. ‘You got your nephew, Brice Kendrick, to cover up the early deaths.’
‘He didn’t cover up anything,’ Gordon Baird protested.
‘He just refused to authorise any autopsies on anyone from Duncaid. You can’t say he didn’t know about it.’
Gordon Baird’s face turned flat. ‘I decided to tell certain members of the family what we’d done. A lot of people wouldn’t. But I wanted to take on the responsibility.’
‘And cover it all up.’
The man’s mouth tightened.
‘And Connor?’ Mac said. ‘Your own grandson?’
‘What about him?’
‘Who murdered him?�
�
A look of pure disbelief appeared. ‘Why the fuck would I know that?’
‘Considering you murdered umpteen innocent people without batting an eyelid, I thought you might have an opinion.’
‘Well, Detective Inspector MacDonald, I don’t, and you can get off your fucking high horse because you forget our original goal. To give people a choice about how they wanted to age. We were doing this for humankind. Look at our elderly population at the moment. How lonely they are abandoned by their children. Three point nine million elderly people say television is their main company. How sad is that?’
‘How sad is it that Alistair Tavey’s daughter, Sorcha, who was a budding biology student, has Alzheimer’s?’ Mac snapped back.
Gordon Baird blinked. ‘You know about that?’
‘Dr Grace Reavey called me earlier. I know about everything. And I mean everything.’
Gordon Baird didn’t look regretful or ashamed. He said, ‘We had government backing, don’t forget.’
‘But not when you got Belinda McCreedy to inject Duncaid’s babies.’
The shock on Gordon Baird’s face was real and Mac felt a surge of satisfaction.
‘I told you I knew everything.’
Baird’s gaze grew sly. ‘Except where your little DC is.’
The officer sitting next to Mac in the interview room had to physically restrain him from leaping over the table and flattening Gordon Baird’s beaky nose.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
‘HELP! HELP!’ Lucy called out.
The dog vanished.
‘Come back! Please, come back! Nice doggy, don’t leave me!’
‘Hello?’ A man’s voice.
‘Help! Please help me!’
A silhouette appeared. ‘Hello?’
‘Oh God, please help me, please get me out of here. Please, please . . .’
‘Lucy?’ The man sounded shocked. ‘Is that you?’
‘Yes, yes. Please help me, please.’
‘Jesus Christ. I knew you were missing but what the . . . you’re here. I don’t believe it. Jesus . . . Let m-me . . . Let me get a l-ladder or something.’
His figure vanished.
‘Don’t leave me!’ she yelled.