Five Six Pick Up Sticks (Grasshopper Lawns)

by EJ Lamprey

  'You interfering idiot, how fast can you move in that cast, eh?'

  Edge blinked, and tried to focus on the sudden bewildering flurry of motion. Brian was the bulkier of the two, but as the struggle rocked sideways his cast skidded on the concrete surface and Nick twisted free, then sank one fist into Brian’s midriff, the other fist flashing up in a short but horrible jab as Brian gasped and folded forward involuntarily. Brian flew back, staggered, his cast slipped again and he lost his balance completely. For a long second his flailing arms hung in the air and then, in slow motion, he crashed backwards.

  Edge watched in owlish anticipation of a wig flying off, cartoon style, and decided Donald had been wrong. A blow like that must have nearly lifted his head off, no mere wig could have stayed in place. As he fell heavily below the line of the window, she was distantly surprised to see Miss P, eyes and mouth round with astonishment, framed in the archway to the utility area. Nick opened his fist, working his fingers, then scooped her legs into the car, closed the door, and started round to the driver’s side.

  As Edge swung her head slowly round to look at him she saw a police car, lights but no sirens, slow to turn into the main parking area; then Nick’s hand was on the back of her head, pushing it down, as he put the car into gear and pulled slowly and smoothly out of the service alley.

  'Keep your head down, sweetie, or you might pass out. Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll get you safely home.' His voice was tight with excitement and she fought the nausea and lost. He tut-tutted as she retched, then threw up, and took his hand off her head. 'I hate when that happens! Okay. You can sit up now if you want to.'

  Humiliated, dizzy and gagging against the sour smell, Edge scrabbled instead in her handbag at her feet for tissues, swaying as Nick accelerated onto the main road. So tired. So terribly tired... a crisp disembodied voice startled her by saying something about patrol cars right next to her ear and she twitched away from the speaker and gagged again. Her fumbling hand, feeling through the handbag for tissues, brushed against the cool weight of the mobile phone, and her heart jumped painfully. Awkwardly, agonizingly slowly, fingers as clumsy and useless as a bunch of sausages, she found the panic button, twisted and pressed before the gathering darkness closed in.

  'The unit has reached the Whistling Haggis,' the controller told Iain and Kirsty. 'Going in now, confirm, officer going in now, back and front door under surveillance.'

  Kirsty’s shoulder unit rang, and she missed the next thing the controller said as she answered. William’s voice, tight with worry, boomed into her ear.

  'Kirsty, we lost her. Miss P saw her leaving in a big black car, but she doesn’t know much about cars, she doesn’t know what type it was. Brian tried to stop them, and he’s been knocked clean out. It was Nick driving, though. He’d pulled on a hat but she’s pretty sure.'

  'Then it’s a black Audi, and we have the registration.' Kirsty was amazed at how calm she sounded. 'Thanks, William. How long ago?'

  'Minutes. Less than two. There’s a police car in the parking lot, they must have passed it on the way.'

  'We’ll contact them,' she assured him. 'I have to go. It’ll be okay, thanks for phoning.'

  Iain flipped on the siren again as they started onto the Forth Road Bridge, and the few cars ahead of them shot out of the way as though goosed. He put his foot down hard and the powerful car sprang forward as she radioed the controller and in that same calm voice gave him the reference to pull the Audi details.

  'She’s more than likely carrying Susan’s mobile,' she added, half to Iain and half to the controller. 'Can we re-establish the tracker?'

  'We’ve reached Dinwoodie, he’s on his way in.' The controller sounded equally calm. 'He said if she manages to set the panic button we can pick them up on any of our systems but there’s been nothing. No, wait!' His voice tightened suddenly. 'The panic button’s been activated!'

  'Great! Where are they?' Iain asked urgently. 'Please don’t tell me they’re on the bridge already? I’m heading to intercept.'

  'Less than two miles off the Forth Road Bridge, and moving very fast.' The controller had regained his professional calm. 'The Fife unit has left the pub and is in pursuit, about half a mile behind. We’ll get a car to cover this end, in case you miss them.'

  'At least two,' Iain ordered grimly. 'If he gets past us, and into Edinburgh, we could lose them. And he’s used the airport hotels more than once. Check whether they’ve a Mrs Smith booked in.'

  A minute dragged by as the look-out request crackled out on all the frequencies, reporting on the panic signal and giving the Audi registration, hastily found in the investigation files. The Audi was now on the bridge. Kirsty stared at the flickering lights of the traffic on the other side of the bridge, looking for a black car driven by a psychopath. There was nowhere to stop or turn around until they reached the other side but the great metal struts were flying by now – any minute now they’d be across the Firth, any minute now…

  There’d been an accident, she could see a car slewed across the road, impatient headlights congregating fast and the metal struts reflecting urgent brake lights as she and Iain shot by on the other side. She twisted in her seat to look back. Not a black Audi.

  The radio crackled again. 'There’s been an accident on the bridge, two cars ran in to each other. The Fife unit’s caught behind that but we’ve got this end covered now. Two patrol units converging on the Edinburgh end and a third coming down off the A904 from South Queensferry. They all know the registration to look for and the South Queensferry guys have the signal on scanner. The accident has not affected the target car, that is still moving. I repeat, still on the bridge and still moving. Less than a mile to contact. Repeat, less than a mile to contact.'

  'That was clever.' Nick’s voice was still taut with excitement as he closed the window. 'But I’m cleverer, sweetie. You didn’t think I’d risk my little hobby without having an Airwave radio terminal, did you? Worth every penny it cost me on the black market, but I did think if the plods ever got on my trail they’d come up with a better intercept than old Hop-along. I did check your jacket when you left it with me, but any other little tricks hidden up your sleeve?'

  Edge, one hand to her cheek where he had hit her, shook her head slightly. When the controller had told all nearby units to tune in to the panic signal and intercept, he’d nearly driven into the side of the bridge in shock, then jerked her head up by her hair and grabbed for her handbag, all the while whipping in and out of the few cars sharing the bridge. A cacophony of horns and the crunching sounds of an impact in their wake, then some angry flashing, marked their progress but it seemed he’d given up any plan of concealment and was high on adrenalin.

  He’d elbow-punched her when she tried to cling to the bag, opened his window and flung the handbag accurately into the back of an open truck before accelerating smoothly past. Traffic was light, although it was slowing and clumping. There were, oh thank God, flashing blue lights on the road ahead … she swayed in her seat as he instead smoothly swung the car up the side road to the A904 roundabout, sedately moving into the emergency lane to allow passage to a single police car, all lights flaring, which was coming slowly down against the traffic.

  Edge stared across despairingly but both officers were intent on the road ahead. Nick gave a little grunt of amusement and took the traffic light at the top on amber, swerved around a slower car and onto the A904, accelerating past the ‘new speed limits in force’ sign with another happy sound. There were no big hotels in this direction. Was he really taking her home, to Grasshopper Lawns? On Thursday night most people would be home, far too many witnesses…

  The nausea had passed for now but her head ached unbearably. The almost incomprehensible comments on the police terminal, which Nick had turned up to full volume, and another softer hissing crackle that never stopped, made it worse.

  'What is that noise?' she asked finally and he shot her a glance.

  'White noise, darling. To confuse any re
cording devices you may have concealed around that lovely person. Although I think if you had any, you’d be trying to give a running commentary of our progress, so maybe Hop-along was your only protection. Where did you get the fancy phone?'

  Would telling him the police knew everything put her in more danger? No time to think about it, she went with instinct. 'It’s Brian’s, I think he wanted to be able to track me down, find out where I lived, but he told me it would be good in an emergency. He’s an ex-copper.' Always add truth into a lie to sound convincing – she added, letting bitterness creep into her tone, 'He was there the first time we met. He warned me against you.'

  If nothing else this adventure with the police had turned her into a very good liar because he believed her. The road briefly turned almost back on itself and they could see the bridge soaring gracefully behind them, a cluster of distant car lights where he’d caused the accident. There were no blue lights, or even fast-moving headlights, in pursuit.

  'So that’s how the police got my car registration! You should have stuck with him, but I’m glad you didn’t. You’ve really been a very exciting date.' He took the powerful car expertly through the curves of the road, passing the few other cars at reasonable speed. 'I’m actually glad my six o’clock didn’t show; this has been much more fun. So Hop-along doesn’t know where you live, and the police only know a panic button was activated. No need to change my plans at all. Excellent! I can’t tell you what a rush it is to have a woman who knows what’s going to happen to her. I almost wish I had more time to savour it, but timing will be tight as it is. We got lucky with that accident.' He shot her a mocking glance. 'And lucky I always change my number plates when I’m doing a Ben run.'

  'You’re Ben?' In her drugged state this seemed the final betrayal, and he laughed out loud at the forlorn note in her voice.

  'I’m Ben, and Charles, and George. Ben’s been particularly good for me. Catnip to the lay-dies, and doesn’t even know it. I found his photos on a Russian article on the internet, if I remember rightly. He’s going to have a helluva job talking his way out of trouble one of these days – with the police, and with his wife. I’ll be sorry to lose him. Hell, I’m sorry to lose Nick, but now the police have my description it’s definitely time to up sticks and move further afield. Luckily I have another professional name, another whole life to step into. Just one last bit of business for David Parker to sort out.'

  He half-turned his head toward her, and she saw the glitter of his eyes.

  'Don’t you fret, pet. We’ll have enough time. You heard the controller. They haven’t a clue now that the tracker signal’s turned out a dud. No one’s even thinking of sending a unit to our destination.'

  The jolt of adrenalin which had followed the struggle over her bag had ebbed away and she felt tearful and exhausted. With an effort, she turned her head to look at his handsome profile.

  'Is there any point in asking why?'

  'Why I set up several dates? You women are so unreliable, and I do like to keep to my little schedule. I was really very annoyed when I had to miss it one month. Now I book three dates if I can. My eight o’clock will be getting restless soon. She’ll have to wait until next month for her date with Charles – or would that be too risky?'

  He looked pensive, and she shook her head slightly.

  'No. Why you do it at all? What have we ever done to David Parker?'

  He shrugged. 'It was my wife’s idea, initially, to use the websites to meet wealthy clients, women on their own, with more money than sense. At one point I was juggling four, and the first one, Cynthia, was getting really demanding. Monica said there was nothing for it but to choke her off. Turns out she didn’t mean literally, but God, what a rush! Totally spontaneous, but Monica came over to help me sort it out, set up an alibi, there were no problems.'

  He gave a little huff of amusement.

  'She completely agreed about the next one. The woman had no intention of investing, but clingy! She followed me to a restaurant, you never heard such a scene. We chose the new moon again. Do you also find your energies are low then? It’s a great time to top up. Getting my energy back from needy women, who can’t understand that I don’t want anything from them but their money – God, and being expected to carry on having sex with them!' He gave an exaggerated little shudder, then hastily reassured her. 'I wouldn’t have minded with you, pet. Almost a pity we’re going to be pushed for time, eh?'

  'I’ve never been needy with you.' Edge ignored the grisly compliment but instinctively wanted to keep him talking. 'Will Monica help you to kill me?'

  'Monica was a bit of a disappointment, actually. She started getting a bit beady-eyed when I had to kill one of my investors. She thought I was getting addicted.' He gave a deprecating little laugh at the idea, and glanced across again. 'You’re a good listener, Suzi. I’ve not really been able to talk to anyone since she died.'

  'Glad to help.' She couldn’t prevent the sarcasm creeping into her voice, and he patted her knee sympathetically.

  'Such a cliché, my wife didn’t understand me – I’m as happy being a widower. My ladies take care of all my needs.' He slowed for the junction at the top of the road, then turned right toward Onderness rather than left for the Lawns. Her heart sank. It had never been much of a hope, but now that too was gone as he sped towards the town.

  The police unit crackled again, mobilizing units to stop and search a black Audi, possibly using fake number plates, and to check the bigger, anonymous hotels for any women pre-booked for the night who hadn’t yet checked in.

  'You live in Onderness?' She tried to get him talking again, but he shook his head, listening intently, then relaxing as the crackle turned to a robbery in progress. With a little bump of the heart, she realized where he might be going. She had once answered Susan’s original phone at the house and there was the chance, the very real chance, Kirsty or Sergeant Dinwoodie would remember. If only they remembered in time….

  He slowed the powerful car still further to turn into the close and drew up outside Kirsty’s new house, and her last hope died. No police car waiting, only one or two resident cars, parked outside houses with curtains already drawn against the evening.

  'Surprise! I said I’d bring you home, sweetheart. Are you surprised?' He unclipped his seatbelt and twisted sideways to see her reaction. 'It’s easy to find the address a mobile phone is registered to, if you have the right contacts. Gift from one of my grateful employers. After all, I have to check my wealthy widow investors really are wealthy, not living in a bedsit in the slums.'

  She simply stared out the window and he shrugged slightly pettishly.

  'You’ll have to walk. I’m not risking vomit over my clothes.' He sprang lithely out of the car and came round to solicitously open her door, bending down to shoot that dreadful white grin at her. 'Time to go, darling.'

  'I don’t – we can’t get in. I don’t have keys.' She felt stupid and weak with fear as he hauled her upright, and he laughed in her face.

  'I took your keys out of your handbag at the bar, my lovely, while you were looking round for your precious Ben. Now come on. Oh, and hold onto this, will you, until I can find a glass of water?' He closed her nerveless fingers over a rosebud boutonniere he’d produced from a plastic tube from his pocket. 'We’ll need that. Once a year, on the anniversary of Cynthia’s death, I permit myself a strangling and leave a carnation in her memory, but roses are so much classier, don’t you think? Come along now.'

  He wheeled her round, closed the car door tenderly, and turned to pilot her up the path. They were brought up short as one of the shadows stepped into the light of the street lamps.

  'I don’t think so,' Donald said icily and Nick actually whinnied with shock, then thrust Edge aside and lunged forward.

  Once before, Donald had tried to avert disaster and been a fraction too slow. This time, he made no mistake.

  'Brian tipped me off originally,' Donald said patiently. He’d found a chamois leather in his glove compart
ment, soaked it in the birdbath and wrung it out, and was dabbing at her temples, brushing strands of damp hair gently aside. It smelled horrible.

  'I did warn you, Edge. That there was something dodgy going on in the singles scene, I mean. We decided he or I should be lurking in the background on every date, not just William and Vivian. After Brian told me you were dating, I looked up your Suzi profile and realized it wasn’t you in the photo. That was when I suspected you were helping the police. Then your niece phoned tonight sounding squeaky with fright, and I knew something was up. I left the rehearsal to come straight here. While I was on the way Brian phoned to say Nick had got past him, so I was ready and waiting.'

  'But how?' Edge, who had been sick again and was feeling extremely stupid and sorry for herself, still couldn’t grasp this one all-important fact, the one that had saved her life. 'How did you know to come here? I’m so glad you did, but how did you?' Tears of reaction trickled down her face and he offered her the chamois to mop them up.

  'Dinna greet, hen, your makeup will run and then I cannae be seen in public with you.' He stopped the teasing and answered seriously. 'That photo in the house, remember? Kirsty’s colleague, who’d been a poliswoman, and been murdered, and looked enough like you to be your sister. It wasn’t rocket science to assume, if you were helping the police, you and Kirsty were pretending to be her and that meant basing yourselves at this address. If Kirsty was panicking, there was something wrong and this was the only place I knew to come.'

  She shook her head weakly. He’d been wrong, but it didn’t matter, and she was alive. She leaned her head back against his headrest and closed her eyes. They were sitting in his car in the close, waiting for Kirsty to arrive.

  Nick, a bloodied nose and a perfectly beautiful bruise on his forehead marring his good looks, his face livid with rage and frustration, had already been removed by police. Donald had still been tying him to the lamppost, with very nearly every elastic tether he possessed, when the close had sprung into sharp flickering relief with the arrival of the cavalry, the two men swiftly surrounded by grim-faced officers. Edge, nearly catatonic with reaction, had convinced them Donald was on the side of the angels. A policewoman had led her away to Donald’s car to sit down, reassuring her he wasn’t being held, and would join her shortly.