The Rat Stone Serenade

by Denzil Meyrick

  He placed the radio back into the folds of his cloak and picked up something from the floor in front of him. In his little coat with the velvet collar, Archibald Shannon peered out of the black-and-white photograph, a large toy plane in his arms, a shy smile on his face. He was standing on the terrace of Kersivay House, fifty years ago.

  The man looked at the picture for a few moments than spat on it before he ripped it in two.

  ‘Listen, son,’ said Scott to the young cop, standing between the snow-covered bushes in the grounds of Kersivay House. ‘As soon as you got detailed with me, you should have known that we’d be the ones oot in the cold. Story of my fucking life, my boy.’ The long hike up to the mansion had not improved his humour.

  ‘DCI Daley was nearly killed, remember, Sergeant,’ he replied, stamping his feet to keep warm.

  ‘Indeed. Only oor Jimmy could bounce back and lead the charge,’ said Scott under his breath. ‘Anyway, we’ll stand here for a few minutes, then move tae the back. Noo that lassie’s lying dead in the district nurse’s garage, the wind will be oot their sails, mark my words. All we have tae do is keep things secure until those useless buggers up in Glasgow can get someone doon here tae get these Shannons up the road and out of oor way. The only thing we’ll catch the night is pneumonia, trust me.’

  ‘What’s that, sergeant?’ The cop was pointing to the side of the house, where Scott could just about make out movement in the luminous glow of the snow.

  ‘We’d better check it out, son,’ he replied. ‘DS Scott tae all stations. Movement on the left hand side o’ the hoose. We’re attending, over.’

  ‘Roger. Keep me informed, Brian,’ came the reply from Symington, now ensconced in the mansion. ‘And use your bloody ear buds or whoever it is will hear the radio a mile off.’

  ‘Already in, ma’am.’

  ‘Liar. Good luck. Symington out.’

  Scott cursed as he pulled the earpiece from his pocket. ‘I don’t know what it is when you get a bit o’ braid on your bunnet. Seems you’re able tae see through walls. The last bugger was just the same.’

  They sneaked around the back of the bushes, along a wall and onto the gravel path, their movement silenced by the snow.

  ‘There, sergeant, just on the path. Two, maybe three of them.’

  ‘Right, wait and I’ll call this in. DS Scott to all stations. About to intercept three individuals at the west side of the house, over. May require assistance.’

  ‘Symington to DCI Daley. Did you get that, Jim?’

  ‘Roger, ma’am. Myself and DC Dunn attending.’

  Daley and Dunn rushed out of the back door of the mansion, under a stone canopy where riders had once dismounted from their horses, then onto the path that led round to Scott’s location.

  ‘Stay behind me, Mary,’ Daley said, his voice as rough as sandpaper.

  Scott reached the area where they had last seen their quarry. He bent down and passed his hand over the snow. Sure enough, there were fresh, deep prints. ‘They were here,’ he whispered to his companion. ‘But where the fuck are they now?’

  ‘Sergeant!’ called out the young cop, before Scott heard a sickening thud and the young man toppled onto him. He struggled to get out from under the constable’s limp body but was caught on the chin with a boot. Stars flashed through his vision.

  Another kick to his stomach winded him and sent the gun spinning from his hand. He heaved himself onto all fours, desperately trying to get up to face his foe, gasping for breath as the young cop groaned on the ground beside him.

  His attacker picked something up from the ground. Scott heard the safety catch of his own firearm being clicked off.

  A shot rang out in the cold, dark night, echoing around the hillsides high above Blaan.

  41

  Symington heard the echo of gunfire from her position on the high terrace of the house. She called to two Support Unit cops and rushed through the ballroom, where the Shannon family were already beginning to gather for safety. She spoke briefly to Inspector Aitcheson, whom she left to guard the family alongside one of his men and two of the Shannons’ own security detail.

  ‘Symington to DS Scott. Who discharged a weapon? Over.’ There was no response as she hurried towards the large spiral stairwell. Because of the loss of power, the lift wasn’t operational, but emergency lights had been installed along the corridors and on the stairs, so the way ahead was clear if somewhat dim. Soon she and her little party of officers were on the ground floor of the mansion.

  ‘Which way?’ she yelled, as one of the Support Unit cops took the lead. Having carefully studied the layout of the house, he knew the quickest way to the location Scott had last called in.

  ‘Open it constable,’ commanded Symington as they reached an old fire door. The officer strained at the release bar and eventually the double doors burst open, a rush of cold air hitting the police officers like a wall.

  She raced out onto a set of shallow steps. In the moonlight she saw a man lying in the snow, a group of people looking on.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she shouted to Daley, who had his handgun pointed at two men standing with their hands on their heads. She instantly recognised Maxwell.

  ‘Ma’am, this man aimed a weapon at DS Scott. They backed down after a warning.’

  ‘This is outrageous,’ spat Maxwell. ‘Your Chief Constable will hear of this as soon as I can raise him.’

  ‘Why did you allow him to remove the safety catch of the weapon and aim the pistol at my officer’s head?’ asked Daley.

  ‘It all happened in a fraction of a second. We thought we were under attack.’

  ‘My arse,’ shouted Scott. ‘We spotted you lurking about the house. What was that, eh?’

  ‘A security check, nothing more. I wish you had just left this to me and my men,’ said Maxwell. ‘The police have been worse than useless since they arrived.’

  As one constable helped Scott to his feet and another tended to his young colleague, still reeling from the blow he had taken to the head, Daley, Symington and Dunn examined the security worker. He’d been hit in the arm by Daley’s shot and was groaning in pain.

  ‘You’ll live,’ said Symington. But we’ll need to get you some first aid up in the house. Help me up with him, please, DCI Daley.’

  ‘Stop! Everyone stay just where you are.’ The cockney accent of Maxwell’s head of security was unmistakable. He stood a few feet away on the path, a machine gun pointed at the group.

  ‘Put the bloody gun down, Barrie,’ said Maxwell. ‘One of these police officers is likely to blow your fucking head off.’

  ‘Can’t oblige, I’m afraid, Mr S,’ he replied, grinning at his boss. ‘Nev, collect the shooters.’

  Another Shannon security man walked over to the nearest of the Support Unit cops. ‘Give it here, mate,’ he said, taking possession of the constable’s automatic rifle.

  ‘Right, now the rest,’ shouted Barrie, as he was joined by two other members of the private security detail, all with drawn weapons.

  ‘What in hell’s name do you think you’re doing, Barrie?’ said Maxwell, walking towards his head of security.

  ‘That’s far enough, Mr S. We wouldn’t want you to get one in the head now, would we?’

  Daley groaned as he was frisked and his handgun taken from him.

  ‘Fucking brilliant, Maxwell,’ said Scott. ‘Good to see you’ve got guys you can trust.’

  ‘I like you, Mr Scott, so I won’t blow your fucking brains out,’ said Barrie, walking over to the group of police officers. ‘And just to make sure you all behave, I’ll be having this pretty thing.’ He grabbed Dunn by the hair and pulled her towards him.

  ‘Get your hands off her,’ shouted Daley, taking a stride towards Dunn and her captor, his fists clenched.

  Barrie pulled back Dunn’s head and held his machine gun at her throat. ‘Come on, DCI Daley. Wouldn’t it be a pity to slot this little piece of tail? I think you’ve been doing a bit of that already,’ he sm
iled, as his men began to laugh. ‘I’ve got to say, I thought this would have been much more difficult. Don’t make policemen like they used to, that’s for sure. Not up here in Jockoland, anyway.’

  ‘Twenty-one, code twenty-one.’ Symington, who was standing out of sight behind Daley, spoke quickly into her radio. She was about to say more when she was pistolwhipped by Barrie, knocking her to the ground.

  ‘That wasn’t very clever now, was it?’ he said, his firearm thrust back into Dunn’s neck. ‘The only reason I don’t off this girl right now is that I’ve taken a bit of fancy for her. It’s going to be a long cold night and I’ll need a bit of warming up.’

  ‘My inspector will have heard that call. You forget, we’re not the only police officers here,’ said Symington, rolling onto her hands and knees and spitting blood into the snow.

  ‘Let’s see about that. Nev, give the lads a shout, would you?’

  ‘Everything secured in the ballroom, over?’ said Nev into his radio.

  ‘All good up here. Cops disarmed and subdued.’

  ‘Now, ladies and gents, if you don’t mind, let’s get out of the cold. There’s someone coming to see you all.’ He dragged Dunn by the hair, making her cry out, as they and the rest of the group, under the watchful eyes of the armed security guards, made their way back across the snow into Kersivay House.

  More looked at his wife, lying pale and lifeless in the improvised mortuary in the Blaan district nurse’s garage. The nurse looked on, wringing her hands in concern.

  ‘I’m sorry you have to see her like this, Reverend More. It’s all we could do, what with the snow and all. Once the road’s clear we’ll get her to the undertaker in Kinloch.’

  ‘What? Oh, yes,’ said More. ‘I’m obliged to you, Mrs Pirrie. I know you’ve done your best. She’s at rest now.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. I can’t believe this has happened.’

  ‘Nor me, Lena, nor me.’ He stroked a loose strand of hair from his wife’s forehead. ‘Who did this? I mean, who fired the shot that killed her?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know for sure, Reverend More. I heard the police officers talking when they brought her in. I think it was the Detective Sergeant, the one who was caught up on the bonfire.’

  More sighed. ‘Yes, I know who he is. Could you give me a moment?’

  ‘Certainly. Just come through when you’re ready.’ She padded off, leaving More alone.

  ‘I don’t know what you were doing. I don’t even know who you really are. It seems we were on opposite sides, but I’m not even sure of that. But I promise you, I’ll pay back those that killed you. That bloody family has had a good go at ruining my life and now they’ve ended yours. Revenge is all there’s left.’ He kissed the cold forehead of his wife and left the garage.

  42

  There was gasp of dismay when the police officers, along with Maxwell, were led into the ballroom at Kersivay House, hands on heads. Superintendent Symington staggered, a livid bruise already blooming on her face where she had been hit with the pistol. Daley was pale and exhausted, still recovering from his ordeal at the Rat Stone. He blinked in the bright light of the ballroom, one of the few areas of the main house supplied with energy from the generators. The room was filled with the Shannon family and their staff, including some villagers who had been hired to attend to the party during their time in the house. A young woman sobbed as she watched the policemen being marched forwards.

  ‘Right, people,’ said Barrie. ‘I want you cops where we can keep an eye on you – sit there.’ He pointed to the middle of the long boardroom table. ‘Make yourselves comfortable while I get acquainted with Mary here – that’s your name, isn’t it, darling?’

  ‘Wait,’ said Symington, her voice weak but determined. ‘If any harm comes to my officers, you will be brought to justice, I promise you that. The road to Kinloch will be clear soon and my officers will be here shortly, not to mention our colleagues from Glasgow. They won’t take kindly to one of their own being harmed. Whatever you intend to do, give it up before things get serious.’

  ‘Things are just about as serious as they can get. Just relax – after all, it’s the start of a new year. The last one for most of you, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He laughed as he dragged the struggling Dunn from the room.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Daley. I really am,’ said Ailsa, sitting in her usual place at the head of the table. She appeared calm, though tired, with large shadows under her eyes. ‘Superintendent, are you all right? I demand that somebody attends to this woman.’ She looked around the room at the security guards, who were now holding the family hostage rather than protecting them.

  ‘Yes, do as my aunt says,’ shouted Maxwell. ‘You men still have a chance to get yourselves out of this. We’ll make you all rich if you let us go and help us get out of here. I promise—’ But his words were cut short by a blow to the head; he cowered into his chair, hands over his head for protection.

  Bruce spoke up. ‘OK, guys. Take it easy. We’re all here for a reason, so let’s not get carried away. You’re not going to massacre us, so what’s the deal, eh?’ He was holding his daughter Nadia close and felt her flinch as Nev barked a reply.

  ‘You’re very confident. I’m not sure I would be if I were you. Now shut up, the lot of you!’ he shouted.

  As the room hushed, the large doors burst open and a cloaked figure stepped into the crowded ballroom.

  Jock Munro was standing in one of the mansion’s long corridors, debating what to do. Despite his assurances to the contrary, he’d followed Symington out of the building and watched from the shadows as she and her team were taken prisoner by the Shannon security detail. He decided that he really had only one option – to try and get to the village and seek help. He’d counted ten security men so far, but there were plenty of stout farmers in Blaan with access to guns. He was about to search for a quiet route out of the house when he heard voices.

  ‘Now, don’t be shy. I tell you what, you play the game and I’ll make sure you get out of this little mess alive.’

  Jock peered around the corner. The brawny security guard he’d seen earlier had unzipped Dunn’s ski jacket and was pushing her up against a wall, groping her through her thick jersey as she struggled to get free.

  ‘Come on. What’s a little ride? Or would you prefer some of this,’ he said, forcing her to her knees with one hand, while unbuttoning his trousers with the other. ‘No biting, now.’ He held her nose with his large hand, so that she was forced to gulp air in through her open mouth. He laughed as Dunn squirmed.

  ‘Leave me alone, you bastard,’ she said, then screamed as he caught her by her auburn hair and forced her head back.

  Suddenly she felt his body go limp. He slumped forwards and slid down the wall. Dunn fought to push him off her and onto the floor. She was shocked to see Jock in the corridor, the machine gun Barrie had left on the floor clasped in his big hands.

  ‘You’d better take charge of this,’ he whispered. ‘I hate the bloody things. We have to get out of the house and down to the village to get help. There are ten security guards – well, nine now,’ he continued, looking at the limp figure on the floor. ‘We have to be quick.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ said Dunn.

  ‘I gave him a fair dunt on the head, I must admit. Come on, lassie, this one’s mates will come looking for him soon.’ He pointed down the dim corridor to a back stairwell. ‘We’ll get down to the ground floor this way, but then we’ll have to work out how to get out of this bloody place.’

  Dunn took the lead, the gun slung over her shoulder, as they made their way down the narrow staircase.

  They were on the last flight of stairs when someone called out from the floor below. ‘Stay exactly where you are and put the gun down.’

  ‘Bastard!’ said Jock.

  More stood at the bottom of the long driveway that led up to Kersivay House. The moon’s eerie light was diffused through the clouds, lending a weak luminescence to the snow.

  He looked aroun
d, making sure he was alone. As he stared into the bay a large object appeared from behind the long promontory where once the castle had stood. Even in the strange light, it was clearly a vessel, long and sleek.

  More ducked into the shadows as he took his first step on the driveway towards the house. Though the road had been kept relatively clear of snow, he chose to plough his way through the accumulations on the verge. Here he could stay out of sight as he climbed the winding path to the mansion.

  He knew that the death of his young wife should have been his driving force, but it wasn’t. She had been part of something he didn’t understand.

  With every step, he felt the pain of the belt as it hit his back and legs, the kicks to his stomach and punches in the face. The brass plaque – Property of Shannon Agricultural (Australia) Ltd. – shone out at him from the bureau. He had been as much of a possession as the old piece of furniture.

  The plan to wrest control of the company from the Shannons had excited him. It was all he had worked towards for years. Install Maxwell as boss, force him to transfer funds into his associates’ bank accounts, then leave him to take the fall as his company disintegrated. He’d told himself – prayed – that he was doing the right thing. Now he was sure of it.

  He turned to face the sea. The large ship was motionless now, about a mile out in the bay. Someone had come to Blaan to see the Shannons. But why?

  He couldn’t wait to find out; he hurried on through the deep snow.

  Daley had an ache in his heart as he watched the figure under the hooded cloak; by size, shape and demeanour, it was obviously a man. He recalled the shock of seeing Veronica sitting on the log in similar attire, casually smoking a cigarette.

  The robed man said nothing, nor did he move. Suddenly, the huge screen at the end of the ballroom began to unroll across nearly the whole length of the wall. There were choked sobs as those in the room tried to muffle their fear, not wanting to draw the attention of the guards. Everyone looked scared – apart from Ailsa, who merely raised an eyebrow.