“But if someone was firing into the crowd…”
“There was just the one shot.”
“That can’t be right. There must have been more.”
“That’s what your bosses were saying. I heard them. One shot, and down you went.”
Donal reached for the glass of water next to his hospital bed, but even that slight movement hurt his shoulder. Catriona leaned forward to help.
“Are Mum and Da coming?” he asked.
“They spoke to the surgeon and he convinced them that it was just a shallow flesh wound, so I doubt that they will make the trek. He told them you were being discharged tomorrow.”
“I suppose they’ll be coming when the baby is born. It doesn’t make sense for them to travel to Edinburgh twice in a couple of weeks.”
“I suppose so,” she conceded. “I have to go now, Donnie, but I’ll be back in the morning to drive you home.”
Catriona dropped a kiss on his cheek and squeezed his hand. Then she was gone.
Donal was pleased to have a chance to think. Gun crime in Scotland was uncommon. In the past year, there had only been one homicide involving a gun in the whole country. A sniper shooting at civilians on a city street was almost unheard of.
Or had he been shooting at civilians? Conspiracy theories chased each other around Donal’s brain. He was heavy-eyed with fatigue and no closer to finding answers when his door opened and Constable Burns and Sergeant Shortridge came in.
Sergeant Shortridge was carrying a pile of paperwork.
“Ah, Macgregor, you’re awake,” said Burns. “We have some red tape to get through. Gunshots are always a bureaucratic nightmare.”
“What happened today, sir? How did I get shot by an M24 sniper’s bullet? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It looks like one of those neo-Nazis managed to get his hands on a long-range rifle. He fired into the crowd, most likely to cause panic. He probably got the shock of his life when he saw that he had hit you.”
“Have you had any luck in tracing the shooter?”
“None. We haven’t retrieved the weapon either. We have a good idea which rooftop he was standing on, but there was nothing there when I sent some men to look. He probably panicked when he saw that he had hit you and got out of there as quickly as he could.”
Sergeant Shortridge attached a form to a clipboard and handed it to Donal, along with a pen. He read through the form and found nothing irregular. It simply stated where he was and what he had been doing when he was shot. He initialed the first three pages and signed the last.
“I see I’m still listed as being on administrative leave?” he said.
“But of course,” said Burns. “What were you expecting? The issue of your insubordination couldn’t have been dealt with that quickly.”
“May I ask whose idea it was for me to join the riot squad this morning?”
Burns looked at Shortridge, but she shrugged.
“Couldn’t tell you, lad. It was one of those orders that comes from on high. The brass were in a right stew about the march. I could have told them it would turn out to be a storm in a teacup. I mean, honestly - neo-Nazis, in this day and age. You never saw anything fizzle out so fast.”
“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, hen,” said Sergeant Shortridge. “Some lunatic started firing into the crowd and you were the unlucky one to be hit. With luck like that you don’t want to be working in law enforcement. This is probably all for the best. Nobody will want to partner up with you with that kind of luck.”
The two officers took Donal through the rest of the paperwork that was involved in being injured in the line of duty. It took the best part of an hour.
When they were ready to leave, Constable Burns patted him on the shoulder, an action that caused him to wince. Sergeant Shortridge repeated her assurances that this was all for the best, and finally he was alone.
The paranoid thoughts flooded back as soon as he was on his own. Someone had tried to kill him, and he had a feeling there was more to it than random bad luck.
Chapter 6
Eulalie
Tempting as it was to leave her station and rush off to investigate the blue sleeping bag she could see hidden behind a bush, Eulalie forced herself to stay where she was.
As a hunter, she had been taught never to go blundering after the first deer you saw. It was one of the hardest things for a child to learn. They got so excited at the sight of a deer that they wanted to chase after it immediately. It wasn’t easy to learn the importance of keeping still and remaining patient. You always scoped out the situation before you left your position. Sometimes you weren’t the only predator hunting that deer. You sat still and looked for other hunters, because getting caught in a cross-fire of arrows could be dangerous for everyone.
If you were hunting near the river, you kept an eye out for crocodiles. Prince William Island was home to a small but dangerous species of freshwater crocodile. More than one villager had been killed approaching the river to pick up a deer they had just shot. Stories like that became part of the oral tradition of the village – passed down to your children and your children’s children so that they wouldn’t make the same mistake.
Eulalie stayed where she was, shading her eyes against the sun and looking for signs of life.
To the west, high up on a contour path, she could see a straggling line of hikers. They were three or four miles away. She couldn’t see any sign of the police or campus security.
She kept an eye on the piece of blue nylon that might or might not be part of a sleeping bag. Nothing moved. She sat patiently, feeling the direction of the wind as it tickled her hair, and getting used to the sounds and smells of the mountain.
If she were a predator looking out for women walking on their own after dark, she knew exactly where she would station herself. There was a clump of bushes not far from where the blue material was lying. It provided excellent cover and offered a good view of the campus. Most importantly, it was close enough for easy access. Yes, that was where she would wait.
When she was sure it was safe to do so, Eulalie dangled her legs over the edge of the rock she was sitting on. She twisted her body so that she was facing the rock with her fingers gripping its edges. Then she began her descent.
This time she knew the shape and texture of the cliff. She moved more confidently, spending less time testing the sturdiness of each handhold. Soon her feet touched ground, and she was standing on the contour path again.
Eulalie could no longer see the blue material, but its position was burned into her mind. She left the path and walked towards it, knowing that it was almost a mile away from where she stood. When she knew she was getting close, she slowed down and listened.
She seemed to be alone out here. Moving quietly, she summited a crest of land and looked down, knowing that her target was below her.
There it was.
Someone was living there. She saw a tattered bedroll that had been rolled up and tied with a fraying cord. The blue material belonged to a nylon sleeping bag that looked quite new.
There was an area of blackened grass that had been used to make a fire. Pushed behind a bush out of sight was a rusted shopping trolley. The trolley contained shopping bags stuffed with old shoes and clothes, and takeaway containers that had been pulled out of the garbage.
Tucked into one of the bags was a bottle of methylated spirits, with half an inch of the purple spirit left in it. Several cigarette stubs lay around the fireplace. Some were from commercial cigarettes with proper filters while others had been handrolled.
Eulalie’s heart sank when she saw the shopping trolley, and now it hit rock bottom.
This lair did not belong to her target.
She was looking at the meagre possessions of a bergie. All the signs of addiction and poverty were here. This man might be useful as a witness, but he wasn’t the person she was looking for.
Swallowing her disappointment, Eulalie looked around some more. She noticed a
pathway of flattened grass leading down towards campus and decided to follow it.
Somewhere to the west of her was the clump of bushes she had identified as a good lookout point for anyone wanting to keep an eye on the campus. She had been so fixated on the sleeping bag that she hadn’t paid enough attention to the bushes.
Closing her eyes, she tried to pull up a mental picture of that clump of bushes. It was about half a mile to the west of her along a rough and looping piece of land.
She set off in a westerly direction, wishing she felt more sure of herself. When she got to the bushes, her spirits rose. Someone had obviously been here recently. There were signs of a campfire but no store of possessions.
The cigarette butts that had been ground out into the dirt all had filters attached. Eulalie picked one up and looked at it closely. It was a Gauloise.
She scouted around some more. A sparkle of glass shards caught her eye. It was from a broken bottle. One piece of glass still had part of the label attached. Unless she was much mistaken, she was looking at a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey.
Eulalie’s heart began to pound. Premium brand cigarettes and imported whiskey did not belong to a homeless person. Whoever had made this campfire, it was not a bergie.
She stood up and looked around. Could ordinary hikers have paused here to admire the view? No, it was too far from the nearest marked trail. There was no reason for a hiker to venture this far off the path.
She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it was quite possible that she was looking at the nighttime lair of her predator. He didn’t live or sleep here because he wasn’t homeless. He had somewhere to go to during the day. He might even be connected to the campus somehow – a student, a lecturer, or an administrator. This was where he sat and waited at night and in the early mornings for women who seemed defenseless enough for him to attack.
Eulalie crouched behind the bushes, as she imagined him crouching. The view from up here was unparalleled. She could see at a glance all the hiking, jogging, and mountain-biking trails that spiderwebbed the mountain at the back of campus.
To the east she could see the road that she and Fleur had walked up when they had left Obz Café the night before. What a tempting target they must have presented – two girls weaving their way up the road, arms linked, and singing at the tops of their lungs. Just another couple of drunk students. It was no wonder he had decided to approach them. They must have seemed incapable of escaping or fighting back.
Satisfaction burned in Eulalie’s chest as she thought how wrong he had been.
She stood up and headed back to campus. There was nothing more for her to do here now, but she would come back after dark.
That night, she ate dinner in a preoccupied haze. Fleur was chatty and full of plans for the evening, but Eulalie pleaded a migraine.
“I thought you seemed off,” said Fleur. “Have you got pills to take? If not, come and see me. I practically have a mobile pharmacy in my room. I can sort you out with whatever you like – anti-inflammatories, codeine, paracetamol. You name it.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got the pills I normally take.”
“What do you usually take? I’m always on the lookout for new remedies.”
“It’s called… uh… Migril,” Eulalie said, remembering an advert she had seen on TV.
Fleur looked disappointed. “Oh, I know those. They’re pretty tame. But if they work for you, that’s great.”
“I just want to lie down in a darkened room until it goes away.”
“Hey, I hear you. Migraines are the worst. If you feel better during the evening, we’ll be at the Student Union. You can come and find us there.”
“Sure, but I think I’ll be out for the count.”
After dinner, Eulalie went straight up to her room and locked herself in. If anyone so much as suspected what she was up to, the place would be swarming with security guards. All that would succeed in doing was scaring him off. Eulalie wanted him caught, not frightened away.
By ten it was dark. He had never attacked a girl this early, so she felt safe waiting until now. The problem was how to get out without being seen. There were people milling around in the corridor outside her room. There was no convenient gutter or downpipe for her to climb down. She was thirty feet above the ground – a distance she didn’t feel comfortable trying to jump.
To the right of her window, there was a low, flat roof belonging to the kitchen of her dining hall. It was about fifteen feet down and slightly to the right of her. Only an acrobat or gymnast would think seriously about making that jump.
Eulalie didn’t hesitate. She swung her legs over the window sill and leaped lightly out into the night.
Donal
“Are you sure there’s nothing more you need?” asked Catriona.
“I’m sure. I’ve got meals ready for the next few days. All I need to do is warm them up. I’ve got my antibiotics and pain medication. I have the TV remote. Go home now and stop fussing.”
“I’m your big sister. I can’t help fussing.”
“You’re also virtually nine months’ pregnant. I’m the one who should be fussing over you. Go home and put your feet up. Didn’t you start your maternity leave today?”
“I did. I’m feeling a bit strange about it, so fetching you home from the hospital was a good distraction. Promise me you’ll call if you need any help?”
“I promise,” said Donal. “Right now, the only thing I’m worrying about is whether I’ll be cleared to drive in a week like the doctor said so I can come and visit you once you’ve had the baby.”
Catriona rubbed her swollen abdomen. “In some ways I can’t wait for him to come out, but in others I could wait forever. How is it possible to feel completely ready but totally unprepared at the same time?”
“You’ll be a great mum, Catriona. This baby is very lucky.”
His sister smiled. You would never suspect Donal of saying things like that just to make you feel better. He was incapable of empty compliments. He only said what he meant.
She did a last check of the fridge and pantry to make sure he had enough milk, bread, eggs, ham, and fruit to see him through. Then she looked him over carefully.
She had to admit he seemed better. Donal had always been the picture of health, so it had been a shock to see him looking so pale and drawn in the hospital. Now, his color was back, and he moved almost normally. His arm was in a sling to force him to keep it still so that his wound could heal. But apart from that, he looked fine. He was lying on the couch now, but she suspected he would sit up again the moment her back was turned.
Wincing a little as the baby rearranged himself against her bladder, she said goodbye to her brother and left the flat.
The door had barely closed when Donal got up off the couch and went to his computer. Using his good arm, he attempted to log in to the back-end of the police station’s website.
ACCESS DENIED.
“Damn.”
He had been locked out. Someone had finally woken up to the fact that he was still connected and cancelled his username and password for the site. It was what he had been expecting, but he still found it frustrating. How was he supposed to carry on his investigation if he didn’t have access to the website?
At least Catriona had advised him to make printouts of all the statements he’d had access to while he still could. He wasn’t sure what legal force those printouts would have, but he had dated and signed every page just in case. A police officer’s signature on a document still meant something, although he wasn’t sure that he counted as a police officer any more.
He hadn’t been officially stripped of his status. A trainee officer on administrative leave was still a trainee officer.
The only thing the documents told him was that substantial amounts of money were unaccounted for. They didn’t tell him who was doing the skimming or why. When someone came across fraud on this scale, the correct thing to do was to report it to one’s local police station. But what if it was y
our local police station that was implicated in the fraud? Who did you report it to? Another police station? Or should he go straight to his seniors in the police training academy?
Two things gave him pause. First, he had no idea how high up this fraud extended. He had already tried to do the right thing by reporting it to his senior officers, including the inspector. All that had got him was a suspension and, possibly, a bullet in the shoulder.
Secondly, whoever had shut him out of the website was probably busy cleaning up the account statements to hide the evidence. If it was true that an independent auditing firm was examining the books, then that firm had been bought off. They would give the division a clean bill of financial health and there would be nothing that Donal could do.
The print-outs he had dated and signed would look pitiful next to the power of a clean audit.
“I can’t do this alone,” he said into the echoing silence of his tiny flat. “I need help.”
It was a relief to say it out loud.
If Catriona hadn’t been days away from giving birth, he would have asked her for help. Her knowledge of accounting would have been useful. But he already felt guilty for the anxiety he had caused her. She needed to be at home with her husband now, not fretting about her brother. That was why he hadn’t mentioned his suspicion that the shooting wasn’t an accident. She would be worried sick, which was the last thing he wanted.
He would have to rely on someone else for help.
Donal wandered over to his fridge to look at that week’s duty roster that he had stuck up with fridge magnets. He was fairly sure that the person he was looking for was not on duty that morning.
He searched through his desk until he found a list of home addresses for his colleagues. The one he was looking for was in Easter Road.
He popped a couple of pain pills to blunt the discomfort of walking around. The doctor had recommended that he go to bed, or at least sit still most of the time while he was recovering. Instead, he tightened the sling and walked out into the street to catch a crosstown bus towards Easter Road.
The Eulalie Park Mysteries Box Set 1 Page 71