Crossfire (The Clifford-Mackenzie Crime Series Book 1)

by R. D. Nixon

  And then he had her. He caught at her wrists and pushed her up against the car, slamming her body against it hard enough to snap her teeth together. He got a knee in between her thighs, forcing them apart.

  ‘Come home with me, Charis,’ he breathed again, his eyes bright and fierce. ‘I don’t have a problem any more. See?’ He rammed himself against her and she felt the iron-hard shape of him through his jeans and hers. ‘I’ll bet your bit of kilt couldn’t do what I can do for you. Remember this? Remember how you cried out? My name, not—’

  His eyes glazed over, and his face went slack. Then he crumpled to the ground. Charis stared at him and then up at Maddy, who stood behind him, white-faced, the steering lock clutched to her chest.

  ‘Was he lying? Please, God, tell me he was lying…’

  Charis’s stomach lurched before she could reply and she turned away, clutching the car door as her sparse breakfast splattered onto the tarmac, hot and acidic. Eventually she sank to her knees, breathing hard, trying to push Mackenzie’s face out of her mind, but it wouldn’t go. She turned to find Maddy sitting cross-legged in the road, staring straight ahead, into a distance only she could see. She too was breathing rapidly, taking short little gasps of air, her lips parted to force each breath out, concentrating like a woman in labour. Controlling the pain.

  Charis scrambled over and gathered the unresponsive woman into her arms. Maddy remained stiff for a moment, then hugged her back. After a minute she pulled away and looked beyond Charis, following the stretch of wet road as it wound away into the distance. Charis felt the pain swell in her heart – each beat was agony. It was all her fault; she had brought Daniel here, she had got Mackenzie involved in this whole business, and... Jamie!

  ‘We still have to find him,’ she gasped, wondering how a mother could, however momentarily, forget her own child.

  Maddy nodded. ‘Yes. He...he can’t just stay out here in the cold—’

  ‘Not Mackenzie!’ She saw the look Maddy turned on her, and tried again. ‘Of course him, but right now we have to get to the cottage. Find Jamie, before it’s too late for him too.’ She steeled herself for a grief-fuelled attack, but it never came. Instead Maddy stood up, her expresssion set and cold now.

  ‘First we’ll have to get rid of this.’ She nodded at Daniel’s inert body, and Charis kicked him in the thigh, hard enough to hurt her own foot, wishing he were conscious so he could feel it too. Together they dragged him to his car and managed to get him behind the wheel. Charis folded his legs in, terrified of feeling him move at any moment, then she plucked out the keys. She let the handbrake off and scrambled clear, and she and Maddy got the car rolling a short way before it teetered briefly on the edge of the road, then rolled smoothly down the wide wall of the valley, smashing through shrubs and over rocks as it went.

  ‘He’ll wake up soon enough,’ Maddy said as they watched the car gather momentum, and then slow again, finally rolling to a stop when it reached the uneven valley floor. ‘He’ll have an almighty headache, but I think he’ll be okay.’

  ‘Unfortunately.’ Charis’s voice was bleak. She closed her eyes and folded her arms tight across her chest, as if she could stop the pain that way. ‘How will we know where it happened?’

  ‘Your ex wouldn’t have hung around at the scene; he’d have driven for a bit before he dared to stop. It probably didn’t even...’ Maddy paused, as if the reality of what it was had hit her all over again. ‘It probably didn’t even happen on this road. More likely up towards the estate, where it’s steeper.’

  Charis put a hand on her arm. ‘I never said thank you,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know how far Daniel would have gone if you hadn’t been there and...done what you did. So thank you.’

  Maddy nodded briefly; Charis might as well have been thanking her for the loan of a book. ‘Let’s just go,’ she said, turning back to her own car.

  Charis took a last look down at where Daniel’s car lay, dented but otherwise undamaged, and wished with all her heart that it would catch fire like they did in the films, right there in front of her eyes; that Daniel would wake up and feel the heat of flames, and not be able to escape. That his last vision in this world would be of her, standing impassive and watching him die.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Glenlowrie Estate

  Jamie’s feet and legs were aching badly now, and the hunger was a hollow howl in his belly that was only going to become worse. Still, he didn’t give in to the temptation to finish his Mars Bar. He clutched at the treasure he had found, looking away from it now and again, but always finding his gaze drawn back down within a few minutes. It focused his attention, helped him to stay calm – and besides, what else was there to look at? The walls were bare, and the two halves of the stone he’d pulled out were now pushed back in, so no-one would realise it had been disturbed at all unless they looked closely.

  He made a sound that was almost a laugh – no-one would realise? And who was there to see? The almost-laugh turned into a sob, and he bit his lip, staring hard at the shimmering, living fire he held in his hand. Outside, a bird called, and faintly, somewhere out there, Jamie heard the cracking echo of a gunshot. He stiffened, folding his fingers over the stone and holding it against his heart as he stood up and crossed to the air vent. Another shot, and another...far, far away.

  He remembered his mother talking about the way they hunted animals up here. Deer and peasants and stuff. No, not peasants – he’d read about those in history and they weren’t birds...pheasants, that was it. And the little fat, famous ones, like on the whisky adverts at Christmas.

  Then he heard another sound, and this one made his heart triple-beat. A car! Breathing heavily, he stared around him in panic, then shoved the stone into his jeans pocket where it lay against his leg; the pressure was comforting, and he patted it, hoping it didn’t stand out too much.

  Jamie went to his accustomed place against the wall, under the air vent, and sat down. He tried to still the fierce hammering of his pulse, feeling it in the bruise on his jaw, in each one of his fingertips, even in his frozen feet. Before long he heard the car stop outside, and the door slammed. Whoever it was seemed to be in a hurry, and Jamie swallowed the trembling fear that fluttered in his throat. He was unable to help whimpering though, as the door opened and the American appeared, for the first time looking dishevelled and urgent.

  ‘Get out. Now!’

  Jamie stared in numbed incomprehension. ‘Huh?’

  ‘I said go,’ the American urged. ‘Listen, I’m sorry, I’ve been...misled, stupid. Get out of here, kid, before it’s too late. Go hide in my car, just like you did on the way up here.’ He cocked his head. ‘Shit, too late. Okay, forget the car – go around the back of the building, out that way, up across the hill. Stay low. Do it! NOW!’

  With a surge of mingled terror and relief, Jamie came to life. He dodged beneath the American’s arm where it was braced in the doorway, now hearing what the man had already picked up; another car somewhere down the road, not yet in view through the broken windowpane. He skidded across the slippery stone floor of the cottage and through the tiny side-room. A second later he stepped out into the cool drizzle, gasping as the fresh air struck his skin. Behind him he heard the American slamming the door, and then the car was closer. Really close... He could hear it crunch to a halt on the loose stones at the front.

  Keep low, the American had said. Jamie dropped to his knees and scrambled away up the hill towards the waterfall, hearing voices; a Scottish voice, raised against the American’s smooth tones. He wriggled on his front until he was over the next rise and then slid down the slight slope on his haunches, wondering whether to wait it out or to make a run for it and risk being seen. He decided waiting was the better plan; they’d have to go, eventually.

  It didn’t take Stein more than a moment to realise that he was staring at a seriously unbalanced man. The shouting had begun the moment Bradley and his sergeant had got out of the car; proof enough that Bradley had lost c
ontrol of the situation, but now things had taken an even more sinister turn.

  ‘Inside,’ Mulholland ordered, his faded blue eyes blazing with something that looked frighteningly like anticipation as he levelled the handgun at Stein’s chest. Bradley stood behind him, staring at the surrounding mountains as if they could possibly hold the slightest interest for him, disassociating himself from the scene. Stein desperately hoped the boy was out of sight by now.

  He looked back at Mulholland, whose eyes were wide, questioning Stein’s hesitation and marking its stupidity. Stein turned and went back into the cottage, his mind spinning through all the reasons why this should be happening, and coming up with only one.

  ‘Look, about the bank problem,’ he said, as calmly as he could as the two men followed him into the gloom, ‘I’ll fix it, and have the money for you tomorrow.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ Mulholland told him.

  ‘Oh, right, is this where you say; “for you there is no tomorrow”?’ Stein scoffed lightly, but when he saw Mulholland’s face, he wished he’d said nothing.

  ‘I wouldn’t be so predictable.’

  Stein took a deep breath. ‘Okay, but aren’t you supposed to at least tell me why you’re pointing that thing at me? And how you found this place?’

  ‘Duncan Wallace was an old friend of mine,’ Bradley said.‘What are you doing up here, Mr Stein?’

  Stein switched his attention to him: Sarah’s shiny-faced ex-lover. ‘Sarah told me about it, and what it meant to her as a child. She wanted me to check it out before I leave the country.’ It had sounded plausible enough in his head, but aloud it struck a false chord that rang off the old stones and had clearly not convinced the two men.

  ‘How sweet. And Sarah cares that much about you, does she? You know, sending you to run her errands and all?’

  The question burned as Stein recalled her coldness on the phone. ‘She just wanted me to do this thing for her. I wanted to help.’

  ‘Well, lucky you, she’s on her way here. In fact, she should be here any time now.’ Bradley glanced at his watch, and despite this further evidence of Sarah’s lies, Stein’s spirits rose a fraction; there might be a chance to square things after all, to understand why she’d done what she had. No matter what had gone wrong with the deal, she wouldn’t let him be killed; they’d shared too much. All he had to do was keep them talking until she got here.

  ‘So, these figurines,’ he said, feigning continued ignorance. ‘Are they worth a huge deal or what? I mean, I’d thought it was just sentimental, but it seems like maybe there’s more to them than that.’ He nodded at the gun, trying to control the sweat that he could already feel prickling on his brow. ‘They real valuable antiques then?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter really, does it?’ Mulholland gestured to the door Stein himself had mended, on Sarah’s instruction, and to which he’d fitted the heavy bolt. ‘On you go, Mr Stein.’

  ‘What do you mean? Why do you want me in there?’

  ‘Look, I’m actually quite enjoying all this,’ Mulholland said, ‘so don’t do anything to make me lose my temper and spoil it, okay?’

  ‘Just go in, lad, and stop being so dense,’ Bradley said, sounding bored now.

  Stein crossed to the door, eager to appear co-operative. He stepped into the back room and shivered, and it wasn’t even pitch black like it had been; to think he had shoved that poor kid in here. That poor sick kid... What had he turned into? It had made sense when Sarah told him what to do; the boy would have the adventure of his life, be the envy of the kids at school, and he’d never be in any real danger.

  Well maybe she was right, at that. These were civilised times; you couldn’t just kill someone and get away with it, not any more, no matter how tucked away out of sight you thought you were. He watched in profound relief, as Mulholland lowered the gun and started to prowl the tiny room, kicking at the walls.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Stein caught sight of the kid’s crumpled pyjama trousers, and his breath caught. If they asked who those belonged to, he’d have no idea what to say – he’d be bound to give something away. But Mulholland didn’t seem to have noticed; he was too busy poking around the other side of the room, thank God.

  And now it seemed like the search was over in any case. Mulholland gave an exclamation and bent lower, peering at the bottom of one of the walls. Reaching out with his gun he prodded a broken stone, then looked back at Bradley.

  ‘This has got to be it,’ he said, and the superintendent, a strange look on his face, crossed the floor and knelt down where Mulholland pointed. Mulholland turned the gun back on Stein again, and Stein stiffened, desperately listening out for the sound of another car, one that would signal Sarah’s arrival and his deliverance.

  Bradley was grunting as he worked at the wall, but Stein couldn’t see what was happening, nor did he want to focus on the muzzle of the gun. Instead he closed his eyes and thought of how Sarah must be feeling; betrayed, angry, desperate to reclaim some control – she’d always been happiest when she held all the cards, and when Sarah was happy, Stein was happy.

  A volley of swearing broke through his thoughts and he opened his eyes. Bradley had stood up again and kicked the half-stone across the floor. Behind, in the wall, there was only an empty space, and in his hand lay a limp, black rag that looked like silk.

  His voice was bleak. ‘It’s gone.’

  ‘Is that what you’re here for?’ Mulholland stared hard at Stein, who blinked in confusion, his mind fatally distracted.

  ‘The originals were here?’ He froze as the words crossed his lips, but it was too late to take them back now.

  ‘What do you mean, originals?’ Bradley asked softly. ‘Are you claiming that the figurines we’re selling Sarah are fakes?’

  ‘How would I know if—’

  ‘You’re lying. You’ve already told Sarah as much, haven’t you?’

  ‘No! I swear—’

  ‘Not nearly as much as she did, I’ll bet.’ Bradley stepped aside and spoke to Mulholland, but kept his bland gaze fixed on Stein. ‘I’m away outside, Alistair. Come out when you’ve finished here.’

  Stein watched Bradley’s shadow retreating and wished desperately for the power to reverse time. He heard the door bang open, and prayed again that the kid was long gone – there were still no sounds of an approaching car, and time was running out. Mulholland was grinning now, the gun travelling across Stein’s body, pausing now and again while the sergeant considered.

  ‘Now, where’s the best place?’ he murmured. ‘Head? Heart? Balls?’ The deadly black eye hovered over his groin for a moment, then moved on.

  Stein’s muscles loosened in terror. ‘You can’t just kill me! Sarah will be here anytime, you said so yourself.’ He was babbling now. ‘She won’t let you do anything, and if she got here and found you had, she’d—’

  ‘Oh, relax! I’m pulling your pisser.’ Mulholland sighed and lowered his weapon. ‘You’re such a coward, I was hoping you’d shit yourself. I heard that can happen, but I’ve never actually seen it.’

  Stein laughed shakily, as relief flooded through him. ‘You’re one cruel son of a bitch, you know that?’

  ‘I am a bit, aren’t I?’ Mulholland laughed too, a little reflectively. Then he brought the gun up once more. ‘I’ve got a message for you from Sarah.’

  Jamie heard the gunshot, and whimpered, pressing his head down into his folded arms. He wondered if it was Mr Mackenzie who’d come and shot the American, and his chest tightened even further. He felt the grass scratching at his bare feet and the rain soaking his jeans; then, worst of all, his throat closed up and he hitched breath after broken breath, reciting his seven times table to focus his mind. But that only made him remember his mother, and their frequent arguments about homework. Jamie bit down hard on his arm to keep from crying out in miserable fear – what if she was already hurt, or worse?

  He had to get down to the town and find
someone to help, but he was too dizzy to see straight, and halfway down the slope his foot his a rock and he stumbled. He put his hands out to break his fall, but they slipped in the wet grass and he landed on his thigh, the impact making him flinch and shout in pain. He reached down to bat the obstruction aside, then stopped and dug down into his pocket instead; his fingers were shaking so hard he could hardly make them close over the black stone, but finally he had it in his hand, and concentrated on the shifting, glowing colours deep inside it.

  Eventually, breathing steadily again, he put the stone away and started back down the hill. His bare feet frequently plunged into boggy holes; pretty soon they’d become numb, and the fear then was that he couldn’t sense the undulating terrain. But whenever he stood on a stone it brought his skin to life again in the worst kind of way, and every step promised discomfort of one kind or another.

  Spotting a small river away to his right, he followed it with his eyes for a moment. It twisted away out of sight, but he didn’t know whether this river joined the waterfall, or was made by it. No matter; either way he’d be heading for lower ground. With a last, terror-filled glance back up the hill, he started down the path.

  Up ahead, through the thinning trees, he saw the water churning into white foam, carving its way deep into the valley floor. With a mixture of terror and fascination he crept up to the point where it disappeared, and drew a sharp, excited breath as he watched the wall of roaring water crashing away below him. But, fascinating and awe inspiring as the sight was, realisation quickly robbed him of the euphoria of escape; the next level of the valley seemed impossible to reach without climbing back up to the road, and there would be nowhere to hide up there. It might take hours, and it would be dark before he was away from the cottage again. Plus there was at least one person with a gun... But what choice was there?