Текст книги "Stay Alive"

Автор книги: Simon Kernick

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Forty-six

Today 21.35

‘ONE MILLION THREE hundred and twenty thousand pounds.’ Mo Khan whistled through his teeth. ‘It’s a lot of money.’

Bolt nodded. They were talking about the life insurance payable on the death of George Rowan. ‘Add that to roughly one and three-quarter million pounds in other assets, and you’ve got a tidy amount of money. Worth killing for.’

They were sitting in the small, old-fashioned bar of their hotel in Inverness – the only two in the place, aside from an ancient barman who was reading the paper. A clock ticked far too loudly in the room and, for a Saturday night, the place was worryingly silent, although after the foul meal the two of them had had, Bolt wasn’t surprised. He was now on his second pint of the evening as he and Mo continued to toss around their theories on the case.

‘But I’m still stuck,’ said Mo, taking a drink from his orange juice and lemonade. ‘How could she have set it all up? How could she have hired a killer – a man we know was responsible for the sexual assault and murder of a young woman fifteen years ago? I mean, it wasn’t like she could advertise, and she’s hardly the type of person who moves in those kinds of circles. And how could she know the MO of The Disciple? She doesn’t know anyone on the inquiry.’

‘That’s my problem too. It still doesn’t make sense. The problem is, none of it does.’

‘There’s something else as well. Amanda Rowan was attacked by the killer at her house. She was caught on film on the house’s CCTV camera. It even shows the killer slashing her with the knife, an injury requiring – what? – two dozen stitches. And her neighbour witnessed the killer chasing Amanda through her home. How do you fake all that?’ He shrugged. ‘It’s impossible.’

Bolt nodded slowly. Mo’s reasoning seemed sound, but still his doubts persisted. Earlier he’d re-read Amanda Rowan’s statement of how she’d discovered the bodies of her husband and Ivana Hanzha, and it threw up unanswered questions. ‘I know, I know,’ he said to Mo, ‘but there are still things bugging me. According to Amanda Rowan, when she got home that night she heard a sound, which she described as ‘a faint, sudden gasp, like air escaping from a tyre’. She reckoned it was the sound of someone – either her husband or his lover – dying, and clearly it was coming from the bedroom where the bodies were found, because we know they weren’t moved afterwards.’ He frowned. ‘So the implication is that the killer was still in the process of murdering the couple when Amanda arrived home, which means he was still in the room with them. According to Amanda’s statement, she called out a couple of times to let her husband know she was back, then proceeded up the stairs towards where the sound had come from. Now, you’ve been in the room where they were murdered. It was the end bedroom.’ Bolt paused.

Mo nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘But if you were the murderer and you were going to ambush her, or even if you were just going to try to hide and slip out unnoticed, you’d stay put, wouldn’t you? Which is in the room along with the victims. So that, if Amanda had gone into the room where the bodies were lying to investigate, you could simply stand behind the door and ambush her. That way, you get three victims for the price of two, and no annoying witnesses.’ Bolt threw up his hands. ‘I mean, surely the last thing you’d do would be to creep along the landing to the other side of the house, and hide there. I remember those floorboards. They creaked like crazy. And yet, according to Amanda’s testimony, that’s what he must have done, because he tried to ambush her from the other end of the landing and, by doing so, he allowed her to escape. It just doesn’t make sense. Nor does the fact that, having completely messed up his ambush, he chased her all the way to the next-door neighbour’s house fifty yards away and, rather than stopping then, he risks everything by actually chasing her through the neighbour’s house. We always said that’s not how The Disciple operated, didn’t we? And yet that’s exactly what happened.’

Mo looked puzzled. ‘So you’re saying it’s a set-up, boss? That somehow the whole thing was faked to make it look like The Disciple’s work so that no one would think of looking closer to home for a motive? Because it still leaves us with all those other issues we talked about. Like, where did she find a murderer from? And how did she know The Disciple’s MO?’

Bolt sighed. ‘I’m not saying it was a definite set-up. But I’ve thought through all the possible scenarios – we both have – and none makes sense. George Rowan and Ivana Hanzha died for a reason. Amanda had at least three million pounds’ worth of motive, as well as the knowledge that her husband was cheating on her and might well have left her for this other woman.’

‘She’d still have been left with money, even if they’d divorced.’

‘But a hell of a lot less. Fifty per cent of the assets, tops, and none of the life insurance. So probably a maximum of three quarters of a million, which is less than a quarter. And she’d have had the humiliation of everyone knowing that her old man had gone off with another woman.’

Mo shrugged. ‘But it could still be the work of The Disciple.’

‘Except there’s no way there were two killers at the scene. If The Disciple had been there along with the killer of Beatrice Magret, Amanda would never have made it out of there in one piece.’ Bolt shook his head. ‘This killing wasn’t the work of The Disciple. I’m convinced of it.’

‘But the MO, boss? If that’s the case, how did the killer know The Disciple’s MO?’

Bolt sat back in his seat and stared up at the ceiling. ‘God knows,’ he said at last.

Mo put down his pint of orange juice and lemonade. ‘I’ve always thought I liked cases like this one, when it’s not your run-of-the-mill murder involving some low-life who you catch five minutes later because he didn’t even make an attempt to cover his tracks, but where it’s actually complex. But in reality I hate this case, because I get the feeling we’re never going to get to the truth, and that someone somewhere is laughing at us.’

‘You’re right,’ said Bolt, taking a big gulp from his pint, grimacing at the hint of sulphur in the flavour. They obviously didn’t clean the pipes very often in this bar. ‘I’d really like to have another chat with Amanda Rowan. I don’t like the way she’s suddenly gone AWOL.’ He’d been trying to get hold of her every hour since they’d stopped by her house, and he’d now left three messages on her landline phone, and two on her mobile. All to no avail.

Mo opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when Bolt’s mobile rang. It was on the table in front of him, vibrating angrily. He picked up, not recognizing the number, and was immediately greeted by the gravelly tones of DI Sally Miles of Highlands CID.

‘We’ve had reports of a series of shootings in the Tayleigh area,’ she told him. ‘That’s about twenty miles southwest of here and close to where your witness Amanda Rowan’s been living.’

Bolt straightened in his chair, surprised. ‘Is she involved, do you know? We’ve been trying to get hold of her for the last six hours and we’ve had no luck whatsoever.’

‘I honestly don’t know. So far, we’ve only had one 999 call from a cottage a couple of miles south of Tayleigh. It wasn’t big on details and it’s yet to be verified, but we’re taking it seriously. There are a couple of uniforms in Tayleigh on duty but we’re keeping them back until armed response arrive.’

‘How long’s that going to take?’

‘We’ve got one unit up here that we’re scrambling but the rest of them are going to have to come from Aberdeen.’

‘Jesus. How long’s that going to take?’

She gave a deep, smoky laugh that was devoid of humour. ‘A good wee while. They’ve got a long drive ahead of them. We’re trying to get a helicopter organized from Glasgow as well, but I haven’t got confirmation of that yet. Another thing. We haven’t been able to get hold of Amanda Rowan’s liaison officer, Andy Baxter.’

Bolt’s jaw tightened. ‘When was the last time you had any contact?’

‘He called to say he was on his way down to see her at fifteen twenty. We haven’t heard a thing since.’ She paused. ‘And it’s not like him, either. I know Andy. He’s reliable.’

Bolt got to his feet and Mo followed suit. ‘We’re on our way down to Amanda Rowan’s house,’ he told DI Miles.

‘I’m telling you all this out of professional courtesy, sir, but I’d appreciate it if you don’t go charging right in on this. We’re rendezvousing at Tayleigh nick. We’ll meet there.’

Bolt told her he’d be there as soon as possible and ended the call.

‘What’s going on, boss?’ asked Mo.

‘I don’t know,’ said Bolt. ‘But whatever it is, it’s not good.’

Forty-seven

JESS WAS SHIVERING with cold; her legs were so stiff she could hardly bend them, and her forearm was burning like crazy from the dog bite, when Amanda called out from up ahead, her voice only just audible above the biting wind.

‘I can see lights,’ she said. ‘We’re almost at the farm.’

They were walking along the ridge of a rolling, heather-clad hill that ran into a wide, twisting valley, with a stream running down its centre. Amanda was leading the way and seemed to be trying to keep to a narrow path that was little more than trampled grass. As Jess rounded the corner and caught up with her, she saw a cluster of farm buildings laid out below them a few hundred yards away. There were lights on in the main house, and a car parked outside.

‘This is the place I was talking about,’ said Amanda, giving her a relieved smile. ‘We should be able to get help here.’

‘Thank God,’ said Jess, keeping up with Amanda as they made their way down the hill.

As they reached the first of the outbuildings, a big wooden barn that smelled of hay and manure, Amanda stopped and listened.

‘Is everything okay?’ whispered Jess, stopping next to her.

Amanda nodded. ‘We’ve just got to be careful, that’s all. If any of the men chasing us know the area, they might know we’d come here.’

‘The only one I heard speak had an English accent.’

‘Maybe, but they knew enough to cut us off in the forest.’

It was a good point, and suddenly Jess felt nervous again. For the last hour and a half, as they’d got further and further from the forest, she’d begun to feel safer. But now she realized that this wasn’t over. Not by a long way. As long as Casey’s okay, she thought. As long as she’s okay.

They were both silent for a few seconds. Jess could hear the noise of animals grunting and moving about inside the barn but, aside from the wind, which was stronger here, there was no other sound.

Amanda motioned her to follow and they crept quietly across the driveway in the direction of the house, passing the entrance to the barn where a group of cows stared out at them with dull-eyed expressions. The night was clear and the sky full of more stars than Jess had ever seen in her life. You didn’t see stars like this in London. In fact, you hardly saw them at all and, even after everything that had happened, she couldn’t help gazing up at them in wonderment.

They kept to the shadows, stopping again behind a tractor to listen out for anything suspicious. By this time, Jess was getting desperate. She was exhausted and thirsty, and desperately in need of the toilet. The curtains were drawn at the front of the house, but the light that glowed out from behind them was so inviting she was tempted just to knock on the door.

But Amanda was more careful. She listened at one of the front windows for a second, then made her way round the side of the house. The curtains weren’t drawn on the side windows, allowing them a view straight into a comfortable-looking living room where an old lady, in a floral dress and cardigan, with her grey hair tied back in a tight bun, sat watching TV with a cup of tea in her hand. She had the ruddy, cheery face of someone who’s spent much of her life outdoors and enjoyed every minute of it and, though she must have been close to seventy, she was well built and looked as if she could handle herself. As they watched, she took a sip of the tea and settled back in the chair to make herself comfortable.

Jess and Amanda grinned at each other as they went round to the front door and knocked hard.

There were a few moments of silence and then a voice came from behind the door, asking who was there in a strong Scottish accent.

‘Please could you call the police for us?’ asked Amanda, leaning in close to the door. ‘We’ve been attacked, and we’re lost.’

The door opened a crack, revealing two separate chains, and the old lady’s face appeared in the gap, appraising them both carefully. ‘What do you mean, you’ve been attacked?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone being attacked round these parts.’ Her tone wasn’t unfriendly, just surprised.

‘It was by some men in the woods. I don’t know who they are, but we only just managed to escape.’

The old lady looked at them both in turn and Jess exaggerated her shivering in an effort to gain some sympathy for their plight. ‘I’m not sure what to do,’ the lady said. ‘My son and his wife are out, and I’m on my own here.’

‘If you could just dial 999 and tell the police that we’re here, that’s all we want.’

‘All right, I’ll do that, but I can’t let you lassies in, I’m afraid. Not when I don’t know who you are.’

Amanda told her that was fine, and the woman shut the door and disappeared from view. Jess was disappointed. She said: ‘Can’t we just ask to go inside and warm up?’

Amanda shrugged. ‘We could, but I don’t think she’ll let us, and you can hardly blame her.’

‘She said she’d never heard of any attacks out here. You’d think she’d be more trusting of us.’

‘Well, maybe if we both put on our best sad, vulnerable faces, she might take pity.’

‘I already did that. It didn’t work.’

Amanda smiled. ‘You need to try harder, Jess. You give off this tough, don’t-mess-with-me vibe, but I bet you’re a real sweetie underneath it. Show your inner sweetness and I’ll try to show mine.’

Jess was about to respond, but then she saw the smile die on Amanda’s face. It was immediately replaced by a look of intense concentration.

‘What is it?’

‘I think I can hear a car.’

Jess listened. They were sheltered from the wind by the farmhouse and, after a couple of seconds, she too picked up the sound of a car coming from some way away. It was difficult to know whether it was coming closer or not, but it put Jess on her guard.

The door opened again and the old lady looked out at them. She seemed more relaxed now, her face creasing into a kindly smile. ‘I’ve called the police, and they’re on their way from Tayleigh. They shouldn’t be too long.’

‘Thanks ever so much,’ said Amanda, flashing her a winning smile back.

‘Please, do you mind if we come in and use your toilet?’ asked Jess, desperate to get into the warmth of the house.

‘Well, you look like nice wee lassies, and since I know the police are coming . . .’ She removed the chains and opened the door to let them in.

As Jess stepped inside after Amanda, she caught the sound of the car again. It sounded closer.

‘I wouldn’t answer the door again unless you’re sure it’s the police,’ said Amanda as the old lady shut it behind them. ‘And if anyone else does turn up, we’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell them we’re here.’

‘Don’t worry, lass. I can see you’re scared about something. You can explain it all to the constables when they arrive. In the meantime, you can sit in the kitchen out of sight if you want.’ She turned to Jess. ‘The bathroom’s at the end of the hall.’

Jess smiled and thanked her before hurrying down the hall, past a narrow staircase leading up to the next floor. As she passed the kitchen, a pleasant waft of freshly cooked food made her mouth water. For a second, she was reminded of home. Her mum had loved cooking. She’d make something different every night, and it was always tasty, and in all those years of growing up, Jess had never really appreciated it. Now that she lived with a foster family, who tended to exist on takeaways and ready meals, she realized how much she missed real home-cooked food.

And how much she missed her mum.

Forcing this new, unwelcome thought out of her mind, Jess found the bathroom, which was basically just a toilet and sink, and sat down and relaxed a little for the first time in hours. She could hear Amanda and the old lady talking as they went into the kitchen, and she wondered if they were going to get fed before the police turned up. She hoped so, and immediately felt guilty. Casey was out there somewhere, scared and alone, and here she was thinking about her stomach. She thought about the strange man who’d appeared out of nowhere and rescued her from the dog, risking his life in the process. He’d had a gun but he wasn’t a cop. He’d also told her he’d find Casey. She trusted him to do so, even though she knew nothing about him, and it made her wonder if she was just deluding herself.

‘You’ve done everything you can,’ Jess whispered to herself as she washed her hands in the cold water of the sink and went back into the hall, but she wasn’t sure she believed it.

She heard the old lady laughing from the kitchen, and there was something comforting and familiar about the sound that put a smile on her face, and gave her just that tiniest chink of hope that everything was going to be all right.

And then she saw it. A small dark patch on the carpet, just outside the cupboard under the staircase. For a second, Jess didn’t realize what it was, but as she took a closer look, her heart suddenly started beating faster and she had to stifle a gasp.

It was blood. Fresh blood.

Frowning, she looked up and down the hall. In the kitchen she could hear Amanda talking with the old lady, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying, although it all sounded perfectly normal. Jess took a deep breath. She really didn’t want to look inside the cupboard, terrified of what she might find, but she knew she had no choice. Something was bleeding in there.

Slowly, very slowly, she bent down and opened the door. It made a clicking sound and a light came on inside revealing a sight that made Jess groan aloud.

Two bodies – those of a man and a woman, both middle-aged – were hunched up and lying on top of each other in the narrow space. The man was on the bottom and his face was turned towards Jess, staring sightlessly at her like one of those paintings where the eyes follow you round. He had a large hole in one cheek that was leaking blood onto the floorboards. The woman had dyed blonde hair that was matted with blood and her face was buried in the man’s back.

Jess wanted to throw up. Even though she’d seen too many dead bodies today, this sight was the worst of the lot because it was so unexpected. Straight away, she knew that these two were the people who lived here, which meant this was a trap.

Closing the door as quietly as she could, she stood back and took a deep breath.

Then felt the cold metal of a gun being pushed against the back of her head as a voice hissed at her not to move an inch or she was dead.

Forty-eight

SCOPE HAD NO idea which way Jess – a girl who didn’t know the area – would head, but concluded that there was no way she’d stick to the road. It was too exposed. This meant, in all likelihood, she’d try and head up the hill away from the road and make her way down into the valley that he knew eventually wound its way into Tayleigh.

There’d been an old Ordnance Survey map at the house where he’d rescued Casey and he’d spent a couple of minutes perusing it before he’d left. There was a farm in the valley en route and, if she had any real sense of direction, she’d be heading towards it. Even if she didn’t, and went the other way, it was a good starting point for him to begin looking for her. His plan was to park at the farm, check that Jess hadn’t arrived there, then head back through the valley on foot, since there was no road he could use, and try to locate her that way. He’d found a torch in the house and he still had the gun and three rounds of ammunition, so he was as prepared as he was ever going to be.

A long rutted track, with cattle grids at various intervals, led down to the farm. The hills rose up on either side of him, stark and bleak, and it struck him that the gunmen might have had the same thought as him, and be using the farm as a starting point for cutting off Jess and Amanda’s escape if they chose to come this way.

He switched off the lights on the borrowed Defender and, when he was a hundred yards short of the farm, pulled up on the verge and cut the engine, concluding that it would be safer to continue his journey on foot.

Jess experienced a pure, unrelenting terror like she’d never felt before as she was manoeuvred down the hallway towards the living room, with the gun pressed hard against the back of her head. The gunman told her not to look round, and she didn’t, but then she saw Amanda being pushed out through the kitchen doorway just ahead of her by another gunman, who had an arm round her neck and a gun pushed into the small of her back. She immediately recognized him as the scar-faced man from the house where they’d originally taken shelter.

What really scared Jess was the fact that he hadn’t bothered to disguise himself, even though he had one of those faces that was utterly memorable, which meant that he didn’t care if she saw his face, because there was no way they were going to let her live.

Her legs felt weak and she thought that at any minute she might collapse. She kept telling herself to be strong but it wasn’t working. She was trapped, and at the mercy of men who thought nothing of killing innocent householders and stashing them in a cupboard like discarded rubbish. And soon she’d be joining them. At that moment, she wished desperately that she believed in God. But she didn’t, and never had. No God would let someone kill a mother in front of her young child, but that was what had happened to her, and it had been a hard lesson burned indelibly into her soul.

When they got to the living room, the gunman holding Jess threw her onto the sofa in the corner next to Amanda.

Jess was tempted to lie there with her face buried in the cushion and simply wait for someone to put a bullet in the back of her head, but she forced herself to turn round and sit up, clinging to a tiny hope that she could somehow talk her way out of this. The man who’d been holding her was tall and powerful-looking, with a pudgy baby face that looked out of place on such a big body, and small round eyes set too far apart. There’d be no mercy from this one, she knew that. Her own eyes drifted towards the gun in his hand, with the long silencer attached. It was such a small thing, really, and yet she’d seen all too vividly today the terrible damage it could wreak.

The older man with the scarred face was standing above Amanda, and he turned to Jess, something close to pity in his expression. ‘I’m sorry you had to get caught up in all this,’ he said in an English accent. ‘You were just unlucky.’

Jess was clenching her teeth so hard they hurt. But there was a question she had to ask. ‘My little sister . . . The blonde girl. Where is she?’

The scar-faced man shook his head. ‘I don’t know. She escaped.’

Jess felt a flood of relief that made her shake. If nothing else, at least Casey was okay.

‘Who was that man who helped you?’ demanded Scarface.

‘I don’t know,’ said Jess. ‘Honestly.’

‘Have you ever seen him before?’

She shook her head, unwilling to tell them that he worked for the canoe operators, just in case they tried to get him later. She owed the stranger that.

‘Do you know who he was?’ he asked Amanda, pointing his gun down at her.

Amanda shook her head. ‘I never even saw him,’ she said.

‘You’ve been a real pain, Amanda,’ Scarface told her, something close to respect in his voice. ‘If you’d just come quietly, you’d have saved a lot of lives.’

The comment made Jess bristle, reminding her of Tim and Jean, and the havoc Amanda had wrought on her and Casey’s lives in just a few bloody hours.

‘I don’t even know why you want me,’ said Amanda, looking up at him. She looked scared, but still in control, and she wasn’t shivering like Jess was. ‘I have no idea who you are, and I’ve done nothing wrong.’

The scar-faced man gave a mocking laugh. ‘That attitude might work with the police, but it doesn’t wash with us. We know what you did.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘You set up your old man, darling. It was you who had him killed. Now you’d save yourself a lot of pain if you told us who the other killer was.’

Amanda looked totally shocked. ‘Look, I don’t know where you’re getting your information from—’

‘We got it from the best source possible. The Disciple.’

‘Well, he got it wrong. I’m telling you. I had nothing to do with my husband’s death.’

‘Come on,’ growled the big, baby-faced guy, in a thick Scottish accent. ‘The bitch isn’t going to admit anything until we start on her properly. When the laird gets his hands on her, she’ll talk until she’s blue in the face; but, right now, we need to get the fuck out of here.’

‘Rory, mind your language,’ came a voice from the doorway. It was the old lady. She still had the cheery, grandmotherly expression on her ruddy face, except now she was holding something in her hand. Jess looked down and saw that it was a hypodermic syringe.

‘Sorry Ma,’ said the big man. ‘I’m just keen to get on, that’s all.’

‘Aye, you’re right. We need to move, Keogh,’ she said, addressing Scarface as she came into the room. ‘Let me give this little jab to our wee lassie and then we can be on our way.’

Jess felt the fear crashing through her in waves. They were talking as though she wasn’t there. As if she was totally and utterly unimportant.

Which meant she had to talk fast.

‘Please don’t kill me,’ she said quietly, addressing the scar-faced man, guessing that he was the only one likely to have any mercy.

Scarface gave her an uncertain look. It was obvious he didn’t relish the idea, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do it.

‘We could take her with us,’ said the old lady, walking round behind Scarface and inspecting Jess from the other end of the sofa with a malicious glint in her eye. ‘The laird’s been known to enjoy some dark meat. He might appreciate the gift.’

Jess was so scared she couldn’t move. She had no idea what the old lady was talking about but she didn’t care. Anything that kept her alive for a little bit longer was good enough for her.

‘No,’ said Scarface emphatically. ‘She doesn’t deserve that. Let’s just finish it.’

‘Please,’ said Jess, her voice barely a croak.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Scarface, turning away. ‘Do it, MacLean. And be quick.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Jess saw Amanda stiffen in her seat as the old lady bent down towards her with the syringe. Amanda turned and stared up at the big baby-faced man as he raised his gun and pointed it down at her. She looked in his eyes and saw nothing there, and in that moment she suddenly believed in a God who’d be there for her when she died, and a kind of heaven where she’d see her mum and dad again, and even her real mum . . .

And then she shut her eyes as the shot rang out.