Cutter

Cutter

Thomas Laird

© Thomas Laird 2001

Thomas Laird has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

First published in 2001 by Constable and Robinson Ltd.

This edition published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Sh
e
run
s
lik
e
someon
e
wh
o
know
s
he
r
busines
s.
Th
e
ful
l
strid
e,
th
e
lon
g
leg
s
pumpin
g
fluidl
y.
Pumpin
g
righ
t
towar
d
m
e.
Sh
e
i
s
onl
y
a
bloc
k
awa
y.
She’l
l
b
e
righ
t
i
n
m
y
la
p
i
n
jus
t
second
s,
an
d
I’l
l
reac
h
ou
t
fro
m
behin
d
thi
s
convenien
t
thorn
y
el
m
an
d
I’l
l
hav
e
he
r
.

Wh
y
d
o
the
y
ru
n
a
t
dus
k?
Don’
t
the
y
hav
e
an
y
fea
r
abou
t
tha
t
rus
h
o
f
darknes
s
tha
t
come
s
o
n
s
o
quickl
y
a
t
thi
s
hou
r
a
t
thi
s
tim
e
o
f
yea
r?
I
t
i
s
mi
d-
fal
l.
Th
e
da
y
die
s
i
n
a
hurr
y
a
t
aroun
d
4.
3
0
p.m
.

Tw
o
hundre
d
mor
e
fee
t
an
d
sh
e
i
s
o
n
to
p
o
f
m
e.I
reac
h
int
o
m
y
gy
m
ba
g
an
d
I
remov
e
th
e
bottl
e.I
hurriedl
y
po
p
th
e
to
p
an
d
pou
r
th
e
ethe
r
ont
o
th
e
wa
d
o
f
balle
d-
u
p
T-
shir
t.
Th
e
odo
r
rise
s
s
o
rapidl
y
tha
t
I’
m
almos
t
wooz
y,
bu
t
I
cor
k
th
e
bottl
e
an
d
I
hol
d
th
e
saturate
d
pa
d
downwin
d
fro
m
mysel
f
.

Fift
y
mor
e
fee
t
an
d
she’l
l
b
e
her
e
.

Th
e
blad
e
i
s
i
n
m
y
righ
t
han
d.
I’v
e
take
n
i
t
fro
m
m
y
leathe
r
jacket’
s
pocke
t.
N
o
scen
t
emanate
s
fro
m
tha
t
finel
y
hone
d
stee
l
.

I
can’
t
tel
l
th
e
colo
r
o
f
he
r
runnin
g
short
s
no
r
ca
n
I
discer
n
th
e
hu
e
o
f
th
e
jacke
t
sh
e
wear
s.
I
t
i
s
alread
y
to
o
di
m.
Th
e
san
d
an
d
th
e
wate
r
ar
e
behin
d
he
r
no
w
an
d
th
e
beac
h
ha
s
bee
n
deserte
d
fo
r
th
e
bette
r
par
t
o
f
a
mont
h.
I
t
i
s
lat
e
Octobe
r,
th
e
middl
e
o
f
thi
s
preparator
y
mont
h
o
f
th
e
yea
r.
Fal
l
i
s
lik
e
th
e
flutterin
g
insid
e
a
cardiac’
s
ches
t.
The
y
sa
y
tha
t
readines
s
i
s
al
l.
Bu
t
I
can’
t
remembe
r
wher
e
I
rea
d
i
t
. 

Sh
e
i
s
fiftee
n
fee
t
awa
y
a
s
I
ris
e
fro
m
m
y
crouc
h.
I
n
thre
e
stride
s
I
appea
r
befor
e
he
r
i
n
th
e
middl
e
o
f
he
r
runnin
g
lan
e.
Th
e
youn
g
woma
n
canno
t
sto
p
i
n
tim
e
t
o
avoi
d
m
e.I
lurc
h
a
t
he
r
an
d
I
clam
p
th
e
soake
d
slee
p-
lade
n
clot
h
ove
r
he
r
suddenl
y
ova
l-
shape
d
lip
s
.

M
y
runne
r
doesn’
t
eve
n
hav
e
tim
e
t
o
screa
m
.