Dark Suits and Sad Songs (10 page)

Scott made his way through the crowded CID suite; white-boards, strange faces and a general buzz were clear indications that a full-blown murder inquiry, or in this case, inquiries, were underway. He noted how drawn Daley looked, then remembered his own face in the mirror earlier, and the fact that he was late. He was managing to keep his panic under control – just.

‘How are you, Jim?’ Scott did his best to sound happy. His bleary eyes, though, spoke of something different.

‘Rough night, Brian?’ Daley asked.

‘Aye, you could say that. More like a rough mornin’, tae be exact.’

‘Well, it’s a new day, Brian. It’s great to have you back at work, mate.’

Scott hadn’t expected a warm greeting. As he’d gone through the agonies of getting ready for work, more of what had happened the day before had come back to mind. He had been supposed to report for duty. In fact, he had begun work the moment he stepped into the car at home, so, technically, he had been drinking on duty. It was unlikely that anyone other than his friend, Daley, would have been as understanding.

‘Are you looking forward to getting back into it?’ Daley asked.

‘Aye, sure, Jim. I cannae wait to get stuck in.’ As the words came out of his mouth, he doubted their veracity. Did he want to be back at work? Was he looking forward to getting ‘stuck in’? His dry mouth and trembling hands indicated a resounding ‘no!’

Daley sat Scott down and briefed him on what had happened in the last few days. A spectacular suicide and two gruesome murders were a lot, even for a detective of Scott’s experience, to take in.

‘And to make matters worse,’ Daley got to his feet, ‘our highly esteemed leader should be here at any minute.’

‘Oh, you’re fucking kidding me on,’ Scott said, his pallor becoming a shade greyer. ‘I thought it would be great getting back intae the swing o’ things doon here, kinda oot o’ the way. I’ll tell you, Jim, I don’t think I can cope wae him just noo, honestly.’ There was a pleading look in his eyes.

‘Tell me about it,’ said Daley, massaging his temple with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Even worse now that the bastard’s the divisional commander. Listen, you know where I am with this. I’m sure he made you spring MacDougall for a reason; I’m sure he’s up to something. We just have to find out what. As you know, I’ve been digging about since you’ve been, well, incapacitated. Something’s not right. I just can’t put my finger on it.’

‘Aye, good stuff, Jim. Mind you, I wish I was still incapacitated. I don’t know aboot you, but I feel as though I’ve landed on a different planet. Nothin’ seems the same. I’m no’ even working for the same police force any more. And noo I’ve got the prospect o’ the dark lord grabbing me by the bollocks.’

‘Listen, put him out of your mind. He’ll have other things to worry about. And I suppose we’ll get used to our new
employers, Brian. At the end of the day we’re still chasing after the same lowlife bastards. That’ll never change.’

‘Aye, it doesnae help when one o’ the lowlife bastards happens tae be your boss.’ Scott’s resigned look made Daley smile.

‘I’ve been told it’s light duties for you only, my old son. I’ve got a wee list here of folk I’d like you to talk to today. It’ll get you out of the office while your man’s here. After that, I want you to finish early and go back to the hotel and get a sleep. Tonight, you’re going for a wee sail.’

‘Eh?’

‘Lights in the sky, Brian. Lights in the sky.’

He reckoned it would take less than thirty minutes to sail back to where the collision had taken place. This meant that he should have sight of the yacht and its occupants soon. He kept sighting with the scope on the high-powered rifle. The mist had completely lifted now, and the sun was hot on the back of his neck. Pavel, too, was squinting into the distance across the sea, the ripples of which sparkled in their path. To the right of their boat a porpoise arched out of the water, returning to it with hardly a sound. The sea smelled sweet and salty, and left a tang at the back of the throat.

‘They can’t be far away now, Pavel.’ He cradled the sleek rifle against his cheek. His weapon of choice was the McMillan TAC-338, favoured by the American military. It was the most deadly sniper’s rifle of all time. His had been tuned to utter perfection by a Russian gunsmith to suit his own exact specifications. He’d had a custom-built cheek piece fitted, a mould made from the fingers of his left hand was replicated on the barrel grip, and the trigger had been
lightened to just under three pounds of pressure. The weapon felt like an extension of his own body; it had ended many lives while at the same time enriching his own. If he could get within a kilometre of his target he was confident that he could eradicate the problem. The sea was calm, and despite the alcohol he had consumed, he didn’t doubt his abilities for one second. Only memories stood in his way. He took his eyes from the sight and shook the thought from his head.

Alice was beginning to warm up, as the sun beat down on the tiny vessel and its wretched occupants. A few moments ago, the handheld radio had burst into life; the Kinloch lifeboat would be with them in just over an hour. The voice of the lifeboat’s coxswain had boomed confidently out of the device and, for the first time since the accident, she had seen the tension ease from her father’s face. All they had to do was to sit and wait.

Alice angled her head into the sun. She figured that she might as well work on her tan as they awaited rescue. After all, as her father always maintained, every cloud has a silver lining.

‘I see them!’ he shouted, spotting the stern of the yacht poking up, proud of the waves, through the powerful scope. Beside it bobbed a dinghy, in which he could see four figures. ‘Slow down, Pavel. Stop when I tell you.’ He leaned forward and looked through the sight. ‘We need to get a bit closer, but not too much.’ Taking into account the slight undulation of the ocean, he was still too distant to be certain of a hundred per cent kill. He needed a hundred per cent kill rate.

*

Something made Alice turn around. At first she wasn’t sure what, then she realised that she could hear something in the distance. Having spent a lot of her short life at sea, she knew that sound travelled across the water with much greater ease than over land. She could make out a speck on the horizon.

‘Dad, there’s a boat out there! Look, over there!’

Her father turned his head, shading his gaze from the glare of the sun with his hand. ‘Oh yes, I can just about make it out. Bugger, my good binoculars are still on the boat. Maybe we won’t have to wait for the lifeboat after all.’ With that, they both started to wave their arms, soon joined by Alice’s mother and brother, who, newly awoken, looked confused.

After a few minutes of waving, it was obvious that the vessel, whatever it was, was getting no nearer.

‘They can’t have seen us,’ Stephen said with a tut.

For some reason she couldn’t explain, despite the warm sun and the promise of rescue, Alice felt a sudden chill, as she looked out at the small, unmoving shape.

They were close enough now. All he had to do was measure the rise and fall of both boats in his mind, and calculate how to execute an effective shot. He decided to shoot on the rise; though the swell seemed insignificant, it was exaggerated by distance and magnification. This target would be difficult, but he’d experienced worse.

He cradled the butt of the rifle in his arm; everything felt right. Even the slight haze didn’t present a real problem. He narrowed his eye in the sight. Through the crosshairs, he could make out faces; he picked out the tanned face of the
dark-haired girl. Behind him, anticipating the kill, Pavel started to giggle. Normally, this would not have worried him, but now he felt so irritated by it that he stood up and swung around to face the squat man, holding the weapon at his waist, finger still on the trigger.

‘If another sound comes from your fat pig’s head, Pavel, I will kill you,’ he snarled. He leaned back on the gunwale and, once again, took aim. There she was: dark eyes, brown skin, bright and young. He was going to end her life, rob her of her future. He hesitated; suddenly he was no longer in the present. The years dropped away. He froze.

He sees her, the old woman, as she hunches across the street. The basket at her side swings to and fr o as she slouches along. Her only protection is the black scarf that almost covers her head and face. If they can’t see you they can’t kill you.

He tried to steady the rifle and stop his hands from shaking.

‘Baka!’

A call from long ago echoed in his head as he tried again to focus on the girl.

Concentrate. He pulled the butt of the rifle close into his neck, holding it close like a lover.

‘Pazi Snajper!’

He pulled out of the shot, looking at Pavel now, standing on the deck of the boat, not the dusty street in Sarajevo.

He leaned back into the rifle. The girl’s face was framed in the sight, and he followed the movement of the boat up and down, waiting for the moment the little craft would linger on the apex of the swell. He curled his finger around the trigger.

A shot whined through the air – not his, but another.

She falls in slow motion, the old woman on the bright dusty street. Her basket is tumbling through the air, spilling its meagre contents as he watches. A fish falls fr om a white paper bag, arcing through the air in slow motion.

He blinked the vision away, waiting for the boat to rise.

‘
Baka!
’

He heard it again, the tiny voice bringing more perspiration on his brow.

He is with her now, kneeling at her side. ‘Be a good boy. Run. Run fr om the dragons,’ she says, her voice a fading whisper.

He desperately tried to shake the old woman from his mind’s eye.

The little boy stands over his grandmother as she rattles her final breath. His small hand reaches for hers. She stares at him with sad brown eyes as her life ends. For a moment her lips move in a silent goodbye.

‘Baka!’ The boy calls out in pain. He stands in the middle of the dusty, deserted road; a tiny boy in the middle of a big war. He wills the dragons to take him to his grandmother, but they do not roar. Their fire doesn’t touch him in the street in Sarajevo, long, long ago.

They must roar again now.

He clenched his teeth and shook his head. The memories that tortured him were getting worse.

14

He hated that vision; that memory. It haunted him still; what had happened to that little boy?

He pulled away from the gun sight and closed his eyes. He breathed in the warm air. He had a job to do; he had a smaller war to win.

He squinted back into the sight; he could still see them in their dinghy. He focused again on the girl. There was something strange about the way she was staring, motionless, straight ahead. Though he knew it was impossible, he could have sworn she could see him and knew that she was going to die. His right forefinger curled around the cold trigger. He took a deep breath and waited again for the rise of the swell.

Alice stared at the boat, transfixed, oblivious to all that was going on around her.

She was jolted into reality by her father, who had leapt to his feet.

‘Over here! Yes! God bless the Royal Navy!’

Aware now, Alice heard a low noise. She looked up to see the growing outline of a warship, sounding its claxon in the
distance to let them know that help was on the way. She, too, raised her hands to wave.

As he squeezed the trigger, a noise made him flinch. The butt of the rifle forced itself into his shoulder a moment after the barrel flashed. He swore to himself and got to his feet.

‘Quick, Pavel, we have company. Wherever they are, steer in the opposite direction. Full speed!’ He dashed below, carrying the weapon with him, low and out of sight, protected from view by the gunwale. He hadn’t had time to check the outcome of his interrupted assassination attempt, nor the nature of the new vessel they had for company; he just knew that they had to get away. The shot was not perfect, the blast on the horn had made him flinch, but he was confident that he had done the job, killed the girl. Their task now was to disappear.

There was a rush, then a pop akin to a balloon being burst, though deeper and less crisp. A piece of rubber hit her in the face, and her father fell backwards. Something was wrong; she was sinking into the bottom of the dingy.

‘Fuck,’ her father swore, as his son levered him up and back to his feet. ‘The bloody boat’s burst. We’re sinking.’

Alice felt a chill at her feet, rising up her leg. Seawater was streaming into the tiny vessel as its shape and structure began to collapse. Her mother screamed, but her father – as so oft en was the case – urged them all to be calm.

‘We all have our lifejackets on. We’re going to get wet, but that destroyer will be with us in a matter of minutes. Hold on to each other!’ he shouted, as he grabbed his wife’s fluorescent jacket. ‘Let the lifebelt take the strain. We’ll float until they get here.’

Their little dinghy was nearly submerged now; the cold water at her waist was making Alice gasp. As though in recognition of their plight, the warship gave three long blasts. Alice looked up. The vessel was much larger now; she could make out the frothing white wake as the Royal Navy steamed to their rescue.

The lifebelt rose around her neck as it bore her weight in the water. Alice looked for the smaller boat that had been motionless for so long, but there was no sign of it.

Alice gasped again as the cold seawater lapped at her chin.

‘This bloody place! Just what the fuck is going on?’ John Donald cursed, as he banged his fist on the desk. ‘This is grotesque,’ he said, flinging down the crime scene photograph of the young man, his tongue sticking out from the slash in his bloody neck. ‘What progress have you made?’

‘He spoke to someone earlier in the day at the shop downstairs where he was buying air freshener. Whoever killed him did so brazenly, in broad daylight, in his own home. There’s no sign of a struggle at the door, the locks weren’t forced, so it would appear they were invited in,’ said Daley.