Tony Black - Murder Mile

‘What was that?’ said McGuire.

‘What was what?’

‘A noise… a click.’

Brennan lowered his gaze, looked towards McGuire, ‘Where?’

‘Over there,’ the DS pointed.

Brennan turned towards the direction McGuire indicated; as he roved the sublunary night he could only pick out the pinpricks of white stars burning above him, and then, a different colour of darkness appeared. A small shape at first, but it seemed to widen as Brennan’s eyes adjusted.

‘You see something?’

Brennan held his gaze firmly; now he saw a car’s interior light burning, he saw movement, a figure, and then there was a sound like a door closing and the light disappeared from view.

‘There’s a car out there!’ Brennan jumped down from the wall, ran for the Passat. The engine was still ticking over as he got behind the wheel and engaged the gears. McGuire dived into the passenger’s side as Brennan spun the tyres on the dirt track. The car took off down the narrow side road and then suddenly stopped as Brennan applied the brakes.

‘Hold on!’

He reversed the vehicle a few feet, turning the wheel to line the front of the car with a wooden gate that divided the dry-stone dyke.

‘Jesus, you’re going through it?’ said McGuire.

‘Fucking right!’

The car jolted forward in a lunging motion, wheels screeching beneath them; as the bumper connected, the sound of cracking wood erupted and then the gate was unmoored from its postings and struck the windscreen. The loud crack of glass caused the officers to raise hands to their faces and for a second the car veered to the right before McGuire swept clear the screen. Brennan gripped the wheel again and pressed forward into the black field. The pair rocked in their seats as the car progressed on the bumpy terrain. The lights flashed up and down, illuminating the immediate stretches of green grass before them and then darting to the further reaches of the field.

‘There! There!’ said McGuire.

‘I see it…’

Brennan floored the pedal, the steering wheel spun in his hands and the tyres slid on the moist grass. They had their target in their sights now, the silver Corolla reflecting the lights of the police car like a beacon in the middle of the field. The DI tried to make out what was going on and how many people there were, but the ride was too bumpy, jolting his line of vision in and out of focus.

‘Can you see anything, Stevie?’

‘Just the car.’

They were getting nearer; Brennan started to apply the brakes, dropped a gear. He wondered why he couldn’t see anyone; surely they must be there, he thought, they must be in view by now. As he gripped the wheel he tried to scan further into the field, past the silver Corolla, but he still couldn’t detect any movement. For a moment, his stomach started to cramp as he had the dreaded feeling that they had arrived too late.

‘Where the fuck are they?’ said McGuire.

‘I don’t know… Watch out.’ Brennan felt the car slide to the side as he skidded to a halt. The officers pushed open the doors and ran to the other vehicle.

‘Nothing…’ said McGuire. ‘Where the hell are they?’

Brennan opened the Corolla’s door; the interior light came on and he spotted a length of nylon rope in the foot well. As he reached in, he felt a needle of pain slice into his back; he jolted himself from the car as a woman’s scream raked the night air.

McGuire was already running towards the sound as Brennan turned; the DI took off after him. The pair went headlong into the darkness, Brennan following the thud of McGuire’s footfalls and heavy breathing. The night air was cold and the men’s warm breath was lit by the moonlight as they went. They had only travelled a few metres when they seemed to drop sharply into a ditch that halted them mid-stride. As Brennan fell downwards he extended his hands and felt his palms connecting soundly with solid earth. For a second he was jolted, as his shoulders absorbed the full shock of his body weight, and then his elbows bent and his chest smacked off the wet ground. He rolled to the side, tracing the ditch’s declivity, and then came to a halt. As he righted himself, regained his senses, he saw the torchlight burning in Crawley’s grip. WPC Elaine Docherty was on the ground beneath him; her hands were tied behind her back but her legs kicked out as she thrashed and lunged at her attacker.

‘Crawley, step away!’ yelled Brennan as he tried to rise.

McGuire groaned at his side, turned over on his knees holding his elbow; Brennan saw the blood trailing over the sergeant’s knuckles; the arm sat at an unnatural angle.

He got up, turned from McGuire and ran into the torchlight. Crawley stood frozen as Brennan crossed the few short yards between them and tackled him to the ground. The torch fell into the grass as Brennan landed heavily on Crawley, forcing him to cry out. The DI righted himself, rose up on his knees as he straddled the felled Crawley; for a moment Brennan was lost to himself, he put his hands on the killer’s neck, tightened his grip and watched him writhe beneath him. He felt a powerful urge to watch Crawley’s life drain away; his pulse was racing, his mind welling with animus as he pressed his hands deeper into Crawley’s throat. He watched the killer’s eyes widen, his lips splayed in a rictus and the dark tongue inside pressed into the air. Crawley started to gag, white froth gathering at the edges of his mouth. Brennan knew he was seconds from death, he felt the tension in his own aching jaw where he gripped his teeth tight and saw the real terror that was in Crawley’ face. For a moment, Brennan understood nothing about himself and everything about the killer he gripped in his hands, and the thought stabbed at him; flashing into his mind with fresh perspicacity. It was as if an unseen hand was holding him back: some part of him didn’t want to take revenge. Brennan knew the primal instinct to kill wasn’t in him; he was a police officer, not a murderer. He gasped for breath and released his grip.

Brennan watched as Crawley raised hands to his throat; he coughed and spluttered as he gasped the night air greedily. His face was reddened, his eyes, still wide, showed the brightness of burst capillaries webbing their edges. He tried to turn over, to escape the hold Brennan had on him, but the DI grabbed his flailing arms and attached handcuffs to his wrists. As Crawley lay with his face in the dirt, spitting at the grass and muck, Brennan leaned forward, brought his mouth close to his ear and yelled in a ragged, emotional voice, ‘Get used to fucking chains, beast!’

Brennan rose, gasped for breath himself as he turned to take in the sight of McGuire kneeling to comfort Elaine; he had his one good arm round her; she rocked in steady tears as they huddled together on the ground like lost children. The DI walked towards them, his steps heavy and uncertain, adrenaline receding, his mouth drooping as he took in air.

‘It’s over,’ said McGuire to Elaine. ‘All over.’ As the DI appeared at his side, he looked up, said, ‘It is, isn’t it, sir?’

Brennan nodded; he placed a shaking hand on McGuire’s shoulder. ‘It’s over, Stevie.’ He turned away, looked to the dark night sky and caught the dim glow of the city of Edinburgh in the distance. ‘It’s well and truly over.’