Quintin Jardine - Lethal Intent

'I'll get my team on the ground as fast as I can. God be with you.'

The man's done well for himself,' Ray Wilding commented, as he looked at the house. Night had fallen but the stone-clad villa still stood out, illuminated by carefully placed lights in the landscaped garden. 'The oil business must pay as well as they say.'

'All the people in this area have done well for themselves,' Steele reminded him. 'This is pretty up-market territory.'

Wilding checked his watch. 'It's spot on five. Do we wait for him to come back from the office, or do we go in now?'

'If you look at the driveway, you'll see that there are two cars there. Could be he's home already. Let's go in.'

They climbed out of Steele's car and crunched their way through the frozen snow up the path to the front door. Wilding's ring was answered by an attractive woman with jet-black hair, a brown complexion and eyes to match. 'Yes?' she asked, looking at them suspiciously.

'Mrs Aikenhead,' the inspector began, 'we're police officers.' He and the sergeant displayed their warrant cards. 'Is your husband at home?' She nodded. 'In that case, we'd like a word with him. It has to do with the death of his first wife, and the circumstances that led up to it.'

'If you've come to apologise, you're ten years too late.' The voice came from within the hall; they looked past the woman and saw a big, heavily muscled figure leaning against the door frame. 'But come in and tell me your story.' He turned and disappeared into the room behind him.

By the time his wife had shown them through, he was seated in a chair beside the fire. 'Jessie, you don't need to hear this,' he said. She nodded and left the room.

The two officers stood, waiting for an invitation to sit, but none came. 'What have you got to say for yourself?' Chris Aikenhead asked, truculently.

'We've got a few questions, actually,' Steele told him, quietly.

'I hope they make some sense this time, more than that man Pringle did. Is that bastard still on the force?'

'Detective Chief Superintendent Pringle is currently our head of CID, sir.'

'And what about those other two, the pair who fucked up and caused Patsy to kill herself? What were their names again?'

'I think you know their names, Mr Aikenhead.'

The man scowled up at them. 'How could I forget them?' he muttered. 'McIlhenney and Regan.'

'They're both still on the force too. You must know George is, unless you don't read newspapers or watch television. It was his son who was killed in the castle grounds the Sunday before last.'

'Into every life a little rain must fall.' The words were soft, and had a hint of laughter about them. Steele felt Wilding tense beside him.

'That's quite a downpour,' he replied, 'losing your kid. But it didn't just rain on George and Jen Regan: the cloud hovered over Dan and Elma Pringle as well. Their daughter was gassed last week by a heater in her room on Riccarton Campus. She died a couple of days later.'

Aikenhead's eyes held his. 'That's bad luck,' he said, coldly.

'Yes, it was. Fortunately Neil and Louise McIlhenney were luckier: their son was supposed to have a fatal accident up at Hillend on Saturday, but he managed to escape from the man who took him.'

'A real chapter of accidents, from the sound of it.'

'That's what we were meant to think, but thanks to some excellent work in our lab, we can prove they weren't. We're looking at two counts of murder, and one of attempted abduction. Can I take you back through your movements over the last ten days, sir? For example, where were you on Saturday afternoon, when we had that blizzard?'

Chris Aikenhead stared at the two detectives in absolute astonishment: and then, without warning, he exploded into laughter. When finally, it subsided, he shook his head. 'Make it easy for yourselves,' he said, still chuckling. 'Just get the fuck out of my house.'

'You've got it the wrong way round,' Steele snapped back, his patience eroded. 'We have a warrant to search these premises; if you don't start treating our questions with respect I will have a team up here within half an hour and we will take this place apart.'

'You want answers?' Aikenhead shot back. 'I'll give you one answer, and that's all you'll need.' He seized the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. Standing erect and staring down at both of his interrogators, he unbuckled his belt, unfastened his jeans and let them fall to the ground.

His right leg had been amputated just above the knee, and replaced by a prosthesis. He let them stare at it for several seconds, then dropped back into his seat and pulled himself back, awkwardly, into his trousers.

'That's the reason I came off the rigs,' he told them, calmly. 'I lost it ten months ago. I'm getting good on the new one, but only on level ground. Any more questions?'

'Just one,' Steele replied. 'Why didn't you tell us that at the start?'

'Haven't you worked that one out yet? I don't like you guys. It doesn't matter whether it's you two or the other three, you're all the same to me, unsympathetic bastards in suits whose only interest is in getting a result. That man Pringle bullied my Patsy into confessing to something she didn't do; because of that and because of two clowns who couldn't be bothered to see for themselves, she died a miserable death in a prison cell.'

Aikenhead paused; his anger had been replaced by pain. 'You know,' he murmured, 'since I met Jessie, I've actually been trying to forget about it all. I even thought that when my leg got ripped off, some of that old hurt got torn out as well. I was wrong: you guys have brought all of the injustice back, and more. You came in here prepared to accuse me of being a child-killer.'

He shook his head, sadly. Steele looked down at him, feeling awkward and, for once in his life, at a loss for words. 'I'm sorry,' was all he could say, as he and Wilding turned and headed for the door.

They were almost in the hall when Aikenhead called after them: 'What I don't understand is why you picked me. If I had decided to take revenge ten years on, why would I have killed their kids? An eye for an eye in my case would have been their wives.'

The helicopter flew low and fast through the night skies. It was a big ugly brute of an aircraft, built for functionality and not for comfort. McIlhenney and Mackenzie were strapped into seats at the back with four uniformed soldiers, Skinner in front with the pilot.

It was gloomy: the only illumination came from the instrumentation and from a small night-light in the cabin, but outside and to their left, they could see the lights of the Fife coastal towns, as they swept across the Forth estuary. They were flying over land once more when the radio crackled into life in Skinner's headset.

'Bob, are you receiving me?' a tinny voice asked. 'It's Adam.' The pilot handed the DCC a microphone, showing him a button and pointing to indicate that he had to press to transmit. He took it from him.

'Receiving,' he shouted.

'I've advised the Palace of the possibility of a threat and told them that a detachment is on the way to St Andrews to secure the area. What action have you taken?'

'I've contacted the local chief constable: he's mobilising what resources he can. What will the Palace do?'

'They'll make direct contact with the protection officers on the ground, advise them of the situation and tell them that you're coming. He is in the college, Bob; repeat, in St Salvator's College building, in his private suite. Do you understand?'

'Received and understood. What about the number?'

'I've had no joy with that yet.'

'Keep trying. What do you want me to do with Amanda?'

'Keep holding her. She may be part of it, she may not; we don't know how far it goes yet. But forget that: what you have to do in the next hour will need your full attention.'