Val Mcdermid - Killing the Shadows

Thrusting the keys into the ignition, she had a moment’s panic. What if Blake had disabled the engine? Quickly, she turned the keys and almost wept with relief when the starter motor turned over and caught first time. She slammed it into gear and roared up the remainder of the track, hauling on the heavy steering as she entered the clearing to swing the vehicle round in a circle so the tailgate faced the cottage door.

Leaving the engine running, she opened the rear door of the Land Rover, then hurried back inside. Kit was more upright now, leaning back against the toilet cistern. He was still deathly pale, but his eyes were open and he seemed more alert. Fiona scrabbled around in the bedroom, unearthing a couple of blankets and a pillow. She grabbed the rest of Kit’s shirts and took her bundle out to the Land Rover, adding the sleeping bag on a second trip. She made a sort of bed on the floor, then returned for Kit.

“I’m going to need some help from you,” she said. “I can’t carry you.”

Kit nodded. “I think I can just about stand up now. There’s a walking stick in the living room. That might help.” His voice was cracked and barely audible.

Fiona found it propped up in a corner. It was a modern aluminium stick, spring-loaded to absorb impact, and telescopic. She extended it slightly, so that Kit could use it as a shepherd would a crook.

Back in the bathroom, she pushed Kit’s hand through the fabric loop and helped him clasp the handgrip. “Pins and needles,” he muttered.

“Trust me, that’s a good sign,” Fiona said. She slipped under his other arm and between them, they got him to his feet.

“Christ, I’ve got cramp,” he moaned, his right leg buckling as it took his weight.

It felt like an eternity before he was able to put one foot in front of the other. Fiona could feel the sweat of fear pooling in the small of her back. Slowly, they stumbled the few yards to the front door. Then they were at the Land Rover. Fiona manoeuvred him so that he was sitting on the tailgate. Then she swung his legs on board and settled him as comfortably as possible. “Are you OK?” she asked.

He managed a wan smile. “Compared to what? My head’s splitting, everything’s spinning, and I feel sick as a dog.”

“It’s only dehydration and low blood pressure. Trust me, Kit.”

A tremendous wave of euphoria flooded Fiona as she finally closed the door and put the Land Rover in gear. She’d made it. Against all the odds, she’d found him in time. They were going to make it! She moved off, almost feeling like singing. Into the woods, then out into the open. She could see the belt of conifers ahead that hid the final approach to the bridge.

As they drew nearer to the trees, Kit’s voice came faintly from the back. “He’s not going to let us go this easy, Fiona,” he said weakly. “Pull up.”

Much as it ran against her instincts to get out as fast as possible — she did as he asked. She squirmed round in her seat to face him. “What’s wrong, Kit?”

“If the bridge is down, we’re stuck,” he said. “In the glove box — binoculars. Go and have a look up ahead. Please.”

“He’s got your gun. Kit. He could be watching us right now.”

“He’d have shot us already. Please?”

Fiona thought for a moment. There was sense in what Kit had said. If Blake had been on this side of the ravine, he could have picked them off easily when they were getting into the Land Rover. And at least she had the conifers for cover. In Kit’s state of shock, she wasn’t prepared to take unnecessary risks. She climbed out and, sticking close to the edge of the trees, walked to the curve in the road that brought the bridge into view. As she rounded the bend, taking cover behind some closely planted spruce, she smiled at the sight of the bridge still in place. Kit’s fears had been groundless, she thought happily.

But, because he’d made her take the binoculars, she decided to check anyway. It wouldn’t hurt just to make certain there was no loose planking. She raised the glasses to her eyes and focused on the bridge. At first, everything seemed to be fine. Then her heart leapt in panic. She lowered the binoculars, took a deep breath and looked again. She could have wept.

On the far side of the bridge, both ropes had been cut part way through, the fraying obvious through the powerful field glasses.

There was no way out. The bridge had changed from a lifeline to a deathtrap.

Caroline double-checked the number Fiona had given her, and nervously checked her watch again. Sixty-one minutes had passed since she’d waved goodbye to Fiona. Whatever had been waiting at the end of her friend’s journey, it clearly hadn’t been straightforward. Caroline was angry with herself for letting Fiona face the danger alone, but she recognized the sense in what she’d been instructed to do. If Fiona couldn’t deal with it on her own, the chances were that Caroline would have been more of a liability than a help. That knowledge assuaged neither her guilt nor her fear.

Hastily, she shovelled all her change into the coin box of the phone and keyed in the number. The phone on the other end rang three times, then she heard the choked-off ring of a call being diverted to another phone. This time, it was answered on the second ring. “CID, DC Mullen,” a husky male voice grunted.

“I need to speak to Superintendent Sandy Galloway,” Caroline said.

“He’s not available just now. Can I help you?”

Where to begin? “Are you working on the Drew Shand case?” she asked.

“Have you some information pertaining to the inquiry, madam? Can I take your name?”

“No, I don’t have information, as such. I’m calling on behalf of Dr. Fiona Cameron. She’s been consulting with Superintendent Galloway on the case. Look, it’s vital that I speak to him.”

“I’m afraid he’s not on duty. Can I pass on a message?”

Exasperated, Caroline struggled to find a quick way to tell the detective what was going on, conscious that her credit was dribbling away by the second. “She’s following a lead, she thought she might be heading into a dangerous situation. She thinks the killer’s still on the loose, you see. And she asked me to call Superintendent Galloway if she hadn’t come back within the hour,” she gabbled, aware that she wasn’t explaining the situation well. “I think she needs back-up.”

“Back-up for what?” He sounded bemused.

“She thinks the killer’s holed up with his next victim. Nobody would listen to her, she’s gone after him on her own.”

“Look, miss, I think you’re under a misapprehension here. We believe that Drew Shand’s killer is in custody. Where are you calling from?”

“Just outside Lairg. On the shores of Loch Shin.”

“Lairg? I’m afraid you’re a wee bit off our patch,” he said, sounding amused. He’d clearly decided to consign her to the drawer marked ‘crank’. “Maybe you should be talking to Highland Police?”

“Wait, don’t hang up!” Caroline shouted. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m not some kind of nutter. Fiona Cameron’s in danger. I need help here.”

“Talk to the police at Lairg. They’re the men on the spot. They’ll be able to help you. Either that or leave a message with me for Superintendent Galloway.”

“You’ll get it to him right away?” Caroline demanded.

“I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“OK. Tell him Fiona’s at Kit Martin’s bothy. It’s near the Allt a’ Claon on the shores of Loch Shin.” She spelled out the name of the river gorge for him. “She sent him a fax, but I don’t know it he got it. Please, tell him we need help, urgently.” An electronic voice in her ear told her she had ten seconds left. “It’s really important,” she stressed as the line went dead.