Val Mcdermid - Killing the Shadows

Caroline slammed the phone down. “Bugger!” she shouted in frustration. “You really fucked that up, you moron.” She smashed the flat of her hand into the glass wall of the box. She’d blown her one chance with the Edinburgh Police, and every minute that ticked past might put Fiona’s life at even more risk.

She had a horrible feeling that the local police were going to be even less inclined to take her seriously. But there was nothing else for it. She’d have to go back to Lairg anyway for more change to make phone calls.

Still cursing her incompetence, Caroline made for her car, all the time praying that Fiona was still in one piece. “No thanks to you if she is, fuckwit.” she said out loud as she threw the car into a U-turn and headed back into town.

When Gerard Coyne emerged from his flat that morning, Joanne let out a sigh of relief. “He’s not taking the bike,” she said, peering into the rear-view mirror.

“Thank Christ for that,” Neil said. He watched in the carefully angled wing mirror as Coyne drew level with their car and continued on up the street. Before he reached the corner, two detectives were on his tail, one on either side of the street. Joanne started the car and pulled out of the parking spot. The brief was clear. Wait until Coyne was stationary, then close in. The two officers on foot were each shadowed by another back-up, with Joanne and Neil in the car ready to join in the end game.

Coyne cut through the maze of narrow streets and emerged on Caledonian Road near its junction with Holloway Road. As he approached a bike shop with its wares covering most of the pavement outside, his pace slowed and he came to a halt, studying a racing bike. “Time to make a move?” Neil asked Joanne as they crawled towards the shop.

“I think so,” she said, braking to a halt and flicking on the hazard lights.

Neil spoke into the radio set. “Alpha Tango to all units. Move in on suspect now.” He jumped out of the car and strode across the pavement. The other officers had surrounded Coyne, who was standing with his back to the bike display, his eyes wide with astonishment.

“Gerard Patrick Coyne?” Neil said.

“Yeah, who wants to know?” Coyne demanded, trying for cool and missing by a mile.

“I am Detective Constable Neil McCartney of the Metropolitan Police and I would like you to accompany me to a police station to help with my inquiries into a serious matter.”

Coyne shook his head. “You must be mistaken, mate. I’ve done nothing.” His eyes were darting from side to side, as if seeking a way out. But his path was blocked by the police officers, as well as the pedestrians who had stopped to see what was going on.

“In which case, you won’t mind answering a few questions, will you, sir?” Neil took a step closer.

“Am I under arrest?” Coyne demanded.

“That’s up to you at this point, sir. We’d prefer it if you accompanied us on a voluntary basis.”

“I don’t have a lot of choice, do I?” he said, his voice the whine of those who feel victimized.

“I have a car waiting,” was all Neil said.

The officers formed a phalanx around him, and escorted him to the back seat of the car, where he was hemmed in by Neil and another detective. Coyne’s narrow face was set in a petulant mask, his arms tightly folded across his chest. “You’re making a big mistake,” he complained.

“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to put us right,” Neil said pleasantly. He could afford the courtesy; everything had gone according to plan.

Fiona rested her head on the steering wheel. “So what do we do now?” she asked. “I’ve got back-up Caroline should have called the cops by now. But they’re not going to treat this as a matter of urgency, I just know they’re not. Besides, it’ll take them forever to get here. You say there’s no other way out?”

“Not by road,” Kit said. He’d propped himself up into a sitting position. Now the cramps and the pins and needles had passed, he felt slightly less like someone knocking at heaven’s door. His head still felt like he was half-drunk, half-hungover, but he was gradually getting used to that. “On foot. There is a way on foot. It’s about six miles across the hill. I don’t think I can make it. But you could hike out and get help.”

“I can’t leave you here,” Fiona protested, her voice muffled as she spoke into her chest. “There’s nothing to stop Blake coming back for you. We don’t know that he’s left. If I was him, I’d be in the woods on the other side of the ravine waiting for us to plunge to our deaths. And if time passes and we don’t do that, he’ll probably look at the map and figure out what we’re doing. So he’ll come back for you. Even if he has to hike back down the road to the bridge by the loch side and back up again through the woods, he’ll still get to you before I can make it to the main road.”

“What other choice is there? Apart from waiting for your back-up?”

“You need to get to a hospital, Kit. And besides, what’s going to happen when they roll up? Either they’re going to spot what’s happened to the bridge and they’ll be stuck that side of the ravine. Or else they won’t and they’ll end up crashing into the gorge like we’re supposed to have done.”

There was a long pause. Then Kit said, “There is something that might work. But it’s a very long shot…”

“A long shot’s better than no shot at all.”

“You might not think that once you’ve heard it.”

Steve was generous in his praise of his team. “You did a great job. Like clockwork, and by the book. Not a thing that the defence could pick on. Well done. The drinks are on me tonight. He’s been formally arrested now, has he?”

Neil nodded. “On suspicion of murder. He looked completely gob smacked But he knows what he’s about. The only thing he said was that he wanted his lawyer.”

Steve picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. “Right. I’ve drawn up the authorization for a Section Eighteen search. I want you to take charge of that, Neil. You know what we’re looking for. Now, I want John and Joanne to start the interview. I’m going to be watching from the observation room. John, I want Joanne to take the lead. This guy has a problem with women. I want to wind him up, and Joanne coming on the macho cop will do just that. OK with that, Joanne?”

She smiled grimly. “It’ll be a pleasure, guy.”

Before he could say more, Steve’s phone rang. He grabbed it and said, “DS Preston.”

“Steve? It’s Sarah Duvall. I wonder, is there any chance you could drop round to Snow Hill? There’s something I’d like you to see.”

“Sarah, I’m up to my arse in alligators right now. Can it wait?”

“I’m not sure it can, actually. Let me just explain. I’ve had a team checking the Smithfield videos and we think we’ve narrowed down the man who deposited Georgia Lester’s remains in the freezer.”

“That sounds like good news. But why are you calling me?” Steve said impatiently.

“We think it’s Francis Blake.”

“What?” Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I’ve looked at it myself. I’ve compared it with Blake’s mug shots I don’t think there’s any doubt about it.”

Confused, Steve said, “But what about Redford?”

There was a pause before Duvall spoke. “We might be wrong about Redford.”

There was a strange ringing in his ears. If Redford wasn’t the killer, how could it be Francis Blake?

More importantly, if Redford wasn’t the killer, where were Kit and Fiona?

“So, can you come over and take a look?” he heard Duvall say, as if from a very great distance.

“I’ve just…no, I’m about to…Sarah, can you bike it over?”