Val Mcdermid - Killing the Shadows

Suddenly, something caught her eye. About half a mile away, maybe seventy feet above them on the hill, what looked like a pipe kept bobbing into sight above the ma chair It dawned on her with appalling clarity that it was the barrel of a gun. Blake was no countryman; he clearly didn’t realize that although he was keeping low, the gun barrel was as obvious as a mastiff in a crowd of dachshunds. “Kit,” she said. “I don’t want to worry you. But I think there’s somebody up there ahead of us. On the hill. Is it likely to be somebody local? Or a hill walker…”

“Where?” he said lethargically.

“I don’t want to point in case it’s Blake. But it’s round about where a reasonably fit man would be if he’d driven back to the main road and started hiking in from this end. Over to the left, maybe seventy feet above us. There’s a shoulder of the ridge behind him. He’s maybe forty or fifty yards to the right of it.”

“I can’t see anything,” he said. His voice was slurring again, Fiona noticed with anxiety.

“I saw what looked like a gun barrel bobbing up and down. Could it be a local?”

“I don’t think so. There’s no reason for them to be up here. There’s nothing to shoot.”

“Fuck,” Fiona breathed, getting a better view. “He’s coming after us. Let’s move on a bit and see what he does.”

Wearily, they dragged themselves to their feet and laboured on to the next place where it was possible to sit down, a stagger of about five minutes.

“Has he moved?” Kit asked.

Fiona angled her head so it looked as if she was staring straight up the mountain. But out of the corner of her eye, she was scanning the area where she had seen the barrel. “I’ve got him,” she breathed. “I can actually see the blur of his face. I don’t think he’s moved.”

“Good,” Kit said. “About five minutes ahead, there’s a sort of crevasse. It’s about four feet wide, but from up there, it just looks like a dark line in the rock. It’s about half a mile before it opens out again. He won’t be able to see us in there. Leave me and go on, you’ll have a head start. It’s not that far to the road, you can get away.”

“And what about you?”

Kit sighed. “There’s no way I’m going to make it out of here. I’m practically on my knees now. I can’t go much further. He doesn’t have to get both of us. Please, Fiona. Leave me.”

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you, Kit. I can’t. Not after Lesley. Dying would be easier, believe me. But I don’t have any plans to die either. Give me the map.”

Kit pulled the map out of his pocket and she spread it across her knees. “Right. We must be about here?” She pointed.

“No, not quite that far along.” He corrected her, jabbing the map clumsily with his finger.

“There’s a stream runs down across this track,” she said. “How far is that from the end of the defile?”

“A few yards. Maybe a dozen?”

“How deep are the banks?”

“I suppose a couple of feet deep…” His voice began to trail away as his energy ebbed.

Fiona nodded. “So if I can get up the stream bed without him seeing me, I should be able to come up above and behind him. I can jump him. Hit him with a rock or something. Deal with him, anyway.”

“You can’t do that. He’s a big strong bloke,” Kit protested. “And he’s got a gun.”

“Yeah. But I’d put money on my will to live being a damn sight stronger than his. And that, my love, is a professional opinion.”

“You’re crazy. He’ll kill you.”

Fiona put her hand in the pocket of her fleece and took out the craft knife. “I’m not exactly unarmed. And I’m willing to use it. It’s our only chance, Kit. I’m not going to sit here and wait to be killed.”

Kit put his hand over hers. “Be careful.” He frowned at the inadequacy of his words. “I love you, Fiona.”

She leaned into him and kissed his cheek. The cold clamminess of his skin reminded her there wasn’t time to delay. She checked that Blake was still in position. Then she stood up. “Let’s do it.”

Caroline checked her watch. It felt as if half a lifetime had passed while she’d been sitting in the reception area of the police station. Whatever was going on, it was taking long enough.

At last, the door in the far wall opened again and the PC returned, followed by a man who looked as grey and monolithic as some of the rocky outcroppings on the nearby mountain. His light-grey suit was creased in all the places it should have been smooth and he showed no sign of pleasure at Caroline’s presence. “I’m Sergeant Lovat,” he said. “You’re lucky I’m here. I only popped round with a message for Sammy here.”

“Has he explained the situation?”

“Well, he’s told me what you told him, which doesnae sound like much of an explanation to me.” He leaned against the counter and cocked his head, as if assessing her and not much liking what he saw.

Caroline was conscious that she was not at her most prepossessing. Her hair was a mess and she knew she was probably almost as crumpled as Sergeant Lovat. Nevertheless, she needed to make an impression. “I’ve never been more serious in my life, Sergeant,” she said. “I really do think something untoward has happened to Fiona Cameron.”

“Untoward, eh?” Lovat said, chewing the word as if it were spearmint gum.

“Look, I know it sounds like a bizarre tale, but Dr. Cameron is not a woman who wastes police time. She’s worked as a consultant with the Metropolitan Police for years and I don’t think they’d be…” Her voice tailed off as a possible solution to her dilemma presented itself. She’d been so busy worrying about getting her message across, she’d lost sight of the obvious lateral route. She took a deep breath and smiled at Lovat.

“Detective Superintendent Steve Preston,” she announced. “New Scotland Yard. Please, call him. Tell him what I’ve told you. He’ll know this isn’t some wind-up.”

Lovat looked faintly amused. “You want me to call Scotland Yard on your say-so?”

“It won’t take you more than a few minutes. And it could save at least one life. Please, Sergeant Lovat.” She forced a cool smile. “It would be so much better coming from you than from me. But if you won’t make the call, I’ll have to.”

Lovat looked at the PC and raised his eyebrows. “What are you waiting for, Sammy? This should be a good one.”

The rock walls closed around them, about a dozen feet tall, producing a narrow channel that twisted away to the left. As soon as they were inside the sheltering defile, Kit urged Fiona ahead. “Go, now. Just leave me. I’ll find a place to sit down.”

She threw her arms round him in a quick hug. “I love you,” she said. Then she was gone, moving swiftly along the base of the passage. Sure-footed and driven, Fiona moved with the easy confidence of a regular traveller in the rough terrain of hill and mountain. Within minutes, she could see the defile start to widen out, opening into a rocky slope with patches of heather and bracken pushing through. She paused, checking out the lie of the land.

The stream cut its own channel through the peat hag, its banks a rich, dark chocolate-brown fringed with the yellow of rough upland grasses and the cinnamon of bracken. It was, as Kit had said, about a dozen yards from the final cover of the low cliff. There was no way of checking whether Blake had figured out where they would eventually emerge or if he was just scanning the hillside in frustration, wondering where they’d disappeared to.

She considered for a moment. If she ran across to the stream, the very speed of her movement might attract attention. The fleece was a bright scarlet. But the thermal polo neck was mid-grey, her trousers a dark olive-green. If she shed the fleece, she would be pretty well camouflaged against the rock. It was worth a try.