Michael Ridpath: Amnesia

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He wouldn’t ask for forgiveness this time. He knew he wouldn’t get it.

Stephen didn’t answer. His handsome face was ravaged with sadness. Anger. Bitterness. Alastair knew he had betrayed this man, and he was truly sorry. Although he barely remembered him, Stephen seemed very familiar, not a stranger at all.

‘We used to be good friends,’ he said.

Stephen spluttered in impatience. ‘And now we’re not,’ he said. ‘Don’t talk to me about the past.’

‘Why not?’ said the old man. ‘At our age, what else is there?’

‘The past is nothing,’ Stephen said. ‘Do you know, I actually feel jealous of you? I wish I could forget my past. Erase it.’

Alastair listened. He understood, or at least he thought he did.

‘And don’t start pitying me either,’ Stephen said, recognizing something in Alastair’s eyes. ‘My life is pretty good. I get up. I do the crossword. I have a pint with a mate. I put something on a nag; sometimes I win, sometimes I don’t. Life’s all right. Until you bring all this bullshit back into it.’

Alastair wasn’t going to apologize again. Nor was he going to back down.

‘Do you know who Jerry Ranger is, Grandpa?’ Clémence asked.

Stephen tore his eyes away from Alastair. ‘Jerry Ranger? No. Sounds like a cowboy.’

‘He’s a singer. More of a song writer really. He’s American. And he chased us over Ben Wyvis last night with a rifle.’

‘Really?’ Stephen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where is he now?’

‘We have no idea. He may have assumed we have called the police and disappeared. Or he may still be after us.’

‘All the more reason for us all to go home. He won’t follow us. Not if we stay quiet.’

‘How do you know?’ said Alastair.

‘I know,’ said Stephen.

Jerry made good time to Evanton. Although Madeleine had said he should still be safe, he kept his eyes open for police cars, but didn’t spot any.

At Evanton, he turned up the glen and was soon at the gates to the estate. He jumped out of the car to open them, and as he slowly drove through, Terry MacInnes appeared.

Jerry wound down the window. Stay calm.

‘Did you have a good trip?’ Terry asked.

‘Yes, I’ve been over to Loch Maree. I stayed overnight there at a hotel. I hoped to go walking, but couldn’t with the weather. Mind you, it’s awesome in the snow.’

‘It can be very dangerous up on the hills in this weather. Alastair and the wee lassie who’s looking after him went up Ben Wyvis yesterday. Can you believe it? They ended up staying the night up there. They were lucky they didn’t die of hypothermia, if you see what I mean.’

‘Really?’ said Jerry. ‘That’s awful. Are they OK?’

‘Aye. Sheila saw them an hour or so ago. They ended up going down the mountain on the southern side and getting a taxi.’

‘Well, I’m glad they’re all right,’ said Jerry.

‘I see you’ve been to the barber’s,’ Terry said.

‘Yes,’ said Jerry, rubbing his smooth chin. ‘The beard was only ever temporary.’

Terry glanced up doubtfully at Jerry’s poorly cropped scalp. ‘Aye, well, I can recommend Tommy in Dingwall next time you need a wee trim.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ said Jerry, reaching for the switch to close the window.

‘Afore you go, there’s been some vandals on the estate.’

‘Oh?’ said Jerry, halting the window.

‘Aye. They broke in to the lassie’s car and let down her tyres. They didn’t take anything. But you should check no one has broken into Corravachie. I’m a wee thing worried about the rifle in the gun cupboard there. And if you see any strangers about, let me know, will you?’

‘I will,’ said Jerry, forcing a grin.

Finally he could pull away. He had no intention of checking the gun cupboard at Corravachie. He knew the rifle was safe in the trunk together with some garden loppers he had bought in Dingwall on the way from Inverness. They should do the trick.

‘Yes, but how do you know Jerry won’t come after us if we leave?’ the old man asked.

Clémence was wondering the same thing.

‘Look.’ Stephen’s voice was rising. ‘I came hundreds of miles up here to give you what you want. The truth. I’ve done that. You know who killed Sophie. It wasn’t me and it wasn’t you; it was Nathan. So it’s over. Let’s go back to our miserable lives.’

‘I need to call the police,’ said Clémence. She was beginning to wish she had done it earlier. Much earlier.

‘No!’ said Stephen.

‘But, Grandpa, I must. We were shot at last night! There is a nutcase running around somewhere out there with a rifle!’

‘I forbid it.’

Clémence glanced at Alastair for support, but didn’t find any. Of course he didn’t want to call the police.

‘I’m afraid we have to, Mr Trickett-Smith,’ said Callum. And before Stephen could stop him, he was in the hallway picking up the phone.

Clémence saw him frown and stare at the receiver. He pressed the cradle rapidly. ‘Does this phone work, Clemmie?’

‘It should do,’ said Clémence. ‘Here, let me try.’ She took the receiver from him. ‘You’re right, it’s dead.’

‘Jerry has cut the line,’ said the old man.

Fear clutched at Clémence’s chest. ‘That means he’s out there,’ she said. ‘Maybe right outside now.’

‘He could have cut the telephone wire further down the loch,’ said Callum.

‘I don’t care what you two say, we need help,’ said Clémence.

‘I’ll go,’ said Callum. ‘It’s about three miles to the Stalker’s Lodge. I can run that.’

‘But what about Jerry?’

‘I’ll keep my eyes peeled. You had better hide out the back somewhere. In the woods.’

‘OK,’ said Clémence. ‘But go out the back door yourself. He might be here already.’

Callum slipped out the back. A moment later, he knocked on the front door. ‘It’s me!’ he called.

Clémence opened up.

‘He’s definitely not here,’ Callum said. ‘Which means he must have cut the wires back at the bottom of the loch.’

‘Be careful, Callum,’ said Clémence, biting her lip.

‘And you,’ said Callum.

Callum was fit. But he needed to pace himself just right. He had done 5K in nineteen minutes back in November, but that was in running kit. The surface wasn’t too bad — the previous night’s snow had melted off the track — but it was getting dark.

He was having second thoughts about abandoning Clémence. Someone had to get help, and he was clearly the best person to do it, but he had left her in a much more dangerous situation than his own. Too late now, he was committed and they were relying on him.

He had gone barely five minutes when he heard a car approaching. He darted off the road and threw himself in the bracken behind a scruffy tree, ready to jump out and wave if it turned out to be Terry MacInnes’s Land Rover.

It wasn’t. Even in the evening gloom, Callum could tell from the headlights that it was a smaller car. As it passed him, he could see there was one driver.

That must be Jerry.

For a moment he hesitated. Jerry was armed. If Callum returned to the house he might get killed. He could quite legitimately press on to the Stalker’s Lodge to get help.

Only for a moment. He couldn’t leave Clemmie to be shot dead, he just couldn’t.

He scrambled to his feet and hit the track running. Back to Culzie.

Clémence put on her coat and grabbed the two old men’s. They were showing no sign of moving.

Alastair was looking at Stephen steadily. Clémence knew him well enough by now to see that he was thinking, thinking hard.

‘I know who Jerry Ranger is,’ he said.