Evil for Evil (14 page)

Brodie nodded, but even so started to load the .243. The woman exchanged a triumphant glance with her son, but Christie felt sick – Rudolf, normally so sweet-natured, who had been an abandoned calf, hand-reared by Matt himself! As Brodie opened the upper gate, she went through behind him. ‘Matt said only to shoot if absolutely necessary,’ she reminded him. ‘I heard him.’

He turned on her. ‘For God’s sake, woman, get out the way! Last thing I need is you in the way when I’m lining up a shot.’ He glanced at the bowl of potatoes. ‘And he’s not a dear little Santa Claus Rudolf right now. He’s a raging sex maniac and I’m not planning to risk my life for a few tons of venison on the hoof.’

Brodie limped off with the two guns. He was afraid – Christie knew the scent of fear and she could smell it on him now. And of course he was right – the calves that Rudolf might sire weren’t going to live a long and happy life as pets, so why should he be different?

Even so … Christie waited until he had stumped out of the pool of light from the headlights and been swallowed up in rain and darkness, then looped round the opposite side of the field, peering ahead from under the shelter of her parka hood. She could see the black bulk of the cows, whose field it was, lying down, close enough for her to smell their warm grassy breath, and she stood in something that squelched unpleasantly, but there was no sign of the stag’s familiar outline.

Rudolf could be anywhere – concealed by that great bank of gorse, say, crazed by his hormones and confused by the night’s events. Days ago he had nuzzled her for potatoes; once the rut was over, he’d do it again – if he was still alive. And Matt must feel even worse about this than she did.

Christie was afraid too, but fear was no stranger to her. She’d experienced it many times in action, and she had trained responses. She was in action now and she could handle it.

‘Rudolf!’ she called, rattling the potatoes in the tin bowl. ‘Rudolf!’

The door to Spindrift was standing open. Matt Lovatt tapped on it, called a greeting and came in.

He recognised the woman in the chair by the window as the holidaymaker he’d met on the shore earlier today. Her face was ashen and smeared with mud; she was shaking, and her thick weatherproof jacket was torn. A long rip in her jeans showed a bruised and bloody gash on her leg.

The look she gave him was cold. ‘I’ll be all right. I don’t need anyone.’

He looked at the injury with dismay. ‘You need that seen to, just for a start. Did he gore you?’

‘No. Not for want of trying. I managed to roll under the gate so he couldn’t reach me. This was from a hoof.’

‘I’m so sorry. I’m Matt Lovatt – the animal’s mine. And I know – apologies aren’t nearly enough,’ he said helplessly.

‘No.’

He was floundering now. ‘I will, of course, pay compensation—’

The woman actually laughed. ‘And you think that would make it all right?
You would!
’

‘No, of course not.’ Lovatt found himself becoming unreasonably irritated. If anyone had a right to be difficult, it was this woman. She was clearly in pain and in a state of shock, but that was a personal attack. ‘Do you want us to kill him?’ he asked stiffly.

Suddenly, she seemed very tired. ‘Do what you like. Just get out of here and leave me alone.’

‘Of course. I’ll get in touch tomorrow when you’re feeling better. The ambulance and the police will be here shortly, I’m sure.’

She sat up, galvanised. ‘
What!
What did you say? Oh no, that
fool
of a woman!’

There was an empty wine glass on the window ledge beside her. In a sudden spurt of energy she jumped to her feet, picked it up and dashed it to the ground.

As the shards flew, she shouted, ‘
Now
will you go?’

Without a word, Lovatt left.

Elena walked through to the bathroom. She didn’t know whether she was still shaking from shock or from purest rage. She had been controlling herself so rigidly for so long that she wasn’t sure she could recognise rage any more.

That moronic bitch! She’d expressly said that she didn’t want a fuss, and the resultant publicity. Stag attacks woman – it was the sort of story the press might pick up, and if Eddie caught a whiff of it he’d arrive in a protective frenzy before she could say ‘I’m perfectly fine’.

Wincing, she washed the gash on her thigh with soapy water. Mercifully, it had been a glancing blow; a sharp hoof that fully connected would have meant stitches at the very least. She always carried first aid and she smeared on antiseptic, then wound round a lint bandage. She was used to dealing with minor wounds.

The jeans were past repair. She binned them, pulling on another pair. She’d come with a good stock, planning anyway to throw them out once they were dirty and it was much more irritating having ripped her jacket – that would have to be replaced.

There were the sirens now! Elena swore. She so didn’t need this; she just wanted to lock the door she had foolishly left open when she staggered through it, take two pills and go to bed.

But if she did, then by morning the story would have grown. If she went out now, said it was a fuss about nothing, it would kill it.

They’d ask her name and address for a statement, though. But then she knew – who better? – that a name was only what you called yourself, and an address could be anything you liked. They wouldn’t be demanding ID, after all.

In his loft in the bothy, Fergie Crawford too heard the sound of sirens and whimpered in fright. They were coming for him! Somehow they had tracked him down – How? Brodie?

He still didn’t trust the man who’d given him a roof over his head and food to eat, which at one point had been his only concerns. But Brodie always had some scam going – jake, if you fitted in with it. If you didn’t, you were dead meat.

Fergie was huddled into his sleeping bag, happed up with blankets. He’d been lying there since it got dark, banned from lighting the lamp in case someone saw a flicker of light where no light should be. Brodie had said he’d have to live like that until the next shipment from the
Isle of Man was due; he’d take him out then to meet the fishing boat and they’d put him ashore in Ireland where there were folk he could work for. He was still uneasy, though.

Yes, he’d done a good job for Brodie and his pals, reliably keeping his mouth shut, not trying to make a bit extra on the side like some other runners did. So he could be useful – though in the creepy darkness he sometimes thought he might be more useful dead.

But dead was one thing, shopping him was another. Surely Brodie wouldn’t – Fergie knew too much.

The sirens had stopped. They’d be finding a boat to bring them across to the island, and locked up here he couldn’t even hide – ‘Can’t have you going stir-crazy and deciding to take a wee walk,’ Brodie had said with a mirthless smile.

It was a very sturdy door with a solid lock. Fergie went and shook it, but not hopefully, then knelt by the window looking towards the mainland. There were gaps between the slats, and he squinted through.

The flashing blue lights were not, as he had feared, by the jetty. They were on the hill behind the village where there were buildings and a lot of lights.

A great sigh of relief escaped him. His legs went weak as the fight-or-flight adrenaline surge subsided and he turned to go back to bed. But it had made him hungry too; he peered in the darkness at the stacked tins. He felt for one with an inset opener – spaghetti hoops – and groped for a spoon, then went back to his sleeping bag to eat them.

At least his belly was full when he lay down again. And soon he’d go to sleep, and not have to lie there staring at the shifting shadows, which made him feel as if there was another presence moving just outside his line of sight.

‘Rudolf!’ Christie called again. ‘Rudolf!’

From behind her, she heard Matt’s shout. ‘Christie! For God’s sake, come back here,’ and she ignored it.

‘Rudolf!’

Then, from the darkness at the end of the field, she heard a bellow and moved towards it. ‘Potatoes, Rudolf!’ she cried idiotically, shaking them in the tin to make the sound he would recognise.

The bellow came again, definitely closer. It was scary, but she held her ground. If she could keep ahead of him, keep him moving until he was in the lit area near the gates, Kerr could get him darted.

Christie could see something moving now, still at a distance. She peered into the darkness, and against the skyline could see antlers.

Then a shot rang out.

Christie’s shoulders slumped in dismay. She’d been sure Kerr would ignore Matt’s instructions; no doubt he’d claim Rudolf had made to attack him. As perhaps he had – how did she know?

She became aware of police sirens away in the distance, but she could also hear Brodie’s furious swearing and then saw him stomping back towards the gate. In the darkness, and possibly even feeling nervous about how immediately his damaged body could respond in an emergency, he had missed.

Now Christie could see the stag clearly, his bulk looming against the paler night sky. He’d been unsettled; he was snorting and skittering, then began coming towards her at a fast, purposeful trot that swiftly ate up the distance between them.

She rattled the potatoes in the bowl, still calling, ‘Rudolf!’ but gave a quick glance over her shoulder towards the circle of light from the headlamps, calculating the distance. Lovatt was standing there.

‘He’s coming!’ she shouted. ‘I’ll try to bring him to where Kerr can dart him.’

‘Get back here!’ Lovatt yelled, fury in his voice. ‘Run!’

The stag was twenty yards away now, lowering his head. He didn’t look as if he was interested in potatoes.

Christie ran. It wasn’t far to the gate, but he was effortlessly gaining on her. She heard the shrill, panicky screams of a woman behind the gate and knew she couldn’t reach it in time. Automatically she threw herself to the ground, offering less of a target, protecting her head. She could feel the ground shaking, like muffled drumbeats under her ear.

Then there was another, quieter shot. As she lay there, she felt the shock go through her as the stag’s body slumped to the ground a few feet away.

‘Quiet evening?’ Bill Fleming said as he and Meg came into the sitting room after their evening round, and Meg made a beeline for the rug in front of the fire. ‘You look very comfortable, anyway.’

Marjory smiled at him, curled up in one of the shabby chairs they were always vowing to replace and somehow never did. ‘Very quiet, for once. I’ve had a chance to go through my reports, and even watched an old
Taggart
. Do you think we could get them to come along and give us a few tips on wrapping up a crime in under an hour?’

Bill sat down. ‘Good idea. Did you speak to Cat?’

‘No,’ Marjory said slowly. ‘She’s ignoring my messages. Am I being punished, Bill?’

It had been on her mind all evening. She wanted him to mock her, tell her she was imagining it.

He pulled a face. ‘It’s possible,’ he said. ‘She was seriously pissed off yesterday.’

Sometimes a husband who was straight as a die, open and incapable of telling an untruth – admirable as this might be – wasn’t actually what you wanted. Marjory was just about to point out the virtues of the tactful lie when they heard footsteps in the hall.

‘There’s Cammie,’ she said. ‘Wonder how his date went?’

‘Date?’ Bill said.

‘Yes, date. Mark my words.’

Cammie opened the door. Marjory still found it hard to believe that over what seemed about ten minutes, he’d started towering over her. Girls were bound to feature in his life soon.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Good evening?’

‘Yeah,’ Cammie said.

‘Were you out with David?’ Marjory asked, naming his best mate with apparent innocence.

He was still standing in the doorway, moving from foot to foot. ‘Er … no.’

Bill, notoriously less sensitive, at least where his son was concerned, demanded, ‘Are you just going to stand in the doorway, letting in the draught?’

‘Er …’

Marjory smiled at him. ‘What were you going to ask, darling?’

Cammie looked at her gratefully. ‘Er – could I bring someone for supper? I’d like you to meet them.’

‘“Them?”’ Bill raised his eyebrows sardonically. ‘When you say “them”—’ then subsided at a glance from his wife that suggested completing the sentence would be a mistake.

‘Of course you could!’ Marjory said warmly. ‘When would you like to bring her?’

‘Tomorrow, maybe? Some time when you’re going to be around,’ Cammie said. ‘I know it’s not always easy to say, but—’

‘That’s fine,’ Marjory said quickly. ‘As far as I know, it’s not a problem, and if it is I’m sure we can rearrange it.’

‘Yeah. Thanks, Mum.’ He turned to go, then turned back. ‘There’s just one thing …’

He was looking quite pink and embarrassed. It was very sweet; how young he still was!

‘Whatever it is, it’s fine, I promise,’ Marjory said, and saw his face clear.

‘Oh good! She’s a vegetarian.’

It was very hot in the nightclub. Very hot, and the smell of sweat was pretty gross. There was kind of a creepy guy checking her out and Cat moved away to break eye contact. Where was Lily?

She’d felt OK at first tonight, kind of crazy and free, and there were all these great people who were crazy and free as well, but she was beginning to feel tired and a bit sort of sick of it all – maybe she should go home …

But it wasn’t home. It was back to a bare room where she’d be alone with the thought that her life had just been, like, totally wrecked. Where
was
Lily? Maybe if she was going back too, they could talk a bit before they went to bed.

But Lily didn’t look like she was planning to do that any time soon. When Cat found her, she said, ‘You’re coming down. I can fix that.’ And before Cat knew where she was, she was having, like, a really fab time all over again. Simples!

For a moment Christie wasn’t sure she could move. She was sending messages to her legs but they didn’t seem to be receiving them. Realising that her face was resting in a cowpat, though, provided the necessary impetus. She sat up hastily, groping for a tissue to wipe it.

Matt came hurrying through the gate towards her, his face grey in the artificial light. He grabbed her arm, ungently pulling her to her feet. ‘I can’t believe how bloody stupid that was. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

‘No “of course” about it,’ he snarled. ‘If Kerr hadn’t got into position—’

Christie turned her head. Brodie, his face black with rage, was stumping over. With his back to the interested audience, he swore at her in a vicious undertone.

Lovatt was turning away. ‘I’ll bring the tractor in. I’ve got the Revivon. Sooner we get him back and bring him round again the better.’

‘Sorry, Kerr,’ Christie said as humbly as she could. ‘And thanks. You maybe saved my life there.’

‘Not sure why I bothered,’ he said ungraciously. ‘Without you interfering we wouldn’t be having to start on antidotes and monitoring him half the night afterwards to make sure he’s all right.’

‘Sorry,’ Christie said again, but she wasn’t. If she hadn’t brought him into Matt’s line of sight, Kerr would have killed Rudolf by now.

Lovatt was bringing up the forklift attachment ready to move the inert animal on to the trailer. The police sirens weren’t far away now.

‘Here.’ Brodie thrust the dart rifle into her hands. ‘Take care of that.’

Christie took it and headed back to the gate where the family from the chalet above were still watching the free show, though looking damp and cold in the continuing rain.

Barrie came across as she opened it. ‘Hey! That was seriously cool, the way the big guy just came crashing down.’

‘Mmm.’ Christie wasn’t feeling inclined to be chatty. She set down the rifle, ejected the dart then turned to fetch the rubber gloves she
needed to handle it. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, spun round and saw Barrie bending to pick up the dart.

‘Don’t touch it!’ she screamed in a panic. ‘Get back!’

The youth jumped, then drew back, putting his hands up. ‘OK, OK!’

She turned on him, shouting, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get a spot of this on your hand and you could be dead in five minutes.’

‘All right, all right.’ He was looking a bit shaken himself, and his mother stepped forward belligerently.

‘Shouldn’t have stuff like that, lying around for people to touch. It’s just all of a piece, the carelessness, letting wild animals roam around the place. This whole thing’s an outrage.’ Getting into her stride, she raised her voice. ‘That’s what it is – an outrage! That creature should have been shot – look what it did to that poor lady—’

A cool voice came from behind her. ‘I’m fine, actually. Just a graze, that’s all. I can’t imagine why there’s all this fuss.’

Christie turned and saw a woman approaching from the other chalet, a slim woman walking a little stiffly and wearing a torn jacket with a hood pulled up, not quite covering her blonde hair. The victim, obviously, but she certainly didn’t look like an ambulance case.

As Barrie’s mother bridled and bleated that you couldn’t be too careful, Christie went on clearing up, stowing the dart safely in the metal box, along with the surgical gloves. The police arrived as she picked up the Narcan, mercifully unneeded.

Lovatt jumped down from the forklift and went to meet the two uniformed officers. Christie heard him say, ‘So you see, it’s important to revive the animal as soon as possible.’

They seemed to accept that, taking his name and address, then came up towards the group at the gate.

‘Where’s the injured lady?’ one called.

The blonde woman came forward, putting her hand up to shield her eyes from the headlamp beam. ‘That’s me. But there’s absolutely no need for all this fuss. It was just a minor accident.’

‘No need for an ambulance, then?’ The policeman’s tone was dry, and Christie saw the woman colour in annoyance.

‘I didn’t send for it – or for you!’ she said fiercely, casting a look of contempt at Barrie’s mother. ‘I suppose it was this woman here. I told her I was fine.’

‘How was I to know? Could have been worse than she seemed, isn’t that right, Martin?’ The older woman was sharply defensive.

‘Cancel the ambulance, Constable,’ one of the officers said, then as his partner nodded and went back to the patrol car, added, ‘I’ll need statements. Is there anyone else likely to have been a witness to how the animal got out?’

Christie cleared her throat. ‘Er … there were people in the pub at the time. They might have seen something.’

‘Right. We’ll get down there after we’ve finished here.’

‘We can go down to the pub too, out of the rain. You could talk to us there.’ The silent Martin spoke with sudden animation, startling everyone. ‘Need a drink after the shock.’

His wife looked at him askance. ‘Anything for a drink with you, isn’t it?’ Then, as a thought occurred to her, ‘I suppose we could. People’ll want to know what’s happened, won’t they?’

‘And you want to tell them,’ Barrie jeered. ‘Tragic, you are.’

The blonde woman cut in on the domestic discussion. ‘I’d be grateful if you could take my statement first, officer. I’m still slightly shaken and I’d like to get to bed.’

‘Of course, ma’am.’ He turned to Christie. ‘What about you?’

‘I live at the farm. I’ve got hazardous waste here, and I need to get back to dispose of it safely.’ She held up the metal box.

He nodded. ‘On you go,’ and Christie hurried off down the path.

At least it sounded as if it wouldn’t be a major problem. But now she began turning her mind to what had happened in the first place. She knew, absolutely knew, she hadn’t left the gate unlatched. So who had opened it? Who was bent on causing trouble for Matt?

He wasn’t popular in the village; she knew that, though she wasn’t clear why. But what she’d seen for herself was the growing hostility between Matt and Kerr, presumably because of Lissa – was it possible Kerr had done this, just to cause trouble? He’d been keen to shoot Rudolf, when in fact a killing shot to the head or neck was much more difficult in these conditions than a dart that would be effective wherever it hit. Rudolf was a great favourite with Matt …

Perhaps Christie was over-refining. Perhaps, as Kerr said, it was just that he didn’t want all the bother. And perhaps she should leave it to the police to find out what had happened and get on with the job in hand.

Cal Findlay’s sitting room was on the side of the house, looking inland across the roofs of Innellan. Originally a bedroom, it was dark and poky and only merited its present designation by virtue of an armchair, television and computer. Its one advantage was that Cal didn’t have to share it with his mother.

He had been sitting in darkness watching a sci-fi movie, though, if challenged, he could not have recalled a single detail of what passed for a plot. The sound of police sirens brought him instantly to his feet and he went to the window, his nerves jangling.

The flashing blue light was moving up the hill on the far side of the hamlet where the chalets were, and now he saw that there were other lights there too, the headlamps of stationary vehicles. What was going on?

Probably, Findlay told himself, it was just one of the minor disturbances that happened from time to time and the police were bigging it up as an excuse for blasting along on sirens. It could be kids mucking about – or, now he thought about it, a stag party getting out of hand. He’d seen a group of young men in the pub.

Even so, an emergency … And his nerves were in tatters already. He had to find out what was happening.

They’d know down at the Smugglers. Without even switching off the TV he left the room and grabbed a jacket from a peg in the hall. As he opened the front door, his mother’s voice moaned, ‘Help me, oh help me!’

Her usual cry. He hardly heard it now.

Georgia Stanley had never seen the pub so full of locals and everyone was in a rollicking mood. Word of free drinks had obviously got around, since many of the people had arrived later and she’d seen the Donaldsons on their mobile phones. Tony Drummond was coming in now too, journalistic antennae bristling.

Cal Findlay had just arrived as well. It was most unusual for him to make a repeat visit late in the evening, but he didn’t join anyone, just going to edge himself into his usual place at the far end of the bar. Maybe he’d heard the police sirens and come to see what the fuss was about.