Hostage to Murder (32 page)

Without thinking, she took the turn that would bring her back home. She was twenty yards down the street when she remembered that this wasn't home any longer. Lindsay groaned out loud and turned on her heel, marching back the way she'd come, crossing over to cut through the Botanic Gardens to Rory's flat. That was another thing she was going to have to deal with. She couldn't keep staying at Rory's. It had been almost possible before she'd found that poem. But knowing the truth about Rory's feelings had changed everything.

Head down, preoccupied with enough troublesome thoughts to occupy half a dozen heads, Lindsay turned into the entry for Rory's close. As she opened the door, she suddenly heard running feet behind her. Lindsay swivelled to see what was going on.

Two men emerged from the shadows of the trees that shrouded the street. They were going so fast when they hit her that they barged her into the mouth of the close, the door banging shut behind them. Before she could react, they had crowded her against the inside wall. In the dim light, she could tell them apart. One was small and ferrety, the other looked about as friendly as a peregrine falcon who's just spotted breakfast. The ferret stepped back and brought his fist crashing into her stomach. As she doubled over with the pain, Lindsay felt him grab her hair and yank her head back, cracking it against the cool tiles of the wall.

Lazily, the falcon let her see the blade of his knife before he placed the point in the hollow of her throat. She could feel some
thing trickle, but had no idea if it was sweat or blood. Lindsay knew all about fear. And this, she understood, was one of those times when being scared shitless was the only sensible option. When he spoke, his voice was the nasal drawl of Belfast. “We've got a wee message for ye, bitch.”

Terrified as she was, she couldn't bring herself to be craven. “That would be from Patrick?” she managed to croak.

The falcon withdrew the knife and for a split second she thought she'd won some ground. But he nodded to the ferret, who smashed his fist into her stomach again. She felt as if her lungs had shot into her throat and she fell into a spasm of retching and coughing, limp as a sleeping child in the ferret's grasp. Her head swam and she lost track of time for a few seconds. When she tuned in again, the falcon's knife was at her throat once more.

“Like I said, we've got a wee message for you. Keep away from Bernadette and the boy. Or else you'll get what Gourlay got. Only, more slowly.”

Suddenly, the door behind them opened. Through the groggy haze of pain, Lindsay recognised Rory's familiar silhouette. Before she could shout a warning, Rory dropped her shoulder bag and screamed, “Police officer! Drop the knife!”

Taken by surprise, the falcon's knife hand shifted away from Lindsay's neck. From a standing start, Rory took a flying karate kick at him, screeching like a demented Amazon. She connected mid-thigh and, caught off balance, he tumbled to the ground, his knife clattering into the shadows.

In the confusion, the ferret released Lindsay and turned to make a move on Rory, whose momentum had taken her beyond him. As he moved towards her, she feinted to one side, then dropped into a forward roll, knocking his feet from under him. He crashed to the ground howling as Rory righted herself and landed a kick in his ribs.

Lindsay couldn't stand up any longer and she crumpled to the ground just as the falcon tried to get at Rory. His feet tangled in her legs and he crashed into the wall of the close. “Jesus,” he swore, spinning round and heading for the door. “Fucking come
on,” he yelled, yanking the door open and making for the street. The ferret hobbled after him.

“Fucking bitches, the pair of ye,” he shouted as he made the safety of the street.

Panting, Rory crouched down beside Lindsay. “Are you all right?”

“No. But I'd be a lot worse if you hadn't turned up.” Her final words were swallowed in a paroxysm of retching coughs. Rory cuddled her close, stroking her sweating forehead.

“That wasn't a mugging, was it?” she asked gently.

“No, it was a warning.”

Rory tried to keep the jagged edge of fear out of her voice. “Just as well I did the women's self-defence course, eh?”

Lindsay nodded weakly. “Police officer, eh? Smart move.”

“I thought so.”

“Do you think we could go upstairs?”

Rory thrust her shoulder under Lindsay's armpit and helped her struggle to her feet. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that those two Neanderthals were Sophie's hired muscle?”

In spite of herself, Lindsay choked out a laugh. “Oh God, if only.”

 

Lindsay lay on the sofa, swathed in Rory's fluffy bathrobe, her hair damp from the bath. On the table in front of her stood a bottle of whisky and a jug of water, flanked by two glasses. Lindsay wanted a drink, but she knew it would hurt too much to reach for the glass. She'd been on the receiving end of violence before, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with. Fear kept reverberating through her, as she knew it would for days, maybe weeks to come. A dark street would make her sweat until she managed to replace its connotations with something more powerful, more pleasurable. But that was in the future. For now, she had to cope with the flashbacks and the palpitations that came with them.

“And I still say you've got to walk away from it,” Rory said firmly as she walked in from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches.

“And let that murdering bastard get his hands on Jack? It'd be
signing Bernie's death warrant. My way is the only way to make sure Patrick doesn't come after the kid. Plus he might just get the idea that he'd be a lot safer if I was off the planet too. So I've got to do it. And I need help.”

Rory shook her head. “He wouldn't come after you.” There was no conviction in her voice.

“How can you say that after what happened this evening? Rory, this guy blew up Tam Gourlay in the middle of a residential street in the morning rush hour for the sole reason that he was pissed off with the man. If he thought I could finger him, he wouldn't think twice. So are you going to help me or not?”

“Lindsay, I want to help. But I'm a journalist, not an urban guerrilla.”

“Have you got any better ideas?”

Rory shook her head.

“Look, forget I asked, okay? I'll work something out. And pass me that whisky, would you?”

Rory picked up Lindsay's glass and perched on the sofa arm next to her. “OK, I'll help. I can't let you do this by yourself.”

“Can't
let
me?” Lindsay was only half-joking.

“The shape you're in, I can afford to call the shots.” Rory stroked the back of Lindsay's neck tenderly. “Hey, what's life without a few risks?”

“You can afford to say that, you won the lottery. This is worth doing, you know. You won't regret it. I promise.”

“I have a feeling you've used that line before,” Rory said. “Bet it wasn't true then, either. The one thing that still bothers me—apart from my new career as accessory to blackmail—is that it's not just you and me that's involved here.”

“Bernie won't be a problem. She'll do anything to keep Jack safe.” Lindsay shifted along the sofa, wincing, then patted the cover beside her. “Come and give me a cuddle. But gently,” she added apprehensively as Rory slid over the edge of the arm to bounce on to the seat.

“If this is going to work, we need another body,” Rory pointed out a few minutes later.

“I know. Anybody in mind?”

“I know just the man,” Rory said.

“Does it have to be a man?”

“Don't tell me you're one of those lesbians that don't like men?” Rory teased.

“Oh, I like some of them fine,” Lindsay said. “I just wouldn't trust them to hold the dog while I went for a pee.”

“Well, I trust Giles.”

“Giles Graham?” Lindsay said incredulously. “You've got to be joking. He'd get his suit creased.”

Rory shook her head. “You underestimate him. He used to be in the Territorial Army, you know.”

“That's meant to be a recommendation?”

Rory snuggled into Lindsay's side, taking care to avoid the area she knew was going to be a multi-coloured bruise by morning. “Giles is one of the good guys. Besides, he owes me. I know where the bodies are buried.”

“An unfortunate metaphor,” Lindsay said. “OK, Giles it is.”

“So when are you thinking about swinging into action?”

Lindsay sipped her whisky and stared into the middle distance. “Not tomorrow. There's too much to get organised. The night after, I think. Bernie reckons she can stall Patrick until then, she'll tell him she can't get away from her police protection.”

“Can you squeeze another twenty-four hours out of him?” Rory asked. “Only, I know Giles is going out of town tomorrow on a job. And we need time to make sure we know exactly how we're going to carry it off.”

Lindsay considered. One more day wouldn't make any difference. Bernie could always plead fear and demand police protection for a bit longer. “I don't see why not. It'd give me more of a chance to recover. And I need to go up to Argyll before then.”

Rory's curiosity was pricked. “You're not thinking about bringing your dad in on this?”

Lindsay shook her head. “No way. But there's something I need to sort out first.”

“Tell,” Rory demanded.

“No. A woman has to have some secrets, you know.” Lindsay rumpled Rory's hair. “Thanks. For everything.”

Rory snorted derisively. “What? For buggering up your life? You're going to have to talk to Sophie, you know. You've got to get things sorted out between you.”

“What? Fed up of having me under your feet already?”

“Stop hiding behind facetiousness. You don't belong with me, you know that.”

Lindsay took a slow, considering sip of her whisky. “It's not quite that simple, though, is it? We both know that in different circumstances . . .”

Rory pulled away and stood up, moving to the armchair opposite. “But we can only play the hand we've been dealt, Lindsay. And the bottom line is that you still love Sophie and that's too important to throw away for a maybe.”

“I think it's already more than a maybe for us, don't you?”

Rory flinched, clearly uncomfortable with Lindsay's insight. “Look, I've been doing some thinking today. I don't think we should sleep together any more.” Her eyes pleaded with Lindsay not to push for a reason.

But Lindsay couldn't close it there. “Why not?”

“It's not that I don't want to. I do, I really do, and that's the problem. If it were just a fling, just a shag, like it was supposed to be, that would be fine. But it's not. It has emotional content for us both. And so it's pointless, because your heart's still tied to Sophie, which is how it should be. And if I can't have everything, I don't want anything. Except your friendship. If that's still on offer.” The words dragged out of Rory, words she'd never spoken before, and every one an effort.

They stared at each other for a long moment, both gripped by the inevitability of Rory's argument, both pierced by the poignancy of the decision that they knew they'd already taken. “Go and talk to her,” Rory said softly. “Go and fix it.”

“Maybe not tonight, eh? I'm feeling a wee bit fragile.”

“Yes, tonight. You'll feel worse tomorrow, once those muscles have stiffened up. And it's not like you're going to get a good
night's sleep, is it? Do it now, before you start figuring out another set of excuses. Besides, I've got some copy to write. I fronted Keillor up this afternoon. He tried to bluff his way out of it, but we've got more than enough to go with.”

Lindsay managed a wan smile. “Well done. What a team, eh?”

Rory sighed. “Aye. What a team, right enough. So, come on, Splash, get some clothes on and go and see Sophie.”

“There's no point, you know,” Lindsay said, edging forward and working her way into a standing position.

“Of course there's a point. Apart from anything else, you need some clean knickers.”

When the doorbell rang, Sophie was curled up in front of the fire in her dressing gown, talking to her stomach. She got up and looked out of the window. No sign of Lindsay's car. The bell trilled out insistently again. Whoever it was obviously realised she was home and wasn't giving up without a fight. It was trademark behaviour. “Lindsay,” she sighed wearily.

Her first thought when she opened the door was that Lindsay was holding herself very strangely, as if she were primed to take a blow. Her face was tense, but with pain as much as anxiety. “What happened to you?” Sophie said without preamble.

“It's a long story. And it's really not important. I need to talk to you, that's what's important.”

Sophie shook her head. “A dozen roses doesn't buy you access. I don't need to talk to you, Lindsay. And I don't want to.” She moved to close the door.

“At least let me come in and pick up a few things. I can't keep wearing the same clothes forever.” Lindsay was trying to sound appealing, but apprehension kept slipping through.

Sophie stood back, opening the door, then walked away to the living room. Lindsay followed. “Your knicker drawer is not in here,” Sophie pointed out.

“Sophie, please don't shut me out.”

“What, like you didn't shut me out when you were shagging
Rory?” Sophie struggled to keep her face under control. She was determined not to show Lindsay how deeply hurt she was.