Keep The Midnight Out (William Lorimer) (22 page)

‘W
here are you?’ Crozier’s voice came over the telephone as Lorimer drove past the entrance to Kilbeg Country House Hotel.

‘Just approaching Salen,’ he replied, the hands-free telephone allowing him to respond.

‘Can you meet us at the ferry terminal? At Fishnish? They’re on Maloney’s trail and I’ve got orders to bring you with me.’

‘Be there in less than twenty minutes,’ Lorimer replied, his eyes already seeking out a place to turn the big car.

‘I’ll leave you the car,’ he told Maggie after he’d cut the call. ‘Go with Rosie like you planned.’

‘What are you going to do? Is it safe?’ Maggie looked at him, sudden anxiety in her face. ‘Do you
have
to go?’ The sigh that left her lips seemed to express all of her pent–up frustrations and fears.

He placed a reassuring hand over hers. ‘I’ll be fine. They probably just want me along to have the Eurocopter scrambled. That’s all.’

Maggie nodded but the fine lines around her eyes had deepened. There was a gunman on the loose in the wilds of Ardnamurchan; that much she knew and she was not one bit reassured by her husband’s words.

‘Keep down!’ Maloney hissed, waving his hand at Richard.

The boy squatted beside a tree, the bark chafing his cheek as he huddled in the shadows. The darkness within the forest was like a cloak, softening every sound. Even their feet had made no noise on the carpet of pine needles as they had crept away from the safety of the bothy, venturing deeper and deeper into the mass of trees. Somehow his father led the way, winding through small tracks, ducking beneath the massive branches, the scent of pine heavy in the gloomy air. Several times he had been signalled to halt, Jock raising a warning hand, his head up to listen for their pursuers. But Richard heard nothing at all, only the occasional dull snap of an aged twig beneath his booted feet.

He was thirsty now and eyed the pack on his father’s back with resentment.
Have to ration it till we find another burn
, Jock had whispered, snatching the water bottle from his son and stuffing it into the bag.
Where are we going?
Richard wanted to ask.
And when will we be able to find something to eat?
But he was afraid to ask such questions, dreading what the answers might be.

The ferry crossing took just over fifteen minutes, time enough for Lorimer to call the Glasgow Division and talk to the pilot of the Eurocopter where it sat in its stance by the River Clyde, preparing for take-off. Beside him he saw Crozier drum her fingers on the dashboard as though to hurry the small car ferry along. He let his gaze travel away from the green ramp that separated them from the waters ahead and the sides of the boat blocking out any view. Looking upwards to the clouds wheeling above them, the detective superintendent realised that the ferry was making its turn towards the shore at last.

‘It should be with us by the time we reach the road end,’ Crozier said, looking at her wristwatch. ‘It’s mostly single-track roads from here on,’ she muttered as the ferry began to lower the dark green ramp at Lochaline, its yellow painted footprints to one side indicating the pathway for foot passengers. But for once the pedestrians would be made to wait until the police left the ferry first; every moment of delay was giving more time for Maloney to disappear further into the wilds.

Lorimer nodded. He was seated in the rear of a Police Scotland Land Rover; Crozier’s Merc had been left at Tobermory and his own Lexus was probably half way to Calgary by now, Maggie driving towards their friends and a picnic with their little goddaughter. He should be with them, he thought, a strange resentment filling him, not chasing after the man who had fixed his old Lexus. He ought to be having some fun, taking off his socks and shoes, paddling in the shallows with little Abby. But the holiday had been soured the moment that Lorimer had seen the gulls and crows at the edge of Fishnish Bay.

DS Langley was at the wheel of the vehicle, Crozier sitting in the passenger seat beside him as they bumped along the pitted road. Time and again they came to a halt, their progress impeded by an approaching vehicle or contrary sheep deciding to dash across in front of them. Glancing out of the rear window, Lorimer half expected to see the Eurocopter against the clear blue skies but, even if it had left Glasgow by now, it was still some time away from Britain’s most westerly peninsula. The Morvern hills loured over this winding road, massive and brooding as though to remind the occupants of the vehicle that here was a far greater force than the one presented by mere humankind.

Then, as if the twisting road had finally decided to give up, a vista appeared below the trees: Loch Sunart and the mountains beyond, sun and shadows etching their peaks against the blue skies.

Lorimer bent forwards as they reached a T-junction. ‘Are they sure he drove left?’ he asked, glancing at the sign for Strontian.

‘Yep.’ Crozier did not even turn her head so he sat back down, resigned to the narrow road that hugged the shoreline for many miles more as the Land Rover hastened ever westwards. Even now, in high summer, there were not so many vehicles on the road so perhaps that earlier sighting of Maloney’s pickup had been genuine. Where were they now? he wondered, glancing through the trees at the waters on their left, this grey ribbon of road leading them further and further into the wilderness.

‘Listen!’ Richard halted, tugging at his father’s sleeve to make him stop. ‘What’s that?’

Jock Maloney stood still, his eyes turned towards the rhythmic noise high above the treetops.

‘Helicopter,’ he said at last, his mouth closing in a thin line of resignation.

Richard followed his father’s gaze. ‘They’ll find us now, won’t they, Dad? Dad?’

He struggled against the hand that was dragging him further and further into the depths of the forest. ‘What’re you doing? It’s no use!’

‘Get a move on,’ Jock snarled, dropping his hand and nudging his son with the tip of the rifle. ‘Damned if I’m going to let them get us.’

‘But why? What’s going on, Dad? Why won’t you tell me anything?’ Richard stumbled away from his father, his hands raised in alarm.

‘You know fine why we’re on the run,’ Maloney retorted. ‘Now, move!’

Richard felt the gun against the small of his back as he staggered forwards, all the questions he wanted to ask tumbling around his brain as they moved deeper and deeper into the shadowed quiet of the woods.

The EC135 was like a giant wasp in the air, its yellow and black livery vivid against the cloudless skies.

‘Sierra Papa Seventy,’ the uniformed officer in the rear spoke into the mouthpiece, his voice battling against the din from the aircraft’s propellers.

‘Sierra Papa Seventy, we read you,’ a female voice called back.

‘Four minutes from you, west-north-west,’ the officer replied. Heading towards our target now.’

Down below, leaning against the side of the Land Rover, Lorimer watched as the Eurocopter shifted its position and headed slowly over the treetops. They had been in contact with the officer for the last half-hour, his pilot and police observer sitting up front so that they might make eye contact with any running figures on the ground. Given the thick forest cover, that would be impossible, Lorimer knew. However, they did have one advantage over their quarry: there was a special surveillance camera fitted in this craft, one that could detect human fugitives in any conditions. Normally used as a night-time device, the thermal imaging camera could pick out anybody hiding in these woods, images being recorded as the men fled through the trees.

He craned his neck as the helicopter disappeared over the dark green mass of pines, the sound of its rotor blades drumming in the air. There was no way that Maloney and his son could escape them now.

Lorimer looked round as a white van drew up beside them, armed officers in protective clothing scrambling out.

‘Detective Superintendent Lorimer?’ A police officer stepped towards them, his eyes glancing briefly over Crozier before he smiled warmly, putting out a hand to Lorimer.

‘Chief Inspector Pinder. Didn’t expect to see you up here,’ Lorimer said, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

‘Oh, I get around,’ the man replied laconically.

Lorimer nodded, recalling a previous case on which they had collaborated. The uniformed senior officer had some links to MI6, his role in Police Scotland being to liaise with intelligence and counter-terrorism amongst other things.

‘This is DI Crozier, our SIO up here,’ Lorimer said, turning to face the woman who was standing a little apart from them, her arms folded.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Martin Pinder said, giving her a perfunctory nod. ‘Glad you brought this fellow along, DI Crozier.’ He tilted his head, giving Lorimer an appraising look.

‘Lorimer, we want you to come along with us. Chief Constable asked specifically that you be in on this one.’ He shrugged, giving the blonde woman an apologetic smile. ‘Grab a spare stab vest and stay with me,’ he added, patting his bulky chest to show that he was already prepared with body armour beneath his jacket.

Stevie took a step forward. ‘You don’t want me to come with you?’

‘I think your role as liaison with the officers is more important,’ Pinder replied. ‘We need you to be out here in constant radio contact with the ’copter.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she nodded. If she were disappointed at not being kitted up to join the armed officers, Stevie Crozier did not show it. If anything were to go wrong inside this wooded area she would carry the responsibility of reporting it all back to base.

‘We’ll keep in touch with you both as we approach the target. All right?’ Pinder patted Lorimer on the arm and indicated that he should follow.

‘They’re coming closer!’ Richard stumbled on a tree root, losing his footing as he looked upwards. ‘Dad! They’re going to find us!’ he screamed.

‘Shut up and stay down,’ Jock commanded. ‘Make yourself as small as possible.’

He crouched beside his son, holding his arms to prevent him from getting up and making a dash through the woods. ‘They’re looking for two figures running. Let’s not give them that, eh?’

Richard looked up. There was a grim smile on Jock Maloney’s face and for a moment Richard wondered if it was really possible to outwit the might of the police force. He had trusted his father this far, he thought, crouching behind the trunk of an immense pine tree. Surely he could trust him for a little longer?

The sound of the Eurocopter was like a droning insect high above them as Lorimer and Pinder stepped into the forest, a line of darkly clad officers ahead of them. Pinder touched the headset he was wearing and glanced at the tall man at his side.

‘They’ve located them,’ he said, nodding. ‘Two persons on the right-hand side of the forest seen on the thermal imaging screen. Your friend out there knows it too,’ he added. ‘Hopefully we’ll bring them both back without any fuss.’

‘Are you anticipating any trouble?’

‘He’s got a gun. Was an ex-sniper. Wanted for a possible double murder. Isn’t that trouble enough?’

Lorimer did not reply. There were several things that didn’t seem to add up, to his way of thinking: mostly a motive behind the deaths of a young man and an innocent old lady. And, he reminded himself, the body of Rory Dalgleish had been dumped from a boat and Jock Maloney was neither a sailor nor a fisherman. A body dumped off the shores of Tobermory wouldn’t have come ashore at Fishnish Bay, surely? Even given the strange high tides that had been in force that particular morning. It just didn’t make any sort of sense to see the man from the garage as a killer.

Jock Maloney crouched closer to the tree, his son huddled beside him. Richard had his head down and eyes closed. Was he praying? The thought came to Maloney’s mind. And if so, what exactly was he praying for: a sudden release from this awful situation?

For a moment he looked at the boy, remembering him as the wee lad he had been not so very long ago, a toddler stumbling about, always cheerful, an eager schoolboy with pals coming constantly to their door. And, even when his mother had left, Richard had kept the same good-natured outlook, a smile for everyone.
Jock’s lad
, they’d called him,
chip off the old block
whenever Richard had cracked one of his daft jokes. But appearances belied the realities of this young man’s life and as he stared at the back of his son’s head, Jock raised his rifle.

‘Maloney!’ The shout seemed to fall and die in the dense tree cover, despite the loudhailer that Pinder held to his lips. ‘You’re surrounded by armed police officers!’ he called. ‘Come out and give yourself up!’

Lorimer glanced around him: it was true enough, the officers had spread around the point where the thermal imaging had shown the presence of two live bodies, hunkered down beside a giant Caledonian pine.

They waited for a moment, all eyes focused on the spot, weapons aimed towards their hiding place. There was no movement from any side, every single police officer maintaining complete silence. Nor was there any sign of a stirring from the depth of the trees.

‘Maloney!’ Pinder barked the name out once more. ‘Drop your weapon and come out!’

‘Dad!’ A muffled cry came from the shadows, and the unmistakable sound of running feet.

Then a single shot rang out, followed by an unearthly scream that made shivers run down Lorimer’s back.

The armed unit was moving now, closing in on the gunman, Pinder and Lorimer at their rear.

‘Let me speak to him.’ Lorimer pulled at Pinder’s sleeve. ‘He knows me.’

Pinder stared at the man by his side for a moment then nodded, handing over the device without a word.

Lorimer raised the loudhailer to his lips, its white arc suddenly incongruous against the deep green darkness.

‘Jock!’ he called. ‘It’s me. Lorimer. Can you just stand up and move forward? Here’s what I want you to do, all right?’ He spoke calmly, years of experience dealing with dangerous and frightened men making him keep his voice low and steady. ‘I need you to drop the weapon, Jock. D’you hear me? There are several rifles trained on you right now, Jock, and I don’t want you to come to any harm. Okay?’