Scrap Metal (33 page)

“Oh, my God, Nichol. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t bloody worry about me,” I snapped. “It’s Cam he’s after.” I tried to glance round and winced as the gun muzzle drove deep into my ribs. “Listen, Baird—there’s no need for these two to be here, is there? Especially the woman. Let her go. She won’t say anything.”

“Aye, she looks all ready to go back home to her knitting, doesn’t she?”

I bit back a sigh. Shona, having recovered from her initial fright, had emerged from behind Archie’s shoulder and was standing with her arms crossed, looking thunderbolts at Baird.

“What is she doing here anyway?” I asked. “What did you have to bring her with you for—to nursemaid you in case I lost my temper?”

Archie flushed bright red. “What business is that of yours? We’ve been…going out, if you have to know. Is that a problem for you?”

She turned on him. “We have
no’
been going out, Archie Drummond! You’ve been
asking
me to go out, and I’ve been telling you not to use me as a stand-in while you get Nichol out of your system!” She glanced back at me, brow furrowing. I could see her measuring the differences between us. “Which, now I come to think about it, is a bloody worrying thing for you to want to do. Nichol, I made him bring me with him. He was swearing all colours about Cam, and I thought I could make him keep a civil tongue in his head.”

“Shut up, all of you.” Baird clearly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Probably he hadn’t factored brawling islanders into his plans that morning. “Is there
no
man on this island that’s not fucking bent? You—Nicky, or whatever your nancy boys call you—go and fetch Vaughn now, or…”

But there was no need. Across the yard, the workshop door was opening. Cam emerged into the sunlight. He was unfastening his gauntlets, reaching for the strap of his welder’s mask. His T-shirt was sticking to him, his arms streaked with carbon and rust. “You all right, Nic? I thought I heard voices.”

There was a moment—a space between two heartbeats when I would have chucked Shona’s life and Archie’s away with my own, sacrificed anything to give him a warning shout. Then it was too late. He pulled the mask free and looked up.

The mask clattered to the cobbles, echoing weirdly in the silence. He stood frozen for a second. He hadn’t bothered dyeing his hair again, as if he knew that he and all of us were in the hands of fate. His dark roots were showing. They suited him somehow, like the soot marks and the sweat. He was so damn lovely. Even the sun and the breeze seemed to think so, caressing him, lighting him up.

“Baird,” I said hoarsely. “What do I have to do to make you leave him alone?”

He was up close to me. I felt him shrug. “Sorry,” he replied, and almost sounded like he meant it. “McGarva wants him silenced. He’s the last loose end.”

“He hasn’t talked till now. Why would he start?”

“Aye, we’ve all been wondering what’s been holding his tongue. Quite the conscience on him, little Cam had. A bit of a liability to Bren, but he was useful.” He raised his voice. “Weren’t you, laddie? You come on over here now, nice and slow. You’re looking good, by the way. Nothing like a few months of fresh air and clean living, eh?”

Cam crossed the yard. His hands were raised like mine, just far enough to show cooperation, no plans for sudden moves. His face was calm, his eyes empty. “Baird,” he said, coming to a halt a couple of yards away. “Here I am. Let Nichol go.”

“Cam, no. Stay away from him.”

Baird gave me a pat with his free hand. “Don’t be daft, now. Cam’s doing the right thing.” The pat became a shove, and I stumbled as he pushed me aside. He strode over to Cam, who stood like a statue while he took possession, grabbing one shoulder, shoving the gun into his back. “That’s better. Time to go. All McGarva wanted was a nice neat execution if I found you on your own, but your mates here have complicated things. I’d have to shoot this copper if I killed you here, and the girl, and your bonny boyfriend, and that would leave Bren far more cleaning up to do than you’re worth, son. So just you come with me.”

“Don’t,” I rasped. “Cam, don’t let him take you away.”

The empty gaze fastened on me. It kindled and filled, and I saw there enough love to last me a lifetime. “I have to. I deserve this.”

“You don’t. All right, you killed someone. But throwing away your own life won’t fix it. I told you, we’ll live with it. I’ll help you, whatever it takes…”

I fell silent. Cam was looking at me in a mix of disbelief and absolute horror. Baird for some reason had broken into a broad grin. We stood there in the sun and the wind, and then he began to laugh. “What—you think this little penny-counter killed Stu Duggan?”

“Not on his own, he didn’t! He had McGarva to help him, and some other lads, and…” I shut up, Baird’s words sinking in. “Cam?” I said uncertainly. “You… You told me. After Harry died, and you had the fever, you told me.”

Baird put his head back and roared. “What?” he choked out when he could. “The accountant? McGarva’s wee bed-warmer? Och, he was there that night. So was I. Bren and his lads kicked Duggan in, and this one—your killer—stood in the corner and watched. Pissed yourself, didn’t you, killer Vaughn? Right down your jeans, like a poor babby.” He wiped his eyes, gave Cam’s hair a ruffle that almost looked like affection. “Jesus, what did you tell your boyfriend that for? We had to stop the car for him, Nicky, five minutes after we left. He couldn’t stop puking. And when Bren let him out, the little fucker ran for it. That’s your cold-blooded murderer. Vanished like a fart in a high wind.”

“Nichol. You thought I’d…”

“You told me.” They seemed like the only three words left to me. I tried again, but then even they wouldn’t come.

“I dreamed about him. About Stu Duggan, every night. I saw it in my head—how they went for him and knocked him down, and I just stood there. I could have helped him and I didn’t.”

“You just witnessed it.”

“Just? I might as well have killed him. I dreamed about him every night, until…”

“Until you thought you had. And then when you were ill—”

“I
told
you that?” Cam put an unsteady hand out towards me, his brow wrinkling in disbelief. “I told you I’d murdered poor Duggan myself?”

“Yes.”

“And you… You kept me here. Oh, God. You loved me anyway.”

He tore away from Baird. I stepped forward and grabbed him, squeezing my eyes shut in anticipation of a shot. I swung him round to shield him. If Baird fired now, it would probably go through us both, but I couldn’t care, couldn’t let him go. He hung on to me, pressing frantic kisses to the side of my face. Blindly I returned them.

Before I could work out why Baird was letting us have this moment it was over. Maybe it had just been his pleasure to snatch Cam back out of my arms. It felt like he’d ripped out my liver—I cried out helplessly at the pain of it.

Baird locked a chokehold round Cam’s neck, lifted the gun to his temple. “All right, lover boy. Back the fuck off. Aye, you two and all, or I
will
shoot the little bastard right here in front of you.” He started to retreat, dragging Cam with him. “Car’s just in the lane. Handy, that, a downhill track. I just cruised in on my handbrake, easy all the way. Make it easy for me now, Cameron.”

“Cam, don’t fight him.”

I whipped round. Archie was at my elbow, one hand extended placatingly towards Baird. “Don’t fight,” he said again. “Do as he says.”

“Shut up,” I croaked. “What the fuck are you doing? He’s gonna take him off and kill him.”

“He’ll do it here if we freak him out any more. Nicky, step back. I’m trained for this.”

“You’ve done a bloody brilliant job so far.”

“No. I’ve fucked it all up, I know that. Let me help now. Listen, Mr. Baird—you’re not going to get far, and right now it’s just assault, not murder. It’s best you stop this now.”

Baird didn’t look freaked out. If anything he seemed to be enjoying himself. “Or what? Will you come chasing after me in your wee toytown truck?”

“Not if you let Cam go. I will if I have to.”

“What about if I do this to it?” He lifted the gun. Both he and the silencer were efficient—the muzzle spat twice, and the police Rover sagged, its front tyres hissing. “I’d put one in the tank,” he went on, “but we don’t want to be noisy. Oh, and I tell you what—you look the responsible type. Will you still chase me if you’ve got a casualty to tend?” He swung the pistol in my direction, and then he grinned, whipped back and aimed at Shona.

Archie moved in a blur. I’d known he could shift—Christ, all those times he’d heard a rustle in the marram grass and thought we’d been busted, hissing at me to pull my pants up and run, legging it off down the dunes like a bloody gazelle. He dived in front of Shona. The gun popped again, and he jerked, crashing down onto the barnyard cobbles.

Cam cried out, a yell of inarticulate horror. “Stop! I’m coming with you, all right? I’ll come. Don’t hurt them anymore.”

Baird looked down at Archie, prone and motionless at Shona’s feet. “Ah well, copper,” he said agreeably. “Have it your own way.”

I began to follow him and Cam towards the gate. Cam no longer needed to be dragged, but Baird was keeping him steadily at gunpoint. In the gateway, Cam turned to me. He gave me a look of raw pleading. “No. No more. I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll find you. Wherever he takes you, I’ll…”

“I love you. Look after Archie.”

He was gone. From beyond the hedgerows I heard doors slamming, the roar of an engine. A blue Ford Mondeo bumped past the gateway in reverse. There was a gap in the fence a few yards up where you could three-point turn if you were careful. I couldn’t see. The gap was just round the curve of the track. I heard how neatly Baird did it, the revving and the economic mesh of clutch to gears. I turned and ran back into the yard.

Archie was sitting up, holding his upper arm, or trying to. Shona had him propped against one knee and was shoving her bundled-up shirt into the shoulder of his jacket. She had on a vest underneath, but I knew the lack of it wouldn’t have stopped her. “Keep still, you daft bastard,” she ordered him as I stumbled to a halt beside them.

“Christ, Archie. Are you all right?”

“He’s fine. It’s just a nick, a flesh wound.”

Archie jerked his head up. He was colourless apart from a smear of blood on his face. “I’m not sodding fine,” he said. “He shot me. I’ve been shot.”

I crouched in front of him. I was almost sick with relief to hear him complaining, but I needed him. “Archie, you’re a copper. Help.”

He stared at me. Then he seemed to take my point. He nodded curtly. “Okay. Sho, help me up.”

“You shouldn’t be moving.”

“You just told me I was fine. Nichol, grab my other arm. Get me to the Rover.”

“He shot your Rover too,” Shona reminded him as we hoisted him to his feet.

“Yeah. I only need the radio.”

Once he was up, he made it to the truck on his own. I stood, arms wrapped tight round myself, a shroud of unreality settling round me. I heard static then a short exchange of what seemed to me mostly numbers, alphas and tangos and foxtrots. Shona came up and put her arm around my waist, and I only realised then that I had been swaying.

Archie emerged. “Right,” he said. “That’s every car and officer alerted, shoreside and the mainland. They’re relaying descriptions to the ferry staff. Unfortunately the force on this side is pretty much me, though they’ll send the chopper from Ardrossan as soon as they can. I need to get on the road.”

“Aye.” Shona gave me a quick squeeze and went to check he hadn’t bled through the makeshift bandage. She glanced assessingly across the yard. “I wonder why Baird didn’t shoot Nichol’s Toyota too.”

“Probably,” Archie responded, distractedly dragging his stab vest and portable radio out of the Rover, “because it looks like a big pile of rusting shit. Does it still run, Nicky?”

It took me a second to organise speech. “Yes. Yeah, of course.”

“Then go get me the keys.”

“They’re in the ignition.”

“God. There really is no point to law enforcement on this bloody island, is there? Right, I’m off.”

I grabbed his sleeve, though gently. He was shaking finely, and pale as a cod. “You can’t drive.”

“Okay. Chauffeur me, but if we find him, you stop out of the way and let me do the police bit. Shona, get into the house and lock yourself up in case he comes back here. I’ll have one of the girls at the station drive over and pick you up as soon as—”

“Oh, no.” Shona stepped between us, her eyes flashing. “This doesn’t turn into some kind of boys’-own outing now. Nichol drives like a pussy, and…” She fell silent. She pushed her fringe out of her eyes. “Archie. Did you just stop a bullet for me?”

“Aye. What about it? What else would I do?”

I left them staring at each other. I went and got into the Toyota, started her up and brought her lumbering over the yard to within ten inches of them. When that didn’t break their confrontation, I leaned my elbow on the horn. Archie jumped as if he’d been shot again. Shona ducked her head, and they both ran to climb aboard.

Only a trace in the road chippings, a memory of fading engine sound, gave me a direction at the top of the track.

There was no other junction for three miles. Unless Baird had taken the Mondeo off-road across the heather, we’d find him. The moors lay wide and bare. There was no place to hide a car and drag a person off to murder them. We were only a couple of minutes behind. I nodded at each of these assurances from Archie and Shona, who seemed to be taking turns to keep me sane. I valued it, but it made no real difference. My foot was down, my eyes fixed on the next turn, the next crest of the road. I was choiceless as an arrow in flight.

Shona added, “And he’s more gob than action, I reckon. He must’ve pulled his shot to miss me from that distance.”

I almost felt sorry for Archie, but he had been distracted by finding a mobile signal, and was now demanding a roadblock—or someone’s old caravan, or a pair of tractors, or whatever could be spared—at the Crow Farm turn-off.

“He doesn’t know the island, Nic,” he said, hanging up. “He’d have headed for Brodick otherwise, tried to hijack a boat. This way he’s got nowhere to run. Hoi, easy on the bend! You’re gonna flip us.”