Tombstoning (28 page)

‘Well, I’m going to have to move you while I think about what to do,’ said Neil, as much to himself as to Nicola.

‘Why?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, love, I don’t think for a minute the police are haring it up here to arrest me. But you pair both found me in this place, and I guess others will in time. It just isn’t safe to use it any more.’

‘And where are you going to take us? To your secret underground lair?’

Neil looked at her closely, a thin smile spreading across his face.

‘Close, but no cigar,’ he said. ‘I do have a place that I use for contingencies, though.’

‘What, more of a hideaway than an abandoned cottage about to fall into the sea?’

‘Much more. Trouble is, I can’t carry the pair of you to the boat at once, and I can’t be arsed with you trying to run off.’

The boat? thought Nicola. Where the fuck were they going? Neil had gotten up off the bed and was slowly walking towards her.

‘Wait a minute, Neil. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you don’t have to do anything rash, you can trust me not to try to escape.’

‘We both know that’s not true,’ said Neil, playing with the torch in his hand. He looked as if he had made a decision. ‘I’ll carry you to the boat one at a time, laughing boy first. But I’m afraid that means I’m going to have to knock you out.’

‘Now, hang on, Neil, there’s no need for that, I promise I won’t be any trouble.’ She was squirming against the radiator at her back, the metal clanking out rhythmically in time.

‘Sorry, love,’ said Neil as he raised the torch and swung it down hard over the back of her head, sending shards of burning pain through her body.

She dreamt that she was a horse and Amy was riding on her back, digging sharp heels into her sides. She came to with a start, the room solidifying around her. She hadn’t moved; she was still tied to the radiator in the cottage. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. She was alone. The only sound was the squawk of gulls. She struggled a little, causing more clanking from the radiator, which was digging right into the small of her back. Surely the clanking meant that things were moving, that things could be moved in the radiator, she thought. She knew from having an eight-year-old daughter in the house that things could be ripped from walls pretty easily, even seemingly sturdy things like radiators, even more so in a ramshackle cottage that hadn’t seen any attention in Christ knows how long. What she needed was some leverage, though. She pushed herself up the wall slightly, as much as her bound hands would allow, and settled down on her knees, her arms still behind her. Her feet were now pressed against the skirting board. She began to lean forward, pushing with her feet against the wall, but as she did so her shoulders started to ache, the force of her body seemingly focussing on wrenching her arms out their sockets. She relaxed. There didn’t seem any other way of doing it, though.

She looked around the room for anything that might help. She could see a couple of bits of broken glass over by the window, but too far away to reach, and anyway she couldn’t see her wrist bindings, didn’t know if they could be cut easily, and wouldn’t know how to reach the glass with her tied hands anyway. There was nothing else for it, she was just going to have to push like hell and hope that she didn’t dislocate her arms. She steeled herself for the pain and tensed her legs, ready to push against the wall for all she was worth. She took a couple of big, deep breaths, counted slowly to three and then strained, pushing with all her might against the wall. The pain shooting across her collarbone and into her shoulders was immense, and she thought she would pass out from the initial shock of it, but she kept pushing, pushing, pushing, straining every sinew in her body. A brief image flitted across her mind of herself as the figurehead of a pirate ship, straining proudly into harsh northerly winds and stormy seas, and then, just as she was about to be overwhelmed by the pain in her arms, her back, her whole body, the resistance from the wall behind her gave way, there was an explosion of plasterboard and the sound of metal and stone being wrenched apart, and she collapsed face down on the cold, wet floor, the radiator, now free from the wall, landing on top of her in a flurry of rubble and dust. She lay panting for a few seconds on the floor, recovering from the effort. Her shoulders were on fire. She rolled over and kicked the radiator to one side. The noise of it clanking onto the concrete seemed obscenely loud in her ears. She had been tied to the radiator wall mount with some kind of thick blue plastic twine, but there was enough give in it now for it to roll easily off her hands. She rubbed her wrists, then her shoulders. She could still move her arms, so nothing was dislocated or broken. She rubbed her face and shook her head to clear her thoughts, then picked herself off the floor and made for the unboarded window.

Outside it was still daytime, the thick grey skies casting unrelenting rain down on the earth. She had no idea how long she’d been out. She checked her pockets but the car key and mobile were gone. Neil. Where the hell was he taking David? He had mentioned a boat. She ran to the edge of the ravine where she had seen David’s car. Now her parents’ car had joined it, about thirty yards further down the slope, tangled up in a dense arrangement of thick, spongy weeds and plants.

Just then a movement caught her eye. Down on the shore, at the bottom of the ravine, were two figures. One was lying on the sand, the other, having clearly just dumped the body there, was beginning to head back up the shore towards the bottom of the ravine where Nicola now noticed a tiny, overgrown path that was cut into the hillside, zigzagging its way through the dense grass. He must be coming back to get her, she thought. As she watched, the figure looked up the ravine and stopped in his tracks. She quickly ducked down to lie flat on her chest, feeling the rain soaking through her, but she knew she was too late. Neil had seen her. She tried to work out what that meant. As she was trying to think, Neil seemed to hesitate for a moment, then turned towards a large, dark rock at the bottom of the cliff. From here Nicola could see several tiny, upturned boats behind the rock, sheltered from view from the sea. Neil turned one of the boats over and started dragging it towards the shoreline.

Nicola had to think fast. She had no phone. She had no car. The nearest people were in Auchmithie, and that was at least fifteen minutes of running across muddy fields. There wasn’t time. She didn’t know where Neil was taking David, but if it was out at sea and she lost sight of them, then it was all over. She made a decision. She waited until she was sure Neil wasn’t looking back up the ravine and began searching for the start of the path that led down to the sea, keeping a watchful eye on the figure down below and ready to dodge for cover if he looked her way.

‘Fucking hell.’

David heard the sound of swearing over the shush of the sea lapping in on the shore next to him. He was lying on the beach, his hands tied behind his back, his feet bound together. He rolled over onto his side to look in the direction of the voice. Neil was dragging a small wooden boat towards him, muttering under his breath, a large crescent of grass-smothered cliff face looming behind him.

‘You never told me she was so resourceful,’ said Neil, noticing David was awake.

‘What?’

‘Your fucking girlfriend. She’s escaped. I should’ve tied her to the fucking bed, not the radiator. What a fucking idiot. Anyway, that means she’s off for help, so we’d better get a bend on. Luckily I got rid of her car, so we’ve got a bit of time.’

Nicola had escaped, fucking good for her, thought David. But then, shit, that left him alone with this fucking maniac. Shit.

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

‘Look, Neil, she’s gone, the game’s up, surely you can see that? Let me go and we can sort something out.’

‘Exactly how can we sort something out?’ said Neil, dragging the boat to the edge of the water, so that the prow was being slapped by little waves. ‘You know I killed Gary, so how can I possibly let you go? And don’t even bother saying you won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you were going to say next. Was that what you were going to say next?’

‘I was thinking about it.’

‘Well, don’t waste your breath. It wouldn’t actually matter whether or not you did ever tell anyone, I wouldn’t
know
whether you had told anyone or not, and I would always know that you were out there and I would worry about whether you would tell someone some day. I’m not about to put myself in that position.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘Good question. I don’t know. I need time to think. Which is why we should stop talking shite and get in the boat. Now, to make things a little easier, I’m going to untie your legs. I already carried you down that fucking path,’ he glanced back up at the ravine behind him, ‘which was probably a mistake. You’re not a fucking baby, and you can walk from now on. But it goes without saying, don’t get any ideas. The first time you try to run off I’ll kick seven shades of shite out of you. The second time, I’ll probably just kill you, to fucking hang with it. OK?’

David just nodded. He felt barely capable of walking, let alone running anywhere, so he passively lay there as Neil cut through the plastic bindings around his ankles with a dangerous-looking knife he flicked from his pocket.

‘What about the wrists?’

‘You’re joking, aren’t you? You think I’m a fucking idiot?’

‘Just thought I’d ask. You don’t ask, you don’t get.’

‘Got any other stupid questions, before we go?’

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘You already asked that one.’

‘You didn’t answer.’

‘That’s right. I didn’t. Now get in.’

David didn’t see any alternative. He looked back up the ravine. Nicola was free, he was genuinely thankful for that. She was out of this whole mess. She would surely go for help, but what form would that take? How do you even get in touch with the coastguard, and how long did they take to get their shit together? Or would the police be quicker? In one sense, he was glad it wasn’t him having to explain the situation to the locals in the But ’n’ Ben, then again to the coastguard, the police or whoever else, but then he realized that was ridiculous. He would much rather be doing that than be here, in the hands of a fucking madman who would probably just push him over the edge of the boat when they got far enough out to sea. But he wouldn’t want to swap positions with Nicola – that would put her here. Was that what love was, refusing to swap positions with your lover to place them in the arms of a psychotic killer? It felt like as good a definition as any to him at that moment, although he could see how you might have difficulty working that into a love song.

What if Neil did push him over the side of the boat once they were out at sea? His hands were tied, he wasn’t that good a swimmer anyway and, even in summer, the North Sea would freeze you to death in a matter of minutes. He’d heard somewhere that drowning was a particularly calm and peaceful way to die, but he figured that was a lot of bullshit. There was no such thing as a calm way to die if you didn’t want to fucking die. And he very definitely didn’t want to die. He wanted to live, with Nicola, with Amy, with his memories of Colin and Gary, and his memories of this moment, and all his possible futures ahead of him. He wanted to be able to reminisce one day in the future with Nicola, shaking their heads in disbelief and laughing about the time that nutter Neil had held them both captive, then she’d escaped and gone for help but it had come too late, because he was already dead…

Fuck. Fucking fuck. He had to think straight. He was going to die, and he had to do something about that. But what? He had been battered half a dozen times since Neil captured him, and it felt as if he was only a thin stretch of consciousness away from passing out again. He had to try and stay calm. Keep on Neil’s right side. Don’t rock the boat, so to speak. Part of him couldn’t believe he was making bad jokes like that to himself at a time like this. What a fucking idiot. What a fucking waste-of-space idiot. Why had he even come back to this stupid part of the world? Every time he came back, someone else died, only this time it was going to be him. He felt like crying, and then got angry at himself for being so pathetic.

‘Hurry the fuck up, will you?’ Neil was standing by the boat, toying with that torch again. It hadn’t escaped David’s notice that he’d used a knife to undo his ankle ties, so there were any number of ways in which Neil could help him become a corpse, nice and simple. With a heart as turbulent as the North Sea in front of him, David climbed into the boat and Neil pushed them off, starting the outboard motor with a putter and a puff of diesel smoke and pointing the boat south-west, heading towards the stretch of cliffs between them and Arbroath.

Nicola watched them take to the sea and increased her speed down the cliff path, taking the rough steps in leaps and scrambles. She was sure they hadn’t seen her descent. By the time she made it to the shore they had only been on the water for a few minutes, and were still some way from clearing the headland at the south-west corner of the bay. She headed straight for the large rock from where she’d seen Neil retrieve a boat and sure enough, there were two more small rowing boats hidden there. She could hardly believe he’d left the boats here, knowing that she’d escaped. Maybe he hadn’t seen her after all. But surely he would’ve come back up to get her in that case. Then it clicked – he
had
seen her, but he’d assumed that she would run off for help. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she, being a fucking idiot helpless woman, would try and follow them without anyone else as back-up. Typical fucking man, she thought. OK, not all men, just the uber-macho, psychopathic killing machine ones.

Of the two boats in front of her, one didn’t have a motor on it. She flipped the other one and it didn’t look up to much either – paint almost completely peeled off, the rather flaky wooden planks looking as if they might spring apart given the slightest provocation. It would have to do. She started pulling it down to the sea, struggling at first with the inertia of the sand, but gaining momentum as she went. Out at sea Neil and David were nearing the headland. In a few more minutes they would be round it and out of sight. She ran round the back of the boat, heaved it into the water and jumped in. She had no idea about these outboard motors, but she’d seen them used on television. There was always a cord to pull, wasn’t there? She hunted around under the motor and her hand clunked against a built-in storage box, secured with a padlock. She felt around the box and found a thick, oily cord coiled up behind it. She gave it a yank. Nothing. She tried again. Still nothing. Looking up, she could see the other boat almost at the headland. She pushed her feet against the stern of the boat and pulled as hard as she could, jerking backwards and falling over into the boat as the motor sparked into life with a whine like a scooter’s engine. A pungent mix of diesel fumes and rotting fish surrounded her.