2007 - The Dead Pool (29 page)

The options were racing through her mind as she skidded to a halt under the viaduct. Her trembling fingers struggled with the phone. Quickly, she tapped in Ross’s number.
Cmon, c’mon!
Straight to his answering machine.
Another damn answering machine!
And then she remembered the state he’d been in when they had talked about Jamie’s guilt. If he was hell-bent on getting pissed tonight, by now he’d be out for the count and have switched off the phone in the bedroom. But…maybe, just maybe, he’d forgotten about his mobile. Ross was umbilically tied to it. She waited, heart racing, as Ross’s mobile rang out.
Please answer. Please
.

Voicemail. No! She beat the palm of her hand against the steering wheel, willing the outgoing message to end…
at last!
The hysteria was building up in her and, with a split second to spare, she pulled back from screaming uncontrollably down the phone.

‘Listen, Ross. It’s me. Morag’s in trouble. Ally Sutherland’s taken her from her house. They’re heading for the Cauldron. He won’t believe a word she has to say about your dad. He’s out of control now, Ross. He’ll think she’s making it up. She’s in danger! We need to help her. I’m at the river. Under the viaduct. I’m going to try and cross on foot. Save time. Can you come? I don’t want to call the police. If Ally sees them, it’ll just make him do God knows what.
But we need to help Moragf

She stopped to take a badly needed breath, and released the central locking system.

The wind tore the car door from her grip as soon as she opened it. Body bent at the waist, she staggered round to the back of the car and unlocked the tailgate. She had no idea if the Wellington boots from Morag’s would fit. They looked as if they would. At least the chunky waterproof camping torch worked, its strong yellow beam cutting through the rain with ease to bounce off her intended destination, so near yet so far. The other side of the river glistened back at her a tantalizing few yards away. At least it wasn’t cold. Just an unseasonal summer storm. Thankfully, the wind brought no deep chill. Otherwise she’d have had to rethink her strategy.

Securing the torch to her wrist by its carrying cord, she headed for the gap in the fence that had been there for years. Would it still be there? Yes! Once through, she immediately lost her footing in the wet foliage and mud at the top of the riverbank. Slithering at frightening speed, she managed to stop herself by tugging on a tuft of strong grass, the jolt to her shoulder socket sending agonizing waves of pain down her left side. She lay back, trying to let the agony wash away, and shone the torch down to her crossing point.
Fucking hell!
The sight caught her breath. The water was running almost as deep as any winter deluge, and the rapids at this point, usually much slower in summer, seemed just as deadly. She’d have to go back to the proper entrance at Roseburn Cliff. But that would waste time. Time that might be critical. Time that Morag might not have.

Kirstin stood, stranded on the bank, feeling her heart rate speeding up to panic levels. Her options were narrowing by the second. If Ross got her message, he’d move heaven and earth to get to the Cauldron in super-quick time. Despite his self-centredness, after hearing such an urgent message from her, he would never leave her to face this alone. But it might still take him fifteen, twenty minutes. It was too long. She could save precious time by crossing here. But she needed one other prop: a long, stout stick. It would help her keep balanced as the rapids tried to dislodge her footing. The rocks underneath would be slippery, and invisible under the murky silt-churned waters. The rubber soles of her Wellingtons wouldn’t hold her. And once she lost her footing…well, her next stop would be down at the weir. Probably drowned.

As she hunted frantically along the bank, among broken boughs and branches, the guilt began to take hold. Ross had been right. If they’d gone to the police straightaway, as he’d wanted, then this wouldn’t be happening. Morag quite possibly might have been in with the police for much of the day, as would Ally Sutherland. At the very least, the police would surely have contacted him to tell him new evidence had come to light. Now, because of her delay, Morag was in danger.

Kirstin almost shouted with glee as her eyes lighted on a thick stick half buried under foliage. Right, it was time to get going.

Halfway into her journey, her right hand was having trouble keeping hold of the stick. It was stout enough, but a fraction too short. Too bad. Turning back now was out of the question. She was teetering midstream, the torch beam wavering manically as she tried to hold the flashlight more firmly in her left hand. But that side of her body was hurting more than ever.

The sound of the rapids gushing round her was deafening, the walls and arches of the viaduct above acting as an echo chamber. At least she was sheltered from the wind here. But the final discomfort had just hit her. The waters, running almost winter-deep, had invaded her boots. Although the shock⁄cold sensation gripping her legs and feet was strangely energizing, she’d have extra weight to carry each time she picked up a foot to step forward.

Gingerly, she inched ahead. Just three steps more. One…two…there! She reached forward to grab an overhanging branch, to hoist herself on to dry land. Immediately she knew she’d misjudged its thickness. With a sickening snap the branch came away in her hand.
Keep your balance, keep your balance. If you go in, theriver will sweep you away. Bob down. Lower jour centre of gravity
. Her right knee took the weight of her fall. The kneecap had hit a hidden rock underneath. Tears of pain welled up, blurring her vision.
Keep scramblingforward. Not far now
. A fierce tug on her right hand told her that the current had stolen her stick. But her left wrist still had the torch swinging by its cord. Thank God. She couldn’t operate blind in these conditions. Gritting her teeth, she prepared for the final heave.
One jump and you’ll behome
.

Go!

She’d landed in the mud and gravel. Drenched from the waist down, she lay on her belly, gasping huge lungfuls of air. That had been close. But she was across. Now, only a wall and railing to negotiate. With a final, aching effort she was up on the raised walkway, one hand leaning on the viaduct wall as she emptied her boots, ignoring the discomfort of wet feet. She peered ahead. The ground was soaked. She’d have to watch her footing. Holding the torch well out in front, she began a cautious jog along the path. Her right knee was stiffening. It wouldn’t support her full weight and her left shoulder socket was emitting low-level, constant pain. But she had to keep going. How long had it taken her to find the wretched stick and get across here? Six, seven minutes? She risked quickening her pace. The rumble of thunder was returning and she could make out faint flickers of lightning far in the distance. Other than that, all was dark and quiet. Apart from the rushing waters.

Kirstin winced. Any further pressure on her knee was going to be impossible. A limping jog was all she could manage. The footbridge was first to come into view. Momentarily, she allowed the torch beam to bounce off the wooden struts before pointing it again at the footpath ahead. If she slipped now, that would be it. She wiped at her eyes, cursing the persistent wind that whipped the rain horizontally into her face. Where were they?
Oh, God. Let me be intime
.

‘Morag?
Morag!
’

She continued her painful jog towards the Cauldron.

‘Moraaag! It’s Kirstin!’

Nothing.

She could hear the weir now, the frothing waters sounding perilously fast. Again she cast her beam ahead and then, in the distance, she spotted it. Approaching through the sheeting rain. A lone figure. Clad head to foot in yellow.

‘
Morag!Morag! Thank God’1
saw you through the telescope. He’s here, isn’t he? Isn’t he?’

She limped forward just in time to catch the staggering figure. Carefully, she pushed the sou’wester back off the face. Morag was sickeningly pale and her cheek and temple were bruised and bleeding.

‘Come on, come on now, Morag. I’m here. You’re all right.’

But clearly, she wasn’t. Gently, Kirstin half dragged Morag to the shelter of a clump of trees, while scanning anxiously in front and behind for any signs of Ally Sutherland. Once safe in their shelter, she switched off the torch.

Morag twisted and let out a long moan. ‘Ahhh…I…’

The voice, already tremulous and weak, faded away. Slowly, she slumped to the ground, melting into a swoon. Kirstin watched as a semi-conscious Morag struggled to move a hand towards her pocket. And then the arm dropped, limp and lifeless.

‘
No, Morag! No!
’

Kirstin wrenched off her jacket and, fashioning a crude pillow from it, manoeuvred the inert body into the recovery position, before placing her ear close to Morag’s mouth.
It’s okay, it’s okay. She’s stillbreathing
. Kirstin edged away to the fringes of their tree shelter. Keeping the torch switched off, she peered left and right along the pathway. A sudden noise from behind made her jump through one hundred and eighty degrees. Only darkness. So where was Ally Sutherland? She turned back and squatted down, feeling Morag’s pulse and checking her body position.

There was nothing for it. She had to face him. Immediately the wind attacked her and, within seconds, the thin T·shirt, her only protection, was soaking. The jeans, already drenched from the river crossing, flapped against her legs once and then stuck fast. Her boots felt unnervingly slippery underfoot. The pain in her knee had eased, but she’d still have to be careful. Step by slow step she approached the open ground near the Cauldron, the torch clutched tightly in her hand, acting as a weapon.

She’d reached the wall. How strange poor light and bad weather made the landscape look. It was like a different place. A threatening place with a bogeyman in every shadow. The sudden flash and deafening crack of thunder directly overhead made her jump. That was it. Should she call Ross again? As she looked across the rushing waters of the weir, a new worry presented itself. Was Ross okay? What if Ally Sutherland had somehow got past her, was thundering towards the exit, and met Ross coming the other way? Ross wouldn’t stand a chance against him. She should call him.
No
. The mobile was in the jacket under Morag’s head. Breathless, she spun round ready to make her way back.

‘
God, no!
’

Her scream of shock rang out over the Cauldron, its echo ricocheting back as she tripped and fell into darkness.

W
hy couldn’t she move? Where was the wall? She felt something warm on her forehead trickle down the left side of her face. And then the taste of blood. She shook her head, glancing frantically around. She knew where she was. He’d propped her up against the wall by the weir. She tried to get up but the pain in her right knee had gone beyond agony. The leg felt useless.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. You knocked your head and your leg as you fell.’

The voice? The face? Realization hit with the rush of relief.

‘Ross! Thank God! I thought you were Al—’

‘Ssh. I know, I know.’

Uncannily, he seemed, on first sight, like Ally Sutherland at his worst. Dishevelled. Exhausted. He wiped a soaking strand of hair from her face, darting quick, nervous looks behind him.

‘You got my message! Thank God! Ross? Please tell m—’

‘Message? Look, we must get to shelter but I need to look at that cut first. Come on, sit down by the bridge.’

He guided her the short distance, before setting her down on a broad wooden strut, and offered a reassuring smile. Carefully, using the light from the torch, he began scrutinizing her head wound, dabbing at it gently with paper tissues.

He crouched over her, trying to see what he was doing. ‘I tried to ring you this evening. On your mobile. Glen Laidlaw answered. He said you must have gone to Morag’s, since you weren’t with me. He explained about the camera and the box. He said he was worried about you. So was I. I decided to go round to Morag’s. And that’s when I found her. Poring over everything in the box. She was
very, very
upset.’

Kirstin tried to lift her head. ‘Upset?’ She flinched. The pain was worsening by the second.

Ross nodded, his voice rising to compete with the waters rushing towards the weir. ‘Yes. Frantic. She was getting ready to leave the house with the box when I arrived. Said she was going to the Cauldron. I don’t know why. She just mumbled about something having jogged her memory. I thought she seemed strange, maybe meant herself some harm, and then she ran out. Left me there. But I ran after her. It was madness to go down there in this weather, but I offered to take her in my car. She seemed reluctant, and by the time we got on to the path I was feeling…I don’t know…wary. I had every reason to be. Look.’

Kirstin gasped as he pulled open his jacket. His shirt was torn and the gash in his torso was glistening with blood. He moved position, obviously trying to ease his discomfort.

‘Once we reached the Cauldron, she tried to push me in. I…I had to fight her. I saw you with her just now. It looks like I’ve hurt her badly. I…I had to defend myself. I suppose I should go and see to her but…’

He paused to glance over his shoulder again, and then turned back to her. He looked terrified. ‘I don’t know what happened here last summer. Please God, it didn’t involve them both. Her and Dad. But…if it did…I wonder if…somehow she lured Dad here, or had him chasing after her the night he died.’

Stunned, Kirstin watched as, painfully, Ross got to his feet, one hand outstretched to help her. ‘Look, we need to get away from here. Get the police. I’ve no phone, though. I lost mine when she tried to pu—’

‘
Bastard! Bastard!
’ The stumbling, yellow-clad figure staggered into the torch beam.

Kirstin found her voice. ‘
Morag! Keep back!
’ She looked helplessly at Ross as a shambling Morag approached. Kirstin tried to raise herself, but her leg failed and her head felt woozy. She caught her breath as Morag came racing into full view, her twisted, bloodied face looming palely through the darkness, both trembling hands brandishing a thick tree bough above her head. Ross moved to meet her, but staggered back as the branch caught him a blow to the shoulder and then to his bleeding side.