A Taste of Ashes (DI Bob Valentine Book 2) (26 page)

‘OK, Sylvia, knock-knock …’

McCormack tapped on the door and called out, ‘Room service.’

No answer.

‘Knock again,’ said Valentine.

Another knock, harder this time.

‘OK. OK. I’m coming.’ The voice behind the door was a middle-aged man’s, heavy Ayrshire in tone.

‘Soon as the chain’s off, kick it in,’ said Valentine.

The door opened, the chain wasn’t on. McCormack kicked the door in and Norrie Leask fell backwards into the room, cursing.

‘Stay where you are, Norrie,’ said Valentine.

The sound of footsteps padded from the interior of the room to the front door where the officers waited.

‘You too, Joe. This is a bit like a full house,’ said Valentine. ‘In here, chief.’

As Martin came in McCormack was cuffing Leask behind his back, propping him against the wall. Valentine was turning the protesting Joe around. ‘Just shut it, now. You’ll have plenty of time to tell us all about it when we get you down the nick.’

‘It’s not us you want,’ said Leask.

‘You’ll do for now,’ said McCormack.

‘But they’re here,’ said Leask. ‘You’re letting them get away …’

CS Martin stepped towards Leask. ‘What is he going on about?’

Before Leask had a chance to reply DS McNeil appeared at the doorway. ‘I just had a call on the radio, I think you should hear this – there’s been shots fired out at the old bothy in Glen Rosa.’

‘I told you,’ wailed Leask. ‘You got the wrong ones.’

‘Shut it, Norrie.’ said Valentine. ‘Where’s this Glen Rosa?’

Valentine led Leask through the hotel foyer to the car park. A few guests in gym wear, obviously en route to the leisure club, stopped and stared but were promptly waved aside. As McNeil arrived with the second custody and CS Martin, Valentine was putting Leask in the back of the Astra, a wary hand on the top of his head as he ducked the roof.

‘How are we all going to get in there?’ said Valentine.

‘We need the Land Rover for the glen, it’s on the way with our armed response officer,’ said McNeil.

‘You have armed response on Arran?’

‘Not exactly. We have a couple of rifles, and my offsider has them in the Land Rover for the odd stray deer, we get them on the roads and they can do terrible damage to a vehicle.’ He put Joe in the back of the Astra with Leask, where he rattled his handcuffs and continued to protest.

‘I’ll go with uniform to keep an eye on this pair,’ said DS McCormack.

Valentine nodded, turned back to McNeil – he wanted to know more about the guns. ‘Tell me you have the proper firearms training.’

‘Of course. Have to, as you know …’

‘And have you actually fired one?’

‘Oh, yes. I shot a cow once, had been hit by a post van and was in a dreadful way, blood oozing out the nose, the tongue lolling …’

Thank you for the image,’ said Valentine.

‘The kindest thing for it was to put it out of its misery.’

The DI turned to the chief super. ‘I’d love to see the paperwork on that.’

‘Oh, jeez, you wouldn’t have liked to fill it in,’ replied McNeil. ‘The best part of a day it took me, I had to reload a few times you see. I suppose I was lucky it wasn’t a built-up area, now that would have been a nightmare.’

The conversation halted abruptly as the Land Rover appeared and a uniformed officer opened the door and got out. The CS and the DI piled in as McNeil directed the uniform towards DS McCormack and the awaiting collars in the back seat of the Astra.

‘Come on, Rory, you have to drive us there. We’re wasting time,’ said Martin.

As he got behind the steering wheel McNeil detailed the route. Glen Rosa was a scenic spot on the edge of Brodick with a rambling track to the top of the Goatfell range. It could be boggy in places but there were beaten-earth tracks that the Land Rover could handle easily if it came to that.

‘There’s a wee road leads there, just outside Brodick, we’ll be there in no time,’ said McNeil.

‘What’s the story with the shots?’ said Martin.

‘There’s a campsite, with an old stone bothy, I think the campers use it as a washroom now. There was a call, shots were heard inside. Some voices, screams but nobody’s seen anything, we’ll be the first on the scene, I’m afraid. Can you handle a rifle, chief super?’

‘No I bloody cannot. And nor do I intend to.’

‘No worries. Sure, I’m a bit of an action man myself and Bob there looks the part.’

As they travelled, Valentine’s mind flushed with previous similar encounters. There had never been gunshots, only knives, but one of those had found its way through the walls of his heart and he wasn’t keen to repeat the experience. The pain had been inconsequential compared to the hurt it had caused his family, he couldn’t bring himself to think about Clare or the girls having to go through that again. He forced away his fears.

‘How the hell did it come to this?’ said Martin.

Did she mean an armed stand-off on Arran? Or, the pair of them sitting in a car heading for their potential doom? ‘Well, we were short-staffed before you bumped Harris.’

‘I’ve a bloody good mind to go and get him, send him in there now.’

Valentine agreed. ‘We could all march behind him, let Flash Harris do the talking.’

‘He’s used to shooting his mouth off, he wouldn’t need a gun.’

The Land Rover came screeching to a halt in a gravel road, spraying scree beyond the tyres and jerking the occupants in their seats.

‘Right, we’re here,’ said McNeil.

Valentine was first out of the vehicle. He spotted a small group of tourists and campers gathered beyond a dry-stone dyke; the DI observed them for a few seconds then summoned them away from the wall. The group trailed slowly towards him and as McNeil appeared with the rifles those in front of him increased their pace.

‘Get inside that house.’ Valentine pointed to a whitewashed cottage; the group stalled, some were ready to question but he blasted, ‘Move!’

As the officers descended the path towards the bothy, Valentine rebuffed the offer of a rifle and DS McNeil continued on with one gun strapped over each shoulder.

‘I don’t want you to fire that unless it’s a matter of life and death, is that clear?’ said the DI.

‘Yes, sir.’

The path was narrow and rutted. Gnarled roots from adjacent trees impeded the way and a damp covering from earlier rain made the going slippy underfoot. As he reached the corner of the bothy Valentine directed McNeil towards a gap in the adjoining fence where he could reach a rusting plough for cover, he jogged on and signalled a thumbs up to say he had secured a view of the open doorway.

‘Christ this is hardcore, Bob,’ said Martin.

‘You’re not kidding.’

‘If I’d known we were going to end up playing commandos in the wilds I’d have packed the Kevlar vests.’

‘Bet you didn’t imagine we’d be doing this when you sat down to your cornflakes this morning?’

‘No I did not. If I had, it wouldn’t have been milk I was splashing on them, I can assure you of that.’ Martin wiped some mud splashes away from the elbow of her jacket. ‘Right, what are you thinking?’

‘I’m going to make my way round the building, when I get close enough to the open door at the front I’m going to try and engage with them.’

‘That’s your plan, is it?’

‘Got a better one?’

She narrowed her gaze towards the bothy. ‘Sit tight and wait for the proper back-up.’

‘Not an option. It’s going to be dark in about forty minutes, there’s potentially a hostage or two in there, we can’t take the risk.’

She baulked, ‘And this isn’t a risk?’

Valentine didn’t answer. He crouched below the line of the window on the bothy’s gable end and started to feel his way around the outside of the building, his heart ramped and a damp line of sweat formed on his forehead. As he turned he spotted the chief super with the back of her head resting on the wall, eyes skywards; he hoped she was praying.

The DI heard movement inside the building, he tried to assess the number of people but it was impossible. There were words, a man’s voice, he seemed to be pleading, his tone rising and falling with increasing desperation. There was also crying, it sounded like a woman’s voice, or perhaps a young girl’s.

As he reached the open doorway of the bothy Valentine peered round the edge, ignoring that a bullet might meet him. The interior was in almost complete darkness, only a little light coming in from the small case and sash window on the other side of the building. When the sun finally receded, the place would be in complete darkness. From his own knowledge of bothies, there wasn’t likely to be an electric light source. If there was, surely they would have used it by now. He reasoned that it was unlikely they had candles or a torch and so darkness was definitely a fast approaching possibility. With a gun in the room, and a jumpy, captive party, the consequences of any attempt to use the diminishing light as cover could be tragic.

Valentine positioned himself on his haunches, started to remove his jacket and tie; the pinstripe jacket was a present from Clare that made him long for his family. As he rolled up the sleeves, folded the jacket away, he hoped he’d be putting it on again soon. At the doorway the DI leaned in – his only hope was establishing contact as quickly as possible. ‘Hello, can I have your attention, please …’

There was no reply.

‘My name is Detective Inspector Bob Valentine of Police Scotland … can we talk, please?’

The reply was direct, roared straight from the gut: ‘Go to hell!’

‘I’m afraid that’s not going to be an option, not immediately anyway.’

‘I’m warning you, bugger off now or you’ll regret it.’ The voice belonged to a young man, his accent was not as pronounced as Leask’s had sounded back at the hotel, but it was definitely Ayrshire.

‘Am I talking to Grant Finnie?’

The same voice replied. ‘No. I told you to do one, now get lost.’

Movement, bodies shuffling towards the door, was heard inside. Another voice shouted, ‘He has a gun.’

‘Grant, stop it,’ a young girl screamed. ‘He’ll shoot again, don’t … don’t.’

‘You’re bloody right I’ll use it, get back.’

The noise of shuffling feet came again, then the interior was lit with a flash and gunshot blasted off the walls.

‘Don’t shoot,’ yelled Valentine. ‘Please, put the gun down, we can talk this through without the gun.’

The girl’s tears sounded heavier now, a confusion of voices moved inside the bothy. Scuffles, shoes scraping on hard, bare floors. A tense rush towards the deeper recesses of the building followed.

‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ the man’s voice came again, this time Valentine deduced it was a maddened Darry Millar. ‘All the talking’s been done.’

‘Darry, come on, put down the gun and come outside. We can sort this out, it’s not too late, trust me.’

‘Trust you? You’re bloody filth, where were you when my sister was raped? Same place my supposed best mate was, nowhere to be seen.’

Finnie spoke up: ‘Darry, I told you, I did all I could. I said I’d sort it and I did.’

‘How? She’s pregnant, that bastard raped her and now she’s having his baby.’

Jade’s tears became hysterical, broke into deep sobs. ‘Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.’

‘But he paid, didn’t he?’ said Finnie.

‘He paid and the filth have my mother for it, she’s going to get put away for that bastard.’

Valentine tried to intervene again, the situation was slipping out of control. The men inside the bothy were agitated and the girl was getting hysterical. ‘Darry, you’ve got it all wrong. Now come on, give me the gun and let us talk this through properly.’

‘Shut it, filth!’ He fired the gun again, this time the shot left the building, leaving a burst of smoke evacuating through the doorway with it.

The DI looked out into the ebbing light, he saw CS Martin peering round the corner, she was frantically waving her arms about, flagging him to withdraw, begging a retreat. He turned away. Beyond the path leading to the mountain ranges he saw the last bursts of daylight chinking in the burn. It was a beautiful sight, in the blue-black sky above, the winding waters and the humped backs of the hills. There were worse places to die. He stood up and headed for the doorway, leaving behind the hard breathing and heavy pounding of his heart that had kept him back.

As Valentine marched into the bothy and faced Darry Millar the gun was levelled at his heart.

‘You want some of this?’ said Darry.

‘What good’s that going to do you?’ said Valentine. ‘More importantly, what good’s that going to do Jade?’

‘I’m warning you, I’ll shoot.’

‘Darry, think about it.’ The strength of his voice emboldened him. ‘You’re all she’s got now, don’t make this any worse for Jade. If you get put away she’s got nobody.’

Jade called out. ‘Listen to him. Darry put down the gun.’

‘I’m in charge here, I’ll decide what happens with the gun.’ He walked towards Finnie, pushing the gun in his face. ‘I trusted you like you were my own brother. You said you’d look after Jade. She didn’t have a dad, only me. You were supposed to be there for her …’

‘I was. You don’t understand.’

‘You and Tulloch, eh, what really went on in Helmand? Why did you really get punted out of the army? The pair of you, like best mates together.’

‘No. It wasn’t like that, you know that. He followed me to Ayr, he blamed me because I reported him. He did it in Helmand too, but the girl was shot, everyone knew it … Even you knew it, how can you pretend otherwise?’

‘I don’t know what I know anymore. I lost everything the night Jade called to say Tulloch was dead. I took off that night, ran out on the army, because somebody had to sort it, but I couldn’t because he’d already raped her. I was too late … and now look at the mess.’

‘But I sorted it for you, Darry. Can’t you even see that? I sorted everything.’

‘She was wandering the streets, crying. Look at her, still crying. She’s cried every day since because she can’t see my mother and now she never will. The mother we knew died that night too. She killed Tulloch but do you think the courts will care why?’