Crow Bait (30 page)

Davie halted. He saw Les trying to rise. He stared into Audrey’s eyes and saw the plea there, and the terror. And then he looked at his father and saw the dark thing staring back and Davie knew he had to act fast. He hurtled forward, determined to reach them before Danny moved again. He ignored the pain in his leg and his chest, the sharp nip at his cheek, was almost there before his father knew he had even moved…

But he was still too late.

Everything slowed down to half speed, his forward trajectory, the hand sawing across the throat, Davie closing the gap, the blood erupting from the artery, Davie’s bellow of shock and anger and grief, the brief pain in Audrey’s face, Danny McCall straightening to meet his son’s attack, Davie’s right fist slamming into his eye, Danny stumbling backwards, Audrey pitching forward, tendrils of blood streaming in the wind, Davie catching her.

And he held her in his arms, his eyes finding hers and he watched the pain leave her and the life bleed from the green pigment leaving only unspoken words.

You could have saved me,
they said.

You could have got him,
they said.

You could have saved me,
they said.

Then the light died and Audrey with it, the life leaving her in a single tear that trickled down her cheek. And Davie knew that what he had seen in her eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He forced his attention back to his father, who was standing a few feet from them, the blade at his side, blood dripping to the ground. He seemed frozen, perhaps shocked by what he had done. A thought flashed through Davie’s mind:
was this how he felt after he killed my mum? Was this why I was allowed to live?
But then he dismissed it. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t save him. Not now.

Strength had returned to Les Fraser’s body and he pulled himself towards Audrey. Davie took one last look at her face, the eyes still open, still accusing, and he laid her carefully down to allow the injured man to touch her. He heard the sobs burst from the detective as he rested his head on her chest, saying her name over and over.

When Davie rose, his own eyes were dry. He started towards Danny McCall but a screech of tyres made them both turn. Donovan and Rab dashed out of a car that had halted at an angle nearby and were running towards them. Davie faced his father again just as the man began to run. He could not reach the beach because Davie blocked the way. He could not head to the town because Donovan and Rab were there. He ran in the only direction left to him, towards the harbour wall. Davie ignored the scream of his wounds and stalked after him. He didn’t run. He didn’t need to. He knew his father was not trying to escape, merely giving them space to finish things. For beyond the harbour wall there was only the swirling water.

*  *  *

The wind howled across the water, ripping the waves up, whipping spray over the top of the high wall and sending it in a freezing cascade onto the stonework. The marina to the right was filled with little boats, safe from the storm in the lee of the harbour wall but still bobbing on the choppy surface. A few birds tried to brave the elements, but they were beaten back down by the shrieking wind. On the wall’s parapet, reached by stone steps, Davie saw two black crows as he limped past, their dead black eyes watching him. He barely glanced at them as he kept his eyes on his father up ahead. He was no longer afraid. He had seen Danny McCall for what he really was, a coward. An abuser of women and children. A monster. Davie no longer feared the bogeyman, for he never existed.

Danny McCall came to a halt on the edge of harbour. Davie saw him looking down into the inlet beyond before he turned and faced his son. He wasn’t smiling now. Davie walked slowly to within a few feet, hearing the waves buffeting the sturdy stone to his left. Occasionally sea water exploded over the top of the wall, drenching them both in spray.

Davie studied his father as if seeing him for the first time. So this was what had haunted him all these years: this strutting, grinning piece of woman-killing shit. He looked older now, as if murdering Audrey had aged him. Davie saw the lines, the pale skin, the grey hair and how the blue eyes he had inherited had lost their sheen. Danny McCall looked older than he really was. Davie’s disdain must have shown on his face, because his father saw it and the smile returned. It was little more than a ghost of the cock-sure grin from before, as if killing Audrey had somehow sapped some of the madness. But Davie knew it was still there. It would be back.

Danny’s voice was subdued. ‘You think you can take me, eh, boy?’

I know I can
, Davie thought,
now.
‘So do you, otherwise why send those guys after me in jail?’

Danny frowned. ‘What guys? I never sent anyone after you. I always wanted it to be this way, just you and me. That’s why I did that lassie Vari, to keep you away from Mulvey. I needed you out of the picture, but I wanted to do it myself.’

Davie examined his father’s face for some shadow of a lie but saw nothing. He knew deep down that the man was telling the truth – he hadn’t paid off Lomas, he didn’t send those other boys. Someone else wanted him dead or damaged. His mind churned like the raging sea water around them. Who? Who didn’t want him to come out of that prison?

Davie tensed as Danny raised the carpet knife up to his face. He stared at it for a second before tossing it into the foam below him. Then he looked past Davie and shrugged. ‘Well, son, doesn’t look as if we’ll ever know which of us would’ve come out on top…’

Davie half-turned to see Les Fraser on one knee a few feet behind, a large red stain spreading from his side as he held the 9mm automatic in the shooter’s pose, elbow slightly bent, left hand wrapped round right wrist to steady the aim. Davie called out ‘No!’ but Fraser ignored him.

The wind snatched the sound of the gunshots away but the bullets found their mark. Danny McCall’s body jerked twice, three times, tiny geysers of blood erupting from his chest. He teetered on the edge, his body useless now, but he still managed to raise his head to stare at his son. He smiled, blood bubbling from between his lips. He tried to raise his hand as if to wave, just as he had outside the court room, just as he had that night in the street, just as he had in Davie’s nightmares, but before he could complete the gesture he tumbled backwards and vanished. Davie looked back again towards Fraser, who was rising unsteadily to his feet, the gun still aimed at where Danny McCall had been standing, his wife’s blood matted on his clothes and hands, his own blood still seeping from the wound in his side. His waxen face glistened although Davie could not tell whether it was the sea spray or tears.

Davie moved to the edge of the harbour wall and looked down to his father’s body drifting on the swell. He was lying on his back, arms outstretched, eyes staring sightlessly upwards. The smile was gone, everything was gone. Only the flesh remained, floating on the bloated current. And then, as Davie watched, a larger ripple surged through the inlet and caught the corpse, pushing it further towards the marina, before drawing it back out again.

And is it did so, it caused one arm to move, just slightly, as if he was waving.

Davie turned and walked back alongside the wall. He stopped beside Fraser, his gaze finding Audrey’s body, seeing Donovan and Rab standing over it but watching them. He twisted his head to study the detective’s pale features, the eyes still fixed on the point where Danny McCall had vanished, as if he expected him to rise up once more. He saw the agony cutting deep lines on Fraser’s face and was impressed at the strength of will he had shown to walk to the harbour. Davie’s gaze travelled down to the gun now hanging loosely in the man’s hand. He looked back once more to Audrey’s body. She looked as if someone had simply thrown her there, used up.

Fraser’s gaze did not waver from the harbour edge. His body twitched in a slight shrug and his hand covered his wound, as if to hide it from the world. ‘She’s dead,’ he said, his voice flat, lifeless. ‘But he didn’t kill her. He cut her but he didn’t kill her.’ Then his eyes, flooded with tears, swam towards Davie. ‘You did that. You killed her, the minute you met her…’

34

DAVIE SAT IN
the armchair in Vari’s flat and watched her sleep. She lay on her back on the settee, her face swathed in bandages, a quilt pulled to her chin. She breathed softly and despite the bruises, she looked so young. She said she’d been happy to see him but he could see fear shadow her eyes when she looked at him. He knew she saw Danny McCall in his face. They had talked for a while, but he could see she was tired. She needed to sleep a lot, she’d explained, it was part of the healing process, the body going into some kind of stasis in order to fix itself. He didn’t know who had told her that and he didn’t ask. She asked him if he’d stay while she had a nap and he agreed, knowing that she was afraid to be on her own. So he carried the quilt from her bedroom and he laid it across her as she stretched out on the couch and he gently kissed her on the forehead, feeling her flinch slightly as he leaned closer. Then he sat in the armchair and watched as she closed her eyes, listening to her breath deepen as she descended into sleep. Occasionally, she shuddered and moaned softly, as her mind replayed something, but mostly she slept soundly.

Davie knew about bad dreams. He no longer dreamed of the field. Now his nights were filled with Audrey’s face, scarlet tails whipping from her neck in the high wind. He saw her eyes as she died, accusing him, reminding him he had failed her, just as he had failed his mother, failed Vari. Danny McCall had been right. He could not protect any of them.

He and Les Fraser had limped back to where Donovan and Rab stood over Audrey without anything further being said. Fraser had said it all. Davie knew he was to blame for everything. He should never have allowed her back into his life, but he couldn’t help himself because he had loved her, it was as simple as that. He had loved her. And now she was gone, just like every other person he had ever loved – his mother, Joe, even Abe was out of his life.

By the time he and Les Fraser reached them, Donovan was shivering in the chill air, his jacket draped over Audrey’s upper half. And for that Davie was grateful. Donovan silently eased the pistol from Fraser’s hand and removed the clip containing the remainder of the bullets. He jerked the slide to clear the chamber, retrieving the ejected round from the grass where it landed. He pushed the weapon into the rear waistband of his trousers, the bullets were thrust into his pocket. Then he helped Fraser to the ground and took a look at the knife wound.

Nobody said a word as they waited, knowing that someone would have dialled 999. There was nothing to be said. Fraser stared at the body under the jacket and wept quietly. Donovan knelt by his side, a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder, but there was nothing he could do or say to make it better. Even Rab looked pale, his eyes shifting as he waited, nervous because he was involved in something he really shouldn’t be anywhere near.

Davie felt his eyes smart. He was staring at the dead body of the woman he loved and he felt the tightness in his chest and the bitter constriction of his throat, but the tears still would not come. He doubted they ever would.

They were taken first to the small police office in Girvan then up the
A
77 to the larger headquarters at Ayr. A doctor was called to treat Davie’s wounds, the cut on his chest was superficial but the slash on his cheek and the one to his thigh both needed stitches, so he was taken to hospital before being returned to the police station. Les Fraser’s wound was more serious, although not life-threatening, so he was kept in.

There were questions, of course, and they all answered truthfully, although neither Rab nor Davie mentioned Liam Mulvey, opting instead for the fiction that Danny McCall had revealed his location to his son. No-one would ever be the wiser. And if Mulvey’s body ever surfaced, which Rab fervently hoped would never happen, there would be nothing to connect him to it.

In the end, only Les Fraser would face any music. At the very least, his career was over. He had shot a man after all, albeit the bastard who had stabbed him, murdered his wife and was responsible for other deaths. They would never know for certain how many deaths could be laid at Danny McCall’s feet, for there was nothing to link him to the three down south or even to the murders of Lomas and Harris. But Davie knew. And Donovan knew, although it wouldn’t do him much good. A shadow would hang over him from now on, because he should have prevented the events at Ballantrae from happening.

But it wasn’t Donovan’s fault. Davie should never have allowed Fraser to come with him. He should not have hesitated when faced with his father. He should have gone for him immediately, surprised him. But instead he froze and gave Danny McCall the chance to take someone else away from him. Audrey had been right to silently accuse him. Les Fraser had been right. Davie had killed Audrey, sure as if he had wielded the blade himself. He had allowed his feelings for her to keep her close. He had ignored the creature within him, the one he had inherited from Danny McCall, and had failed to act.

And as he sat silently, watching the girl sleep, he vowed it would never happen again.

35

LUCA SAW THE
young man come in and sensed his nervousness, but thought little of it. He was used to jittery young men in the café and knew he was in many ways responsible. This boy was clearly a junkie mired deeply in his addiction. His face was pale, shining with sweat despite the low mercury reading outside and when he spoke his voice had the distinctive choked sound of the seasoned user. His body shook as he asked for a cup of coffee. The boy dropped some coins with trembling fingers onto the counter top and then shuffled to a table, his hand vibrating so badly he spilled some of the liquid onto the floor. Luca sighed, knowing he’d have to clean that up.