The Blood Tree (35 page)

She stopped by the Llama and smiled. “I don't think we need to bother with that tonight, Quint. After all, Edinburgh's a long way away and where else are you going to go?” She pressed the electronic lock control. “You wouldn't be crazy enough to case the Rennie, would you? As senior investigating officer, I couldn't possibly condone that.” Her tone wasn't exactly discouraging.

Hel Hyslop was a more devious operator than I'd thought. Pity she wasn't coming too.

Two and a half hours later I was in a bush to the west of the institute. I'd walked all the way, having decided that the underground railway the locals call the Clockwork Orange was a bit too obvious. Besides, I was never a fan of the novel of that name – too many difficult words.

I'd been there long enough for my feet and hands to start tingling in the cold. The perimeter fence was twenty yards away and it was the main problem – twelve feet high, the top three strands consisting of vicious-looking razor wire, bright lights every second post and what I reckoned were hyper-sensitive alarm cables wound through the barbed stuff. To top that, there were cameras on the walls of the main building. Fort Knox had nothing on this place. That only added to my suspicions. What was so secret and sensitive to require all this security?

I gave it another five minutes then withdrew to the parkland behind. The undergrowth was thicker there and there were trees to provide cover as well. Any thoughts I had of effecting a clandestine entry to the Rennie had disappeared faster than a Glasgow citizen's fashion allowance. The comforts of my hotel room, not to say its central heating, were becoming an irresistible temptation.

Then I saw him. My stomach clenched for a second before liquefying. Jesus. It was the bogeyman. Or Broadsword, John Breck, whatever the lunatic wanted to call himself. His long hair and scarred face were visible in the lights of the Rennie and his cloak was flapping as he strode straight towards me.

My breath rasped in my throat as he got closer. In his right hand he was holding a branch that was partially bare of leaves. Something metallic glinted beneath it. And in the left hand was the solid mass of a mallet. I looked round, frantically calculating if I could reach the trees before him. No chance. Birnam Wood was on its way to Dunsinane. The mutilated faces of the victims and their third eyes flashed before me. That stiffened my resolve. The bastard. He owed a debt for what he'd done to them.

I swallowed hard, stood my ground and faced the foe.

Chapter Sixteen

I stood motionless as the branch-wielding figure approached. When he was about five yards away, he stopped and stared at me. I could see his eyes glistening behind the mask. Close up, the scars were even more ragged and the material looked worryingly like real human skin. He dropped the branch – it was from a copper beech – and I saw what was underneath it. A chisel. At this point the fact that I'd been right about the implement used to mutilate the victims didn't make me rejoice.

“Why didn't you run?” The bogeyman's voice was cracked and high-pitched, as it had been when he was on stage. “Do you want to die?”

I kept my eyes on his, even though the urge to bolt was hard to resist – at this range the killer was even more terrifying than the witnesses had described. I clenched my fists, wishing I had something more than them to defend myself with.

Broadsword took a step forward. “Eh, dick? Curiosity getting the better of you?” I could see his lips form into a malevolent smile through the hole in the mask. “You know what curiosity did to the cat.” He lifted the mallet and chisel a few inches.

I took a deep breath. “I know what you did to nine people in Glasgow and another two in Edinburgh.” Provoking psychos is a seriously risky business. You either get them to give themselves away or you die – or both eventualities occur in quick succession.

Now he was looking at the instruments of death in his hands. “Nine people in Glasgow and two in Edinburgh?” he repeated, his voice scratchier. “Eleven dead.” He seemed to lose the plot for a few moments. Then he raised his eyes to mine again. “Yes, that's right. We've killed eleven.” He took another step towards me. “And you're about to become number twelve.”

I'd been in situations like this before. The only thing to do is keep your assailant talking. “Look,” I said, trying to stop myself gabbling, “you wear a mask. I don't know who you are. There's no need to kill me.”

The laugh that issued from the hideous face made me quiver. “Oh, you've got to die all right, Dalrymple. There's no getting away from that. You know too much.”

“How do you know my name?” I asked. “I don't remember being introduced to you, John Breck.”

The mask's fixed features didn't conceal the twist of his lips. “I don't like being called that.” The voice was low in volume but there was no mistaking its intensity.

“Okay.” I smiled, hoping my extreme nervousness wasn't visible. “How about Broadsword?”

He laughed. It was a hoarse, empty sound. The bogeyman was about as far from having a sense of humour as I was from becoming an auxiliary again. “Like I say, you know too much.” His gaze suddenly dropped again. “Christ, we've gone too far,” he said in a harsh whisper. “We shouldn't have killed the boy.”

The boy? He must have mean Dougal Strachan. “Why was he killed?” I asked before I could swallow the question.

Bad move. The bogeyman looked up again. “You're too curious, dick. The others are right. We have to deal with you.” He raised the mallet and drew it back.

There wasn't time to think about who the others were, I had to go for broke. “The institute's finished,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “Duart and the executive know all about Rennie's involvement in the murders.” That line was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.

Broadsword laughed again. “Good,” he said, moving forward. “That'll put me in the clear.” The mallet was pulled right back now. “This is it, Dalrymple.”

Everything slowed down. I'd taken a step away, but what I'd seen when I glanced round at the Rennie was puzzling me even as the lunatic made his move. Or rather, who I'd seen. Surely not.

“Hit the ground, Quint!” yelled a familiar voice.

I was already in the process of doing that. As I dived to the grass, my attacker swung the mallet and lost his balance. He straightened up quickly and took aim at me again. Then, with a dull plop, the haft of a knife appeared in the upper part of his right arm. He let go of the wooden weapon.

“Step back, you in the mask!” came a barked command.

Broadsword didn't hang about. He took several steps to the rear then turned and ran, the cloak spreading out behind him like an octopus discharging its ink. In a few seconds he was through the line of trees and away.

I twisted round on the damp ground and took in the figure that was racing towards me.

“Are you all right, Quint?” he demanded, sliding the last yards on his knees.

“Aye, Davie. Thanks to you.” Then I took another, even more surprised look as Katharine stepped swiftly out of the undergrowth.

From Gothic horror to romance in the blink of an eye.

We were in the bushes on the far side of the grass from the institute. There was no sign of the guy who'd been about to deal with me. To be honest, he wasn't uppermost in my mind at that moment.

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” I gasped.

“Good to see you too, Quint,” Davie said with a loose grin. He was wearing good-quality jeans and a leather jacket that was almost as cool as mine. “Just as well we made it when we did.”

“Bloody right.” I was staring at Katharine. She hadn't needed to bother with Glasgow chic as her own wardrobe was already pretty off the wall. She was in a pair of loose black trousers and a fluffy orange jersey that concealed her figure effectively. But she still looked stunning, her eyes bright and her face split by a smile.

“Darling, are you okay?” she asked ironically. “We've been so worried.” She squeezed my hand to show she wasn't just taking the piss.

“Apart from having the operational life of my heart reduced by about half, yes, I'm remarkably okay. What about Hector? Is he all right?”

Davie nodded. “I checked before we left. He was fine – improving all the time.”

“Great. Thanks, Davie.” I looked at them. “How the hell did you two come to be lurking in those particular bushes? Come to that, how did you get into this bloody city?”

They exchanged anxious glances, which immediately made me suspicious.

“Come on, out with it,” I said, ducking down as the lights of a passing car shone over us.

“Em . . .” Davie was looking more sheepish than the specimen called Dolly.

“We tailed you,” Katharine put in. Her eyes were lowered, concentrating on the leaves she was brushing from her clothes. “There was a butt from a Glasgow cigarette on your landing. Given the other connections the murder victims had with this city, we were pretty sure you'd been brought here. So we hitched a lift on a Fisheries Guard vessel then tramped to the border. We made out that we were refugees from the wicked Council. They let us in like a shot.”

If they hadn't kept avoiding my gaze, I might have bought the story. But there had to be more to it. “So that got you to Glasgow. But it's big enough city, even if you don't include the rest of the territory it controls. How come you ended up in this precise location?”

“Em . . .”

“I wish you'd stop saying that, Davie,” I snapped.

The eyes above the heavy beard opened wide. “All right,” he said, fumbling in his pocket. “If you must know, we traced you with this.”

I peered at the electronic device he was holding out. It took me a while to identify. It was one of the new tracking monitors that the Public Order Directorate had commissioned. The penny dropped.

“You bastards,” I said, glaring at them. “You put a bug on me.”

“Not me,” they said in unison.

“It was Lewis Hamilton,” Katharine continued. “He authorised it.”

“Why?” I gasped.

Davie was shaking his head. “It was your own fault, Quint. You were forever disappearing when the guardian wanted you. And you often turn your mobile off.” He shrugged. “When it came to choosing subjects for the equipment's trials, you were at the top of his list.”

“Where is it?” I demanded, patting my clothes. I soon stopped. “This is all Glasgow gear. Where the fuck is it?”

Katharine pointed to my feet. “In the heel of your left boot.”

“Did you know about this?” I asked her.

“Of course not,” she replied indignantly. “I only found out after you disappeared.”

I looked at my footwear. Thank God I decided to continue wearing my steel toe-caps, rather than the loafers I'd been supplied with in the hotel. Pity I hadn't thought of using my boots on Broadsword though.

“We couldn't pick up a signal until we entered Glasgow,” Davie said. “Once we were here, we got you after a few hours.”

“You might have made contact a bit earlier,” I complained.

“We came as soon as we could,” Davie said. “Sorry.”

I grinned at him. “In the light of subsequent exploits with your auxiliary knife, I'll let you off, guardsman.”

“Bastard got away with my blade,” he said, scowling. He put his hand inside his jacket. “Just as well I brought another one.” The double-edged steel glinted in the light from the street-lamp behind the trees.

Katharine stood up and looked around. “We'd better get moving. What is that place?” she asked, inclining her head towards the Rennie. “It's fortified better than a barracks back home.”

“I'll fill you in later,” I said, only realising what I'd said when a smile spread across her lips. “I mean, we need to talk.”

Davie wasn't impressed. “Let's get back to the car,” he said, moving off through the bushes.

“You've got transport?” I said in amazement. “You didn't nick it, did you?” I had a vision of Tam Haggs salivating at the prospect of arresting car thieves from Edinburgh.

Katharine frowned at me. “Certainly not. It belongs to a friend of mine.”

I ducked under a low branch. “You have a friend in Glasgow?”

“Several, actually,” she said.

“Don't tell me. They used to work with you on the farm.” Katharine had spent over four years on a dissident collective outside the Edinburgh border before she came back in 2025.

She nodded. “This particular one was very happy when I turned up this morning.” She laughed quietly. “He wasn't quite so pleased when he saw Davie in his off-duty rags – he had him down as an Edinburgh guardsman straight away. I managed to talk him into lending the big man a slightly less conspicuous outfit.”

We'd reached the edge of the undergrowth. Davie climbed into a dark blue off-road vehicle that was the Llama's rich relation – obviously the police didn't get top-of-the-range models in this city. Before we ran to join him, I turned to Katharine and touched her hand.