Black Wood (21 page)

‘OK,’ Claire said, ‘I’ll call you back.’

She ended the call, then scrolled through her recent call list to find Jo.

‘
The mobile phone you have called may be switched off … please leave your message after the tone
 …’

‘Jo, it’s me … Can you call me when you get this? Please? I’m worried about you … Just let me know where you are and I’ll come to you. We need to talk about this …’

Gray was glad to have got the ad in the paper, and had a chance to catch up with Claire. People forgot sometimes, because she always came across as so strong and independent, that she was vulnerable too. It was a shame she’d ended up in a wheelchair. She had a fighting spirit. Gray would’ve loved to have had her as a sparring partner.

The class had been scheduled for seven, but by half past six there were already a few excited and more than a few reluctant faces peering in through the glass door at the front of the building. Since the news of the second ‘attack’ had spread, the community was starting to fold in on itself; everyone had an opinion, but no one had any facts. He heard whispering, gossip – but nothing of any use.

He picked up the white jacket of his gi and quickly wrapped it around his naked torso, circling the long black belt round his waist and knotting it in the way that newcomers always struggled with but that he didn’t even think about any more. He wiped fresh sweat from his brow with the sleeve.

He’d gone there at six, needing some time to practise some calming katas on his own, the slow, fluid movements of kicks, punches and blocks soothing his mind.

A mind that had been whirring non-stop since he’d spoken to Lydia at the station and thought again about the masks.

He’d got Callum to test out his theory, which had caused mild hilarity despite the sordid nature of what he was re-enacting.

The balaclava pulled over the sheep mask had led to an interesting effect. From a distance, there was nothing untoward. Two bright-blue eyes poking out from the small holes. The rest of the garment obscuring his face and the top of his neck.

Close up, though, it was quite different. Instead of the usual smooth shape of a face, there was a bumpy contour made by the mask, giving the whole thing a slightly distorted look. The effect was unsettling.

Gray had taken photos using Lorna’s fancy Nikon that she used when they checked a prisoner into the cells. Close-up headshots, face-on and profile view. He wanted the two girls to look at them, and the jogger, of course, but first he wanted to make sure that the girls of the town were prepared, should they encounter this bastard before he did. He could tell them to avoid the Track. Their parents could tell them too. But he knew there’d still be a fair few who ignored the warning and went up there anyway. Where else were they going to go to drink their bottles of White Lightning or whatever it was that they drank these days? In some ways, the fear and the risk made the place even more attractive.

He also hoped that the creepy bastard might see the advert and decide to give his sick little games a miss. Technically, he hadn’t committed a crime. Yet. Unfortunately, being a creepy bastard was not an actual crime. If Gray caught up with him, he’d be sure to let him know that he thought otherwise.

All these thoughts about the Track reminded him of Jo. She had texted him on Tuesday night, just as he’d got home.

I need to talk to you about Gareth Maloney. I know it was him. He’s staying at Rose Cottage. Please, Davie. No one else will listen to me. No one else even wants to talk about it.

He hadn’t replied to her yet. He wasn’t sure about her theory about this Gareth Maloney and Rose Cottage. But there was no harm in having a word. He planned to speak to Jo again too – about the masks. There was still something niggling him about the whole thing.

By the time he’d made it out to the front door, key in hand, the door had already been opened and a trail of scared-looking teenage girls (and, interestingly, one boy) were filing reluctantly through it.

‘Ah, Laura – sorry, I was just about to open it …’

‘S’OK,’ the girl said. She turned to the steadily flowing stream of ‘recruits’ and said, ‘Changing room’s in there. Trackies and T-shirt is fine. Bare feet, though, mind. Oh, and Keith – if you’re serious about joining in, that’s fine too. Boys’ changing is down the other end of the hall.’

Gray stepped back and let the boy pass. He recognised him now. Keith Donaldson. A gangly-limbed, nervous lad. Not one of the sporty types. Gray imagined he had his fair share of being pushed around the playground and silently applauded him for his courage in coming to a self-defence night that Gray had – stupidly – aimed at girls only. Who was to say the creepy bastard might not like to frighten vulnerable boys too?

Laura Goldstone reappeared from the changing room, dressed in a white gi like Gray’s, same black belt wrapped around her tiny waist, but one tag on the end, compared with Gray’s three. At sixteen, she was his second in command at the club and was more than capable of running the place without him. He hoped she wouldn’t give it all up when she left school and disappeared to uni or whatever it was she was planning to do. There was a lot she could do with the management skills she’d learned, not to mention the confidence from being fit and strong, and her refusal to be intimidated by men.

‘Right,’ she said, ‘how do you want to do this? I was thinking a basic intro by you, then a bit of a warm-up to get everyone ready, then split into two groups and we can take one each? I take it you’re just planning on basic defence stuff? Stuff that’ll get you away without getting you on a GBH charge?’

Gray laughed. ‘You know my preferences, Laura. Knee to the balls, two stiff fingers in the eyes …’

Laura rolled her eyes. ‘Well, duh – if you’re lucky enough for your attacker to walk out calmly in front of you! What about if he grabs from behind? Or rushes in fast from the front? Do you really think any of this lot are going to have the reaction speed to deal with the two fingers, one knee combo?’

‘If you can teach them anything tonight, it’s reaction speed. Be on guard. Be ready. Don’t be scared to poke someone in the eye …’

‘How about we just tell them to carry a bottle of hairspray in their bags? A squirt of that buys a bit of time …’

Gray took a deep breath, slowly exhaled. Normally he’d say no to this … but … ‘You know what, Laura. That might not be a bad idea at all. As long as it’s just hairspray, though. Something you could feasibly be carrying in your bag anyway …’ He remembered the incident down by the river path from a couple of years back. A frightened pensioner had sprayed multi-purpose cleaner out of her shopping bag in her would-be attacker’s face after hearing footsteps close behind her. The stuff with bleach in it. Blinded him in one eye. Worst thing was, he was only running up behind her because he’d seen her purse fall out of her bag and he was trying to return it. Poor woman had ended up with an assault charge on her record. Never mind the poor bloke, scarred for life. Gray wondered what had happened to him. Mark something. Used to work in the council offices. He made a mental note to look him up. After that, Gray had made a point of discouraging such methods of self-defence, tempting though they might be.

Hairspray, though – it’d give you a fright, stop you in your tracks. It wouldn’t be very pleasant, but it was unlikely to cause any lasting damage. Unless, of course, you beat someone to a pulp using the can. Gray’s imagination tended to turn to the darker side of what humans were capable of, despite living in a town where attacks were few and far between. He’d been brought up on
Taggart
, like pretty much everyone else in Scotland. Banktoun was hardly the mean streets of Glasgow though, thank God. Not that Gray had spent much time in that city. What was the need when he had Edinburgh on his doorstep? What was that old joke – what does Glasgow have that Edinburgh doesn’t? A great city forty miles to the east. He chuckled to himself. Must remember to tell that one to Beattie. His colleague had moved from west coast to east when he was twelve and still never heard the end of it. Bit of banter was all it was. Gray was happy enough to take it as well as dish it out. He never got bored of defending his music tastes to Beattie either. The younger man couldn’t understand Gray’s attraction to The Jam and The Who and ‘other old codgers’. Gray had tried and failed to understand why Beattie – or anyone, in fact – could let their ears be subjected to the likes of Dizzee Rascal.

Laura’s voice snapped him back to the present.

‘Sensei, are we ready?’

Gray took a small bow as he entered the hall, then jogged up the edge towards the front.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m sure most of you know me as Sergeant Gray’ – he paused – ‘or Davie …’ There were a few nods, a couple of shy smiles. ‘But tonight I’m not a policeman. I’m not Davie the Mod. I’m not anything else you might call me behind my back. Tonight I’m the sensei of this class – that means I’m in charge, and it means you need to listen to me carefully’ – he nodded towards Laura – ‘and Laura, who, I’m sure you all know too, is my assistant. My second in command. So you listen to her too, OK?’

There were a few nods, a couple of murmurs. A ‘yes, Sensei’ from Kevin Donaldson, who was staring at him with saucer-esque eyes.

‘Right, so here’s what we’re going to do …’

The class ran for two hours. At the end, Gray was delighted to receive thanks from a sea of red-faced, knackered-looking girls who had a new fire in their eyes that made the whole thing worthwhile. Keith Donaldson had been so excited about it all they’d had to practically scrape him off the ceiling. He hadn’t even minded when Sally Stevens, one of the more ‘rotund’ girls, had accidentally smacked him full-on in the eye during one of the structured sparring sessions.

‘Mind and get some ice on that eye, son,’ Gray called after him.

‘It’s fine, Sensei. Never even felt it,’ he said.

The lad bounced out of the door, grinning from ear to ear with an instant self-confidence that Gray hoped would become a permanent feature.

He turned to Laura, who’d just come out of the changing rooms in skinny black jeans and a silver T-shirt. Her face was pink and her long blonde hair was dark at the roots with sweat. She was one of those effortlessly good-looking girls that didn’t need – or even want – to wear make-up. She reminded Gray of someone he’d known once. Someone who’d once been fresh and carefree until life got in the way and changed it all. He hoped this didn’t happen to Laura. She was a nice kid.

‘Good work tonight,’ Gray said. ‘Went well, d’ye think?’

Laura grinned. ‘I just hope Track Man doesn’t happen to bump into Sally Stevens any time soon. I reckon she’d knock his block off. That right hook of hers was impressive, even if it was a bit … uncontrolled.’

He laughed. ‘I bloody hope he does – that’ll be one simple way to get rid of the dirty b—’ He stopped himself. He was sure that Laura was no wee angel, but he wasn’t going to be one of those adults who swore in front of kids. He slid his bare feet into unlaced trainers. ‘Poor Keith’ll have a shiner in the morning, eh?’ He picked up his keys. ‘Need a lift home?’

She pulled the straps of her backpack over both shoulders. ‘Nah, you’re all right. It’s not dark yet and I’m not going anywhere near the Track. I’ll be fine. Have you
seen
the power in these arms, Mr G?’ She lifted both arms to the sides, bent them at the elbows and flexed her biceps, which Gray had to admit were impressive. He doubted anyone would get far trying to mess with this lassie; five foot two and lean, but with enough strength to knock a grown man off his feet. He’d found that out the hard way.

‘Right then. See you tomorrow night for some proper training then, eh?’

‘Night, Mr G.’

‘Night, Laura.’

He watched her for a moment, until she reached the crossroads and turned the corner towards the High Street, then locked the front door and slid the keys into the side pocket of his sports top and zipped them inside.

He opened the storage box on the Lambretta, tossed in his bag and realised it was lucky she hadn’t wanted a lift. He’d forgotten to bring the spare helmet.

Laura battled silently with herself until she was almost halfway up the High Street.

Sausage supper? Chip roll? Just chips maybe
 …

No. Just walk home, Laura. Have a bowl of Frosties. Cheese on toast maybe.

Have chips!
the devil on her shoulder shouted.
You’ve earned them
 …

No!
The angel shouted back.
You want into those size 6 jeans, don’t you? Only another half a centimetre off that belly should do it
 …

‘Fuck’s sake, Laura,’ she said out loud. ‘Get a grip.’

Mad Mary, the tramp that always sat in the bus shelter, grunted something at her as she passed, making Laura flinch. She crossed the road.

Decision made.

There had always been two chippies in the town. It was the smell from the bottom one making her mouth water as she’d passed it that had put the idea in her head. She’d managed to resist, deciding to keep walking straight up the High Street and left up past the park. It was the longest way home, but it was well lit, and even though it wasn’t yet dark – the nights could stay light until past ten at this time of year – it was better to be safe than sorry. Laura had never worried about walking home on her own late before, but all this nonsense up at the Track had shaken her up. Even though she’d been doing karate since she was eight. Even though she could floor another member of the club with one perfectly executed punch or kick. Even though she was a black belt … Yet she’d never had to use her skills in a real-life combat situation. She often worried that when it came down to it, she would freeze. She’d never told anyone any of this. Everyone thought she was brave and fearless. She doubted anyone would believe her. They’d think she was just playing down her abilities to try to fit in. Like Catherine, who always said she was rubbish at maths, even though she’d got an A in the prelims without even studying. She told everyone she got a C, but Laura had seen the copy of the results sheet when it slipped out of her folder after double physics a couple of weeks ago.