Savage Night (32 page)

Even luckier was the size of the poor guy's feet. Slightly bigger than Tommy's, which was fine. He didn't mind shoes a size too big.

He grabbed some more weaponry while he was at it. CS spray canister, extendable baton, handcuffs. Never knew when they might come in useful. And he took one of the caps. At least that way he'd look the part from a distance.

He was going to get Jordan and no fucker was going to get in his way.

Savage Night

2 AM

Almondell Country Park

"SHIT," MARTIN SAID. "This is just what we need."

Effie followed his gaze. A police car was pulling into the parking area. Since the only other vehicle around was their van, there was no way they were going to avoid a confrontation.

"Start the engine, babe," Martin said.

"Don't you think that'll look suspicious?"

"Not half as suspicious as the two dead bodies and the trussed-up kid in the back."

That was true. They hadn't been here long. Only about five minutes ago, Effie had overshot the entrance. Had to turn back, and spotted it easily enough second time. She'd driven past the gate house, where all the lights were out, and swung into the empty car park.

She'd tucked into the nearest parking spot, killed the engine.

While they waited for Savage to show up, they talked about what they were going to do once he arrived.

"Hard negotiating without weapons," Martin had said.

"We have weapons," she said.

He looked blank.

"Knives, saws, a hammer."

"I suppose. But if Savage has overpowered your dad then he's got a sword."

"And a gun," she reminded him. "But we've got Jordan." She put her hand on Martin's. "Don't worry. We'll keep Jordan between Savage and us. First thing, we get Savage to lose his weapons."

"If he says no?"

"Then no deal. We take Jordan and go."

"What about your dad?"

"He'll be safe enough. Savage won't hurt him. If he does, he knows he won't get Jordan back."

Tough to convince Martin when Effie wasn't entirely convinced herself but the argument seemed to console him. He'd been twitchy, waiting for Savage. But now that the police car had arrived, he was worse.

"Shit," he said again. "We going to make a run for it?"

"Let's sit tight," she said. "See what happens."

"What's he doing?"

The moon was struggling to break through a bank of dense clouds. She turned on the lights. "Better?"

The police car in the headlights was nosing into a spot directly opposite. Effie could make out a head over the top of the seat. There should be a second head sticking up over the passenger seat. But there wasn't. Unless the passenger was very small.

Police officers travelled in pairs. Corroboration was an essential part of the Scottish judicial system. Needed two versions of the same event before testimony stood up in court. Or something like that. Her dad had explained it to her before, but he'd done so in his usual fashion. All she remembered was him saying: "Cops are like balls. Always hanging around in pairs."

The driver's door of the cop car opened. Stayed opened. Nobody stepped out.

"The fuck's going on?" Martin asked.

She shook her head.

Then an arm stretched out and the hand made a turning motion before disappearing back into the car.

"What's that mean?" Martin said.

She didn't know.

They waited. After a bit, the cop turned his headlights on and off. Then again. On, off. On, off. Left them off.

Finally Effie got the message. She turned off the van lights. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The moon helped, shining through a tear in the clouds, casting a silvery light over everything, including the figure marching towards them across the gravel. He looked familiar. Skinny. Wearing a ski mask. Wearing Dad's clothes. About the same height.

"Holy fuck," Martin said. He flung open his door. "Mr Park.
Andy
. We thought something'd happened to you."

"Hang on," she yelled. Her dad would never wear a policeman's cap.

But Martin was gone, leaving the door open. "Savage is coming," he said to the figure who was now jogging towards him. "Got to get you out of here."

Effie shouted, "No."

Martin glanced at her, narrowed his eyes, looked back at the figure in the ski mask. He still didn't get it. "How did he escape?" Martin asked the man. "And how did you end up in a police car?"

The figure drew a gun out of his waistband.

"What're you doing?" Martin said. "Oh, sweet fuck."

There was an explosion and Martin collapsed.

Effie grabbed the steering wheel. She let go. She grabbed it again. Fumbled for the keys. She wanted to get out of here. She wanted to stay, too. See if Martin was okay. She couldn't leave him. But she had to.

Her fingers shook. Oh, Christ. Martin's door was open. She couldn't see where he'd fallen. She listened but couldn't hear him cry out. Just heard the echo of the explosion. Faint, as if she was underwater.

She clutched the keys again.

"I don't think so." Savage stood in the passenger doorway, pointing his gun at her.

She let her hands drift away from the dashboard.

"Where's Jordan?"

She didn't say anything.

"You better pray he's here and unharmed."

She heard a scrabbling in the back of the van. So did Savage. He looked in the direction of the sound as his son wriggled into view above the partition behind the seats. Jordan squealed through the tape over his mouth.

Savage lowered his weapon and she knew she had a chance to start the engine and floor the accelerator. But she couldn't. Even if she made it, jolting Savage through the open door as she took off, she couldn't leave Martin. He'd been shot. He'd need her. She had to stay.

She stared at Savage as he raised his gun again.

"Untie him," he said.

She turned round, knee on the seat, and thrust a hand towards Jordan. He yelped, moved his head back.

"Go on," Savage said. "It's okay, Jordan."

But the kid wouldn't move any closer. So she leaned over the partition and grabbed his chin before he could get out of the way. "Don't fucking move," she whispered. She let go, and he didn't budge. She flicked at the top corner of his taped mouth and with her other hand, groped for the bag of tools in the hope her fingers might close on a weapon.

Suddenly Jordan dropped like a stone. Her fingers were crushed to the floor, forcing her to yell. The little bastard was kneeling on her hand. Judging by the look on his face, he was putting as much pressure on it as he could.

She tugged her hand, but it wouldn't move. Tried again and felt some give. Third time lucky. Her hand came free, throbbing, dead centre.

"Can't be trusted," Savage said, inside the van now, pulling her backwards. "I should have known that. Get out."

She twisted round and opened the door, trying to control the shaking that rippled through her body. She stepped outside.

"Further," he said. "Move over a few feet."

She did.

"Kneel down."

She didn't.

"I warn you," he said, "I don't have much patience. And we don't have much time. Somebody might have heard that shot. If we're really lucky, they'll think it's a poacher and leave it be. But they might call the police. You want them here even less than I do. So move."

She lowered herself to her knees. Felt tiny stones digging into her kneecaps.

"Hands behind your head," Savage said.

She did as he asked, turning her head slightly, not trying to see him but trying to see where Martin lay, round the other side of the van.

Savage noticed, said, "Eyes front."

She'd spotted Martin's leg, the lower part, from shin to foot. No movement. Didn't mean she should fear the worst, though.

"Yeah," Savage said. "Your boyfriend's dead. And if you don't behave yourself, you'll be joining him soon."

Martin was dead? She didn't think so. She didn't think she'd feel this empty if that was true. She'd seen him shot, seen him fall to the ground, but that didn't mean he hadn't survived. She'd once heard of a hostage shot in the head, point blank, by terrorists. The hostage had lived. Martin could have survived too. She didn't know where he'd been shot. But it was possible he was just lying there, playing dead. That's what she'd do if she were him.

She kept her eyes fixed in front of her. Didn't move a muscle. Apart from her stomach, which had developed a spasm she'd never experienced before. It was as if a rodent was crawling around inside her, stopping every now and then to gnaw at her belly.

***

"IT'S OKAY, JORDAN." Tears streamed down Tommy's son's face. He was in danger of choking. Convulsing. "This might hurt." Tommy reached through the gap between the seats, ripped the tape off Jordan's mouth.

"Dad?" Jordan said. "Dad?"

"Shit, sorry, son." He took off the policeman's cap, pulled the ski mask off. "It's me, yeah. Keep an eye on that bitch out there while I untie you. Shout if she moves, okay?"

Jordan nodded.

Tommy pulled at the bindings.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really scared."

"It's okay now. You're safe. I'm here."

"I'm still scared."

"It's okay. We'll be fine. Is she doing anything?"

Jordan shook his head. "Dad, you just killed somebody."

Yeah, Tommy had just killed somebody. He'd killed Martin Milne, the fucker who'd stabbed Phil in the heart and chopped him up. And he'd do it again in a heartbeat. "To make you safe, son," he said.

"They killed Uncle Phil. And Fraser. I didn't think they had, not really, I thought it was a joke but it's true they did and the bodies are—"

"Shush. I know."

He cried some more.

But he was safe. Jordan was safe. Tommy started to cry too. Pair of them with faces like they'd been rained on. "We have to hurry," Tommy said, wiping his eyes, gently, swallowing to ease the pain in his belly.

He got Jordan's hands free and Jordan leaned over the partition and flung his arms round him. Tommy hugged him back, as hard as he could with one good arm. He wanted Jordan as close to him as possible.

"I'm keeping an eye on …
her
still," Jordan said.

"Good lad."

They remained like that, squeezing each other, till Jordan said, "That hurts."

Tommy eased off, kissed his son's forehead. "Untie your legs and get in the front with me."

Jordan said, "Dad?"

"What, son?"

"You really stink."

***

EFFIE SNEAKED A glance a couple of times. The kid was watching her. She couldn't risk anything. He'd shout, Savage would turn, shoot her.

And Martin would be all on his own.

***

"WHAT'S IN THE back there?" Tommy asked Jordan.

"Uncle Phil and Fraser."

Good God. Jordan had been trussed up in the back with his dead uncle and his dead brother. And no doubt he'd have been next. Tommy'd never felt rage like he felt now. Maybe because he was free of Smith, or because he'd killed someone, or because Jordan was safe, but whatever the reason, anger flamed in his gut, the pain excruciating.

Jordan said something and Tommy could only hold up a hand to tell him to wait.