Tombstoning (26 page)

‘Look, Neil, just untie me. There’s no need for this. I just came here to find you and talk.’

‘I think it’s painfully apparent that we’re past that, don’t you?’

David tried to concentrate. He looked at Neil, who was staring back at him from no more than a yard away, smiling thinly and playing with a large torch, spinning it in his hands. The pain in his head was making David’s vision blur; he was finding it hard to think. All this had come at him so quickly. One minute he was ambling around the countryside in a largely theoretical search for an old friend, the next he was trussed up in a disused cottage at the mercy of… well, what was Neil now? A psychotic ex-marine? A killer?

‘I know what you did,’ said David. Neil stopped tossing the torch into the air, instead bringing it down sharply on the side of David’s face. The pain made David scream out, and his eyes and nose started to run. He felt the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and spat a stringy maroon gob onto the bare floor.

‘You don’t know fuck all about me,’ said Neil, ‘so don’t start saying you fucking do.’ He got up and started walking easily around the room.

‘I know you killed Colin.’

Neil stopped. For a moment David thought he was going to get the torch in the face again, but Neil seemed to be considering him closely.

‘That just shows you know fuck all,’ he said. ‘Which is the whole problem, now, isn’t it? Everyone knows Colin fell. Tragic accident, blah, blah, blah. But I always knew you and Gary thought differently. I always knew, the way you ran away to uni and the way Gary looked at me when I saw him in Arbroath, I knew that you thought I’d killed him. That would’ve been easier for sensitive little you, wouldn’t it? A nice, neat answer. Colin, the shining fucking light of our stupid shitehole of a town, shoved over a cliff by the fucking illiterate monkey Neil, the cunt no one ever had fucking time for, the grunt only good for sending into fucking war. Eh? Isn’t that right? Nice and simple – good guy versus bad guy, that’s how you’d like it to have been, isn’t it? Well, you fucking prick, that is not how it was, sorry to tell you, sorry to burst your little fucking bubble, but Colin fell off that fucking cliff, despite what everyone thought, and if I could’ve fucking stopped him, if I could’ve fucking grabbed him, I would’ve. But I didn’t, did I? And he died, just like people die all the fucking time, sometimes much worse fucking deaths than Colin’s, let me tell you. I’ve seen plenty of worse deaths, bodies blown to fucking bits by tank fire and worse even, so don’t bleat away about a wee laddie who probably would’ve amounted to fuck all who fell off a stupid fucking cliff.’

‘You were there,’ said David quietly. ‘You said if you could’ve grabbed him – that means you were there when Colin died.’

‘Congratulations, brainiac, well worked out. Of course I was fucking there, how the fuck else would I know how he died?’

‘But that’s not what you told me, or the police.’

‘My god, you’re fucking slow. Catch up. Of course I fucking didn’t. You think I wanted to have them place me at the scene of the crime?’

‘I thought you said he fell.’

‘He did.’

‘Then there wasn’t a crime.’

‘Fuck off. Figure of speech. If I were you I wouldn’t be so fucking smart. Mr Torch here might pay your face another visit.’

‘If you lied about that, how do I know you’re not lying now? How do I know you didn’t kill Colin?’

‘Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it, won’t you, sunshine?’

‘What were you doing back up there anyway?’

‘What do you fucking think? We were drunk, we were arsing around. We dared each other. We had a pretend fight, then he fell.’

‘It sounds like you’re still trying to convince yourself. That you feel guilty.’

David felt the torch before he even saw it, this time striking him on the temple, sending searing needles of pain through his brain.

‘Fuck off with your amateur psychology bullshit,’ said Neil, sitting back down and leaning into David’s face, which was dripping blood. ‘I know all about psychiatrists and their fucking little word games, I had it all in the fucking Marines, then again in the fucking police. Let me make this as plain as I fucking can: I. Did. Not. Kill. Colin.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Which is why I have to kill you.’

It took a few moments to sink in through the pain spread across David’s body and head. He realized now this was painfully real. He could die. He
would
die if he didn’t start thinking of a way out.

‘Like you killed Gary,’ he said.

Neil let out a snort.

‘Finally, we’re getting somewhere,’ he said. ‘Yes, David, like I killed Gary.’

‘So you admit that?’

‘You catch on fast, don’t you?’

David felt suddenly sick. He pictured Gary a fortnight ago, sitting in the pub talking sheepishly about going to art college.

‘For fuck’s sake, why?’

‘Why do you think? Because he knew.’

‘Knew what?’

‘He knew I was there when Colin died. He thought I killed him. He was going around telling people I killed Colin. I couldn’t let that go on.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about? He never said anything like that to anyone.’

‘That’s nice, covering for him, but I know he told you. Why else did the two of you spend the whole day of the reunion together?’

‘How do you know that?’

‘How do you think? I followed you. I saw him meet you in Tutties. I saw the pair of you at the football. I saw you getting thrown out of Bally’s. I spent the whole day watching the pair of you. I’ve known for a long time that he knew, I could tell. I’ve been watching him for months. Waiting for him to slip up. And then you turned up – out the fucking blue – just like that, and who did you meet? Gary. Very convenient. It was then that I knew for sure. I knew he knew, and I knew that he told you, and that I’d have to take care of it.’

‘You are insane, you know that? I don’t know what the fuck has happened to you over the last fifteen years, but you are a fucking headcase, you do realize that? One minute you’re telling me that you didn’t kill Colin, that it was an accident, the next that you killed Gary because he knew you killed Colin.’

Another slam of pain, this time concentrating on his jaw, which rattled and jarred with the force of the torch against it. David felt nauseous, and spat more blood and slavers on the floor.

‘If you fucking
listened
you would’ve heard me say that Gary knew I was there, not that I killed Colin.’

‘But he didn’t even know that,’ said David, wincing as his jaw moved. ‘At least, he never said anything to me.’

‘Yeah, right. You expect me to believe that?’

‘I’m telling you he didn’t. Even if he did, and even if he thought you killed Colin and he was telling everyone under the fucking sun about it, that’s no reason to kill the fucking guy. It’s just someone’s opinion, that’s no grounds for killing them. Unless you did do it.’

‘Careful,’ said Neil, coming towards him, thumping the torch against his thigh.

‘What the fuck has happened to you?’ said David.

‘What happened? What fucking happened? That would be easy, wouldn’t it? That would fit into your stupid fucking psychology profile, I suppose. “Oh, Neil was a nice kid at school, then he joined the Marines and fought in the Gulf War and got fucked up with Gulf War Syndrome and saw some terrible things and it turned him into a monster.” Is that what you think?’

‘Well, you were never an insane killer when I knew you before.’

‘I’m not insane. If anything I’m more sane than ever.’

‘But you killed Gary, that’s not the act of a sane man.’

‘You think everyone who kills someone is insane? That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. There would be no murderers in prison then, would there? They’d all be in the fucking funny farm. No, David, I’m a killer, in that I have killed, but I am perfectly sane.’

‘You don’t sound it to me.’

Neil sighed and leaned in towards David’s face.

‘I’m fucking sick of this. I wish I’d never woken you up.’ With that he brought the torch down again, this time heavily thudding into the back of David’s skull, wrenching his neck and head forward. David felt dizzy, and the flashes of light appeared before his eyes again, then his body slumped in the chair.

Nicola checked her mobile again – still nothing. She swerved slightly as a lorry approached her on the Arbroath back road and threw the phone back onto the passenger seat. David hadn’t called. She’d waited and waited last night for a call from him, then tried his mobile number a few times but got nothing – did that bloody thing never work? She’d left a couple of messages, hoping she sounded nonchalant, telling him to get in touch. He had probably just forgotten or something, or was in the pub in Arbroath, so she had decided to leave it until the morning. But she’d been unable to sleep properly, so at eight a.m. she tried the Fairport, only to discover that he’d never checked in. She tried the mobile a few more times then made a decision. Within the hour Amy had been packed off to a mate’s house for the day, and she was on the train to Arbroath. There, she’d borrowed her folks’ beaten-up old Volvo estate, the car she was currently negotiating along the road to Auchmithie, to try and find out what the hell had happened to him. Maybe this was stupid, she thought, but she had a bad feeling. She wasn’t usually one for intuition and all that crap, but this didn’t feel good, and she felt that she had to try and do something.

It was lunchtime when she parked the car and headed into the But ’n’ Ben. It was the only place in the village that wasn’t a house, so she thought it would’ve been the obvious place David would’ve gone.

Inside, the place was swarming with pensioners, the air heavy with the reek of smokies. A lot of the old men turned to take in her slim frame in the doorway as she stood waiting for one of the waitresses to come over. A teenager with rolling hips and an ample bosom waddled over to see her. She explained she was looking for David, but the girl said she hadn’t been working last night.

‘Maybe Edith saw him, she was on yesterday. She’s in the kitchen. Just a minute.’

Nicola was getting curious stares from everyone in the place, and she stood returning the looks until everyone was sheepishly heads down, back to examining the plates in front of them. Nicola saw an old dear with a crinkly face emerge from the kitchen.

‘I’m looking for someone, David Lindsay, might’ve been around here yesterday asking about someone?’ She started to describe him but before she could finish, the old woman interrupted.

‘Aye, he was here, right enough,’ she said. ‘Looking for a Cargill.’

‘That’s him,’ said Nicola. ‘Any idea where he went?’

‘No idea where he’ll be now, dear, sorry. The fellow he was looking for used to live over at the coastguard cottages on Meg’s Craig, and he seemed awful interested in that. But I don’t know whether he went over there, or where he’ll be now.’

‘How do you know this Cargill doesn’t live there any more?’

‘No one lives there any more, they’ve been abandoned for years.’

Nicola asked for directions, and the old woman took her to the doorway and pointed back the way she came, explaining the track that led back out to the adjacent headland. Nicola thanked her, and the old woman walked slowly back inside, shaking her head slightly as she went.

Nicola looked south towards the cottages. The sky was low and dampness hung in the air as banks of cloud drifted past, seemingly almost at head height, rolling in over each other from the sea. She could only just make out the tiny row of houses, which seemed to be defying gravity by hanging off the end of the cliff. She wondered if David had gone there. Surely he had, since that would’ve been his only lead. But after that, where had he gone?

She got in the car, turned it, and headed back through the village towards the track to the cottages.

David gradually swam back to consciousness, the pain sharpening in his head, his face, his wrists. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and when he did his heart dropped like a stone into his stomach. He felt sick suddenly and gagged a little, spitting onto the floor at his feet.

‘Lucky I’m not house-proud, you’re making a right fucking mess of my floor.’

‘This is insane, Neil, just let me go.’

‘Is that you starting with the insane thing again? Careful now, you’ve only just come to, I wouldn’t want to knock you out again. Actually, I probably would, but never mind.’

David tried to think. How could he get out of this? How the fuck could he escape? Neil had presumably been trained in all this sort of stuff when he was in the Marines, and what had David been doing all that time? Sitting on his arse in front of a computer or a television, unfit and lazy. He had no chance of physically matching Neil, and precious little hope of escape. He would have to talk to him, try and talk him round, talk him out of this madness.

‘Where have you been living, Neil?’

‘What?’

‘Have you been living here for the last two years? When I tried to track you down, you just seemed to have disappeared about two years ago. I was wondering where you’d been.’

‘Oh, you know, here and there. Around. A man with my skills can be in demand these days, especially where there’s conflict.’

‘A mercenary?’

‘One man’s mercenary is another man’s freedom fighter.’

‘That’s terrorist.’

‘What?’

‘One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.’

‘Whatever. Anyway, I spent some time in Azerbaijan, since you ask, and a while in Chechnya.’

‘Nice.’

‘Not as bad as you’d think, some of it. Amazing scenery, when you got a chance to look at it between the snipers and the bombs. Nicer than here, anyway.’

‘So why did you come back?’

‘Good question. I’ve been wondering that myself, recently.’

‘And you’ve been staying here?’

‘What’s with the questions? What the fuck does it matter to you where I’ve been?’

‘I’m just trying to understand.’

‘Understand? Don’t make me fucking laugh. You’re trying to stay alive is what you’re doing. I learned all this kidnap situation psychology in the Marines as well, you know. Opening up a dialogue with your captor. Letting them know you’re human. Bet you’re surprised that old Neil could learn stuff, aren’t you? The fucking runt of the litter, the fucking grunt of the ADS, the butt of all your and Colin’s fucking jokes, eh?’