John McGrigor’s normally ruddy face was chalk-white as he greeted his Chief Superintendent in the doorway of the Galashiels branch of the Royal Bank of Scotland. In the street outside, around which traffic had been diverted, stood several police cars and an ambulance, its loading doors wide open.
On the pavement, about ten yards away from the doorway, there was a long trail of blood. It was being gradually washed away by the steady summer rain which had begun to fall half an hour before.
‘Tell me about it,’ Martin ordered. As they stepped into the banking hall, the Head of CID was faced by a wall, heavily streaked with still more blood. On the floor, in a a crimson pool, lay a huge man. His abdomen had been ripped open by the blast from a firearm, and entrails, unwound, mingled with his shredded clothing.
‘This is just awful, Andy,’ said the big Superintendent. ‘Big Harry Riach, on the floor there, he and I were at the school together. I’ve locked him up a few times since then, too, when he’s been out of order. I was the only fella that could ever arrest him wi’out a struggle.’ McGrigor shook his head, and Martin saw a tear in the corner of his eye.
‘He had a go, then?’ he asked.
His colleague nodded. ‘Most of the witnesses are still in hysterics,’ he said, ‘but we’ve interviewed those that can speak. It was the same as before. Three men, wearing Hallowe’en masks this time, and armed with sawn-offs, just walked in off the street.
‘It was like clockwork. They had the customers up against the wall and all the staff out from behind the counter, lying on the floor. One held a’ the folk at gunpoint, and the other two collected the money, and took the security video tape.’ He paused.
‘They were just about ready to go when the man who’d been keepin’ everyone covered stepped a bit too close to Riach. “Fuck this for a game!” Big Harry says, and makes a grab for him. According to the witnesses, the guy just stuck the sawn-off in his belly and pulled the trigger. The doctor . . . he left just a minute before you arrived . . . said he’d have been dead before he hit the floor.
‘None of the three said a word, or seemed to panic in any way. They just took the money in two big hold-alls and backed out. They took the bank keys as well, and locked everyone in as they left.’
‘That’s a new twist,’ the Head of CID muttered. ‘To make for an easier getaway, I suppose.
‘What happened outside?’ he went on.
‘Sheer bad luck,’ said McGrigor bitterly. ‘A young police constable, Annie Brown . . . lovely wee girl . . . just happened to be there. I don’t know why. She certainly hadn’t been ordered to the scene. One of the boys found a birthday card in the street, though, addressed and sealed. She could have been on her way to post it.’
‘No other officer was with her, then?’
‘No.’
‘So what happened?’
‘According to one of the witnesses who was looking out the bank window, the robber who wasn’t carrying a hold-all just took one look at her when he stepped into the street, and shot her.’
‘Had she done anything, or called out?’
‘Not according to the witness.’
‘What’s her condition?’
‘Critical, according to the doctor. He came from the surgery round the corner; within two minutes, they say. They took her in an ambulance to Borders General. I’ve heard nothing since.’
Martin nodded, and silently held up crossed fingers.
‘How did they make their escape?’ he asked.
‘In a grey Ford Escort,’ McGrigor replied. ‘It was parked right outside the bank. There were half a dozen people in the street, all on the other side. By the time any of them realised what was happening, the girl was down and the car was moving. No one got the number, but I’ve ordered all cars to report every grey Escort seen in our area.’
‘Careful, John. We don’t want any more victims.’
‘I know. I said report but don’t approach, unless the vehicle is empty.’
‘Fair enough,’ Martin nodded. ‘They’ll have changed anyway. That’s the usual pattern.’ He looked at his colleague. ‘Come on, and let’s you and I go to the hospital. I want to be there when she comes round, and I should speak to her relatives.’
He turned to the green-uniformed paramedics, a man and a woman, who stood waiting in a corner. ‘You can take the body to the mortuary now. Hold for post-mortem. ’
He let McGrigor out into the street, and together they climbed into the Head of CID’s Mondeo. The Superintendent gave swift directions to Borders General Hospital, on the outskirts of the town. As he weaved his way though the narrow streets of the centre of Galashiels, Martin asked him, ‘Have you advised the Chief’s office that we have a wounded officer?’
‘Aye. I spoke to Sir James himself, an hour ago. He said he’d be down right away.’
‘Good. Not that I expected anything else from him.
‘Tell me John,’ continued the DCS, ‘do you know whether the bank was flush with money?’
Beside him, McGrigor nodded. ‘I spoke to the manager. He was well cashed up a’right. There’s a big electronics factory outside the town still pays most of its weekly wage staff in notes, and yon big DIY place up the road has a sale on.
‘It’ll take him a while to work out how much has gone, but he said it wouldna’ be less than seven or eight hundred thousand.’
‘Bloody hell,’ whispered Martin, quietly. ‘If we don’t stop these people there’ll be no fucking money left in our area!’
As he spoke, he reached the big, modern hospital. It was well sign-posted, and so the Accident and Emergency admissions unit was easy to find. The detective parked two hundred yards away, in the first available bay, jumped out and led McGrigor at a brisk walk towards its entrance.
As the two policemen strode through the double doors, Martin looked around for the admissions desk. Instead, he saw Chief Constable Sir James Proud, imposing in his heavily braided uniform. His face spoke the news for him.
‘When?’ the Head of CID asked, grim-faced.
‘Half an hour ago,’ replied the silver-headed Chief. ‘The poor lass never regained consciousness. I’ve just left her parents and her boyfriend. It’s his twenty-third birthday tomorrow: the same age as she was.’
There were a few people in the police force who believed that Sir James Proud took such pleasure from the wearing of his uniform because it helped him hide a soft centre. Anyone seeing the look in his eyes as he spoke to Martin would have been disabused of that notion. ‘You make sure you catch these bastards, Andy,’ he said, quietly, yet ferociously. ‘Catch them quick.
‘When you do, I’ll interview them myself, just to see what sort of creatures they are. Because I surely don’t detect any humanity.’
9
Bob Skinner, with Jazz dozing in a carrier strapped to his father’s back, grinned at Mark as he fought with determination to master his in-line skates. The boy was highly gifted in terms of memory and intellect, but not in terms of athleticism.
Sarah’s hand was in his as they walked back along the Passeig d’Empuries, from the beach where they had spent the hot August afternoon. She had a big beach umbrella, in a carrier, slung over her shoulder, while he carried their towels and the other debris of the day in a yellow bag.
As they passed from beneath a tree-shaded area of the walkway, Bob nodded to his right, towards a whitewashed building which stood facing a small, sharply curved bay. ‘Look at that,’ he said with a smile. ‘The Hostal Ampurias. I used to have a day-dream that one day I’d buy that place and make it one of the finest hotels on the Costa Brava.’
Sarah laughed, and slipped her arm around his waist. ‘Why don’t we?’
‘Two reasons. One, the owners don’t want to sell. Two, we can’t afford it. No, three reasons, we’ve got two boys to bring up, and you’re off the pill. Oh aye, and another. Four reasons, we’ve just bought a new family home
