‘I don’t suppose you’d lose much sleep.’
‘I’m not a monster, Siobhan — but I suppose I’d cope somehow. .’
Over the Kessock Bridge and into Inverness, staying on the A9 and heading south out of the city.
‘So far so good,’ Clarke said under her breath.
‘You planning to stay on their tail all the way?’
‘Give it another mile or two.’
After which she put her foot down, guiding the Audi into the outside lane and eventually overtaking the van, pulling in between it and the Merc before flooring the accelerator and passing that car, too. The clock said ninety- five as she watched the headlights behind her recede.
‘They’re keeping to a steady sixty-five.’
‘Don’t want to get pulled over, do they?’ Rebus suggested.
A further few miles on, a sign indicated a lay-by. Clarke slowed the Audi to a stop behind an articulated lorry which was parked up for the night. She switched off the headlights and slouched down in her seat, Rebus doing the same as far as he was able. He could feel the sweat on his back, his shirt clinging to him.
‘Here they come,’ Clarke said, eyes on the wing mirror. Not just the Merc and the van, but a few other vehicles in their wake. It was completely dark now, no chance the Audi could have been clocked, not the speed the convoy was going. Clarke switched her lights on again and got back on the road.
‘No shortage of disposal sites between here and there,’ she offered.
‘He’s not got the experience, Siobhan. Something tells me he’ll stick to what he knows, places he’s been shown or told about.’
Twenty minutes later, they passed a sign telling them the Aviemore spur was just ahead.
‘Where it all started,’ Siobhan Clarke said.
‘I suppose,’ Rebus replied, watching as a few flakes of snow began to fall. A couple of cars were signalling to turn left.
‘The Merc?’ Clarke guessed.
‘I’d put money on it — just not necessarily
But yes, the Merc was turning off, while the van stayed on the A9 and its appointment with a scrapyard or similar.
‘We’re sure Magrath’s not trussed up in the back of his own van?’ Clarke asked.
‘As sure as we can be.’
The Audi followed the Merc, still a couple of other vehicles separating them.
‘I think this is working,’ Clarke offered. ‘Insofar as they haven’t spotted us.’ All too soon, though, the covering vehicles were peeling off into new-build housing developments, leaving only the Merc and the Audi — fifty yards between them.
‘Should I stop and let him get ahead?’
‘I don’t know,’ Rebus admitted.
‘We could overtake and block the route — don’t tell me Magrath won’t be scared rigid by now.’
‘Not yet.’
She looked at him again. His eyes were fixed on the Merc, his left hand still gripping the door handle. They were in deepening countryside, heading away from Aviemore into a wilderness of mountain and forest.
‘I could overtake again,’ Clarke suggested, breaking off as she saw that, without signalling, the car in front was turning off the road on to a dirt track. There was a gate, but it had been left open. Clarke drove past and kept driving, while Rebus watched the 4x4’s tail lights until they were swallowed up by trees.
‘We’re safe,’ he said. Clarke stopped the car and did a three-point turn, switching off her lights and crawling towards the open gate.
‘Just like Hammell said,’ she muttered. The Merc had disappeared from view. Clarke slid down her window and listened for its engine. ‘Still on the move.’
‘Then we move, too.’
The Audi began to head cautiously up the track, both front windows lowered. Despite the flurries and the sharp night air, Rebus stuck his head out, watching and listening. The route wound uphill into a pine-scented forest, reminding him of Edderton. When they reached a fork, Clarke stopped the car, turning off the engine as a precaution.
‘Hear anything?’
‘No,’ Rebus told her.
‘No lights either.’
‘You think they’ve stopped?’ He had lowered his voice.
‘Maybe.’
‘Do we go left or right?’
‘You tell me.’
‘Ground’s pretty well frozen — hard to tell if there are tracks there or not.’
‘And you an ex-Boy Scout.’
Rebus considered for a moment. ‘Right,’ he said. Then: ‘No, left.’
‘Sure?’
‘Fairly.’
‘You mean you’re guessing?’
‘Fifty-fifty chance, Siobhan.’
‘I don’t think Magrath would be thrilled by those odds. How about we stick the lights on full beam and drive like hell?’
‘Or go the rest of the way on foot.’
‘On foot?’ Her eyes had widened a little, her brow furrowing.
‘On foot.’
‘Together or separately?’
‘Bloody hell, Siobhan, do I have to make
69
The bag was removed from Kenny Magrath’s head. He’d been thumped a few times and his eyes stung. He blinked the world back into focus. There was a near-full moon in a hazy sky, and the smell of moss. Magrath was breathing through his nose, his mouth taped shut, hands bound behind him. Three men made a sort of triangle around him. They seemed very tall, until he worked out he was upright in a shallow grave. He tried to scream, a bubble of blood popping from one nostril. When he started scrabbling out of the pit, one of the men took a step forward and raised a shovel. Magrath knew what that meant, and stayed put. The car they’d brought him in stood a dozen or so yards away, lights dipped, illuminating the scene, picking out occasional slow-motion snowflakes.
‘You killed my sister,’ someone said. Magrath looked around, unable to pick out the speaker until Darryl Christie bent a little at the waist, establishing eye contact. He was dressed in a dark polo-neck, denims and trainers. Magrath shook his head, feeling a fresh wave of nausea as his brain throbbed with pain.
‘This grave was dug for someone else,’ Christie went on. ‘Wrong guy that time. You’re the one I’ve been looking for, so don’t try to deny it.’
But Magrath couldn’t help himself, his muffled voice rising in pitch. Christie turned away as if bored by the performance. He stretched a hand out towards the man next to him. The shovel was placed in it. Christie felt it for heft and balance, raised it over his shoulder and swung it a few times for practice. Magrath was reduced to weeping now, eyes screwed shut. His knees gave way and he landed heavily on the dirt, chin resting against the edge of the grave.
‘Ssshhh,’ Christie told him, like a parent to a child. Then he arched his body back, lifting the shovel high and bringing it down so that it connected with the ground directly in front of Magrath. Magrath’s eyes flew open, focused on the implement’s gleaming edge. Christie twisted it free and held the shovel in front of him as he crouched down, directly in front of the tearful, snot-nosed Magrath.
