Old bones lie, p.1
Old Bones Lie, page 1
Old Bones Lie
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Saturday
Prologue
Monday
Chapter 1
Tuesday
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Wednesday
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Thursday
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Friday
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Saturday
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Sunday
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Monday
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Tuesday
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Wednesday
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Thursday
Chapter 41
Saturday
Chapter 42
Acknowledgements
Canelo Crime
About the Author
Also by Marion Todd
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
To my Witches.
You know who you are.
Saturday
Prologue
‘Alexa, play seventies disco music.’
‘Here’s a station from Amazon you may like,’ the robotic voice intoned. The cascading ‘Disco Inferno’ intro began playing and Kim jumped up from the cream leather sofa.
‘God, I love this.’ She kicked off her shoes and began to dance. ‘Come on.’ She reached out to grab her friend’s hand but Debbie sank back into the sofa, flexing her toes.
‘If you’d spent the week on your feet you’d be glad to put them up for a bit.’
‘Dunno why you stay in that job,’ Kim said, dancing over to the window. ‘Alexa, volume up.’
‘Fifty per cent discount helps.’
Kim danced back towards the sofa and scrutinised her friend. ‘It’s a nice dress. From the Christmas collection?’
‘Winter Wearables.’ Debbie reached to the side and picked up her glass, sipping from it. ‘Want me to get you one?’
The sitting room door was kicked open and Alan entered bearing a tray laden with plates and cutlery.
‘We okay eating on our knees?’
‘Definitely.’ Kim shimmied up to him but he dodged round her, setting the tray down on the coffee table.
Gav came in behind him with a six pack of cans and another bottle of Prosecco. ‘Time’s the food coming?’
Kim glanced at her watch. ‘Should be here any time now.’
Gav set the cans down, pulling one from the plastic ring. He held it out to Alan who took it, tugging at the ring pull. Kim danced up to her husband again.
‘C’mon, Alan. Dance with me.’
A shrill ring cut through the music. Alan laughed and put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, pushing her gently back. ‘Saved by the bell, eh?’
‘Make sure it’s right this time,’ Kim called after him.
Minutes later he returned with a brown carrier bag. He put this down on the coffee table and Gav began handing out plates.
Alan gave Kim a bag of prawn crackers. Then he studied the writing on the top of each container as he unpacked the carrier. ‘I think this is the bean curd and peppers.’
‘Mine,’ Debbie said, easing herself forward on the sofa.
‘They’d better not have forgotten my egg fried rice,’ Kim said.
‘They won’t.’ He dug further into the bag. ‘Sweet and sour.’ He handed the tub to Gav, who peeled off the lid and tipped it onto his plate. ‘And this must be your egg fried… oh.’
‘Don’t tell me.’ Kim affected a huge sigh. ‘I thought you told them.’
‘I did, babe,’ he said. ‘I reminded them specially.’
‘You know what, Alan? Next time I’ll go and collect the bloody order myself. And I’ll check it before I pay.’
‘It’s only a tub of rice, for fuck’s sake. Have another glass of Prosecco and you won’t know what you’re eating.’
Debbie threw Gav a glance and he took the cue.
‘I’ve only had a couple of sips of this,’ he said, indicating the beer can. ‘I’ll nip along and pick you up a portion, Kim.’
The scowl vanished and she leaned across the coffee table, planting a kiss on Gav’s cheek. ‘Would you, Gav? That’s so sweet.’
‘And the rest of this will be stone cold by the time he gets back,’ Alan pointed out. ‘Look, babe, just eat what you’ve got and next time we’ll pick it up ourselves.’
She glared at him. ‘I’m not one of your bloody prisoners,’ she said. ‘You can’t order me about.’
He opened his mouth to protest but the doorbell rang again. ‘There,’ he said. ‘See? He’s realised his mistake and he’s come back with your rice.’
‘He’d bloody better have.’
‘That’s your chicken,’ Gav called to Alan. ‘Want me to—’
‘Yeah. Stick it on a plate, Gav. I’ll just get madam’s rice.’ There was a click as Alan opened the front door.
‘Give him a bloody bollocking,’ Kim called. She reached into the bag of crackers and took one out. ‘Anyone else?’ She held the bag out but the sitting room door opened again and Alan backed slowly into the room. He was followed by two figures clad in black, wearing balaclavas.
‘What the fu…’ Kim’s voice died away as she saw the glint of metal held against her husband’s chest and she dropped the bag of crackers.
‘Sit!’ the one with the gun said. He was tall, muscular-looking in his black jacket and he dominated the room, a malevolent presence among the warm lighting and neutral tones. He jerked his head towards the sofa. ‘There.’
Alan did as he was told, sitting down slowly. The man gestured towards the others and they joined Alan on the sofa.
‘Hands where I can see them.’
Alan and Gav exchanged glances and the man shook his head slowly.
‘Don’t even think about it, lads. In case you’re in any doubt this is loaded and I will use it. So, hands…’
Gav held his hands out, his eyes trained on the gun and the others followed suit. ‘Maybe just tell us what you want,’ he said.
‘Disco Inferno’ gave way to ‘YMCA’ and the man jerked his head towards the speaker. ‘You can stop that fuckin’ racket for a start.’
Kim cleared her throat. ‘Alexa, stop.’
The music ceased and the man acknowledged this. He watched them carefully. ‘Here’s how this is going to play out.’ He waved his gun towards Kim and Debbie. ‘The ladies here are going to be leaving in a minute.’
Alan stiffened. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Easy tiger.’ He trained the gun on Alan. ‘You’re in no position to negotiate.’
Alan held his glance but the man went on. ‘Like I say, the ladies are coming with us. Just for a day or two.’
Gav cleared his throat. ‘What’s this about? Money?’ He glanced at the others. ‘Take it. Take the lot. Take it and get out. We’ll say nothing, will we?’
Kim and Debbie shook their heads violently. Debbie was shivering now and she leaned against Gav. He turned his head slightly, eyes still on the man and kissed the side of her face gently.
‘Like I say,’ the man went on, ‘the ladies are coming with us.’
Alan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where are you taking them?’
‘Doesn’t matter. All you need to know is they’ll be released unharmed when you’ve done what we want.’
‘Which is?’
The man’s eyes rested on Kim. He nodded to his companion who reached into his pocket and took out a cable tie. Stepping forward he grabbed Kim’s arm, jerking her to her feet. He was smaller than the gunman, more slightly built, but he still towered over Kim, her feet shoeless.
Alan made to rise but the man with the gun pushed him back. ‘Don’t make me use this, son. It’ll make a hell of a mess of the carpet.’
A sob escaped from Kim’s mouth as the man spun her round, pulling her hands behind her. In seconds he had secured them with the cable tie. ‘Shoes,’ he said, nodding at the floor and Kim stepped obediently into her black wedges, wobbling a little without the use of her hands. He watched as she did this, then turned back, nodding at Debbie. She glanced at Gav, then she too rose from the sofa. The man grabbed her hands, clipping them together with another tie. Then he took a strip of cloth and tied it roughly over Debbie’s eyes.
‘If you hurt her,’ Gav growled.
The gunman laughed. ‘Oh we’ve not even started, son. Trust me on that.’ He nudged his companion. ‘Stick a blindfold on the other one and check them for phones. Let’s get them in the van. Soon as it’s clear.’
The women were bundled out of the room while the gunman remained in front of the men, his weapon trained on them. From the hall they heard the door open. Another voice, gruff and throaty, said, ‘All clear.’
They heard the footsteps receding and the sound of a van door being slid back. Seconds later there was a whispered conversation. Then the man who had taken the women out reappeared.
‘Okay?’ the one with the gun said and the other nodded.
‘Safely stowed.’
‘Good.’ He turned back to Alan and Gav. ‘So, to business.’ He reached into his pocket with a gloved hand and withdrew a small Nokia phone. ‘There’s one number stored in this. It’s the only one you’ll need.’
Gav flicked a glance at the men and ran his tongue round his lips. ‘For what?’
‘You’ll see. Now, lads, there’s a wee job we need you to do for us. But, before we get into that, some ground rules.’
Gav and Alan exchanged glances. Alan said, ‘Pretty sure we can guess.’
‘I’m sure you can. And I’m sure you lads have a protocol to follow in cases like this. All that prison officer training.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ll no’ be doing anything like that, lads. Not this time. No phone calls, no emergency signals, none of that under duress malarkey. You’ll do exactly what we tell you. No more, no less.’
Alan cleared his throat. ‘And if we don’t?’
The man laughed. ‘Oh, I think you know the answer to that, son, don’t you?’
Alan said nothing. Even through the balaclava he could see the man’s eyes narrow.
‘For the avoidance of doubt,’ the man went on, ‘if you don’t do exactly as we say, if you lift the phone to call this in, or you deviate from our instructions in any way at all…’ He broke off, letting his words sink in. ‘If anything goes wrong with this plan, be in no doubt. We will damage those women beyond repair. We’ll hand them back to you so damaged they won’t even recognise themselves in the mirror.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Got it?’
Gav stared at the men for a moment, then he closed his eyes and let his head droop. Alan threw him a glance and mumbled that they understood.
‘Good. So, let me tell you about our plan.’
* * *
They waited until the sound of the van drawing away grew fainter, then Alan jumped to his feet.
‘Woah,’ Gav said. ‘Where the fuck are you going?’
‘I’m going after them.’
‘You’re not, you know?’
Alan’s lips thinned. ‘I’m going after them and I’m going to find the girls. And when I find that gun-toting bastard I’m going to punch his fucking lights out. Gun or no gun.’
Gav stood barring the way. ‘Alan, think for a minute. You heard him. He said they’d be watching us. There’s probably one of them watching the house right now. Maybe someone at my gaff too. You saw that gun. He wasn’t pissing about.’
Alan’s face darkened but he said nothing.
‘We can’t call it in,’ Gav went on. ‘We can’t send any messages; we can’t do fuck all. Cos if we do…’
‘How do you know you can trust them? For all we know they might be putting a bullet in the girls’ heads right now.’
Gav shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think they will.’
‘You trust these guys?’
Gav shrugged. ‘There’s far more chance of us recognising them than Debs and Kim. They were shit scared.’
Alan’s head drooped. ‘They were, weren’t they?’ His jaw tightened. ‘I’ll get those bastards, Gav. You see if I don’t.’ He sat silent for a moment, then moved to a side table and opened a drawer. He took out a notepad and pen, then sat back down on the sofa.
Gav raised an eyebrow.
Alan stabbed the pad with his pen. ‘We’re going to write down every fucking thing we remember about those men so we can pick them out of a line-up.’
‘Balaclavas, though…’
‘Yeah but the face is only part of it. So let’s make a start. The lad with the gun first. Height?’
Monday
Chapter 1
‘I can’t decide between Dawn Light and County Stone,’ DI Clare Mackay said, shoving the paint chart across the kitchen table. ‘What do you think?’
DCI Alastair Gibson flicked a glance at it. ‘Which ones?’
‘Those.’ Clare stabbed the chart with her finger. ‘Look, I’ve marked them.’
He peered at it. ‘Both look cream to me. You choose and I’ll slap it on the walls.’
She snatched the chart back. ‘You’re absolutely hopeless.’
He sipped his coffee. ‘Clare, it’s a spare room. Not the Sistine Chapel. Does it honestly matter?’
‘I want it nice – for James – when he comes to stay.’
‘Your nephew? Clare, he’s three! He wouldn’t care if the walls were tartan.’ He drained his cup. ‘I’d better go. I’ve a meeting at nine.’
‘Leave the dishes,’ she said. ‘I’m on a late.’
He rose from the table and carried his plate over to the sink. ‘Sure?’
She nodded. ‘On you go.’
She waited until he’d gone then filled the kettle to make a fresh pot of coffee. Benjy, her English bull terrier, was systematically licking the kitchen floor clean of crumbs and she tore a bit off her toast and offered it to him. ‘Do not tell Al,’ she said, and Benjy responded with a wag of his tail. As she waited for the kettle to boil she studied her garden through the kitchen window. They’d tidied it up for winter at the weekend and it was looking neater than Clare could ever remember. Just one of the benefits of Al Gibson moving in, semi-permanently. She found she was smiling at this. ‘Careful, Clare,’ she told herself. ‘You’re in danger of settling down, here.’
The kettle came to the boil with a hiss of steam and she scooped the coffee grounds out of the cafetiere into her compost bin. Maybe it was time she settled down – whatever that meant. She had the cottage, the dog and now the man. And she was preparing to decorate her spare bedroom. ‘There’s no hope for me,’ she told Benjy. ‘It’ll be two-point-four children before we know it.’
She poured fresh water into the cafetiere and stirred the coffee, considering this. She’d never thought about children. Not until now. Her sister had James and another baby on the way. Was it time that she, too, began thinking about it? It wasn’t like they’d discussed it. She wasn’t even sure she wanted children. But she wasn’t getting any younger.
She drank her coffee, moving her chair so it caught the morning sun. A few more weeks and it would be too low in the sky. Time to have the chimney swept for the winter. She drew a notepad across the table and began to make a list.
* * *
‘All quiet,’ Jim said as Clare entered the station. As if on cue the phone began to ring.
‘That’ll teach you,’ she said, heading for her office. She switched on the computer and waited for her inbox to load. A minute later Jim poked his head round the side of the door.
‘Jim?’
He came in, notepad in hand. ‘Might be something and nothing. A prison van possibly missing.’
Clare’s brow creased. ‘Possibly?’
‘Aye. They’re not sure. It was due back three or four hours ago. But no sign of them.’
‘G4S?’
He shook his head. ‘No, one of their own vans. Couple of officers taking a prisoner to a funeral down in Pittenweem.’
‘Who was he?’
Jim scanned his notepad. ‘Paul Devine. Doing six years for armed robbery.’
Clare raised an eyebrow. ‘And they sent him in an ordinary van? No security staff?’
‘Apparently he was considered low risk.’
‘Hmm. Okay.’ Clare rose. ‘Let’s look at the map in the incident room.’
The room was quiet, just a couple of officers tapping away at laptops. The blinds had been angled so the afternoon sun streamed in the windows, warming the air. Clare shrugged off her jacket and moved to the large map of Fife, a permanent fixture on the wall. ‘Pittenweem, you say?’
‘Aye.’ Jim indicated the village, still an active fishing port on the East Neuk of Fife, now popular with holidaymakers. It sat on the north side of the Firth of Forth, an estuary straddled by three iconic bridges, the water feeding into the North Sea.
Clare studied the map. ‘Looks like there’s lots of little roads running between the villages. Where would they have gone?’
‘That’s the problem. Normally I’d say they’d take the B942 but it’s closed just now for roadworks. There’s any number of ways they could have gone.’
