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337 lines
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"HTML Tidy for Windows (vers 14 February 2006), see www.w3.org" />
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<title>Chapter 11</title>
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<div class="section" id="xhtmldocuments">
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<h2>11</h2>
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<p>A biting north wind whistled round the straight edge of Loch
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View, which stood with three other high-rise blocks on the edge of
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town. The low pressure which had brought rain and sleet had moved
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off slowly into the North Sea and behind it, a ridge of clear high
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pressure dragged the freezing air down from the edge of Greenland,
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frosting the night sky as temperatures plummeted. The wind made the
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wires of the gantry moan as it plucked the steel braids with icy
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fingers and rocked the platform slowly back and forth half-way up
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the sheer side of the building.</p>
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<p>Under normal circumstances, Jock Toner would have been mightily
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peeved that he was still up in the rig on a dark and freezing
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night. But the circumstances had changed. He'd been one of the team
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of bricklayers repairing the worn concrete on the side of the
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building which had weathered away like hard peeling scabs under the
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weight of the winds. The gantry was suspended from a winch on rails
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on the flat top of the block which allowed the men to be lowered
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and raised at the touch of a button on the winding motor.</p>
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<p>It had been cold work all day. The wind hadn't stopped and even
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in the clear air, tiny ice crystals had whipped around the corner
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of the building, whirling in the turbulence, to sting the men's
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ears raw.</p>
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<p>Ordinarily, Jock would have been home by now, probably dozing in
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front of the television, or maybe down in the County Bar for a
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couple of straight whiskies. He'd been last man to leave the hut,
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and was just about to start up his old battered Ford when the
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council's clerk of works had shown up unexpectedly. He'd pointed
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out that the gantry had been lowered to the ground.</p>
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<p>"What do you want me to do about it?" Jock had asked
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truculently.</p>
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<p>"Basically, I want you to get it right back up the top again,
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where nobody can mess about with it."</p>
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<p>"My shift finished half an hour ago," Jock argued.</p>
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<p>"Well, you've got a choice. You can go home now and I can call
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the works manager and get him out in the middle of the night," the
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fellow had responded easily.</p>
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<p>"It's six of one to me. I'll let him know you insisted he got a
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call out. Either way, there's no way that thing can sit out for the
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rest of the night. Any kid could climb on and start the motor."</p>
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<p>He looked at Jock levelly, with a small smile.</p>
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<p>"So, should I call the boss out?"</p>
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<p>Jock let out a sigh of annoyance.</p>
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<p>"No. I'll get the bloody thing," he grated. To himself he swore
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he'd get Des Coleman, the rigger who should have stowed the
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gear.</p>
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<p>The management man waited by his van until Jock was half-way up
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the side of the building before he walked to his car. Over the
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whistling wind, he could hear the whine of the motor as it reeled
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in the braided cables and the gantry slowly hoisted up and out of
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site on the dark face of the blocks. Jock saw the headlamps stab
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out and waited until the red tail lights had disappeared round the
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corner. The ice crystals, condensed out of the frozen air, were
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needling into his left ear and he cursed aloud. The gantry rose up
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slowly and steadily.</p>
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<p>He was nine floors up, just rising past a lighted window when
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the wind swung the platform to the right, and a movement inside the
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room caught his eye.</p>
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<p>He had risen another nine feet before the image really
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registered and he hit the stop switch with a stab of his finger,
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then, with another jab, he thumbed the green button which reversed
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the gantry. He lowered it the nine feet, hoping the wind would hide
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the noise, then stood for a moment, holding on tight to the safety
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bars.</p>
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<p>The rig swung gently away from the lit window then back again
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and Jock was able to confirm what he'd seen. His face broke into a
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wide grin. It took three swings of the galley to identify the woman
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on the floor as he hung out as far as he could, one hand gripping
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the hawser, then about ten seconds to figure out why she was doing
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what she was doing with such obvious vigour.</p>
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<p>Isobel McIntyre was spreadeagled under the collector from the
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Housemarket Supply Company. Both of them were exhibiting great
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enthusiasm. The rep was fat and balding. Sweat was glistening
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between his shoulderblades and he had the hairiest arse Jock Toner
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had ever seen. His head was down on her shoulder and he was
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thrusting away as if his life depended on it. Isobel's eyes were
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screwed tight shut and her mouth was drawn back in a rictus of
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concentration. Even through the double glazing and above the
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whistling of the wind in the wires, Jock could hear the man's base
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grunt and the woman's high, animal snarl. He'd worked on the
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outside of buildings long enough to know that even if they had
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looked, the reflection of the light on the glass would hide him
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from the people inside the room.</p>
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<p>He grinned again. Isobel was a distant relative of Jock's wife.
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She'd be shocked if she knew her second cousin's wife was doing it
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to a fine tune on the floor of her living-room with the man from
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the HSC. Jock wondered just how much the woman owed on her weekly
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payments, for the supply company interest was extortionate. He also
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wondered just how many other women were paying their bills on their
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backs. As that thought struck him, he made a mental note to find
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out when the fat and hairy little man made his regular visits to
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his own house.</p>
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<p>It was an hour after he clerk of works had disappeared in his
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van and Jock was still up on the gantry, halfway between the top of
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the building and the ground, enjoying every vicarious moment from
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his vantage point.</p>
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<p>The wind had dropped and the spindrift crystals were no longer
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needling his ear. Up above the sky was velvet dark. There was no
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moon to light the thin snow-clouds that had built up to hide the
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stars.</p>
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<p>Inside the room, the woman and the man had rolled on the floor
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for a while then he had pulled her up onto the couch and after that
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he'd even tried to lean her over the ironing table, though their
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combined weight rocked it to much they gave up quickly. Jock was
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surprised the spindly board had taken the weight and he thought to
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himself, one hand now working slowly deep in the crotch of his
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baggy overalls, that even if she was paying off debt, she was
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thoroughly enjoying the instalment terms. The grunting noises
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continued from the room as the rig swung silently, like a weighty
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pendulum, back and forth on the long cables, while Jack held on
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with his free hand.</p>
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<p>The action changed and Isobel McIntyre crawled round to face in
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the opposite direction. Her fair hair was lank with perspiration
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and her whole body glistened. Jock knew she'd always been a looker,
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and now he could see that the reality was even better than he'd
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imagined. She had a long, slim body and pert little breasts that
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were lacquered with sweat. He watched her head bob up and down and
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his own hand started to move quickly. He couldn't remember ever
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being so turned on before. It was almost better, he told himself,
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than the real thing. He heard his own breath coming faster and
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faster as the woman worked away on the man, taking her own pleasure
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as she did, and in the cold night air, Jock's heavy breath fogged
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the window.</p>
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<p>He leaned out, taking a risk by letting go his anchor hand for a
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moment, to rub the window with his elbow, when the gantry gave a
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sudden, violent jolt at the apex of its swing.</p>
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<p>Jock Toner's heart lurched just as violently as he was thrown
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out over the railing.</p>
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<p>"Oh Chri...." he squawked, in that instant not caring if the
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people inside the house heard him or not. By pure reflex, his hand
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shot out and hooked the cable just as his balance reached the point
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of no return, and hauled him back. The rig shook with the sudden
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movement. One edge scraped on the concrete facade with a metallic
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grinding noise. Jock's breath swooped in and he felt the blood
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drain from his face.</p>
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<p>"What in the name..." he blurted aloud. For a moment he'd
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completely lost interest in the action through the pane. He held on
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tight to the railings while his heartbeat knocked on his ribs. His
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belly was quaking with the surge of adrenalin and his knees were
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jittering out of synch with each other. The gantry swung again,
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still oscillating back and forth, but now slowing down. Jock took
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several breaths to clear his head. He'd almost fallen straight off
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the edge, and he was still stunned by how close, how
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<em>instantaneous</em> it had been. His knuckles stood out white on
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the railing top.</p>
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<p>The scene in the house momentarily forgotten, he leaned over the
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edge, peering down into the darkness below. A thin, ice-laden fog
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was swirling around the building, punctuated here and there by the
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dim lights behind curtained windows. Below the gantry, the braided
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nylon guide rope dropped away out of sight. There was nothing
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there, though Jock knew <em>something</em> had hit the rope. He
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checked at his feet, where the braid was wound onto the plastic
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spindle. One end trailed away down into the mist and then looped
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back up again to where it was draped over the balustrade. At this
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height, Jock knew it couldn't reach to the ground, so that ruled
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out mischievous kids down there. He pondered the possibility that
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someone had opened a window and tugged at the guide, but it was
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hanging down from the far edge. Somebody would have to have long
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arms to reach that far.</p>
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<p>The wind tugged the hawser again and made it sing a weird.
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mournful note. Jock leaned over again, peering downwards to see if
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there was anything that could have jolted the platform so heavily,
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but there was nothing at all. The cold mist was getting thicker.
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Down in the distance, away to the left, the orange street-lamps
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were getting dimmer, haloed by fuzzy rings of luminescence.</p>
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<p>He turned back and touched the wall to stop the to-and-fro
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motion of the gantry and then shifted his weight outwards, careful
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to keep a grip on the bar. The fright was gone, and his heart was
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already was steadying down to a normal beat. The danger over, Jock
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Toner remembered the scene in the house. He leaned out as far as he
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could until his head was just beyond the window edge. Isobel
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McIntyre was facing in the opposite direction, astraddle the
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hirsute debt collector. She had a small tattoo on the right cheek,
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just above what Jock estimated would be the panty line. He watched
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the pink curves move slowly and felt the pressure rise again.
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Isobel had a superior way about her. He knew she would <em>die</em>
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if she thought she'd been watched doing it to a band playing with
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the man from HSC. His hand stole back inside his overalls again and
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the mist swirled thicker around him. His attention was nailed on
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the scene beyond the window.</p>
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<p>Then something dripped on his shoulder just at the same time as
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he heard the scraping noise a little way above his head.</p>
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<p>At first he thought it was a bird-dropping. Sometimes the
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starlings would flock in their thousands on winter nights, roosting
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on the high edges of the tall buildings. It was an occupational
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hazard for anyone who worked at a height, but Jock knew there were
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no starlings flying in the winter mist. He'd have heard their
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chattering, and up here, the night was silent apart from the
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moaning of the wind in the wires and the muffled, guttural noises
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emanating from Isobel McIntyre's living room. He looked up into the
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darkness overhead. The pulley wires were taut parallel lines which
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soared upwards but disappeared from view only a few yards higher
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than the level where he stood.</p>
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<p>Something spattered again, catching him on the side of his head
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and dripping down his cheek.</p>
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<p>At once he smelled the thick scent and his nose wrinkled in
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disgust.</p>
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<p>"What the..." he grunted, again failing to finish a
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sentence.</p>
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<p>Then something hit the wires with such force that it sounded
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like a base-string plucked hard. The gantry jumped about a foot
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into the air and bounced. Jock felt himself thrown against the
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balustrade again, but this time he was holding tight with his free
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hand.</p>
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<p>He swung back while the platform was still moving and peered up
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again. A misty shape moved overhead, close in to the building,
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though the movement was obscured by the thickening mist.</p>
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<p>Jock moved away from the window.</p>
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<p>"Who's there?" he called up softly, not wishing to disturb the
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man and woman inside the house.</p>
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<p>The scraping noise came again. It sounded like stone on stone,
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muffled by the night.</p>
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<p>He was about to call out again when something white flickered
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wanly in the darkness. Beyond it, a black shadow elongated. Jock
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pulled himself up to his full height, eyes trying to make it out
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when the shadow came suddenly <em>racing</em> down the side of the
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wall. It happened so fast that Jock Toner never had the chance to
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even open him mouth.</p>
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<p>The shape, blacker than night, moved with astonishing speed. It
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came lunging with a liquid, pistoning motion, the white thing
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flapping alongside it. He got a glimpse of a jointed arm. Two huge
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orange eyes flicked open, and then something hit him so hard on the
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side of the neck he heard the harsh rip of muscles tearing above
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his shoulder. His grip was torn from the railing and he flopped
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against the outer edge.</p>
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<p>The shadow came looming right at him. The eyes blazed again.
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Something cold and hard gripped him by the head. He could feel the
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clench of massive fingers on each temple and the bones felt as if
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they were simply caving in under the pressure. His arms shot out to
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ward the thing off. His knuckle hit blindly against the electric
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motor housing and accidentally jammed the yellow button. The engine
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whined into life as the gantry took a lurch and started to
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climb.</p>
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<p>Even then, Jack Toner was aware of the foul stench which
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suddenly assaulted his nostrils. It smelled like rotting flesh.</p>
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<p>Then he was falling. There was an abrupt twist and a searing
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pain as he was lifted in one jerking heave and thrown over the
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railing.</p>
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<p>He screamed then, very loud and very clear as he plummeted
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through the mist. The force of the throw had sent him out from the
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building, much further than a man could have jumped. In that
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supercharged moment, jumbled thoughts and pictures flashed and
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fizzed in the man's brain. He was falling and he was going to die.
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He saw himself swoop down to the concrete flagstones below and saw
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himself splatter and bounce.</p>
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<p>Then the nylon guide rope which had snagged around his calf as
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he went over the edge snapped him to a halt in mid-air as he
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reached the end of its drop. The force of the stall snatched his
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thigh-bone out of his hip socket and pain exploded inside him in a
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white flare. There was no time, or breath for a sigh of relief, but
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in that instant Jock Toner realised what had happened. The pain was
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washed away in the realisation that he was not falling any longer,
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that he was not going to splatter and bounce wetly on the concrete
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below. Relief swamped him.</p>
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<p>If Jock Toner had not been thrown out twenty feet from the side
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of Lock View, then he would have probably survived. But when he hit
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the end of the rope and felt his leg wrench out of its socket, he
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bounced like a weight on the end of a piece of string and came
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hurtling back in towards the building. He was spinning wildly as he
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tumbled back from the far end of the pendulum arc, yelling all the
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while, unable to control his position. The gantry was still making
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its automatic ascent of the building. Jock came flying inwards and
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spun just at the moment his head was below the top edge of Isobel
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McIntyre's window. The upward pull on the hawsers coupled with his
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swing ensured that his forehead connected with the sharp concrete
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edge with a muted crunching sound. A huge flash of white light
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seared through his mind as the circuits sparked and fizzled
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instantaneously in his brain just at the moment the concrete edge
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smashed a deep chiselled line into his forehead. Isobel McIntyre's
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window went red and opaque. A piece of Jock's skull lifted like a
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flap and went spiralling down through the mist to land with a crack
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on the concrete.</p>
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<p>High up on the edge of the building, Jock Toner's body twitched
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and danced as it was drawn upwards, spraying his blood. The whole
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forefront of his brain was completely gone, but the brain stem just
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carried on as if nothing had happened. His heart still pumped and
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his nerves shook and shivered as he was hauled slowly skywards into
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the night. From the gaping hole in the front of his head, the blood
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came gouting out in a series of pulses.</p>
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<p>Finally the engine reached the top and the automatic cut-out
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kicked in. The gantry whined to a stop. Thirty feet below it, Jock
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Toner's body quivered and spasmed, unseen by any human eye while
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his blood ran in rivers down the rough edge of the building where
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it froze in long, dribbling streaks. Down below, on the concrete on
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the north edge of the building, it formed a thin slick which iced
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over in less than an hour.</p>
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<p>Inside the house where he'd watched the two people grunting on
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the floor, Isobel McIntyre sat up.</p>
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<p>"Did you hear something?" she asked.</p>
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<p>"What?" the man asked, out of breath.</p>
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<p>"I thought I heard a noise."</p>
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<p>"Probably me," the hairy man said. He reached over to the seat
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where his clothes were crumpled in a heap and dragged his shirt
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across to wipe the sweat from his brow.</p>
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<p>"What time is it?"</p>
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<p>"Getting late. You'd better get out of here before my Kenny gets
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in." Isobel got to her feet, and came acros to the window. She
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could see nothing out there. The was no light outside to show her
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the red coating on the window. She'd see it in the morning, along
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with the congealing scrap of flesh stuck to the roughcast edge just
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above her window and she would flee to the bathroom where she would
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be immediately and violently sick. The sickness would come upon her
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again one morning before the week was out, but there was another
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reason for that and it's another story.</p>
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<p>Jock Toner's frozen and bloodless cadaver was not found until
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late the following morning by the team who came back to work to
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finish off the concreting. In fact, it was Neil Gunn, an
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eighteen-year-old apprentice who noticed the shape dangling from
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the gantry an hour after he'd started work. He got such a fright
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that all he could do was hang on to the safety rail on the top of
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the block and scream for help from the foreman who was down in the
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hut. The ganger called the police and the fir brigade who had to
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take one of the clattering lifts up to the roof and manually wind
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the gantry down to ground level where Jack Toner's body hit the
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ground like a log, frozen stiff.</p>
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<p>At that time, everybody believed it had been an accident. All
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except one person who knew it was not.</p>
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</div>
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</div>
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