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617 lines
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<h1>23</h1>
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<p>Neil watched them from his high vantage, focusing in on the other side of the wall, then down the street to the main
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road. Jack had set the phone so it only took one thumb touch to call Jed in the covered tanker.</p>
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<p>"Elvis calling Bullitt. The road's clear, go, go, go. Johnny B Goode." </p>
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<p>Jed floored it and hustled towards the corner, wanting out before the back-up arrived in the approaching hurry
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wagons. After the gunplay, they'd be all over the place like ants. He got to the junction, spun the wheel, taking a
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huge arc to keep the weight in place, was out and down the road with the winking blue lights far behind him.</p>
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<p>Angus Baxter commandeered a bulldozer from a demolition site two hundred yards away and the big blue door simply flew
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off its hinges, broke into three pieces, one of which whirled across the yard, slammed through the crumpled service
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bay and almost decapitated Seggs Cullen as he crawled through the dwindling puddle of dilute whisky. The fumes of
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evaporating spirit were so strong that they caught in the back of the throat.</p>
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<p>The firearms team went through the space like the SAS and Gus Ferguson raised the empty shotgun in an even emptier
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gesture. He took a butt under the jaw which dislocated it on the left side, but as he fell, he slammed against the
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brick wall and miraculously popped the bone back into the socket. It was the only good thing to happen to him that
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day.</p>
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<p>Six policemen surrounded Cullen, each of them with a vicious looking fully automatic held at arms length, every
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stubby barrel pointing at his head. Cullen's leg gave way under him and he flopped once more to the draining golden
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pool.</p>
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<p>"Drop the weapon," the lead man ordered. He put his boot right on Cullen's neck, forcing his head under the surface.
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The thug coughed, spluttered, managed to raise his head up and sprayed whisky for a yard.</p>
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<p>"It's not mine," he managed to gasp. A gun-barrel was dug right in behind his ear and he dropped the Beretta.</p>
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<hr />
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<p>They were out on the main road, haring for the turn that would take them up past the castle on the circle road out of
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town, Jed and Michael and Ed Kane in the front, with Jack and Donny in the tight space at the back of the cabin.</p>
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<p>Jed had the wheel and he handled the big rig the way he drove on the stock circuit, fast and hard and very sure. The
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only difference was that this one had twelve wheels and a lot more inertia once it really got going.</p>
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<p>He turned to Michael. "That's a hell of an eye you got there. It'll be shut like a clam tomorrow."</p>
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<p>Michael grinned shyly. "You ought to see the other guy."</p>
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<p>"Oh, and what's he like?"</p>
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<p>"He's built like a fucking brick shithouse. There's not a mark on him."</p>
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<p>Jack reached forward and cuffed his brother lightly on the back of his head.</p>
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<p>"Language! You're supposed to be the smart one. Your mother would clap your ear."</p>
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<p>"So let her do it," Michael shot back. It was as if his overnight captivity had never happened. "You don't have
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mother privileges."</p>
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<p>Everybody laughed. Jack ruffled his hair.</p>
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<p>"You did good Mike. You stayed cool."</p>
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<p>"I knew you would show up, one way or the other." He dabbed his cheek, gingerly testing the skin. "Has anybody got
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anything to eat? I'm starving to death."</p>
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<p>Ed flipped the glove box and pulled out a couple of Mars bars.</p>
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<p>"Okay Jake, that's two pints I owe you."</p>
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<p>Michael only raised his eyebrows, not stopping to ask the question. Half the bar was in his mouth already.</p>
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<p>"Jack said those cretins wouldn't feed you. He tries to think of everything."</p>
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<p>The phone trilled unexpectedly. Ed snapped it open.</p>
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<p>"I got bad news," Neil said quickly. "You've got a passenger."</p>
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<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
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<p>"Somebody must have jumped off the wall. I never saw it, but he's there now."</p>
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<p>"Where?"</p>
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<p>"He's on the nearside. High on the load."</p>
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<p> Ed leant to the left, as close as he could get to the wing mirror.</p>
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<p> "What's the matter?" Jack pushed forward, following his gaze. He froze. They were on the road out of town now, past
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the old quarry behind the school, hammering along the road as the buildings petered out through a stand of old oaks
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and tall birches, sending up a buffeting silver spray from the big wheels.</p>
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<p>Jed craned over the wheel to view the mirror.</p>
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<p>"Warning," he said. "Arseholes are much closer than they appear."</p>
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<p>"Right, that's it," Ed said quietly. Wiggy Foley was hanging on to the tarpaulin rope with one hand, and gripping the
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top of the frame with the other. His face was twisted with effort and anger as he inched his way along the side of
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the truck.</p>
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<p>"I don't believe it," Jack said. "He thinks he's Bruce Willis. Try to shake him off."</p>
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<p>Jed got to the straight, spun the wheel left hard and then right again, as much as he dared with such a big load. The
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tail swung alarmingly and Foley flipped outwards, legs in the air, but he still hung on.</p>
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<p>"Coming up to bends. I can't risk that again."</p>
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<p>Ed opened the door, forced it wide with his foot.</p>
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<p>"Where are you going?"</p>
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<p>"I'm going to knock him off."</p>
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<p>"Don't be crazy. You'll kill yourself."</p>
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<p>"That Foley, he's the crazy one," Ed said. "He always carries a blade. He's mad enough to do somebody some hurt. And
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I owe him one."</p>
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<p>"Where's the shooter?" Donny wanted to know.</p>
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<p>"I gave it away."</p>
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<p>"Brilliant," Donny said. He didn't know Jack's plan. "We could finish it right now."</p>
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<p>Ed gripped the handle above the door, waited until they were on a right bend which let the door swing wide, and he
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flipped himself out with athletic grace.</p>
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<p>"Get back in," Jack bawled. "You're Ed Kane, not Eddie Murphy"</p>
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<p>Ed hung onto the grip, facing backwards. "Hold it steady, and don't hit the trees."</p>
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<p>He winked at Jack and then he started moving towards the back.</p>
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<p>Foley had his face against the tarpaulin, trying to clamber on to the top of the truck and when he raised it again he
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saw Ed clinging to the side. He snarled and let go with one hand, reaching into his pocket with the other.</p>
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<p> "He's got something," Jack said, pushing past Michael, clambering onto the front. "A knife. A gun maybe." Foley had
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done six years in Barlinnie for grievous bodily harm and had earned no remission. Anything at all was possible.</p>
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<p>Ed was fast and his next move surprised both Foley and Jack. He took one of the rope lashings in his free hand, wound
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it round with a few flicks of his wrist and gave it a tug. The slip-knot looped to the frame came free and Ed just
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threw himself outwards.</p>
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<p>As an act of sheer audacity Jack had never seen anything like it in his life. For a moment he thought Ed had slipped
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off the speeding tanker and his heart leapt into his throat.</p>
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<p>But Ed hadn't slipped. The momentum carried him out and away from the side, flipping close to the bushes that lined
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the road and the edge of the tarpaulin followed him like a sail. As soon as the wind caught the canvas, it drove it
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back in to the side again, carrying Ed's weight with it, but the length of rope looped round his wrist gave him
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another couple of yards. He was swung back, beyond the point where Foley was reaching into his pocket, and the
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tarpaulin simply folded on itself to trap the other man behind it. Ed grabbed the frame and held on with his right,
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keeping the tarp tight. Underneath it Foley bellowed like a bull. Ed used the frame like an exercise bar, pivoted
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his weight again and drove both feet forward, just where he estimated Foley's ribs would be.</p>
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<p>The hard jolt and the immediate grunt from under the flapping canvas told him he'd connected.</p>
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<p>He swung again, and this time used his knuckles, one-two-three, hitting in a blur, short powerful jabs. Foley punched
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outwards, trying to shove his way through the material. Ed pulled back just as a thick steel blade stabbed through
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it, curved down in a fast slash and ripped the canvas open in a four-foot shriek.</p>
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<p>"Bastard." Foley's frothy snarl was almost lost in the flapping of the tarp and the strangle of his own rage. He
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slashed again, hauled himself through the hole in the fabric, swung the knife back at Ed. The point of it sliced air
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only inches from his face and Ed pulled back, quickly unspinning the rope from his hand to free it.</p>
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<p>"I'll fuckin' fillet you." Foley lunged again and the tanker hit a pot-hole, jolted and one foot slipped from the
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frame. He scrabbled for purchase, still gripping the knife. Jack Lorne was clambering through the cabin window,
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wielding a big tyre iron. Foley got back up again and pushed past the flapping canvas shreds, digging the knife
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forward. Ed gripped the frame with both hands, flipped himself up onto the roof, ignoring the buffeting turbulence,
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and scrambled to the other side. He was faster and fitter than Foley, sure of his grip. The big thug came scrambling
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after him, round the back of the tanker. Ed braced, dug a heel into his face, two quick slams. Foley roared fury and
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frustration. His nose burst flat and the wind carried the blood round to both ears. But without hesitation, Foley
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slashed forward and caught Ed's calf, slicing his jeans to the knee, and digging a groove up the front of his shin.
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The pain burned like brief fire and was lost in the adrenaline surge.</p>
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<p>Ed kicked again, another two quick ones, driving his heel in hard, catching him on the other eye. A plummy bruise
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began to match the other. Foley cursed, dripping blood and came swinging round on the off-side. Ed scrambled away,
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hand over hand, until he got half-way to the cabin.</p>
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<p>Jack was up on the roof, crawling over the top, desperate to get at Foley. The trees were flashing past in a blur as
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Jed speeded up, sending up a buffeting spray from the wheels. He took the corner tight on the left, trying to give
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Ed as much room as he could, when a lorry came hurtling round in the opposite direction.</p>
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<p>"Shit," Jed blurted, jerking at the big wheel. The other truck was way across the centre line. The other driver's
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face was a pale wide blur.</p>
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<p>"Watch out!" Michael was thrown to the right as the tanker slammed right. </p>
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<p>Jed felt it happen before anyone else did. Years of hammering round the stock track gave him the edge. The other
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lorry was past in a roar and a cloud of spray, scraping by with only inches between its front and the tanker's rear.
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He flicked a glance at the wing, saw Ed thrown outwards by centripetal force, with Foley close to him.</p>
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<p>He spun the wheel again, forcing the tanker right, aiming to pull Ed back in and then he just ran out of road. The
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tight bend was only fifty yards ahead and he was on the wrong side. He pulled left yet again, braking sharply and
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that's when it happened. The whole rig slewed out, all wheels drifting on the road-slick. The whipping action of the
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weight on the tail dragged it round on the off-side.</p>
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<p>Trees loomed dead ahead. Jed slammed the stick forward, gunned power to the drive as he felt the front and rear began
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to shut on each other like a jack-knife. The corner came zooming up, a tangle of trees and scrub.</p>
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<p>"Hold on," Jed bawled. Michael grabbed the handle above the door. Up on top, Jack felt the slide and threw himself
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flat, grabbed for the whipping rope end and the side of the frame.</p>
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<p>The rig slewed on... Jed gauged it, feeling for the weight, got the wheels to grip and just on the point of
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sideswiping the big oaks, he caught the line. Branches lashed at the windscreen, slammed against the wing and
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slapped the mirror right back against the door.</p>
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<p>Ed Kane was catapulted right off the side and his weight tore the lashing from the canvas. He went tumbling though
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the air and disappeared into the trees.</p>
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<p>A big branch caught Foley under his chin and flicked him off the side. The knife whirled out of his hand and thudded
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twenty feet high in the trunk of an oak tree to bury itself four inches deep in the solid wood.</p>
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<p>Jack saw them disappear, tumbling through the foliage to crash somewhere out of sight in the dense undergrowth. The
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force of the turn dragged him right across the roof to the far side and his own feet were dangling out into space by
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the time Jed straightened up. He hauled himself forward, wind whipping his hair, and hammered on the roof of the
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cabin.</p>
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<p>"Stop. Pull up."</p>
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<p>A hundred and fifty yards along the Glen Murroch Road, Jed managed to slow down with a howl of rubber and a grind of
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protesting gears, pulled right in and got wheels up on the verge. He drove forward for another hundred, to where an
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access lane led away into the trees, steered up as far as he could until the tanker was out of sight of the road.
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Jack clambered down, face white.</p>
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<p>"What happened?" Jed was just as pale.</p>
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<p>"Ed got thrown off," he said. "Come on. He could be hurt."</p>
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<p>Michael clambered down from the cabin, hands shaking.</p>
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<p>"You stay here," Jack ordered. He turned and started running back through the scrub with Jed right on his heels and
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Donny close behind.</p>
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<p>They reached the turn, scattering a couple of blackbirds rooting in the undergrowth and plunged through the clumps of
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honeysuckle clinging to the saplings just in from the edge. Jack still had the tyre iron, ready to use it on Foley
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if he put up a fight.</p>
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<p>Apart from the sound of their passage, the trees were silent.</p>
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<p>"Where did he come off?"</p>
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<p>"Just on the turn." Jack pulled back out onto the road. Wide parallel lines curving from one side to this showed
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where Jed had braked, throwing the load into a slide. Twenty yards back from that, the lines took a sharp angle to
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the left, where he had managed to whip it out of a jack-knife.</p>
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<p>"In here," Jack said, shoving back in. here two big oaks reached for the sky, trunks hoared with moss and overgrowth.
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He stopped and listened. Something moved, but a good few yards further in away from the road. He hefted the
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iron.</p>
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<p>"Ed? Is that you?"</p>
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<p>Jed looked at him. "Foley's got a blade."</p>
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<p>"I know. Watch for him. Don't let him near you."</p>
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<p>Something shivered the branches ahead of them and they barged through.</p>
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<p>Somebody was on the ground, driven right down into the soft mud where a puddle had formed in a hollow. All they could
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see were a pair of legs and some of the back. The mud had splashed all over it, making recognition difficult. There
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was no movement at all.</p>
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<p>Just to the left, the branches started to shake again.</p>
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<p>"Ed, is that you?"</p>
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<p>Jack turned and saw Foley caught in a thick hawthorn bush, his face jammed right up against the front of an oak tree,
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arms pulled back by the clutch of thorns. His eyes were wide open and his legs were kicking against the branches.
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Blood trickled from his nose.</p>
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<p>"This must be Ed," Jack said, turning to the prone shape. "Come on."</p>
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<p>The Donny was right beside him and without hesitation they grabbed the blackened legs.</p>
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<p>"Watch, he could be hurt."</p>
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<p>"He'll be hurt if we don't"</p>
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<p>They hauled on the feet and Ed came slurping out of the soft mud. Jack let go and the pliant body oozed to the
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ground. Jack got to his knees, used a hand to wipe the mire from his face.</p>
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<p>"Ed! Come on man." He jammed a finger inside his mouth and hooked out a plug of leaves and slime. "Come on!"</p>
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<p>"Is he....?" Jed couldn't even say it. Jack didn't hear him. Instead, he flipped Ed round onto his face and thudded
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him hard between the shoulderblades with the flat of his hand. The force of it drove another black wad out of Ed's
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throat and his whole body jerked in a violent spasm. He coughed, spluttered and rolled over, gagging for breath.</p>
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<p>"Jesus man. You scared the shit out of me." Jack moved forward, clapping Ed on the shoulder and just as he did so a
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movement at the side caught his eye and he turned in alarm.</p>
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<p>Michael stood there, pallid and out of breath..</p>
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<p>"Is he all right?"</p>
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<p>"Jesus Mike. I told you to stay by the truck."</p>
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<p>Jed got to his feet, turned to the left. Foley was still suspended in the hawthorn bush, still trapped by the thorns
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which had hooked into his denim jacket, but there wasn't a mark on his face apart from the blood from where Ed had
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kicked his nose and those two bruises. His legs still kicked violently against the branches, making the whole bush
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shudder and shake.</p>
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<p>"Jack," Jed said. "You better come and see this."</p>
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<p>"What is it?" Jack was wiping the thick mud off Ed's face, making big pale streaks. Ed was coughing, still
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winded.</p>
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<p>Foley's eyes were rolled up so far all you could see was white. His neck was twisted at an odd angle. Meaty hands
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trembled with uncanny life.</p>
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<p>"I think this one's a gonner."</p>
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<p>Michael looked at Foley. A thick of saliva and blood drooled from the thug's slack mouth. His hair was unpeeled from
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the front to the back of his head, leaving an angry bloody patch.</p>
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<p>"Oh god," Michael said in a stricken gasp. "He's been scalped."</p>
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<p> He turned away and without warning at all he was violently and comprehensively sick in to the forest ferns.</p>
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<p>Donny clapped him on the back, holding him steady until he was finished.</p>
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<p>"No, man. That's just Wiggy's toupee."</p>
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<p>Blair Bryden got the story of the big raid out on the news long before anybody got a sniff of it. He and his
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photographer were on the scene seconds after the heavy squad arrived with all sirens blaring and their squat black
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guns locked and loaded. This time Blair was smart. The money he'd made from spreading the whisky theft story around
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the networks had been well invested in a good handicam video and Brian Deacon captured all the action for the
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tea-time news.</p>
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<p>Gus Ferguson's face was pixelated out when he was seen being hauled away by a couple of tough looking policemen,
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dragging his heels and hauling at the cuffs. The sound had to be damped right down for family listening.</p>
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<p>The camera panned round the scene of devastation, the curved barrel-staves scattered in all directions, the
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demolished bay and the bullet-holes in the big blue doors. Customs officers and policemen were everywhere. It seemed
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as if every one of Levenford's finest had been roped in to get this done right.</p>
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<p>Only one intact barrel remained in the middle of the yard. The one that Donny had made sure wouldn't explode.</p>
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<p>"This is in customs jurisdiction." James Gilveray drew himself up to a height a good span shorter than Angus Baxter
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.</p>
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<p>"That might be the case, once it's been identified. We'll let you know."</p>
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<p>"No. If it was removed illegally from customs bond, it's up to us."</p>
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<p>"As I said," Angus paused to light the pipe, making Gilveray wait for it, "we'll identify it in due course of time.
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Until we do, then you'll just have to cool your heels a little. It's evidence in a major police investigation."</p>
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<p>"It was ours first."</p>
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<p>"And you made a good job of keeping it," Angus said. With his highland accent it was hard to discern the dripping
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sarcasm, but Jimmy Balloch didn't miss it. "Now, you run along like a good wee exiseman, and let proper policemen do
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their job."</p>
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<p>"You can't do that," Gilveray protested. He could see his own job whirling down the drain with the rest of the
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whisky.</p>
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<p>"Constable Balloch, would you be good enough to escort Mr Gilveray off these premises. And get some tape set up. This
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is a scene of crime. We can't have every Tom, Dick and jumped up railway porter messing up the evidence."</p>
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<p>"You can't do that," Gilveray was almost hysterical.</p>
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<p>"Oh, and by the way," Angus said, blowing out a blue plume. "We'd like you to come down to the station as well.
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Everybody who had anything at all to do with this whisky, well, you're all witnesses. I'll need a full statement
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from you, if you don't mind."</p>
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<p>The chief customs man looked as if he might suddenly burst a blood vessel.</p>
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<p>Ferguson demanded to see his lawyer and Angus made him cool his heels too. The sawn-off shotgun was already in a
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plastic bag and on its way down to forensics. Ferguson had been stripped to the skin and now he was dressed in a
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papery one-piece that made him look like a pantomime polar bear. He sat and glowered as the forensic men swabbed his
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fingers for traces of powder.</p>
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<p>Billy Butler had come down from Aitkenbar Distillery and identified the contents of the two remaining barrels. There
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was nothing left of the rest, all of it gone down the drain, leaving only a wide damp patch and a stench of raw
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whisky.</p>
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<p>"It's the Glen Murroch, all right. What I can't understand, is why it's back in the barrels."</p>
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<p>"Explain that to me."</p>
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<p>"Every barrel is stencilled when it's filled. After a while you get to know the codes. These are definitely the
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barrels it's been stored in the for past twenty five years."</p>
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<p>"And how would it get back in there?"</p>
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<p>Billy shrugged. "I really don't know. Somebody must have put it there."</p>
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<p>"Or maybe it never left the premises after all."</p>
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<p>Angus turned to young Jimmy Balloch, whose good work had helped crack the case. "You can have the dubious privilege
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of inviting Alistair Sproat esquire down for a chat."</p>
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<p>In the interview room, Ferguson's lawyer sat with his hands on his briefcase. Baxter kept his eyes on him as he
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spoke.</p>
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<p>"Fergus Hector Ferguson, I am charging you with a number of offences. They are: possession of an illegal firearm;
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discharging a firearm within a built-up area, discharging a firearm with intent to wound, discharging a firearm with
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|
intent to murder, resisting arrest, assault, breach of the peace, theft of twenty five thousand gallons of whisky,
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|
conspiracy to defraud Her Majesty's Customs and Excise, and loitering with intent. None of these charges are in any
|
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particular order at the moment, are by no means comprehensive, and other charges will most definitely ensue. You
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don't have to say anything."</p>
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|
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<p>The big policeman read him his rights.</p>
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<p>"Now, as I said, you don't have to say anything. But..."</p>
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<p>"I never took that whisky. It's not mine."</p>
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|
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<p>"We know that," Baxter said easily. "It's most definitely not yours."</p>
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<p>"I never saw it before."</p>
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<p>The lawyer leant forward. "You don't have to say anything."</p>
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|
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<p>"Fuck off you." Ferguson turned to Baxter. "I've been fucking set up."</p>
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|
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<p>"Indeed. And how do you explain this paperwork? The hire of the pump which is in your yard. Your company. Your
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signature."</p>
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|
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<p>Ferguson stared at the document that was now sealed in a flat clear envelope.</p>
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<p>"I never saw that before in my life."</p>
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|
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<p>"And I suppose you and Mr Cullen and the other one, Mr Foley, are not involved, or have no connection whatsoever,
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with this company?"</p>
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<p>"FF Enterprises? I never heard of that in my life. It's a fucking set up."</p>
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|
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<p>"So what you are telling me is that some time this morning, some individual drove a lorry load of stolen whisky into
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|
your yard, with customs documents relating to the manufacture of said whisky in the glove compartment, with a pump
|
|
used to steal the whisky, hired by a company with you named as a director, and paid for by a cheque from the same
|
|
company, again with your signature. This person then left the premises without myself or any one of a number of
|
|
officers witnessing his exit, leaving you and the others armed with a shotgun and a handgun. Which you discharged
|
|
with criminal intent.That's the sum of it, am I right?"</p>
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|
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<p>"That's exactly it. We were set right up. I'll fucking kill that bastard."</p>
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<p>"Which particular bastard would that be, Mr Ferguson?"</p>
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|
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<p>Over by the door, Jimmy Balloch chuckled. Angus looked at him and winked.</p>
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<p>"None of your business. Once I'm out of here, though...."</p>
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|
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|
<p>"I think that should conclude this interview for the moment," he said. He checked the time and turned to the
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|
lawyer.</p>
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|
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<p>"You don't mind if I take your client downstairs? He won't be leaving today."</p>
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|
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<p>Seggs Cullen couldn't believe he was up on an attempted murder charge. His leg hurt like all hell and an x-ray later
|
|
discovered a hairline fracture close to his pelvis. Any harder a hit with the keg mallet and he'd have been down for
|
|
months. He vowed a hard and bloody revenge against Donny Watson. That was twice now he'd had a go at that
|
|
ginger-headed Jessie and twice he'd come off distinctly second best.</p>
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|
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|
<p>Despite the evidence on the assault team's video tape, forensics made doubly sure and the swabs proved positive for
|
|
powder burns on his fingers, showing he had indeed fired the gun he'd been carrying. The bullets dug out of the wood
|
|
on the door were an exact ballistic match. </p>
|
|
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|
<p>"So just to go though it again," Angus Baxter said. Cullen looked pitiful in the white overalls, pitiful and thick.
|
|
The inspector was beginning to think his own tone of weary incredulity would be fixed permanently. "This person <em>threw</em>
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|
the gun to you?"</p>
|
|
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|
<p>"Sure. He was blasting all over the place, then he threw it at me. Or he dropped it. I grabbed it, like. I mean, I
|
|
was down in the deck and all that hooch was spilling out. What could I do? He'd been shooting all over the shop. I
|
|
just turned it and fired at him. Christ knows what happened. He dropped. I plugged the bastard. It was self
|
|
defence. </p>
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|
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|
<p>"So you admit you shot the gun."</p>
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|
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|
<p>"Sure I did. He shot at me."</p>
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|
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|
<p>"And this Mr....ah, <em>Lorne</em>. Where did he go."</p>
|
|
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|
<p>"He went over the wall."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Over a fifteen foot wall, with barbed wire at the top?"</p>
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|
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|
<p>Cullen nodded, so engrossed in the memory that he couldn't see how ridiculous it sounded. "Him and his brother. See,
|
|
we'd snatched the boy, me and Wiggy. Just to put the frighteners on Lorne. He'd nicked the whisky, and Gus, well, he
|
|
wanted it, like."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"So, you and Foley, you <em>kidnapped,</em> this young man?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Cullen nodded enthusiastically. Ferguson had not been so stupid. He hadn't even mentioned Jack Lorne's name. He knew
|
|
a kidnap charge and conspiracy would be even worse when piled on top of pulling a gun.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"So this Mr Lorne came in, rescued his brother from your clutches, gave you the whisky and the gun, scaled a wall,
|
|
and disappeared."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Got it in one, Mr McLeod. That was after that bastard Watson swiped me with a hammer."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Oh, there were three of them now?"</p>
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|
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|
<p>"Nearly broke my fuckin' leg."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jimmy Balloch jammed his knuckles in his mouth to hold back the explosion of laughter.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Alistair Sproat was beginning to panic. Baxter had stared at him long and hard, forcing him to drop his eyes, and
|
|
that made him feel even more vulnerable.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"What puzzles me is this documentation." The inspector pushed the clear plastic wallet across the table. "It gives a
|
|
list of the barrels which we found this morning, all from your company. It's on your Aitkenbar Distillery transfer
|
|
sheets."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"I don't know anything about it."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"But the serial numbers on those barrels match those on the stock which was stolen."</p>
|
|
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|
<p>"That can't be true. That was all decanted. The barrels were emptied into the tank. They'd be round at the
|
|
cooperage."</p>
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|
|
|
<p>"Indeed." Baxter seemed to be enjoying this. "So, can you explain how we were able to retrieve intact barrel, bearing
|
|
the correct stencils, and containing the exact amount of your Glen Murroch as is stated in your own documents?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"It can't be true," Sproat spluttered.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Oh, I can assure you, it's true alright."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>A bead of sweat started to swell at Sproat's thin hairline and quickly gathered enough weight to trickle down his
|
|
temple. This was a complete nightmare. He'd been hit with the writ from the Charter 1315 tree huggers and his legal
|
|
team had spent a whole day at court trying unsuccessfully to get it lifted. But somehow the protesters had raised
|
|
enough money to hire Kerrigan Deane, one of the sharpest legal infighters in the game and the interdict still stuck.
|
|
It would now take a fight to prove the big river harbour was distillery property, and until he did, he couldn't
|
|
demolish the old buildings and reclaim the prime land. The developers had already been on the phone demanding an
|
|
entry date and threatening to pull out of the deal. He was facing total ruin.</p>
|
|
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|
<p>"I can't explain that. I'll have to go through all the stock sheets and transfers."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"No," Baxter said. "<em>We'll</em> go through all the stock sheets and transfers."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Back at the distillery, Sproat seemed to have shrunk into himself after his afternoon session with Baxter. Marge
|
|
Burns hung up his coat and watched him slump in the chair behind the wide walnut desk. A couple of weeks ago he'd
|
|
stood there in the hall, chest out and confident, and told all of his workers they'd be kicked out of their jobs.
|
|
Now he looked as if he himself was getting very close to the end of the line.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>She made him a coffee. Two days ago, she'd got into the files and duplicated all the necessary papers, just as Jack
|
|
Lorne asked her to.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Marge," Sproat said, voice hoarse. She bent over him, almost motherly, and gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat. He
|
|
didn't even seem to notice.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"I have to get in touch with Michael Gabriel. It's urgent. Really urgent."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"I'll see if I can raise him," she said.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack Lorne had told her he'd do just that.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>They had all stood there in stunned silence, while young Michael bent low and retched the mars bar into the
|
|
woodferns.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Foley's suspended leg twitched and jerked. His eyes were wide and unfocussed, and he was definitely not
|
|
breathing.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Get him out of there," Jack said.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"I'm not touching him," Donny said vehemently. He looked as if he might suddenly lose his breakfast. "Is that
|
|
normal?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"What, the leg thing?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Yes, the <em>leg</em> thing."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Sure. It'll stop after a while."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"How do you know?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"I saw it in a movie."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"No, how do you know he's dead?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack pushed into the bush, reached a hand to touch Foley's bull neck. The scraped-back wig made him look as if the
|
|
entire skin on his head had been torn away, but the blood was just from the hawthorns and the rough oak bark. He
|
|
pressed two fingers under the jaw, feeling for a pulse in the strangely warm neck. The body jerked again, and a
|
|
little gasp of air blew from the lungs. He felt his own throat tighten.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Nothing at all."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"He might be faking it," Donny insisted.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"No. He's a stiff," Ed said quietly. Only a few moments before he'd been kicking and punching the man in the tree,
|
|
and then he'd been head first and up to his ribs in mud. He looked like he'd crawled through the trenches. "He
|
|
hasn't blinked once."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"For a stiff he's doing a lot of jinking and jiving. Should we get somebody?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Who should we get?" Jack asked. Michael was pulling himself upright again, wiping his mouth with the back of his
|
|
hand. Jack gripped his shoulder and made him face the other way.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"An ambulance?" Jed suggested. "They could use those jump lead things."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"What for? He's dead. Probably broke his neck. A zillion volts won't do him any good. And we can't call the cops
|
|
unless we want to hold out hands up and say <em>it's a fair cop guv</em>. <em>You got me bang to rights</em>. No.
|
|
He's a goner and it's nobody's fault but his own. He shouldn't have snatched Mike and he shouldn't have hit you Don.
|
|
And he shouldn't have come at us with a knife. The man was a cockroach, a disaster on feet, so I'm wasting no
|
|
worries on him. Sooner or later he'd have had another go and somebody would have got really hurt. Worse maybe.
|
|
Somebody could have got dead. One of us."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"So, what are we going to do?" Jed insisted. "Just leave him stuck up in a tree like the Christmas gargoyle?"</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"No. Get one of the tarpaulins and wrap him up. We'll take him with us."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>"Jesus man," Jed said. "What do we want to take it with us for? We get caught with a stiff, and we're in even bigger
|
|
trouble."</p>
|
|
|
|
<p>Jack managed a cold laugh.</p>
|
|
|
|
<p> "Might as well get hung for a shit as a scam."</p>
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|
</div>
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</body>
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