Snared (38 page)

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three

V
icky sat at her desk, head in her hands. “That’s good news, I suppose.”

“Could’ve sworn you’d made Brian have a heart attack. Dr 
Rankine
reckons he was just putting it on.” MacDonald picked up a report and started looking through it.

Vicky looked around the room and frowned.

Andrew fiddled with a black box a couple of desks away, his forehead creased and his tongue sticking out.

“Welcome to the team, Andrew.”

“Aye. Cheers.”

Vicky squinted at the box. “Is that the Tetra scanner?”

“It is.”

MacDonald looked up from his report. “Taking forever and a day to get anything out of it.”

Andrew scowled at MacDonald as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m not supposed to be here. I’m signed off on long-term sick.”

“Yet here you are. Can’t be that sick.”

“I’ve got ME, you twat.” Andrew got to his feet, tossing his screwdriver on the desk. “You know what? If this is all the thanks I’m getting then I’m going home.” He stormed off, tugging his black, waterproof jacket on.

Vicky went after him, catching him in the corridor. “Andre
w, wait.”

He stabbed a finger in the direction of MacDonald. “Is that who you’re shagging?”

“No comment.”

“If it is then your taste in men’s getting worse, if that’s at all possible.”

“What’s he done?”

“That wanker keeps pushing my buttons. I’m going too slow. I’m not getting results.” Andrew shook his head. “I’ve got ME for Christ’s sake. I shouldn’t be here. I’m breaking my sick note.”

“That’s not as dodgy as selling pirate DVDs, though, is it?”

“Bye.” He marched off.

“Wait.” Vicky grabbed his arm. “How are you managing?”

“I feel like shit. I’ve had three coffees today just so I can look at that bloody box. I’ve not even opened it up yet.”

“What’s MacDonald after?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at her hand. “Going to let me go?”

“Tell me about the scanner.”

“What is there to tell? They’ve been listening in on our calls.”

“Are there more of these things?”

“Aye. Looks like they’ve been manufacturing them.”

“How?”

Andrew raised his shoulders. “That one in your team with the Subaru who fancies himself, what’s his name?”

“Considine?”

“Aye. He was up at the fat boy’s flat and found a load of kit in his bedroom. He’s been making Tetra scanners that can decrypt our security.”

“Okay.” Vicky nodded. “You can go home if you want.”

Andrew took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Vicks. I don’t want to let that wanker win.”

“You won’t. Don’t worry.” Vicky patted his shoulder and went back inside.

Considine was chatting with Zoë. “So, anyway it turns out this Brian Morton boy was renting that lock-up. It was full of about fifty old PCs.”

Vicky nodded at him. “Did they find anything else there?”

Considine smirked. “A load of tinfoil and a ham radio lab. Looks like he was a classic tinfoil hat nutter. Until he couldn’t leave the house, that is.”

“Were you at his flat?”

Considine nodded. “I was. After I interviewed the guy who —”

“Stephen, my brother said you found the capability to make other Tetra scanners. Is that right?”

“You’re asking the wrong man. I found some components, a soldering iron and a load of wires. It was your brother who reckoned they could build something to hack an Airwave.”

Vicky stared at MacDonald. “You know what this means, right?”

“Enlighten me.”

“They’ve got more than one Airwave scanner out there. Brian’s been building them.”

“Right.”

Considine held up a hand. “Your brother reckoned it was just the one, Sarge.”

Vicky nodded. “Do we know where John is yet?”

“No idea.” MacDonald shrugged. “Half the team are out looking for him. Kirk went to his mate’s flat — that Speedway alibi was a load of shite.”

“Bloody hell. Have you been to his house?”

“Cottage by Forfar, aye. Boy’s a terrorist, that’s for sure. Got the same paper as Marianne Smith, same printer too. Looks like it was him who was making the notes. Terror books, God knows what else.”

“Christ.” Vicky slumped in her chair. “He can’t have just
disappeared
.”

“He can.”

“Ma’am.” Zoë tapped her on the arm. “Brian’s been sending emails to Marianne Smith.”

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four

D
o you know an Alison McFarlane?” MacDonald arched an eyebrow.

Marianne Smith sat back, hugging her arms around herself. “No comment.”

Vicky stared at her notebook, trying to focus — this was their only chance. John was out there and he had Calum. Nobody knew where he was.

MacDonald cleared his throat. “Ms Smith, I’m pleading with you. John Morton is perpetrating these attacks. With or without your assistance, we’ll find out. Calum Urquhart has been abducted by John. He’s
thirteen
. We’re fearful for his safety.”

The corner of Marianne’s lip turned up. “Mr Urquhart and his family have caused untold suffering to pigs and primates. He’s clearly given a chance to stop it but he hasn’t taken it.”

“What chance was this?”

“A note went to his work, didn’t it? Do you really think I care about his son given what he does to animals?”

“You know about the note, then?” MacDonald leaned forward. “Are you admitting your involvement?”

“What I’m saying is, can you really blame whoever’s doing this? Gordon Urquhart isn’t the good guy in this. Who cares what happens to his son?”

“We’ve not mentioned his name. You do know that?”

Marianne looked away. “Mr Urquhart’s atrocities are public record.”

MacDonald narrowed his eyes. “Ms Smith, what if that was your son out there?”

“I made a conscious decision in my twenties to never have children. There are far too many people on the planet as it is. Just because our genes or our parents or politicians tell us to breed doesn’t mean we should. The planet’s collapsing under its own weight. If whoever has Mr Stewart’s son kills him, is that going to be much of a loss? There’ll be hundreds born today to repl
ace him.”

MacDonald slammed his hand on the table. “Where’s John?”

Marianne held up the print-out. “I’ll admit to knowing a Brian Morton. John?” She shrugged. “Never heard of him.”

MacDonald lifted his hand again, fist clenched.

Vicky grabbed it. “Come on, Euan.” She leaned over the microphone. “Interview paused at sixteen oh nine.” She followed him out of the room, leaving Marianne with her lawyer and th
e PCSO.

MacDonald paced around in the corridor. “We’re almost there. Why did you stop that?”

“We’re getting nowhere with her.” Vicky folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “She’s involved in this and we’ll prove it, given time. What we need to focus on is finding Calum Urquhart.”

“What are you saying?”

“Let me get this straight — at the crime scenes, John was the man, Marianne was the woman and Yvonne was the androgynous one. Right?”

“Certainly looks that way. Yvonne’s still involved, whereas
Marianne
dropped out after the first two.” He folded his arms. “So?”

“I don’t know.” Vicky shrugged.

“Your brother’s a piece of work.”

“Sure it’s not you?”

“Just trying to get him to do his job, Vicky.”

“Right.” Vicky stared at the floor, frowning — John still had an Airwave scanner. She stared at MacDonald. “I’ve got a plan.”

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five

V
icky held up the Airwave on the table in front of them. “
Control
to all units. Repeat, the suspect from Findale Place has been released without charge following an interview with Brian Morton. Morton has died of a heart attack in police custody and we still seek the whereabouts of his brother, John.”

MacDonald shook his head. “This is such a huge gamble.”

“I know.”

“Reckon Raven will go for it?”

Vicky shrugged. “Forrester’s approved it. The wheels are in motion now.” She looked across the table at Yvonne. “Are you still okay with this?”

Yvonne stared at the mobile on the table next to the Airwave. “If it rings.”

“It will.”

“If it rings, I’ll play along.”

“Remember, no funny business. I’m already pissed off at you for not bringing up Marianne Smith’s name. No code words here. Plain speak — yes/no as much as possible. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The Airwave repeated the message. “Control to all units. Repeat, Brian Morton has died of a fatal heart attack in custody and we still seek the whereabouts of his brother, John. The suspect from Findale Place has been released without charge.”

The phone lit up. A text message.

Vicky took a deep breath. “Okay. He’s texting. Is that
normal
?”

Yvonne shrugged.

“Yvonne, is it normal?”

“You tell me. You’ve got the phone records.”

Vicky turned to look at Considine, who was leaning against the door.

He flicked through some pages. “Usage is about sixty-forty texts to calls.”

“Let’s see what he’s saying.” Vicky picked up the phone. “
‘Are you okay to talk
?
’
” She focused back on Yvonne. “This is it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Vicky replied, her fingers struggling with the buttons on the phone through the evidence bag’s plastic. “Does ‘Walking up to
Hilltown
. Free to talk
’
sound like something you’d say?”

“It does.”

Vicky sent the text then waited, eyes locked on Yvonne.

The phone rang.

Vicky answered it, putting it on speaker straight away. Quietly, she opened the top of the bag.

“Yvonne?”

“Hi, John.”

“Christ, are you okay?”

Yvonne smiled. “I’m fine. They just let me go, John.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. My lawyer said it was something to do with Brian. The police told me he died.”

“I’ve heard.” John sniffed down the line. “Where are you?”

“I’ve just left the police station.”

“Are they following you?”

“If they are, they’re really good. It’s really quiet here, John.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking of heading up to the Hilltown.”

“Why? They know about Brian’s flat.”

“I’m scared, John.” Yvonne bit her lip. “I don’t know what
to do.”

A pause. Vicky dug her nails into the palms of her hands.

“Yvonne, I’ll pick you up.”

“Where?”

“Outside the old Dundee College Building on Constitution Road. I’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

Vicky glanced at MacDonald, whose head was nodding to a silent beat.

Yvonne leaned forward. “Have you still got Calum?”

“He’s with me. I’m just readying him now.” John laughed. “Still wants to see your tits.”

“Is this over?”

“It’s never over, Yvonne.”

“Okay. See you soon. Bye.”

Vicky killed the call and got to her feet. “You did well, Yvonne.”

MacDonald was already out of the room.

Yvonne nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

“Why would he want to meet at Dundee College?”

“After school, John did a journalism course there.”

“It’s not a trap or anything?”

Yvonne shook her head. “Not to my knowledge.”

Vicky pointed a finger at her. “He said he was readying him, Yvonne. Do you know what for?”

“For surgery.” Yvonne shut her eyes. “He’s going to experiment on Calum.”

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six

V
icky stood shivering outside the old college building. Its seven concrete storeys were all boarded up ready for sale. The cloudless sky was darkening.

She looked down. Yvonne’s clothes didn’t quite fit her. She reached down and rolled the legs of the jeans up another notch. The hoodie was baggy in the wrong places, tight in others.

Her phone rang. MacDonald. “You set, Vicky?”

She glanced down the street to the end of the one-way system to where MacDonald’s team, in plain clothes, were hanging around. “Aye. Everything’s hanging off me. Feel like I’m trying on my dad’s police uniform again.”

“Probably too much information.”

“Just hope my hips and bum aren’t a giveaway.”

“Hard not to be distracted by them.”

Headlights came down the hill. The nerve in her neck throbbed, sending pulses of pain shooting up to her brain. She pocketed the phone and put the balaclava on the top of her head, rolled up like it was a hat, covering her hair.

The van pulled in on the other side of the road.

Vicky screwed up her eyes, trying to see if it was John.

The window wound down. The deep voice boomed out. “Get in, Yvonne.”

Vicky froze. Her nerve jangled hard.

The van began to drive off.

“Wait!”

It stopped.

Vicky jogged across the road and got in.

The vehicle shot off. John stared at the road as he drove. “Did anyone follow you?”

Vicky snapped out her baton. “John Morton, I’m arresting y
ou —”

He smashed his elbow into her cheek, sending her rocking back in the seat. She clutched at the seatbelt, desperate fingers locking it.

A Taser sparked in front of her. Vicky’s muscles released as the electricity tingled all over her body. Just like in Fintry.

John accelerated hard as he shouted at her. “You think you’ve won, bitch?”

Vicky slumped down, unable to stop herself.

Blue lights ahead of them, sirens from behind.

“Shite.” John tugged the wheel to the left, heading the wrong way down a one-way street, dodging the parked cars on the single-lane road. He sped up, mounted the pavement and knocked over some wheelie bins as the road curved back round. They passed a green gate and a stone wall as they powered down the lane.

Vicky clicked her jaw. “You won’t get away.”

“Just watch me.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Publicity.”

“Is that for the animals or yourself?”

“Both.” John nudged his glasses back up his nose then stabbed her with the Taser again.

Vicky slumped in the seat once more. She could only watch as they drove. Who’d look after Bella?

They shot out at the bottom of the road.

Vicky recognised the street — they were back on Constitution Road. They’d done a loop.

Police cars shot up the hill in the direction they’d come from.

John gained speed as they went downhill before pulling onto the Marketgait, narrowly missing a car as he merged in. He darted into the right-hand lane, easing past the traffic, before cutting in again. The needle was hitting ninety. He squeezed through the roundabout, braking to avoid a crawling lorry.

Vicky felt her fingers start to respond. The light cut out as they entered the tunnel. She reached over and tugged the wheel to the left.

John looked over, Taser in the air.

The van crashed into the wall and bounced back, hitting the concrete central reservation, before going into a slow spin.

John let go of the Taser and started wrestling with the wheel. The Taser dropped into the middle of the cabin.

Vicky reached down for it.

John slapped a hand across her face, pushing her backwards.

A police car thundered into the front of the van, sending them both flying backwards. Something else hit John’s side of the van.

They lurched over, down becoming up. The seatbelt tore into Vicky’s shoulders, cutting into her left breast. She glanced over.

John was gone, his door hanging open.

Through the crumpled windscreen, she saw him hobbling away, stepping between the smashed police cars.

Vicky braced herself and released the seatbelt. She fell to the roof of the vehicle, landing on her shoulders.

Something jarred against her neck. The Taser. She put it in the pocket of the hoodie and shoved open her door.

She got out, noticing a deep cut to her right hand as pain started to make its way through the adrenaline. She started towards John, weaving through the cars. An officer was slumped against the wheel of the nearest one.

The other car was a dark grey Subaru, its bonnet mangled. Considine was pushed up against the windscreen. The passenger door was open.

Behind, a wall of yellow hazard lights and blue police sirens blazed out. She ran on, speeding up as she went, the turn-ups on her jeans unfolding.

Beyond the cars, MacDonald jumped at John from behind, sending them both sprawling along the carriageway.

John was first to his feet. His glasses had been knocked off. He aimed a fist at MacDonald’s head as he got to his knees. The blow sent MacDonald staggering backwards and he toppled to the ground. She was almost there when John started in with his feet, kicking at MacDonald’s prone body.

Vicky stabbed the Taser into John’s back.

He fell backwards, his body spasming. She held it against him for a few seconds before taking a swing with her foot and connecting with his balls.

Arms grabbed her from behind. “Easy, Vicky, easy.” Forrester.

Karen Woods knelt down and cuffed John.

Forrester helped Vicky over to the wall in the middle of the carriageway. She collapsed against it, focusing on the traffic in the opposite direction. Rubberneckers stared at her and the mangled cars. She smelled a fire from somewhere. “Where’s Calum?”

“Oh, shite.” Forrester looked back at the crumpled mess of cars.

Vicky staggered to her feet and started towards the van.

Forrester jogged ahead. He stopped and started fiddling with the back doors.

Vicky gripped the handle, pulled it open.

Calum lay upside down in the middle of the van, unconscious. He was naked from the waist up — black ink marked out his organs.

Forrester got in the back, stood on the inverted roof. He felt the boy’s neck for a pulse, his eyes on Vicky. He let out a breath. “He’s alive.”

Vicky collapsed to her knees, tasting blood in the back of her throat.