The Lethal Target (13 page)

Chapter 19

‘Where am I?’

The voice seemed to come from a long way away. Then he realised it was his own voice.

‘You’re in your room at Craigmount.’

Soft Scottish tones. Jeannie MacClain.

He turned to see her as she moved into his view, and a bolt of pain tore through his head.

‘Aaargh!’ he groaned.

‘Don’t move,’ said Jeannie. ‘The doctor said the bullet just grazed your skull, but it took a chip of bone out. Only a small chip, but painful. You were very lucky, but you need to rest.’

He was aware of bandages around his head, like a turban. He lay there flat, looking about him as best he could without moving his head, eyes going left and right, then upwards.

He recognised the decor. It was the room at the guest house he and Lauren shared. Or, had shared, before she disappeared.

‘The doctor said he thought it best to leave you here,’ said Jeannie. ‘There’s no hospital on the island, and he thought, as your injury isn’t life-threatening, you’d be better off here than being transferred to the mainland.’

‘What about Mrs Gordon?’

‘She’s alive, but the bullet broke her leg. The air ambulance took her to Oban. She’s in hospital there. They say she’ll be all right.’ She looked worried. ‘You’re both lucky to be alive.’

‘Do they know who shot us?’

Jeannie shook her head.

‘Now, rest,’ she said. ‘The doctor’s given you painkillers and something to help you sleep. He’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.’

‘Lauren?’ said Jake.

‘Who?’ asked Jeannie.

I mean Helen, he thought. Helen Cooper. I feel tired. Very tired. My head feels numb. I’ll ask about Helen tomorrow . . .

He woke at some time in the early hours of the morning. It was dark. Everything was dark. There was no light at all.

I have to get up and find Lauren, he thought, and he tried to sit up in bed, but then he felt weak, all his energy fading and slipping away from him, and he sagged back on to the bed . . .

‘It looks good,’ said the doctor, examining the side of Jake’s head.

Dr Patel. A young doctor. He had checked Jake’s pulse and heart and breathing before he’d begun unravelling the bandages from around his head. A close inspection of the wound, followed by a satisfied grunt.

‘Very clean,’ said the doctor. ‘No infection. And, luckily for you, the bullet only grazed you. There’s no permanent damage. Comparatively, it’s little more than having a bang on the head. Of course, it will continue to hurt for a while, but you have a very thick skull, which is fortunate.’

‘How long do I have to stay here?’ asked Jake.

He was fed up with lying in this bed as if he was an invalid. Lauren was out there somewhere!

‘You can get up today,’ said Dr Patel. ‘But don’t do anything too energetic to start with. Take it easy. Sit around the lounge. Or in the garden outside. Some fresh air will do you good.’

He set to work re-dressing the wound, this time using plasters.

‘I have had to shave the area around your wound, so you may feel you look a little odd,’ said the doctor. ‘But you can always wear a hat.’

He finished dressing the wound, and nodded approvingly at his own handiwork.

‘A very neat job, though I say it myself.’ He began to pack his bag, and added, ‘The police want to talk to you, of course.’

The police again, groaned Jake. He seemed to have spent most of his time on Mull being questioned by them.

‘Are they here?’

Dr Patel nodded.

‘They’re waiting downstairs. A Detective Sergeant Stewart and a constable.’ He gave Jake a wry smile. ‘It might be as well to talk to them now and get it over with, then you can rest.’

‘I suppose so,’ agreed Jake.

‘So, shall I tell them they can come up?’

‘OK,’ said Jake.

‘Good. I shall call in on you again tomorrow. I’ve left some painkillers on your bedside table. If you feel the need, by all means take them. You can take two at one time, but no more than two every four hours. Is that understood?’

‘Yes,’ said Jake. He was tempted to nod, but knew if he did, it’d hurt his head.

‘And if anything gets worse, or if you’re worried, just get Mrs MacClain to call me. I’m available twenty-four hours a day.’

He headed for the door.

‘I’ll tell Sergeant Stewart he can come and see you, but I’ll ask him to go gently with you. And not to keep asking questions for too long.’

Jake smiled his thanks, and let himself sink back against the pillows. His head still ached, but not as badly as it had done the day before. I’m not doing badly for a guy who got shot in the head, he told himself.

There was a brisk knock at his door, then it opened and Sergeant Stewart walked in, followed by the same constable who’d arrested Jake and taken him off in handcuffs.

‘The doctor says you’re fit enough to answer questions,’ said Stewart.

‘Just a few,’ Jake said.

Stewart regarded Jake suspiciously.

‘I don’t think I’m going to get many useful answers anyway, do you?’ he demanded.

‘That depends,’ said Jake. ‘If I can help, I will.’

‘Right,’ said Stewart. He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down on it, leaving the constable standing.

‘So, what’s the connection between you and Mrs Pamela Gordon?’ he asked.

‘We’re both staying at this guest house,’ said Jake. ‘Apart from that, there’s no connection.’

‘And yet she came and took you out of police custody after you were being questioned about the murder of her husband.’

‘Yes,’ said Jake.

Stewart studied Jake for a moment, then said, ‘She gave me a phone number to call. It turned out to be British intelligence. They ordered me to release you into her custody. Why would that be?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Jake.

‘It can only be because you’re either also working for British intelligence, or because they have first claim on you as a suspect.’

‘Or because I was innocent.’

‘If that was the case, it would have been left to a lawyer to deal with it. British intelligence putting their oar in and ordering your release suggests something else.’

‘What can I say?’ said Jake. ‘I don’t know why they did that. Perhaps you’d better ask Mrs Gordon?’

‘My colleagues in Oban are doing that as we speak,’ said Stewart. ‘But she seems as reluctant to tell us what’s going on as you.’ Changing tack, he asked, ‘Why were you both shot?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Jake. ‘If it crossed my mind that we were going to be targets, we’d have been more careful.’

‘So you can’t think of anyone who’d want to harm you or Mrs Gordon?’

‘No,’ said Jake. ‘Anyway, shouldn’t you be out looking for Helen, instead of talking to me? You know where I am if you need me. Helen is out there somewhere. She could be stuck down a crevice, or in a cave, or anywhere. She could be unconscious.’

‘We know, and we’ve got that in hand,’ said Stewart.

‘In hand, how?’ demanded Jake.

‘We’re liaising with search and rescue and the coastguard,’ Stewart said. ‘We’re going to implement a search.’

Good, thought Jake. He didn’t think that Lauren was lost on the island anywhere, but if she was being held prisoner in some outbuilding, they might find her. Unless, as Jake suspected, the Russians were holding her, in which case they’d resist any attempts to search their premises, claiming diplomatic immunity. But at least a search of the island would eliminate her being trapped in some cove.

Jake looked at Stewart, who was still regarding him with that suspicious glare. I need to get him out of here so I can get on with my own search for Lauren, thought Jake. He let out a small groan.

‘Actually, my head’s starting to pound a bit. Would you mind if we left it there for the moment? I can always answer any questions later. After all, I’m not going anywhere.’

Stewart continued to fix Jake with his baleful glare. After what seemed an age of an almost threatening silence, the detective sergeant grunted and said, ‘We have very little crime here because people behave, and we do a good job, which suits me. But when something big like this happens and I’m told to stay away from it by British intelligence, I feel insulted. I don’t take kindly to not being allowed to do my job properly.

‘So I’m going to be keeping an eye on you, Mr Wells. And I’m asking Constable Frierson here to do the same. Purely for your own safety, you understand. We wouldn’t want to disobey orders and put our noses where they’re not wanted.’ He stood up, jerked his thumb at the constable and the two of them left the room.

Chapter 20

After Stewart had gone, Jake lay in the bed and thought about his next move. He could get up, the doctor had said so. Nothing too strenuous. But he’d also said that fresh air would do Jake good. Well, there was fresh air around the Russians’ cottage. He’d start there.

He was about to get out of bed when there was a knock on his door. Jake wondered if it was the police returning.

‘Yes?’ he said, doing his best to sound weak and fragile.

The door opened and the concerned face of Ian Muir looked in.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind my looking in, but I thought, think of this as a hospital visit. You know, neighbours seeing how the other one is, that kind of thing.’

‘Sure,’ said Jake. ‘Come in and sit down.’

Muir nodded, came into the room, pushed the door shut, then hauled a chair over to Jake’s bedside.

‘How’s the head?’ he asked.

‘Not bad. Considering someone shot at me,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ said Muir, still looking concerned. ‘Pam Gordon didn’t get off so lucky.’

‘No,’ said Jake. ‘But at least she’s alive.’

‘True.’ Muir nodded. ‘So, do the cops have any idea who shot you both?’

‘No idea at all,’ said Jake.

‘How about — why?’ asked Muir. ‘I mean, have they got any clue as to motive, or are we talking about some mad serial killer roaming the island?’

‘Worried?’ asked Jake.

‘You bet your life I am!’ said Muir. ‘I mean, is it even safe to go walking around here?’ He frowned again as he asked, ‘Any word on your girlfriend? I understand she’s disappeared. The word is that she’s been snatched.’

‘No,’ sighed Jake. ‘There’s been no sign of her.’

‘I hear there’s talk of bringing people over from the mainland to mount a search for her,’ said Muir. ‘If that happens, count me in. I’ve started to get to know this area pretty good since I’ve been here.’

‘Thanks,’ said Jake. ‘I guess the police will be handling that.’

‘Any word from the doc?’ asked Muir. ‘You know, about when you can get up?’

‘Today, he says,’ Jake told him. ‘The bullet just chipped the bone. Nothing serious.’

Muir grunted.

‘A bullet in the head sounds serious to me,’ he commented.

‘Not in the head,’ Jake corrected him. ‘It bounced off.’ He grinned. ‘Luckily I must have a pretty thick skull.’

Muir sighed and shook his head sadly.

‘When I booked to come here I never thought of this as a dangerous place,’ he said. ‘Dougie MacClain dead, John Gordon stabbed, you and Pam Gordon shot, your girlfriend Helen being snatched. My God, we don’t even get that on our bad days in Chicago!’ He gave Jake a serious and concerned look. ‘Listen, if there’s anything I can do, if you need anything . . .’

‘No, I’m fine thanks,’ said Jake. ‘The MacClains are taking really good care of me. And, like I say, I can be back on my feet today. In fact, I thought I’d get up once you’ve gone and take a walk.’

Muir frowned again.

‘If you want my opinion, you ought to think twice about going anywhere on this island right at this moment. Someone shot you once. Who knows, they might get luckier next time.’

‘It’s a chance, but I can’t stay here for ever,’ said Jake.

‘OK, I’ll let you get yourself ready,’ said Muir. He stood up. ‘The police have no idea who shot you, or why?’ he enquired again.

‘No idea at all,’ said Jake.

‘Well, let’s hope it wasn’t personal,’ said Muir.

He headed for the door. At the door, he turned to Jake. ‘Remember what I said about looking for Helen. As soon as they organise a search, count me in. In the meantime, I’ll keep my eyes open when I’m walking around.’

‘So you’re still happy to go out?’ asked Jake.

‘Hell, yes!’ said Muir firmly. ‘I came here to enjoy this place, and no murdering lunatic on the loose is gonna stop me! Anyway, who’d want to kill me?’

With that, he left.

Who’d want to kill Muir indeed, Jake wondered.

The visit by the American puzzled him. Maybe it simply was, as Muir had said, one resident making a sympathetic visit to another who’d been injured. A kind of hospital visit. But Muir had been mostly interested in finding out what the police thought were the motives for the shooting.