Deception

SIXTEEN

It was almost 2am when Steven reached the outskirts of Edinburgh. His injured hand had made changing gear painful all the way back and he began to doubt his earlier conclusion about there being no breaks involved. Maybe having it X-rayed would be a wise precaution, he thought. When he started to wrestle with another problem — just where he was going to get some ice to preserve the rat’s body until Sci-Med could get it to a pathologist — he saw how he could kill two birds with one stone. He changed his mind about returning to his hotel and started heading for the Accident and Emergency unit at Edinburgh’s Royal Infirmary.

After a wait of some fifty minutes behind a woman who had scalded her foot, two drunks with facial lacerations and a variety of twists and strains, he was seen by one of the duty housemen. He was a young man in his early twenties with bad skin, sloping shoulders and a stoop, as if the stethoscope draped round his neck were proving too heavy for him. He looked Steven up and down, taking in the dishevelled appearance and dirty clothes and pursed his lips. ‘What’s your problem?’ he asked brusquely.

‘I’ve injured my hand. I thought I should get it X-rayed, just in case there’s a break,’ Steven replied.

‘Well, I’m Dr Leeman and I make the decisions about what needs an X-ray and what doesn’t.’ snapped the houseman. He started to examine Steven’s injured hand roughly, making him wince in discomfort as he separated the knuckles and flexed the fingers individually. He did it dispassionately as if he were manipulating a practice dummy. ‘Now, don’t tell me,’ said Leeman with a sneer in his voice. ‘You were quietly minding your own business when this other guy set about you for no apparent reason, right? The fight wasn’t your fault in any way.’

‘There was no fight; I caught my hand in a rat-trap,’ replied Steven evenly.

‘Oh right! Not a drunken brawl, a rat-trap,’ the quiet sneer continued.

‘Not a drunken brawl… a rat-trap,’ repeated Steven in a measured, even monotone that signalled a warning. The nurse standing behind Leeman picked up on it but the houseman soldiered on in full sarcastic flow.

‘And now you want us to fix you up and get you signed off work for a week so you can spend it down the boozer with your mates, right?’

‘No, I’d just like my hand X-rayed to make sure there are no bones broken,’ replied Steven calmly.

Leeman looked at him but broke eye contact quickly. He now realised that he was making some kind of a mistake but didn’t know what exactly. He pretended to examine Steven’s hand more thoroughly while the nurse in attendance put her hand to her mouth to hide a smile.

‘Perhaps I will have it X-rayed,’ announced Leeman, self-importantly. ‘I don’t like the swelling over the third metacarpal.’ He took the admission sheet from the nurse and studied the details. He asked with feigned casualness, ‘What exactly is it that you do, Mr Dunbar?’

‘I’m a doctor,’ replied Dunbar.

The nurse’s hand went to her mouth again. Leeman was silent for a moment and he looked down at the floor. ‘You don’t exactly look like a doctor, if you don’t mind me saying so,’ he said, trying to recover lost face.

‘And you don’t exactly behave like one,’ replied Steven, making sure he didn’t get the chance. ‘Perhaps a career more suited to your personality might be an idea, say lighthouse keeper in the Arctic Ocean?’

‘Nurse will show you to X-ray,’ said Leeman, his face reddening and anxious to end the confrontation.

‘He had that coming,’ confided the nurse as they walked along the corridor. ‘He’s an insufferable little shit at the best of times. I keep hoping we’ll get Dr Ross from ER but all we seem to get are a succession of Alastairs who think they’re God’s gift to medicine when in reality they couldn’t pick their nose without poking their eye out.’

Steven smiled but didn’t add fuel to the flames. He did however wonder — and not for the first time — why so many people like Leeman, who clearly had so little time for the human race, should choose to become doctors.

‘I bet it really was a fight,’ said the nurse conspiratorially.

Steven insisted again that it had been a rat-trap but the nurse would have none of it and preferred to believe her own version. ‘I suppose we can expect the other guy later?’

‘Probably,’ said Steven, giving up. ‘Could I ask a favour of you?’

‘You could try.’

‘I’d like some ice, preferably in some kind of polystyrene container so it won’t melt on the way back.’

‘For your hand?’

‘Yes, I don’t have access to a freezer: I’m staying in a hotel.’

‘I’ll see what I can do while you’re having your X-ray.’

‘You’re an angel.’

‘That’s what they keep telling us.’

The X-ray confirmed Steven’s earlier finding that there were no broken bones in his hand: it was just badly bruised. He left A&E with an easier mind and a polystyrene box full of ice, just what he needed to pack the rat in before sending it off to London.

As soon as he got in, he sent off a coded message, asking that Sci-Med arrange to have a courier pick up the rat. He would leave it, suitably parcelled in the hotel’s Reception. He wanted toxicology carried out on it by the best forensic analyst they could find. As for the samples of weed-killer, he wanted them analysed to the same exacting standards. He’d provided details from the labels on the drums. He wanted to know if any of the samples deviated in any way from the stated contents.

Steven took a shower and revelled in the warm soothing spray for fully five minutes before towelling himself down and putting on jeans and a sweatshirt. Although he felt exhausted, he would have to parcel up the rat before he could go to bed. There was a chance that the courier might arrive first thing in the morning and it was already close to 4 am.

The polystyrene box the nurse had given him was full to the brim with crushed ice when he opened it. This was a bonus: he could afford to use some of it on his injured hand to help reduce the swelling. He brought the tumbler from the bathroom and used it for the moment to store the ice he didn’t need. He continued hollowing out the centre section of the box until the hole was big enough to accept the body of the rat, then he removed the animal from its plastic container and pressed it lightly into the ice and gently packed a further layer of ice over it.

There was no need to keep the chemicals ice cold but it wouldn’t do them any harm, he concluded and it would be easier to make up just the one parcel. He pressed the nine small bottles into the ice surrounding the rat’s body and secured the polystyrene lid to the box with sticky tape. He addressed the box and took it downstairs to leave with the night man, telling him that it was due for collection later that morning.

Steven slept until a little after eleven when he was woken by the sound of a vacuum cleaner out in the hall. ‘The mighty Hoover speaks and I obey,’ he murmured, swinging his legs round and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He was pleased to see that the swelling in his left hand had gone down overnight and it was much easier for him to flex him fingers this morning. A good start to the day, he reckoned. He checked with reception that the rat had been collected. It had.

It was too late for breakfast at the hotel so he washed, dressed and walked up to the local shops where he bought a couple of morning papers and had coffee and croissants in the Montpelier bistro while he planned his day. He had stayed two nights in his present hotel so he thought that he would check out of it and use somewhere different tonight. He would also drive over to police headquarters at Livingston at some point and change his current car for another from the pool.

Steven failed to find any mention of Blackbridge in the morning papers and took this as a good sign. The rat cull was under way and had been milked for credit and there was nothing new on the GM crop front. It was time for the vultures to move on and seek out new reservoirs of human misery. But they’d be back, he thought. This was merely a lull in the proceedings.

It was around three in the afternoon when Steven drove into Blackbridge and knocked on the door of the Binnie household. He had moved hotels and was on his way out to Livingston to change his car when he thought he would call in on the off chance that James might be there and ask if he’d had any contact with Sweeney at the vet school.

‘I’m afraid James isn’t back yet,’ said Ann. ‘Actually, I’m a bit worried about him. It’s not like him not to call in. He’s been away for hours.’

‘Have you tried calling him on his mobile?’ asked Steven.

‘No reply. I keep being diverted to his answering service.’

‘It could be that he’s working somewhere where the signal’s weak,’ suggested Steven.

‘I suppose. But I do wish he’d call in,’ said Ann, wringing her hands. ‘It really isn’t like him.’

‘Do you have a note of his schedule for today?’ asked Steven.

‘I think he had just three calls to make but I’m not sure of the order he was doing them in,’ said Ann. She brought out an A4 sized diary from the drawer of the telephone table in the hall and flicked through the pages. ‘John Simpson at Mossgiel,’ she read. ‘Tom Rafferty at Crawhill and Angus Slater over at Hardgate.’

‘Why don’t you call the farms and ask?’ suggested Steven.

Ann looked indecisive. ‘It’s probably just me being silly. I really don’t like disturbing him when he’s busy,’ she said.

‘But you wouldn’t be disturbing him,’ said Steven. ‘You’ll be phoning the farm. I’m sure they won’t mind telling you if James is there or has been there, and at what time he left.’

‘I suppose… said Ann uncertainly. ‘But it’s like you say. He’s probably out wrestling some cow in a ditch and his mobile’s not picking up the signal.’

You’re obviously worried about him,’ said Steven. ‘I really think you should give the farms a call.’

It started to rain. Ann looked up at the sky and said, ‘Come in for a minute. Maybe I will give them a call.’

Steven stood in the hall while Ann called Mossgiel Farm and asked about her husband. The only part of the conversation that he heard was, ‘I see, right, thank you.’ Ann put down the phone and said, ‘He was there at ten thirty this morning. He left around eleven.’

Next, Ann phoned Hardgate Farm and spoke to someone called Maud. Steven guessed from their conversation that Maud was Angus Slater’s wife.

‘He hasn’t?’ exclaimed Ann. ‘I wonder where he is. He left Mossgiel hours ago.’

Ann told Steven that Binnie hadn’t visited Hardgate Farm yet, something he’d already gathered. ‘So he must be at Crawhill,’ said Steven.

‘Ann dialled the Crawhill number and made a face when it went on ringing without answer. ‘Come on… come on,’ she urged but still no one answered.

‘Why don’t I drive down there and check?’ suggested Steven. ‘It’ll only take a few minutes.’

‘Would you?’ said Ann. ‘I know I’m probably worrying about nothing but I’d be ever so grateful.’

Steven assured her that it was no trouble and left to drive over to Crawhill.

Unusually, the gate at the foot of the access road was open so he drove straight through into the compound in front of the house and got out to have a look around. He was reassured to see Binnie’s Volvo parked at the side of the house and went up to knock on the front door. There was no answer.

He walked slowly round the compound looking for signs of life but found no one. He could see that Rafferty’s mechanic, Gus Watson, had been working on a ditch-digger because an open toolbox was lying next to the partially disassembled bucket arm, but there was no sign of Gus himself.

Steven was beginning to have thoughts of the Mary Celeste when he heard a vehicle approaching. The high revving, low gear sound suggested that it was a four-wheel drive truck and so it proved to be when he saw Gus Watson swing into the yard. He drew to a halt beside Steven.

Steven said, ‘I was beginning to think that Scottie had beamed you up. He looked down at the open toolbox and the scatter of tools around the front of the digger.

I got called away,’ said Gus. ‘Bloody baler we hired out to Cauldstane packed in and old Macpherson was spitting blood this morning. I had to fit a new elastic band tae the pile of shit.’

‘Like that is it?’ said Steven.

‘It’s no’ a mechanic they need round here,’ said Gus. ‘It’s a team frae Blue Peter. Maybe they could make spares out of Squeezy bottles!’ Was it me you were looking for?’

Steven said that it wasn’t but that he couldn’t find anyone about the place. ‘I was actually looking for James Binnie. I see his car’s there.’

‘It wasn’t when I left,’ said Gus. ‘But there must be someone about.’ Have you tried the door?’

Steven assured him that he had and that he’d looked everywhere that was open. ‘I didn’t think anyone would be in any of the locked sheds and the big barn’s locked too.’

‘No,’ agreed Gus, now looking as puzzled as Steven. ‘Mind you… ‘

‘What?’

‘If the vet’s here, he must have come to see Khan. Did you try looking in Khan’s shed?’

‘Which one’s that?’

Gus led the way and Steven followed. The dog’s shed was at the far end of a row of small outbuildings. Gus banged on the door and shouted, ‘Anyone in there?’ There was no response. ‘How about you, Khan? Are you in there, you daft bugger?’

Gus looked puzzled at the silence. He said, ‘That’s no’ like Khan. He usually goes mental when you do that.’

Gingerly, Gus turned the handle and inched the door open slowly. It jammed almost immediately on a small flat stone and Gus paused to kick it away before continuing with pained slowness. ‘I don’t trust the bugger an inch,’ he said. He put his face to the crack to peer inside but a low growl made him close the door again quickly. It was more of a reflex action than anything else.’

‘Maybe we should just leave him be,’ said Steven but then he saw that Gus had gone as white as a sheet. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘There’s someone lying there. I saw his legs.’

‘Oh my God,’ murmured Steven. ‘We need something to fend the dog off. You must have spades or pitchforks round here somewhere.’

Gus went off to look and returned, still looking very pale, with a garden spade and a rusty fork. Steven took the fork and asked, ‘Where’s the light switch?’

‘Just inside the door on the right,’ Gus replied.

This time Steven eased the door open slowly, just far enough to reach his hand inside to feel up and down the wall until he found the switch. It was already down. He tried clicking it both ways but the shed stayed in darkness.

How many bulbs in there?’ Steven asked.

‘Two.’

‘It’s unlikely they both went at the same time. Where’s the fuse board?’

‘Along here. Gus led the way to the third shed along the row and pulled open a stiff cupboard door to reveal a fuse board panel. ‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘The fuse has come loose.’ He pointed to a fuse holder sitting at an odd angle in a row of five. ‘This whole place is falling apart,’ he complained. He pushed the holder back into its socket and said, ‘Should be okay now.’

The two men returned to Khan’s shed and Steven tried the switch again. The lights clicked on and Khan gave a low growl but it was a subdued sound and came from somewhere at the back of the shed. The dog made no move to come towards them. Steven could now see what that Gus had caught a glimpse of. Only the shoes and legs up to mid calf were visible from where he stood but he knew immediately that they belonged to James Binnie. He recognised the brogues.

‘We’ll have to try to get him out,’ he said softly to Gus.

Gus nodded and gripped his fork, holding it in two hands at the ready. ‘Ready when you are,’ he said but his voice was a nervous croak.

Steven pushed the door open a little further and took a tentative step inside. He held the fork in front of him, ready to bring it into play as a barrier between him and the dog should it choose to make a rush at him. Khan was lying at the other end of the shed, watching him, his muzzle covered in blood.

‘We can’t risk him getting out,’ whispered Steven. ‘We’ll have to close the door behind us.’

Gus made a grunting sound, which Steven construed as reluctant agreement. ‘After three. One… two… three!’

Steven stepped inside smartly and helped pull Gus in behind him. He pushed the door to. Neither man took his eyes off Khan for a second. Holding the fork and spade at the ready they sidled cautiously across to where Binnie was lying half-hidden between two old tea chests being stored there. Gus stood guard while Steven knelt down and found Binnie’s wrist. He was lying face down with his left arm trapped beneath him but his right was free. Steven felt for a pulse but didn’t find one. It was no surprise. Binnie’s clothes were soaked with blood. His injuries had to be horrific.

What did come as a surprise was the fact that Binnie was not the only body lying there. When Steven looked into the gap between the chests he saw to his horror that Thomas Rafferty was lying there too. He was lying curled up, like a foetus, as if he’d been hiding behind Binnie when death had come to call. Half his face was missing and his left arm had been all but torn off. The sight made Steven gasp in horror. This made Gus break eye contact with the dog and look down into the gap. ‘Jesus fucking…’ The oath did not get any further. Gus dropped his spade and vomited on the floor. Khan let out a low growl and went for him.

For such a large dog, Khan crossed the floor like lightning, teeth bared and malice shining in his eyes He leapt into the air and hit Gus full in the chest, bowling him over like a skittle. Gus fell to the ground crying out in fear as the animal sought out his throat as he did his best to fend him off. For a moment they reached impasse as Gus managed to straighten his arms and lock his hands on Khan’s throat but the dog quickly broke his grip by ducking his head underneath Gus’s arm to come up and sink his teeth deeply into Gus’s shoulder, tearing a lump of flesh from it.

Steven felt nauseous at the sound and then the sight of blood and tissue hanging from the corner of Khan’s mouth but he knew he had to do something before the dog made his next lunge at Gus who was now paralysed with fear and shock and in no position to defend himself. He rammed the prongs of the fork he was holding into the dog’s rear end and it yelped in pain and turned his attention on him instead. It kept a persistent low growl in his throat as it started to stalk him across the floor as he edged backwards to draw Khan away from Gus. The malevolence it exuded was almost tangible.

Steven was playing a psychological game with the animal. Its muscular definition was so good that he could actually see at an early stage when it was preparing to spring at him. Every time it tensed its muscles he poked at it with the fork, interrupting it at the crucial moment and making it start all over.

Gus groaned and Steven asked, ‘Gus! Can you hear me?’ He didn’t take his eyes off Khan for a moment.

‘Jesus,’ croaked Gus.

‘Can you move?’

‘Christ… it hurts.’

‘Listen! You’ve got to get out of here. Do you understand?’

‘My arm… Jesus my arm…’

‘Never mind your arm; get out of here! Crawl damn it!’

Khan snarled and made to lunge at Steven. The prongs of the fork repelled him but the sound of the animal served to concentrate Gus’s attention and he started pulling himself across the floor, his progress fuelled by fear. ‘Keep that bastard away from me!’ he stammered.

‘I’m doing my best,’ muttered Steven, his eyes fixed on the slavering, jaws in front of him, a piece of Gus’s skin still hanging from its bloody incisors. He heard the door open behind him and a wedge of daylight entered. Khan’s attention moved to the gap and Steven moved quickly to stop the animal running past him. The door closed again and Steven started to edge backwards towards it. Gus was out, now it was his turn.

He knew that the one thing he mustn’t do now was fall over backwards so he was careful to check the ground behind him by feeling with his foot before committing himself to each step. The plan was to keep Khan at bay with threatening jabs of the fork until he reached the door then he would try a double lunge at the dog to force it backwards. If this was successful he would slip out of the door and slam it shut before Khan could reach him. Steven felt his heel make contact with the door. ‘Gus!’ he called out.

There was no reply.

‘Gus, are you there?’

No reply. Steven hoped he’d made it to the house and was calling for help.

Steven steadied himself, took a deep breath and then let out a yell as he lunged at Khan, forcing him to retreat about two metres. He quickly turned and grabbed the door handle, at the same time pushing hard with his shoulder. The door jammed against the unconscious body of Gus Watson lying behind it.

Khan saw his chance and launched himself at Steven who was now half-trapped in the small space between the door jamb and Gus’s body. It was the fact that the fork was almost vertical in his hand in preparation for slipping outside that saved him from death. As Khan’s jaws opened and reached for his throat he brought the fork smartly up to impale the animal’s lower jaw on one of the outer prongs. Khan yelped and writhed as Steven struggled to keep the fork upright and keep the dog on the end of it. If he lowered the fork — and the weight of the dog was insisting that he must — Khan would be free and his own fate would be sealed.

Still holding the dog on the end of the fork, Steven staggered back from the door so that he had more room to move inside the shed. He started to swing the dog around so that centrifugal force moved the animal outwards and upwards. With the supreme effort of an Olympic athlete about to release a hammer, he accelerated the animal round in two final fast circles and then brought the fork down to the horizontal to ram it into the wall of the hut. Khan was trapped. Steven let go of the fork and picked up the shovel that Gus had dropped to begin raining down blow after rib-cracking blow at the still writhing Khan. He kept this up until all movement had ceased and the nightmare was finally over.

Steven staggered outside and fell to his knees in complete exhaustion, taking time to recover his breathing before crawling over to check on Gus who was starting to come round.

‘What happened?’ murmured Gus.

‘You missed an episode of Animal Magic,’ muttered Steven as he started to improvise a dressing for Gus’s shoulder.

‘That bloody dog was always the hound from hell,’ said Gus. ‘But Jesus, that was something else. People kept telling Tom to waste it but he wouldn’t listen and now he’s dead, poor bugger.’

‘It’s just a shame he had to take James Binnie with him, said Steven bitterly.

‘Right,’ murmured Gus.

They heard a car come into the yard and Steven looked up to see Childs and Leadbetter get out and walk towards them. ‘What’s going on?’ asked Childs.

‘Tom Rafferty and James Binnie are dead,’ said Steven. ‘Khan turned on them. Call an ambulance for Gus, will you?’

‘Good God almighty,’ exclaimed Childs, seeing the blood on Gus’s clothes. Leadbetter called for an ambulance and the police on his mobile phone and then joined Childs in going into the shed to survey the aftermath.

Steven watched the two men as he worked on Gus’s shoulder. They seemed genuinely shocked and upset but in his own mind he was thinking about the small flat stone that the shed door had jammed on when Gus had first tried to open it. Gus had kicked it away without a second thought but Steven saw that that had not been an option for the two men inside. The stone could not have been there when they went in or they wouldn’t have got the door open, so where had it come from? Apart from that, the two men wouldn’t have gone in if the lights had not been working. This suggested that the stone had materialised and the lights had failed after both men had gone inside, leaving them trapped in the dark with Khan. Steven shuddered at the thought.

The police and an ambulance arrived and the process of clearing up began. The bodies of Tom Rafferty and James Binnie were loaded into the back of a small black van after cursory examination by the duty police surgeon and were taken away to the city mortuary for a more detailed post mortem. Somewhere inside the house the phone rang and Steven remembered just why he had come here in the first place. He would have to break the news to Ann Binnie that her husband was dead. He was thinking about this when Chief Inspector Brewer came up and stood beside him. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

Steven nodded. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You don’t suppose it was rabies, do you? That would be all we need round here.’

‘It wasn’t rabies,’ said Steven.

‘Then what?’

‘I guess you get psychopathic dogs just like you get psychopathic humans.’

‘So the dog just went for them?’

‘That’s what it looks like,’ said Steven.

‘Poor buggers,’ said Brewer. ‘What a way to go.’