Skinner's rules

17

Policemen filled the corridor, and the room. A man in plain clothes led Rachel back into the interview room, where first aid was being administered to the two stricken prison officers. The big guard was on his feet, but the other showed no response. He was grey-faced.

‘Get an ambulance, quick.’The plain-clothes man snapped out the order ‘What happened Miss Jameson?’ At last Rachel recognised Detective Inspector Strang, the arresting officer in the McCann case. She told him the whole story of the escape. The first prison officer, still bleeding, added his account.

‘He made a dive for the lady, sir. I was sure he was going to do her in. I whacked him, then next thing I knew my lights were out.’

‘Sounds like he put on a show for you, you big clown. What the f…, sorry miss; what were you thinking about, staying in here alone with that man?’

Strang turned back to Rachel. ‘McCann’s a clever bastard. Don’t read too much into that threat, Miss Jameson. He’ll be heading away from you as fast as he can. How much money did he take?’

Rachel looked at her wallet. ‘I’m not sure exactly; around sixty pounds, I think. No more, certainly. At least he’s left me my rail ticket.’

‘Better use it, then. Formal statements can wait; for now, just you get straight home. As I said, I’m sure you’ll be okay, but I won’t take any risks. I’ll have two of our lads run you to Queen Street and put you on the train. Then, just to be sure, I’ll get on to Edinburgh and make sure that they keep a watch on your house. They’ll love me for that, with all the bother they’ve got, but let’s just play safe.’

Two young, courteous, uniformed policemen drove Rachel to Queen Street rail station, off George Square. They parked the police car at the taxi rank and made to get out, but she stopped them.

‘Thanks, boys, but I’d rather not be escorted on to the platform. The train should be in by now anyway.’

The policemen looked doubtful, but after a few seconds’ discussion the driver smiled at her.

‘Okay, miss. But don’t tell anyone. We were given strict orders, see.

It was 5.20 p.m. The Queen Street to Waverley service runs on the half-hour at peak times. On occasion it falls behind time. There was no train waiting on platform six.

Rachel crossed the forecourt to the newsstand, and bought an Evening Times.

‘JURY OUT IN RAPE TRIAL,’ the front page banner headline blared at her She saw her own face staring out from the page. Scottish law forbids the publication, until after the verdict, of a photograph of any accused person. The Times picture editor had obviously chosen the stock shot of the attractive little advocate as an alternative.

In the distance, Rachel could see the lights of an approaching train, gliding in slowly and quietly. She walked towards platform six.

She stopped after only a few yards, just past the big hydraulic buffers. As she glanced again at her Times and at the stop press, which, badly out of date, proclaimed, ‘McCann jury still out’, most of her fellow passengers rushed past her. No one noticed the little lady in the dark overcoat, from which a high, white-ruffled collar peeked.

It was the flash of that white collar, as much as anything, that caught the driver’s eye. As he said later, it was winter, it was after dark and the station lighting was patchy. People were rushing, and he was concentrating on applying the final touch to the brakes, to stop the train just short of the buffers.

And in any event, even if he had seen Rachel earlier, falling in front of his train, he could have done nothing but try not to listen to the thump as the body went under the wheels.