THE IMMORTAL MISS JUDE - PART 4

THE IMMORTAL MISS JUDE

THURSDAY. 6:02 AM.

Next morning there was no sign of Maria or Vasile. Donald didn’t think too much of it as he toasted bread over the campfire and reflected on the night before. His head throbbed from his excesses, but it did not seem to impinge on his appetite.
After a while, Anton and Magdalena appeared with the baby and joined him by the fireside. Anton, tall and thin with an unhealthy blanched appearance, studied him as he buttered the toast. It occurred to Donald at that moment that in all the time he had spent with him, as little as it was, he couldn’t recall the young man smiling once, let alone engaging in idle chat.
‘We will be speaking with you Alexander,’ he frowned like the broker of bad news.
‘Fire away.’
‘Yes, please. We like to be thanking you for what you have done.’
‘Now I think I’ve been thanked enough. It should be I thanking all of you. So let’s have no more of it.’
‘Please.’
‘And stop saying please.’
‘Yes, please.’ Rolling his eyes, Donald waited for him to get to the point. ‘We are very happy, and you have made this so. Vasile does not trust me, I feel.’
‘And that’s why you kept your love for one another a secret?’
‘It is true,’ said Magdalena holding Anton’s hand. ‘My father is a very proud man. But he thinks too much of the travelling show.’
‘I see, and you would like me to have a word with him so can go your own way?’
‘No, no’ said Magdalena, protesting. ‘You do not understand. Because we are now together we are strong enough to do what we feel is good for us, and our child. If you had not been there in the forest yesterday I do not know what would have happened.’
‘You did all the hard work, young lady.’
‘But without you, I do not like to think.’
‘It is good,’ said Anton, ‘that you were there and not I.’
Touching his throat Donald painfully recalled the incident in the hollow. ‘Yes, you might have a point there. Nevertheless, you shouldn’t be too hard on your father he only has your best interests at heart. Even though he can be rather heavy handed at times.’
Up until that point Anton had sat rigidly by Magdalena’s side, but suddenly he stood and walked around the fire to Donald.
‘What we are wanting to say, is this. You have come into our lives; this is fate. The spirits have guided you to us. I am thinking you are very good for us.’ He grabbed Donald’s hand. ‘Because of this we would like to name our child after you.’
Donald was suddenly hit by a massive wave of guilt from which he took a few moments to recover. ‘Stone the crows. Well, I’m honoured of course, but are you sure? I mean Alexander is quite an old name. We are in the new millennium, you know.’
‘You are a very good man Alexander, you too are a great man,’ he said shaking Donald’s hand vigorously. Still there was no change in his demeanour but he expressed more in that passionate exchange than a thousand smiles ever could.
‘Well, that’s it then,’ he said smiling at the couple. ‘I am truly honoured.’
Suddenly, a truck appeared in the distance.
‘Is that your father?’
‘Yes,’ said Magdalena, ‘and my brother Seby. They has been to collect food and water.’
‘At this time of the day?’
‘Service stations. When you live on the road these places are your oasis.’
She kissed him gently on the cheek and thanked him again before walking to meet the truck as it stopped at the edge of the camp. In seconds, an army of busy helpers appeared from their tiny homes and began to unload the truck, leaving Donald to wonder if the service station was still in business.
‘A good morning to you Alexander,’ said Vasile approaching him, his fat hands busy scratching his considerable belly. ‘Have you had coffee?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Let me.’ With a dirty cloth, he unhooked the pot suspended over the fire and poured out three drinks. ‘How is your head?’
‘Not bad. I’m sorry if I got a bit loud last night.’
‘According to my wife you were no louder than I. Besides, you are a man, it is your duty.’
‘Didn’t take my clothes off did I?’
‘No.’ Not aware of Donald’s penchant for naturism, Vasile seemed somewhat confused by the remark.
‘Just checking. How is Maria anyway? Reading my fortune seemed to upset her.’
‘She believes what the cards tell.’
‘And what about you?’
‘It does not matter what I think,’ he said passing him the cup, ‘they were your cards.’
Donald smiled at the old man’s wisdom before taking a mouthful of the strong coffee. Then a sudden ripple of anxiety ran through him as he thought about the reading, again. Even in the cold light of day, it still held a worrying fascination.
‘Alexander, why don’t we walk for a while? We have quite a journey ahead of us and this may be the only exercise you get today.’
Like a couple of old comrades, they crossed the runway and made for the building on the far side. It was clear there was something on the old man’s mind, and it was important he discovered what it was before they set off north once more.

Randall had spent the night on the living room sofa and ached accordingly. He was the proverbial bear with a sore head and as if to confirm this he growled as the doorbell rang out.
Opening the door he mustered a smile, despite his mood, when he saw Tyler on the doorstep.
‘You look terrible.’
‘I feel terrible,’ replied Randall.
‘A heavy night?’
‘You could say that,’ he said staggering towards the kitchen. ‘Coffee?’
‘I’ll get that, you get cleaned up’
Over eggs and toast, the two men reviewed their options. The gravity of the situation was not lost on either of them, but still they were determined to find out what was going on.
‘You realise we’re running out of time, don’t you?’ said Randall finally.
‘It had occurred to me.’
‘It’s just a matter of time before Hawksmoor’s picked up. When will you speak to Quilby’s widow?’
‘Later. She’s out this morning preparing the new house before the move. I’ll call round this afternoon.’
‘Where’s she moving?’
‘Somewhere in Epping Forest. Apparently she grew up there.’
Suddenly he looked up and slapped his forehead. Then jumping up he began to hurriedly move the dishes to make space on the table.
‘What the hells got into you?’ said Randall, clutching his plate to his chest.
‘Do you have a map of Britain?’
‘Yes, somewhere.’
‘Get it.’
When Randall reappeared with an old tattered road map, Tyler snatched it from him and laid it on the table.
‘Okay, there have been how many sightings of Hawksmoor outside London?’
‘Two,’ said Randall scratching his head, ‘one in the Chilterns and the other yesterday in Yorkshire.’
‘Hasn’t it dawned on you how well he’s doing?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Look how far he’s got. From London to Yorkshire, that’s a fair distance for an ageing drunk.’
‘He’s just been lucky.’
‘Has he? Okay, why is he going north?’
‘He’s on the run. You know what it’s like trying to find a man who doesn’t know where he’s going himself.’
‘So he’s only survived this long because his luck has held then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Elliot, no one has that that much luck.’
Randall’s confusion was palpable. ‘What are you saying?’
‘When I was in the army, and even during my time in intelligence, I found the only men that were difficult to track down, were the natives or the professionals.’
‘And Hawksmoor’s neither of those.’
‘Exactly, yet nobody, not the police or the men who are hunting him down, can find him. Why? Because he’s making his way to an objective.’
‘We don’t know that.’
‘Elliot, I’ve seen it a hundred times. As you say yourself, when your everyday escapee is being pursued, he’s all over the place. He’s terrified, tired and within no time at all, lost. But, not with Hawksmoor.’
‘I give up then, where’s he going?’
‘Where was he born?’
Randall stared at him, almost in disgust. ‘Surely, he just wouldn’t go home?’
‘You’d be surprised. When a man’s been stripped of everything, the only thing he has left is his past. What have we got to lose.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Slowly he walked towards the kitchen before turning to face him. ‘You may have something there.’
‘Good, well, I’ll leave you with it,’ he said putting his coat back on and making for the door. ‘Because I’ve got a few things to organise before I see our Mrs Quilby.’

The conning tower was now nothing more than an empty shell. The people who had lived and worked there so long ago were now probably dead, or perhaps too old to recall the days they had spent in that isolated part of north east England. The joy and pain that had been witnessed would now remain silent, the memories safe within the moss-covered red bricks.
Briefly, the morning sun had penetrated its walls and for a short time, its golden beams brought life into the otherwise austere interior.
‘What is this place?’ said Vasile as they climbed the stairs.
‘Looks like an old airfield from the war.’
Reaching the tower, they looked out across the runway and the camp of vehicles in the centre.
‘Where was you in the war, Alex?’
‘I will ignore that question, what about you old boy?’
‘I was a child, which is just as well. My country chose the wrong side.’
‘The wrong side or the losing side?’
‘It amounts to the same thing,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Alexander, I must ask you, what will you do when you meet with this woman?’
‘You needn’t worry. I’m not as bad as the police make out.’
Suddenly, the old man stopped and grabbed him by the arms. ‘How can you joke about these things?’
‘What else can I do? I’ve seen more things over the past week that most people don’t see in a lifetime. It’s pointless dwelling on what has happened.’ He pulled himself free and walked to the other side of the tower. ‘Do you believe in god, Vasile?’
‘But of course, don’t you?’
‘I don’t think I do. I have, however, found something else, something I can’t really explain. I’ve had a sense that there is something incredibly powerful . . . a spirit that is binding us all. I have found, this past few days, that I have been allowed to see its source, and it’s energy is like nothing I have ever experienced.’
‘What do you speak of?’
‘It’s as if I have been shown the mysteries of the universe. Nothing is as complex as it seems. As if in some way I have absorbed something so incredibly pure and intense, and yet so simple. It’s as if all of this horror, this bloodshed, is my final cleansing. I must face this with courage, fight, and not shy away from the challenge. But for the first time in my life, fight and redeem myself for past wrongs.’ He turned to face Vasile, and for a moment, the old man did not seem to recognise him. ‘That is why I am here.’
Vasile was getting a little concerned with Donald’s tone. Then he recalled how much Palinca he had consumed the previous night and relaxed a little. As he did, there was a voice in the distance. Turning to see Seby waving to him from the runway, he waved back, before turning to Donald.
‘Let us help you, Alexander.’
‘Get me to Edinburgh,’ he said, suddenly his old self. ‘That is all I ask.’
‘And then?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘I see in your heart you are a good man, Alexander. There is a saying in my country. Keep goodness in your heart and fortune will always be at your side.’
Donald looked into his eyes and then patted him on the shoulder. ‘You remind me of a good friend I lost recently.’ Suddenly he turned and looked away. ‘You have done a lot for me, and I will never forget that. Do you know Vasile, I have lived more in the past week that I have in years, and you have been a big part of that. Thank you.’
‘Come,’ said the old man placing an arm around his shoulders. ‘It is time.’

Randall had mulled over Tyler’s theory for over an hour before he decided to make the journey to Patricia Shaw’s home in Richmond. Her car was nowhere to be seen but he parked his car and tried the doorbell nevertheless. There was a long delay and he was preparing to leave, when, suddenly, he heard a crash from within and then an expletive as the door finally opened to reveal Ms Shaw, swaying and smiling in a chocolate Kaftan. It seemed an odd choice of dress for the time of day, as did the large drink she was holding tight to her considerable breast.
‘Inspector Randall,’ she said over articulating each word. ‘Do come in.’
With a smile, he went in. A pungent current of alcohol promptly hit him as she spoke again.
‘Or does one not use official titles for retired personnel?’
‘Just call me Elliot.’
Like a woman at sea she meandered along the hallway fighting the invisible swell until finally she reached the conservatory, where, conscious of her drink, she sat down carefully.
‘Elliot you say? What a lovely name, I used to have a parakeet called Elliot. He could recite the whole of the Ancient Mariner, you know?’
‘That’s quite a feat.’
‘It is for a bird. Unfortunately, his enunciation was atrocious. I took him to a speech therapist, a silly cow with a huge arse, who told me that they only dealt with humans! I don’t have any humans I said, just this parakeet and its diction is affecting my health. Bloody NHS! I’ve been private ever since,’ she took a large slurp from the glass and then stared at him intently. ‘Now, what can I do you for?’
‘I just wanted to ask you a . . . ’
‘Would you like a drink?’ she said, suddenly, her eyes attempting to focus on his face.
‘It’s a little early for me.’
‘It is for me, but since Donald went on the rampage, I’ve done little else. Do you know your previous employers have put me under virtual house arrest?’
‘So I believe.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink?’
‘No, really.’
‘Okay, but you don’t know what you’re missing.’ Very slowly, she stood up, and then steadying herself, shuffled over to the drinks cabinet. It took her three attempts to fill the glass and two to pick it up. Finally, she returned to the sofa giggling uncontrollably and without spilling a drop. ‘Do you smoke, Elliot?’
‘No, thank you.’
She opened a small box on the table and took out a cigarette and a black holder. Slowly, and with extreme concentration, she tried to connect one to the other.
‘I just wanted to ask you . . .’
‘Why are you here!’ she shouted, suddenly.
‘As I say, I just want to ask you a few questions.’
‘No! Why are you here if you’re not a policeman? Are you trying to take advantage of me?’
‘Of course not, I just wanted to ask you some questions, privately.’
‘You don’t think he did it, do you?’
‘What?’
‘You think Donald’s innocent.’ Suddenly she started to giggle again, which very quickly progressed into a bout of uncontrollable laughter. Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped and she began to sob. ‘I think he’s innocent too, you know. I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone. I love him, I love Donald. He was my first love, before I met my lovely Harold.’
Slowly, and to Randall’s consternation, she rolled back into the sofa, threw her legs up and howled. Hurriedly Randall searched for a handkerchief.
‘Here use this.’
‘Thank you, you’re a very sweet man. Are you sure you’re not going to take advantage of me?’
‘No, I assure you.’
‘Oh!’ she said with a frown. ‘Nobody wants me.’
‘I’m sure somebody does. Look Mrs Shaw . . .’
‘Please call me Patti.’
‘Of course. Patti, I just need to find out where Donald was born. Do you think you could tell me that?’
Dramatically she wiped away her tears and sat forward.
‘Born?’ Suddenly her love for Donald had been forgotten.
‘Yes, do you know where he was born?’
‘Born? she said picking up the cigarette and the holder once more.
‘Yes, was it somewhere up north?’
‘North?’ she mumbled to herself, her eyes fixed on the job in hand. ‘Born up north. Up north? Oh, bollocks, here you do it.’
Passing them to Randall, she stumbled to her feet once again.
‘Could it be Yorkshire?’
‘Hang on!’ she yelled going into the next room.
‘North, north.’ Randall could hear her mumbling, until after a few moments she reappeared with a large box. Placing it down heavily beside her, she began to rifle through the contents. ‘North,’ she repeated again reaching for her drink. Finally, and after a long search she took out a piece of paper and began to giggle uncontrollably once again.
‘What is it?’
‘Not, north!’ she shouted and fell back into the sofa. ‘Rangoon!’
‘What?’
‘Rangoooooon! Donald Hawksmoor was born in Rangoooooon! That’s south isn’t it?’
‘Yes, very.’
Sitting up and wiping away the tears, she became very cross noticing Randall had not fitted the cigarette into the holder.
‘Why do you want to know where he was born?’
‘It was just a theory,’ he said returning to the job in hand. ‘Where’s you car?’
‘The police said it would be better out of sight, make Donald think I’m out, you see. But he won’t kill me, will he?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I love him, did I tell you?’
‘You did.’
‘He didn’t love me though. He loved that bloody Scottish hag!’
‘Got it!’ shouted Randall triumphantly as he held up the crowned holder. Then he realised what she had said and stared at her. ‘What Scottish hag?’
‘Bloody Kite,’ she said snatching it from him.
‘Dorothy Kite, was Scottish?’
‘Yes, the bloody cow. Bloody glad the plane crashed.’
‘Where was she born?’
‘It’s in there somewhere.’ She threw the case on the table. ‘Look under cow.’
After a quick search he pulled out a sheet of paper and then said in a whisper, ‘Edinburgh.’
‘What’s that?’
‘She was born in Edinburgh.’
‘Well, bloody good for her.’
‘Does she have any surviving family?’
‘A sister, veruka or something,’ she giggled until she noticed Randall’s stare. ‘Oh, all right, Virginia. Bloody silly name.’
Slowly he got to his feet prompting Patti to do the same.
‘Mrs Shaw.’
‘Do call me Patti,’ she said looking into his eyes.
‘Patti, you have been more helpful than you could ever realise.’
Puckering her lips, she closed her eyes and leant forward. But in a moment Randall was gone, leaving Patricia Shaw alone with her drink and her cigarette.

Later that afternoon as the convoy moved forever north, Donald woke from a nightmare more vivid and terrifying than any that had gone before. His clothes were drenched in sweat and he was panting for breath. However, as he sat up in a vain attempt to free himself from the terrible images in his mind he knew deep within something terrible had taken hold of him.
The dream had started pleasantly enough with a scene of people strolling on a city street. A city street that although was different in shape and size, he sensed he had visited before. Then he realised Dorothy was at his side. Dorothy as he remembered her; young and free from care. Somehow, as it always is in dreams, he knew it wasn’t reality, but felt an incredible sense of completeness nevertheless. The sun shone in a cloudless sky and they kissed and held hands as if they were young once more.
Suddenly and terrifyingly, slabs of stone shot from the pavements around them like giant stalks growing into the sky, forcing people back in fear. Others, the luckless souls that had been scooped up by the walls, now began to fall to their deaths. Telling himself it was a dream Donald tried to dismiss the heart wrenching images all around him; the children as they were trampled underfoot, the crying, the panic. Then his heart sank as a chilling shriek filled the air, forcing him to question whether it was a dream or reality.
Looking up at the sky made dark by the walls, now hundreds of feet above him, he saw a figure on horseback, jumping from wall to wall. It’s shape skeletal and terrifying; its grin, mocking and cruel. Death had found them at last. Pulling at Dorothy’s hand he tried to run, but for some reason she would not move. He turned to face her, only to discover she was unaware of the horror all around. Like a child in a dream, she smiled at him. Again and again, he pleaded with her, but it was all in vain. In an instant the reapers shadow was upon them, cutting them down with its blooded scythe.

The melancholy that now clung to him like a skin, stifling him, killing what he once was, had been born the day he saw Dorothy. Ever since that night on the balcony, it had grown stronger, fuelled by the horror of what he had witnessed, and he knew deep inside it would never leave him.
It took him a while to realise it, but the caravan had stopped. And unless he had drifted into another dream, the sound of crashing waves could be heard in the distance. Then came a knock that stirred him from his trance. Yet as the door opened and a blast of salty sea air filled the caravan, he remained quite still.
‘Alexander, do you sleep?’
‘Where are we?’ he said in a whisper.
‘Berwick-upon-the-tweed.’
Sitting up and peering over Vasile’s shoulder, he could see a line of sand dunes and the sea beyond. Dusk had descended and in the dim light, the white crests of incoming waves glowed as they rushed in for the night.
‘Alexander, are you all right? Did you sleep?’ A nod was all he could muster. ‘We must prepare for the night ahead. First, my people will speak with you. Tell me when you are ready.’
In a moment he was gone leaving Donald alone with an all too familiar sense of unease.

The first person Randall saw when he entered the station was Marlowe huddled over a small charge desk filling out paperwork. When he saw Randall at the door he stood up and smiled.
‘Hello, sir. To what do we owe the pleasure? If you’re looking for Mr Tomblin, I’m afraid he’s up north. We’ve had another sighting of that butcher Hawksmoor.’
‘No, actually I was hoping to find Commander Appleby.’
‘Commander Appleby?’ He scratched his head and looked back at the desk, ‘I think he may be at New Scotland Yard today, sir. I could find out if you like.’
‘If you could.’
Marlowe disappeared into a room behind the desk, leaving Randall to pace the floor, excitedly. Despite the time of year, the room was incredibly cold. This was due in part to the lack of natural light. Not only was it tucked away at the rear of the station, it was also in constant shade thanks to a towering office block that had sprung up in the mid-seventies. Due to this, and the considerable age of the building, there had always been a constant damp stench lingering in the air. Its smell was so strong in fact that it seemed to penetrate everyone and everything in its proximity. Clothes, paperwork, prisoners; even (in Randall’s opinion) the very thoughts in ones head.
As he looked around it suddenly occurred to him how well he knew the room, better than some in his own home. Each wall, stain and broken tile seemed depressingly familiar.
‘Yes,’ said Marlowe reappearing at the door. ‘He’s at the yard for the rest of the day.’
‘Thanks, Derek.’
‘Is everything okay, sir?’
Randall nodded silently. ‘Do you know, my wife used to love this bloody smell. She said it made her happy knowing I’d been in here and not out on the streets with the psychopaths.’ Marlowe smiled. ‘I don’t think it ever occurred to her I could have died of pneumonia.’
Walking to the door, Marlowe coughed nervously. ‘Sir. Will we be seeing any more of you?’
For a moment, Randall looked away. Then he remembered his daughters comments, and smiled. ‘I shouldn’t think so Derek . . . I shouldn’t think so. Take care.’
Reaching the car, he stopped and dialled the number he knew well. Appleby, he was informed by a rather pompous young officer, was in an important meeting and had expressed a strong desire not to be disturbed. As a result, it had taken all of Randall’s persuasive powers to convince the young man that his message was more important than the meeting. Within minutes, Appleby was on the other end of the line.
‘Sorry to trouble you, sir, but I need to speak with you, urgently.’
‘What’s it about Elliot? Can’t it wait?’
‘Well, it’s regarding Hawksmoor.’
‘Hawksmoor?’
‘Yes, I’ve discovered something that could be relevant.’
‘Have you contacted Tomblin?’
‘I’d rather speak with you.’
For a moment, there was silence. Randall was almost certain it was due to his change in circumstances. He no longer held any weight and he knew from now on he would have to get used to his lowly status.
‘Well,’ said Appleby, awkwardly ‘if you think it’s that important.’
‘It is. Can we talk privately.’
‘What’s it all about Elliot?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘Okay, if you say so. Do you know the house?’
‘No.’
‘Well make a note of the address and I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours.’
It was done. He had committed himself and there was no going back. If he was wrong, his reputation, built over a lifetime, would be worth nothing. But if there was one man who would be willing to listen, it would be Appleby. Making a note of the directions, he called Tyler to tell him the news. For some reason his phone was off. Making a mental note to call him later, he started the car and set off towards Surrey and the rush hour.

As Vasile led him down a winding path towards a large sandy beach, Donald wondered what exactly was going on. Then as they emerged from the side of a particularly large dune he was astonished to see the entire group before him. Suddenly Vasile tugged at his arm forcing him to stop, before joining the group himself. For a moment or two, Donald felt very awkward. Was he supposed to speak? Were they about to announce they needed the reward money after all and the police were on the way?
He needn’t have worried. For what they had planned for him would stay with him always.
To one side there were makeshift tables full of food and drink, and everyone, even
Vasile he suddenly noted, was dressed and well turned-out for the occasion. It was a farewell banquet and Donald was truly touched.

There was barely a breath of wind and the only sounds he could make out were the occasional cry of a gull and, of course, the gentle rush of the surf. Suddenly, a girl, the very same girl that had given him the flowers the previous day and the same one he had watched in horror run into the wood, walked forward and took him by the hand. She led him to the centre of the gathering and indicated for him to sit. Then, after walking back across the sand, she turned and started to sing. Her voice was pure and strong, and even though it was in her native tongue, the effect was universal. Tears fell from Donald’s eyes as he was filled with a joy that engulfed all of the sorrow he had felt. Finally, as she reached the last note, Donald opened his arms and embraced the child as if she were his own.
As he was hugged and kissed by everyone, Vasile proposed a toast to the honorary guest.
‘We raise the drinks to you my friend. We have known you only a short time but you have become a Neculai. We raise our drinks also to my grandson, whose name will always remind us of you. May he be strong, honest and, like you, brave. And now,’ he said as tears welled in his eyes, ‘we will eat, drink, dance and sing for today. For we do not know, what tomorrow holds. Hola!’

Appleby’s garden, like the house, was immaculate. Everything about it seemed perfect. From the symmetry of the flowerbeds to the trimmed lush lawn, it smacked of stability and order. In the distance Randall could hear the flow of running water and it was as he made his way to the back of the house that he discovered a stream winding its way through the garden towards a small copse on the far side.
Climbing the patio past pots of nasturtiums and lavender he entered the house and waited until his eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Calling out he waited for a reply. It didn’t come. He tried again - nothing.
Presuming Appleby was somewhere outside; he walked to the door, but stopped as he heard a voice. Moving into the hall, he realised it was Appleby. He was upstairs, and if the pauses were any indication, talking on the phone.
Having found his man, Randall walked back into the drawing room and waited.
From the house, the garden seemed even more impressive, and for a minute or so, he admired it from the doorway. That was until something on the sideboard caught his eye. There, amongst an array of family snaps, he saw a man in military uniform. Taking the picture over to the light, he was surprised to see the man was in fact Appleby.
‘Handsome devil wasn’t I?’
Turning nervously Randall saw Appleby dressed for the day in shorts and T-shirt.
‘I . . . didn’t see you there,’ he mumbled.
‘Sorry to have kept you, I had rather an important call to make. You know what it’s like. Drink?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Have a seat, whilst I fix myself one.’
Randall studied him for a moment. Although he was in his sixties he could tell from the toned brown skin and raised veins he worked out regularly.
‘I didn’t know you were in the army.’
‘Yes,’ said Appleby pouring a large Scotch. ‘It was my first love. But don’t tell Susan I said that,’ he smiled before sitting down across from him. ‘Now what’s this bombshell you have for me?’
Randall wasn’t quite sure were to start. But knew from experience the simplest way was often the best.
‘I think Hawksmoor’s been set-up. I don’t think he’s killed anyone and unless we get to him quickly, I think he’ll probably be next.’
‘Well . . .I didn’t expect that.’
‘He’s innocent, I know.’
‘Do you have anything to corroborate this?’
‘A couple of nights ago I broke into Barbara Reeds flat.’
He was expecting a big reaction from Appleby, but there was hardly any. ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’
‘Yes,’ he produced a clear plastic envelope from his jacket pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table. ‘I found that. On the balcony.’
‘Blood?’
‘I’ve not had it analysed, but I’ll bet my pension it’s Hawksmoor’s.’
Appleby leant forward and gave a disdainful glance.
‘And what does that prove, other than he was at the murder scene.’
‘It proves to me that he was exactly were he said he was the night before he was arrested at the audition.’
‘He could have done that the night he killed Kraner or Reed or whatever her name was.’
‘That’s true. But when he was arrested he had a gash on his leg, and I think that was the only time Hawksmoor was on that balcony.’
Appleby bit the side of his lip and then nodded. ‘Okay, I’m listening.’
‘All along there have been two things that have made no sense to me. Hawksmoor, a man in his sixties, suddenly butchers two of his closes friends without, it appears, any motive. The more I looked into it, the less I found. It made no sense. So, after days of frustration I did the unthinkable. I considered the possibility that he was telling the truth. What if he was there that night? What if he did see Dorothy Kite in that apartment? Why would someone go to such great lengths to silence him, and anyone he’d shared that knowledge with? And why would someone make it look like he’d done the murders? It was only then, when I’d considered all of that, that things started to make sense to me.’
‘Which I’m afraid is a luxury I don’t seem to have.’
‘Straightaway I discovered that Linda Kraner was in fact, Barbara Reed; a friend of Dorothy Kite. She’d been her dresser until her death. Shortly after that, she started work at the Kessler Organisation as a secretary. Which was odd for a woman who had no secretarial skills whatsoever? Then I started to look into Kite’s death, you may remember it was on Christmas Eve 1970. A plane crash. It was then I had my first stroke of luck. I found out there was a man who had been part of the ground crew on that day. He claims until this day that there weren’t four on that plane but seven. He told me he saw four people board at the last minute, and one of them was an amputee.’
Appleby smiled weakly, ‘if I didn’t know better I would suspect you were making this up as you went along.’
Randall took out an envelope and tossed it onto the coffee table.
Take a look at that.’ Slowly picking it up Appleby took out the photograph that Tyler had given to Randall. ‘The man in the middle is Harry Kessler. You may remember he died last week. The day Hawksmoor saw Kite. Look at the man on Kessler’s left. His name is Charles Cappel.’
For a moment, Appleby stared at the photograph, then looked up, almost in a state of shock. Then he said in a whisper, ‘I remember him.’
‘Notice anything odd about him?’
‘My god,’ his reaction gave Randall a great deal of satisfaction. ‘Is he the same man?’
‘Unless the ministry of defence were awash with one armed men in 1970, I would think so.’
Again he looked at the photograph before speaking again. ‘Did you approach Tomblin with this information?’
‘No. All of this has come to light since the killings at Orchid house. I did tell him my reservations about Hawksmoor being the killer though, and his ridiculous notion that the men who shot the place up that night were after a reward.’
‘Who else knows about this?’
Randall remembered his promise to Tyler.
‘No one.’
Appleby massaged the bridge of his nose and then looked up.
‘I admit Elliot this is pretty strong stuff, but are you seriously saying this woman, Kite, is still alive after all this time?’
‘I know it sounds incredible, but it could be possible.’
‘Well, if it is, why hide the fact that she’d survived?’
‘I don’t know, I really don’t know. But what I do know is someone wants Donald Hawksmoor dead and unless we find him first, we’re never likely to find out.’
‘Find him?’ said the Commander slamming down the empty glass. ‘Well, that ‘s easier said than done. You may not have noticed but after you’d failed to bring him in, the mantle was passed onto a man who has been similarly unsuccessful. And another thing . . .’
‘I think I know where he’s going,’ said Randall calmly.
Appleby, not sure he’d heard correctly, stared at him in disbelief, ‘what did you say?’
‘I said I think I know where Hawksmoor is going.’
‘Where in god’s name?’
‘What are your connections like north of the border?’
‘Scotland?’
‘Edinburgh to be precise.’
‘Hawksmoor’s going to Edinburgh?’
‘I think so.’
‘What for?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t say.’
‘What?’
‘That’s the other thing that has got under my skin. Ever since this all began these two characters, these bounty hunters, call them what you will, have been one step ahead of us. They were in the café when he tried to meet up with his housekeeper. At first, I just put it down to luck. But after they killed half of that religious retreat the other night, I’ve come to the conclusion that someone is tipping them off.’
‘Someone in the department?’
‘Within ten minutes of receiving the call confirming where Hawksmoor was, they were in and out before we could even get the place surrounded.’
‘Why would someone help them?’
‘Because if this is all about the intelligence services, the death of a ministry official and the miraculous reappearance of Dorothy Kite. The whole thing will go to the heart of the establishment. Hawksmoor has opened a can of worms and I don’t think there’s anyone who can help him but me. Let me bring him in.’
Appleby studied him for a long time until suddenly his face seemed to relax and a smile appeared.
‘Okay Elliot. What do you need?’
‘Somebody I can rely on, with back up. Preferably armed.’
‘You’ve got it. Anything else?’
‘Yes, for gods sake keep Tomblin off my back.’
‘That’s not a problem. What we’ve discussed won’t go any further than this room until you bring him in.’
‘Good.’
‘I’ll organise a flight. Just get over to Gatwick, its only ten minutes from here. I’ll organise a ticket and have someone collect you in Edinburgh. If you need anything else contact me directly.’
Randall made his way to the door.
‘Elliot?’
‘Sir?’
‘Don’t bugger it up.’
‘I’ll try not to,’ he said with a smile as he disappeared into the hallway.

It had taken David Tyler half an hour and two cups of tea to get Mrs Quilby off the subject of rising house prices and onto the real reason for his visit.
‘So you say you’ve found some more of Mr Quilby’s records?’
‘Yes, could I get you another tea Mr Tyler?’
‘No, really I’m fine.’
‘You don’t mind if I do?’
‘Certainly not,’ he said, with a weak smile.
‘It was yesterday as I was clearing the box room with my niece Gloria. I discovered a pile of photographs. I don’t know if there any good to you.’
She took them from a sideboard and passed them to him. They’re quite similar to the other ones I gave you on Tuesday. Are they very important?’
‘Possibly,’ he replied, sifting through the pile.
‘I can’t imagine why. I looked through them myself, and all I could see was my husband and lots of men drinking. Mind you I did recognise one man in there.’
‘Kessler.’
‘Who?’
‘Harry Kessler. He died recently, there has been quite a lot of media coverage.’
‘Oh, no no. This man is one of your lot.’
‘My lot?’
‘An official?’
‘I’m sorry Mrs Quilby, what are you talking about?’
‘Here,’ she said, taking the photographs from him, ‘let me show you. He was on the television only last night. Now where is it?’
Tyler rolled his eyes as she searched through the pile. However, as she stopped and passed him a photograph, it was if he’d been kicked in the head.
‘There we are. Now surely you recognise him?’
This photograph was similar to the one that he had given to Randall. It was of the four men relaxing in the Carlton Club. Only this one differed in that all four men were facing the camera, and now he could see the fourth man, clearly.
‘My god.’

Within hours of the conversation with Appleby, Randall was aboard flight 3126 bound for Edinburgh. He was surprised at the sudden turn of events and even more so to have the backing of the Commander.
Through the clouds, he could see lights appearing in the villages and towns as dusk turned to night, forcing him to consider where Donald was now. Was he already in Edinburgh? Was he too late to help? Then of course there was the biggest question of all. Was his theory correct?
He put his head back and closed his eyes, but nothing would shield him from his fears. In fact, until he was in custody with Donald Hawksmoor safe from harm, he realised they would be with him for a while.

As his flight edged ever closer to Scotland, Lauren Kessler was making final adjustments to a plan she had put into operation only a week before. Moving quickly to resolve a situation that had arisen on that fateful summer night, she was attempting to keep her world together; Donald Hawksmoor had changed everything.
It was almost dark and a thin layer of mist was settling on the fields below the house. As if the spirits had been let loose on an unsuspecting world, it penetrated everything and nothing seemed as it should. She was drawn to it so much that she hadn’t noticed Wilde standing in the doorway.
‘Sorry to trouble you miss. But I have Edinburgh on the line.’
‘I’ll take it in here.’
As the old man walked out, she sat at the desk below the portraits of the two people that had inadvertently shaped her life. The size of the desk made her seem like a child, but as the actions of the previous week had proved, she was anything but that. Taking up the receiver, she composed herself and sat back.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s me,’ said the rasping female voice.
‘What’s happened?’
‘We have problems. She’s worse.’
There was, suddenly, concern on her young face. ‘How? Fits?’
‘No, no that. It’s just I can’t even talk to her now. It’s never been as bad as this.’
‘You’ve been to the house?’
‘I had no choice, they said they couldn’t control her.’
‘You bloody fool!’
‘What could I do?’ said the voice. For a moment or two, she said nothing as she stared across the desk, but inside she was in turmoil. ‘I’m sorry Lauren.’
‘How did you get there?’
‘The usual way. A bus and then picked up the car at the station. I wasn’t followed.’
‘How long were you with her?’
‘A couple of hours.’
‘And were they still there when you arrived back?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you realise what you could have done?’ she said, moving away from the desk.
‘I know . . .’
‘Did you give her anything?’
‘I’m a nurse, not a neurologist. She needs professional help.’
‘It’s out of the question. We can’t take anymore risks.’
‘We’re taking one right now. We can’t do anything for her.’
‘I’m sorry but until Monday there’s nothing I can do. If we move too soon everything’s lost. Just hang on, and don’t do anything without contacting me first. Do you understand me?’ There was silence at the other end of the line until the woman started to sob. ‘Snap out of it,’ Lauren said. ‘It’ll be alright. Just bide your time. I’ll speak to you on Saturday. I must go.’

It was a night Donald would never forget. The air was warm and salty, and under a blanket of stars, they danced and sang long into the early hours. When all of the good voices had done their turn, Vasile gave a spirited and wholly unique reading of “What’s new pussycat?” Donald, for the first time in weeks, laughed uncontrollably until of course, he was asked to sing himself. He refused flatly. He was no singer he explained. However, as the night progressed he was eventually persuaded.
‘I am not the strongest of singers,’ he said, as he was pulled to his feet, ‘I don’t know many songs.’
‘You must know one Alexander,’ called out Magdalena.
‘Well, there is one,’ he said, looking towards the stars.
During the late sixties Donald appeared in the musical “Oh! What a lovely war.” It was unusual for him, indeed for any successful actor, to appear in such an ensemble piece. Nevertheless, he had insisted on appearing and appear he did. There were many songs, but none had touched him quite like the “Croix de guerre”.
‘This song was sung by British soldiers during the first world war.’
Vasile interpreted to the expectant crowd, assembled around the fire. As Donald’s gravelly voice broke into song it became clear what emotions the lyrics stirred within him.
The irony was missed by few; a finale, in every sense, that touched them all.
Finally, his voice broke and he could sing no more. Putting his face in his hands, he cried. For a time no one spoke and apart from the gentle crash of the surf meeting the land there was silence. Finally, he felt gentle arms caressing his, and looking down through his tears, he saw the smiling face of Magdalena before him.

It was almost dark as fight 3126 made its final approach over the Firth of Forth. Below he could see a red beacon on top of a hill and around it the orange glow of streetlights. He wasn’t aware of it but at that moment, he was passing over the very neighbourhood in which all his hopes lay. As the plane touched down on time and slowly taxied towards the terminal, he felt that old ripple of excitement in the pit of his stomach.
Inside the main building, he was waved through nonchalantly by a solitary official, before he made his way towards a single escalator. A group of youths rushed past to the front of the queue, causing a brief bottleneck, and it was there as he waited that his mobile beeped. He presumed it was Appleby, but as he looked at the glowing display, he was surprised to see the name of David Tyler. He stepped onto the escalator and put the phone to his ear.
‘David . . .’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’ve just arrived in Edinburgh.’
‘Edinburgh?’
‘Don’t you listen to your messages? Old Appleby came round to my way of thinking . . . ‘
‘Get out of there!’
‘What?’
‘It’s a trap!’
‘What are you talking about . . .’
‘The fourth man. It was Appleby. Get out of there!’

Elliot Randall was descending into hell. He was fixed to the moving floor, unable to even attempt an escape. Below him, four men, stationary amidst the arrivals, studied him like wolves preparing for a kill. One of them, stepping forward and waiting at the foot of the staircase, was a heavyweight with the smile of a child.
‘Mr Randall,’ he said, offering a hand. ‘Michael Berman, I trust you had a pleasant flight?’ Randall glanced around the foyer without answering. ‘As you can see we’re not taking any chances. The Commander,’ he said, almost in a whisper, ‘has expressed to me the importance of your visit. Now, I have a car waiting when you’re ready.’
Randall gave a faint smile and, flanked by Berman and his men, walked towards the doors. Outside, they waited in silence as three black cars appeared from nowhere and came to a stop before them.
Opening the rear door of the first car, Berman watched as Randall, reluctantly got inside. When the door closed, shutting him off from the outside world, he was aware of two other men in the car. They were both of a similar age, late sixties, and both had short grey hair. Randall could see the driver was the shorter of the two, whilst the passenger was leaner. This alone should have told him something, but it wasn’t until the passenger turned and smiled that he saw the jagged flesh of the torn earlobe. It was in that moment of recognition as the car silently moved away, that he saw the whole picture; and it left him numb.
With a hum from the engine they sped through the deserted car park until, in no time at all, they left the bright lights of the airport behind plunging Randall into a world of darkness.

FRIDAY. 3:17 AM.

Donald had slept for only a few hours when he was woken by Vasile’s gruff tones. Sitting up he was suddenly attacked by a series of twinges, which owed more to the days out in the wild than the previous nights excesses. But at least there was no hangover; for once he had resisted the Palinca and had woken with a relatively clear head.
‘Alexander, it is time.’
Lighting a candle on the opposite wall Vasile was suddenly surrounded by a cluster of dancing shadows that followed him to the door and then disappeared into the dawn as he stepped out.
When he was dressed and feeling a little fresher Donald went out into the camp. Shuddering in the cold air he could make out Vasile, Anton and Seby silhouetted by a strip of deep crimson sky as they waited on the far side of the camp. Half asleep he stared at them, unsure if it was actually them, or spirits waiting to take him on his final journey.
‘Are you ready Alexander?’ asked Vasile when he reached them.
For a moment he studied them, and then smiled. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
‘Good,’ said Vasile. ‘Then it is time for you to say goodbye.’
As Donald looked round he was astonished to see faces at every door and window, and despite the dim red glow of the sunrise he could make out their smiles. With a heavy heart he waved a final farewell as the old truck chugged into life and set off into the dawn.

At the very moment Donald approached the city from the east, Randall and the small convoy of black cars entered it from the west.
Watching the sunrise over the city, Randall now realised what a fool he had been. Up until that moment he had only guessed at what Donald had gone through. Now he had the opportunity to experience the fear at first hand. They were in it together; pawns in a game, bigger than even he had realised.
After leaving the airport they had driven to a remote spot surrounded by forest. Sitting in the darkness he had come to the understandable conclusion that he had reached his final hour. But he had been wrong. An hour later there had been a call, prompting Tindle to leave the car. On his return he had given Lott the nod and they had set off into the night again..
‘What times breakfast?’ Randall had heard himself say. The remark was in fact generated by an incredible sense of relief, despite his predicament. Finding himself alive after being so close to what he had suspected to be the end had given him a rather unhealthy confidence. ‘Well, at least tell me where we’re going?’
For a few moments neither of the men spoke, until Tindle turned to face him.
‘You know exactly were we’re going Mr Randall.’
‘Do I?’
‘Of course, the home of Virginia Kite.’
‘Really?’
‘It became obvious sometime ago where he was making for.’
‘And then I made the big mistake of sharing my revelation with the very man who’s been helping you killers all along?’
‘Now, now,’ he said with a smile, ‘surely there’s no need for that tone. We’re all professionals here. Surely we can talk in civil manner.’
‘Professionals? You’ve been hunting an ageing actor for over a week and so far all you’ve managed to do is butcher a whole lot of innocent people.’
Tindle, unruffled, smiled again. ‘Well, at least we’ve had a little bit of fun along the way. Which is more than can be said for you. Besides, if we hadn’t been so rudely described as a couple of bounty hunters, we wouldn’t have had to kill anyone. We had to keep up appearances after all. Now, why don’t you sit back and enjoy the scenery? It won’t be long now.’

‘Keep on the coast road,’ said Donald to Vasile as they travelled along the almost deserted approach road, ‘it will keep us away from the city centre. Then we’re aiming for a place called Blackhall.’
The A199, known locally as the coast road, skirted the city, passing through the suburbs of Musselburgh and Leith towards Granton. But as the destination got closer, the hazier Donald’s memories became, and for some time the four men were thrown into a pit of depression. On more than one occasion they drove aimlessly in the hope that he would recognise a landmark. It wasn’t a civic building or historical monument that had jolted Donald’s memory, however, but a public house. Like a signpost on a dusty road it had shown him the way and before long they were back on track. So much so, that in minutes Vasile was forcing the truck towards Blackhall and Donald’s ultimately destination - Craigcrook road.
‘We’re now entering Blackhall, and that over there is Costorphine Hill.’
Ahead of them stood a tree topped spine with a red warning light glowing through the morning mist. The same light that Randall had seen earlier that morning and the same one that Donald would soon be passing.
‘I think it’s best if we stop on the hill. I’d like a few moments before I make the final journey.’
‘As you say Alexander.’
‘As I remember there’s a small track leading off this road, further up the hill.’
Engrossed by the situation Vasile didn’t notice until it was nearly too late that the lights were against him and had to brake heavily to bring the truck to a stop. When it did Donald saw, for the first in thirty years, the road and hillside where he had spent so much of his youth. There were more houses than he remembered, but despite this it was even more striking than he had ever remembered.
He recalled the endless summer days, the weekend parties and the drunken midnight expeditions onto the hill. It all seemed like yesterday and he wished his return had been under different circumstances.
Suddenly there was a green light and as the engine jolted back into life it also brought Donald back to reality.
‘When we hit the incline,’ he shouted to Vasile against the noise of the truck, ‘the turn off should be on your left.’
Sure enough, as the hill became steeper, an opening appeared on the left, forcing Vasile to pull hard on the wheel sending the truck down a narrow path that was anything but a road. With some skill and a great deal of luck the old man managed to avoid the brick wall and trees that lined the path, until finally they found themselves on a stretch of spare ground in the shadows of the wood.
Jumping down from the cab Donald studied the various paths that led off in every direction.
‘Which way now, Alexander?’ said Vasile.
Turning to face the three men, he narrowed his eyes. ‘I thought I’d explained the situation to you. From now on I go alone.’
‘No, Alexander. We do not leave you until you meet with this woman.’
‘This is too dangerous, Vasile. I don’t want you involved anymore.’
Vasile smiled but said nothing for a moment or two. ‘We walk with you or behind you. Either way we go with you.’
Looking into the old man’s eyes he could almost see his resolve, and knew then there was little point in arguing. Without saying a word he turned and joined the nearest path into the wood, quickly followed by his three unlikely guardians.

Like veins across a huge limb, long narrow paths criss-crossed the hillside beneath the canopy of the wood. It was just after six and already the sun was filtering through the branches encouraging the birds into song. After a while, in a place where three or four of the paths joined, they found themselves before a steep bank of stone. No trees had taken hold on its rocky face and as a result there was a large opening allowing them to rest briefly and gaze out across the suburbs and sea beyond. On the far side of the rock the path split again, this time into four: three of them up - the fourth, down towards the edge of the wood.
‘Which way now, Alex?’ said Vasile looking up at him.
‘We must go down. The house isn’t far now, roughly half way along the road, opposite a large meadow.’
Vasile interpreted Donald’s instructions to the others before leading them all down the steep hillside, like a general into battle.

Blackhall, not unlike many parts of Edinburgh, is pleasant and prosperous; and none more so than Craigcrook road. It runs for nearly a mile and with the tree topped Costorphine hill as a backdrop it is a most desirable location.
Lott turned onto it from Queensferry Road and travelled half its length before pulling into the kerb. Randall glanced at the nearest door and then counted along the array of houses until he came to 152, the home of Virginia Kite.
It was a large gothic construction set around 20 metres from the road, and considering its state he was astonished it was still habitable. The building itself was swathed in a dark green shroud of ivy, whilst the garden, once the very essence of tranquillity, was now a mesh of meandering roses and blackberry bushes.
Suddenly, he saw a shape at one of the windows, but the grime on the glass masked whatever it was, and in a second it was gone. Then, after a moment or two, this time from the rear of the house, he saw another shape, this one dark and moving at speed through the remaining spaces on the lawn.
‘I see movement,’ said Tindle breaking the silence as he talked into a small radio receiver. ‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s just the dog. She normally takes it for a walk around this time.’
‘Keep me informed.’
‘Do you suppose Hawksmoor is just going to come strolling along the road?’ asked Randall, mockingly.
‘It doesn’t matter how he gets here,’ said Tindle, replacing the receiver. ‘Just as long as he does.’
‘And what do you expect him to tell you? Where Dorothy Kite is? He doesn’t know, that’s why he’s coming to see her sister.’
‘How very perceptive. Now, do be quiet, you are getting rather tiresome.’
Noticing another car along the road with two silhouetted figures up front, Randall suspected this was merely another temporary stop, and soon they would be moving on again. But whatever their plan, he knew one thing for certain. Sooner or later - he would be no more.

As Donald had said, the meadow stretched from the road to the dense woodland half a mile further up the hill. A wooden fence at the perimeter of the field was now almost within the wood as saplings took root on the other side. Whilst further down in the meadow a solitary horse grazed contentedly in the hot morning sun, unaware of watchful eyes all around.
Laying in the undergrowth, peering through the broken fence, the four men could now clearly see the large green house at the bottom of the hill, and before it, hugging the edge of the field, Craigcrook Road.
‘Someone lives in that house?’ said Vasile in disbelief. ‘I’d rather live in a caravan.’
From the wood it seemed even more dilapidated. Nevertheless, whatever its state or even the possibility that it had been abandoned, Donald had come much too far to turn away from the final door. Moving back into the shadows he stood and looked at the three men.
He had known them for such a short time, but the intensity of the days they had shared together made it impossible for him to imagine his life without them. Vasile had been the key. The old man had a touch of the devil about him. He had lived as Donald had, close to the edge, staring at the wonders of the universe from the bottom of a glass. But unlike Donald he had brought himself back from the edge and when his time came his family and friends would mourn him. But who would mourn Donald?
Despite the thought he smiled to himself. Maybe because he realised for the first time that if things had been different, he too could have had a life like his.
Suddenly Anton stepped forward and took Donald’s hand in his usual rigid fashion.
‘Thank you very much again, Alexander. You are a fine man I am hoping you will find for what you search.’
‘Thank you Anton, that is very kind. You look after that young lady of yours. And not too mention young Alexander.’
Despite a smile there were tears in Vasile eyes. Walking forward Donald prepared to embrace the old man when Seby leapt forward and wrestled him to the ground
‘What the bloody hell is going on!’ he shouted after hitting the ground with a thump.
There was a brief exchange between Vasile and Seby before the old man scurried towards the fence.
‘What in gods name is going on?’ said Donald getting to his knees.
‘Look,’ said the old man, pointing at a small copse over to their left. Crawling to his side Donald peered through the leaves. There, halfway down the hill, he could see a figure, almost hidden amongst hawthorns, scanning the hillside.
‘My god!’
Suddenly Seby appeared at their side and took out a pair of binoculars from his bag and passed them to Vasile. He studied the figure for a moment and then transferred his interest to the house and road.
‘They’re waiting for me,’ said Donald now sitting up staring down at the floor.
‘Look.’
Taking the binoculars Donald studied the road until the black Mercedes came into view. There he could see Tindle and Lott, composed as ever, watching the house. Then he saw another man, a man he recognised.
‘My god its Randall! He’s part of it as well,’ said Donald, sitting back in despair. ‘I should have known. It’s a conspiracy; the whole damned establishment is involved . . .what a fool I’ve been. Of course they would know I’d come here. Damn!’
‘What will we do now?’
Donald didn’t answer for a moment. The shock had made it impossible. His last hope had been taken from him and for a while it was all too much for him.
After some time Vasile struck up enough courage to speak again. ‘Alexander this is madness. You must come back with us.’
For a moment Donald said nothing, then he looked at him and spoke in a whisper.
‘I’ve come too far to turn back. There’s only one thing I can do now.’

From the cluttered hallway, Virginia Kite gazed despondently into another equally chaotic space. She was the opposite of her sister in every way. The very antithesis of perfection: stunted, heavy, with bad skin and thinning grey hair. Time had not been kind.
Shuffling into a room filled high with documents and manuscripts, she was a monster before a terrified city. For a moment she hovered at the door, staring down at the narrow avenues running between each of the blocks. Then, as if another thought had entered her mind, she walked to a mirror almost hidden beneath layers of dust and grime that hung above a redundant fireplace.
The light within the room was poor and she was forced to put her face close to the glass to see her reflection. For moment she studied her large bulbous eyes, then looked at the reflection of the room instead as if disgusted by the image. Although the room was reversed, it was as dark and unwelcoming as ever.
On the opposite wall was a portrait of her sister, caught in the prime of her youth, young and dazzling. But now like the rest of the room, she was almost hidden beneath a thick layer of dust. Then, once again, as if shamed by what she saw, she looked away, but this time to the blackened windows and the hillside beyond.
What waited for her there filled her with fear, but she knew deep inside there was no one but she who could deal with it.

With her black greyhound lurching ahead into the meadow, she glanced over at the man in the small copse she had noticed only a week before. He, along with others, had appeared around the same time that Donald was presented to the world as a serial killer, but she knew then she would be under no threat from the man she had once known.
Reaching the top of the meadow and entering the wood, she joined the path up to the old quarry. It had been quite some time since she had visited the place, but knew the old track well enough to find her way. Hitting the ridge and working her way down the spine of the hill, she checked several times that she was not being followed, before moving on. Looking down at the small pond on the far side of the abandoned pit she tried to get her bearings.
It was another hot day with a blue cloudless sky. A soft breeze, spiralling up from the quarry stirred the ferns around her as she followed the dog down the track onto the quarry floor. It was quite a surprise for her to see how green and tranquil it had become and wondered why she had waited for so long to return. The once polluted green loch was now clear with a clump of russet coloured reeds at its edge, whilst on the water a solitary swan basked in the sun.
Crossing to the far side of the quarry where a cluster of trees had created a small shadowy refuge, she stopped and looked up. It was then she saw it; a small opening in the rock face above, almost hidden within the shade of the trees. Vaguely she could recall playing there as a child, but like so many other things it had faded beneath more poignant memories.
Moving into the shade of the trees she struggled across the moss-covered rocks until she found the slanted uneven path that led up to the opening. Followed by the dog, she cautiously made her way along the ledge, all the time unaware of the figures looking down at her from the far ridge. Then in seconds she was there. At first she couldn’t see inside due to a large fan of bracken that had grown unchecked between the rocks. Then as she peered into the darkness beyond, she saw a shape moving towards her. In a moment she was face to face with a man she had not seen for over thirty years.
‘Hello, Ginny,’ said Donald, stepping into the light.
Seeing him after all this time and under these circumstances she was at a loss for words. Something Donald seemed to sense as he walked forward to comfort her. But as he got close to her the dog suddenly growled, prompting her to place a hand on its head, calming it in an instant. When she looked back at him, however, she was surprised to see he was no longer looking at her, but at three silhouetted figures on the far hill.
‘Who are they?’
‘Old friends,’ he said, as Seby and Anton walked off leaving Vasile alone, a solitary figure on the hillside. For a moment Donald’s gaze lingered on his until, finally, the old man waved and then disappeared beyond the ridge.
‘Nice to see somebody likes you.’
Donald ignored the remark as he sat down and leant against the rocks.
‘You shouldn’t have phoned,’ she said staring down at him.
‘It was all I could do.’
‘Well, you took quite a risk. The house has been watched ever since you went on the run, and I have no idea if the phone’s been tapped.’
‘Do you think you were followed?’
‘I don’t think so. I was followed everywhere for the first few days, but they’ve become a little passé since.’ She leant against the rock and studied him for a moment. ‘What’s it all about Donald? And why come all this way to see little old me? What can I do for you? Like I said to the police I’ve never really had much time for you. Your particular form of charm is wasted on me.’
‘I have something to tell you.’
‘You better hurry up, they’ll be sending out a search party soon.’
‘You might want to sit down.’
‘I’m fine as I am. Just get on with it.’
‘It’s Dorothy.’
‘What?’
‘I,’ he paused, not quite wanting to hear it himself, ‘I saw her.’ There was an odd moment of silence as she looked at him. ‘I saw her, alive . . . about a week ago. That’s how all of this started.’
‘What in god’s name are you talking about?’
‘Virginia, please believe me, it’s the truth. She’s alive.’
‘For god’s sake! When they told me you’d lost you’re mind, I laughed. But now I’m not so sure.’ She turned to walk back down the ledge but Donald jumped up and grabbed her by the arm. The dog’s growl, however, was enough to make him pull back.
‘Ginny, you must listen to me. Please, give me a moment to explain?’
‘I’ve heard enough.’
‘Listen to me!’ he shouted.
For a moment they stood inches from one another, his voice echoing around the quarry like a chant. Now she could see him clearly, and now she could tell what a state he was in. This man was dead, an empty shell indistinguishable from the arrogant womaniser she had known so long ago. She had good reason to hate him, but looking at him now with his long greying hair and hollow cheeks. It was impossible not to feel some kind of pity for him.
‘Okay Donald, I’ll listen.’
Returning to the lip of rock that led into the cave they sat down and looked out across the quarry.
‘I was at a party about a week ago and . . .’ he suddenly realised the tale was better, condensed. ‘Well to cut a long story short I found myself in a room where I saw . . . Dorothy.’ Oddly she said nothing and so he continued before she could. ‘Now I know what you’re thinking, believe me I thought the same thing. But I’m not going mad and I wasn’t drunk. I know what I saw. I saw your sister, alive. Now I reported all of this to the police. The only other people I told were Bunny and Lizzie. Both of whom, as you now probably know, were murdered within days.’
Again there was silence until she looked away from the far ridge that she had been studying. ‘And because of all of this you’ve been on the run?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what do you think I can do?’
‘Just before she died, Lizzie gave me a photograph.’
‘Of what?’
‘A group of people sitting outside a large house. It was summertime; you were there, along with Dorothy, Harry Kessler and a few others. Now Harry Kessler died the night I saw Dorothy and I think when Lizzie discovered this so-called coincidence, she wanted to tell me. But they stopped her and made it look like I was the killer. This goes to the top. Now I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but in one of the cars outside your house are the two men that killed Bunny and Lizzie. And who do you thinks sitting with them? One Inspector Randall, the very man running the investigation.’
He looked over to the pond, shocked at his own words, before turning to her once again.
‘Did Dorothy have any dealings with this Kessler character?’
‘I’m sorry Donald,’ she said looking back to him, suddenly. ‘I’m still trying to come to terms with the bit where my sister’s still alive after thirty years. Are you sure this isn’t some sort of delayed guilt for the way you treated her all those years ago?’
Getting to her feet she stared down at him. ‘Donald I don’t know what’s going on or what you saw that night. But I know one thing, you didn’t see my sister, I buried her over thirty years ago. I should know I was there. Which is more than can be said for you. Give yourself up, Donald. You’re living in a dream.’
On that she clicked her fingers and led the dog down the slope into the shade of the trees

‘So I presume,’ said Randall sitting back in the seat, ‘you’re keeping me alive for when you catch him?’ He’d been talking for over ten minutes but there was still no sign that he was getting to his captors. ‘Then what? Of course! I die trying to stop him committing yet another murder. Perfect. I can see the headlines now. “Brave Cop Cut Down By Psychopathic Thespian.”
‘Very perceptive Mr Randall. I’m surprised you didn’t make superintendent.’
‘No, not for me, I didn’t fancy the circles I’d be mixing in. Or the clubs I’d have to join. Were you members of the Carlton Club as well, or don’t they allow foot soldiers in?’
Tindle didn’t take the bait. He wasn’t listening. Instead his focus was on Virginia Kite who had re-appeared in the meadow and was now approaching the gate with the dog.
After a moment or two his mobile beeped into life and Randall could see an immediate change in his demeanour. The call was short, only twenty seconds or so, and when it ended Tindle picked up the handset again.
‘Time to go, keep me posted on anything out of the ordinary.’
After a minute or so, one of the men from the other car got in the back and forced Randall onto the floor. Within seconds they were moving again; leaving Randall to wonder if this was the final leg of his journey.

Later that morning with the sun high above the abandoned quarry Donald emerged from the cave into the blinding sun. After Virginia had gone, and with it his final hope, he had merely returned to the cave and slept. This time there had been no nightmare, no dream of any kind in fact, simply darkness. A feeling that he had entered the final stage of a journey.
Not that he fully understood it. Now he was more bewildered than ever.
Looking out across the crater he studied the surrounding curtain of rock and slate scarred by men and machine so long ago. Now it was serene, tranquil even, despite its dramatic façade, and more than anything Donald wanted to stay within its force, safe from the corrupt world outside.
There was, however, something deep within him that would not allow him to stay. Like a voice in the wind it tormented him until he could think of nothing else. Then it drew him from the quarry up onto the hillside where he wandered aimlessly as if in a dream, until finally he could walk no more and fell to the ground exhausted.
There in the dappled shade he relived the past week. The people he had lost and the ones he had encountered. He had survived so much and yet here he was alone in every sense, finally defeated. There was no one to turn to now and nowhere to go. The spirits had finally abandoned him. He was so certain of that in fact, he could hear their mocking laughter in the shadows. As if transformed into enchanted creatures, they ran through the grass and ferns smaning and mocking him. And it was probably for this reason, and this reason alone, that he showed no surprise when he heard the distant roar of a lion.
Climbing to his feet and descending the hill he noticed a high fence off to his left and then, as the wood became less dense to his right, a long busy road.
Suddenly he realised where he was. Beyond the fence was Edinburgh Zoo, a place he had visited often with Dorothy. At the foot of the hill was a busy road that led to Costorphine, a small suburb nestling between the city and the airport.
In an instant the depression lifted, and suddenly he understood why he was there. Rushing down the hillside to the road, revived again, he watched the traffic moving swiftly before him. Now he saw it clearly. There was something drawing him on. It had been doing so since the very beginning, pulling him forward to the ultimate goal and now he understood. It didn’t matter what he did or which path he chose, destiny would keep him from harm. It had got him out of London, saved him on the train, and guided him to Paul and ultimately Vasile. Virginia was not the end, there was something more He didn’t need to hide away in the shadows anymore; he would be guided until he found Dorothy and the men that had done such terrible crimes in his name.
He was free again.
Looking up from the road he smiled and then began to walk in the strong sunlight towards the city, unfettered for the first time in over a week

With a foot in the back of his neck Randall was having a less than comfortable journey. They had been travelling for some time when he was aware of the car climbing steeply. When it levelled off he realised the car had entered a gravel drive or road. Shortly after this Lott brought the car to a stop and he was dragged from the car for the first time that morning.
Before him was a row of steps leading up to a large whitewashed house. At the top of the steps stood a row of four Greek columns reaching up proudly towards a procession of large gargoyles. For a moment Randall stared at their mocking smiles and wondered if the laughter was directed at him.
As he was taken up towards the dark oak doors he looked round in an attempt to pinpoint his location. It was of no use, trees surrounded the grounds and the only sound he could here was the occasional cry of a gull.
Once inside an elderly man appeared from the drawing room and conferred briefly with Tindle. Once again Randall attempted to find some clue to where he was by peering around the impressive hallway, but within seconds he was moving again. In time the surroundings became less and less lavish until eventually they arrived in a scullery at the bottom of narrow staircase. There, apart from a rope hanging on a bare wall, the room was empty.
After a moment Lott muttered something inaudible to the man holding Randall by the arm, prompting him to walk forward and pull the rope. To Randall’s amazement the whole of the wall suddenly opened, revealing a long passageway. At the far end he could see an opened door where a light shone out onto a tiled corridor.
When the gap was wide enough for them to enter, Lott entered the passageway, only stopping when he reached the opened door. Randall knew instantly it would be his home for the immediate future. A belief that was confirmed when he was thrown into the cell and the heavy door was locked behind him.

Below Edinburgh Castle lies the deep green furrow that is Princess Street Gardens. Often the visitor to the capital is surprised to discover that its high-banked walls, now coated in beautifully trimmed grass, were once below water and that the whole sight was a loch. It was a fact well known to the natives, as it was to the grey bearded drunk meandering along one of its many paths.
After a time he arrived in a square where jugglers, musicians and mime artists competed for attention. Swaying in the sun he watched the entertainment from afar until he spotted a vacant bench on the far side where he made his way through the crowds and sat down. Surrounded by the music and laughter he smiled and lay back, contented in the sun.
Donald was happier than he could ever remember.
This, however, was less to do with the acknowledgment of his fate, and even less to do with his return to the city he loved, but because of the bottle of single malt he had appropriated along the way.
He had spotted it in an open briefcase as its owner chatted loudly on his phone outside a cafe. With a slight of hand shown to him by a musical hall act by the name of “Pickpocket Pete” he had purloined the item with a dexterity that amazed even he.
By the time he had reached the city centre he had consumed half of the bottle, and while the remaining half warmed him through he took off his shoes and listened to the music drifting across the square. The city had never looked so stunning. Above him was the Mound, a steep hill leading to the royal mile and ultimately to the castle itself, proud and dramatic dominating the landscape for miles around. Then, below him, and this he had almost forgotten, the trains running along the edge of the gardens towards Waverly and the impressive Balmoral hotel. This is the place he had come alive as a young man. And like all young men he had as many regrets as he did happy recollections. Nevertheless, this city was everything to him and it was good to be back.
He hadn’t appeared in the festival for many years but being back amidst the colour and the throng revitalised his spirit to such a point he wanted nothing more than to jump up and perform there and then. And it was with that thought in mind that he suddenly caught sight of a very small mime artist pulling an imaginary rope. So convincingly in fact that Donald felt he might give a hand. Getting to his feet and making his way over the best way he could, he stared down at the man before him. It was then, to his utter astonishment, that he discovered that not only was there no rope but the midget was anything but happy to share his load.
Apologising profusely Donald wandered back to his bench, and it was then as he was preparing to relax once more that something struck him. At first he couldn’t work it out. Then he realised. There was something familiar about the singer on the stage, her looks, and her voice. Everything told him that he knew her, but in the state he was he would have had trouble recognising his mothers let alone a young woman – as pretty as she was.
The group were drawing quite a crowd now, not that Donald was aware of it. He had become so inebriated, and the heat was such that he had decided to undress. It was then in that partially undressed state that he suddenly felt an urge that was as familiar to him as it was inevitable.
The urge to dance.
The music was filling his head, forcing him to climb onto the bench and gyrate in a way only he could. Stamping feet, quivering fists, pursed lips – it was all there even if he wasn’t. Then to his unbridled joy the group began to perform a song he knew well. “Avenues and alleyways”. He had even appeared in The Protectors from whence the theme was taken.
Oh sweet joy!
He sang loud with purpose and vigour, drawing more and more attention to himself. This, however, was not at all well received by the midget who having lost his crowd came over to Donald and told him, in no uncertain terms, that it might be good idea if he “fucked off.”
But Donald was having none of it. He was enjoying himself.

With Charles on keyboards, Toby and Ben on guitar and Annabelle on vocals Adverse Camber were drawing quite a crowd. After a successful week in Amsterdam they had made a last minute decision to come to the festival. Which after only two days was proving to be a good move. Due to various acts falling out, or not turning up, there were enough slots during the final days of the festival to keep them busy.
Up until the final song the set had gone well, but as they reached the halfway point they were aware of a commotion on the far side of the square. Annabelle could see a man on a bench singing and dancing. At first she didn’t think much of it, but that was until she saw her audience slowly drifting away to investigate.
When the song had finished she crossed the square to find out what was going on. The crowd had grown so dense by this point that she had to force her way through to get to the front.
‘What’s going on?’ she heard one say.
‘It’s one of those street theatre things,’ said another. ‘It’s very good.’
‘Did they get a good review?’
‘Oh, yes, apparently they’re huge in Norway.’
When Annabelle eventually got to the front, she was absolutely astonished to see Donald, wearing nothing more than a pair of pink knickers wrestling with a bald dwarf.
‘Donald,’ she murmured to herself, as the midget threw Donald to the ground and jumped on his back.
‘This is the funniest thing I’ve seen in the festival this year,’ said a voice. ‘Absolutely priceless!’
‘The big yin’s good,’ said another. ‘Really looks like he’s in pain.’
‘I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere before.’
‘Aye, wasn’t he in River city for a while?’
‘Aye, that’ll be him.’
Suddenly Donald yelped as the midget yanked his arm back and received a huge cheer from the crowd.
Unfortunately for the midget that was a move too far.
‘Get off him you little bugger!’ said Annabelle rushing forward and placing the midget in a headlock.
‘Go on doll!’ shouted a voice.
‘Very well choreographed,’ said another, as Annabelle pushed two fingers up the midget’s nostrils, pulled him back over her shoulder and dropped him down one of the steep grass banks.
The crowd applauded long and loud, until, to the cries of “Perrier Award”, they slowly dispersed revealing Donald, face down, drunk and very disorderly.
‘Donald what the hell are you doing here?
He groaned as she rolled him over onto his back.
‘Christ,’ said Ben, appearing behind her. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Man she doesn’t look too good,’ said Charles staring at the underwear.
‘It’s a bloke, Charles,’ said Ben.
‘It’s Donald, you idiots!’ she screamed at them.
‘Jesus! Are you sure?’ said Ben looking closer.
‘Of course it is!’
‘Doesn’t look like him, he’s got a beard and grey hair. Are you sure it’s not a tramp?’
‘Of course it’s not a tramp! He must dye his hair. Besides, who else would get blind drunk in broad daylight wearing pink knickers?’
‘Good point,’ he said after a moment.
‘Get his clothes,’ she said as the midget reappeared at the top of the bank, discoloured and seething with rage.
‘I am famous Prody! Famous Polish mime artist and will not be thrown down hills in this manner!’
‘Really?’ said Annabelle. ‘Well, he’s a famous British actor and my friend and I’m not going to let a short arse like you jump all over him, so piss off!’
The midget eyed the group nervously before picking up his imaginary rope and running off giving them the V’s.
As Annabelle dressed Donald, Toby and Charles gathered the equipment whilst Ben went to collect the van. It took them fifteen minutes to carry him up the steep row of steps to where the van was parked and ten to fit him in it. But finally, lodged between an amplifier and a keyboard, Donald was then taken across the city to their lodgings.

Inside his cell Randall lay on a rusting iron bed. The room was poorly lit with only a small pre-war plastic covered fixture on the ceiling giving out any light. Oddly, it reminded him of the station back in London, only the smell of damp was worse. Wrapping himself in a single grey blanket he tried to muster some warmth, but it did little to keep out the damp lingering cold. Suddenly all thoughts of his present environment were erased as he heard steps out in the corridor.
As they stopped at the door and a key rattled in the lock he sat up and prepared himself the best he could. Then appeared a face he knew well.
‘Elliot, how splendid to see you.’
Appleby, flanked by the two men he had seen before, was dressed impeccably as ever with the same self-satisfactory smile.
‘I wondered when you’d show up.’
. ‘I hope you’re being treated well?’
‘Wonderfully,’ said Randall laying back.
Appleby smiled as he ran a finger across the white tiles.
‘Sorry it had to turn out like this, Elliot.’
‘Thanks for your concern.’
‘There really was no other way.’
‘Really?’
‘Look don’t feel too bad. Nobody could have a foreseen this. Your trouble is Elliot; you never let go. I always said it would be your downfall.’
Randall smiled and shook his head, then without looking up said, ‘How high does this go?’
‘Don’t be so naïve. Everything comes down to money and power.’
‘And what do you get out of it?’
Appleby replied with a smile. ‘This house was designed by one of Edinburgh’s founding fathers. A religious man who couldn’t face the fact that his wife had gone batty - so he had this built. Very handy for when those unexpected guests come calling. The walls are exceptionally thick.’
‘I get your point.’
‘Oh, I’ve no fear you’ll be making a break Elliot. We’re all far too old for that,’ he said smiling broadly before walking out.

When he Appleby reached the house again, the old man reappeared.
‘Mr Tomblin on the phone for you, sir,’ he said slowly, his voice deep and resonating.
‘Thank you, Unwin. I’ll take it in the study.’
Closing the doors and entering the large room Appleby sat down in a large leather armchair by the window. Here the view was different. At the back of the house it was possible to pick out the red iron peaks of the rail bridge straddling the Forth. Sitting back in a tall black swivel chair he studied it as he took up the phone.
‘Frank,’ he said cheerfully as he partially rotated the chair to and fro
‘Sorry to trouble you at a time like this, sir.’
‘That’s all right; what is it?’
‘We’ve got another sighting.’
‘Where?’
‘Well, actually not too far from you.’
‘Really?’
‘Central Edinburgh.’
‘Is this sighting anymore reliable than the others?’
‘Well, yes. It appears a polish mime artist . . .’
‘A what?’
‘A polish mime artist - bear with me, on this one. He claims to have had an altercation with a man that fits Hawksmoor’s description in Princess Street Gardens?’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, he went to report it and saw a poster of Hawksmoor and he is pretty certain it was the same man.’
‘And did no one else see this dispute? It is festival time after all the place is teaming with people.’
‘Well, there was quite a crowd but,’ he hesitated for a moment or two.
‘But what?’
‘But they may have been distracted by Hawksmoor.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘It appears he was wearing a pair of knickers.’
Appleby said nothing.
‘He was also wearing a beard which might explain why he wasn’t spotted. I mean how many killers flaunt their stuff at a festival wearing nothing more than whiskers and knickers?’
‘Quite.’
‘What else did this mime artist say?’
‘Nothing much his English is pretty poor. The locals are trying to find an interpreter.’
‘And where are you?’
‘About an hour outside Edinburgh.’
‘Fine, keep me posted and I’ll be with you as soon as possible. Now I need to go.’
‘I understand.’
Replacing the receiver he flicked a switch on an intercom on the desk, and as if by magic Unwin appeared.
‘Prepare the car and send in Tindle and Lott.’
Getting up and placing both palms on the glass he watched as a train appeared and slowly crossed the bridge. As it reached the other side he turned and was almost surprised to see Tindle and Lott, who had entered the room silently.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said after a moment. ‘Hawksmoor is somewhere in Edinburgh, I don’t know where yet, but I want you and your people ready as soon as I find out.’
‘What about Virginia Kite?’ asked Tindle.
‘Leave a couple of men on the house and get the rest into the city centre.’
‘When will you be back?’
‘Late this afternoon I would think. Any problems contact me.’ He walked to the door and then looked at Tindle. ‘Shall I say hello to the Kessler family for you?’
‘Probably not,’ said Tindle, with a measured smile. ‘Might not go down too well.’
‘Oh, Tindle you are wicked,’ he said with a chuckle as he entered the hall and started to climb the stairs.

Surrounded by Annabelle and the boys, Donald was in a deep sleep on a sagging sofa. Even though he had been stuffed in the van and hoisted aloft up six flights of stairs he hadn’t so much as stirred.
‘Do you think he’s alright?’ asked Ben.
Donald suddenly belched loudly as if to confirm he was.
‘What’s he doing here?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Annabelle wiping his brow. ‘He had an audition the day after the party, maybe it was for the festival.’
‘What are we going to do with him?’ said Toby. ‘We’ve got a gig tonight.’
‘Well, we’re not going to put him out on the streets if that’s what you mean!’
‘I didn’t mean that!’ he snapped.
‘All right, you two just calm down,’ Ben said getting to his feet.
For a while they watched him sleep on the battered sofa. With long greying hair, white beard and a crazed grin he looked like a wizard about to transform himself into some unworldly creature. Charles, who had been studying him with a particular fascination ever since their return, suddenly leant forward and pointed at Donald.
‘Hang on a minute. I think this is the guy we met in London.’
‘Oh, for god’s sake Charles!’ shouted Annabelle. The noise seemed to stir Donald, who muttered something unintelligible and then rolled onto his back. ‘Somebody go and make some coffee, it looks like he’s waking.’
Before anyone could move, however, Donald suddenly gasped and sat forward, staring wildly.
‘Zounds!’ he bellowed.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Charles, nervously disappearing into the kitchen.
Panting uncontrollably Donald seemed possessed as he stared around the room. But as he turned to Annabelle there was a distinct change in his manner. Reaching out and brushing her cheek, gently, he whispered to her. ‘Fair Desdemona, you live still.’
‘It’s me Donald, Annabelle. Do you remember? It’s alright now, you’re safe.’ He fell back amongst the cushions and closed his eyes, forcing Annabelle to hold his hand closely to her cheek. ‘It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have left him the way I did.’
‘Hey, come on,’ said Ben. ‘We didn’t know where he’d gone. Besides we were in police cells remember?’
‘Look at the state of him,’ she said, tears welling in her eyes.
‘He’ll be fine when he’s sobered up. Now come on, you cheer up. I’ll go and check on the coffee.’

Later that afternoon it was decided that the boys would go out for food, whilst Annabelle attempted to nurse Donald back to some semblance of his former self. For most of the day he was subdued, and even when she had attempted to generate some sort of response from him, he had become at best, incoherent.
They had been lucky to find lodgings at such a busy time. Toby had managed to track down an old friend who was studying in the capital and he in turn had put them on to the vacant apartment. It was far from what they had become accustomed to in St Johns Wood but it was at least cheap and comfortable.
‘Donald, what are you doing here?’
‘Virginia?’
‘No, it’s me Annabelle. Remember?’
‘Annabelle?’ There was a slight pause and then a look of recognition.
‘What is it, Donald? Tell me.’
‘I need a drink.’
‘I’ll make some more coffee.’
‘No a drink.’
‘No, I don’t think so, it’s coffee or nothing.’
‘Where am I?’
‘Leith.’
‘Where?’
‘Leith, Edinburgh.’
‘Edinburgh? Yes, Edinburgh. How did you find me?’
She told him about the midget and the wrestling.
‘Does anyone know I’m here?’
‘Apart from the boys and me, no, what’s the matter? Are you in trouble?’
Struggling to his feet he went to the window and looked down onto the street. Leith Walk, a busy high street sloping from Princes Street to the docks was bustling with festival-goers, and glossy in the sunshine.
This hadn’t always been the case. Once, not so long ago, before it had been earmarked for development by the longsighted folk from the other side of the city, it had been a forgotten place. A world of bed-sits hidden away in dark tenements. Of crumbling warehouses giving home to rats and crack dealers. A world not dissimilar to the one Donald had visited over thirty years ago.
‘I used to stay around here when I did rep’ you know?’
Annabelle’s eyes opened; at last he was making sense.
‘Are you feeling a little better?’
For a moment he didn’t react until suddenly he spun round and held her like a child with his mother.
‘Don’t tell them that I’m here.’
‘Who?’ she said holding him closely. ‘What’s happened Donald? Tell me.’ Leading him back to the sofa, she sat him down and looked into his eyes. ‘If you want me to help you, you’ll have to tell me what trouble you’re in.’
Slowly he nodded and for a moment she was certain he was about to tell her, when suddenly, the door opened and the boys walked in.

The “Great Prody”, that star of the silent arts, had been taken to Leith police station, where he was being interrogated by Tomblin. He had arrived a matter of hours before and had infuriated everyone in the building by calling them “Jock” - even the females. But more than anything it was because he had taken over the investigation, with such pomposity.
Not that that surprised Appleby in any way. As he arrived at the station he was aware of the disarray he would have created, and that suited his purposes, perfectly.
‘Afternoon, sir,’ said Hodges, who was sitting on a desk next to a pretty WPC, as he walked in. ‘The Superintendent is in with the mime artist. Would you like to go in?’
‘No, I’ll wait until he finishes. Don’t want to tread on his toes.’ Placing his hat and cane on a table, he looked around. ‘Where does one get a cup of coffee in this place?’
‘I’ll get that,’ he said, making his way over to the machine.
Ever since Randall had been taken off the case the young detective had become nothing more than a glorified lap dog. No longer were his views considered. Tomblin was not the sort of man to share his thoughts with lesser mortals like detective constables.
Suddenly, a door opened and the man himself appeared from the interview room with Prody. He was pleased with himself, Appleby could tell. It was always easy to read a man like Frank Tomblin.
‘Make sure we’ve got all his details before he disappears,’ shouted Tomblin to an officer who was leading the midget out.
‘Sir.’
‘Frank.’
‘That’s the Midget I was telling you about.’
‘Yes.’
The sarcastic note was missed by Tomblin, who had already gone into the heavy detail of the day’s events.
‘Excuse me, sir. There’s someone in reception for you,’ said a young constable to Hodges over at the coffee machine.
‘For me?’
‘Yes, he asked for you by name.’
Handing over the coffee responsibilities to the young Scot he went out of the office, to the reception area.
‘Someone asking for me?’
‘Yes,’ said the desk Sergeant, ‘he’s over there.’
Looking up he was shocked to find the waiting area deserted.
‘Oh, well, he was there a second ago.’
‘Odd. Well, if it’s that important he’ll be back.’
Hodges returned to find Appleby and Tomblin in deep conversation.
‘What do we know about these kids that were with him?’ asked Appleby.
‘We’ve drawn a blank there. But the Pole has given us their descriptions and I intend to make an appeal for witnesses at the press conference in the morning.’
‘And I’ll go back to the square where he was seen,’ added Hodges. ‘Most of them had gone when we went earlier. They’ll be back tomorrow and hopefully we can jog a few memories.’
‘And why are we having so much trouble finding them?’
‘I know he’s been plastered across every newspaper and television south of the border for the past couple of weeks, but the festival’s been on up here for nearly a month, and on top of that the weather’s been good. But don’t worry Tom, we’ve got a good lead with this Prody character, we’ll get him.’
As always he was full of confidence, a self-assurance that Appleby didn’t share.
‘Let’s hope so for all of our sakes,’ he said as he picked up his cane and hat and made his way to the door. Finding Donald Hawksmoor was now more important to him as the protector of the powerful, than it ever would be to him as a policeman.

Elliot Randall had spent an uncomfortable afternoon on a bed with only one serviceable spring. He had just come to the conclusion that the floor would be a better option, when he heard footsteps out in the corridor. When the door opened it revealed Tindle, pristine as ever, flanked by Lott and the man he had seen earlier. Politely he asked Randall to stand and then marched him out into the corridor. Once inside the house he was taken up the narrow staircase and then led into the drawing room, where to his surprise he was left alone. Before he could harbour any thoughts of escape, however, another door at the far end of the room suddenly opened to reveal Unwin.
Crossing the room as if Randall wasn’t there he placed some papers on the desk, where he then turned and smiled. His eyes were small and shrewd and with a head of short cropped hair he reminded Randall of every movie army sergeant he had ever seen. Then he spoke to reveal a slow monotone purr, not a harsh and aggressive one as he had first thought.
‘Will sir require a drink before dinner?’
The moment was surreal. There he was preparing for the end and someone was going to cook him a meal. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry – and so instead ordered a whisky.

In Leith, Donald stared at the darkening skies from an armchair, humming a song. A song he had sung to his good friend Vasile and his family.
‘Donald we need to go now,’ said Annabelle kneeling before him.
He was still as distant as he had been earlier that day. For a while they had walked him around the flat to sober him up, but had finally come to the conclusion that it wasn’t drink that was affecting him but something more serious. So in the end the best they could do was to make him as comfortable as possible.
The flat had a series of tall windows with low sills; so low in fact that the occupant could study the street below without any difficulty. Not that Donald wanted to. He had been overwhelmed with a melancholy air that had taken part of him to another place. A place he was finding more and more difficult to return from.
‘Donald, we’ll be back soon. If you need food or coffee, there’s plenty in the kitchen.’
Slowly looking up he gave her an almost ethereal smile.
‘Go and sing little bird, sing.’
These words, the most intelligible he’d uttered that evening, made her smile and for the first time she felt he would soon be back to his old self. Kissing him gently on the cheek she walked to the door where Ben was waiting. Then with a nod she turned and walked out.

With the remnants of a large whisky in his glass, Randall was led through to the dining room where a long dining table was set for dinner. As he was positioned at one end, a door opened at the other to reveal Appleby with a cheery smile. Slacks and an opened collared shirt had now replaced his black uniform, and with the evening sun gleaming through the opened doors, setting off his tan, he was the picture of sophistication.
‘Good evening Elliot, I hope you have a healthy appetite. Cook informs me he’s really surpassed himself tonight.’
‘What’s this the last supper?’
‘Elliot, you’re always so damned dramatic,’ he laughed, as Unwin helped him to his chair.
‘Shall I serve, sir?’
‘Please do, Unwin. I’m famished. I don’t know why they do food at funerals. I can never eat a thing.’
He looked at Randall for a reaction but not getting one, he clicked his fingers, ‘But of course, you wouldn’t have known. It was Harry Kessler’s funeral today.’
Randall smiled to himself, ‘What a fool I’ve been.’
‘Don’t blame yourself, man. These things are often incredibly complicated.’
‘But can become very simple when oil is involved?’
‘Very good. Tindle did tell me you were well informed, but I would expect nothing less of one of my best officers. To answer your question though, yes, oil can simplify an awful lot of things.’
‘And what camp were you in?’
‘All in good time,’ he said, as Unwin returned with a large serving bowl and placed it on a broad sideboard.
‘Gazpacho, sir.’
‘Splendid.’
When he had served, Unwin departed, leaving the two men alone. It was now dusk and the sun was low in the sky, casting an orange hue across the room. Suddenly Randall saw a glimmer of golden light blinking in the shadows on one side of the room. Turning to see a large grandfather clock across from the windows he noticed the pendulum swaying in and out of the light like an oscillating sun. Then glancing down the table at Appleby he watched in disgust as he ate his soup, unaware of him and the world around him.
For a while neither of the men spoke until finally Appleby pushed his empty bowl away and sat back.
‘Elliot, we go back a long way. I think it’s only fair that I explain my actions.’
‘This should be worth a listen,’ he said, looking away from his untouched food.
‘So how much do you know?’
‘About the coup? Only what’s been documented. But somehow I get a feeling I’m about to hear the definitive version.’
‘Well, I think you’ve earned the right to hear it.’
‘I’m honoured.’
‘Preparations for the coup were moving at a pace. Everything was set and the plan was ready to go into operation . . . ’
‘So what went wrong?’
‘Wrong?’
‘Well, it couldn’t have gone swimmingly or else you wouldn’t have your men killing innocent people thirty years later’
‘Yes, I see,’ he smiled. ‘Somehow certain members of the Sultan’s entourage discovered the plot. It was then that the old boy proved he wasn’t without his own brand of trickery. He’d earned a certain amount of respect from some of the British officers, enough to cause a rift between them. Some, sensibly, ignored his approaches whilst others felt they should help him in some way.’
‘To do what?’
‘To play the double bluff. He knew he could hold Whitehall to ransom. You can imagine the headlines “British Government implicated in Oman coup.” But more than that he said he would allow unlimited access to his vast oil fields, if the British abandoned this plot orchestrated by his son. This was fed back to the government who in the main said no. But there were those with links to big business who saw the enormous potential,’ suddenly he said noticing Randall’s untouched dish. ‘Not hungry?’
‘And that was when your friend “Mad dog” Fraser came into the picture,’ he said ignoring the question.
‘It was leaked in certain quarters about what was going on, and then it was just a matter of time. Fraser had been heavily involved in Oman. He knew the Sultan, and he knew most of the Brits out there, but most of all he knew the country. The big players knew he was their man and they knew what sort of chaos he could bring. He was the disruption they were looking for. But let’s not forget this was the early seventies. And some of us could see the way things were going. The unions in this country were getting powerful and trouble was on the way. Some of us saw it as a great incentive to get involved.’
‘How very patriotic.’
Dismissing the comment he continued. ‘The prince was no fool, though. Once he was in power our presence would have been marginalized and that would have suited no-one.’
‘Except the Omanies of course.’
The door opened and Unwin returned with a large tray.
‘Venison, sir.’
‘Splendid. Oh, I haven’t introduced you to my man, Unwin. My kit man from the army days, loyal as the day is long. Loyalty is everything. Especially when one’s country is involved.’
‘So . . .’ he struggled to find the words, Appleby was so matter-of-fact about the whole conspiracy it incensed him. ‘So what has this got to do with Dorothy Kite, or killing me for that matter?’
Appleby filled his glass and sat back once more as Unwin served. ‘To certain politicians and their financiers this was an opportunity to good to let slip by. The plan was simple. Put a few people out of the picture and everything changes. The two men tying up the deal with the prince were Harry Kessler and . . .’
‘Charles Cassell.’
‘My, we have been doing our homework. Yes, the very man. When Fraser discovered that the deal was all but finalised, and that the two men, along with representatives of the prince, were meeting on the bonny banks of Erine, he and his people, including your friends Tindle and Lott, made sure they didn’t make it.’
‘So the plane was on course and it wasn’t engine trouble?’
Appleby smiled. ‘Well, sort of. Old Mad Dog got his hands on a blowpipe, an early ground-to-air missile launcher to you, but in those days the damned things were notoriously difficult to use. I’m sure he won’t mind me saying, but it was Mr Tindle himself who fired the fatal shot. It only managed to take off some off the tail, but considering the condition it was a remarkable feat. It went into the loch killing all on board, or I should say nearly everybody on board.’
‘So how the hell did Kite survive that?’
‘Now there you have me at a disadvantage. Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Well, of course then all hell broke loose. The place was swarming with intelligence people and the hunt was on for the major. Most of his foot soldiers were tracked down and those that were leaving for Oman were picked up. You see the trouble with the major was, he really was mad.’
‘Sounds like he wasn’t the only one,’ he said pushing away the next course. ‘What happened to him?’
‘I presume killed, somehow. He was last seen running towards the loch.’
‘So you mean to tell me that if Kessler had been killed that night this country would have been running Oman?’
‘Elliot, we were virtually running it anyway.’
‘And you really believed that killing these men would have allowed you to take over the oil fields?’
‘With Cassell and Kessler out of the picture the whole situation would have changed. The two main supporters of the prince would have gone for a start. And with the government terrified of it all coming out, the whole thing would have been covered up and the kings plan would have been put into operation.’
‘But Cassell’s death was covered up anyway.’
‘For very different reasons, though. His body was flown south and made to look as he died in a car crash. The investigation into the plane crash was held a few months later by which time, of course, the prince was in power.’
‘What tangled webs we weave. So what was your involvement? And how did you wriggle your way out of it all?’
‘Now, that would be telling, and I think you’ve heard more than enough already. That was quite refreshing, though. It’s not often I get the chance to tell the truth. In my position I spend most of my time avoiding it. More wine?’ Ignoring the question Randall stared at him across the table. ‘You see Elliot it was just chance that I heard about Hawksmoor. At first I merely presumed it was the ramblings of an old drunk. But when I discovered the building was owned by Kessler and you were taking an interest, I knew there was something in it.’
‘Something worth killing for?’
‘I represent some very powerful people; they require protection. It’s unfortunate it’s happened this way. But there you have it.’
‘It’s certainly unfortunate for the victims.’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic, Elliot. The end justifies the means. This whole damn mess should be sorted out in the next few days and I can get on with my life again’
‘And what about mine?’
‘Yes, sorry about that. But you must appreciate my predicament. But it’s not as if you’ll be leaving a wife or anything.’
The comment, delivered in such a sardonic tone, hurt Randall deeply and he felt the urge to lash out. Just then the door opened and in walked Unwin again, this time flanked by Tindle and Lott.

It was only 10 o’clock but Hodges was fast asleep. Tomblin worked his men hard, and already Hodges knew it better than most. This is probably why he was so irate when he was woken by a loud knock at the door. Fumbling into a dressing gown and stumbling through the darkness he opened it to find the elderly landlady of the guesthouse.
‘Sorry to wake you detective, but there’s a man downstairs asking for you.’
‘What now?’ he muttered, half asleep. Then he remembered his visitor at the station earlier that day. ‘Okay, I’ll come down.’
Dressing quickly, he went down to the dining room to find a wiry man in his late fifties dressed, despite the muggy conditions, in a pork pie hat and overcoat. Hodges approached him and then stopped suddenly.
‘Mr Tyler?’
‘Good evening Detective.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Has it got something to do with the Hawksmoor case?’
Taking off his hat he smiled. ‘I think I can safely say, yes.’

When Annabelle and the boys returned to the flat around midnight they were alarmed to discover the chair by the window empty. For a moment Annabelle feared for the worst. But she needn’t have worried. There, in one of the bedrooms, snoring loudly beneath a galaxy of films stars and singers, Donald had fallen fast asleep.
‘He’s in my bed,’ hissed Toby
‘Hardly yours,’ said Annabelle, ‘we’re only here until tomorrow.’
‘It’s not the point,’ he said staring into the room. ‘And he’s drank my bloody whisky!’
‘Oh, stop whinging. Use the room I’m in.’
‘I want that room.’
‘Well, you can’t have it. Donald’s in it.’
‘Donald’s in it,’ he said, mocking her.
‘All right you two, let’s calm down, eh?’ said Ben, the voice of reason. ‘It’s been a tiring day for all of us, so maybe we should all get some sleep wherever we can.’
‘Fine by me,’ said Toby storming into the next bedroom and slamming the door.
Waiting until everyone had gone, she entered the room and closed the door quietly behind her. There in the moonlight she watched him, a child before a king.
In the silver hue he seemed like a ghost. And for the first time she could see how much he had changed. How much older he had become. Laying on the bed beside him she reached up and stroked his greying hair and wondered what had happened in such a short time to affect him so.
Then after a while, nestling close to him, she closed her eyes and drifted away to find him in her dreams.

SATURDAY. 6:08 AM.

By the time David Tyler had convinced Hodges that his extraordinary account of the past week was true, dawn was breaking over Edinburgh. They were still in the living room of the guesthouse, and had been for some time. Putting into words what Tyler and Randall had experienced was no simple task. The news shocked the young detective deeply, but his major concern was for the plight of Elliot Randall.
‘Do you think he’s still alive?’
‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know.’
‘What do we do now?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said pacing the garish shag pile. It was a dark, sombre room, poorly dressed with cheap reproduction furniture, which mirrored their depressed mood perfectly. ‘Sorry to sound so negative, but this is a wholly unique situation, and a very dangerous one. These people are ruthless.’
‘Could Elliot locate Hawksmoor?’
‘If he’s in a position to, and Hawksmoor still alive. Then it’s a possibility.’
‘Forgive me for being naïve, but why don’t we just approach Tomblin?’
‘Haven’t you been listening to me? We simply don’t know who’s involved in this.’
‘Tomblin?’
‘If Appleby’s involved, anybody could be.’
Hodges was sitting at a huge dining table below a painting of a snow-coated Edinburgh castle. Up until that moment his head had drooped towards the table top but then, as if stirred by an unseen hand he looked up suddenly.
‘Tomblin came to see me at home last week.’
‘What about?’ said Tyler with a frown.
‘He wanted to know if Randall was holding back any information from the investigation.’
‘And what did you say?’
The question seemed to upset Hodges. He got the feeling he was being treated unfairly and he was becoming increasingly defensive as the cross examination went on.
‘Look surely you don’t suspect me?’
‘Hodges if I did I wouldn’t be here. I just need to get all the details. Now you were saying?’
‘Tomblin wanted to know if there were any other leads we were looking into. He said I had to contact him directly if anything came up.’
‘And was there anything?’
Hodges shrugged his shoulders, weakly. ‘Apart from the building being owned by Kessler Orginisation, no.’
‘So apart from that you didn’t tell Tomblin anything?’
‘There really wasn’t anything to tell. Look, what about the press?’
Tyler suddenly stopped pacing the room and sat down across from him.
‘What about it?’ he said sliding his hat across the table, disappointed by the question. ‘Apart from a few photographs we don’t have any evidence at all, and even if we did Elliot would be dead before it was ever published.’
‘This is incredible,’ said Hodges sinking a mouthful of lukewarm tea. ‘Incidentally, why did you disappear yesterday?’
‘Because I saw Appleby. It’s bad form to be spotted by the enemy before the battle starts.’
‘See you’re point.’ Looking nervously at his watch, he suddenly looked up at Tyler. ‘If they did have Randall . . .why would they keep him alive?’
‘Because they are professionals, and if they don’t have Hawksmoor they have no choice. They can’t do anything until they get him. So if they haven’t he’s still got a chance.’
‘I don’t get you.’
‘How did Elliot get here?’
‘He got a flight.’
‘Right. Therefore, his name has gone through the booking system. They’d have to go a long way to erase that, far easier to use his journey north to their advantage.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Kill two birds with one stone?’
‘Make it look like Elliot came after Hawksmoor of his own accord,’ he said startled at his own conclusion.
‘Staging a double death could eliminate all of their problems. They’ve convinced the world that Hawksmoor’s nothing more than a psychopath. But I also think that if Dorothy Kite is still alive, and that’s what this is all about, she’s obviously a threat to them and they need to eliminate her as well.’
‘But why would Hawksmoor come to Edinburgh in the first place?’
‘That was the last thing I discussed with Elliot; Hawksmoor has some connection to Edinburgh. Maybe he was born here.’
Just then, the landlady appeared and opened the curtains. The sunlight was so bright that Hodges, who had gone without sleep most of the night, covered his eyes and then massaged the sockets with the palm of his hands.
‘Could I make you some breakfast gentlemen?’
‘That is a wonderful idea, my dear. Unfortunately, Detective Hodges will have to leave us now; I’m absolutely starving, though. And what about my room?’
‘I’ve put you in the next one to the detective. Now I’ll just get your breakfast on.’
‘Where am I going?’ said Hodges still rubbing his eyes.
‘To work of course, you are in the perfect position. Everyone’s looking for Hawksmoor. As soon as you hear something, call me. I’ve got the car outside; I can be with you in no time. Now, get your skates on, the traffic’s always bad in the festival.’
‘Aren’t you tired?’
‘I slept in the car yesterday when I was waiting for you.’
‘It’s all right for some. What are you going to do now?’
‘Have my breakfast, of course.’

Tomblin was updating Appleby on the phone when Unwin appeared on the patio. He could tell by the old soldiers’ face there was a problem and so ended the call quickly.
‘It’s Mr Berman, sir.’
Appleby pushed the phone across the table and picked up his coffee.
‘It appears that Virginia Kite has disappeared.’
‘What?’
‘She took the dog as usual but has not returned. That was four hours ago.’
‘Wasn’t she followed?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘Have they searched the area?’
‘Yes, they found the dog tied against a tree. But no trace of her.’
‘Damn,’ said Appleby climbing to his feet. Looking out towards the railway bridge, he thought for a moment or two before turning quickly.
‘Tindle and Lott will have to work alone. Bring everyone in, I want her found, and quickly.’
As Unwin walked into the house, Appleby realised his problems were mounting. If he didn’t deal with them quickly, he sensed deep inside that it would be the end of him, too.

Donald Hawksmoor studied James Dean with a curious eye. He had attempted to speak with the man three times but found him to be most aloof. It was not until he sat up in the bed and looked around, however, that he realised the room was awash with dead movie stars and that Mr Dean was not doing it out of spite.
Looking out of the opened window, he could see the clear blue sky above the roofs. It was already hot and clammy and promising to be the hottest day yet. Sitting down on the sill he stared down on a small garden, still in shadow from the towering tenements all around. In the distance, he could hear the traffic and the occasional call of a gull. He could also hear something else much closer – raised voices in the next room.
He could make out little of what was being said, apart from the occasional word. “Accessory” and “Police,” being two of them.
Moving closer to the door he listened to the heated conversation on the other side.
‘Well, we have to do something,’ said Toby. ‘We could get into a lot of shit for this. We’ve all been cautioned once this month as it is, and when people realise who the guy was in the pink knickers, the place will be buzzing with the boys in blue. Oh, and when you give him breakfast give him a spoon not a knife. Sharp household objects and psychopaths are a bad combination.’
‘Can you keep your voice down?’ said Annabelle through gritted teeth.
‘No, because when it becomes apparent who helped the nut case, it’ll be our arses on the line. Mark my words.’
‘We can hardly avoid your words. You never shut up!’ she shouted. ‘He’s a friend and he’s in trouble.’
‘In trouble?’ he snapped, tossing a newspaper onto the coffee table. ‘According to that he’s in big trouble.’
‘He’s got a point Annabelle,’ said Ben. ‘If he has done these murders and it’s discovered that we were harbouring him, we could get in a real mess.’
‘He’s a friend; he couldn’t kill a fly. We’ve got to help him,’ she said.
‘He’s no friend of mine, he’s just bloody weird. I told you that in London.’
Suddenly, Toby was aware that he was talking to himself and everyone was looking over his shoulder towards the bedrooms. Standing in the doorway, Donald’s presence spread a sudden unease amongst the group.
‘Good morning,’ he smiled. ‘If someone would be so good as to make me a cup of coffee, maybe I could explain everything.’

When Hodges arrived at the station, he saw everyone and everything in a new light. Tomblin, pompous as ever, now had an edge to him, a potential dark side that angered him.
‘Hodges I want you to get down to the gardens as soon as possible,’ he said catching his gaze. Take a few uniforms with you and see what you can find. Maybe we’ll have more luck today.’
‘Maybe,’ said Hodges.
Tomblin, surprised by his tone, looked at him quizzically. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine.’
‘What’s the matter, don’t you like your lodgings?’
Noticing Appleby enter the room the young detective turned to go. ‘I better be on my way.’
‘Everything all right?’ said Appleby arriving at Tomblin’s side.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said watching Hodges walk out, ‘not sure at all. I’ll have to keep my eye on that boy.’

Despite the early hour, Princess Street was bustling. Promoters, street performers and canvassers for a thousand shows all competed for the attention of the mass of tourists. Hodges, having just organised his officers along the length of the gardens, was studying the crowds in the square where Donald had been seen the day before. To his disappointment, nothing seemed different from the previous day. In fact, it was so early most of the acts had still not arrived. He was preparing to leave when suddenly he saw a flaming torch shoot high into the morning sky. Walking to the far side of the square he saw a juggler with a long a long multi-coloured pony tail.
‘I always wanted to do that,’ said Hodges.
The juggler, who was in the process of setting up, stopped to give Hodges the once over, ‘what grow your hair long?’
‘No, juggle.’
‘No, no money in it. You’re much better off staying as you are.’
‘And what’s that?’ The man smiled and went back to his preparations. ‘I just wanted to ask you a few questions.’
‘I’ve already told one of your colleagues everything I know.’
‘Oh, I didn’t realise. When was this?’
‘About half an hour ago.’
‘What a uniformed officer?’
‘Don’t you people communicate? Plain clothes.’
‘Are you sure he was police?’
‘Showed me his ID.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘Think.’
‘I can’t remember,’ he said standing up. He was very tall, possibly ten or eleven inches taller than Hodges.
Looking up at him Hodges suddenly smiled. ‘What did he ask you then, big man?’
‘If I tell you will you go away?’ Hodges’ stare was encouragement enough. ‘He asked me if I was here yesterday afternoon.’
‘And?’
‘I said yes.’
‘Go on.’
‘He then asked if I saw the midget and the bloke in the knickers.’
‘And did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Weren’t you juggling?’
‘Yes, but it was a waste of time. As soon as they started fighting all my crowd went over to look.’
‘So you stopped and went over as well?’
‘No mate, I’m a professional, the show must go on.’
‘So how did you see everything from over here?’
The juggler pointed over to a very long unicycle.
‘Amazing what you can see on top of one of those.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, as I said to the other bloke, as soon as the crowd went over, the group who’d been playing on the stage, stopped.’
‘And?’
‘Well, the singer, a girl, went over to help the bloke in the knickers.’
‘And then?’
‘They got him dressed . . .’
‘Who?’
‘The girl and the rest of the group,’ he said shaking his head. ‘Then they walked up the mound and I didn’t see them again.’
‘Do you know the name of the group?’
‘Yes, Adverse Camber; shite name, eh?’
‘And who would have a contact number for them?’
‘Like I said to the other bloke, one of the promoters, god knows which one though. You’ll be lucky to find one today.’
‘Why today?’
‘Good god. Because it’s the last day of the festival, it’s the big finale tonight.’
‘Finale?’
‘Princess Street is closed to traffic and there’s a huge firework display. It’s great,’ he said, sarcastically, ‘you can’t move for drunken tourists.’
‘Where could I find out about contacting promoters?’
‘Try the festival offices on the royal mile.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Up the mound, on the road that leads to the castle. That’s the big thing with the high walls.’
Hodges missed the sarcasm. He was already rushing towards the steep flight of steps leading to the top of the mound, hoping against hope that he wasn’t too late.

At the flat, surrounded by Annabelle and the boys, Donald told his story. It lacked his usual panache and half-truths, but it was more effective than his cavalier style ever could be. Never once did the account raise a smile within the teller and not once did he swell on the irony of it all. This was a shadow of the man who had lived life to the full, and no one saw it clearer than Annabelle.
In silence, they pondered on what they heard, until finally Toby stood up.
‘What are we going to do now?’
‘What can we do? said Annabelle.
‘Well I don’t fancy being bumped off by his psychos.’
‘Toby will you do us all a big favour and shut up?’
‘Don’t speak to me like that. If it wasn’t for your fascination with all things wrinkly, we wouldn’t be in this mess.’
‘Why don’t you just go away Toby?’
‘Yes, maybe I should.’ He stormed to the door and then turned to face her. ‘You deal with it Annabelle. We’re in this mess because of you. We should never have brought him here!’ On this, he walked out, slamming the door behind him.
‘Toby!’ she yelled running to the door.
‘Annabelle, it’s okay he’ll be back,’ said Ben. ‘Just calm down.’
‘What if he goes to the police?’
‘He won’t do that,’ he said joining her at the door.
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I know him, and so do you. He’ll be back.’
She was about to speak again, when suddenly Donald mumbled something. Looking over to see him holding up the newspaper, they walked to him.
‘What did you say?’ said Annabelle.
‘That’s the house,’ he said in a whisper.
‘What house Donald?’ she said sitting next to him.
‘The house in the photograph.’
Annabelle took the paper from him and studied the front page. There was a picture of pallbearers carrying a coffin before a large house on the banks of a loch. She read the newsprint..
‘Mourners paid their last respects to the late Harry Kessler yesterday at the ancestral home in Erine.’
‘Harry Kessler was in the photograph with Dorothy,’ said Donald, his eyes fixed on the floor.
‘So this could help you,’ she said.
‘I must go there,’ he said getting up and walked to the door.
‘You’re going nowhere,’ she said pulling him back. ‘Toby was right. God knows how many people saw you yesterday. You cannot go out of that door; do you understand me? Now go and sit down.’
Donald did as he was told as Annabelle took Ben and Charles to one side.
‘Let’s take him there.’
‘What?’ said Ben.
‘Who else is going to help him?’
‘This isn’t a adventure Annabelle. People are dead. We should let him go. Let him take his own chances.’
‘For gods sake, we can’t just leave him!’
‘That’s exactly what we can do. Use your head Annabelle.’
‘I won’t leave him,’ she repeated, studying Donald across the room. ‘I just won’t.’

‘David, we’ve got problems.’ Hodges was standing outside the Festival Offices on the Royal Mile, and was more than a little agitated ‘Hawksmoor was carried off by the band and nobody seems to have a contact number.’
‘We can work round that surely?’
‘Normally, yes. The trouble is somebody got here before me, and they’ve been asking exactly the same questions.’
‘Damn.’
‘It seems the promoter who gave the band the job may still be in Edinburgh. I have the number but he’s not answering.’
‘Any idea to where he might be?’
‘I’ve got a list of places where he could be. The trouble is, so has Appleby and his people.’

For the whole of the morning and most of the afternoon, there was not a sound outside Randall’s prison. Hoping that it may remain that way for while, he began to scratch at the base of the bars on the window with his belt buckle. It was a fruitless task and one he was preparing to give up on, when the heavy door at the end of the corridor opened with a whine. Once again, the footsteps approached; a steady beat that chilled him to the bone. Then suddenly they stopped at the cell door, but unlike before, there was no jangling of keys. Instead, a small flap at the bottom of the door opened and a metal plate of bread and water appeared on the stone floor.
For a while, he ignored it. Then when the temptation became too much he took it up and ate it all. It was a big mistake. Instantly he knew there was a problem. The room seemed to be closing in on him and in a vain attempt to stop it he got up from the bed, but that only made it worse.
With a numbing sensation inside, he watched as the rows of tiles on the approaching walls suddenly began to shuffle vertically like dials on a fruit machine. It was as if he was at the very centre of it all and he too was spinning, uncontrollably, and that each part of him was dissolving into the next at great speed. Closing his eyes to hide from the garish nightmare he quickly discovered that there, too, the swirling bands of colour were at work, this time separating into a billion parts, devouring him from within and beyond.
In a moment, he was toppling over onto the floor, his body convulsing. Then as quickly as it had started he was suddenly still, prompting watchful eyes to appear at the thin slot on the door. Like a devil waiting for the final throes of death, it studied the twisted form on the floor, until finally, they disappeared and a key entered the lock.
‘Put him in the car,’ said Tindle as the door opened and two men entered the cell and dragged Randall out into the corridor. As he was unceremoniously carried along the corridor to the house, Tindle followed slowly, his eyes, as ever, watchful and still.
‘I’m afraid Mr Randall, the end is very nigh.’

Toby’s prolonged absence had made them all more than a little uneasy - and with good reason. For if there was trouble to be found, Toby was the boy most likely. He had been gone for nearly five hours and knowing his volatile temperament as they did, it did not bode well.
Annabelle, who had spent the afternoon alone with Donald in the bedroom, watched as he drifted in and out of reality. Indeed, it had been a struggle to get any sense out of him all day. In time, however, he slept, allowing her time to think and plan a way out for them all.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the bedroom door, and she opened it to find Ben.
‘I don’t think he’s coming back,’ he said softly. ‘You know what he’s like.’
She didn’t say anything. She had noticed the bags over near the door.
‘Is that it then, you’re just going?’
‘Yes, and if you had any sense you’d come with us.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Your mad.’
‘I won’t just leave him.’
‘I can’t work you out. Annabelle, he’s a drunk, you owe him nothing. Snap out of it and get your things.’
Avoiding his gaze, she stared down at the floor.
‘Right,’ he said after a moment. ‘We’re going then.’
‘Goodbye,’ she whispered.
Closing the door, it all became too much for her. Pressing her face against the door, she felt the aching sensation deep within her suddenly rise like a spring and overwhelm her. Then as the tears ran down her cheeks she felt a hand on hers. Looking up to see Donald’s smiling face she held him tightly.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, wiping away the tears. The light in his eyes had returned and she now saw what she wanted to see.
‘Kiss me,’ she said, hooking her arms around his neck. ‘Please, kiss me.’

Giving in to one another, engulfed by a passion that would bind them for the rest of their lives; they spent that evening as if destiny had intended it. The contrast of this with everything that had gone before only intensified what they shared, and as they lay, drained and hot with the night, they were certain they had found heaven.
It was dark now and for a long time they lay listening to the city through the opened window, until Annabelle, running a finger down his arm, said, softly.
‘I think I love you.’
Donald smiled, ‘what an old wrinkly like me? What do you see? Me as I am, or what I used to be?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I see, it’s what I feel.’ She reached for a drink on the bedside table and sat up. Her young body firm and pure. ‘I must tell you something? When I saw you in the pub that night, it wasn’t for the first time. I’d seen you there before but I didn’t dare speak to you in case you brushed me away.’
‘Well, you’ve got your man now.’
She pinched him on the shoulder until he yelled.
‘That bloody hurt.’
‘It was supposed to, old man.’
She laughed and then snuggled close to him.
‘What will we do now?’
‘I need to go to the house were Kessler was buried.’
‘What has this photograph got to do with what you saw that night?’
‘I met Lizzie Paillard the day before she was killed. She had something to tell me, I’m sure. She died getting that photograph to me. I can’t stop until I find Dorothy.’
‘Did you love her?’
‘Dorothy?’ he said sitting up, suddenly, ‘Yes, I think I loved her more than any woman I’d ever known. The problem was I just wouldn’t admit it to myself. That’s how I lost her.’ Looking down at Annabelle with her head resting on his chest, he brushed her hair gently and whispered: ‘But I won’t make that mistake twice.’
Leaning forward, he kissed her before lying back and looking up at the stars. In time, they slept, until an hour or so later, where Annabelle was woken by a noise in the lounge.
‘What was that?’
‘What?’ said Donald, stirring.
‘It sounded like the front door,’ she whispered. ‘Toby!’
She jumped off the bed and putting on her dressing gown she ran into the other room.
‘What?’ said Donald, sitting up and looking round. ‘Annabelle?’
As the door closed behind her, silence descended on the flat. Climbing off the bed and quickly dressing, Donald crept towards the door.
‘Annabelle?’ he whispered, peering through the crack.
Suddenly, it opened and Donald was suddenly face to face with an old adversary.
‘Mr Hawksmoor,’ said Tindle, pointing a knife at his face, ‘a delight to see you again. My, you have been enjoying yourself in our absence. Where do you get the energy?’ Gesturing for him to enter the room, Tindle smiled. ‘Maybe you like to join us? And before you have any foolish ideas of escape, do remember Mr Lott has your delightful young friend for company.’
Donald walked out to see Lott near the main door, with a knife at Annabelle’s throat. In addition, between them and Tindle, stood the dishevelled sight of Elliot Randall.
‘You bastards, let her go.’
‘Such affection for the young, how marvellous. Now, get over next to Randall.’
‘Go to hell!’
‘Don’t argue with them,’ said Randall, almost drunkenly, ‘just do as they say, Donald.’
‘What? You, you’re the worst of all. I hope you rot in hell!’
‘You can both rot in hell if you like,’ said Tindle. ‘Just do as I say first!’
Pushing Donald to Randall’s side he moved forward.
‘Isn’t this cosy? This, as they say, is where we say our farewells. But I don’t think any one of us could say it was uneventful.’
‘What’s going on? What do you want with us?’ said Annabelle, pitiful half naked in a thin dressing gown.
‘Where have you been for the past fortnight?’ said Lott, sarcastically.
‘They’re about to kill us,’ said Randall calmly. ‘Although, it will seem to the world that I tried to save you, but was too late and fought to the death with Donald. Isn’t that right, gentlemen?’
‘Appleby always said you were one of the best,’ said Tindle as he nodded to Lott. Before he could react, however, the phone on the coffee table suddenly started to ring.
It drew everyone’s attention for a moment or two, until Tindle spoke again.
‘Don’t even think about it. That should cover the squeals nicely,’ he smiled stepping towards Donald and Randall.
But as he was almost upon them, the door flew open sending Lott and Annabelle crashing onto the coffee table and stopping the ringing phone in one go.
Toby had returned to face Annabelle, but found himself face to face with a more fearful foe. His eyes were dull with alcohol and as he swayed in the doorway, his confusion was palpable.
Annabelle screamed for him to run, but he was too drunk to react. Tindle’s reaction was like a blur. In a single move, he lurched forward and pulled Toby into the room, and then onto the blade. In a second, the boy was dead. Annabelle screamed again and watched in horror as Tindle withdrew the blade and turned to face them. Then to her amazement she saw Randall run forward and kick Lott in the side of the head as he was getting up.
Tindle seemed caught in two minds. He was standing before Donald and Annabelle with the knife, but knew that briefly he was outnumbered. Taking a step back, he swivelled and slashed at Randall, forcing him back against the wall. Then, almost in the same movement, he came at his head with a lunge. It was then that Randall was, inadvertently, saved by the drugs still running through his system. He had tried to move hurriedly, but the best he could manage was a small half-hearted step to his left. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Tindle to miss and drive the blade deep into the plaster. As he struggled to get it out Randall moved forward and hit him hard in the stomach, sending him to his knees.
‘Run,’ shouted Randall, stumbling forward. He was barely half way across the room when Lott, bleeding profusely from the kick in the head, then hit him.
Dazed and confused Annabelle watched as they fought amongst the broken glass, until suddenly she saw Tindle, dazed himself from his blow, climbing to his feet. She wasted no time. Running forward, she lashed out with her bare foot and kicked him hard in the face. Like a crimson flare, blood shot across his cheeks, as he fell back onto the floor once again. Grabbing Donald’s hand she ran to the door leaving Randall and Lott struggling amongst the broken glass of the table.

With one eye on the road and the other on the buildings to his left, Tyler sped towards 113 Leith Walk. Hodges had finally tracked down the promoter only to discover Appleby and his people had beaten him to it. Getting no reply from the call he had made on his mobile, Tyler realised there was a great possibility that he was already too late.
As he got closer to the flat, the denser the crowds became, making their way to Princess Street. With time running out he pulled into the kerb and proceeded on foot. Despite the darkness, he saw the number on the first door and from there realised how close he was. Pushing through the ranks of bodies, he saw the doorway ahead of him. He was only a matter of feet away, when to his astonishment he saw Randall leap out of the doorway and run into the crowd. He was about to take chase when a grey haired man rushing from the same building knocked him back onto the pavement before rushing into the crowd.
A couple were helping Tyler to his feet when another man appeared on the step. For a moment, the two men studied each other. Tyler, pork pie hat askew, Tindle, nose and cheeks blooded by Annabelle’s kick. Tyler knew instantly from the ravaged ear who he was, but luckily for him, the recognition was not reciprocated.
Wiping a bead of blood from his lips, Tindle looked up and studied the street. Then, quicker than Tyler had anticipated, he shot forward into the crowd.

Somehow, Randall had vanished into the crowd. Lott had been close behind him but now as he wiped the blood from his scalp he could see nothing more than a sea of bobbing heads.
Suddenly, Tindle was by his side.
‘Where?’ he hissed.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Lott, without taking his eyes from the crowd.
‘And Hawksmoor?’
‘The same, moving towards the city centre.’
‘Get onto Berman we need back up. Acquaint them with the female complication, and repeat the rule regarding firearms.’
A man they saw as an inferior had outclassed them. The shame of it had fuelled their natural hatred for lesser mortals, and it didn’t burn any stronger than within Tindle. Randall would be made to pay.
As Lott hurried through the crowd, Tindle caressed the knife sitting against his hip and moved forward with the crowd. Soon they would be at the city centre and soon it would be midnight.

Despite the warm night air, Annabelle was shaking uncontrollably. Although she had no shoes and was dressed in little more than a slip, it came more from fear and shock. Like Donald, she had seen the chaos at first hand and now she was part of it too.
Gripping her tightly by the arm, Donald led her on through the crowd. Somewhere in the distance, music was filling the night - an accompaniment to their nightmare.
Suddenly, Donald felt a hand on his arm. Spinning on his heels, he turned to see Randall, breathless with a pained expression.
‘Get away from me!’ Donald yelled.
‘Shut up you fool! I’ve just saved your life for god sake! Now this isn’t the place for explanations but if you want to stay alive, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and do as I say.’
As he attempted to direct them through the crowd, Donald pulled back. ‘Leave us alone!’
‘I’m not part of this you fool.’
‘I saw you with them at Virginia’s.’
‘I came to Scotland to help you. They found me before I could do anything. I’m as much a victim as you are.’
As the crowd moved around them, the two men stared at one another. It had been their first opportunity to do so since that day in the station. Yet, regardless of their history, Donald was not convinced. Then Annabelle spoke.
‘Donald we have to believe him, he’s just saved our lives.’
‘It may be a trick so I lead him to Dorothy.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, man. I’m here to help you. Now what’s it going to be?’
For a moment, Donald stared at him, before transferring his glance to Annabelle. Her eyes were so trusting he ached inside.
‘Okay,’ he said sorrowfully, ‘what do we do?’
‘First things first, we need to get out of here. They won’t be far behind.’
Slowly, with their heads bowed, as if in shame, they started to move with the flow. Then after a minute or so Randall stopped.
‘There’s a roundabout ahead, we have to make a move there, otherwise we’ll be in the city centre before we know it. We can’t outrun them, there are too many of them. But we have to get out of the city. Take our chances.’
At the roundabout three patrol cars had blocked the exits, forcing the flow of people towards Princes Street. All of those that attempted to cross the roundabout itself were stopped and questioned by the dozen or so officers spread across the junction. Randall then noticed a poorly lit row of tenements curling in a wide arc around the roundabout. Leading Donald and Annabelle across the flow of the crowd to the periphery, he stopped and waited. Then when it was safe they hurried towards the shadow of the row, but had barely made it half way when another car pulled onto the roundabout. Instantly Randall recognised its shape and stopped, unsure what to do, but in that moment the door opened and Berman got out.
‘Let’s go!’ he said
‘What is it?’ said Annabelle.
‘Come on,’ he said as he ran back towards the crowd.
But it was too late. Berman had seen them. Sending one of his men into the crowd he took out his phone.
‘I’ve spotted them. They’re in the crowd at the top of Leith Walk. The only way they can go now is Princess Street. I want everybody up there, now.’

On the last night of the festival, the capitals main street is closed to traffic and a huge midnight firework display is organised from the castle walls. People from all over the city join revellers as they spill out of the pubs to witness the spectacle.
Randall, Donald and Annabelle had followed the flow onto the east end of Princess Street, yet still could find no way to escape. On every corner were police and security, and it was clear the safest place to be was in the heart of the crowd.
As they approached Scott’s monument, a towering black tribute to one of Scotland’s favourite sons, Randall was then distressed to see Berman again, now on the next street ahead. This time, however, he was not alone. Tindle and Lott had returned, and now Randall knew there was little he could do to save himself, let alone his two charges.

Soon it was almost impossible to move through the thickening mass of bodies. So dense was the crowd that any movement generated, passed through the mass like a ripple on water. For a moment, almost suspended amongst the bodies, Randall felt the intense contrast of his fear to the alcohol-fuelled joy all around. Then suddenly, there was a flash and an almighty explosion as a solitary firework briefly lit the sky. As the crowd cheered, the night’s dark veil was suddenly lifted by an array of sparkling light, spraying down onto the city.
As if in response, there was a sudden push and Randall was forced forward. He looked back for Donald and Annabelle only to see them trapped amongst the bodies further back. It seemed Donald was calling to him, but the noise of the crowd and the fireworks made it impossible to hear. He tried to turn but at that moment, another wave hit him pushing him even further away from them. When he looked again, however, he saw the horrifying presence of Tindle and Lott, moving slowly through the crowd towards the couple. He screamed out to them but his voice was drowned out by another roar from above.

‘Donald, this is no good,’ said Annabelle. ‘There are too many people! We must try and get out on our own!’
The crowd had consumed Randall, but against the sway, they could do little to reach him. Donald held Annabelle’s hand tightly; she was the only thing he had left. And she was right, now it was down to them. He looked back towards the far side of the street. Directly across from them was Castle street, a short sloping road that he knew well. If they could get onto that, maybe they had a chance. As he turned to face her there was a sudden burst of white light and in that moment Donald saw their pursuers too. Just like the dream, they were death and now he understood. As they closed in on her, he frantically pulled at her hand. But as he looked down into her eyes he realised she was unaware of the danger. She was a sparrow before the hawks, and in a moment, they were upon her.
Donald screamed out but his words were lost within the crackling of a falling star. For a fraction of a second it was as if the universe itself had stopped; every atom, every breath, every living thing had paused as death took her from him. As the bodies ebbed beneath the rainbow sky, Donald could do nothing but watch as the sea carried her lifeless body away from him.
Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder, but this time he didn’t fight. Now, he wanted to do nothing more than to die there, where she had died. He could hear his name being called repeatedly and when he looked he realised it was Randall.
There was another surge and in an instant, they were both pushed forward. Donald looked back to see Annabelle one final time, but in her place he saw Tindle pushing through the bodies towards him. Then he felt Randall’s hand again, this time pulling him through the laughing, and the singing. Now he felt nothing.
Suddenly after another momentous tug, he was at Randall’s side. There, the bodies were less dense and soon he found he was moving freely towards the periphery of the crowd. As if emerging from a sweathouse they fell to the ground, exhausted. Around them, like a receding tide, the crowd moved away and in that brief moment, Randall knew they had a chance.
Getting to his feet he noticed a narrow road further up the deserted street. It was not ideal but it was all they had. Pulling Donald to his feet, he tried to move forward, but Donald was going nowhere.
‘Leave me!’ he shouted his voice as loud as the explosions above.
‘Shut up!’ Randall cried above the deafening cracks and whines. ‘Come on we haven’t got much time!’
Pushing him forward, they started to run along the road. Donald was wild, calling out Annabelle’s name, and it took all of Randall strength to direct him towards the narrow roadway. In a moment they were level it, and with a push Randall forced Donald into the shadows.
Pulling him back against the wall he eyed the chaotic scenes on Princess Street, and it was at that moment he saw Tindle and Lott spilling from the crowd, scanning the street. Slowly they started to move up the hill, their eyes scanning the street for any movement..
Clamping a hand over Donald’s mouth, Randall waited for the inevitable. It seemed a lifetime before he saw Tindle appear at the edge of the road. Strangely, his slight frame and slow steady movements made him unworldly, almost ghostlike. Then he saw Lott on the far side of the road making his way up to the top of the small slope. Two against one, he thought. But that one was Tindle. He was now stationary at the edge of the road, peering into the shadows. Randall watched him closely. They had had the better of him once; a second time would require help, and lots of it.
He was among the shadows now and Randall could see the colours from the flickering sky dancing about him. There in the darkness it was also possible to see the bursts of light reflecting in his piercing eyes, leaving Randall to wonder how a man like him saw the world.
Suddenly there was a huge flash and explosion. The length of the back street was briefly illuminated but in that very moment, Tindle had looked away. Randall held his breath, but his good fortune was short lived. In that moment of clarity Donald had recognised his nemesis. With astounding agility he leapt forward screaming wildly. There was another explosion from the sky and in that moment, Tindle nimbly shifted his weight to one foot and hit Donald hard on the jaw, sending him onto the cobbled street. In a second, he was above Donald hitting him again and again, until Donald moved no more. Randall rushed forward but it was as if Tindle was flying. Like a phantom, he leapt up, spinning in the air until he landed silently on the cobbles. Reaching into his jacket, he took out the knife. Like a chameleon, the glistening blade changed its colour as it reflected the shifting colours of the sky. .
Tindle moved forward with a monstrous grin. Between him and Randall Donald lay motionless on the ground. Quickly Randall took off his jacket and wrapped it around his forearm.
‘Get up Hawksmoor,’ he yelled, but there was no response from the darkened figure on the ground. If Randall ran now he had a chance, but he had searched for Donald too long to leave him now.
‘Give it up Mr Randall. It’s all over now. You’ve done exceptionally well to get this far, but I fear the end is very close.’
Suddenly, there was a red burst from above and as a car passed along the road they had just left, Randall could sense another figure lurking in the darkness. In the confusion, Lott had returned and somehow moved through the shadows to Randall’s rear.
Yelling out to Donald again his heart sank, and he prepared for the end.
Suddenly the car that had passed moments earlier reappeared and stopped at the opening of the narrow street. Then with its lights at full beam it shot forward along the cobbles towards Tindle, effortlessly he jumped onto the pavement as the car stopped by Donald’s side.
‘Get Hawksmoor!’ shouted Tyler as he jumped out of the car. Randall could barely believe his eyes as he saw his friend aiming a revolver at Tindle. ‘Quickly!’
Grabbing Donald by the arms, Randall forced him into the rear of the car before getting in himself. As the door closed, Tyler glanced over, but when he looked back he was stunned to discover Tindle and Lott were gone. Somehow, in that moment, they had merged into the shadows, forcing him to nervously rush to the car and throw it into gear. As he started to pull away, however, Lott suddenly jumped onto the sill of the opened door. He was grabbing at the wheel, but somehow Tyler held him off and drove on. Lott then grabbed Tyler by the throat and forced his chin back. The car veered across the road and smashed into the wall sending a trail of sparks into the darkness, but still Lott held on.
Randall was trying to reach forward and help but the violent swaying of the car had sent the considerable weight of Donald on top of him, pinning him down. Suddenly, the car swerved back across to the other side of the street and hit the wall. The shattered door struck Lott with such ferocity that it pinned him against the car. Blood spilled from his mouth as the car pressed against the wall and in that moment his grip on Tyler’s throat loosened. When the car pulled away again and turned onto the next street, Randall watched as he fell back onto the road and rolled to a stop. Like a rag doll, his head had twisted to an impossible angle until his eyes stared up towards the shimmering sky.
‘Where the hell did you come from?’ he shouted above the noise from the shattered window.
‘Well, you know me. I hate being left out!’
Until they reached the outskirts of the city neither of the men spoke again, until Randall noticed Tyler wincing in the mirror.
‘What is it?’
‘Just a knock.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure, now why don’t you shut up and let me drive.’
‘Fine. Glad you could make it.’
‘Where are we going anyway?’
‘West. Just drive towards the west coast.’