The Pretender's Gold Page 9

  Ben felt like asking the guy what his problem was, and advising him to take a step back and cool it. But he said nothing yet. Holly fired back angrily, ‘Watch your fuckin’ language, Angus Baird! And I don’t remember asking your opinion, so don’t you be thinkin’ about causin’ trouble in here!’

  But Angus Baird hadn’t finished yet. He pointed a menacing finger at her and said, even more loudly, ‘Ross Campbell was a wee fuckin’ clawbaw and he fuckin’ knew it. That’s why he fuckin’ topped hisself, an’ good riddance tae bad rubbish. And as fer that other boaby, Ewan McCulloch …’ Baird spat on the floor.

  ‘Think ye’re so special, do ye, ye big worthless bampot?’ Holly yelled back at him.

  Ben had no clear idea what clawbaws, boabies and bampots were. These people had a language all of their own. But he was watching Baird and knowing exactly what was about to happen next. The guy was a rage volcano waiting to erupt.

  Baird yelled, ‘Watch what you say to me, ye wee bitch!’ In the next instant, just like Ben had predicted, the big right arm lashed out to make a swipe at Holly. She dodged out of the way, but even if she hadn’t, the blow would never have reached her. Ben snatched Baird’s hand out of the air, trapping it by the thumb and using it as leverage to twist his wrist around and back on itself in a painful lock. Baird let out a cry of shock and surprise. He couldn’t wrench his thumb free for fear of breaking it. All he could do was try to contort his body to relieve the pain, but Ben only twisted it harder. It was the simplest of moves, almost like a card trick. Hardly any effort required, using just two fingers. It didn’t matter how big and strong they were when you sent those kinds of pain signals to their brain.

  Assuming they had a brain. In Baird’s case, Ben was even a little surprised that the lock worked so well. He said, ‘Hitting women is just not a nice thing to do, Angus. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?’

  Baird went down on his knees on the pub floor with his arm stuck up in the air, now roaring and braying like a bull trapped in the castration pen. Two of his friends from the round table were instantly up on their feet and ready to come to his rescue. Ben had seen that coming, too. One of them snatched up an empty pint glass and broke it over the edge of the table. He pointed the jagged teeth Ben’s way and snarled, ‘Let him go, ya basturt!’

  ‘Not until he’s apologised for his antisocial behaviour and agrees to leave here quietly,’ Ben said. ‘The lady and I were having a private conversation.’

  ‘Kenny Mitchell, put that glass down!’ Holly screamed. The girl had spirit, that was for sure. But neither Kenny Mitchell nor his buddy who had flown to Baird’s aid were inclined to back down. They advanced another few steps towards the bar, ready to rush Ben both at once. The usual routine. Their strategy, crude but theoretically effective, would be to come at him in a pincer movement and overwhelm him with a furious barrage of blows. Once he was on the floor, it would be game over.

  That was the idea, at any rate. But what made this situation a little trickier was the broken glass in Kenny Mitchell’s hand. He looked fairly serious about using it, and getting glassed on his first day in Scotland wasn’t Ben’s idea of a fruitful trip. This would have to be dealt with in an appropriate fashion.

  He said, ‘Sorry about the mess, Holly.’

  She looked at him. ‘What mess?’

  At that moment the pair came charging in. Mitchell on Ben’s right, brandishing the glass like a dagger, and his pal on Ben’s left, with his fists balled and teeth bared. Ben used the leverage on Baird’s arm to force him to his feet and propel all two hundred and fifty pounds of him into the guy on the left. The impact sounded like two rugby players slamming full pelt into one another. Baird was heavier, and the other toppled backwards with the crushing weight sending him sprawling into the round table. The table capsized and glassware and beer flew everywhere. Their friends, who until that moment had remained seated, now all jumped up, but nobody else looked ready to join the fight.

  Which left all of Ben’s attention focused on the more serious matter of Kenny Mitchell, who was still in mid-charge with the intention of slashing him open with the jagged shards of his pint glass.

  Ben had about half a second to consider his tactical options. For him, half a second was like half an hour. He could have made a detailed list of all the ways he could permanently disable this idiot and make him eat the damn glass before Mitchell even knew what was happening. None of which were acceptable options. Ben hadn’t come here to make friends, but he hadn’t come here to kill anyone either. Not unless he truly had to. And getting arrested for assault wasn’t going to serve his cause too well either.

  So Ben simply waited until Mitchell was almost on him, then neatly sidestepped out of his way and tripped him up. Mitchell might have fallen on the broken glass, which wouldn’t have been healthy for him but would have been entirely his own fault. In the event, the glass flew out of his hand and went skittering off into a corner as he belly-flopped to the floorboards with a crash that brought down a sprinkling of dust from the ceiling beams.

  Then it was Angus Baird’s turn to re-enter the contest to see who could get most badly damaged. He came at Ben with a demented screech of fury. Normally, in combat against worthy opponents, Ben wouldn’t repeat the same trick twice. But these were not worthy opponents, and the same trick worked just fine. Ben had his back to the bar. As Baird rampaged towards him, big knuckly fists ready to pulverise this impertinent stranger who had dared to humiliate him, Ben danced aside, gently grabbed Baird by the collar on his way past, and simply allowed the big man’s wild momentum to carry him headlong and face-first into the solid oak counter. Baird’s thick skull slammed into the hard wood with a sound like a rifle shot and an impact that made the bottles behind the bar tinkle and rock. He slid to the floor, his body went limp and he lay there very still with his nose smeared sideways across his left cheek like a squished tomato.

  ‘That mess,’ Ben said to Holly.

  Chapter 17

  Holly leaned over the edge of the bar to peer down at the shape on the floor. Baird looked like a beached whale. ‘Jesus Christ. Is he dead?’

  ‘No, but I hope there’s a pharmacy in the village. He’s going to need some headache pills when he wakes up. Not to mention a little reconstructive facial surgery.’

  Baird was completely out cold and would be for some time. His friend Kenny Mitchell was dazed and groaning on the floor and the third guy was still buried in the wreckage of the capsized table. Three for three, and Ben hadn’t thrown a single punch or kick. Most of their other drinking buddies had now gallantly fled the building rather than stand up for their mates. None of the remaining pub clientele were coming anywhere near Ben or the bodies on the floor.

  Except one. It was the woman he’d noticed when he’d come in, sitting by the window at the far end of the room with her back to him. Now she came marching over, clutching a handbag she’d brought from her table. She was maybe about thirty, with tight jeans and dark eyes that matched the colour of her hair. Her gingery man friend stayed in his seat and looked nervous, but she had a purposeful and self-possessed manner that Ben admired even before he knew who she was.

  The woman stepped up to Ben and flashed a warrant card from the handbag. ‘Police officer. You stay right where you are.’

  The name on the card was PC Grace Kirk. Ben replied, ‘Afternoon, Constable. I wasn’t going anywhere. I haven’t finished my drink yet.’

  ‘They started it,’ Holly protested, pointing past Ben at the slumped shapes on the floor.

  ‘I saw what happened.’ PC Kirk glanced down at the inert body of Angus Baird, then over at the other two.

  ‘They’ll be fine,’ Ben said. ‘Just had a little too much beer and got themselves all worked up over nothing.’

  She stared at him. ‘Who are you?’

  Ben gave his name, slipped his wallet from his jacket and flicked out his driving licence to show her. She took it from him and checked it over, warily comparing his face to his
photo and back again. He asked, ‘Are you arresting me, officer?’

  ‘I’m thinking about it.’

  ‘For what? I barely laid two fingers on them. Like handling butterflies.’

  She thought about it for a few moments longer, then seemed to make a decision and handed him back the licence. ‘Fact is, Mr Hope, I wouldn’t know what to arrest you for. You were only defending yourself and Holly here. I can’t charge you with assault if you used minimal force. And you hardly seemed to do very much at all.’

  ‘I didn’t have to,’ Ben said. ‘They’re not really bad boys. They just think they are.’

  ‘Tell that to all the other people they’ve had a bit more success trying to beat up. Looks like they came unstuck this time. Even three against one, with a broken glass. Hardly a fair fight.’

  To have had any chance of a fair fight against Ben, the likes of Angus Baird and his pals would have had to arm themselves with more than a broken glass. Thirty-millimetre cannons might have equalised things a little, as long as they knew how to use them. But Ben kept that opinion to himself. It might not be what PC Grace Kirk needed to hear.

  ‘So, all things considered, no, consider yourself lucky because I’m not arresting you,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, officer.’

  ‘But consider yourself cautioned. No more trouble, okay?’

  ‘Why would I cause trouble? I’m just an ordinary traveller minding his own business.’

  Grace Kirk looked at him curiously, as though she’d never encountered anyone quite like him before and wasn’t sure how to deal with him. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need to sit down? Talk to someone? Shock can affect people in all kinds of ways.’

  ‘Do I look in shock to you?’

  ‘No, in fact I’d say you look incredibly calm and collected, Mr Hope.’ She glanced back at the casualties. Kenny Mitchell was beginning to stir and try to pick himself up off the floor. ‘Excuse me for a moment while I deal with this gentleman, before he decides to make his exit.’

  ‘You need some help?’

  She gestured for him to stay where he was. ‘You just sit tight and finish your drink. I’d like to ask you a few more questions afterwards.’

  ‘I told you,’ Ben said. ‘I’m not going anywhere just yet.’

  He sat and watched as Grace Kirk attended to Kenny Mitchell. In all his dealings with law enforcement, one thing he’d always respected was the coolness and bravery of female officers when dealing with large, aggressive men twice their strength. After informing Mitchell that he was under arrest, she calmly and efficiently secured him with a pair of handcuffs she was carrying in her handbag. A good cop is never off duty. Ben thought she was probably carrying an extendable baton and pepper spray in there as well. Next it was the other idiot’s turn. Angus Baird was still out for the count. Grace got on her phone and made some calls, speaking too low for Ben to hear, but he guessed she was calling in police backup as well as maybe an ambulance. No telling how long the response time would be, out here in the sticks.

  Soon afterwards the pub door opened, and along with a flurry of snow in came a middle-aged couple who turned out to be the owners, horrified and shaking their heads at the state of the place. Grace Kirk explained to them that there had been a brawl, and said they were waiting for her colleagues from Fort William to come and take away the offenders. Ben wasn’t mentioned. Meanwhile, Holly was busy cleaning up broken glass and spilled beer from the floor, pausing now and then to smile at him.

  The ginger-haired guy who’d been sitting with Grace Kirk at the window table quietly finished up his coffee and then left, waving goodbye to her on his way out. Grace was still talking to the owners when blue lights appeared outside. Moments later three uniformed officers with snow sprinkled like dandruff on their shoulders pushed through the door, followed by a pair of paramedics from the ambulance that had arrived with the police response cars. They hadn’t made bad time, Ben thought.

  By then, Angus Baird was starting to come round while his two handcuffed friends were fully conscious and loudly protesting their innocence. ‘It wiz that basturt there! He fuckin’ attacked us!’ The medics gave Baird a check-over before he was formally arrested and loaded into the ambulance, while the uniformed police led the other two outside and placed each in the back of a separate car. Grace accompanied her colleagues outside. Ben could see her through the window, and watched as she hopped into the front passenger seat of one of the cars. When she got out again a couple of minutes later, he was pretty sure she’d been running a search on his name on the national crime database. She wouldn’t have found anything there. The kind of files that existed on him required deeper digging, as well as a high level of official clearance.

  Once out of the car, she lingered for a few moments in the snowy street to talk with the uniforms. Then the procession of vehicles set off, lights flashing. Grace came back inside the pub, shook the powdery white flakes from her hair and clothes, then walked over to where he was sitting. The owners had seemed too preoccupied with the damage to have noticed him at all, and had now disappeared through a STAFF ONLY door. Holly had vanished too. It was difficult to tell whether the pub was open or closed at this point. Though with the snow coming down harder than ever outside, it seemed unlikely that any more customers would venture from their homes any time soon.

  Grace pulled up a bar stool next to Ben’s and sat down with a sigh. ‘All done and dusted. The things you have to do when you’re off duty.’

  ‘I’d offer you a drink, but there’s nobody tending the bar,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks for the thought. I don’t drink, anyway.’

  ‘You said you wanted to ask me some questions.’

  ‘Just a formality. You’re free to go if you want.’

  Ben looked out of the window. The snow wasn’t showing signs of stopping. ‘I’m all yours.’

  Chapter 18

  The fire was dying. Alone inside the empty pub, they moved over to the fireplace and Ben laid a few sticks of wood from a wicker basket onto the embers, with larger logs on top. Soon the blaze was crackling back into life again. Grace sat close to it and held out her hands to warm them by the heat of the flames. ‘We don’t get a lot of strangers passing through Kinlochardaich. Especially not ones like you.’

  ‘Is that a question?’

  ‘I’m just curious, that’s all.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not planning on staying any longer than I have to.’

  ‘May I ask what’s the nature of your visit?’

  Ben replied, ‘Personal.’

  ‘As in, you don’t want to say?’

  ‘No, as in I’m a personal friend of the McCulloch family.’

  She cocked an eyebrow in surprise. ‘You came to see Ewan?’

  ‘Everyone around here seems to know Ewan. Including our friend Angus Baird, who doesn’t seem to like him very much.’

  She made a casual gesture with one hand. ‘It’s a small community. We all know each other. Maybe too well, sometimes. People tend to harbour a lot of stuff. Old grudges, bad blood, rivalries that sometimes go back generations. As for Baird, he’s just an angry moron who hates everyone. Forget about him.’

  Ben was happy to do that. ‘How is Ewan? I only just got here and I haven’t been to the hospital yet.’

  ‘He’s doing about as well as anyone would be doing, after getting half the bones in their body broken and their brains almost beaten out. He still hasn’t come around. Maybe he never will.’

  ‘I’m very sorry.’

  ‘Yeah. So am I.’ Ben could see the depth of sadness in her expression, and sensed that she wanted to say more. She paused a beat and then added, ‘It’s been really hard for me, because Ewan and I used to go out. A long, long time ago. How do you know him?’

  ‘I don’t. I have to admit, Ewan’s not my main reason for being here. His uncle’s an old friend of mine. I came to look for him.’

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean, look for him?’

 
‘I mean, he was here, and now he seems to have vanished.’

  Her frown grew deeper. ‘You’re talking about Boonzie?’

  Now it was Ben’s turn to be surprised. ‘You know Boonzie?’

  ‘Hardly very well, but I liked him. I met him in Fort William, at the hospital. Gave him a lift to the station, and I was there when he talked to DI Macleod and DS Coull. Not a very cordial interview.’

  ‘Boonzie doesn’t think much of the police generally. Present company excepted, I’m sure.’

  ‘My superiors weren’t too enamoured of him either. Especially when he announced that he was intending to hang around the area and pursue his own private inquiry into what happened to Ewan. I haven’t seen him since. I thought he must have just drawn a blank, given up and gone home to … Italy, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Drawing a blank and giving up isn’t Boonzie’s way.’ Ben paused a moment while he tossed another log on the fire. Thinking about whether he should feed her more of what he knew. His instinct told him no, but despite himself he felt he could trust her. Grace Kirk might just turn out to be a useful contact. Even if she was a cop. He said, ‘If he was planning on going home empty-handed so soon, he wouldn’t have borrowed his nephew’s camper van.’

  ‘He took Ewan’s camper?’

  Ben nodded. ‘I went to the house. There are signs that Boonzie was there before me. And the vehicle is gone. That’s good enough for me. I have the registration, if you want it.’

  She gave a crooked kind of smile. ‘I’m the police, Mr Hope. I think I can get hold of that information. But thank you.’

  ‘You can call me Ben.’

  ‘Okay, Ben. It’s too soon to launch a full-on Missing Persons investigation, but we can notify local officers to be on the lookout for the camper. How long do you think he’s had it for?’