A Pound of Flesh

Chapter 39





The clouds that covered the stars drifted across the heavens, a freshening breeze bringing a hint of moisture in the air. As the first drops fell to earth they splashed against last year’s fallen leaves, creating tiny puddles in crevices hollowed out by the roots of the tree.

Barbara opened her eyes, feeling the raindrops on her face. Thrusting out her tongue between the lines of duct tape that she had already chewed away, she held them as they fell, swallowing painfully. She had no idea how long it might have been since he had left her there like a useless piece of garbage, but darkness had already fallen and the cold was making her body stiffen. Was that her fate, then? To die here in this filthy hollow? Was there any point in tasting these precious drops or was her body simply obeying a primitive need?

When the shivering began, Barbara tried to take deep breaths but somehow all she could do was shudder and gasp as the rain drilled against her face. She made to flex her fingers in one last vain attempt to free herself from the bonds but somehow her hands did not obey her brain, numbed as they were, and Barbara gave a huge sigh as the yearning to sleep took over.

She was only dimly aware of the strong scent of musk as the fox came closer, sniffing the ground as it padded around the bole of the tree. Then the sky seemed to splinter into shards of silver light as the world tilted sideways and her body convulsed into spasms of shivering, her teeth chattering inside her head.


Tommy Carmichael drew into the lay-by, cutting the white van’s engine. Giving a cough, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and put one into his mouth, fishing in the other pocket for his lighter. The snap then flare was followed by a contented sigh as he inhaled and felt the nicotine reach his lungs. The rain had stopped pattering down against the windscreen and the clouds had shifted enough for Tommy to see the hazy outline of the moon. He sat back, smoking contentedly. There was no hurry to shift the mattress in the back and let it fall down into the gully. The man sniffed. Was he starting a cold? He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so daft taking off his strip and waving it aloft at that last Rangers game. Tommy grinned. Och but he’d been blootered out of his heid, hadnae noticed the cold a bit.

The cigarette finished, Tommy rolled down the window and flicked the stub away, watching the glow describe an arc in the cold night air. Then he stopped. What the hell was that? A faint yet discernible sound that could only be the ring from a mobile phone reached Tommy’s ears.

Curious, the man slipped from the cab of the van, his feet touching the gravel with a crunch. The noise was coming from his left, below the edge of the road. As Tommy peered into the darkness, the moon came out from behind its wisp of cloud and shone down, making the dark shapes suddenly brighter.

‘Name o’ God!’ he gasped, his hand across his brow as he saw the figure slumped at the foot of the tree. The ringing stopped and Tommy stood there, biting his lip, unsure of what he wanted to do. A deid body was a deid body, wasn’t it? He couldnae do onything to help. Could he?

The sudden bark of the unseen fox made him start. Time tae get oot o’ here. Yet he hesitated still. That wis somebody’s kin doon there. Wouldnae hurt tae make wan call, would it?

Reaching for his own mobile, Tommy dialled 999.

‘Ah’m up on the Braes, so ah ah’m,’ he explained when he was finally connected to the police. ‘Stopped fur a fag at the lay-by up the top. Think there’s a deid boady doon in the gully, so ah do.’

But when asked to give his name, Tommy Carmichael shook his head. Enough was enough. Snapping the phone shut he turned and climbed into the van once more. He’d done his duty, hadn’t he? Wasn’t goin tae be there when the polis rolled up, asking questions and wantin tae see what was in the back o’ the van.


‘They’ve found her.’ Lorimer put down the phone with a sigh, Maggie’s anxious face looking up at his.

‘Is she…?’ Maggie left the words unspoken but her husband smiled wearily, shaking his head.

‘She’s been taken to hospital. Suffering from hypothermia and concussion at the very least, the paramedics reckoned. We’ll see,’ he added, pulling Maggie into his arms and sending up a fervent prayer that his over-zealous detective constable would survive the next few hours. Proctor and Armstrong had hinted that the DC might have been moonlighting, but it was hard to know just where she had been and who had done this to her.

‘Come on, back to bed,’ he said softly. ‘We’ll know more in the morning.’

Maggie yawned suddenly, shivering in her thin nightdress. She had wanted to give him his card first thing, but when that phone call had shattered the night, bringing such awful news, all thoughts of her husband’s birthday had been pushed to the back of her mind.

As they slipped under the duvet, Bill’s arms encircled her, his hand rubbing her back. Still shivering, Maggie tried not to think too hard about the woman who had been discovered on that lonely spot or how the cold must have gnawed into her very bones.