‘That’s what she meant by CARD IN?’
Vincent nodded. ‘I knew that Cardini would have some sort of revenge planned for Sartori’s death. I saw the bugger sneaking into Gordon MacDonald’s cottage, planning to set it on fire. A warning to us. I recognized he was trying to provoke whoever killed the first piece of shit. So I stopped him and snapped his neck. And that’s why I left that message for him.’
‘Is that what the medallion in the mouth was all about?’ Torquil asked.
‘It was a sort of signature that we used in the old days,’ Cardini volunteered. ‘But that was when I realized that bloody Enrico Mercanti was alive and well on this piss-pot of an island!’ He laughed. ‘And that’s when I laid my wee trap for you. It actually worked out a bit earlier than I planned, but that TV woman forced my hand by giving me the opportunity to send out a message on Scottish TV.’
He raised the gun and Torquil slowly raised his own hand. ‘OK, McArdle or Cardini, whichever you want to be known by, it is time to give me that gun. I am arresting you both.’
Giuseppe Cardini looked back at Torquil in mock amazement. ‘You are arresting me?’ He guffawed. ‘I don’t think you quite understand. I am defending my property here. That bastard killed my boys, then he came here and killed my butler and tried to kill me too. I struggled with him and you, our heroic local flatfoot, rushed to help me, only to get tragically killed in the line of duty.’ He shook his head with mock sympathy. ‘There have been too many police officers killed while doing their duty and I will arrange with Superintendent Lumsden, my good friend, for some sort of local monument to be erected.’
Torquil was aware of a patina of perspiration on his brow, but he managed to keep his voice calm. ‘I said I will take that gun now. I have to get medical attention for Vincent here. And, by the way, thank you for your confession.’
Cardini scowled and pointed to the gun in his hand. ‘I am the one in the driving seat, McKinnon. Now how about just saying your prayers.’
‘I don’t think there is a need for that,’ Torquil said, deliberately looking past Cardini at the open door. ‘You have got all that, haven’t you, Constable Steele?’
Cardini sneered contemptuously. ‘Nice try, flatfoot. Now say your prayers. Both of you!’
Calum Steele’s voice came from the open doorway. ‘I have it all on tape here, Inspector McKinnon.’
There was a click followed by a whirring noise, then Cardini’s voice said, ‘Now say your prayers. Both of you!’
In a trice Cardini spun round into a broad-based crouch, both arms outstretched and steadying the gun.
There was a sudden flash from waist height, followed by a burst of gunfire from Cardini’s Smith & Wesson.
But it gave Torquil the time he needed. He flew across the room, kicked the gun upwards and, as he did so, grabbed Cardini’s right wrist. They wrestled with the gun, and it scanned the room, spewing out two shots. Then Torquil managed to twist and bend Cardini’s wrist back on itself. There was the snapping noise of bones crunching as the gangster’s hand opened automatically and he screamed in pain as the gun fell to the floor. Yet Cardini had been a street brawler and he immediately threw a left at Torquil’s head. It was a shade too slow, for Torquil ducked and threw a straight left to Cardini’s abdomen; then, as Cardini doubled over, he hammered an uppercut into his jaw. It lifted the laird off his feet and deposited him unconscious on the floor.
‘And that’s how we do things in West Uist!’ Torquil said, blowing on his skinned knuckles. He turned to the door where Calum Steele was climbing to his feet from the prone position he had adopted in order to hold up the digital camera and first dazzle then draw Cardini’s fire.
‘Well done, Calum. I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life. I thought that either you hadn’t picked up my voice message or your Lambretta had finally packed in.’
‘Never a bit of it, Piper. Mind you, that’s the first time the West Uist investigative journalist has ever come under real live fire. And about that title “Constable Steele” – it has a certain ring—’
There was the sound of a click from the floor and they both turned to see Vincent propped against the leg of the snooker table, the crumpled body of Jesmond having tumbled into the bloody pool beside him. A rapidly spreading patch of blood was forming over Vincent’s abdomen where one of the stray bullets had struck home.
‘Just hold it where you are,’ he rasped, his bloodied hands clenching a gun. ‘Things are not – quite – finished!’
chapter nineteen
Ralph McLelland broke just about every speed restriction on the island and arrived at the Wee Kingdom jetty within ten minutes of the Padre’s call. Together with Katrina and Morag he stretchered the big police constable into the converted ambulance and drove straight to the cottage hospital. There, Sister Lamb and Nurse Anderson set about cleaning him up while Ralph took blood samples in order to determine his clinical state and electrolyte balance.
‘He is dangerously dehydrated and still stuporose,’ Ralph told Katrina. ‘I’ll monitor him for a few hours to get him stable, but I have every faith that he will be on his feet in a week or so. Ewan McPhee is one of the strongest men I have ever known, but surviving this long on just sips of water has taken it out of his system.’ He shook his head as he looked down at the haggard redheaded constable. ‘I don’t think many folk could have survived his ordeal.’
Katrina heaved an enormous sigh of relief then turned to Morag. ‘And I think that you will want to have my account of all this?’
Morag’s spirits had gone from rock bottom to sky high upon discovering that one of her best friends was still alive. Now, as an officer of the law she snapped into professional mode. ‘My thoughts exactly, Miss Tulloch. And I think it would be best if you accompanied me to the station to make your statement.’
Wallace Drummond had been on his way to the Wee Kingdom when he saw Alistair McKinley’s jeep pulled off the road by the rough track that led up to the Corlins. He had a good idea of where he would find the crofter, so he coaxed the police Ford Escort along the track and duly found him preparing to climb the cliff face.
‘Alistair McKinley,’ Wallace said, as he let the window down. ‘I have already told you that you are not permitted to have a gun at the moment. You will give it to me now.’
The crofter shook his head, his face determined. ‘Leave me alone, Wallace Drummond. I have something that needs to be done. I am going to shoot those bloody golden eagles.’
But Wallace was out of the car and with a couple of quick strides he caught hold of the bag carrying the gun that Alistair had about his shoulders. He slipped it off and held it behind him. ‘And I am telling you that you will do nothing of the sort. There has been enough killing as it is. I am taking this gun and you back to the station with me. My boss, Inspector McKinnon says he wants to talk to you.’
‘Put the gun down, Vincent,’ Torquil said. ‘You need medical treatment for that wound and you need it now.’
Blood was oozing from the wound in Vincent’s abdomen and had soaked his trousers.
‘I’m not worried about myself, Inspector,’ he said, his voice losing power all the time. ‘I am more concerned about that piece of excrement there.’ He hesitated to gulp some air. ‘He has a history of atrocities that you wouldn’t believe. He liked to hurt people and watch them squirm. And he’s murdered folk without batting an eyelid. I plan to be his judge, jury and executioner.’
‘You can’t do that, Vincent. That would make you a murderer, too.’