Deadly Harm Read online

  Deadly Harm

  Owen Mullen

  To Devon and Harrison

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Part II

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Part III

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Acknowledgments

  More from Owen Mullen

  About the Author

  About Boldwood Books

  Women’s Refuge, Lennoxtown

  Ten miles from Glasgow

  The two women weren’t friends – a month earlier they hadn’t even known each other. They didn’t notice the cold yellow moon, hanging like a Christmas tree bauble in the clear sky above the Campsies, casting golden light over the hills; they had other things on their minds.

  One had short blonde hair; her companion’s was long and dark. Neither was dressed appropriately for the task. The blonde – Caitlin – wore shoes with heels which sank into the soft ground. Her partner – Mackenzie – still had on her outfit from during the day. The differences between them were obvious but their fear was common. Their eyes were wild, the skin around them pale and tight as gossamer masks in the moonlight. They hardly spoke. When they did, it was in a whisper. They were scared and it showed.

  Dragging the body to the bottom of the garden had sapped their strength before they’d even started to dig; adrenaline drove them on. The air carried the smell of wet grass and their spades struck the ground with quiet thuds, sliding into the damp soil, finding little resistance.

  After forty weary minutes they had a glistening mound to show for their efforts. Caitlin stood under the trees, her shoes caked and heavy with earth, glancing anxiously towards the sandstone house. At any moment a face could appear at a window. If it did, life as they’d known it was over.

  ‘How deep does it need to be?’

  Mackenzie didn’t raise her head – the question was beyond naïve. ‘Deep.’

  Caitlin gushed nonsense. ‘I’ll go to the police. Maybe–’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘This wasn’t your fault. You–’

  ‘I said forget it.’

  Mackenzie breathed heavily through her mouth. Andrew had been waiting with the news when they got back home from the coast. Awful news she’d tried not to think about. Now this.

  A breeze rustled the branches of the trees above them. Mackenzie felt sweat drying on her brow. She closed her eyes, savouring the sensation. Panic was the enemy. No good lay down that road. Whatever story they gave the police wouldn’t save them now. Digging was their only hope.

  She let her breath out slowly, forcing herself to stay calm. ‘We had that chance. It’s gone.’

  ‘But it’s the truth.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘You know it is.’

  Mackenzie leaned on the spade, struggling to keep hold of her impatience. ‘I’ll tell you what I know. There’s a man with half a face lying in our garden. Explain that.’

  ‘I’ll tell them he attacked me.’

  ‘We discussed this. The way he died… they’ll never believe you.’ Mackenzie pointed to the trench at her feet. ‘And what’ll you say about this?’

  Caitlin didn’t answer.

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ She stepped out of the grave. ‘Your turn.’

  They’d arrived back at the refuge in the minibus, tired but happy. Apart from Sylvia, everyone had enjoyed themselves. Mackenzie was delighted; her idea of a day at the seaside had been a success. Then everything she’d put her faith in came crashing down.

  Eating dinner with the others – carrying on as if nothing had happened – was out of the question. She’d stayed in her room, her face buried in a pillow, berating herself for interfering in somebody else’s life. Inevitably, as what she’d been told sank in, tears came. She let them.

  That was how Caitlin had found her.

  Mercifully, she hadn’t asked what was wrong, mistakenly assuming it had something to do with Andrew, and had left her alone. Long after Mackenzie heard the others saying goodnight, she went downstairs. The house was deserted, the kitchen in darkness. Without turning on the light, she’d poured a glass of water and drank greedily. Through the window a figure knelt on the grass. Mackenzie’s first thought had been Sylvia: the letter from her daughters had stunned the woman from Corstorphine, crushing her normally irrepressible spirit. She’d hardly said two words all day and been irritable whenever she did. Mackenzie had intended to speak to her again when they got home. But this wasn’t Sylvia.

  Caitlin lay broken on the ground beside a body, sobbing.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘He was going to kill me.’

  ‘Who was? Who is this?’

  ‘It’s him. Peter.’ Her fingers almost tenderly traced the dead man’s shoulder. She held out her hands, pleading. ‘Please help me. Please.’

  Mackenzie had put a comforting hand on her arm. ‘Okay. Okay. Let me think.’

  But what was there to think about? The rest of this woman’s life was at stake. Even if by some miracle a jury found in her favour, nothing would ever be the same again – there would always be a question mark against her and the reputation of the refuge would be seriously damaged.

  Caitlin’s voice was frail, childlike and trusting. ‘I’ll do anything, anything you say.’

  The decision had come easily. Someone else had believed in her. Mackenzie had failed them. That wouldn’t happen a second time.

  Caitlin’s back and shoulders ached, her arms were numb. ‘I should never have come here.’

  ‘Where else was there for you to go?’

  ‘I don’t know… somewhere far.’

  ‘Like where?’

  No reply.

  ‘It was him or me.’

  Spatters of blood and mud mixed with tears on Caitlin’s face.

  ‘And you won. Think yourself lucky. It could be you lying there.’

  ‘Don’t say it like that.’

  ‘How would you like me to say it?’

  ‘Not like that.’

  Another spadeful came out of the ground, earth spilling off the blade, falling to where it had been. Caitlin choked back tears, whimpering like a child. ‘I didn’t mean to kill him. Really, I didn’t. I was so frightened I just couldn’t stop.’

  ‘You did what anyone would do. Defended yourself.’

  Caitlin seized on the words. ‘I defended myself. That’s right. That’s right. The police–’

  ‘Deal in fact. The only fact that matters is over there with his head caved in.’

  It sounded harsh. Sh
e meant it to be. Mackenzie pointed to the body on the ground – in the moonlight anyone might think the man was asleep. Until they saw the face, beaten to a bloody pulp – the nose broken; one eye caved in, the other sightlessly staring at the night sky.

  How many times had Caitlin hit him?

  The prosecution would hammer her with it until she was ready to confess to anything. Only someone who’d cracked could do that to another human being. Caitlin was on the edge, one sympathetic word is all it would take for her to lose it completely.

  ‘It’ll be all right.’

  Mackenzie heard her empty platitude. Did she really believe that?

  A cloud drifted across the moon, and for a moment the world went dark. When it moved on, nothing had changed – the grave and the man were still there. Suddenly, he moaned and Caitlin backed away, close to hysteria. ‘No. Nooo. Noooooo! He should be dead. He has to be dead.’

  Mackenzie dropped the spade and slapped her face, hissing through her teeth. ‘Shut up. Shut up. Somebody will hear you.’

  She swallowed and tried to stay calm. This couldn’t be happening. Just hours earlier they’d been laughing and singing in the minivan on their way to the seaside.

  She forced herself to go to the injured man. He groaned a second time, his fingers quivering in the moonlight as if an electrical current was passing through him. Mackenzie had no pity for him. He’d come to kill Caitlin. Lain in wait for her. If the roles were reversed, would he hesitate? Mackenzie knew the answer.

  Was she going to fail Caitlin like she’d failed Kirsty McBride?

  Her chest tightened. Stopping wasn’t an option – they’d both go to prison – they had to finish this. Caitlin wasn’t up to it. She’d have to do it.

  Mackenzie felt the half-brick’s roughness against her palm the moment before it crashed against his skull. The blow brought silence.

  Seconds passed, then shock hit her and she wanted to be sick. Caitlin was sobbing. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  Mackenzie ignored her, searched his pockets and removed the wallet, mobile phone and car keys.

  ‘Help me lift him.’

  ‘I’m not sure I–’

  ‘Yeah, you can. Get hold of his legs.’

  Caitlin hesitated; the woman was useless. Mackenzie snapped at her. ‘Get his fucking legs and let’s end this.’ She took the shoulders. ‘Christ, he’s heavy.’

  Between them they dragged the body across the ground and rolled it into the hole. It landed with a muted thump. The bloodied rock with hairs sticking to it that had belonged to the dead man was thrown in after him, along with the brick. Caitlin shivered, shocked by what they’d done.

  ‘Don’t look at him.’

  ‘I can’t help it.’

  ‘Yes, you can. Remember what he did to you and what he was going to do. He got what he deserved. Now, pull yourself together and start filling this in.’

  By the time they’d finished, their hands were raw and blistered. Mackenzie threw her spade on the ground, physically and emotionally drained. But they’d succeeded. No-one had seen them. Out of the corner of her eye, something moved at a window on the first floor. Dread gripped her. She looked again. Nothing. Just a trick of the light.

  ‘You did well.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes, it’s over.’

  Caitlin shook her head. ‘No it isn’t. It’ll never be over. Not for me.’

  Part I

  1

  A Month Earlier

  The black car came from nowhere and flashed past, throwing up spray from the wet road, dousing the windscreen in water. For a scary moment, Mackenzie couldn’t see. She tapped the brake, her hands tight on the steering wheel. Then the wipers did their job and she was back in control in time to witness the red taillights disappear into the darkness.

  There had been nothing in her mirror. So how fast was it travelling?

  Simple answer: too fast.

  Not clever. This was a well-known blackspot; people were killed on this stretch every year. Whoever was behind the wheel might be drunk. Although, since zero tolerance was introduced, that was less common in Scotland. More likely it was some middle-aged boy racer playing out his midlife crisis.

  The clock on the dashboard showed ten minutes to one in the morning, these days later than Mackenzie would normally be out. She ran weary fingers through her hair, catching herself on the edge of resentment. But what was there to resent? She was run down and a little bit sorry for herself, no more than that. She’d survived. Better than survived. Now she had the purpose she’d lacked – and there had been no dreams in almost three years.

  Mackenzie had needed more. And she’d found it in the eyes of the women who stayed there. From a terrible ordeal – one that had so nearly destroyed her – she’d fashioned something good, extending the house in the shadow of the Campsies to accommodate twelve guests. Victims who’d suffered as she’d suffered had a roof over their heads and, more importantly, after what they’d been through, a chance to get their lives together in a safe space. It currently had eleven residents, all at different stages of rebuilding the confidence ground out of them. Mackenzie’s mood started to lighten. She could be proud of what she’d achieved. Except, running the refuge for thirty-six months virtually alone had left her drained.

  Her thoughts wandered to where she’d spent the evening, smiling at the memory: she’d got her big sister back. Adele was her best friend again. Five years earlier, when Mackenzie told her she was sure she was being stalked, Adele had accused her of looking for attention – in light of what was to come, a terrible error. At the time, the wound was deep. The family was split and might not have got over it if Mackenzie hadn’t had her eyes opened to the part her drinking had played. Selfish and erratic, she’d been hard to be around. With the best will, a difficult person to trust.

  Yet good had come from bad – they were closer than they’d ever been, understanding each other better than they had. The catch-up had gone well, so well that in the end, Mackenzie was reluctant to leave. In a strange way, Adele – divorced and bitter – had suffered most, still beating herself up over not believing her.

  Mackenzie reached to turn the radio on when a shape appeared in the distance on the other side of the road, half in the trees – the car that had raced past a few miles back. Mackenzie drew in to the side, got out and ran towards it as rain fell in a thin steady drizzle, landing on her hair and her cheeks; she barely noticed.

  It was a Mercedes. Or at least it had been: the hood was bent and twisted towards the night sky. Steam rose from the mangled radiator under the collapsed front end jammed against a tree that had taken the impact, tilted, and held firm. A section of bark shaved off in the collision was pale in the glow of the only remaining headlight, while shards of shattered windscreen shone diamond-bright against what was left of the black bonnet. The nearside tyre – blown and useless – rested on a nest of snakes which, in the morning, would be a clump of roots torn from the ground. And above it all, the monotone wail of the horn, loud and ominous.

  She looked over her shoulder, hoping another vehicle would arrive, knowing they were well beyond the city and the road was deserted. At this time there would be few cars. She was on her own.

  Mackenzie approached cautiously, afraid of what she might find. The driver’s door was open and an arm stuck out. The figure behind the wheel was pinned by the airbag which had engaged as it was supposed to, cushioning the full force of the collision. Mackenzie fought off panic and patted her coat pockets for her mobile, then remembered it was in the well of her car.

  The figure groaned and she saw the face – a woman’s face – cut and bruised and battered.

  But alive.

  The next minutes were vital. Later, Mackenzie would have no memory of them, never knowing where she’d found the strength to pull her onto the verge, recalling only the smell of petrol and the terrifying realisation they had to get further away. Dragging the woman was almost impossible; she was too heavy. Her eyes f
luttered open, immediately filled with fear and confusion. ‘…What?… What?’

  ‘We can’t stay here. It isn’t safe. Can you walk?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Can you try? You have to try. Lean on me.’

  Together, they stumbled across the road. At the door of Mackenzie’s car they looked back, sensing what would come. For seconds the air seemed charged with energy and the rain stopped falling. Then the petrol tank exploded, sending metal and glass into the night. The women turned away from the blast. When they looked again, yellow serpents had already begun stripping the chassis to the aluminium bones, shadows danced on the branches of the trees whipped by a wind that had suddenly appeared. And the rain returned, renewed and relentless.

  They’d come close to death. Mackenzie helped the stranger into her passenger seat, found her mobile and picked it up. ‘I’m calling the police.’

  The reaction was unexpected and impassioned. ‘No! No! Not the police. Please don’t bring them into it.’

  ‘We don’t have a choice.’ Mackenzie pointed to the burning carcass. ‘We have to report it. You should get to a hospital.’