Blood Hunt

He headed north, stopping only for gas and coffee and to read all the newspapers. He cursed the Saab’s lack of a radio-he needed to know whether the police had co

“Joan, it’s Bob Plant here, any sign of Gordon?”

She recognized his voice immediately. There was a slight pause as she came to understand what was going on. (She’d had a crush on Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin at one time.) “Bob,” she said, “sorry, I’m not thinking straight.”

“Are you all right, Joan?”

“I’m fine. It’s just been a shock, with the police and everything.”

“They’ve been asking you questions?” He sounded like a solicitous friend.

“Well, they just want to know where Gordon is. You know they found his car in France, near where three bodies were found, one of them a woman’s.”

“Gracious.”

“They’re keeping watch on the house here, just in case he shows up.”

“They think he had something to do with the murders?”

“Well, Bob, what would you think if you were them? Gordon’s Land Rover burned out and no trace of him anywhere.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Bob, I’m worried about him.”

“Gordon can take care of himself, Joan.”

“Yes, I know, but-”

“Might he go back to the island?”

“I don’t know. There are police watching the ferries.”

“A real manhunt, eh?”

“They may even be watching the house.”

“Ach, unlikely he’d head back there.”

“Yes, I suppose so. But where else would he be? Where could he go?”

“You know him better than I do, Joan.”

“Well, I thought I knew him, Bob.”

Silence on the line.

“Joan,” Reeve said, looking in at the diners-families mostly, “he’ll be all right. I’m sure he’s done nothing wrong.”

“Try telling the police that.”

“Maybe he needs evidence first, I mean before he can come back.”

“Evidence?”

“Of his i

Joan sniffed. He could tell she was crying.

“I’ll phone again,” he told her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her nose.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have called.”

“No, I’m glad you did. It’s been a while, Bob.”

“Yes, it has. Is Allan all right?”

“Missing his dad. But at the same time-I know this is wrong-he seems to quite like the idea of having a father who’s a wanted man.” She laughed.

Reeve smiled, and blinked back tears. At one table, a father was admonishing his son, who still had a full plate of food in front of him. The kid was nine, maybe ten. The man spoke in a low voice, but his eyes were blazing.

“Bye, Joan,” he said.

“Good-bye, Bob.”

He kept the receiver to his ear after she’d put down the phone, and heard a double click and what sounded like a stifled sneeze. The bastards were listening in, just as he’d suspected. Not Jay or Kosigin this time, but the police. He ran through the conversation again, satisfied he hadn’t given anything away. And he’d learned so much.

“Thanks, love,” he said quietly, heading back to his table and a refill of coffee.

If they were watching the ferries, they’d be watching Oban and Tarbert on the mainland, both of which had direct sailings: Oban to South Uist and Tarbert to North Uist. The two islands were separated by the smaller island of Benbecula, and all three were linked by bridges. They might also be watching Uig, a small port on Skye. But to get to Skye he would have to take a short ferry ride from Kyle of Lochalsh, the bridge to Kylerhea, or the much longer ferry crossing from Mallaig. Unless there was manpower to spare, Reeve doubted anyone would be watching Mallaig.

Which was precisely why he ignored Oban and drove instead to Fort William and from there to Mallaig on the coast. There were no direct ferries from Mallaig to the Outer Hebrides.

At the same time, he couldn’t afford to relax. His face was known in the town, and a few people even knew him by name. There would be police in the vicinity, maybe not in Mallaig itself, but nearby. And if his description had been in the papers…

He was there to seek out one of the people who knew him by name, an old rogue called Ke

Ke

People steered clear of Ke

In the summer, Creech sometimes tricked tourists into going with him on one of the boats for what was supposed to be an all-day pleasure cruise around “the beautiful Hebrides.” In fact, he’d head straight for the choppiest waters and most dangerous wind-torn straits, after which the tourists would beg to return to land. At this point, they’d be told there were no refunds. If they argued for their money back, Creech would pay them, then would drop them off somewhere on the far side of Skye, pretending they were a mile or so south of Mallaig.

Reeve liked Creech. He liked him so much he had eventually let Creech keep the money he’d been cheated of.

Creech hated mankind, but he surely did love money. Reeve was counting on this fact.

Ke

The door was locked, but that didn’t mean Creech wasn’t inside. At last a bolt slid back and the door opened.

“You’ll pay for any damage,” Creech snapped, examining his door first and his visitor second. His mouth made an O when he recognized Reeve.

“Well now, Gordon,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“Money,” Reeve said, holding up a thickish fold of notes. “To wit, my desire to give you some.”

Creech couldn’t take his eyes off the cash. “Well now, Gordon,” he said, the tongue darting in and out of his mouth, “you must be wanting a boat.”

“How did you guess?”

Creech didn’t say anything, just ushered him inside. The back of the boathouse opened onto the Sound of Sleat. Reeve could see the southern tip of Skye. The larger of the two boats was tied up in the water; it had bench seats both sides, and could carry a dozen passengers. In the middle of the deck stood the control console with a small steering wheel, like that of a sports car. In fact, if you looked closer, there was the MG insignia in the center of the wheel. Creech had stolen it from a crashed car south of the town. By the time the insurance investigators reached the vehicle, there hadn’t been much left but a shell.