FIFTY-SIX

The launch hove to. There was movement on deck as it wallowed in the swell, but the cabin doors stayed shut. No-one dared say a word now the engine's roar had faded to a gentle tick-over. Then they heard the squeak of a fender and knew Harry had been right: there was a second boat. A moment later came a sound that made them jump even though they had been waiting for it: the sharp snapping back of a bolt.

One, but only one, of the cabin doors swung open. Daylight flooded in, drowning the sallow glow of the overhead lamp. They saw Frank crouched in the companionway, gazing down at them, the gun cradled in his hand. 'I see you two Boy Scouts let the lady go. But that's fine. Just fine.'

'What's going on?' Harry asked, injecting as much firmness into his voice as he could.

'You'll find out soon enough. Let's have you on deck. One by one. We'll start with you, Harry, since you're so curious. Step this way.'

The glance Harry exchanged with his two fellow captives was laced with despair. Their plan, such as it was, seemed to be falling apart around them. Perhaps Frank had taken account of their numerical advantage. If so, he would give them no chance to exploit it.

'Get moving, Harry. Now.'

Reluctantly, Harry obeyed. Frank retreated onto the deck as he struggled out of the cabin through the narrow single doorway. He could see Mark towards the stern, pulling in a rope. The fire extinguisher should be within reach if Chipchase was right about its location, though whether—

Harry froze in mid-stride. The bracket above the cockpit entrance was exactly where Chipchase had said it was. But it was empty.

'Looking for this?' Frank stretched down to his left and lifted an object into view: the extinguisher. 'We noticed Barry eyeballing it when you came aboard. I don't know what he thought you could do with it, but…' He tossed it over the side without taking his eye off Harry. 'Back to business. Close the cabin door behind you and bolt it.'

'But—'

'Just do it.'

Harry sighed. The game was up before it had begun. He turned and saw Chipchase mouthing a silent obscenity. With a shrug, he closed the door in his friend's face. He jerked the bolt into place with a clunk, then, hoping his body was blocking Frank's view, eased it back until it was barely holding. Frank said nothing. Harry took what encouragement he could from the success of the manoeuvre. He turned back to Frank.

'Step out here.'

Harry moved slowly out onto the deck. Away to his left was a broad bay of white sand enclosed by rolling green hills: the island of Haskurlay, it had to be. Given long enough, he could probably have made out the ruins of the village beyond the dunes rimming the beach, maybe even the infamous burial mound on the lower slope of the hill at the northern end of the bay. But he had no time for sightseeing. He had very little time of any kind.

The second boat was smaller than the launch — an open-decked inflatable with an outboard motor. Mark was tying it fast against the starboard side, ready, it seemed clear, for the transfer to shore. As Harry watched, he tightened the rope, turned to Frank and nodded. 'We're all set.'

'Good.' Frank leaned back against the stern rail and smiled at Harry. 'Sit down.'

Harry lowered himself onto the bench behind him. 'Why have you brought us here?' he asked, as if for all the world he did not know the answer.

'Thought you ought to see the island… at least once, as you and Barry have never been here before. Though that, of course, will have to be our secret. Actually, you aren't going to Haskurlay even today. This is as close as we get.'

'What?'

'Banking on a landing, were you? No, no. That would be far too risky. From our point of view, I mean. A little too… unpredictable. So, the trip ends here. For you and Barry. And Ailsa.'

'Who are you working for?'

'That would be telling.'

'Whatever you intend to do to us, you won't get away with it, you know.'

'Oh, I think we will. We've been lucky with the weather. And you played along beautifully. But now it's going to become messy. And I have to consider how it is going to look. That's why I have to do this… out of sequence.'

'Sequence?'

'I mean the order of the killings.' Frank pushed himself away from the rail and advanced slowly towards him. 'We'll make it look like you killed Ailsa first, then Barry, because you couldn't trust him to keep his mouth shut, then… yourself, because you were suddenly overwhelmed by the horror of your actions, or… whatever. Anyway, the other killings are straightforward, but suicide needs precision. You can't shoot yourself from six feet away, can you?'

'We should move him first,' cut in Mark.

'Should we?' Frank responded, his gaze still fixed on Harry.

'They have to be found in the inflatable. I can be linked to hiring this boat.'

'You don't need to worry about that.'

The next second, and the few seconds that followed, billowed into minutes in Harry's mind. Frank swung round, raising the pistol as he did so. Harry guessed what he was going to do before the possibility of treachery even entered Mark's thoughts. Mark was just another fall guy. He had been seen with Harry and Barry in Castlebay and on the way there. He had been seen altogether too often. His place in Frank's plan for how things were going to look was pre-ordained.

The gun went off with a loud crack. Mark's head jerked back. His mouth fell open, shaping an unspoken 'Oh' of futile surprise as blood trickled from a neat round hole between his eyebrows. He staggered back against the gunwale, then slowly toppled over. Harry did not see him hit the water. But he heard the splash. And sprang up at the sound.

It was his only chance. That thought — that instinct — overrode everything else. He threw himself at Frank, head lowered, arms outstretched. If rugby had been played at Commonweal School in his day, he might have made a better job of it. As it was, he was aided by a sudden pitching of the launch caused by Mark's fall. His charge caught Frank off-balance. They tumbled to the deck. The gun was jolted from Frank's hand. It slid away out of his reach. Harry tried to pin him down and for a moment they were staring into each other's eyes, their faces no more than a few inches apart. Then Frank's relative youth and fitness told. He pushed Harry off, kneeing him violently in the groin as he did so.

Harry rolled to one side, pain sucking what strength he had clean out of him. He heard, as if from a great distance, several thumps, followed by a splintering of wood. Chipchase must have broken out of the cabin, alarmed by the gunshot on deck. There came a shout. 'Harry!' Then another noise he could not identify.

Chipchase had called his name. But he was nowhere to be seen. Only Frank appeared in Harry's sky-dominated field of vision, looming above him, the gun retrieved and pointing directly at him, the barrel rock-steady and drawing closer as Frank stooped towards him. You can't shoot yourself from six feet away, can you? The question drifted into Harry's mind. He aimed a kick at Frank's leading foot. But Frank dodged it with ease, smiling in satisfaction at his own nimbleness. He crunched his knee into the crook of Harry's left elbow and closed a crushing hand round his right forearm, flattening him against the deck.

Frank brought the gun down in a slow, careful arc, judging to a nicety the ballistics of the suicide Harry's death was meant to be. Harry swivelled his head to either side, but could not escape. When he looked up, the black hole of the gun barrel was waiting and growing, ready to swallow his world.

There was a roar. For a fraction of a second Harry assumed the sudden noise and heat were the last sensations of his life. But no. The gun was gone. Frank was screaming. He had let go of Harry and raised his hands to his face, his features obscured by a searing plume of flame. Ailsa was beside him. She had hold of something. It was wedged in Frank's jaws. His screams were sculpted by a mouthful of fire. He fell on his side, some sparking, sputtering object separating itself from him as he did so. But his screams did not cease.

Harry saw Ailsa bending to grab something from the deck: the gun. Then she was above Frank, standing over him, aiming the weapon. Harry propped himself up on one elbow. He knew what Ailsa was about to do. There was a moment when he could have shouted at her to stop. But he did not.

She fired three times. Bang; bang; bang. Neither fast nor slow. Deliberate. Conclusive. Without margin for error.

The screaming stopped. Dead.