Blood Whispers Read online

  A female member of the cabin crew was already heading towards her.

  ‘I’m afraid you have to go back to your seat, Madam.’

  ‘I need to get a message to someone. It’s very important.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do about that right now; you have to return to your seat.’

  ‘Please. I need the captain to get a message to the police in Glasgow.’

  The stewardess was blocking the aisle, preventing Keira from going any further. She’d also taken hold of her arm. ‘I really need you sit down, Madam, then once the seatbelt sign . . .’

  But Keira was talking over her.

  ‘Are you listening to what I’m saying? I need to get a message to the police. It’s an emergency.’

  ‘I understand, but—’

  ‘You don’t fucking understand!’ snapped Keira, losing her cool. ‘I’m a lawyer and someone I represent could – at this very minute – be in danger. Please can you let me speak to the captain, or get a message to him to contact the police.’

  ‘I will just as soon as I can, but I have to insist you sit down. The cockpit is locked during take-off and landing, so there’s nothing I can do until the seatbelt signs go off. Then I’ll talk to him, but you have to sit down . . . please.’

  Keira knew she had no choice. If she started screaming and shouting at the stewardess, they’d put her down as a ‘crazy’ and there would be no way they’d let her talk to anyone. All she could do for the moment was return to her seat and wait.

  The passenger in the seat next to her, a guy wearing a business suit, kept his head buried in his newspaper as Keira squeezed in beside him, unaware that it was because of him she’d sounded the alarm in the first place.

  He’d boarded before her and had taken his seat near the back of the aircraft. As soon as Keira had stepped on the plane she could smell it: someone wearing too much aftershave. As she approached her seat her heart sank when she realized that she would be sitting next to him. That’s what triggered the memory of the stale, musky odour left behind after the break-in at her apartment. It suddenly struck her that it was the last place David should be taking Kaltrina.

  There were a few possible explanations as to why nothing had been taken. Either the intruder was leaving something behind – bugging devices or surveillance cameras – or he was sending a message to Keira that he knew where she lived: letting her know that she was being watched. Either way, Kaltrina would not be safe there. Keira was annoyed with herself for getting drunk the night before. The subsequent hangover had affected her thinking.

  She had to get a message to David.

  The illuminated seatbelt sign finally went out.

  Keira was on her feet again, heading for the stewardesses before they’d finished unclipping their belts in the jump seats at the front of the aircraft. She took a card from her purse as she approached and handed it to the girl she had spoken to a few minutes earlier.

  ‘I really am a lawyer, and I need to get in touch with the police in Glasgow. I’m sorry I swore, but it’s very important. Could you please ask the pilot, or whoever it is you ask, how I go about that?’

  The stewardess stared back at Keira for a few seconds, considering what to do.

  ‘Please. It could literally be a matter of life or death.’

  ‘Wait here,’ said the young woman as she turned and knocked on the bulkhead door. A few seconds later it opened and she disappeared inside.

  When she re-emerged she handed Keira back her card. ‘The captain says he’s sorry, but there is nothing he can do. It’s against the rules.’

  Keira made to protest, but the girl gestured with her hand. ‘Let me finish. He also said if you took your mobile to the toilet at the rear of the aircraft and made a call, there would be very little anyone could do, but that didn’t come from him. If there are any repercussions he’ll deny ever having said it.’

  ‘I don’t have a phone on me.’

  The stewardess stared back at her as if to say, Are you kidding me? then gave a slight shrug. ‘I’m sorry, then, there’s nothing else I can do. The plane doesn’t have a Pico cell anyway: you’d be lucky to get a signal.’ Keira nodded like she knew what a Pico cell was and said, ‘Thank you,’ before turning and heading back to her seat.

  The guy in the business suit said something as Keira sat down, which she didn’t quite catch. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I said are you okay?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying—’

  ‘Actually, I do mind,’ she interrupted. ‘Usually when sentences start like that, I do mind. It’s like, “No offence, but . . .” Same thing! Straight away you know someone is going to say something offensive . . .’

  ‘I was going to say, you look like you could use a helping hand.’

  Keira turned and looked at the guy properly. He had a large round face and laugh-lines at the side of his eyes from smiling too much. Everything about him said ‘friendly’, even his soft Dublin accent had warmth in it. She suddenly felt guilty. ‘I apologize. I’ve got a bitch of a hangover that’s making me a bit cranky. My day started off shit and has been going downhill ever since.’

  ‘Would you like to borrow my phone?’

  ‘Do you know what a Pico cell is?’

  ‘It’s like a signal booster for mobile phones on aeroplanes to help them communicate with the ground.’

  ‘The air hostess said the plane doesn’t have one, so it probably won’t work.’

  ‘It’s worth a try. You might get lucky and pick up a ground signal. They just tell you that because they haven’t figured out a way of monetizing its usage. It’s perfectly safe to use mobile phones on a plane, they just don’t know how to charge for it, so they let you think it’s dangerous.’

  ‘What, are you an engineer or something?’

  ‘A priest.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘Unfortunately not!’

  ‘You’re not in uniform.’

  ‘Wearing the kit outside of the church is considered a bit too dangerous these days. It marks us out as a target. The Vatican has relaxed the rules a little to take that into account.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know Father Anthony in Waterfoot?’

  ‘Sure, I know him very well. One of the few priests with that added quality lacking in many of the others . . . spirituality. If you cut him down the middle his blood would run clear . . . or the colours of the Tricolour, probably both. I’d bet my life savings he’s the reason for your hangover.’

  ‘He was the one pouring, but I was the one drinking.’

  The priest handed her his phone. ‘Go make your call and we’ll have a proper chat when you’re through.’

  Keira made her way along the aisle and locked herself in one of the small toilets at the rear of the aircraft.

  The first number she tried was her friend, DSI Gary Hammond’s, but the phone just beeped a few times then made a continuous tone before the words ‘no signal’ appeared on the screen. Keira waited a few seconds then pressed redial. The same thing happened. As she stood staring at the phone wondering what to do next the word ‘searching’ appeared in the top left-hand corner followed by three small bars. She quickly dialled David’s number and pressed the green call symbol: a few seconds later she heard his ringtone, followed by the voicemail message.

  She was tense and hurried: aware the signal could drop out at any moment. ‘David, don’t go to the flat. Call Detective Superintendent Hammond straight away and arrange to meet him somewhere else, but don’t go to the flat, okay? They know where I live. They’ve been in there. Don’t take Kaltrina to the flat.’

  Keira hung up and dialled 999. The phone at the other end started to ring before it beeped a few times and the words ‘no signal’ appeared again.

  ‘Come on!’ shouted Keira.

  The stewardess was knocking at the door.

  ‘Are you okay in there?’

  ‘Fine, thank you.’

 
Keira pressed the redial button, but it was no good.

  The signal was gone.

  There was nothing else for her to do but sit it out and try again as soon as the plane landed. That wouldn’t be for another hour.

  By then Kaltrina Dervishi could be dead.

  Twenty

  Keira wondered if she was the only person taking the situation seriously. She’d expected to see a few police officers milling around, or at least a patrol-car waiting, when she arrived outside her block of flats, but the street was empty except for a few parked cars and an old guy out walking his dog.

  She paid the taxi driver then quickly made her way across the grass island to the glass entrance door.

  She climbed the stairs and hurried along the corridor towards the front door of her flat, the cold, concrete walls amplifying the smallest sounds and sending strange, hollow echoes reverberating up and down its empty length.

  She was out of breath.

  The small flight bag looped awkwardly over her left shoulder kept falling in front of her as she fished around in her handbag for a set of keys. Even though most people were shut up indoors getting ready for the week ahead, the building seemed quieter than usual.

  Eventually Keira found the key, twisted it in the lock and bumped the door open with her backside.

  The door at the end of the short hallway leading into the kitchen was wide open and she could see David standing at the sink. He turned as he heard her come into the hall.

  ‘You made it.’

  ‘Didn’t you get my message?’ she asked, dropping her bags on the floor.

  ‘Mobile’s been dead for most of the day. Couldn’t find a charger at the office, but it’s fine, everything went okay.’

  ‘I tried you here as well as soon as I landed.’ She took a few paces forward until she stood framed in the doorway of the kitchen.

  ‘Really? The phone hasn’t rung once.’

  Kaltrina Dervishi, who had been sitting with her feet up on the sofa watching television, stood and acknowledged Keira with a slight nod of the head. ‘Thank you, Keira, for everything,’ she said, lifting her shoulders in an awkward little shrug. ‘I am confused what happen.’

  ‘You’re not the only one.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ David had picked up on Keira’s distracted stare. ‘You’re standing there like you’ve got a toffee stuck up your arse and you’ve forgotten how to chew.’

  ‘We can’t stay here. We need to go.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Straight away; it’s not safe.’

  ‘I was just making Kaltrina something to eat. Wee bird hasn’t eaten for a few hours. At least, I think that’s what she said: she was miming in an Albanian accent.’

  Keira was still preoccupied trying to figure out why everything felt so wrong. ‘What about Janica Ahmeti? Did you get a hold of her?’

  ‘I left her a message, but she didn’t show.’

  ‘Have you heard from her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No sign of the police or Gary Hammond?’ continued Keira, talking over him. ‘I expected them to be here.’

  ‘The police have been and gone, left about an hour ago, but no sign of your pal Hammond. They asked if you would give them a call. Didn’t seem too fussed, but they want to have a chat. The implication being that they’re getting a wee bit concerned you’re losing your grip on reality. Are you not going to introduce us?’

  Keira stared back at him, like she hadn’t quite caught what he’d said. ‘Sorry, say that again.’

  ‘I said, are you not going to introduce us?’

  Suddenly Kaltrina Dervishi screamed and lunged toward Keira, her face twisted with rage.

  Keira recoiled instinctively, taking a step backwards and raising her arms in front of her chest to protect herself from the attack.

  That’s when she became aware of a movement behind her, and realized that Kaltrina was not screaming at her, but the figure of a man standing in the hallway. Keira didn’t have to look round to know who it was. The musky odour of stale aftershave had already given the intruder’s identity away. Her instinctive reaction was to spin round and lash out, but as she started her turn a sharp hollow blast punched through the air and knocked her violently to the floor. It felt as though a truck had hit her from behind. Winded and struggling against the sudden pain, she tried to sit up, but a sharp, poker-hot sensation coursed in a straight line from her pelvis to her ribcage making even the smallest movement almost impossible.

  There was another hissing thud, followed in rapid succession by two others as three more shots found their targets. Out of the corner of her eye Keira saw David’s head suddenly snap backwards at the neck and drop grotesquely to one side as the first bullet tore through his neck. She watched transfixed as – in the same instant – his body lurched violently to one side and slumped to the floor with blood spurting in thin jets from two holes that had appeared in the upper half of his chest.

  Keira could feel the vomit rising in her throat and had to battle hard to stop herself from throwing up. She could hear a soft, lowing groan and realized it was coming from somewhere deep within her own chest. She tried to focus her gaze, but the room was swimming around her, with images pulsing in and out of focus and a strange, rhythmic pounding in her eardrums.

  Kaltrina was screaming at the gunman in Albanian as she launched herself through the air punching and kicking.

  The speed and ferocity of the attack momentarily took the gunman off guard. He stepped back and raised his arm to parry her blows, but Kaltrina had connected. Her fingers dug into his face and made him cry out as she ripped at his flesh with her nails: drawing deep lines of red down the side of his cheek. The attacker lashed out with the stock of his pistol, striking her heavily several times on the back of the head as he tried to shake her off. He twisted the gun round and dug it into her ribcage ready to loose off a shot, but Kaltrina raised her elbow in a sharp upward movement and knocked the weapon spinning from his grasp. The dull metal Beretta slid along the floor and came to rest close to Keira. She stared at it for several seconds before slowly reaching out her hand towards it. The effort sent shock waves of pain stabbing at every nerve in her body.

  She heard herself groaning again.

  Her fingers wrapped slowly round the knurled grip and her index finger slipped inside the trigger guard.

  The gun felt impossibly heavy, but she managed to lift it off the ground and point it towards the doorway. The gunman had a large clump of Kaltrina’s hair in his fist and was holding her head down as she struggled desperately to throw some punches and break his hold. As they pulled each other around in a grotesquely awkward dance Keira could feel her strength beginning to fade. All she had to do was squeeze the trigger. Suddenly Kaltrina was standing in the way, blocking the shot. Keira’s mind was starting to lose focus: random thoughts crowding in on her. When she was fifteen she had tried to take her own life by slashing her wrists. It was more a cry for help than a serious suicide attempt: there was never any real danger. The situation she was in now, however, was very real. She recognized this violence and knew there could be only one outcome. Memories of what had happened to her when she was eight years old – how she had watched her uncle in the same struggle for life that Kaltrina was in now – flashed through her mind. She saw herself standing on a stairwell pointing a gun at the man attacking her uncle and knew that when she pulled the trigger she would be ending not only that man’s life but her own as well. The memory had haunted her ever since, yet here she was, about to leave this world, and her final act would be to take another human being’s life.

  Keira heard a voice calling from another room, but couldn’t make out the words. It sounded like her grandmother, but that wasn’t possible.

  The gunman stood side-on with his back against the wall, clutching something in his hand that glinted in the darkened hallway. He was holding Kaltrina Dervishi’s dazed and battered body up by the hair as her arms swung limply by her waist and her legs kicked out la
mely in front of her, in a pathetic attempt to break free from him. She was exhausted, all her energy spent, every part of her clothing dripping with blood.

  Keira struggled desperately to keep her eyes open and managed to raise the Beretta one last time. She followed the line of sight down her arm and along the barrel of the gun straight to where the attacker stood, his right hand covered in blood, stabbing Kaltrina Dervishi repeatedly in the stomach.

  All she had to do was squeeze the trigger.

  Suddenly the gun started to shake uncontrollably, as though it had taken on a life of its own. Keira’s grip slackened, her arm fell heavily to the floor and she knew she had lost the fight.

  She opened her eyes again and saw the attacker drop Kaltrina Dervishi’s lifeless body to the floor.

  There was a presence nearby.

  A figure in the gloom, standing over her, slowly raising his arms out to his side, making the shape of a cross.

  Another bullet slammed into her shoulder and knocked her face down on to the hard wooden floor.

  In the darkness that followed there were brief, disjointed moments of awareness: noises that seemed to echo around in the dim shadows. Keira heard raised voices, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. She heard more gunshots, but for some reason they sounded louder than before. Someone was speaking her name . . . a voice she recognized, but couldn’t place. Keira tried to respond, but the floor suddenly disappeared beneath her and she felt as though she was falling headlong into a silent void.

  Twenty-one

  Officer Tommy Aquino sat with his elbow on the desk, resting his chin in his left hand and stared at a playback of the live RSS feed from BBC Scotland’s newsroom in the United Kingdom.