Say You're Sorry: A Gripping Crime Thriller (A DCI Campbell McKenzie Detective Conspiracy Thriller No 1) Read online

  Say You're Sorry!

  A Gripping Crime Thriller

  By

  IAN C.P. IRVINE

  Published by Ian C. P. Irvine

  Copyright 2016 IAN C.P. IRVINE

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright observed above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the copyright owner.

  .

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  .

  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedicated to my Dad.

  "Thank you very much, but not enough."

  Other Books by Ian C.P. Irvine

  I Spy, I Saw Her Die

  Haunted From Within

  Haunted From Without

  Time Ship

  The Orlando File.

  The Messiah Conspiracy

  London 2012: What If?

  The Sleeping Truth

  Alexis Meets Wiziwam the Wizard

  Table of Contents

  Click Here to go to Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Edinburgh

  The Edge of Salisbury Crags

  October

  Tuesday

  00.30 a.m.

  "If you beg me to let you live, then I'll consider it. But if you don't, I'll assume you want to die, and I'll help you fulfil your last wish. The choice is yours. But speak up, just in case I can't hear you!"

  The man kneeling in front of Tommy McNunn looked up with pleading eyes. His face had turned deep purple from trying to speak, but the duct tape wrapped around his head and jaw kept his mouth firmly closed.

  As he struggled to break free, the duct tape securing his hands behind his back cut into his flesh. Twice so far he'd managed to rise to his feet, but each time a swift punch to the left kidney from one of McNunn's heavies had brought him quickly back to the ground.

  Ignoring the man on his knees, Tommy took a step closer to the edge of the cliff and peered down into the blackness beneath.

  Fifty metres below he could just make out where the ground appeared, sloping away from the Crags at forty-five degrees until it met the road another hundred metres further down.

  Feeling a weird sensation in his testicles, and fighting an insane urge to jump, he stepped backwards.

  "Whoa! It's even scarier in the dark than in daytime."

  Tommy shook his head and turned his attention back to the man cowering on the ground, fear evident in the tiny pinpricks of his pupils despite the lack of light.

  Tommy reached into his pocket and pulled out two photographs, holding them up in front of the man's eyes.

  Shielding the light from the city beneath, Tommy flicked on the small torch and shone it at the photographs.

  The man on the ground whimpered, recognising his two little girls.

  "Nice kids. Beautiful. Took these myself, this morning. How old's Suzanne now? Ten? And Claire? Eight?"

  The man tried to say something, but it wasn't intelligible.

  "I imagine they've both got promising futures ahead of them. If I let them live. No, sorry, if you let them live."

  This was the part that Tommy had been looking forward to. The part he always enjoyed most. He'd rehearsed it in his mind's eye repeatedly while figuring out the best way to say it to get maximum impact: this was the moment he handed the choice over to his victims and let them choose their own fates.

  Bending down, he leaned closer to the man and studied his eyes. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, and for some strange reason, the man had stopped trying to speak.

  "You're confused, aren't you?" Tommy asked. "That's probably my fault. I haven't explained myself very well have I? Let me try again. You see the thing is, Keith - do you mind if I call you Keith? I mean, I wouldn't want you to complain that I'm not polite, or that I hadn't given you the choice. You see, for me, it's all about the choice. Like the choice you made when you decided to double-cross me... to try to double-cross me. To keep my money. To screw me. You had the choice, you took it. Fair play to you. But now you have to accept the consequences of that choice and pay the appropriate price. Are you getting this, Keith?"

  The man just stared at Tommy. Confused. Scared. And shivering from the cold.

  From behind, unannounced, another sharp blow to the left kidney.

  Keith fell forward, his face landing in the dirt, his nose buried in the grass.

  Tommy nodded and two large hands pulled him back up into a kneeling position.

  "I'll ask you again, Keith. Are you getting this?"

  The man quickly nodded.

  "Good. Well, the thing is this... given that I'm such a lover of choice, I'm going to offer you another one. In case you hadn't realised where you are, this is the Cats Nick, the most famous part of the Crags. It's fifty metres straight down over the edge of the cliff to the bottom. In the old days if you were guilty of a crime, ... for example, if you stole a loaf of bread or committed any small misdemeanour, they'd throw you over the edge. If you died, you were obviously guilty of the crime, but if you lived you were set free. I find that kind of justice inspiring. Don't you?"

  Keith nodded.

  "Good. That helps. Now getting back to the choice I want to offer you... I know a lot about you, Keith. I know all about your family. Your wife. Your children. And they're all lovely. Really lovely people. Which means it would be a shame if I had to kill them. Which I'll do, probably tomorrow, or maybe the next day. If you want me to."

  Behind the duct tape, Keith started to scream, trying furiously to push himself back up to his feet.

  Another blow to his kidney, but this time a strong hand on his right shoulder kept him from falling over.

  "Sorry, Keith, there I go again. Not properly explaining myself. The thing is Keith, you tried to steal -what was it? Three hundred thousand pounds from me? And if you price your family at one hundred thousand each, that makes three lives, doesn't it? You owe me three lives. Three lives."

  Tommy stood up, and turned away from Keith, looking out over the city of Edinburgh sprawled beneath them. For a while he was silent, savouring the moment. The next part was going to be the best.

  Slowly, rather dramatically, just like in any of the great Hollywood films, he turned back towards Keith to deliver the punch lines.

  "But like I said, I want to give you the choice. A simple choice. In two minutes I'll remove the duct tape and set you free. Not completely free, obviously, I mean, I'm still going to kill you. I WILL definitely kill you. We're going to push you off the cliff. I'm sure you've guessed that bit by now. I mean, why the fuck would we bring you all the way up here, unless that’s what we were going to do? And then afterwards we're going to kill your family too. Or to be more accurate, we might kill them... Whether I kill them or not actually depends entirely upon you. You see, the choice I'm of
fering you is this... When I set you free, I'm going to count to sixty. If by the time I've counted to sixty, you've voluntarily, of your own free will, stepped off the cliff and chosen to throw yourself to your death... then, I promise you, I'll not harm the rest of your family. You have my word on that."

  This was the best part.

  Tommy stepped forward and shone the torch into Keith's face. The look of fear was amazing. The incredible terror. Tommy could only imagine what was going through the man's mind.

  Of course, Tommy had seen that look of fear many times before, but he never tired of it. He never found it boring. It was what made this part of his job so enjoyable. Even addictive.

  There was a sudden stink, and shining the torch downwards and looking at the man's trousers, Tommy wasn't surprised to see that the man had simultaneously evacuated his bowels and his bladder.

  The man was so scared he had literally shit his pants.

  Tommy smiled.

  Then he nodded at one of the two men standing behind Keith, who reached forward with a Stanley knife and sliced open the tape wrapped around Keith's wrist and ankles.

  Reaching up to the tape wrapped around Keith's face, the thug hesitated, waiting for permission from his boss before proceeding.

  Tommy held up his hand and made a show of pulling back his sleeve so that he could see his watch.

  "Remember, Keith,… this is how it goes. Rab takes off the tape, I start to count. If I reach sixty and you're still here, Rab and Dougie throw you over the edge, and we kill your family. If you're gone before sixty, your family live. Got it?"

  The look of confusion on Keith's face was priceless. Absolutely wonderful.

  From experience Tommy knew that to leave it too long was wrong. He nodded at Rab, who grabbed the edge of the tape under Tommy's ear and sliced it off, accidentally removing part of the ear in the process. Keith didn't seem to notice.

  "One, two, three, four..." Tommy started to count.

  Keith was now free.

  "Fuck... fuck.... shit!" he muttered loudly while looking fervently from Tommy to Rab and then to Dougie.

  "Shit..., shit...."

  "Eleven, twelve..."

  Keith edged towards the blackness, the point where the wet grass and the ground disappeared and the sky took over. He bent towards the edge, staring down into the void beneath.

  "Twenty nine, thirty..."

  The feeling of panic within his body was beginning to overwhelm him, the urge to scream and shout threatening to overcome what little reason he had left.

  Glancing behind him over his shoulder he looked into the eyes of Tommy McNunn, saw the smile on his face, and heard him say the number forty-eight.

  He thought of his wife, his daughter Suzanne, his little one, Claire.

  Closing his eyes and capturing their faces in his mind's eye, he stepped forward.

  Into the darkness.

  For the briefest moment he felt himself surrounded by rushing, cold air.

  Then there was peace.

  Chapter 2

  Edinburgh

  Portobello High Street

  Tuesday

  11.30 a.m.

  "I'm dying. I don't know what I'm dying of, but I know I'm dying!" Jonathan Stuart announced. "I can feel it." He added, hesitantly, hoping to add more weight to his conviction.

  Jonathan leaned forward in his chair, removing the tortoise framed glasses from his face and rubbing his eyes. Replacing the frame on the bridge of his nose, and pushing it back with his forefinger so it rested more securely, he fixed his gaze back on the doctor sitting in front of him.

  "And what are your symptoms today, Jonathan?" the doctor asked patiently.

  "It's a pain, just here..." Jonathan replied, nudging the side of his abdomen with his right hand. "It's awful. Sharp pains. Digging. Sometimes I'm almost doubled up in pain."

  "And what do you think it is?"

  Jonathan stared at the doctor.

  "What do I think it is? I don't know..." Jonathan shook his head. "I really don't know. That's why I'm here. You're the doctor, not me!"

  "Well, at least we both agree on that one. Yes, I'm the doctor, not you." The doctor smiled gently at Jonathan.

  "Of course, I'll take a look. But Jonathan, honestly, as always, there's probably absolutely nothing wrong with you. There never is."

  Doctor Mitchell stood up from his chair beckoning Jonathan over to the examination couch in the corner.

  "Please, would you mind making yourself comfortable and lifting up your shirt?"

  Jonathan nodded and stood up nervously. He shuffled over to the couch, lifted himself onto the padded surface and lay back.

  "Have you thought any more about what I said the last few times you came to visit me? I really think the bereavement counselling I recommended would help you. Honestly, it works wonders. I'm sure you'd feel much better about everything if you were able to attend a few of the classes."

  Jonathan shook his head slowly.

  "Sorry, I just can't seem to make it to them... going there all alone,... thinking about Sally... no, I can't quite get myself to go."

  Dr Mitchell finished putting on the pair of examination gloves and gently placed his fingers on Jonathan's abdomen.

  "I'm sorry, I hope my hands aren't too cold..." the doctor apologised. "I understand. Losing Sally was terrible. She was a wonderful woman, and much loved by everyone who knew her. But it's been over three years now, and you have so much to live for Jonathan. Despite what you think, you're one of the healthiest men I know for your age."

  "Ouch!" Jonathan exclaimed, recoiling from the doctor's gentle prodding.

  "Does that hurt?"

  "Yes. A lot."

  Dr Mitchell went silent, concentrating. His fingers prodded and gently pushed, carefully exploring Jonathan's body.

  "Are you still taking those laxatives I recommended to you?" the doctor asked.

  "No. I stopped them a while ago. I found myself going to the toilet a lot more than I wanted to."

  "Well, Jonathan, they were laxatives. But I'm guessing that while you were taking them, you weren't having any of these pains, were you?"

  "No." Jonathan replied, then coughed again. "Excuse me..."

  Dr Mitchell slowly pulled off the gloves, finger by finger, and then dropped them into a small bin by his desk. He moved back to his seat and sat down in front of his computer, waving for Jonathan to join him on the chair beside him.

  As Jonathan sat up and edged off the examination couch, he tucked his shirt into his trousers.

  "So, what is it, Doctor Mitchell?" Jonathan asked, adjusting his glasses again and staring at the doctor, expectation and hope in his eyes.

  "It's the same as it was last week, Jonathan, and the week before, and the month before that. It's loneliness, and heartbreak. There's nothing wrong with you. The discomfort you're experiencing is constipation. It'll go away if you take the laxatives again and drink more water. At least a litre a day. I'm not worried about that. But I am worried about you, Jonathan. You need to get out and about more. Get involved with a life beyond your front door. Try to make some new friends. Find something new to occupy your mind and stop thinking so much about yourself. I know it's difficult, but that's what the group I recommended can help you with. Would you consider going?"

  Jonathan adjusted his glasses and looked out through the top clear part of the window in the surgery.

  This was the worst time of the year. The leaves had all fallen from the trees, and the branches were bare. Winter was threatening. Jonathan coughed again, this time several times in a row. He raised a hand to cover his mouth, and when he lowered it, Doctor Mitchell noticed a spittle of blood on Jonathan's fingers.

  "How's the cough? How long have you had that for?"

  "Just a few days. It's nothing."

  "You're probably right. Would you mind if I just had a little listen to your chest?" Doctor Mitchell asked, already reaching for his stethoscope. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable back on the co
uch."

  Jonathan stood up, pushed the glasses back on to his nose, and took the few steps back to the couch against the far wall.

  This was unusual.

  He'd come to the see the doctor with a stomach pain. And loneliness.

  He hadn't intended to mention his cough.

  Nervously, he loosened his shirt and lifted it up.

  Dr Mitchell smiled and put the end of the stethoscope against the old man's chest.

  "Breathe in..." the doctor started to chant the mantra that every doctor repeats a million times each day. "Breathe out..."

  The look on the doctor's face slowly changed.

  It was just a small, subtle change in the face muscles, but Jonathan noticed it immediately.

  Dr Mitchell's facial expression morphed from that of a friend, who over the years had come to know Jonathan and his wife very well, to that of the stoic professional.

  A few minutes later, they once more sat facing each other beside the doctor's desk.

  "Jonathan," Dr Mitchell began. "If you don't mind, there's someone else I'd like you to see... I'll make a few phone calls this morning, and hopefully I can arrange for you to see him later today or tomorrow. Would that be okay?"

  Jonathan swallowed hard and pushed his finger up against his glasses.

  "Yes," Jonathan nodded. "If you think I should."

  The doctor smiled back.

  This time, however, Jonathan noticed that the edges of his mouth didn't turn up just quite as far as they did before.

  Chapter 3

  Andheri

  Near Mumbai, Maharashtra

  India

  Wednesday

  6.30 a.m. India Standard Time (IST)

  Anand Mhasalkar closed the door to the small hovel he and his family called home in Anderi, a suburb of Mumbai. Their 'home' was tucked away down a side-street, around the back of the local ICICI Bank, where Anand's mother used to work as a cleaner. Since she had gone blind, the role of cleaning the bank had passed to his nine-year-old sister, who by the age of six was already an expert, having followed her mother around and helped since she was first able to walk.