At the front desk a young girl in a black jacket, her name tag on the lapel, greeted them with a smile. CS Martin frowned and produced her warrant card. ‘Police. I think you better call your duty manager.’

The girl’s gaze fell on the telephone, she picked up the receiver. ‘Erm, he’s not answering.’

‘We need to remove a guest, right away.’

‘Remove?’

‘The sooner the better. Can you tell me what room Norrie Leask is in?’

The girl was unsure of herself but went to the computer, tapped a few keys. ‘Mr Leask is in Room 212.’

‘What about his companion?’

‘Is that Joe Barr? … He’s in the next room 214. We don’t have any rooms with the number 13 in them.’

‘Well that’s lucky,’ said Martin. ‘Sylvia, grab the lassie’s jacket and a tray, you’re going to deliver some room service to Mr Leask.’

‘I’m not sure if I can do that,’ said the receptionist.

‘Trust me, you can. Or would you prefer to keep a murder suspect upstairs?’

The officers headed for the lift. Once outside Leask’s door, Valentine stationed himself to the left of the spy hole and CS Martin stood outside room 214.

‘OK, Sylvia, knock-knock …’

McCormack tapped on the door and called out, ‘Room service.’

No answer.

‘Knock again,’ said Valentine.

Another knock, harder this time.

‘OK. OK. I’m coming.’ The voice behind the door was a middle-aged man’s, heavy Ayrshire in tone.

‘Soon as the chain’s off, kick it in,’ said Valentine.

The door opened, the chain wasn’t on. McCormack kicked the door in and Norrie Leask fell backwards into the room, cursing.

‘Stay where you are, Norrie,’ said Valentine.

The sound of footsteps padded from the interior of the room to the front door where the officers waited.

‘You too, Joe. This is a bit like a full house,’ said Valentine. ‘In here, chief.’

As Martin came in McCormack was cuffing Leask behind his back, propping him against the wall. Valentine was turning the protesting Joe around. ‘Just shut it, now. You’ll have plenty of time to tell us all about it when we get you down the nick.’

‘It’s not us you want,’ said Leask.

‘You’ll do for now,’ said McCormack.

‘But they’re here,’ said Leask. ‘You’re letting them get away …’

CS Martin stepped towards Leask. ‘What is he going on about?’

Before Leask had a chance to reply DS McNeil appeared at the doorway. ‘I just had a call on the radio, I think you should hear this – there’s been shots fired out at the old bothy in Glen Rosa.’

‘I told you,’ wailed Leask. ‘You got the wrong ones.’

‘Shut it, Norrie.’ said Valentine. ‘Where’s this Glen Rosa?’

46

Valentine led Leask through the hotel foyer to the car park. A few guests in gym wear, obviously en route to the leisure club, stopped and stared but were promptly waved aside. As McNeil arrived with the second custody and CS Martin, Valentine was putting Leask in the back of the Astra, a wary hand on the top of his head as he ducked the roof.

‘How are we all going to get in there?’ said Valentine.

‘We need the Land Rover for the glen, it’s on the way with our armed response officer,’ said McNeil.

‘You have armed response on Arran?’

‘Not exactly. We have a couple of rifles, and my offsider has them in the Land Rover for the odd stray deer, we get them on the roads and they can do terrible damage to a vehicle.’ He put Joe in the back of the Astra with Leask, where he rattled his handcuffs and continued to protest.

‘I’ll go with uniform to keep an eye on this pair,’ said DS McCormack.

Valentine nodded, turned back to McNeil – he wanted to know more about the guns. ‘Tell me you have the proper firearms training.’

‘Of course. Have to, as you know …’

‘And have you actually fired one?’

‘Oh, yes. I shot a cow once, had been hit by a post van and was in a dreadful way, blood oozing out the nose, the tongue lolling …’

Thank you for the image,’ said Valentine.

‘The kindest thing for it was to put it out of its misery.’

The DI turned to the chief super. ‘I’d love to see the paperwork on that.’

‘Oh, jeez, you wouldn’t have liked to fill it in,’ replied McNeil. ‘The best part of a day it took me, I had to reload a few times you see. I suppose I was lucky it wasn’t a built-up area, now that would have been a nightmare.’

The conversation halted abruptly as the Land Rover appeared and a uniformed officer opened the door and got out. The CS and the DI piled in as McNeil directed the uniform towards DS McCormack and the awaiting collars in the back seat of the Astra.

‘Come on, Rory, you have to drive us there. We’re wasting time,’ said Martin.

As he got behind the steering wheel McNeil detailed the route. Glen Rosa was a scenic spot on the edge of Brodick with a rambling track to the top of the Goatfell range. It could be boggy in places but there were beaten-earth tracks that the Land Rover could handle easily if it came to that.

‘There’s a wee road leads there, just outside Brodick, we’ll be there in no time,’ said McNeil.

‘What’s the story with the shots?’ said Martin.

‘There’s a campsite, with an old stone bothy, I think the campers use it as a washroom now. There was a call, shots were heard inside. Some voices, screams but nobody’s seen anything, we’ll be the first on the scene, I’m afraid. Can you handle a rifle, chief super?’

‘No I bloody cannot. And nor do I intend to.’

‘No worries. Sure, I’m a bit of an action man myself and Bob there looks the part.’

As they travelled, Valentine’s mind flushed with previous similar encounters. There had never been gunshots, only knives, but one of those had found its way through the walls of his heart and he wasn’t keen to repeat the experience. The pain had been inconsequential compared to the hurt it had caused his family, he couldn’t bring himself to think about Clare or the girls having to go through that again. He forced away his fears.

‘How the hell did it come to this?’ said Martin.

Did she mean an armed stand-off on Arran? Or, the pair of them sitting in a car heading for their potential doom? ‘Well, we were short-staffed before you bumped Harris.’

‘I’ve a bloody good mind to go and get him, send him in there now.’

Valentine agreed. ‘We could all march behind him, let Flash Harris do the talking.’

‘He’s used to shooting his mouth off, he wouldn’t need a gun.’

The Land Rover came screeching to a halt in a gravel road, spraying scree beyond the tyres and jerking the occupants in their seats.

‘Right, we’re here,’ said McNeil.

Valentine was first out of the vehicle. He spotted a small group of tourists and campers gathered beyond a dry-stone dyke; the DI observed them for a few seconds then summoned them away from the wall. The group trailed slowly towards him and as McNeil appeared with the rifles those in front of him increased their pace.

‘Get inside that house.’ Valentine pointed to a whitewashed cottage; the group stalled, some were ready to question but he blasted, ‘Move!’

As the officers descended the path towards the bothy, Valentine rebuffed the offer of a rifle and DS McNeil continued on with one gun strapped over each shoulder.

‘I don’t want you to fire that unless it’s a matter of life and death, is that clear?’ said the DI.

‘Yes, sir.’

The path was narrow and rutted. Gnarled roots from adjacent trees impeded the way and a damp covering from earlier rain made the going slippy underfoot. As he reached the corner of the bothy Valentine directed McNeil towards a gap in the adjoining fence where he could reach a rusting plough for cover, he jogged on and signalled a thumbs up to say he had secured a view of the open doorway.

‘Christ this is hardcore, Bob,’ said Martin.