Maclennan was walking past the radio room when the call went out. He translated the numbers in the code. Potential suicide on the cliffs above the Castle Sands. Not really a CID matter, and anyway, it was his day off. He’d only come in to clear up some paperwork. He could carry on out the door, be home in ten minutes, a can of lager in his hand and the sports pages open on his lap. Like almost every other day off since Elaine walked out the door.
No contest.
He stuck his head in the radioroom door. “Tell them I’m on my way,” he said. “And send for the lifeboat from Anstruther.”
The operator looked at him in surprise, but gave him the thumbs up. Maclennan carried on through to the car park. God, but it was a rough afternoon. The bloody weather alone was enough to make you suicidal. He drove to the scene, his wipers barely slapping the windscreen clear between gouts of rain.
The cliffs were a favorite spot for attempted suicides. Mostly, they succeeded if the tide was right. There was a vicious undertow that swept the unsuspecting out into the sea in a matter of minutes. And nobody lasted long in the North Sea in winter. There had been some spectacular failures, too. He remembered a janitor from one of the local primary schools who had completely mistimed the attempt. He came crashing down into two feet of water, missed the rocks altogether and ended up hitting the sand. He broke both his ankles and was so mortified at this farcical fiasco that he caught a bus to Leuchars the day he was released from hospital, tottered on his crutches along the railway track and threw himself under the Aberdeen express.
That wouldn’t happen today, though. Maclennan was pretty sure the tide was in, and the east wind would whip the sea into a pounding maelstrom beneath the cliffs. He hoped they’d get there in time.
There was a panda car there already when he arrived. Janice Hogg and another uniformed officer were standing uncertainly by the low railing, watching a young man lean into the wind, his arms spread like Christ on the cross. “Don’t just stand there,” Maclennan said, turning his collar up against the rain. “There’s a lifebelt further along. One of those ones with a rope. Get it, now.”
The male constable sprinted off in the direction Maclennan was pointing in. The detective climbed over the railing and took a couple of steps forward. “All right, son,” he said gently.
The young man turned and Maclennan realized that it was Davey Kerr. A wrecked and ruined Davey Kerr, to be sure. But there was no mistaking that elfin face, those terrified Bambi eyes. “You’re too late,” he slurred, his body wavering drunkenly.
“It’s never too late,” Maclennan said. “Whatever’s wrong, we can fix it.”
Mondo turned to face Maclennan. He dropped his arms to his side. “Fix it?” His eyes blazed. “You’re ones that broke it in the first place. Thanks to you lot, everybody thinks I’m a killer. I’ve got no friends, I’ve got no future.”
“Of course you’ve got friends. Alex, Ziggy, Tom. They’re your friends.” The wind howled and the rain battered his face, but Maclennan was oblivious to everything except the frightened face before him.
“Some friends. They don’t want me, because I tell the truth.” Mondo’s hand came up to his mouth and he chewed at a fingernail. “They hate me.”
“I don’t think so.” Maclennan took a small step nearer. Another couple of feet and he’d be within grabbing distance.
“No closer. You stay back. This is my business. Not yours.”
“Think about what you’re doing here, Davey. Think about the people who love you. This is going to tear up your family.”
Mondo shook his head. “They don’t care about me. They’ve always loved my sister more than me.”
“Tell me what’s bothering you.” Keep him talking, keep him alive, Maclennan willed himself. Let this not be another nightmare fuck-up.
“Are you deaf, man? I already told you,” Mondo shouted, his face a rictus of pain. “You’ve ruined my life.”
“That’s not true. You’ve got a great future.”
“Not anymore, I haven’t.” He spread his arms like wings again. “Nobody understands what I’m going through.”
“Let me understand.” Maclennan edged forward. Mondo tried to step sideways but his drunken feet slithered on the thin wet grass. His face was a mask of shocked horror. In a terrible pantomimic cartwheel, he struggled against the pull of gravity. For a few drawn-out seconds, it looked as if he would succeed. Then his feet went from under him and he disappeared from sight in one shocking moment.
Maclennan lunged forward, but far too late. He teetered on the edge, but the wind was on his side and held him till he had his balance again. He looked down. He thought he saw the splash. Then he saw Mondo’s white face through a break in the white froth of water. He whirled round as Janice and the other constable reached his side. Another police car drew up, disgorging Jimmy Lawson and two other uniformed officers. “The lifebelt,” Maclennan shouted. “Hold on to the rope.”
Already, he was tearing off his coat and jacket, slipping out of his shoes. Maclennan grabbed the lifebelt and looked down again. This time, he saw an arm black against the foam. He took a deep breath and launched himself into space.
The drop was heart-stopping in its suddenness. Buffeted by the wind, Maclennan felt weightless and insignificant. It was over in seconds. Hitting the water was like falling on to solid ground. It knocked the breath from him. Gasping and swallowing great mouthfuls of freezing salt water, Maclennan struggled to the surface. All he could see was water, spray and spume. He kicked out with his legs, trying to orientate himself.
Then, in a trough between the waves, he caught a glimpse of Mondo. The lad was a few yards farther out, over to his left. Maclennan struck out toward him, hampered by the lifebelt round his arm. The sea lifted him and brought him crashing down again, carrying him right into Mondo. He grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
Mondo flailed in his grip. At first, Maclennan thought he was determined to break free and drown himself. But then he understood that Mondo was fighting him for the lifebelt. Maclennan knew he couldn’t hang on indefinitely. He let go of the lifebelt but managed to cling on to Mondo.
Mondo grabbed at the belt. He thrust one arm through it and tried to get it over his head. But Maclennan was still gripping his collar, knowing his life depended on it. There was only one thing for it. Mondo thrust back as hard as he could with his free elbow. Suddenly, he was clear.
He pulled the lifebelt over his body, desperately gasping for breath in the saturated air. Behind him, Maclennan struggled closer, somehow managing to get a hand on the rope attached to the lifebelt. It took a superhuman effort, his waterlogged clothes fighting him every inch of the way. Cold was eating into Maclennan now, making his fingers numb. He clung to the rope with one arm, waving the other above their heads to signal to the team on the cliff to bring them up.
He could feel the pull on the rope. Would five be enough to get them both up the cliff? Had somebody had the nous to get a boat round from the harbor? They’d be dead from cold long before the lifeboat arrived from Anstruther.
They closed in on the cliffs. One minute, Maclennan was aware of the buoyancy of the water. Then all he felt was drag as he rose out of the water, holding on to the lifebelt and Mondo for dear life. He stared upward, gratefully seeing the pale face of the front man on the rope, his features a blur through the rain and spray.
They were six feet up the cliff when Mondo, terrified that Maclennan was going to pull him back into the maelstrom, kicked backward. Maclennan’s fingers gave up the fight. He plunged back helpless into the water. Again he went under, again he struggled to the surface. He could see Mondo’s body rising slowly up the cliff face. He couldn’t believe it. The bastard had kicked him free to save himself. He hadn’t been trying to kill himself at all. It had just been posturing, attention-seeking.
Maclennan spat out another mouthful of water. He was determined now to hang on, if only to make Davey Kerr wish he had drowned after all. All he had to do now was keep his head above water. They’d get the lifebelt back down to him. They’d send a boat round. Wouldn’t they?
His strength was fading fast. He couldn’t fight the water, so he let it carry him. He’d concentrate on keeping his face out of the sea.
Easier said than done. The undertow sucked at him, the swell smashing black walls of water into his mouth and nose. He didn’t feel cold anymore, which was nice. Vaguely, he heard the pocka-pocka of a helicopter. He was drifting now, in a place where everything felt very calm. Air/Sea Rescue, that would be the noise he could hear. Swing low, sweet chariot. Coming for to carry me home. Funny the things that go through your mind. He giggled and swallowed another mouthful of water.
He felt very light now, the sea a bed rocking him gently to sleep. Barney Maclennan, asleep on the ocean wave.
The helicopter spotlight swept the sea for an hour. Nothing. Rosie Duff’s killer had claimed a second victim.