Hanlon woke with the most agonising headache. She opened her eyes. Millar was sitting on the sofa staring at her. She was lying on the floor on her side; her hands had been tied behind her at the wrists. Julia was standing behind Millar, her hands resting on his shoulders, looking down at her.
‘You!’ she said accusingly, staring at Julia. She felt sick. Maybe it was the blow on the head, but maybe it was the betrayal. Julia ruffled Millar’s hair and kissed the top of his head.
Millar leaned forward, brought out his wallet and took a small paper wrap from one of the compartments and a credit card. He chopped a generous line out on the glass surface of the coffee table. His phone pinged and he read the message.
‘Robbo and Calum have finished. Job done,’ he said to Julia. ‘Good boys, they’re on their way back. Robbo said they’ll wait in Marchmont for me to call.’ Julia nodded. Millar’s thumbs moved quickly. ‘See you in an hour,’ he muttered to himself as he composed and sent the reply.
‘Well, that’s Ray and Dougie sorted,’ Millar said happily. ‘Now for you.’
He snorted the coke and said to Hanlon, ‘Not very good at working things out, are you?’
‘How could you?’ she said to Julia. She could hear the bitterness in her voice, taste it in her mouth.
‘My ex left me with no money and a massive mortgage,’ she said. ‘If those rude, pampered arsehole students want to shove their government loans up their noses, why shouldn’t I benefit?’ She shrugged. ‘Besides, it’s fun. Why not?’
God, she played me for a fool, Hanlon thought bitterly. From the word go. She suddenly thought of the tracker in her car. Julia had found out from her the registration and the make when she’d given her the parking permit. It must have been her that installed it – that was how Ray had known where her hotel was. And she’d confided more or less everything to her. How stupid could you get?
She stared at Julia now, her long, slender fingers playing with Millar’s hair. Not just working for him, sleeping with him.
Hanlon wondered how much longer Millar would allow her to live. Begging him to spare her wouldn’t work, she knew that. It would only gratify him. She knew she was going to die, but she was determined she would go out well. That much she could control.
He sniffed loudly and beamed at her. He seemed to be in a very good mood. Third time lucky. Ray hadn’t managed to kill her, neither had whoever had been at Griffiths’ house. Presumably Robbo and Calum.
‘Got any Scotch?’ Millar said to Julia.
She nodded and went into the kitchen. Millar did another line. Julia came back with a glass and a bottle of Macallan.
Millar poured himself a massive tumbler of neat malt. He drank half of it. ‘Ahh, that’s better,’ he said.
‘Why did you kill Morag McMillan?’ Hanlon asked.
‘I didn’t,’ he said.
Hanlon frowned. ‘You didn’t? Who did?’
‘I honestly don’t know, and I honestly don’t care.’ She could hear that he was telling the truth.
She looked at Julia. ‘Did you do it?’ Hanlon said.
‘Why would I want to do that?’ She snorted. ‘Of course I didn’t kill her.’
Millar sighed. ‘Hanlon, no one gives a fuck who killed Morag. You can ask her yourself soon.’ Another sip of Scotch. ‘Julia, have you got any gloves, and some duct tape and scissors? I think we’ve both had enough of Hanlon yacking on, don’t you?’
Hanlon thought of screaming. She’d get one brief yell out before Millar’s hands clamped around her neck – was it worth it? To be honest, she didn’t feel up to it. She doubted she could muster a scream, not even a whimper. She didn’t feel frightened. She was empty, drained; she just wanted it to be over. She suddenly thought of Wemyss – who would care for him? God, I’ll miss him, she thought. I should have made a will. I could have left him to Campbell – he’d have looked after him.
And Campbell would avenge her, of that she had no doubt. He would know who had killed her, or, if she was never found, who was behind her disappearance.
That was something.
Campbell. She wished she’d been nicer to him. She suddenly thought, I think he’s in love with me. It was like a revelation.
Julia came back from the kitchen with a pair of yellow rubber gloves and Millar pulled them on. It took a while – they were very tight on his big hands. He flexed his fingers like a piano player. He got off the sofa and knelt down beside Hanlon. Julia leaned forward to watch with interest.
‘OK, Hanlon, first things first – where’s Aurora?’
‘Why would you care?’ she spat.
Millar shrugged. ‘Unfinished business. Where is she? I know you know.’
‘I don’t know.’
He shook his head. ‘You know I will hurt you until you tell me, and you will tell me, so let’s just cut to the chase.’
She shook her head.
He said, ‘You do know I enjoy hurting people…’ He smiled and leaned forward; she could smell the whisky on his breath. ‘Don’t talk too soon, this is going to be fun.’
The front doorbell rang.
Millar froze and then clamped his hand over her mouth. She could taste the rubber of the glove and there was a faint smell of bleach.
Another ring. Was it Campbell? she thought. Don’t get your hopes up, she told herself. It’s probably DHL or Ocado, come to collect their sodding bags.
‘Answer it, Julia,’ Millar said, adding unnecessarily, ‘Get rid of them!’
Julia nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. Hanlon looked up into Millar’s face. He was staring at the door. Hanlon wondered what he was thinking. Could it be the police maybe? Had she told someone where she was going? If it was the police, the charge would be what? Attempted murder, false imprisonment, would he claim it was a sex game gone wrong, a prank even?
They heard the door open, a man’s voice saying something and then a very loud thud. Millar strained forward listening intently – what the hell was happening out there? He looked up, puzzled.
The door burst open. Two figures: one was McDonald, in a biker’s one-piece and boots, the other was shorter, wearing army trousers and a leather jacket, hands behind their back, face hidden by a motorbike helmet.
There was something familiar about the figure.
‘You,’ Millar said, glaring angrily at McDonald, his voice snarling, getting to his feet, his hands balling into fists. McDonald looked at Millar’s hands, the yellow Marigolds, and he laughed.
‘Been doing the dishes, Graeme?’
‘You cunt, McDonald, and who’s this tosser?’ pointing at the figure with the covered face.
McDonald’s companion pulled off the helmet with one hand, the other still behind her back, and shook her short dark hair free. The three of them stood stock-still for what felt like an eternity to Hanlon, lying on the floor and looking upwards.
‘Aurora!’ Millar said, his eyes widening in surprise. ‘Aurora, darling…’ He smiled at her, and held out his yellow rubber-gloved hands beseechingly as Aurora Cameron pulled the trigger of the gun she was holding in her right hand and fired three times.