Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [71]
"You want to try Dad again?"
"Sure," Martin said. "Doubt we'll get a response this time either, though."
There. At last. The lights changed. "Just try." Effie put her foot down. Kept just within the speed limit. "Please. We have to know what we're walking into."
Of course, there was no reply.
Martin put the phone away and Effie drove, awkwardly, Martin leaning against her. She didn't mind though. She liked the smell of him, fresh from the bath. She couldn't stay mad at him for long, especially after she'd realised it wasn't him she was mad at.
They headed out of town, west, along Dalry where straggles of drunk teenage girls stumbled along the pavements, through Gorgie, which was already much quieter. By the time they reached Saughton, the nighttime traffic had reduced to the occasional car, taxi, a coach. The new builds at Broomhouse passed on the right, and roundabout followed roundabout, causing Martin to sit up so Effie could change gear without banging his head off her arm or stalling. He yawned, dozed off again. They drove through Sighthill, then Calder.
They'd hit the Kilmarnock road and were out of the city when Jordan's phone rang. Muffled, but definitely a kid's song, fast and tuneful and chirpy. Effie felt the vibrations against her leg. Had three phones in there. Lucky she was wearing combats, so there was plenty of room.
She grabbed it, but it rang out before she could answer. She glanced at the keypad trying to figure out how to tell who'd called and was about to wake Martin and let him work it out when the phone rang again. This time it jolted him awake. He looked at her. She read the name on the display.
Shite.
"Jordan's?" Martin asked, indicating the phone.
She nodded.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It says: 'dad'."
"I don't like this," Martin said. "What should we do?"
"We can't just ignore it."
"No, we can't."
She held it out to him. "You want to?"
"You go on."
"I'm driving."
"Answer it, Effie. I wouldn't know what to say."
"You expect me to?" Christ's sake. She answered it: "Who is this?"
"You fucking know, bitch." Tommy Savage's voice.
She swallowed. Looked for somewhere to pull over. "Where's my father?"
"What did you do to Jordan?"
"I want to speak to Dad."
"I want to speak to my son."
Her voice was weak. "No," she said. "You can't."
"I can't? If you've harmed him—"
"He's alive. He's here. In the van."
"Put him on the phone."
"I can't do that."
"Savage? What does he want?" Martin said.
She shook her head at him.
"If you don't prove to me that Jordan's alive," Savage said, "your dad's dead."
So Dad was still alive. Meant she'd be able to forgive him for landing Jordan on her.
Savage said, "I know what you did to Phil and Fraser."
Of course he did. He'd seen it in graphic detail.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr Savage," she said.
"Want me to tell you about the tub? About the hacksaws? About you and loverboy all naked and covered in my family's blood?"
Silence. She could hear him breathe, thought she heard him sniff. "Where are you?" she said. "Maybe we can arrange an exchange."
"What about my brother and my other son? Who are you going to exchange for them?"
She'd already said too much. "I don't know who you mean. But even if I did, there's nothing we can do about what's already done." She waited. He said nothing. His breath rattled down the phone. "Okay," she said. "Where do you want to meet?"
He told her. The parking lot at the East Calder entrance to Almondell Country Park. "Bet you know where that is," he said.
"I'll find it," she said.
Savage Night
9:30 PM
Old Mrs Yardie's
TOMMY WATCHED THE screen. A few minutes ago Martin Milne had wandered into Fraser's sitting room. Martin was much beefier than his