Dead in the Water Read Online Free PDF

do?’
    Emboldened, several more lit up. A hush fell as the drinkers watched the confrontation, and Docherty raised his voice. ‘It’s a daft law – we can get it changed. Come on, they can’t arrest us all. What’s wrong with you – feart?’
    The reaction was unpromising. There was a mutter of disapproval, a few bolder spirits grinned, but the call to the barricades fell flat.
    Disappointed, Docherty pushed forward to confront the Poles. ‘Come on! You smoke – I’ve seen you!’ Confronted by a wall of stony faces, he began swearing at them, then, getting no reaction, deliberately blew smoke directly into the face of a tall young man with dark hair and fierce eyes that were almost black.
    ‘Enough,’ he said. ‘Outside.’
    A gratified smile crossed Docherty’s face. ‘Oh aye,’ he said. ‘Outside.’ With a jerk of his head he summoned his henchmen. ‘Come on, fellas.’
    With great reluctance, MacNee came round from the farther side of the bar. ‘That’s enough. Cool it, lads.’
    Docherty looked at him in disgust. ‘Oh, God – MacNee. What the hell are you doing here?’
    ‘Never you mind. I’m here, that’s all. And if you’re asking about armies, it’s me and the whole majesty of the law, the same that locked you up last time. You’ll maybe remember what happens if you get it wrong, Kev – you’re back inside before you can say, “I’m sorry, DS MacNee, it was just my wee joke.”
    ‘Norrie, I’m sure you’ve still got an ashtray somewhere. Mr Docherty and his friends had briefly forgotten, and they’re just going to put their cigarettes out, like the law-abiding gentlemen they are.’ MacNee smiled his menacing gap-tooth grin.
    Norrie, looking terrified, obliged. No one else moved until the young Pole stepped forward. He had clearly failed to follow this: he was high on adrenalin and righteous wrath, and all he saw was someone stopping him getting his revenge. Taking MacNee by the shoulders – he was more than six inches taller – he swung him out of the way.
    ‘You – no! Me and him.’ He gestured at Docherty.
    There had been a sharp intake of breath around the pub. Startled himself, MacNee turned belligerently.
    ‘Watch it, laddie. I’m the polis.’ Then, as it didn’t seem to register, he added a foreign word he thought he’d heard used in films, ‘Politzie.’
    The young man went white. ‘ Policje? Sorry, so sorry. Not know . . .’ He backed away.
    MacNee nodded. ‘OK. You weren’t to know. Just relax, all right?’
    ‘Sure, sure. OK, OK.’ He tried to disappear among his friends, who were by now visibly uneasy. One after another, they put their glasses down and left. A ragged cheer went up from Docherty and his mates.
    MacNee turned sharply. ‘Now, Kev, let’s talk about you. Threatening behaviour with racial overtones? Let me tell you this. I was chatting to one of the fiscals the other day, and he was saying he could drop a complaint of rape easier than racial harassment. Did you enjoy the jail, Kev? One foot out of line, you’re back there.
    ‘Oh, look, here’s Norrie with an ashtray. What do we do when we see an ashtray? Oh, well done, Kev.’
     
    With her coat buttoned up against the wind, the tall, gaunt woman, a basket over her arm, walked through Ardhill on Saturday morning. The village was little more than ribbon development: small houses huddled on either side, a guest house at one end, a pub at the other, a couple of small shops, a general store and a bakery. There weren’t many bakers around now, and it always did a good trade.
    She had been to the store already, but she still had to go to the bakery: Jean Grant always came up here from the farm to shop because she liked real bread, not the rubbish in plastic bags, and her son liked their Scotch pies for his dinner.
    There were two women ahead of her, an older woman she knew and a younger one, in her forties perhaps, with blonde hair. Jean eyed her disapprovingly. The blonde hair had come out