Out of Bounds Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Val McDermid
head. ‘Have it your own way. Anyway, apparently it was his habit to walk home from the pub in Kinross along the Loch Leven trail. So yesterday morning, some guy was cycling from Scotlandwell to his work in Kinross when he notices a man slumped on a bench at a viewpoint a few feet off the path. He thinks he’s maybe taken a turn of some kind. So he stops and checks it out, and lo and behold, it’s Gabriel Abbott.’
‘Dead already?’
‘Oh aye, dead a few hours at that point. At first they thought it might be suicide. Gunshot to the head, gun in his hand.’
‘But?’ Karen leaned forward, scenting something more.
Jimmy pulled a wry face, setting his glass down on the table. ‘The entry wound was here.’ He pressed his fingertips to his right temple. Then he waggled the fingers of his left hand. ‘But the gun was in his left hand. So unless he was a contortionist …’
‘… he was helped on his way by someone who wasn’t quite as smart as he intended to be.’ She shook her head, puffing her cheeks as she exhaled. ‘Easy done, if you’re panicking. If you’re an amateur. So what’s the story?’
‘Thereis no story at this point. It’s as mysterious as that banker who got shot on his own doorstep in Nairn a few years back. You remember?’
Karen nodded. No enemies, no debts, no motive. No witnesses, no trace-back on the gun, no viable DNA. ‘So what did this Gabriel Abbott do for a living?’
Jimmy picked up his drink and savoured a sip. ‘Nothing. I kind of like this one, Karen. I’m getting a hint of coriander and cinnamon. Might be the perfect curry aperitif.’
‘You could be right.’ She took another swallow. ‘Spicy warmth. Nothing clinical about this one. But going back to the dead guy: how old was he?’
‘Around thirty, I think. Giorsal says he was bright, but he had some mental health problems going way back. He’d never been able to hold down a job.’
‘It’s hard to see how he would piss somebody off enough to murder him.’
‘It doesn’t always take much.’
‘True.’
‘Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ Jimmy looked at her over the rim of his glass. ‘That’s why—’
‘Stop right there,’ Karen said. ‘I’m not in the mood for one of your heavy-handed morality tales. Bad things happen in the dark. I get it. But bad things happen in the bright light of day too. Phil didn’t die because he was walking the streets at night, Jimmy. I know how to take care of myself. I know how to be safe.’
Jimmy sighed and ran a hand over the undulating bumps of his shaven head. ‘Sure you do.’ His voice was heavy with the weight of disbelief.
‘So the local lads are struggling with this one?’
‘Aye. No witnesses. Nothing.’
‘Interesting.’ Karen stared out over the water. Sometimesshe hankered after a live case. She loved what she did, but she couldn’t kid herself that it carried the same adrenaline buzz as the quest to build a chain of evidence in real time.
‘I’ll tell you what’s really interesting, Karen. Twenty-two years ago, Gabriel Abbott’s mother was murdered. And nobody spent so much as a day in jail for it.’
7
K arenlet the Mint drive to Dundee next morning. Not because she was worried about how much gin she’d drunk the night before but because she wanted to mull over the case Jimmy Hutton had brought up. There were a lot of things that ran in families, but murder wasn’t one of them. Not even in families who made the criminal records computer ka-ching like a slot machine that had hit the jackpot. But there was nothing dodgy about Gabriel Abbott’s family.
Equally, there was nothing similar about the two murders. After Jimmy had left, Karen had gone online to see what she could find out about the death of Abbott’s mother. It hadn’t been anything like she’d expected.
Caroline Abbott, a successful West End theatre impresario, had made the fatal error of travelling in a small plane with a former
‘Dead already?’
‘Oh aye, dead a few hours at that point. At first they thought it might be suicide. Gunshot to the head, gun in his hand.’
‘But?’ Karen leaned forward, scenting something more.
Jimmy pulled a wry face, setting his glass down on the table. ‘The entry wound was here.’ He pressed his fingertips to his right temple. Then he waggled the fingers of his left hand. ‘But the gun was in his left hand. So unless he was a contortionist …’
‘… he was helped on his way by someone who wasn’t quite as smart as he intended to be.’ She shook her head, puffing her cheeks as she exhaled. ‘Easy done, if you’re panicking. If you’re an amateur. So what’s the story?’
‘Thereis no story at this point. It’s as mysterious as that banker who got shot on his own doorstep in Nairn a few years back. You remember?’
Karen nodded. No enemies, no debts, no motive. No witnesses, no trace-back on the gun, no viable DNA. ‘So what did this Gabriel Abbott do for a living?’
Jimmy picked up his drink and savoured a sip. ‘Nothing. I kind of like this one, Karen. I’m getting a hint of coriander and cinnamon. Might be the perfect curry aperitif.’
‘You could be right.’ She took another swallow. ‘Spicy warmth. Nothing clinical about this one. But going back to the dead guy: how old was he?’
‘Around thirty, I think. Giorsal says he was bright, but he had some mental health problems going way back. He’d never been able to hold down a job.’
‘It’s hard to see how he would piss somebody off enough to murder him.’
‘It doesn’t always take much.’
‘True.’
‘Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ Jimmy looked at her over the rim of his glass. ‘That’s why—’
‘Stop right there,’ Karen said. ‘I’m not in the mood for one of your heavy-handed morality tales. Bad things happen in the dark. I get it. But bad things happen in the bright light of day too. Phil didn’t die because he was walking the streets at night, Jimmy. I know how to take care of myself. I know how to be safe.’
Jimmy sighed and ran a hand over the undulating bumps of his shaven head. ‘Sure you do.’ His voice was heavy with the weight of disbelief.
‘So the local lads are struggling with this one?’
‘Aye. No witnesses. Nothing.’
‘Interesting.’ Karen stared out over the water. Sometimesshe hankered after a live case. She loved what she did, but she couldn’t kid herself that it carried the same adrenaline buzz as the quest to build a chain of evidence in real time.
‘I’ll tell you what’s really interesting, Karen. Twenty-two years ago, Gabriel Abbott’s mother was murdered. And nobody spent so much as a day in jail for it.’
7
K arenlet the Mint drive to Dundee next morning. Not because she was worried about how much gin she’d drunk the night before but because she wanted to mull over the case Jimmy Hutton had brought up. There were a lot of things that ran in families, but murder wasn’t one of them. Not even in families who made the criminal records computer ka-ching like a slot machine that had hit the jackpot. But there was nothing dodgy about Gabriel Abbott’s family.
Equally, there was nothing similar about the two murders. After Jimmy had left, Karen had gone online to see what she could find out about the death of Abbott’s mother. It hadn’t been anything like she’d expected.
Caroline Abbott, a successful West End theatre impresario, had made the fatal error of travelling in a small plane with a former