Kill Clock Read online

  Table of Contents

  Kill Clock

  6:30 pm

  6:45 pm

  7:00 pm

  7:15 pm

  7:30 pm

  7:45 pm

  8:00 pm

  8:10 pm

  8:40 pm

  8:55 pm

  9:10 pm

  9:20 pm

  9.35pm

  9.50 pm

  10:15 pm

  10.35 pm

  10:40 pm

  11:15 pm

  11:28 pm

  Midnight

  12:15 am

  12:20 am

  12:21 am

  12:25 am

  12:30 am

  12.55 am

  1.25 am

  Other titles featuring Pearce

  Two-Way Split

  Bad Men

  Hilda's Big Day Out

  Also by Allan Guthrie on Kindle

  About the author

  Kill Clock

  (extended edition)

  by

  Allan Guthrie

  First published in 2007 by Barrington Stoke

  Revised and extended edition first published in 2013 by Criminal-E

  Copyright © Allan Guthrie, 2007, 2013

  Cover design: JT Lindroos

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission of the author.

  Allan Guthrie has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Visit the author's website at:

  http://www.allanguthrie.co.uk

  Visit Criminal-E, Allan Guthrie's ebook crime fiction blog, at:

  http://criminal-e.blogspot.com

  Version 2-1-3

  6:30 pm

  The sea breeze nibbled at Pearce's bare arms as he crossed over the Prom towards Portobello beach, his dog hopping along beside him. Pearce never wore anything over his T-shirt unless the temperature dipped below zero. Sunbathing appealed to him about as much as tucking into a plate of vegetarian sausages.

  Luckily, it was a typical April evening, rain drizzling onto the empty tables in the sea-front pub's outdoor seating area. On the beach opposite, a couple of dog walkers trudged through the sand. One hardy soul in a wet suit kite-surfed in the shallows.

  Pearce was halfway across the road when this tosser backed out of a parking space right in front of him. The car jolted to a stop, the rear bumper less than a foot away from Hilda's nose. Pearce didn't know much about cars. Wouldn't have known the make of this one if he wasn't staring down at the words 'Hyundai' and 'Accent', silver against the black paintwork either side of the number plate.

  Hilda didn't seem to mind any of this, but Pearce did. The least he expected was an apology. But from the way the driver kept blasting his horn, there was cock-all chance of that.

  "Get off the road, arsehole." The driver was leaning out of his window. Bald. Pointy head. Made you want to turn him upside down and plant him in the sand.

  Hilda tugged on the lead, muscles straining in his weasel-shaped body. Turned his head, big eyes looking sad as ever.

  Pearce stooped down. Gave the wee fella's chin a scratch. "It's OK, pal. This won't take long."

  Hilda was named after Pearce's mother, who passed away a few years ago. He was still speaking to her long after her death, which he finally realised wasn't healthy. So he'd paid a visit to the local cat and dog home, leaving with a three-legged Dandie Dinmont terrier, one that happened to be male but somehow still looked like a Hilda. And of course, Pearce could speak to the dog without everyone thinking he was a loony. Most of the time, anyway.

  "Move, you thick twat." Speaking of loonies, the bald guy wasn't going to let this rest. "Want me to run you over? That it?"

  Pearce stayed where he was, even though his mouth tasted bitter with all the exhaust fumes he was inhaling.

  Hilda stared up at him, the tips of his ears wet.

  The guy shook his head. Leaned on the horn.

  After a short while, two men came out of the pub, one looking heavily pregnant, the other with a crutch under his arm and his foot in plaster. They sparked up a couple of smokes and watched.

  The driver finally eased off the horn and yelled at Pearce. "You've got ten seconds to get out of the way." He started counting. "Ten … nine … eight …"

  Pearce picked up Hilda and stood his ground, staring at the guy in the car.

  "… three … two … one."

  Interesting. What was Baldie going to do now?

  He revved the engine. And then started to reverse.

  Pearce watched the car inch closer, wondering how far this knobhead was prepared to go. He found out when the bumper touched his shins.

  Well, well.

  He stepped to the side, set Hilda down and unclipped the lead. "Go, be busy." Wee soul was desperate. The grassy area where he liked to do his business was a safe distance away.

  The car drew alongside Pearce. "Good mind to take your stupid dog and shove it up your hole."

  Pearce could have reached through the open window and grabbed him, but that would have been no fun.

  The bald bastard blinked hard, then rolled up the window. "Wanker," he mouthed, moving his wrist up and down for emphasis. Thought he was safe 'cos there was a pane of glass between them.

  Should have driven off while he had the chance.

  Pearce turned to the side, as if he was about to walk away, then swivelled, hammering the sole of his boot into the window.

  It exploded, glass spraying over the driver. He yelled. Sounded more surprised than scared.

  Other than a jagged fragment in the bottom corner, the window was gone.

  Pearce looked over at Hilda, who was squatting, back towards him as always. Until he'd got Hilda, he hadn't known that a dog could be shy about taking a dump. Made him laugh. Usually. Wasn't in a laughing mood right now though. Things to do. Slapheads to sort out.

  He put his hands on the car bonnet and jumped onto it. Stayed in a crouch to stare at the driver. He was sucking his finger. Probably cut it picking glass out of his clothes. He looked at Pearce, eyes wide, and let his hand fall to the side.

  Pearce stood up, his back foot slipping a fraction on the wet surface. Baldie was still staring at him through the rain-pocked windscreen, forgetting to blink. Stunned, no doubt, at the sight of this madman standing on his car.

  Great. Learning a lesson, maybe.

  It was his lucky day, 'cos Pearce had plenty more to teach.

  Pearce planted his feet, then raised the right one and drove the sole of his foot into the windscreen. The blow jarred the bone in his heel but only resulted in a thin crack in the glass.

  Inside, Baldie cowered, hands in front of his face, palms out. Scared now and making no attempt to hide it.

  Pearce kicked the windscreen again. Same spot. A few cracks this time. Bigger ones.

  "No, no, no." Baldie clasped his hands together. Looked as if he was about to cry. "Don't."

  Third time, the windscreen crunched, spider-webbing from top to bottom. Milky splodges streaked across the glass. Good enough. No way Baldie would be able to see out of that.

  Pearce jumped down. Content to leave it at that and continue his stroll with Hilda.

  Baldie opened the door. "Look what you've done."

  By now, the pregnant guy and his crippled mate had been joined by a clutch of other curious patrons outside the pub to watch the entertainment. Most likely they'd only expected a game of pool and a spot of karaoke tonight, so a ruckus like this was a real bonus.

  Baldie shook his arms and bits of glas
s dropped to the ground. He balled his fist. "I'm gonna …"

  "What?"

  No reply. Baldie just stood there working his jaw, silently, as if he was chewing his tongue.

  "We done?"

  Still nothing.

  "Thought so." Pearce walked away.

  He hadn't gone more than a few steps when he heard the car door click shut. Then the engine roared. Seconds later, he turned as the vehicle screeched to a halt just short of his leg. Again.

  "You're paying for this." Baldie's voice was high and loud. "Don't think you're not."

  Clearly not taking instruction too well.

  Pearce swung round the side of the car, opened the driver's door and reached inside. Baldie put his arms up to protect himself, but Pearce batted his arms to the side and pulled him out, sending him sprawling onto the road. Splinters of glass covered the driver's seat. There was a coat in the back, though, which Pearce dug out and draped over the seat to form a protective cushion. Then he climbed inside and sat down on it, carefully.

  "Hey." Baldie staggered to his feet. "What do you think you're doing?"

  Pearce closed the door.

  Baldie shoved his hand through the hole where the window used to be.

  Pearce grabbed the wrist and used Baldie's momentum to pull him forward. His face bounced off the roof of the car with a dull sound like a dropped mug hitting carpet.

  That had to hurt.

  Pearce let go.

  Long time since he'd been behind a wheel. Hadn't had much experience before he went to jail, and since he'd come out, he'd not had the chance.

  First thing, he put on his seatbelt.

  Right. The engine was still running. He pressed in the clutch, found first gear and applied a little power. The soles of his boots were pretty thick. Not the best footwear for driving. But that didn't really matter. He wasn't going far.

  About twenty feet to the left would do. That's where the wall was.

  He stepped on the accelerator. Hard to see through the busted windscreen, but he knew roughly where he was headed.

  He had fun rushing forward for a few seconds, and then:

  BANG.

  Twenty miles an hour when he hit. Caught the wall a little side on, the impact jolting him forward. He rolled his neck, checking for whiplash. It felt fine.

  He turned off the engine, took out the keys. Unclipped his seatbelt and stepped out to inspect the damage.

  The front driver's side was caved in, the bumper dangling towards the ground. Steam billowed out of the bonnet and water from the burst radiator dripped onto the road.

  Sweet.

  The car's owner hadn't moved his shiny wee head.

  Pearce lobbed the car keys at him.

  Poor sod didn't even bother trying to catch them, just looked at the ground where they fell.

  6:45 pm

  Sirens. Someone must've phoned the police.

  Pearce called Hilda over, put the lead back on him and started for home. Didn't want to hang around here trying to explain himself. He'd already had more than enough run-ins with the police for one lifetime.

  As he stepped onto the pavement, the group of early evening drinkers outside the pub started jeering at him. The pregnant-looking bloke and his mate with the gammy leg stood at the front, leading a round of sarcastic applause. Pearce noticed that the pregnant one had a ginger moustache, wispy as kitten fur.

  "Nice car you just pranged." The pregnant bloke nodded to confirm his own statement, looked around and grinned when he saw some other heads nodding.

  Pearce slowed down. "It isn't now."

  "Lots of witnesses." The cripple sounded as if he had a heavy cold.

  Pearce stepped over to him and bent down so their eyes were level. Smelled the beer on the guy's breath, the smoke on his clothes, the damp off his hair. "You say something about witnesses?" Watched him blink. Saw a muscle in his cheek twitch.

  "Nah." He shook his head violently like a dog drying itself, drew his crutch back a few inches. "Didn't see nothing, mate."

  "Good." Pearce tugged Hilda away from sniffing the guy's foot. "'Cos if you did, I'd have to come back and break your other leg."

  He left them all staring at each other and headed back up the road.

  Halfway home, a police car crawled past him. He expected them to stop and haul him off to the nearest station. But they obviously weren't looking for a man in a T-shirt walking his three-legged dog. Not yet, anyway.

  He might have bought himself some time with the punters at the pub, but Baldie wouldn't hesitate to give the police a description. And when he did, they'd be at Pearce's front door in minutes. Any excuse. They couldn't seem to leave him alone, no matter how hard they tried.

  7:00 pm

  Someone called his name. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

  He turned just as a woman opened the door of her parked car, hung out of it, one strappy wine-red sandaled foot on the ground. She was in her early thirties. Skinny, dyed blonde hair, washed-out pink cardigan with one sleeve rolled up to the elbow.

  "You don't recognise me, Pearce?"

  He'd never seen her before.

  She raised a cigarette to her mouth. Eyes screwed up, lips clamped round the butt, skin pulled tight across her cheekbones.

  She shook her head slightly.

  Ah, Jesus. He recognised that gesture. It was the hair that made her look so different. Last time he'd seen her, it was jet black. "Julie?"

  She grinned. Smoke curled out through her teeth. She never used to smoke either.

  Pearce didn't grin back. "Haven't seen you in …"

  "Over six years." She shifted about a bit, pointed her toes, took another drag. "Get in. We can catch up."

  "What do you want?"

  "Come on." Practically fluttering her eyelashes. "I need your help."

  He wouldn't normally hop in a car with an ex-girlfriend. At least, not one who'd ripped him off. But it was a good way of avoiding the police. For now, anyway. And it wasn't as if she could con him again. This time he was prepared.

  He nodded and walked round to the far side of the car while Julie settled back in behind the wheel. Hilda's ears pricked up, no doubt wondering why they weren't going home as usual. Julie leaned across, pushed the door open. Pearce hesitated, then bent down and scooped up Hilda.

  Julie wasn't alone. There were a pair of toddlers in the back, strapped into childseats. Looked somewhere between two and five years old. Hard to tell. A boy and a girl, he'd guess, although even that wasn't obvious. What was clear was how tired and stroppy they looked. Great.

  He brushed some sweetie wrappers off the seat and sat down. "What do you need from me, then?"

  As soon as Pearce spoke, the kid who looked like a boy started to cry.

  Julie turned. "Shut it, Kirk."

  Then the other kid started bawling.

  Pearce raised his voice. "They yours?"

  "Aye." Julie switched her fag into her other hand. "Worse luck." She reached into the back. "You want a smack?"

  That made Kirk cry all the louder. Which made his sister cry louder too. Pearce was fairly sure she was a girl now. A couple of dolls and a fairy wand nestled in her lap.

  "What did I just say?" Julie raised her hand and Pearce grabbed her wrist. She looked at him over her shoulder. "Still a soft bastard."

  "I haven't changed. Have you?"

  "I meant that as a compliment." She swivelled back into her seat. "Well, sort of."

  He let go of her.

  She took a breath and spoke into the rear-view mirror. "You pair zip it or I'll put you outside and you'll have to walk home. What's the noise all about anyway?"

  After a second, Kirk said, "The man."

  "The man." His sister burped. Sounded like a large frog. "Scusey me."

  "What man? This man?" Julie pointed at Pearce. "He's a friend of mine. He's going to help." She looked at Pearce.

  Pearce realised she was waiting for him to back her up. "That's right. I'm a pal."
He did his best to smile. "Your pal. No need to cry, eh? Not as if I'm going to pull your legs off or boil your heads in a big pot or anything like that."

  Julie punched his arm and glared at him.

  "What? Got them to be quiet." It was true. They'd stopped crying. Didn't know what she was looking at him like that for.

  She tossed her fag out the window and breathed out a stream of smoke. "Don't joke about hurting them."

  "Just hit them instead?"

  "I don't have time for this." She closed her eyes. "Presume you don't have any kids yet?"

  "Haven't exactly had the chance."

  "Christ," she said. "Look. About what happened …"

  "Forget it. I have."

  ****

  Six years ago, but it seemed like yesterday.

  Pearce hadn't been out of prison long and he and Julie had only been going out with each other for two weeks. He should have known better. She'd strung him along so easily it was embarrassing. He'd borrowed a stack of money from a loan shark to buy a very expensive diamond ring for their engagement. Yeah, beyond stupid to get engaged after only a fortnight. Deserved everything he got. He knew that. But knowing it didn't help. Once Julie had the ring on her finger, she vanished. He'd spoken to her only once after that. Well, it wasn't really speaking. They'd shouted at one another down the phone.

  No point going over all that again, though.

  "I should go." Pearce grabbed the door handle.

  "Scusey me. Where's the doggie's leg?"

  Pearce turned.

  "Did you pull it off?" The little girl held out a decapitated doll. "I pulled off Lucy's head. She can't see now." The doll's neck was covered in drool. She pointed it at Hilda. "How does the doggie walk?"

  "Easy. Puts one paw in front of the other."

  "That's funny!" She giggled.

  Kirk said, "Doesn't he fall over?"

  "Oh, hardly ever."

  "Can he run?"

  "Like Linford Christie."

  "Who?"

  Pearce looked at Julie.