Scot Free

Welcome to our regular feature showcasing the talents of the nation’s best writers.

Outside my window, mortars fired rockets into the darkness and the night was rent by the crack of gunpowder and the screams of children. I flinched at every report and hugged myself, rocking back and forward, trying not to cry. One more hour, one short meeting in this blank little room, then I would be on my way to the airport, on a flight back to Edinburgh. Up and away, a continent and an ocean behind me.

There was a sudden lull in the shelling and I was sure I could hear footsteps on the stairs, thought I could smell a blast of acrid smoke from someone opening the street door. Then, after two of the loudest bangs yet, a pounding came at the flimsy door to the room where I was hiding, each blow making the cheap lock rattle. Why were they trying to break it down? I was expecting them. They were the reason I was sitting here.

I crept forward and whispered. “Is that you? What’s wrong?”

Another bout of hammering began and I heard something split at the hinge side. Then a voice bellowed: “Police! Open up!”

I scrabbled with the latch and threw the door open.

“Police?” I said. “Has something happened?”

“Are you…?” said one of the cops, frowning at a note in his hand.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s me. Officer, is something wrong?”

“You skipping town?” said the other one, pointing to my suitcase and roller-bag.

“As it happens,” I said. “Look, why are you here. I was expecting Mrs Bombaro.” “She’s in the jail.” “And Mr Bombaro,” I added. “Wait, what?” “He’s in the morgue.” “What? What did you just–” Then, as a bang like a nuclear bomb went off so close that the ground shook under my feet, I shrieked and threw myself into the arms of the bigger of the two cops, feeling some nameless object attached to his belt hit my hip with a clang.

“Ma’am?” said his partner, slowly. “What do you know? What’s got you so nervy?”

“I’m sorry,” I told him. I knew my voice was shaking. “I just really hate fireworks. I’m not trying to spoil it for you. Happy Fourth of July!”

n

About the author

Catriona Mcpherson was born in Edinburgh and lives in David, California. She is the author of the Edgar Award shortlisted The Day She Died and the Mary Higgins Clark finalist Quiet Neighbors. Scot Free is published by Midnight Ink on 1 May, £13.99