to the ground. He had a vague impression of a dark figure toting what looked like a baseball bat before a third blow across his shoulders sent his scattered thoughts reeling with pain. His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the rough grass as he tried to crawl out of range. A fourth blow struck him across the back of the thighs, making him collapse on his stomach, beyond escape.
Then, as suddenly as the attack had begun, it was over. It felt like a flashback to twenty-five years before. Through a miasma of pain and dizziness, Weird was vaguely aware of shouting and the incongruous sound of a small dog yapping. He smelt warm, stale breath, then felt a rough wet tongue slobbering over his face. That he could feel anything at all was such a blessing, he let the tears flow. "You have preserved me from mine enemies," he tried to say. Then everything went dark.
"I'm not going to the hospital," Weird insisted. He'd said it so many times, Alex was beginning to think it was incontrovertible evidence of concussion. Weird sat at the kitchen table, rigid with pain, and equally inflexible on the subject of medical care. His face was drained of color and a long welt stretched from his right temple to the back of his skull.
"I think you've got broken ribs," Alex said. Not for the first time either.
"Which they won't even strap up," Weird said. "I've had broken ribs before. They'll just give me some painkillers and tell me to keep taking them till I'm better."
"I'm more worried about concussion," Lynn said, bustling in with a mug of strong, sweet tea. "Drink it. It's good for shock. And if you throw up again, you're probably concussed and we're going to take you to the hospital in Dunfermline."
Weird shuddered. "No, not Dunfermline."
"He's not that bad if he can still crack wise about Dunfermline," Alex said. "Is anything coming back about the attack?"
"I didn't see a thing before the first blow. And after that, my head was reeling. I saw a dark shape. Probably a man. Maybe a tall woman. And a baseball bat. How stupid is that? I had to come all the way back to Scotland to get beaten up with a baseball bat."
"You didn't see his face?"
"I think he must have been wearing some kind of mask. I didn't even see the pale shape of a face. The next thing I knew, I'd fainted. When I came round, your neighbor was kneeling beside me, looking absolutely terrified. Then I threw up over his dog."
In spite of the affront to his Jack Russell, Eric Hamilton had helped Weird to his feet and supported him the quarter of a mile back to the Gilbeys' house. He'd muttered something about disturbing a mugger then brushed off their effusive thanks and melted back into the night without so much as an appreciative whiskey.
"He already disapproves of us," Lynn said. "He's a retired accountant and thinks we're bohemian artists. So don't worry, you've not ruined a beautiful friendship. However, we do need to call the cops."
"Let's wait till morning. Then we can speak directly to Lawson. Maybe now he'll take us seriously," Alex said.
"You think this was Macfadyen?" Weird asked.
"This isn't Atlanta," Lynn said. "It's a quiet wee village in Fife. I don't think anybody's ever been mugged in North Queensferry. And if you were going to mug someone, would you pick on a giant in his forties when there's pensioners walking their dogs on the foreshore every night? This wasn't random, this was meant."
"I agree," Alex said. "It follows the pattern of the other murders. Dress it up to look like something else. Arson, burglary, mugging. If Eric hadn't come along when he did, you'd be dead now."
Before anyone could respond, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Alex said.
When he returned, he was trailed by a police constable. "Mr. Hamilton reported the attack," Alex said in explanation. "PC Henderson has come along to take a statement. This is Mr. Mackie," he added.
Weird managed a tight smile. "Thanks for coming over," he said. "Why don't you sit down?"
"If I can just take some details," PC Henderson said, taking out a notebook and settling down at the table. He unfastened his bulky uniform waterproof, but made no move to take it off. They were probably specially trained to withstand the heat rather than lose the impression of size the jacket provided, Alex thought irrelevantly.