Chapter 5: Connections

Fraser felt the pain in his head before he came fully awake. His eyes blinked open, but quickly snapped shut again to block out the harsh bright light, which was reflecting off of the sterile white walls. The confusion in his pounding head began to clear and the memory of the masked gunman came back to him.

Lying there, he mentally took stock. He flexed his arms and legs, searching for any pains that might indicate where he had been shot. Nothing other than his head seemed to feel out of sorts and he assumed that he had somehow miraculously survived a gunshot there. The white walls he had glimpsed suggested he was in hospital.

The monitors he was hooked up to must have given the nearby nurse an indication that he was awake because she came over to the bed and began to fuss over him. Fraser risked opening his eyes a fraction to identify the source of the noises he was hearing. He took in the sight of the young nurse and had his confirmation that he was indeed in a hospital.

Other than the headache, he was surprised that he seemed to be feeling relatively okay. He tried to smile at the nurse.

"Where am I?" he croaked.

"You're in the Victoria Infirmary," she replied cheerfully.

"How bad is the gunshot wound?" Fraser managed to get out.

He was surprised when the nurse actually laughed.

"You haven't been shot, Mr Gilchrist, just a nasty blow on the back of you're head. You might be suffering a low-grade concussion and we'll need to do some tests before we let the police see you. Now, try and rest and I'll get Mr Cameron the consultant to come and see you," the nurse replied.

Fraser let his eyes close once more and he tried to make sense of what the nurse had told him. Why had the gunman killed Mulloy and Charlie Haining, but left him alive? That just didn't make sense. He knew he would need to try and go over events to come up with a story to tell the police when they were eventually allowed to interview him. One thing was clear to Fraser, the gunman had to be the same one who had carried out the hit at the Portcullis.

Having seen the man in action for himself all the comments made by the witnesses had come to life. The ski mask, the fact that not a word had been said, and the speed with which the man moved and killed were all as the pensioners had described. There had been an incredible economy in his movements and they had been fluid, almost as if he was a skilled dancer. The one thing the pensioners hadn't described, but which Fraser would now never forget, was the intensity of the blue eyes framed by the black ski mask. It had been that more than anything else that had caused Fraser to freeze.

"Now then, Mr Gilchrist. How are we feeling?" he heard the consultant ask.

The scene at Stewart Street police station was chaotic. Additional detectives had been drafted in from the neighbouring Lothian and Borders police force to help with the wave of shootings that had to be investigated.

DI MacIntosh had managed to snatch a few hours sleep in the cot in his office, but he still looked like death warmed up. Sitting with a large mug of coffee in front of him, he was looking through several forensic reports that had been delivered while he had been sleeping.

Five rounds had been recovered from the Portcullis shootings. Two of the bullets had fragmented and were of less use than the other three, but there was enough to confirm that the firearm used had been a 9mm weapon, probably the pretty common Browning the report guessed. The three rounds that were in better condition were confirmed as all having come from the same gun. It was likely that all five had.

The fact that the crime scene had been a pub meant the forensics team was unable to offer even the slightest hint of the gunman's DNA. The floor was literally covered in skin and hair particles but these were from hundreds of different people and it would take months to run tests on all the material gathered.

The report went on to confirm his guess about the fire exit door having been wedged shut. Traces of rubber had been recovered from the underside of the doors, but there was nothing special about it that could help identify where it has come from.

The only other helpful piece of information forensics and the coroner had come up with was an estimate of the gunman's height based on the angle of the entry wounds on the victims and measurements of where the shots had been fired from. The report suggested the gunman was somewhere in the region of 5'11" to 6'0".

"Well that tends to rule out any connection between the pub hit and last nights shootings in the Southside," Drew thought to himself.

The .38 special had been recovered at the scene outside Fraser Gilchrist's house and MacIntosh now had the report that indicated the masked gunman in the Portcullis had used a 9mm weapon. He knew it wasn't impossible that the gunman had used different weapons, but they tended to be creatures of habit so it was unlikely.

Gavin lay in his bed re-playing the events of the night before. He was pleased overall with his performance, but vowed to himself never to make the same mistake when firing another gun again. He had refrained from taking the guns from the two men he had shot for precisely that reason.

He was also puzzling over why he hadn't simply shot the third man. There was no obvious reason other than the fact that the other two had immediately reached for their guns while the third man had stood frozen. He knew that wasn't the reason however, there was something else nagging away at the back of his head.

He was particularly pleased at having been able to rid the world of Willie Lorimer. The rose and the message on the baby's grave were a nice touch he thought and not something that would give anyone any clues as to his identity. His reasons for doing it were partly to send a message to the grieving mother, but also to all the others who were suffering out there - he wanted them all to know that someone was taking up the fight on their behalf.

One thing was causing him some concern. The fact that he felt no guilt, no remorse despite having already killed six men, was a worry. How could it be that he felt nothing? Set against that however, he was comforted by the fact that he had felt deeply the loss of little Kirsty - so he wasn't becoming heartless or emotionless. The fact was that all of senses were if anything at super alert. He had never felt so sensitive, so alive before to what was around him.

Gavin sighed, the smile playing on his face was a physical sign that overall he still felt good about himself and what he was doing.

"I definitely need to pull back a bit though. Too much, too soon and I'm going to get caught. I need to pick the fights and plan well in advance if I'm going to do any lasting good. Oh well, I guess it's time to get up for school," he thought.

Fiona had spent most of the money she had been saving on the outfit she was wearing; banking it would at last get Gavin's attention.

"If this doesn't work, nothing will!" she thought to herself.

She twirled round on the spot in front of the full-length mirrored doors of her built-in wardrobe. The short white, pleated skirt she wore flared and rose outward and upward, allowing a glimpse of the plain white silk panties she had on underneath. Above the skirt she sported a half-length white cotton vest that left her sculpted stomach exposed.

Fiona played tennis and the hours she spent on the court each week helped keep her in superb condition. Now, as she looked herself over in the mirror, the only thing she really had to complain about was the size of her boobs. At only 34b, she felt she still looked like a boy on top.

"At sixteen I deserve something a bit more impressive!" she thought to herself.

She had purposefully omitted to wear a bra this morning. She wanted to try and maximise the impact of what little she had and she was about to turn it all loose on her unsuspecting brother. Satisfied with her look, she pulled her long blonde hair into a ponytail with a scrunchy and then skipped from her room.

Hurrying along the hallway, she burst into Gavin's room without knocking.

"Morning, Bro," she said, launching herself onto his bed.

Fiona straddled Gavin's lap, with one knee either side of his hips. She let herself sink down onto him as she leaned forward to buss his cheek with her lips.

Gavin was stunned. He knew Fiona had had a crush on him ever since he had rescued her from the school bullies. He had been acutely aware of her looking at him with little puppy-dog eyes and trying to win his attention and praise. He hadn't expected her to go this far, to bounce into his room practically naked and jump his bones.

"Err, Fi, what are you doing?" he asked, growing more and more aware of the heat radiating from her directly above his cock.

"Can't I say good morning to my big, hunky Bro?" she pouted.

Gavin had just been thinking about how heightened his senses had become. There was more evidence of that now, as his cock responded to the heat and feel of Fiona's panty clad crotch on top of it, even through the sheet that covered him. With huge embarrassment, he felt himself begin to get hard and he tried to push Fiona off. He was trying to stop himself from staring down her vest-top at the two perfect titties she was showing him.

Fiona also felt something stirring under her and was equally determined to stay exactly where she was. She thrust herself even harder against Gavin and felt the outline of him rubbing up against her little pussy.

"Fi, stop it! I need to get up for school!"

"Well, by the feel of things, you're already up, Bro," Fiona said.

"Fiona, what's gotten into you? You're talking and acting like a cheap little slut. I hope you weren't thinking of going to school dressed like that. You're not even wearing a bra!"

Gavin's words were like a physical slap, a bucket of cold water to Fiona. Tears immediately began leaking from her eyes and she covered her face with her hands as she ran from his room.

Now Gavin did feel guilty. He knew he had overreacted, but his embarrassment at getting a hard-on had overridden everything else. He had been meaning to have a talk with his sister, now he just had to hope he hadn't left it too late, hope that she would actually speak to him again.

Getting out of bed, he looked down at the impressive wood he was still sporting. Despite what had just happened, he couldn't help but smile a little at just how aggressive Fi had been.

Fraser was discharged into police custody after only a few more hours of tests at the Victoria Infirmary. He was escorted out to a waiting police car and driven to the high security police station in Govan, normally used for holding terrorist suspects.

Gilchrist was an experienced criminal and he refused to answer any questions until he had had the opportunity to speak to the solicitor who worked for the Cullen clan.

When Colin Forbes arrived at the station he was given time to confer with his client in private. Forbes had been briefed on the latest position with regards to the turf war and he immediately brought Fraser up to date.

"There has been a spate of shootings, nothing the clan can't handle, but Rab particularly wants to know what happened to you," Forbes said.

"Well, get me out of this fucking dump and I can tell Rab all about it!" Fraser responded.

"That shouldn't be too difficult. The only problem is going to be explaining why both of your companions were carrying illegal firearms. I suggest you just plead ignorance to that. How were you to know they had concealed weapons?" said Forbes.

"Okay, the usual drill I suppose? I'll just take my lead from you?" Fraser asked.