Текст книги "In Place of Death"

Автор книги: Craig Robertson

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter 35

It was raining by the time the two of them left Oran Mor together, the ones named Winter and Feeks, but it wasn’t difficult to see them. From the shadows of a doorway across Byres Road, they were lit up like Christmas trees under the orange glow of the street light.

They stood on the steps, speaking and shaking hands like old friends before going their separate ways. Had they known each other all along? It hadn’t seemed like that in the pub but maybe they’d been hiding it.

Feeks and the blonde girl, Gabby, had hung back at first after everyone else had left. She went off and then the older guy had appeared. He and Feeks had gone back inside. That had been a worry.

The temptation had been to follow them inside again. Try to hear what they were saying. But the risk was too great. Too hard to explain if noticed.

So there had been no choice but to wait. It was an uneasy, enraging wait. Not seeing, not hearing, not knowing. It just made for a headache, a brain-pounding pain that throbbed black and dull.

They were in there for a long time. Twice, the urge to check on them nearly became too much. Twice, feet started to follow heart before head said no. Wait, just wait. Try to stay calm and wait.

It was impossible not to wonder though. What were they talking about? What information were they sharing? What did they know?

The stone steps outside Oran Mor were dappled with the first spots of rain and still there was no sign of them. Willing Winter and Feeks to appear through the arch of the door did no good either. It worked as well as trying to wish things away.

The pain had grown thicker and darker, feeding on frustration and anger, becoming blacker and bigger with every pulse. Then, finally, they showed. Smug and conspiratorial on the steps. Sly handshakes, a wave goodbye and slipping off into the night thinking themselves out of sight. Thinking themselves clever. They weren’t, not clever at all.

Only one of them could be followed though. Which? Eenie meenie miney mo. It was Winter.

The man turned and headed down Byres Road towards Hillhead underground. It meant a quick dash out of the shadows and across the road, trying to stay close but not too close. A late hop onto a different carriage of the same train. Winter went only two stops, getting off at St George’s Cross. Over the interchange and along the length of St George’s Road, hugging shop fronts and darkness. Finally, along North Street past the Koh-i-Noor and to the corner where the dome of the Mitchell Library shone like a lighthouse in a rough sea. But when the corner was turned, Winter was nowhere to be seen.

Had he gone inside the library? The building was still open so it was possible but the entrance was far enough away to make it unlikely. Across Berkeley Street in a weird panic, standing in the shade of the sandstone and looking around. There. Back across the street. Just in time to see a light go on and a figure closing blinds at the window.

It was him.

It was where he lived.

Chapter 36

Narey had parked up outside a house in Rowallan Gardens in Broomhill and had just stepped out of the car when her phone began ringing. She cursed the timing of it but pulled the mobile from her pocket and looked at the screen. The call was from her dad’s care home. At nearly eight in the evening? It was unlikely to be good news.

She nibbled at her upper lip, debating whether she really wanted to hear whatever it was they had to tell her. There was no argument to be had. She opened the car door and fell back into the driver’s seat.

‘Yes?’

‘Miss Narey? I mean, Inspector Narey? ‘

‘Yes. Who’s speaking?’ The voice was familiar but it wasn’t Mrs McBriar, the home owner. It was someone younger. It was . . .

‘Jess. Jess Docherty. From Clober Nursing Home. I look after your dad.’

She breathed deeply. ‘Hi, Jess. What’s wrong? Is he okay?’

‘Yes. Well, no. I mean he’s okay but he’s a bit stressed. He’s been asking for you and I can’t calm him down. I usually can but he’s agitated and worried. He keeps going on about Huntly Avenue. You used to live there, didn’t you?’

‘Huntly Avenue? When I was about thirteen! What is he agitated about?’

‘He keeps asking when you’ll get here. Or there. He thinks he’s in Huntly Avenue. He’s worried about buses being off and you not being able to get home. It’s really upsetting him. I’ve told him you’ll be fine but he’s not having it. He wants to pick you up in his car and I’m having to say no. Could you maybe come over and see him?’

Narey looked through the car’s window at the house she was about to visit, the home of Jennifer Cairns’ best friend. This wasn’t a choice she wanted to make.

‘There was a bus strike when I was in second year at high school. I had to walk nearly three miles to get home and he was out of his mind with worry. I’ll get there as soon as I can, Jess. What time do you finish your shift?’

A pause. ‘Forty-five minutes ago.’

‘What? Why are you still there?’

‘I told you. He’s agitated. I couldn’t go home and leave him like that. Wouldn’t have felt right.’

Eileen McBriar had said that Jess wasn’t the problem she seemed to be. She said that surly was just the way her face was, just the way she spoke. She’d insisted to Narey that Jess was a good worker and that she genuinely cared. It looked like she might have been right.

‘Jess, I need to do something before I can get over. But I’ll be as quick as I can. Can you stay with him? I know it’s asking a lot.’

‘Course.’

‘Thank you.’

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Carrie Thomson was a good looking forty-something dressed as an early thirty-something but pulling the look off effortlessly and stylishly. Blonde and tanned, she was wearing money and it suited her. The only clue that anything was wrong was in her make-up, eyes smudged from running mascara and cheeks streaked with tears. Narey also had the distinct impression that she’d been drinking.

The strain in her voice was obvious and her slightly manic manner was testament to her insistence that she wasn’t Jen Cairns’ friend, she was her best friend.

‘Of course I’ll help you. Why the hell would I do anything else? I can’t go five minutes without thinking about her and bursting into tears. What happened to her?’

Narey and Thomson were sitting in the front room of the woman’s large and expensively furnished house in the West End, a couple of streets back from Clarence Drive. Becca Maxwell sat quietly to the side, letting Narey connect one to one with the woman.

‘To be honest with you, Mrs Thomson, we don’t know yet. That’s why we need to talk to as many people as possible who can help us build a picture of Jennifer’s life and movements. So you were close?’

‘I think I was as close to her as anyone. We’d known each other for twenty years. Best friends isn’t just a label, it’s the way it was. She was godmother to my eldest. We didn’t go a couple of days without speaking, rarely more than one. Yes, we were close. We knew each other better than anyone else did.’

‘Better than her husband?’

Thomson laughed bitterly. ‘Much better, I’d say. Douglas is a lovely man in many ways but he didn’t always get her. There was ten years between them but it seemed that gap was growing. He was getting older quicker than she was. Jen could talk to me about stuff that he just wouldn’t understand or be interested in.’

‘Like what?’

The woman shrugged expansively as if there was so much she didn’t know where to start. ‘Fashion. Art. Music. Food. If we’d even mention a celebrity then Douglas would start muttering and leave the room. He has very fixed ideas on why people should be famous and they don’t include much more than being a politician or a classical composer.’

‘Did they get on?’

Thomson’s eyebrows shot up and she moved back in her seat. ‘What are you actually asking me?’

‘Just what I said. Did Mr and Mrs Cairns get on well? Were they happy together?’

Carrie crossed her arms and locked them tight. ‘Douglas was happy.’

‘But not Jen?’

‘I’m not saying that.’

‘Then what are you saying?’

‘He was happier than she was. Jen needed a bit more than Douglas seemed able to give her. That doesn’t make her a bad person.’

Narey’s voice softened. ‘I’m not saying it does. Carrie, I’m not here to judge Jen in any way. I’m here to find who killed her.’

The woman stared for a bit then nodded, relaxing slightly. A thought occurred to her but she held on to it for a while, reluctant to set it free. Finally, she did.

‘Do you think it was Douglas?’

‘I’m sorry to answer a question with a question, Carrie, but do you think it could have been Mr Cairns?’

Thomson’s eyebrows knotted in thought as her head made little sideway movements. ‘I don’t think he has it in him.’

‘But you think he may have had reason to?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ The answer was too quick.

Narey nodded, making it obvious she had read a lot into the woman’s answer. ‘Carrie, I know you’re sitting here to defend your friend but I need to remind you that you are also here to help her. Was—’

‘You don’t need to remind me of that,’ Thomson snapped.

‘Was Jen having an affair?’

Carrie’s mouth screwed shut involuntarily and Narey knew she’d been right. She watched the woman’s mind battle with itself, knowing it was just a matter of time.

‘Yes.’ The word came out laced with bitterness; she was angry at being forced to betray her friend. Narey felt sympathy for her but didn’t have time for it.

‘Thank you. I need to know this. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Was this the first time she had been involved with another man?’ Narey knew she had lost any hope of the woman liking her enough to help her so there was little more to be lost on that score.

‘No. She’d had an affair once before. Look, this wasn’t her fault. She . . . Look, Douglas couldn’t get it up any more. Okay? Too much stress and Shiraz. So I think she went for a younger, better-functioning model.’

‘Carrie. I’ll say it again. I’m not judging, I’m not blaming. I just need to know. If Jen had previous affairs then the man or men might be suspects.’

The nod of agreement was grudging. ‘She saw a guy named Phil Traynor, a car salesman, for a few months but it ended maybe a year ago. He was married too and they both thought they’d pushed their luck far enough. There was no falling out. No recriminations.’

‘Where can I find this Phil Traynor?’

A shrug. ‘As I said, he’s a car salesman. BMW dealership in the north of the city, I think. He’s married.’

‘I kind of think that’s his problem, don’t you? And we’ll be discreet. We have done this kind of thing before. Anyone else other than the man she was seeing before she was killed?’

‘No. And I’d have known. She wasn’t some kind of slut. She was a good person.’

‘Okay, what about the man she’d been seeing lately? What can you tell me about him?’

Thomson stood up, her hands going back through her straight blonde hair. ‘I think I need a drink. Can I get you something?’

‘No, thank you.’

Narey heard glasses clinking from the next room and a fridge door opening and closing. She could also hear nerves fraying. Thomson returned a couple of minutes later with a glass of white wine held shakily in her right hand. Narey gave her time to drink some courage from it before asking her to continue.

‘I don’t know his name. I’m sorry.’

Narey’s heart sank. ‘How long had she been seeing him?’

‘A few months. Four months, I’d say.’

‘From now or from when she was killed?’ As soon as the words were out she regretted how harsh they sounded but it was too late.

‘She had seen him for four months.’

‘And yet she never mentioned his name?’

‘No. She just called him The Man. I think she found it exciting that way. An extra edge of whatever. It was always just “I saw The Man last night” or “I’m going to sneak off tonight for a few hours with The Man”. Never a name.’

‘You must know something about him though. Any little thing might help.’

‘Well he had quite a big thing apparently but I don’t see how that’s going to help. He had some kind of job where he could get away at any time. His own boss was how I’d taken it. He was younger than her. The sex was good, adventurous. She said he was a bit of a bad boy and she liked that.’

‘How do you mean, adventurous?’

Thomson frowned. ‘She didn’t go into the juicy details, Inspector. I got the feeling it was . . . thrill-seeking? Definitely out of the norm that she is used to with Douglas. Was used to.’

‘Okay, I’m sorry I had to ask. What else can you tell me? Was he married?’

‘I don’t think so but he was definitely in some kind of relationship. He was sneaking away as much as she was. When I think about it, it was odd how little she told me about him. As if it was some big secret that was even more exciting because she didn’t tell me more.’

‘Okay, any clues in how she met him?’

She took a long sip of wine as she thought about it, a realization dawning. ‘Well . . . yes, it was work-related. I remember her saying at the beginning how it had been a shitty work day but how it hadn’t been all bad. She said it with a wicked grin on her face and I immediately called her on it being some guy. She just laughed and made this face as if he was really hot. Another time, she talked about how it couldn’t be all work and no play and she was definitely preferring the play side of it.’

‘So it could have been a client?’

‘Or a supplier or a designer or a delivery guy. It almost became a running joke that she wouldn’t tell me. This man of mystery. I’d joke to her that he might be a spy or a . . .’ The woman’s face dropped. ‘Shit, I used to say he might be a spy or an international hit man. Christ. Do you think it was him?’

Narey wouldn’t have answered that even if she’d known. ‘We have to find him to find out. What other circles did Jen move in where she might have met someone? This man.’

Carrie’s hands flew up in a despairing gesture. ‘God, it could have been anywhere. She was really . . . sociable. She got out whenever she could. And her work took her all over. Lots of houses, contracts for developers, magazine work. Her business was going really well. People liked her and her work.’

‘Okay. On the night that Jen disappeared, she was supposed to be seeing a client in the West End, at Kensington Gate. Was she?’

Carrie looked distinctly uncomfortable. She stared at her feet. ‘I don’t know. But I don’t think so.’

‘You think she was seeing this man? Did you not think to tell the police that?’

‘I didn’t know for sure. Of course I suspected that she was going to see The Man rather than some unknown customer but I didn’t know. And I didn’t want to . . . I couldn’t go tell the police or Douglas in case she turned up. It occurred to me that maybe she’d lost her mind and actually run off with this guy. I didn’t know.’

Narey’s stare left her in no doubt that she wasn’t impressed. She didn’t push it though as she needed a bit more from the woman.

‘Okay, I’m going to leave you my card and if you can think of anything else about him then please call me. Anything at all that might lead us to him.’

‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry I was . . . I just didn’t want to . . .’

‘It’s okay. I understand, Carrie. Really. Okay, there’s just a couple more things I need to ask.’

Thomson sank some wine back, draining the glass. ‘Okay, hit me.’

‘This might seem strange but did she ever mention urbexing?’

‘What? I don’t know what that means.’

‘Did she ever mention exploring abandoned buildings or places like that?’

She looked aghast. ‘No. Never! Why would Jen want to do something like that?’

‘Okay. Then finally, do you think Douglas Cairns knew his wife was having an affair?’

Carrie Thomson blew out her cheeks and pushed her hair back on her head, holding it there, her knuckles glowing white through her tan.

‘I obviously don’t know the answer to this . . .’

‘But?’

‘But yes. My guess is that he did.’

Narey drove to the nursing home with the woman’s words echoing through her head. Betrayal was a powerful motivation. People would do a lot for those they loved but they’d do a lot to those who threw that love back in their face.

The door to the home was opened by a tired-looking woman in her fifties. She looked how Narey felt. Her name was Avril or April, something like that. She nodded a greeting and held the door wide.

Narey walked the corridor to her dad’s room, blinking at the awful yellow walls. Were they meant to be cheery? If so, it wasn’t working.

She was just about to push open the door to his room when she stopped, hearing voices inside. His familiar tones, older and weaker now but still the same comforting, loving voice, and he was using her name. God, it always felt so good when he did that. But something wasn’t quite right. He was talking to her. And she was seemingly answering.

‘I’m so glad you made it, Rachel. I was so worried about you. I don’t like you having to come home on your own like that.’

‘I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m here now. We’re both fine.’

‘Yes, both fine. All’s fine now you’re home.’

Narey pushed the door ajar quietly and saw her dad sitting on the edge of his bed with his arm round Jess. She looked up at the door opening and smiled sheepishly. Narey wasn’t sure if what she was feeling was gratitude, anger or jealousy. She gestured outside with her head and waited for the girl to follow. When they were both in the corridor, she closed the door again.

‘You’re pretending you’re me?’

A flush came to Jess’s cheeks. ‘I’m not pretending. Sometimes he thinks I’m you. Maybe because we’ve got the same hair colour, I don’t know. But he does. It’s not good to keep correcting him on things. He only gets worked up. So I let him think it. You’re not always here and it comforts him. I’ll stop if you want.’

‘No. Don’t. It’s . . . it’s okay. If it makes him happy. I can’t be here as much as I want to and—’

‘I wasn’t having a go at you for not being here. Honest. I know you have more important things . . . I mean, like an important job. I—’

‘I get here as often as I can!’ She was angrier with herself than the girl but that probably wasn’t the way it sounded. ‘Look, Jess, thanks for staying to look after him. I really appreciate it. But I’ll take it from here. You should head off home.’

‘Fine.’ The girl shrugged sulkily and turned to leave.

Narey didn’t know what to do but knew she shouldn’t leave it like that. ‘Hang on.’ As Jess spun back towards her, she took her purse from her pocket and took out a twenty-pound note. The girl’s eyes widened with surprise and her mouth fell open.

‘What? I don’t want your money! That’s not why . . . No, just . . . just go see your dad. He might like it if you sing to him. Money?’

Shit. If there was a way of making things worse then trust her to find it. Some days she just shouldn’t bother getting out of bed.

Chapter 37

Unable to sleep for thinking about her dad and the way she’d messed it up with Jess, Narey was sitting up in bed with her laptop in front of her. She was deep in OtherWorld, a notepad at her side.

She considered joining the forum under some dumb user name and fishing for the information she wanted. If she dropped the right bait then maybe she’d pull up the person that found Hepburn and called the cops or find out that Hepburn himself had used the site. And maybe she’d catch a killer.

It was a long shot but she was sure she was fishing in the right pool. She signed up, called herself WeegieGirl and posted.

Have any of you ever walked the Molendinar Burn? I’ve been thinking of exploring it but not sure how doable it is.

It probably wouldn’t get any points for subtlety but she was in a hurry and it just might flush someone out.

She looked at it, not at all convinced it was a good idea, but closed her eyes and pressed enter.

Well there it was. Up for everyone to see. No going back from that and she just hoped someone would tell her something useful.

She flipped from section to section through the forum, bringing up all the Glasgow posts again. She’d read through most of them the previous time but knew it had to be done again. There was so much of it. Asgarten Youth Hostel, the cathedral, the subway, the West End tunnels, Gartnavel Royal Hospital, Gartloch Asylum, Holmlea Primary School. So much to get lost in.

She jotted down all the names, counted up how many posts they’d made and where they’d been. It was a slog but she didn’t know any other way. Astronut. LilytbePink. CardboardCowboy. Digger9. Magellan93. Hermit. Spook. JobnDivney. Bloody Metinides again. PencilPusber. NigbtLigbt. BigTomDog. Ectoplasm. Crow.

The forum had a search function and she put in the names in turn and brought up every post they’d made. It varied hugely. With Divney, it wasn’t much at all. He’d made only three posts and those were all just remarks on other people’s photographs.

However she immediately saw that CardboardCowboy was a different story altogether. Fifty-two hits in a little under a year. Eleven of those were posts that he’d started, each of them a report of an explore he’d done along with photographs. The guy was prolific.

He was a regular commenter too, enthusiastic about explores that others had done. He’d talk up people’s photographs, remarking on their reports. She jotted down dates and ticked off posts. The Cowboy had been active online every day or two.

Until it suddenly stopped.

Just over six weeks ago, he’d posted a compliment about a photograph from inside an office block that was to be flattened. And then nothing. His posts just dried up completely without explanation. As if he’d disappeared. As if he was dead.

It was him. It had to be.

Something bothered her though and she went back and re-checked the posts by the user who called himself JohnDivney. Sure enough, he’d only ever commented on three posts. All three were about six weeks earlier. And all three had been originally posted by CardboardCowboy.

She was simmering with that thought when the buzzer went at the front door and it made her jump. She stepped naked from bed and pressed the intercom.

‘It’s me.’

‘Hey, me. Come on up.’

Walking to the front door, she took it off the latch and left it slightly ajar. She padded back through to the bedroom, closed the laptop and slid it under the bed. The computer and everything on it was business and she didn’t want to mix it with pleasure.

Winter was up the stairs in a minute and she heard him close the front door behind him. By the time he had walked through the living room and the hall, he was as naked as she was. He slid in beside her and she flinched at the cold chill he’d brought in with him.

‘Sorry.’

‘That’s okay. I can warm you up pretty quickly. How was your night with these mysterious old friends?’

He slipped his arms round her and kissed her. ‘It was fine. I went home first and picked up a change of clothes for the morning and then headed over.’

‘Beer,’ she told him as her lips slid from his.

‘I did brush my teeth.’

‘I can still taste it. It’s okay though, you know I like it. Kiss me again. In fact, don’t stop.’

‘Bad day? I know I still owe you that hug.’

‘Bad day, shitty night. I’m afraid a hug isn’t going to cut it now.’

‘More?’

‘More. Much more, please.’

He pulled her closer and ran his hands down her body. ‘How much more?’

‘As much as you’ve got.’

He released her from his arms, letting her go enough for him to catch her by the shoulder and arse and flip her over onto her front. She lay beneath him, her body pushed into the bed as he began to kiss her neck then work his way down.

He squeezed and licked, teased and probed, making her move to his touch and forget the day she’d endured. This would last as long as they wanted but he had a feeling it was going to be urgent and swift, needs fulfilled and bodies sated. Her hips were writhing below him and he pressed against her, matching her movements. She arched her back, pushing up at him, inflaming him, welcoming him, encouraging him.

He slipped a hand between her legs, found her more than ready and knew neither of them wanted to wait any longer. A moment later, he was inside her and they were moving together. He had one hand on the small of her back and one entwined through her hair. Hers were pressed against the bed, bracing back against him.

She urged him on and he did as he was asked, losing himself in the moment and the act, letting everything go. When the end came it was together and breathless.

He lay on top of her, bearing what weight he could on his elbows and kissing her neck. She managed to twist a hand back and stroke where she could.

‘I needed that.’

She’d said it but it could have been either of them.

‘Want to talk about it?’

A long pause for thought then a heavy sigh. ‘No. Just hold me and kiss me. Tell me about your night if you want though.’

‘No. I’d rather kiss you.’

‘Suits me fine.’