Dark is the Day

by Tana Collins

  ‘Do ye always have to sound like you swallowed the police manual?’ Harris barked. ‘Friggin’ graduates.’

  Harris is back to his irritating self, thought Fletcher, reddening. She ignored his comment, wishing he’d just go back to being quiet again, but now wasn’t the time to start a row.

  Fletcher had arranged for the reconstruction to go out on the local news later that evening. She prayed that the weather would hold. It hadn’t been raining the day Rachel Abbie had been killed, although the day had been dark, but in the last few minutes the sky had turned grey and it had started to spit.

  As the PC set off from the central library on King James’ Way Fletcher felt her heart skip a beat. With her blonde wig and short denim skirt Amanda Selway looked just like Rachel Abbie. They’d even managed to find virtually the same canvas bag in lost property.

  As she passed the first CCTV camera on King James’ Way where Rachel Abbie had been picked up, Fletcher glanced up at it once again, wondering whether it was just sheer good fortune for the perpetrator that there had been no CCTV at the point of murder, or whether it had been planned that way. Whoever they were they were cunning. And it occurred to her that they had a good knowledge of the geography of the town.

  The young wig-wearing PC walked the length of King James’ Way and then took a right onto Bell Street, walking awkwardly in her red wedge shoes. At the end of Bell Street, she crossed the road, entering Greyfriar’s Gardens. When they got to the entry point of Greyfriar’s Wynd where the horrific murder had taken place, Fletcher could see the girl looking over her shoulder nervously as she entered the darkened medieval alley. She was either a fine actor or she really was incredibly nervous. As the PC walked into the alley, she tripped but righted herself before she fell, her shoes clacking on the cobbled stones. Fletcher imagined that maybe PC Selway wasn’t used to wearing wedge shoes.

  Fletcher watched her take the three worn steps carefully. On another day she would have spent time wondering about the lives of all the people over the centuries who had lived in Castletown and who had walked down this alley, but not today. She was fully focused on the reconstruction.

  They’d got a male police officer, PC Jaynoy, to play the part of the murderer, and when PC Selway was a third of the way down the alley he appeared at the top of the Wynd. A large young man, dressed all in black and wearing black gloves, he pulled the clown mask over his face at the last minute. Watching him, Fletcher felt depressed. How could the image of this man jog anybody’s memories? They’d been given such a vague description by Serena Davis of her attacker. There were no distinguishing features at all to identify him to the public. And was the person who attacked Serena Davis even the same person who murdered Rachel Abbie?

  She watched as the man, still walking, increased his speed and covered the ground between him and his victim. She stared in fascinated horror as PC Selway started to run unsuccessfully in her short denim skirt and red wedge sandals, now aware somebody was behind her. By the time the young police officer was two thirds down the alley PC Jaynoy was bearing down on her. Fletcher found herself holding her breath, imagining the last few moments of the terrified university student. With pounding heart, she crossed her fingers that the reconstruction would produce some solid leads.

  Chapter 13

  Mairi left the philosophy department early. She had no tutorials that afternoon and wanted to get home at a reasonable time for once. Having locked up, she started walking towards the staff car park, gripping her briefcase before pulling up short. Bugger. The car was in for its annual service and today she had to get public transport. She glanced at her watch. She could pick up a bus from across town but she would have to hurry if she didn’t want to be late for the visit from her parents. She felt a few drops of rain on her arm and glancing skywards saw some ominously dark clouds. The temperature was colder than average and she wished she’d brought her winter coat. She debated stopping to put on her mackintosh, which was flung carelessly over her left arm, but decided against it. She hurried on, feeling a bit fretful. She heard the scream of police sirens across town and stiffened.

  Mindful of the visit from DS Fletcher and the awful news of the death of one of her students, she shivered. Crossing the road, she turned up Cowper’s Street. It was narrow, with a pub at the bottom. On the few instances she’d taken the bus instead of driving, she’d run into a couple of her students coming out of the pub. By their drunken state she’d reckoned they’d been in there all day, which would have been fine, but they’d missed her lectures to do it. She knew the pub was a regular haunt for her students and she avoided drinking in it.

  Once again, she thought back to her meeting with Andrea Fletcher. She wondered what the woman’s relationship was like with her ex-husband. Was it strictly professional? She had hoped that when Jim realised that she wasn’t going to go back to him he’d leave her in peace and return to London or go back to Glasgow, but that hadn’t happened, and it looked like he was here to stay.

  She hadn’t analysed how she felt about the fact they were both working in such close proximity. But perhaps it was quite useful having an ex-husband as a cop at the moment, especially if things with John Campbell escalated. There was something about him that scared her.

  Her smart, new shiny shoes clacked along the pavement. The wind took a stray lock of raven black hair and swept it over her face. She flicked it away with her right hand. The rain started to get harder. She heard it plop onto the street. This time she did stop and put on her grey mac. It was as she was buttoning it up that she heard a noise behind her. The echo of footsteps, hardly discernible above the noise of the sudden heavy rain. She turned round. There was a stationary male figure in the shadows with his back to her, hat pulled so low Mairi couldn’t see his face. Sizing him up, she wondered why he had stopped. Shrugging, she walked on, but for some reason her senses were on high alert.

  Although she was no longer with Jim, she’d been married to a cop long enough to know when something didn’t feel right. The loud piercing noise of another police siren penetrated the air and she felt herself jump. A cold shiver passed through her. Frowning, she turned round. The lone figure had disappeared. The alley was empty. She started to walk again, her movement more hurried and purposeful. Having got to the end of the street, instead of turning left to the bus stop, she wrenched the door of the pub open and went inside.

  The phone on Carruthers’ desk rang. Brown’s voice was on the line. Carruthers pictured the overweight DC with the comb-over. ‘Jim, we’ve just taken a phone call. Don’t know how to tell you this–’

  ‘Spit it out. What’s with the suspense?’ He absentmindedly picked up his empty polystyrene cup, felt its weight, and knowing it was empty, flung it into the bin.

  ‘The caller. It was your ex-wife. The thing is she says she’s being followed. I told her we’d get someone out straightaway.’

  Carruthers’ keen blue eyes widened. ‘Who’s been sent?’

  ‘Nobody yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She’s asking for DS Fletcher and Andie’s still doing the reconstruction. Shall I say you’ll go instead? That’ll be an interesting meet-up.’

  Instead of getting angry, which he often did rather well, Carruthers tried to think about his ex-wife in a detached manner. Although there were times he’d like to shake or punch Willie Brown, and Dougie Harris, come to that, Carruthers had learned his lesson the hard way. In his first big case in Fife he’d punched his nemesis, Superintendent Alistair McGhee when McGhee had bated him about his ex. Utterly stupid. Carruthers had brought his demotion from DCI on himself. He could see that now. Carruthers stood up and grabbed his coat, wondering how she’d feel about seeing him again. ‘Okay, where is she?’

  ‘Inside The Pilgrims Arms, here in Castletown.’

  Carruthers hung up and left his desk. As he passed Brown, who was still holding the receiver, presumably about to make another call, the older man said, ‘Have you seen her since your break up, your ex-wif
e?’ Carruthers remained silent, knowing that by the time he returned to his desk after his meet-up it would be all over the station that his ex-wife had been on the phone.

  Carruthers took the short drive from the outskirts of Castletown to the centre of town. As luck would have it, he found a parking space opposite the pub, cut the engine, jumped out and strode over to The Pilgrims Arms. A couple of students were coming out and Carruthers held the door open for them. He walked into the gloom, letting his eyes adjust before searching for his wife.

  He spotted Mairi sitting at a round table by herself near the window. His heart did a somersault. She looked absorbed, staring into the contents of a glass of colourless liquid. He wondered if she still drank slimline tonic. He fought to keep down all the feelings that were threatening to spill over – anger, hurt, confusion and concern. She looked good. Smart and professional. She had her slender legs crossed and her dark hair was shoulder length and loose, longer than he remembered it. How should he play this? He had no idea. There was nothing in the police manual about how to greet your ex-wife.

  She saw him, looked puzzled, but recovered and then smiled as she stood up. He was too far away to see if her smile was genuine. He walked across, closing the gap between them, and for a moment it was as if they were still together and just meeting in the pub for a drink. He felt a knife tear into his heart and a loneliness wash over him. Pity it hadn’t worked out with Jodie Pettigrew, John Mackie’s assistant, he thought. If it had, he probably wouldn’t be feeling like this.

  Carruthers watched a blush appear up his ex-wife’s neck. She clenched and unclenched her hands. ‘I was expecting DS Fletcher.’ He could see she was trying not to look flustered.

  ‘She’s just finishing up a reconstruction at the moment. You’ll have to make do with me instead. Is that okay?’

  She shook her head as if to chase away whatever dark thoughts she’d had. ‘Sorry Jim. I appreciate you coming out. Of course it’s okay.’

  Good. I would hate to have had a wasted journey. And at least I’m appreciated.

  Mairi pointed at her glass. ‘Can I get you a sparkling water or something?’

  She still remembered he drank sparkling water.

  ‘No, it’s okay, thanks. I might get a drink in a minute.’

  She sat back down again. No kiss then. He followed suit on a chair opposite. I’m not disappointed she’s not kissed me. As soon as the thought was in his head he pushed it away. Now was not the time to analyse his feelings for his ex.

  He looked across the table at her. ‘You spoke with Detective Constable Willie Brown on the phone. He says you think you were being followed? Did you see whoever it was?’

  Mairi Beattie leant forward, placing both hands on the round table. Carruthers noticed that she wasn’t wearing any rings on her fingers. But he was sure he could still see the indentation of where her wedding band had been. Damn. He was struggling to remain professional.

  She took a quick sip of her drink and placed it on the coaster in front of her before looking up at Carruthers. ‘From a distance, but he had his back to me and was wearing a hat. There’s not much I can tell you to be honest. Male, dark-haired. Average height.’

  ‘Are you sure you were being followed?’ asked Carruthers.

  ‘It was a feeling I had. More than a feeling. An intuition. I’ve been the wife of a cop for long enough.’

  Carruthers chased the momentary pain away that he felt when she said that. It felt like an arrow going into his heart. His mouth felt dry and scratchy. It must be nerves. He could do with a soft drink after all but didn’t want to break the discussion at this point. He swallowed uncomfortably before continuing. ‘What did you hear as you were walking?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I just wondered if you heard him say anything? Did he try to talk to you?’ He remembered what Serena Davis had said. ‘Did you hear him whistling?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ She frowned.

  God, even when she was frowning she was lovely. Carruthers cursed silently.

  ‘Your DS Andrea Fletcher came to see me at work. I know about Rachel Abbie’s murder. Rachel was one of my students, Jim. What’s going on? Did the same person who attacked Serena Davis kill one of my students?’

  ‘At this stage we really don’t know. We’re trying to keep too many details, the precious few we have that is, from reaching the papers, so anything that I tell you must remain in strictest confidence.’ He frowned, thinking briefly about Clare Stott. If she had any sense she would know to keep silent about certain things. Then again, he remembered how hysterical she had been. He was surprised she was a journalist. He certainly wouldn’t have her pegged as one. A stroke of bad luck, that was. He sighed.

  Mairi looked up at him, nodding.

  ‘I’m really sorry she was one of your students. Bad enough when there’s been a murder but when you know the person…’ His voice trailed off. There were tears glistening in his ex-wife’s eyes. Damn. She looked like she was going to burst into tears. How would he cope with that?

  Her eyes were huge. ‘Did she suffer?’

  Carruthers thought of the girl’s severed finger. Thankfully that had been done post mortem and his ex-wife didn’t need to know about that. ‘It would have been over very quickly.’

  ‘Shit. I can’t believe it.’ She bit her lip. Taking a deep breath she once again blinked back tears. Carruthers could see Mairi was trying very hard to compose herself in front of him. She always did have a caring heart, he thought. Then a small voice came into his head. Just didn’t care enough for you. He pushed that last thought out of his mind as quickly as it had entered. This was not the time to be feeling sentimental. Or sorry for himself.

  Carruthers leant in. ‘How well did you know her – Rachel Abbie?’

  Mairi scratched her head. ‘As I told DS Fletcher, she was bright, intelligent. Got her work in on time. What more can I tell you? She was one of my students but I didn’t socialise with her after work.’ Mairi frowned. ‘I told DS Fletcher all this. Jim, do we have a serial killer?’

  Everyone naturally wants to know if Castletown has its first serial killer, thought Carruthers. He looked at his ex-wife and wondered why she’d really rung the police station. Irrespective of the attacks she wasn’t the sort to get spooked.

  ‘Did the man who attacked those girls whistle?’

  His ex-wife wasn’t stupid and she’d know there was a reason he had asked her if she’d heard whistling.

  ‘Serena Davis, the first girl to get attacked, hasn’t been able to give us very much, I’m afraid, in terms of physical description. I think she’s still in shock, although when we last visited her she’d remembered something new. She remembered hearing her assailant whistle just before she got attacked. I must emphasise, please keep this information to yourself. It’s not in the public domain yet.’ He stared at Mairi. How long had it been since he’d seen her? Three years? Why did you leave me? he wanted to shout. Why were you so cruel that you had to change your number? He wanted to hate her. He couldn’t even have a normal conversation with her without sounding like a stuffed shirt. But he looked at her lovely, oval-shaped face, clear complexion and green eyes and knew that a bit of him still loved her. A big bit.

  ‘You asked me if I had heard whistling?’ she prompted.

  He forced his mind back to what she was saying.

  ‘Look, the thing is Jim, this isn’t the first time I’ve felt as if I was being followed.’

  Carruthers sat up straight. ‘How many times?’

  She shrugged. ‘Two or three. A couple of times when I’ve left the department and once when I was shopping in Castletown.’

  ‘So it’s only when you’ve been in Castletown you’ve felt this? Not in Cupar?’

  ‘I’m not in Cupar any more. I’ve moved to Ceres.’

  ‘Ceres?’

  ‘I’m now in that little cottage we used to like on School Hill. Do you remember it? I was lucky it came on the market.’


  Carruthers was taken aback. But then he thought about it. Of course, she’d moved out of her parents. Moving in with them would only ever have been temporary. To get away from me. He thought of Ceres – the pretty little village nestling in a glen in Fife a couple of miles south east of Cupar. He wondered if she lived alone.

  For some reason Carruthers had the urge to reach out and hold her hand. If for no other reason than to comfort her. He fought the urge and won. He kept his hands resolutely on his lap under the table.

  His ex-wife leant into him. ‘Do you think it’s the same person doing this?’

  Carruthers thought of the whistling. ‘It may be. We can’t be sure yet but we want all women to take extra care until the perpetrator’s caught. Try to take the car to work, or if you have to walk anywhere, try not to walk on your own. Also–’

  A mobile started to ring in Mairi’s bag. She looked at Carruthers apologetically. She dipped into her handbag, looked at the screen and smiled. The noise of the mobile stopped Carruthers in his tracks. He wondered once more if Mairi had a man in her life. An insane shot of jealousy went straight through him. He remembered it had been his jealously that had killed their relationship in the first place. Of course, she’s got a man in her life. She’s beautiful. And clever. And caring. And she’d ripped his heart to shreds. He must stop thinking like this. He met her eyes as she put her phone away.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘What were you going to say?’

  He wasn’t going to ask. It really was none of his business any more. Let her have a boyfriend. In fact, let her have several if that’s what she wanted. Carruthers tried to harden his heart but it wasn’t working.

  He took a deep breath. ‘I was just going to say that it might be an idea to vary your daily routine. If you always take one route into work make sure the next day you take a different route.’ As he said this, he thought about what the latest victim’s housemate had said of her when she had been told the body had been found on Greyfriar’s Wynd, “that’s the short cut Rach always takes.” He should also tell the students at Strathburn Halls to vary their routines. He didn’t want to worry them unnecessarily, but being less predictable in their routines couldn’t hurt.