by Tana Collins
Carruthers reddened. His anger was rising. He brought the menu up to his face for a moment while he pretended to read it. He wasn’t just angry at the fact this vital piece of information hadn’t been passed on to him. He also couldn’t believe that the new DCI might even consider that he had been in possession of the facts and had deliberately intended to keep quiet in an attempt to undermine her.
He finally took the menu away from his face. ‘You can’t possibly think that I knew about it and kept quiet? I didn’t, by the way, Sandra, but you have my word that I fully intend to conduct my own investigation into this and find out why we were both kept in the dark.’
McTavish nodded. This seemed to appease her. ‘I just want to make sure we’re singing from the same hymn sheet, Jim. If you have an issue with me being your DCI you need to be honest with me and tell me.’
Carruthers could see why McTavish had wanted this conversation away from the prying ears of the station. ‘No, I don’t have a problem with you being the station’s new DCI, Sandra. In fact, I think you make a good DCI.’ And he meant it. For a moment they locked eyes before she spoke again.
‘Another thing which might make things rather difficult for us – John Campbell’s alibi for when Sarah Torr was murdered. Bingham’s told me he claims he was with his father.’
‘Oh shit.’ Carruthers shoulders slumped. ‘Could the man be lying to protect his son?’
‘Well, it’s possible. Remember Campbell Junior was rattled by the end of the interview, as well he should be, and I know he did make at least one phone call. My bet’s on him having called his dad.’
They studied the menus in silence. The waiter came back with the glasses and asked to take their order. Carruthers didn’t have much of an appetite, but he chose the steak, like his boss, figuring that this would be the best meal he’d eat for some considerable time, given the way the investigation was currently going.
‘I don’t see why we should deprive ourselves. We still need to eat.’ Sandra McTavish glanced at her mobile, which she’d placed on the table. ‘Anyway, I’m just a phone call away.’ As she spoke she sliced into her rare steak.
She looked over at him. He was pushing his food around his plate. ‘Are you going to play with your food, or actually eat it?’
Carruthers looked up at his DCI but his thoughts kept drifting to his brother. It hadn’t really been fair to leave him for so long, but then again, he wasn’t a puppy; he was a grown man. He stared down at his steak. Between the case and his brother his appetite had all but deserted him. Given the nature of the murders perhaps steak had been a bad choice. He thought back to the PM and was still finding it hard to believe he’d thrown up.
He glanced over at McTavish to see her fork a couple of chips and pop them into her mouth. She clearly enjoyed her food. He was relieved to see that she seemed to have got over Bingham’s appalling undermining of her earlier. She was making little noises of enjoyment, which, frankly, he found rather embarrassing.
Shovelling some peas into her mouth, she said, ‘What do we know so far? You know the press are now calling this bastard The Student Slasher?’ She picked up her glass of water and put it to her lips. ‘We have to find this lunatic. And fast. Before he strikes again.’
‘You think we’re talking one killer, then?’
She shrugged. ‘Yes, I do. I don’t think it’s two people.’ She laid her knife and fork down carefully for a moment and locked eyes with his once more. ‘I’ve never dealt with a serial killer before. And it’s not how I envisaged starting my promotion.’
So, the rumours were true. This was Sandra McTavish’s first post as a DCI. Carruthers felt really sorry for her.
‘I don’t want another dead student on our hands, Jim. In light of the fact there’s been another murder, Serena Davis has been incredibly lucky.’
Carruthers continued to push his food around his plate. ‘Doubt she’ll see it that way.’
McTavish tutted. ‘You make more of a mess than my kids.’ She eyed his messy plate as she spoke. ‘She will in time. She could have been killed.’
Carruthers thought about the severed index finger of two of the victims and how Rachel Abbie’s finger had been sent to her own father. There wasn’t much that was sicker than that. He wondered, not for the first time, what sort of depraved individual they were dealing with. All thoughts of food forgotten, he pushed his plate away as he said, ‘I hope Serena Davis will get the help she needs and manage to put this awful ordeal behind her.’
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Or at least Sandra McTavish did. Carruthers made no effort to even try to finish his food. He threw his scrunched up paper napkin on top of his plate. A thought came into his head. ‘I wonder if Rachel’s father was sent his daughter’s finger because he’s a surgeon. Might be worth doing some research into his patients. You never know, there might be a disgruntled relative out there.’
McTavish forked some more peas. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ His new boss ran a critical eye over him. ‘You really should try to eat something, you know.’
Carruthers sighed. ‘I know. Probably like you, I’ve got a lot on my mind. It often affects my appetite. And to be honest I can’t get over this latest development.’ Every time Carruthers looked down at his chips all he saw was severed fingers.
As soon as the words were out, he wondered why he’d just admitted to any form of weakness. It wasn’t like him at all. He was aware that his new boss was still staring at him.
‘You also need some sleep, by the looks of it. And a change of clothes.’
Carruthers already knew this. He couldn’t understand how some people could look immaculate even after a busy day. He glanced down at himself. His white shirt was crumpled. There wasn’t much he could do about that. He hastily tucked part of the bottom of his work shirt back into his trousers. He glanced up at his boss but couldn’t read the expression on her face.
‘Have you got problems on the home front?’
Caught unawares by her question, he didn’t know what to say. Mind you, he could ask her the same. What was it about her bloody mobile ringing every two seconds? And she still hadn’t said anything about why she had arrived late to the team brief. He mumbled something, hoping she wouldn’t ask him to repeat it.
She was still talking. ‘I know you’re a very private person.’
He looked up.
‘Andrea told me.’
What else has Fletcher told her?
‘She’s loyal to you, Jim.’ McTavish managed a half smile. ‘I like to get to know my staff. Despite my probing, she’s actually said very little about you and your personal life.’
One thing to be grateful for then. God, he was starting to wonder where this conversation was going and whether they’d both end up naval-gazing, swapping confidences. He wasn’t like that and he certainly wasn’t prepared to be so open with his new boss. He couldn’t imagine she was either.
‘I don’t need to know about your private life if you don’t want to tell me,’ she continued, as she put her knife and fork down. ‘But I do need to know that I can rely on you and that you don’t resent me. We need to be able to work together.’
Carruthers waited for the bomb to drop. He didn’t have long.
‘I do know why you got demoted back to DI. I assume there won’t be any repeats of that sort of behaviour while you’re on my watch?’
Carruthers honestly didn’t know what to say to that. He wondered if that stupid incident with Alistair McGhee was going to haunt him for the rest of his police career. It most likely would. More to the point, would he ever be given a chance to rise to the rank of DCI again or was he destined to remain a DI forever?
He decided to keep his answer short but honest. ‘What happened with Superintendent Alistair McGhee was a huge mistake that I bitterly regret. And as for supporting you, well, you can count on me.’
McTavish looked at Carruthers through narrowed eyes. He got the feeling she was still assessing him.
&nbs
p; Suddenly she smiled, a genuine smile that lit up her face. It was most unexpected and totally transformed, her making her look much younger. He got an insight into how she might have been in her earlier years before kids and a demanding career had come along.
‘Good. We need all hands to the pump for this case.’ She chewed her steak thoughtfully. ‘It can’t be easy being back in contact with your ex-wife.’
Carruthers took a sip of his water. ‘It isn’t. He stared at the glass of water, wishing it was a beer but, like his boss, they both had their cars at the station and they both needed to drive home.
‘Is this the first time you’ve seen her since you separated? I take it it wasn’t amicable?’
Carruthers placed the glass carefully back on its coaster. He looked up. ‘Yes, it’s the first time, and no, it wasn’t amicable.’ He surprised himself by saying, ‘And part of me wishes she’d never come back to Castletown.’ He stood up abruptly. ‘Just going to the gents.’
In the men’s toilet he splashed cold water over his tired face. He looked at himself in the mirror, prodding the bags under his eyes. I can’t believe I’m sitting here having supper with my new DCI talking about my ex-wife. I need to go home and sleep. He suddenly remembered his brother and groaned inwardly. He dried his face with a couple of hand towels and returned to the restaurant.
‘Look, you might as well know, Jim, those phone calls I’ve been receiving…’
Carruthers looked up, interest replacing tiredness.
‘I know you overheard part of the conversation.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t hear much, and I didn’t leave the room to deliberately listen in. I needed to go to the gents.’
McTavish waved her hand dismissively in the air. ‘Look, I feel I can trust you not to spread this round the station. My husband – he resents my job. We’ve been talking about separating.’
Carruthers shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
She called the waiter over and gestured that she wanted the bill. ‘The problem is that with my long working hours I’m pretty sure he’d get the kids if he went for custody.’
Carruthers was now feeling completely out of his depth and in need of a drink. A proper one. He thought forlornly of his cottage and the bottle of Talisker he had in the cupboard. He hoped his brother hadn’t made too much of an inroad on it. God knows he’d drunk pretty much everything else.
He suddenly realised McTavish was looking for a response. ‘Oh no, surely not?’ he said, quickly. ‘Doesn’t the ruling usually go with the mother?’ He felt he was treading on a minefield. He may have had experience of separation and divorce but he and Mairi hadn’t had kids.
‘Do you mind me asking why your marriage failed, Jim?’
Oh God, what could he say to that? He opened his mouth to answer but just at that moment the waiter appeared with the bill. If he’d hoped he’d been saved answering an awkward question he was about to be disappointed.
‘You split up when you were still a DCI, didn’t you?’
He nodded, suddenly feeling miserable. And exposed. She clearly wasn’t going to let it drop. He’d much rather they were discussing the cases. He wondered if he should offer to pay for the meal, but then again, she’d asked him out and was on a higher salary. He also didn’t want to step on her toes, so he waited.
‘It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me. I’m sure the job didn’t help, though.’ She brought out her handbag and took her wallet out, giving her credit card to the waiter. ‘It’s on me, Jim.’
‘Thank you. No, probably not. But we didn’t have kids.’ He hoped she wouldn’t say something trite like ‘just as well,’ but she was busy putting her security digits into the machine and the moment passed.
He thought about Mairi. He knew she’d wanted kids. Hadn’t she said something about that? You wouldn’t have been there, Jim, not for me, not for our kids. That remark still hurt. Probably because, in all likelihood, it was true.
McTavish suddenly stood up. ‘C’mon. Enough of this navel-gazing. I can tell you’re not comfortable with it – although, like I said, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this conversation with anyone at work. As we need to work so closely together I thought it was a good idea to put you in the picture. And about those phone calls… I keep telling him not to ring me at work.’
‘They never listen, do they?’
She smiled. ‘No.’ She picked up her mobile from the table, and as she gathered her jacket from the back of her chair, she paused. ‘Jim, I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about this but I need you to do something.’
‘What?’ Carruthers stood behind his chair which he’d slid under the table. He wondered what on earth she was going to ask of him.
‘I need to find out what’s going on in that damned department. Two dead philosophy students. There must be a link.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ But even as he asked the question he already knew the answer.
‘Get close to your wife again. Find out what’s going on.’
Carruthers swallowed an uncomfortable lump. ‘And when you say close, how close do you mean?’
‘Dear God, I don’t expect you to sleep with her if that’s what you’re asking.’ She stood up, brushing off a few stray crumbs from her suit. ‘Just close enough to find out what’s going on.’ She walked briskly to the door. Pulling it open, she hesitated and turned round to look at her DI. ‘Put your sleuthing hat on, Jim. Find out if there’s been any sort of trouble between the students; any affairs we should know of; any bad feeling between them – that sort of thing.’
Carruthers followed McTavish out of the restaurant into the night. She had no idea what she was asking of him. His feelings towards Mairi were reigniting and he had no desire to stoke them further.
Chapter 24
By the time Carruthers reached his front door it had gone ten. He idly wondered whether his brother had managed to find anything to eat. As he put the key in the lock, opened the door and walked into the hall, he smelt cigarette smoke and heard music and the sound of voices coming from the living room. Frowning, he walked in.
‘What the–?’
His brother was sitting in Carruthers’ old battered armchair. On his lap was a red-headed woman. She had her arms around him. There were a group of people drinking and dancing in his living room. He spotted his bottle of Talisker sitting open on the coffee table. By the looks of it a good half bottle had already been consumed.
‘What the hell’s going on?’
Alan toasted his brother with a glass of his own whisky. ‘Hope you don’t mind. Invited a few folk back from the pub.’ Carruthers recognised one or two faces. The woman who worked at the cash and carry was one of them. He thought her name might be Jacqueline. She at least had the decency to look embarrassed.
‘We got thrown out for being a bit too rowdy.’ Alan laughed uproariously. He clearly thought it was hilarious. Carruthers realised he was very drunk. He stalked over to the record player and turned it off.
‘Oi! I was enjoying that.’ The red-headed woman unwrapped herself from around his brother’s neck. Carruthers didn’t recognise her.
He walked swiftly up to her and clamped his hand round her arm. ‘Grab your coat. You’re leaving.’
‘Get off me. You’re hurting.’
Her eyes were unfocused. He wondered if drink had been the only thing they’d consumed. Surely to God his brother wouldn’t have let people bring drugs into his home?
‘You can’t tell me what to do.’ She was drunk. And belligerent.
He threw a spangly jacket at her that matched her short dress and marched her to the door. ‘I think you’ll find I can. This is my home. Now get out.’
When the last guest had left, Carruthers turned angrily to his brother. ‘What the hell’s been going on here?’
‘Oh, come on, Jimmy, I just wanted to have a bit of fun.’ His brother lurched, knocked into the coffee table and almost fel
l over it. Carruthers made a swift grab for the whisky bottle and rescued it before it fell.
‘Don’t call me Jimmy. You know I don’t like it.’
Alan’s voice took on a petulant whine. ‘You weren’t here. It was boring. Where have you been?’
‘The station.’ That wasn’t strictly true, but he and his boss had still been discussing the case, even if it had been over a meal in a restaurant. And they’d had to eat at some point. Well, she’d eaten. Carruthers wondered if his brother had eaten anything at all or whether he’d started drinking on an empty stomach.
Carruthers stalked into the kitchen and came back with a black bin liner. He started to collect the empty cans. He looked around him. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to have been any spillages. He might be messy at work but even he drew the line at having a dirty house. He moved around the cottage, emptying ashtrays and beer cans.
His brother seemed to have gone quiet. He was just standing, watching. At last he made a move and picked up a random empty beer bottle. Holding it by the neck, he swayed as he spoke. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Okay?’
Carruthers turned on him. ‘What the hell’s going on, Alan?’
The drink had turned Alan emotional. His eyes filled with tears. He turned away from his brother. ‘I’ve been staying at Mum’s.’
This was news to Carruthers. ‘How long for?’ He briefly wondered why nobody had told him and what other secrets his brother and Mum were keeping from him. He didn’t have long to wait.
‘It’s my heart, Jim. I’m going to need another op. I have no idea how I can tell Mum. Not with the news she’s had.’
Carruthers’ heart sank. He stopped tidying the living room and sat down on the couch so he was facing Alan, still clutching the black bin liner. He felt himself grow cold and his face drain of colour. ‘What do you mean? With the news she’s had?’
It was almost as if Alan hadn’t heard him. ‘This will kill her. I really don’t know how she’s going to cope,’ he said to himself. Finally, he turned to face his younger brother. ‘Look, there’s something you need to know about Mum. She’s been diagnosed with lung cancer.’