Messages around the weekend in March that she’d gone missing were sparse, other than to confirm what Carter already knew: she had willingly gone on a night out with Moore. The first text was from him, and she replied six minutes later.
[2018-03-16:1922] I’m on my way.
[2018-03-16:1928] Meet you at the station, babes.
The next set of texts were from February 2018, but the tone was different.
[2018-02-27:1532] Let’s have one last night together.
[2018-02-27:1856] It’s not happening.
[2018-02-27:1903] I never got to wish you all the best for your new life with Hubby.
[2018-02-27:1910] I’m sorry, but that’s the way of it.
[2018-02-27:1913] You don’t get it. We’re having a night out.
[2018-02-27:1917] No, I’m married now. I’ve moved on.
[2018-02-27:1922] You’ll do it because I say so.
[2018-02-27:1930] Don’t threaten me, I’ll go to the police.
[2018-02-27:1934] Will Hubby arrest me? I’d like him to try. I’ll tell him the things he doesn’t know about you and your dysfunctional family. All the dirt you’ve shared with me.
[2018-02-27:1940] Stop it.
[2018-02-27:1946] You’ll come. Otherwise Hubby will suffer.
[2018-02-27:1951] You wouldn’t dare.
[2018-02-27:2002] Don’t push me. I know where you live, I know your routine. I know his routine.
[2018-02-27:2010] Stop it, you’re scaring me.
[2018-02-27:2014] You’ll come home one evening, he’ll be in bed, seemingly asleep. Not a mark on him. Heart attack probably. Happens all the time. Some people, they just die.
[2018-02-27:2030] I’m so sorry for what you went through as a child, you know that. But I can’t help you. You should see someone professionally.
[2018-02-27:2048] I’d be a different man if it wasn’t for him. I’d have had a normal life. But then, I wouldn’t have met you, would I?
[2018-02-27:2100] He’s done nothing to you. It wasn’t his fault; he was just a child too.
[2018-02-27:2120] There’re things you don’t know about me. What I’ve done, what I’ve seen, what I’m capable of. If I’m backed into a corner. Let’s talk.
There was a gap of hours in the timeline. Carter assumed they were talking on the phone.
[2018-02-27:2341] OK, OK. This one time.
[2018-02-28:1646] You’re doing the right thing. For us to celebrate what we had. Hubby will never know unless I tell him. Leave it with me.
Carter threw her phone across the room. His breathing came fast and deep like he’d just been through fifteen rounds of boxing.
‘I’ll break your fucking teeth, you arrogant prick. You’ll bleed from every fucking orifice when I’m done with you, then we’ll see how fucking good you really are.’
From where it lay against the skirting board, Kelsa’s phone pinged. It was a ping Carter knew well.
This time it was a picture of the outside of his house. The date and time proved it was taken only fifteen minutes ago. He leapt to his feet, the beer bottle fell to the floor, and he paced the room, chewing on his anger like a hungry lion, stoking his desire for vengeance. He opened the front door and screamed into the dark street.
‘You want me, Moore? Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough, ya prick.’
He stepped outside, pulled the door shut behind him and began roaming the estate.
66
Pick a Card
Carter arrived at St Leonard’s at 7 a.m. the next morning feeling exhausted. The ever-present Tam Watson said a cheery good morning.
‘A wee celebration after last night’s success, Leccy?’
‘Not now, Tam.’ He climbed the stairs leadenly, not waiting to hear his older colleague’s sworn statement.
‘Any news?’ he asked of anyone upon entering the detectives’ room.
Charli Garcia was already at her desk, typing away.
‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘I’m expecting the profile result from the unidentified DNA at ten. Also, I’m expecting Moore’s finance report from his bank.’
‘You’ve seen his picture?’ Carter asked. ‘It’s in ICRS. Check if he was ever in the military. Also, call InterMide and ask if he is, or was, an employee. Is DI Mason in yet?’
‘No.’
He went to the coffee machine and pressed the button marked ‘Recycled Sheep Pish’, then added extra sugar. It couldn’t make him feel any worse.
‘When is Dr Flowers due in?’
‘I am not your personal secretary, Leccy,’ Garcia admonished him.
He phoned Dr Flowers, who answered on the third ring. ‘I’m on my way, be there in five minutes.’
‘You’re bringing the greeting cards?’
‘Of course.’
By 7.30 a.m., the three of them were settled in a meeting room.
He explained about the messages he’d found on Kelsa’s phone. ‘I’ll submit them as evidence. Gavin Roy can see what he can make of them. Tell me about the cards.’
Dr Flowers brought Garcia up to speed. ‘Two greeting cards sent about a week apart. The first was a sympathy card, assumed by Leccy to be from Kelsa’s work colleagues. The second card came in yesterday, and he brought them both to me. What’s very clear is that Sergeant Carter doesn’t watch soaps.’
Dr Flowers slid the cards across the table. Garcia studied them then asked what Flowers had concluded.
‘To a soap addict, it’d be simple, but I had to dig for most of them. Ken Barlow is a character in Corrie. His wife died in an episode. Sam Dingle’s wife died in Emmerdale. In River City, Raymond Henderson’s wife died shortly after their wedding. Brookside had an episode where Jonathan Gordon-Davies’ wife was electrocuted. Roy Johnson beat his wife to death in Corrie. There are no Google references to a Stan Butler in the UK soaps anywhere.’
‘By association, should we assume his wife died too?’ Garcia said.
‘So did mine,’ said Carter. ‘So what?’
‘I’ve gathered Joe Moore’s life artefacts, birth certificate and other things,’ Garcia said. ‘He was born in 1982. His mother’s name was Corina. His father’s name was George.’
‘Did Moore’s mother die when he was young?’ Dr Flowers started to get excited. ‘It’s a classic marker of a psychopath, no female role model around to counter an overbearing father. Can you find a death certificate, Charli?’
‘It will go on Leccy’s wish list.’
‘What about the other card?’ Carter asked.
‘Similar kind of thing,’ said Dr Flowers. ‘More complex, though. Obviously, Joe Moore is one of the names, but I’ve been stuck on “The Narrator”. I can’t resolve it to soaps. I’m not sure what the genre might be.’
‘”Fight Club”.’ Garcia’s eyes lit up. ‘A favourite movie of mine. The Narrator is played by Brad Pitt, but he is also Tyler Durden and takes on other identities throughout the story. It’s supposed to be a film exploring dissociative identity disorder. Incidentally, in the book of the movie, The Narrator is occasionally known as Joe.’
‘Fucking hell,’ Carter spat. ‘Why can’t Moore just say, “My name’s Joe and I like to kill people?” It would be so much easier.’
‘I’ve never seen that movie,’ Dr Flowers said, a little shamefacedly, considering its theme. ‘But I’ll watch it. The other people named in the card were soap characters who assumed other identities to hide their real character. Either after committing murder or before they planned to commit murder. So it makes sense now.’
‘What do these cards tell us about Moore?’ Carter queried. ‘Does he have a psychological identity problem? Or is it more than that?’
Dr Flowers felt the question was for her. ‘He might have multiple disorders; there’s nothing in the DSM handbook that says a person can only suffer a single disorder. He’s clearly psychopathic, but that hypothesis doesn’t exclude DID or any other condition. He might be “simply” using another name to confuse. Charli has
his ID documents, and that would be a lot of effort to go to just to use another name.’
‘I’ve got something else,’ Carter said. ‘Last night, I got upset reading these texts on Kelsa’s phone, and I ran out of the house half expecting to catch Moore staring through my windows. I didn’t find him in the housing estate, but he was around.’
‘How do you know?’ Garcia asked.
Carter reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cellophane sleeve with a sheet of paper in it. He laid it on the table and smoothed it out. It was a photocopy of a faded newspaper article from London’s Evening Standard, dated 21 June 1989. There was no picture, only text and a headline, DEPTFORD FAMILY TRAGEDY.
‘I didn’t lock the door behind me. This was lying on my kitchen table when I returned from my sweep of the development. I’ll summarise. “After watching his mother Eileen die in Lewisham Hospital of injuries sustained in a car crash in Scotland, Stan Butler took his son home. That night, suffering incredible grief, Stan Butler shot himself with a pistol, leaving his son Nathan, an orphan.”
Dr Flowers stared at him, and Charli Garcia’s mouth fell open.
‘Deptford has been mentioned before.’ Carter remembered. ‘Nathan Butler’s property rental company has Deptford in its name.’
‘Oh my God,’ muttered Dr Flowers, finally. ‘Why would Joe Moore leave a reference to Nathan Butler in your home?’
‘I don’t know,’ Carter said. ‘Why would Moore send cards with these confusing names in the first place?’
‘That one’s easy,’ said Dr Flowers.
Charli Garcia finished her sentence. ‘He didn’t send the cards.’
67
Secret Squirrel
‘Any more theories?’ Carter looked around the room.
Dr Flowers and Charli Garcia both shook their heads.
‘Why are you so sure Moore didn’t send the cards?’ Carter asked.
‘Too subtle,’ said Dr Flowers. ‘Not much fun either. He seems to come and go at yours as he likes, so why waste a stamp?’
‘It’s a mujer,’ said Garcia. ‘A woman. A man wouldn’t do this, it is too delicate. The script is expertly drawn. She is showing you the path. She is bringing you to come to it on your terms. She is in the background, guiding. You must take all the credit.’
‘So there’s a woman out there who knows him. An ex-wife?’ Carter said.
Both women shrugged their shoulders.
‘A survivor, I’d say,’ said Dr Flowers.
‘So he has done it before,’ Carter stated again. ‘As Rocketman said.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Dr Flowers. ‘But that’s not news. We won’t find her until she’s ready to come out. She has to know she’s safe.’ Dr Flowers turned to Garcia. ‘Charli, do you mind? There’s something private I have to say to DS Carter.’
Garcia stared at both of them like she knew they were lovers and had been asked to protect the secret.
‘It’s not what you think,’ Dr Flowers said, knowingly. Garcia left the meeting room, closed the door and went back to her desk.
Dr Flowers wasted no time. ‘Go and see your grandparents – the Carters. Right now.’
‘Why?’
‘Jesus, Leccy, you’re so bloody infuriating. This is all about you, can’t you see that? You’ve spent thirty years ignoring your past. Did you seriously think you could live your whole life without knowing who your real mum and dad were? Have you ever even been to their graves?’
‘This isn’t the time to start salvaging my soul, Petal.’
‘Look at me,’ she said tightly. ‘You should speak to your grandparents about the car accident. It’s important.’
He gazed at her curiously. He’d enjoyed the banter in the office at Fettes, a million years ago last week. She’d gotten under his skin, and he liked her for it. Now her green eyes were on fire. Her lips were set like concrete, and her ponytail was orchestrating everything like a maestro.
Her words sank in. He remembered what she’d said, on the third session in Fettes, or maybe the fourth. The one where he’d wiped all her stuff off the desk, while she sat in her swivel chair daring him to slap her and blow his career to smithereens.
‘How do you know what happened to them?’
‘I don’t, but the whole fucking world has moved on in thirty years. Out of eight billion people, you’re steadfastly holding out. Even now, when he’s been shoving it down your throat, you still won’t accept it. You’ve spent so long denying them you can’t see the danger you’re in. I’ve looked at the texts you grabbed. He said you were a screamer. The past, Leccy – somewhere you’ve never been. He remembers it, can’t you understand that? Deptford and Nathan Butler. You need to hear about the accident from your grandparents, and when you do, all of this will make sense. A warped sense, but it will be a light-bulb moment, I’m sure.’
Still, he sat there, refusing the invitation.
‘Your gran and papa have waited for thirty years for this,’ she continued to try and persuade him. ‘Don’t deny them any longer. They haven’t got time and will want to go in peace.’ Her fiery green eyes glistened, she was nearly in tears, and by refusing to look at her, he was playing down her insight.
‘OK.’ He stood up. ‘Will you come with me? You’re an expert in these things.’
She shook her head. ‘You don’t need an expert. Just be their only son.’
68
Ancient History
The Smart car knew the route. Much of the traffic was heading into the city, so Carter wasn’t held up at the usual trouble spots. It was a blue-sky day, bright and bitter with a watery sun that promised better days ahead if only you could hang on in there. He turned off the A7 south and began the shallow climb up Hunterfield at a sedate twenty-five miles per hour, loitering through Arniston, past Newbyres Park where the Rangers played. There was no Brexit-ish hard border between the communities, but the locals knew where the line was.
He turned left into Newbyres Row, technically a lane that separated the back green from the row of cottages. Extensions and patios now encroached onto it, leaving just enough room to park your bike. Gran’s patio had seen many winters. It needed power-washing, a job for him. The pots, urns and barrels that overflowed with flowers in the short summer were looking dreich.
‘Gran?’ he called softly, opening the back door.
‘Lachlan? It’s you? What’s goin’ on? It’s only just past ten.’ A fearful look covered her face as she entered the kitchen from the extension. Her peenie was tied around her waist, and her baffies were worn, causing her to shuffle over the linoleum. ‘I’ll call your papa, he’ll want to see ye.’ She put the kettle on and found her phone while he toured the house, as he always did, just to check nothing had changed.
‘He’s havin’ his breakfast at the club,’ she said. ‘He’ll be around the now. Tell me before he gets here – what’s happened? How’s ma bonny wee boy?’
He’d been thinking on the drive over. Best to start with news of Nathaniel. Not good, but not bad either. Men going down the pit and not coming up was really bad; all else was shades of good. He explained about the lawyer, about James Dunsmuir’s determination to bring Nathaniel up as his own and how Nathaniel was well cared for by Judith. He told his gran about the interdict but kept Tommy McGregor’s revelations out of it. She wouldn’t understand.
The Las Vegas ceremony had solved a pressing problem: where to hold a wedding celebration and who to invite. They hadn’t foreseen the unintended consequences of the future when the idea to get married surfaced on their first night in Joe’s seafood restaurant on Las Vegas Boulevard. The Dunsmuirs and the Carters were pure oil and water: the Sheriff wouldn’t countenance anything less than a society wedding, and Deek Carter would’ve marched out of a venue like Prestonfield House in disgust.
The back door let Deek Carter enter his own house. At one time a man equal in size to his grandson, he was now a full head smaller, quite a bit leaner, but matched Leccy in the hair colour department. His
hand was once a steel vice with rivets for fingers, but now Carter shook his hand lightly like it was delicate crystal covered in thin paper.
‘Faither,’ he said.
‘Aye,’ the old man acknowledged homage. Deek glanced at his wife of sixty-five years to see what was troubling her. Tears filled her eyes.
‘It’s Nathaniel. The Sheriff has taken him.’
‘Aye, well, we’ll see aboot that.’ The miner spoke with his fists, even now. Deek Carter straightened his back, preparing for war.
‘It’s in hand,’ said his grandson.
Deek looked up at Leccy and knew there was more. In the over-warm extension, the two men sat down opposite each other. ‘Tell me about Mum and Dad,’ said Carter quietly.
‘What’s happened?’ Deek asked fearfully. ‘Why now?’
‘A ghost.’
He nodded as if he’d been expecting that very answer and now it was given. Gran put more tea and biscuits on the low coffee table and sat down next to her husband.
‘One of yer colleagues was here a few days ago,’ said Deek. ‘Fishin’. Inspector Mason. Glasgow lad. Said ye was up for an Inspector’s ticket. Wanted to know yer background, skeletons, that sort of thing. ’Course, I said ye was the perfect boy.’
Carter was wrong-footed by this news but kept calm. ‘What else did he ask?’
‘He asked if any of yer mates had names beginning with J,’ Deek replied. ‘I pointed him at Jimmy Wilson. I hope yer no’ in trouble, Lachlan?’
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