by Dee McInnes
Viv looked up from her notepad. “Yet, we’ve been given to understand that a silver candlestick was discovered in the ashes.”
The colour drained from Rhona’s cheeks. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Really? We have it on very good authority that there were silver candlesticks on your family dining table and that you and your father lit the candles before dinner. After he died, they were never seen again.”
“That’s a preposterous suggestion,” Rhona rasped. “I’d like you to leave, please. I’m not saying anything else. This interview is over.”
“We’ll be running this story, one way or the other. So, just to be clear, you’re saying that what we’ve been told is a lie?” Viv said.
“It’s hearsay. What someone else, my brother I assume, told that harlot during their assignations. You should have realised by now that he’s a consummate liar. I’ve had fifty years’ experience. Put that in your story,” Rhona snapped, getting to her feet.
“I also wanted to ask you where you were on the morning your mother’s body was found. On 22 July 1997. Reports say only your brother was present?”
“Close the door on your way out, please.”
Viv rang Pete’s mobile from the hospital car park. “Where are you?” she asked.
“I’m just coming back up the motorway. There have been no further developments with the police investigation. A spate of cash-machine thefts is taking up McKeown’s time. He says he’s sorry not to have anything new to report.”
“I got in to see Rhona Haslett, face to face. I borrowed Carmen’s car.”
“Lucky you,” Pete said. “I’m surprised yer woman could spare any of her valuable time for the humble reporter. What did she have to say?”
“Basically, she denied everything,” Viv said. “She hasn’t much time for Tania McVeigh. I let her think that’s where the story came from. Rhona assumed that her brother had engaged in a little pillow-talk.”
“No surprise then?”
“No. But she was definitely rattled. I think Reggie was spot on.”
“Can we use it?”
“Not sure, we’ll need to run the idea past The Boss and I’d still like to know why Haslett’s housekeeper led us a merry dance. Maybe we could pay her another visit?”
“She’ll never let us in a second time.”
“Maybe we can ambush her. Where do you think she’d be on a Sunday morning?”
“I thought we were going out drinking later?” Pete said. “I’m not sure if I want to spend my Sunday morning hung-over in a church car park, even if it is with the Agency’s most eligible female,” he laughed. “But listen, there is some good news.”
“Go on,” she said.
“I tracked down the plumber, the guy who held me back from the fire. Phil Lowry, like the painter. He was very helpful. He remembers seeing Karol’s van across the car park before the fire. A mid-sized white Renault panel van, you know the sort, with two windows at the front and the rest closed in? Lowry thinks it was about four or five years old.”
“All white vans look the same to me, but I think I remember seeing one when we drove in.”
“Lowry said Karol sometimes parks it outside one of the empty units, whenever he’s expecting a delivery,” Pete said.
“So, what does that tell us?”
“Well, that Karol probably wasn’t very far away at the time of the fire.”
“That doesn’t prove anything and why would he burn down his own place?”
“If we could find him, we could ask. Maybe he didn’t know that anyone was inside. Or, it could have been nothing to do with our investigation after all.”
“Or he could have been watching? I can feel another evening with my bowl of sugar-cubes coming on,” Viv said. “Keep digging. I’ll let you know whenever I’m back. I’ve got to meet Carmen.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Carmen got behind the wheel and Viv sank into the passenger seat.
“Something wrong?” Carmen asked.
“What?”
“Is there something bothering you?”
“How long have you got?” Viv said. “I had a restless night, dreaming about the past, and a busy morning. I never felt less like going shopping. Looking glam is the last thing I need to worry about.”
Carmen pulled out onto the main road, slowing at a red light where pedestrians were crossing. “I’m all ears,” Carmen said.
“Pete and I are really struggling to make sense of everything we’ve found out so far. On Thursday night, at dinner, I had a feeling there was something else he wanted to tell me, but he didn’t say anything.”
“Is he ready to confess his undying love?” Carmen laughed.
“Very funny. I’m serious.”
“So am I. Relax for a few hours. You’ll feel better after a hot meal and a glass of wine.”
“You sound like my Aunt Cassy. About the food, not the alcohol. I’m still nursing a minor hang-over and trying to get my head around everything that has happened. Yesterday took the biscuit. You know what they say about one step forwards? I should cut down. I’ve been drinking too much. Maybe I’ll skip the party? You haven’t seen much of Cuds over the past few months.”
“Don’t worry about it. The rest of the crew and at least a hundred other people are going to be there. If you’re lucky, the good-looking football coach from Grianan Fort might turn up. He was a dish.”
“Too late. I’ve invited Pete, but it doesn’t matter either way. I’m off men. They’re far too unpredictable. It’s a lot easier being single.”
“Unexpected things happen. It is, not surprisingly, one of the main things most people struggle to cope with, but, if we could anticipate the future, the world would be very different. You know the only thing certain is change…part of the challenge is to embrace it as something inevitable. You might be pleasantly surprised…things sometimes have a way of working themselves out. There’s a divinity shapes our ends, as Shakespeare said.”
“And that worked out well for Hamlet? Are you charging by the hour for this consult?”
Carmen shrugged her shoulders.
“Whilst I’m complaining,” Viv said, “Mitch’s mother has been in contact with Carruthers by telephone, asking me to do her the courtesy of getting in touch. That’s rich. She didn’t want anything to do with the investigation when Doctor Haslett was still alive… although, to be fair, now that Mitch is inside, she and Alice don’t see eye to eye. Maybe there was no other way for her to make contact?”
“I’m sure Tania McVeigh feels guilty about the way things have turned out. It can’t have been easy for her over the past nine months...the past fourteen years. She probably blames herself for everything that happened. It only takes a second to make the wrong decision. To cross the red line, the point of no return,” Carmen said.
“Sorry, I’m running low on sympathy. Or maybe she just wants to find out if Mitch told me anything that she’d rather other people didn’t know about? On second thoughts, bring her on. This whole investigation is beginning to piss me right off. I just spoke to Rhona Haslett. I’m well prepared for another sparring match.”
“You’ve a suspicious mind. Did Rhona have anything interesting to say?”
“She denied everything, claimed the moral high ground. Perhaps Tania will make the effort to come to court next week, to support Mitch. She could read all about it, if Jim Carruthers has the balls to run with our feature,” Viv said.
All their hard work, like the charming doctor, could end up dead and buried. Journalism had changed a lot over the past ten years, since the growth of online news. Headlines moved faster than ever, driven by what was trending rather than fully fleshed-out stories. News popped up all over the place. Anyone could post a story. The main problem was getting it noticed. Today’s headlines had always been tomorrow’s wastepaper. Now they were consigned to digital archives, only delved into when they were needed to prove a point.
Life could be
so short, so fragile. Aunt Cassy’s house had been left untouched since she had died, an inheritance Viv didn’t want to accept. Couldn’t accept. Viv had begun to feel like she was drifting, wasting her life somehow.
After lunch at the restaurant, Carmen negotiated the hectic Saturday afternoon traffic around the shopping centre.
“Christ. Did that guy want to crawl up my tailpipe or what?” she complained, looking in the rear-view mirror before sliding into a parking space.
The shops were full of sparkly Christmas outfits and little black dresses, none of which grabbed Viv’s attention. They visited several boutiques, running the gauntlet of Saturday sales assistants.
“What about this?” Carmen suggested, holding up a pale peach halter-neck.
“Very Stepford wives…” Viv said. “What are you wearing? I don’t want us to clash.”
“I’ve got a red dress, my favourite colour,” Carmen said. “What about this one?” She unhooked a hanger supporting a blue, floor-length dress.
“No. That’s very…floaty…no, definitely not.”
Carmen collected an armful of dresses and hustled Viv into a cubicle. “You’ve got to find something. That looks great,” she said when Viv came out for the third time.
“I’m not sure,” Viv said, twisting around.
“You just need some killer heels...wait here, I’ll go and have a look,” Carmen said.
Electro pop was thumping over a loudspeaker. A female singer thrummed the lyrics, ‘Baby your time is up, time is up, time is up.’ Someone up there had a sense of humour, Viv thought. She stepped through the purple, satin curtain and studied herself in the full-length mirror at the end of the corridor. At least all the time she spent at the gym had paid off.
“Katie, where are you?” A woman with a phone glued to her ear squeezed past carrying a handful of plastic shopping bags. Katie could have been hiding behind one of the other curtains, or a million miles away.
“That dress really suits you,” someone standing behind Viv piped up. A girl with braids and a staff lanyard around her neck was struggling to straighten an array of discarded garments onto hangers. She scraped the metal hooks across the rail. “Taupe’s such a popular colour at the moment. Are you going somewhere special?”
Carmen came back carrying a pair of nude-coloured stilettos. “Here, try these on.”
“I’ll never be able to run in shoes like these,” Viv said.
“Wow, you look fantastic,” Carmen said. “Relax. You’ll be off duty. You have to stand still sometimes. Stop the clock.”
“There’s standing still and there’s falling over.”
“You fall down. You get up. That’s life.”
Viv bought the outfit to keep Carmen happy. Carmen nosed her way out of the car park and onto the link road. “You see. That wasn’t so bad after all. Have you made plans for later?”
“I’m meeting Pete, to discuss the case.”
“That might be what you think,” Carmen said with a grin. She glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Christ. There’s another idiot up my backside.”
Viv looked over her shoulder. “Isn’t that the same van that was behind us earlier?”
“I don’t think so.”
The bonnet and windscreen of the van sloped back at a sharp angle. It was impossible to see the face of the person driving. Viv thought she saw the glint of a pair of metal-framed sunglasses. Your classic white van wide-boy, she thought.
“What do you really think of him?” Carmen asked.
“Think of who?” Viv’s phone vibrated and she fished it out of her pocket.
“Pete, of course. I know he’s not your usual strong and silent type, but we all know how he feels about you.”
“You’re the one who seems pretty certain on that score,” Viv said. She wondered what Carmen would think if she ever found out about the proposal that Cuds had made to her at Adele’s wedding reception. “I’ve not seen any real evidence.”
“No real evidence? You must be blind,” Carmen said looking at Viv out of the corner of her eye. “The way Pete looks at you, how he agrees with everything you say, hangs on your every word? He makes you laugh and stops you from taking yourself too seriously. I think he’s perfect.”
“He’s great fun to be around, I’ll say that much,” Viv said. She stared at her phone, reading an e mail that Kirsty had circulated about a new coffee machine. At least that would be something worth going back to London for.
There was a sudden crash and the car juddered. Carmen grappled to control the steering wheel and the car skidded across the carriageway, narrowly missing the front of a silver saloon. Viv registered the shock on the other driver’s face as he braked to avoid them. They careered onto the hard shoulder, debris spitting against the underside of the car, and came to an abrupt stop against the crash barrier. What the fuck?
Carmen’s hands were shaking. “Someone… clipped our rear bumper. Wait,” she looked over her shoulder. “He’s still behind us.”
“Who?” Viv said, trying to get her neck to move the way it was supposed to.
Carmen fumbled with the clasp of her seat belt. “The stupid prick,” she said, her voice rising.
“Don’t get out. Let me call the police,” Viv said, but her hands were empty. She couldn’t see her phone anywhere.
“It was that feckin’ tailgater,” Carmen said, her voice trembling. She undid her seat belt and grabbed the door handle. “He’s going to get a piece of my mind.”
Viv shifted her position. A medium-sized white van was parked several metres behind them. It had the same sloped bonnet as the one she saw when they left the shopping centre. A wide, grey plastic bumper and a broken indicator. She thought she could make out a shadowy figure behind the tinted glass. The plumber had told Pete…that Karol. “Carmen, wait…”
The van shot forwards. There was a loud crash and Viv’s seatbelt tensed at the same time as the car jolted, tyres skidding over the tarmac. She heard Carmen cry out in pain. When Viv looked around, Carmen was slumped back against the headrest... her eyes tightly closed.
The van reversed, its engine whining. Was it going to ram them again? Viv stretched her arm across Carmen’s chest bracing for impact. The van revved its engine and swerved back onto the carriageway. Viv tried to read the rear number-plate, but it was concealed under a thick film of dirt.
“Carmen? Are you Okay?” She undid her seat belt, got out and ran around to the driver’s side. Traffic sped past. No-one seemed to have noticed what happened. There was a deep, red contusion on the side of Carmen’s forehead. Carmen moaned. At least she was still breathing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A police car followed the ambulance to Antrim hospital. Carmen drifted in and out of consciousness. The paramedics had brought Carmen’s handbag, but they couldn’t unlock her phone. Viv had retrieved her mobile from under the passenger seat. She didn’t have a telephone number for Cuds, but she thought they might be able to contact him via his production company. For now, Viv was next of kin. She prayed that Carmen wouldn’t suffer any permanent damage. The paramedics tried to reassure her that it was standard practice to take victims of road traffic incidents to hospital, especially when they had suffered a head injury. ‘There’ll be an insurance claim to deal with afterwards’, they said.
Carmen was rushed into Casualty and Viv had an anxious wait before Carmen was wheeled out and placed in a cubicle for observation. The side of her head was bruised, but the medical team concluded the injuries did not appear to be life threatening.
The police constable who had been standing by for news about Carmen’s condition, asked Viv whether she would be prepared to make a statement, whilst the accident was still fresh in her mind. Viv got the impression he was nearing the end of his shift and needed to get back to the station.
“So, you were on the M2 Northbound, when the incident occurred?” he said.
“Yes. But I think we had been followed before we went into the Abbey Centre.”
; “And what time was that?”
“We had lunch and went shopping afterwards, that was around two pm. I bought something, there would be a time stamp on the receipt. The shopping bag should still be in the back seat,” she said. “What’ll happen to the car?”
“When we’ve photographed the scene and taken measurements, it’ll be recovered and kept safe until your friend is able to arrange for collection.”
“I saw a white van on the link road, before we went onto the motorway,” Viv said. “Carmen complained it was driving too close. It had a sloped bonnet and a tinted windscreen. I think the driver was wearing a pair of sunglasses with metal frames. It was the same one that parked behind us on the hard shoulder.”
“And you’ve no idea about the make, model or registration?”
“I’ve been racking my brain. I’m a journalist. We’re trained to notice details, but everything happened so fast.”
“That’s normal, take your time,” the police constable said.
“I remember that I tried to read the rear number plate as the van sped off, but it was too dirty. Maybe deliberately so?”
The constable stopped writing in his notebook. “When you were shunted off the motorway, you’re sure that it was intentional? It couldn’t have been an accidental clip?”
“Well, I can’t be a hundred percent certain. But, before Carmen took her seatbelt off, I turned around. The van was seven or eight metres away. Then it suddenly shot forwards, as if it was waiting for us,” she said.
“Was there anything distinctive about the offending vehicle?
“One of its indicator lights was broken. I think it had a silver emblem in the centre of the front grille, but I can’t be sure what it was.”
“Why did your friend decide to get out of her vehicle? Why didn’t you dial 999 straight away if you felt threatened?” the constable asked, tapping the end of his pen against his teeth.
“I was looking down at my phone when we were hit for the first time. It fell under the seat. Carmen’s reaction was purely instinctive. She wanted to give the driver a piece of her mind.”