She looked back and saw a slater disappear into the earth beneath a shoe. Two ladies’ shoes down there, and the other two feet just bare bones behind. She looked at the woman’s hands, bones folded across sunken ribs. The man had been wedged in along one side of the coffin, Ailsa pushed up against the other side. She was small, there was room for two of them. People might’ve noticed at the funeral if they knew how much a body weighs, or a coffin, or any of it. Certainly Jim would’ve known. And Archie.
She turned to him. ‘Simon Lawrence.’
He shook his head.
‘You knew all along,’ she said.
He just kept shaking his head, his eyes glowing wet as he wrapped his arms around himself.
Dorothy touched her face, felt the grains of dirt, wiped them away with a smear. ‘Tell me.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Damn you, Archie, if you don’t tell me what happened, I’ll throw you in this grave and fill it in.’
Archie rubbed his forehead and scrunched his face up, tears falling onto the earth at his feet. He swallowed hard over and over. Eventually he looked up and gave the slightest nod. He sat carefully at the edge of the grave and Dorothy did the same. Their legs dangled into the hole like two kids sitting on a school wall at break time.
‘It was Jim’s idea.’
Dorothy felt her throat close up, tried to push out a juddering breath, placed a hand against her chest like she was having a heart attack.
Archie began rocking over the grave and Dorothy wondered if he might throw himself in.
‘We had to get rid of him,’ Archie said. ‘The longer we kept him in the fridges, the more chance we would be found out. And there were no cremations. So Jim decided to do it this way.’
‘Archie, what happened?’ Dorothy said, trying to keep her voice level. ‘How did Simon die?’
Archie seemed in a trance.
Dorothy wanted to slap him. ‘Did Jim kill him?’
Archie was crying again, tears tracing through the dirt smudges on his cheeks and dripping into the coffin.
‘No,’ he said finally. ‘Jim didn’t kill him.’
‘Then what?’
Archie wiped at his eyes. ‘It was an accident.’
He swallowed, tried to compose himself. ‘I left work one day but forgot my jacket with my keys in the pocket. I came back, went in through the garage so as not to disturb anyone upstairs. I walked into the embalming room and Simon was there. He was with someone. One of the deceased, Zoe Wilson, she was young, a suicide. He was on top of her with his trousers at his ankles. Moving in and out. Talking under his breath to her.’
Dorothy felt the darkness close in as she placed a hand on the grass.
Archie shook his head. ‘I hauled him off. He fought me. He wasn’t even sorry, didn’t give a shit, just wanted me to shut up. We struggled, then I managed to push him off me and his head hit the treatment table. He went straight down, blood coming out, and just lay there. I watched him die. Didn’t try to save him. I wanted to be dead too, more then than ever. He was the lucky one, he got to die, he got to be nothing, invisible.’
Dorothy looked into the grave.
Archie sighed. ‘Eventually I went upstairs to get help. Jim was there in the kitchen, you were out somewhere, thank God. I made him come downstairs and I tried to explain. He looked at Simon and the woman for a long time, then we began tidying up. We put Zoe back in the fridge, then put Simon in there too, with no marker on his door, until we could think what to do.’
Dorothy pictured Jim and Archie lifting Simon’s body onto the table, putting him in a body bag, sliding him into the fridge, cleaning up the blood. She thought about the young woman, not even safe from predatory men in death. She thought about Rebecca sitting at home all these years waiting for her loving husband to return, to be a father to their daughter, never knowing what he really was. And she thought about Jim’s decision to cover everything up. There would’ve been a murder charge, court case, necrophilia, for Christ’s sake. The Skelfs would’ve been ruined, Archie’s life ruined, Rebecca’s life ruined, Zoe Wilson’s family devastated.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Archie said. ‘You can’t imagine.’
Dorothy felt a chill run through her body, the energy in the air all around them, permeating everything, bringing them here, giving them a decision to make. Eventually she stood up, using her shovel to help her. Archie watched.
She pointed to Simon and Ailsa in the grave.
‘Help me fill this back in,’ she said.
57
HANNAH
She strode along the cobbles of The Shore past seafood restaurants and pubs, all closed at this time of night. The Water of Leith was slick black on her left, boats bobbing a little, the slap of low waves bumping against their hulls.
Malmaison was at the bottom of the street, a sturdy old sailors’ mission with a clock tower, fancy plants and standing heaters next to the deserted outdoor tables. She strode past reception and up to the bar, hotel bars were open into the early hours. A couple of businessmen in tailored suits were drinking brandies in a corner, ties loosened, a good deal struck today. A weary young guy behind the bar gave them an evil stare, which he switched to Hannah when he saw her.
‘We’re closed,’ he said. ‘Except for guests.’
He had her pegged as someone who couldn’t afford to stay here. The bar was all black with random red pipes jutting out like an industrial warehouse, and above the barman was a large neon sign that read: ‘Don’t Worry Help Is On The Way’.
Hannah shook her head. ‘I don’t want a drink, I was hoping you could help me.’
He perked up a little. He was about her age, tall and thin, a tousle of black hair and a few days of stubble, kind eyes now that he was paying attention. His nametag said ‘Rakim’.
‘What kind of help?’
‘Were you working here two weeks ago?’
‘I’m always working here.’
She got the receipt out of her pocket, checked the date. ‘On Wednesday the seventh?’
She thought he might check the rota but he just nodded. ‘I do six nights a week, fits in with my studies.’
Hannah got a picture of Mel on her phone and showed him. ‘Did you see her in here?’
He took her phone and peered at it, angled the screen to get rid of the glare from the neon message above them.
‘She might’ve been in this jacket,’ Hannah said, spinning round to show it to him.
He looked at her then back at the screen. Frowned for a long time. She’s a pretty girl, Hannah thought, come on. Presuming he’s straight, of course.
‘Maybe.’
‘Really?’
‘I think so.’
‘She was with someone,’ Hannah said. ‘Probably a guy. She bought a dirty martini and a beer.’
‘OK.’
‘Do you remember the guy?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘He might’ve been a lot older?’
Rakim laughed. ‘Older guys with cute young women? We get that a lot.’
Hannah pointed at her phone. ‘Please, try to remember.’
‘What’s this about?’
‘She was murdered.’
That made him pay attention. ‘Wait, is she the girl on the news?’
‘She was my friend.’
‘Shouldn’t the police be doing this?’
‘I’m trying to help them.’ She flicked up a picture of Peter from the web on her phone. ‘Was it this guy?’
Rakim took the phone, stared. ‘No.’
‘If you know it wasn’t him then you remember something.’ She flicked back to her camera roll, got up a photo of Xander and Mel. ‘Was it him?’
‘He was older. In a suit.’
‘What did he look like?’
The two guys in the corner pushed themselves to their feet, unsteady, and headed to bed. Rakim watched them go.
‘You know how many middle-aged white guys in suits we get in here?’
‘
So he was middle-aged?’
Rakim nodded. ‘Forties, I’d guess. Dark hair. He wasn’t ugly or fat. Like, it wasn’t crazy they might be together, not necessarily a call-girl situation.’
‘Is that all you remember?’
Rakim fiddled with a bar towel. ‘Sorry.’
Hannah looked around the empty bar. ‘What about CCTV?’
‘They wipe it from the hard drive every seven days.’
Hannah rubbed at her temple then placed her hands on the bar, felt the stickiness of a million drinks under her fingers.
‘There has to be something,’ she said. ‘What else do you remember?’
He shook his head and looked above them, that neon sign throbbing in the darkness, mocking them.
‘I’d like to help you,’ Rakim said. ‘But I just don’t know.’
Hannah got the receipt back out of her pocket and looked at it.
‘So she bought these drinks, did she buy others? Did they have a meal? One drink is not much, did the guy buy drinks the rest of the night?’ She pointed at the till on the bar. ‘Can you check through the purchases that night?’
Rakim shook his head. ‘That stuff’s not stored.’
Hannah looked around again then realised something. ‘But this is a hotel so maybe they put food and drink on a room tab?’
Rakim ran his tongue around his teeth, leaned forwards. ‘If they had a room, yeah.’
Hannah looked towards reception. ‘Can we check?’
‘I could get fired for that.’
Hannah gave him big eyes. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’
He stared at her for a time then tapped the till screen. ‘I can access it from here, the system’s integrated.’
He punched info on the touch screen, waited, pressed the screen some more, frowning, then again until finally he smiled and turned the screen to face her. He looked over her shoulder, checking no one was around.
Hannah scanned the names that the rooms were booked under. There were about thirty and she didn’t see any she recognised. She scanned again, looking for Cheng, Longhorn, Xander’s surname Shaw, anything that might pop out.
‘Can we print this off?’
Rakim looked around again. ‘Should be able to, but it’ll come out in the office, I’ll need to go get it.’
‘Please.’
He turned the screen back, pressed it some more. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’
‘You’ve been a massive help.’
‘Don’t go anywhere,’ Rakim said, walking through the back.
Hannah swivelled the screen and looked at the list again. In the other columns alongside booking name were the type of room, breakfast options and payment details. She clicked all the information open and began again through the list, running her finger down the screen to keep her right. She only looked at double rooms, compared payment details with booking name. She was down past the first dozen entries, then the next handful, when her finger stopped and she suddenly felt like she was drowning.
There was a double room booked under McLaren but the credit-card payment was a different name, McNamara. First initial C.
It was just a coincidence, it had to be. There was no way.
Rakim came through from the back. Hannah’s hand shook as she took her finger from the screen. He offered her the printout but she went into her phone again, pulled up a picture of herself with her dad, one that was taken a year ago when they were out for a meal, a selfie where they were both grinning like idiots. She showed the phone to Rakim.
‘Is this the guy who was with Mel?’
He didn’t hesitate.
‘Yeah, that’s him. So you know him?’
58
JENNY
‘Nightcap?’ She felt like a kid again and enjoyed it, this familiar feeling between them. She was wired from booze and pictured herself under him, feeling him inside her, the skin of their bellies touching, that connection they always had, reading each other’s thoughts and being each other’s best friend.
Craig looked up at the house, windows dark. ‘Are you sure? I don’t know if Dorothy would like me to come inside.’
Jenny thought about her mum, pictured her standing in the grave last night.
‘Mum will be fast asleep,’ she said.
Craig looked at his watch, exaggerated movements, drunk and comical. ‘In that case I would love a nightcap.’
She led him inside, both of them goofing it, sharing a look that they knew this was dumb, but what is life if not a bunch of dumb mistakes that feel good at the time. Plus they were loaded, so fuck it.
The big house was quiet and dark, giving Jenny a tremor in her heart. She thought about the bodies lying in the fridges through the back, the dead guy in his coffin in one of the viewing rooms. She thought about her dad, he was part of this house, part of her life since the day she was born, and now he was a pile of dust that Dorothy didn’t know what to do with.
She took Craig upstairs to the kitchen, pulled whisky from a cupboard, found two tumblers and poured. He wandered to the whiteboards and perused them. She took her jacket off, placed it on the back of a chair and brought the drinks over, the smell reminding her of her dad after a long day’s work.
Craig nodded at the whiteboards. ‘So you ladies are really taking this investigator thing seriously?’
Jenny shrugged, thought of Liam. ‘It’s kind of fallen into our laps. Hannah is obviously distraught about Mel, looking for answers, and Mum has something she needs to find out.’
Craig squinted at the scribbles on the board. ‘To do with Jim?’
‘Maybe, we’re still not sure.’
Craig took a sip of whisky and Jenny copied him, felt the burn, felt alive.
‘What about your adultery sting?’
‘I told him what his wife did,’ Jenny said, cringing at the memory. ‘He didn’t take it well.’
‘Marriages, eh?’
Schrödinger padded into the room and slunk around the table, his back raised, fur up. He approached Craig with a soft hiss then slipped out of the door.
‘I don’t think he likes me,’ Craig said.
‘Rival male in the house.’
‘Is that what I am?’
‘He’s the alpha male around here,’ Jenny said. ‘Since…’
She didn’t want to talk anymore, didn’t want to mention her dad or mum or daughter or any of it. Just wanted to be here in the bubble of the moment. What was it Liam said, we are our processes not our results? This was a process, her life was a process, you can’t judge a life by results. Divorced, jobless, homeless, fatherless, these were the results not the process.
She leaned in and kissed Craig, felt his surprise melt into reciprocation. His whisky glass moved to the side as he pressed into her, his other hand on her waist, a movement against her hip that she responded to.
She pulled away for a moment, keeping eye contact, and took his whisky glass from him, put it on the table with her own, then touched his cheek. Always smooth shaven, he’d never gone for the hipster beard, nothing really different about him in the years she’d known him except they weren’t together anymore, but they were together in this moment and that’s all that mattered, processes not results, and kissing him again was a process she wanted to get on with.
‘Jenny,’ he said, doubt in his voice.
She ran her hand down his chest. Kissed him again, pushing her tongue into his mouth, gently at first, feeling him move his hand from her hip to her breast, her nipple already responding.
He pulled away. ‘This is wrong.’
‘We’ve all made mistakes.’
‘Doesn’t mean we have to keep making them.’
‘That’s life,’ she said. ‘Making mistakes and dealing with it afterwards.’
His eyes looked glassy, wet. ‘What if our mistakes are too big?’
‘There’s nothing so terrible that we can’t fix it.’
‘I’m not so sure.’
She stroked his brow. ‘You’re here w
ith me, that’s all that matters.’
The phone began ringing downstairs. Jenny looked at the clock on the wall, it was after three. They were supposed to answer it twenty-four hours a day, but some things were more important. It was probably a wrong number, but even if it was a bereavement it could be dealt with in the morning. They would still be dead, after all.
Nine rings then it went quiet.
She placed a soft kiss on his cheek, tried to get the mood back, but he looked out of the window.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jenny said.
He rubbed at his forehead, straightened his back. ‘Something happened.’
‘What do you mean? Between you and Fiona?’
‘No.’
‘Is Sophia OK?’
His daughter’s name made him flinch. ‘She’s fine.’
‘Then what?’
He shook his head and chewed his lip.
Jenny saw her phone light up through the thin material of her jacket pocket on the back of the chair. She looked at the clock again, thought about the downstairs phone ringing.
She stared at Craig for a long beat then pulled away reluctantly.
‘I better check that,’ she said. ‘It could be important.’
She went to her jacket and took the phone out. Realised she’d had the ringer switched off since she was with Liam earlier. She had seven missed calls, two from Dorothy earlier, five more recently from Hannah, and now a text. She glanced at Craig, who was still looking away, then opened the text. Her vision was blurry from whisky and gin, and it took a moment to focus:
Dad knew Mel. They were together. I’m freaking out. Call me.
She stared at the text, her thumb hovering over the screen as if she might swipe it away. She swallowed hard and tried to think. She was scared to look up but she did it anyway. Craig had turned and was watching her, tears in his eyes.
‘What is it?’ he said.
But he knew. He knew she knew. So much between them, the connections of the past, the thread that has always linked them. She gave it away in her face as she looked at him.
‘Is everything OK?’ he said, taking a step towards her.
A Dark Matter Page 27