Carrion Comfort

by Aline Templeton

  Hay’s complexion took on a greenish tinge. He looked at PS Lothian, as if expecting him to protect him but the sergeant studiously avoided his gaze. The other officers looked as if they had discovered a sudden common interest in their footwear while playing Musical Statues.

  At last Hay walked across the room and out into the hall.

  ‘What’s this important information you’ve got for me, then?’

  Lilian swept him from head to toe with her scornful gaze. ‘Your treatment of my son-in-law has been outrageous. I can vouch for the time he arrived in Forsich because he called in at Westerfield House to see whether my daughter was there. I know the exact time he left because I looked in at my husband’s surgery to see how many patients he still had to see, and the receptionist was just locking the door, so it was exactly six-thirty.’

  Hay was looking sicker than ever, but he wasn’t giving up. ‘Very convenient,’ he sneered. ‘Funny you didn’t mention this last night, then. It would have saved us all a lot of trouble.’

  ‘You didn’t ask me,’ Ross said. ‘You asked me what time I left Aberdeen, that was all. Then you started on a series of questions in a manner I can only describe as hectoring. You prevented me from going to the hospital along with my injured wife who, for all I knew, could have died while you were detaining me.’

  ‘Added to that,’ Lilian said coldly, ‘there has been an attempt on my daughter’s life. How can I be sure that she isn’t threatened even now?’

  Hay seized on that. ‘We have an officer on her ward. And he assures me there has been no problem.’

  ‘With that woman still at large, she can’t possibly be safe,’ Lilian insisted. ‘What steps are you taking to detain Morven Gunn?’

  He was stubborn. ‘We have no reason to do so, other than a baseless accusation.’

  ‘When you’re in a hole, stop digging,’ DC Wilson said out of the corner of her mouth to PS Lothian, who had to stifle a smile.

  ‘Let’s move on to the procedure for a formal complaint,’ Ross said. ‘In the first instance, who do I contact?’

  Hay had a prominent Adam’s apple that bobbed up and down as he gulped. ‘PS Lothian will deal with that for you. I’ve got more important things to do.’

  He stalked past them with a signal to the sergeant who had brought him and walked down the path to the car. He looked as if he was having to exert rigid control not to break into a trot.

  Morven Gunn had slept for ten hours in the big airy bedroom that had been her mother’s, that was still scented by the lavender potpourri on her dressing table. She hadn’t slept as long as that in years and she woke disorientated, dry-mouthed. Since Gary’s death her nights had been a battleground as she fought for oblivion that would blot out the torturing thoughts of grief, anger, resentment. Such sleep as she achieved on the cheap mattress in the tiny bedroom that was too cold in winter, too hot in summer, came in unsatisfying snatches. For the last few days she had barely slept at all.

  Now she stretched, staring at the ceiling, possessed by an unfamiliar feeling of calm. She knew what she’d done. She hadn’t set out to kill Gabrielle Ross – at least she didn’t think she had – but it had happened that way and now she had delivered for Gary the proper sort of justice he would never have got in any court of law. She had done her duty by him, laid Gabrielle’s corpse on the altar of her love for her son. She felt no regret, no remorse, only a savage joy.

  They would come after her, no doubt. She wouldn’t make it easy for them, though, wouldn’t make any sort of pathetic confession. She didn’t think she’d left anything that would point in her direction and they couldn’t lock her up just because everyone knew how much she’d hated Gabrielle. They’d have to prove it first – and if they did, she wouldn’t care. Nothing they could do to her would be worse than the hell she had lived with all these years, seeing that woman alive and prosperous. She wasn’t either now. That thought gave her a wonderful sense of freedom.

  It was early yet. The birds were singing in the garden. That was a blackbird; there had always been a pair of blackies nesting in the hedge. And she could hear a great tit now too, creaking its teacher, teacher song. She’d always loved birds, put out balls of fat for the tits during the winter months. Was there anything left in the house that she could put out for them now?

  She eased herself out of bed, a little stiff now after sleeping so long. Morven was still wearing her day clothes and there was a cut on her knuckle that she’d got from breaking the kitchen window to get in. She’d come rushing back here in a tempest of emotions, to the house that wasn’t hers but wasn’t Gabrielle’s any more either. She had just flung herself onto her mother’s bed – and now it was morning and another day.

  In the kitchen the fridge stood open and empty but when she looked in the cupboard there were still packets and tins. She wasn’t hungry herself, but she picked up a box of muesli and went outside with it. The sun was shining and though the morning air was still chilly she barely noticed it. She tore open the packet and wandered in a wide circle round the old, gnarled apple tree that had the wooden bench below it where she’d liked to sit, sprinkling muesli as she went.

  When the packet was empty she sat down and waited. It wasn’t very long before the cock blackbird, bouncing across the lawn looking for worms, caught sight of the largesse and studied it, his head cocked to one side. He hopped across and pecked; his hen followed, then a couple of sparrows. Morven watched in tranquil satisfaction as a pigeon swooped down and then another, making comments to each other in low croons. More birds. Then the squawks and squabbles started; a magpie came, and two more. Looking at the live carpet of birds she felt as if she was held in a sort of trance. Morven barely moved when the voices spoke behind her.

  ‘Mrs Gunn? DCI Strang and DC Murray. Could we have a word?’

  She didn’t turn her head, but as they approached her across the grass she said, ‘I always think it’s amazing how quickly birds gather when one of them finds a little treat, don’t you?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ‘Perhaps we could go inside, Mrs Gunn?’ DCI Strang said.

  Morven looked up at him. ‘Why? I like it here, watching the birds. I always liked birds, you know. When I had my own house I always fed them in the winter.’

  ‘We’ve got quite a lot to talk about,’ he said. ‘Don’t you find it a bit chilly out here?’

  ‘No.’

  Strang glanced at Murray. ‘I’m on my way,’ she said in a resigned voice as she headed across the grass to the open kitchen door, to reappear a couple of minutes later with a couple of chairs.

  Meanwhile he silently studied Morven. She was smiling faintly as yet more birds alighted – a young herring gull now, in its mottled plumage, throwing its weight around and squawking. She had a livid bruise on one cheekbone and when he looked down at her hands, relaxed in her lap, he could see blood across the knuckles and caked under the fingernails. Hard to think anything other than that it was Gabrielle Ross’s blood. Any normal person would have washed their hands to remove the traces but looking at her now he could believe that Morven was far from normal. To any competent brief it would be a standout case for diminished responsibility.

  He didn’t say anything, though, until they sat down, and Murray got out a small tape recorder, speaking the identification in a low voice.

  ‘Morven,’ he said, ‘are you able to understand what I’m saying?’

  The absent look vanished. Morven sat up and snapped, ‘What do you mean “understand”? You calling me stupid?’

  Taken aback by the transformation, Strang said hastily, ‘No, no, of course not. We just want to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Get on with it, then. I’ve a cafe to open up and there’ll be folk wanting their breakfast.’

  Murray said, ‘You won’t want to go in with hands like that.’

  Morven looked down at her hands as if she’d only just noticed them. She shrugged.

  The constable went on, ‘There’s a broken win
dow there. Was that how you got the cut?’

  Strang hadn’t noticed and glanced across. The back door had glass panes; that must have been how she’d gained access to the house.

  ‘Suppose so,’ Morven said.

  ‘Why did you break in?’ Strang asked, and she glared at him.

  ‘Because I didn’t have the key. Why do you think?’

  ‘Why did you want to get inside?’

  She frowned, as if she didn’t know the answer. Then she said, ‘It’s my brother’s house,’ as if that explained it.

  Strang spoke gently. ‘You know he’s dead, Morven. It doesn’t belong to him any more. It belongs to Gabrielle Ross.’

  With a triumphant look she said, ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Morven pinched her lips together very tightly and said nothing.

  Murray looked at him eagerly, but he shook his head slightly. He wasn’t ready to ask that question yet. Instead, he asked, ‘How did you get that bruise on your cheek?’

  She put both hands up to her cheeks as if she didn’t know it was there, then probed the soreness on the right-hand side.

  ‘Walked into a door, I expect.’ She smirked as she gave the standard excuse for unexplained bruising.

  ‘But you don’t remember doing it? No? Morven, was the cafe open yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, it was. Why wouldn’t it be? I was perfectly all right yesterday.’ She had been looking at Strang; now she turned to Murray. ‘You can tell him that. Even when you were asking stupid questions I stayed completely calm.’

  ‘Wouldn’t exactly say that,’ Murray said unwisely.

  Morven gave a sudden scream. ‘Liar! She’s lying!’

  Strang said hastily, ‘That’s all right. I’ll take your word for it. Tell me what happened after the cafe closed. Where did you go?’

  She was off balance now. She switched her gaze to the birds; they had almost cleared the crumbs and there were only a few left still pecking hopefully and she pointed at them. ‘They all come, the minute there’s food around and then when they’ve eaten it they all go.’

  Murray leant forward. ‘Like ravens, Morven?’ she said eagerly. ‘Did you know the ravens would come to the cottage for Niall’s body?’

  Oh, for God’s sake! Ravens and the cottage? Where had that come from? Strang had thought she’d learnt something about not switching the direction of an interview, but no. If Morven suddenly confessed he’d have to forgive her, but otherwise she was going to get a right bollocking. She had glanced at him in triumph; her face changed as she saw his frown.

  Morven said, ‘My brother’s dead. You said that yourself.’

  No, she hadn’t confessed. Murray visibly subsided as Strang went on, trying to pick up the impetus, ‘You closed up the cafe, yes? Now, after that did you go to see Gabrielle Ross yesterday evening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I want to go back to something you said. You said that Gabrielle Ross didn’t own this house any longer. Why was that?’

  ‘Because—’ Morven began, then clamped her lips again, as if realising the implications.

  ‘Were you going to say, because she’s dead?’

  A cunning look came over her face. ‘Is she?’

  ‘No.’

  It took a moment to sink in. ‘No?’ she said, then, her voice rising, ‘No?’

  ‘Did you think you’d killed her, Morven?’

  She was breathing raggedly. ‘Not dead? She killed Gary. I didn’t kill her, God did. It was only right.’ She began to cry, deep painful sobs.

  Strang stood up. ‘We’re going to take you in to the police station and we’ll arrange for a lawyer to be there. I am arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder. You do not have to say anything …’

  As he finished the caution he took her arm, quite gently, and she stood up without making any resistance, still shaking with convulsive sobs and wiping at her face ineffectually with her hands.

  As they led her towards the car Murray said, ‘Sorry, boss,’ very quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk about that later.’

  Ailie Johnston had read the previous day’s Press and Journal report on Niall Aitchison’s murder with considerable interest and picked up the morning edition on her way to work. She was disappointed that there seemed to be nothing new today, apart from an indication that there would be a press statement from the police later. She’d been hoping that they’d be on their way to clearing it up; Bruce Michie had been like a bear with a sore head ever since his interview with DCI Strang had been cancelled. If she had a fiver for every time he’d asked her what she thought that meant and she’d replied that it meant he’d probably been called away, she could take early retirement and never have to speak to the man again.

  She heard him come into the office and the buzzer went almost immediately, like a reflex. She groaned, then got up and went through, her face set in ‘I’ve-had-enough-of-this-nonsense’ lines.

  ‘What’s the matter this morning, Bruce?’ she said.

  He had the Press and Journal open on his desk. ‘Have you seen this?’

  ‘Saw the headlines. Didn’t seem to have anything new to say.’

  ‘Not that. This here.’ He was pointing to a brief item on one of the inner pages.

  The headline was WOMAN ATTACKED and the article went on, ‘A woman was attacked last night in the village of Forsich in Caithness. Mrs Gabrielle Ross was taken to Wick hospital where she is said to be comfortable. In a statement DI Hay confirmed that a man is helping police with their enquiries.’

  ‘Oh no! That’s awful! Poor Gabrielle – as if she hasn’t had enough to cope with.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but what does it mean?’

  If he asked her that even once more, she’d be the next to be ‘helping police with their enquiries’. She said in the voice she used to her six-year-old grandson, ‘It means Gabrielle was attacked and they think they’ve got whoever did it. All right?’ She turned.

  ‘Don’t go, Ailie!’ he said. ‘Listen, do you reckon that’s who killed Aitchison?’

  ‘Why should it be? It doesn’t say anything about that.’

  ‘I know, but Gabrielle’s right in the middle of all this. Wee place like Forsich – you’d not have two murdering maniacs going around, would you?’

  Ailie sighed. ‘Can’t say I’ve got an opinion on murdering maniacs. Look, Bruce, I can hear my phone’s been ringing. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t get back to answer it?’

  ‘The thing is,’ he said earnestly, ‘I’m getting gey worried about all this. Chris Brady phoned yesterday afternoon asking if the inspector mannie’d been here talking to me yet. Wanted to check that I’ll – well, say the right things.’

  Ailie’s eyes narrowed. ‘What does that mean?’

  She couldn’t believe she’d used the phrase herself, but Bruce didn’t seem to notice. ‘It’s all this business stuff. You have to keep quiet about it, or—Anyway, I’m wondering whether I should maybe not bother too much about that. The thing is,’ he said again, then stopped, fingering his collar. ‘What – what if it’s Chris that’s attacked Gabrielle?’

  ‘Chris?’ Ailie said in astonishment. ‘Is there some reason why he should?’

  ‘No, no, of course not. It’s just, if it was, I could be getting myself implicated in something. Maybe I should just tell the police …’

  ‘Tell them what, for heaven’s sake?’

  He took fright at her horrified expression. ‘Oh, nothing really bad. You know me, Ailie – wouldn’t hurt anyone. It’s just all this is getting me fair puggled, making me think daft things. Of course, Chris wouldn’t. It’s just I’d like to be sure.’

  ‘Why don’t you phone and ask to speak to him? If he’s been nicked he’ll not be there, will he? But if there’s anything at all you know that would help the police you’d damn well better tell them. It’s your civic duty,’ she said sternly, then added as he didn’t look totally convinced, ‘and if they find out you didn’
t, it’ll be you getting the jail.’

  He was reaching for the phone as she left and before she got back to her office she heard him saying, ‘Chris? Oh, just thought I’d touch base with you …’

  Ailie hadn’t thought it was likely that Brady would have gone all the way up to Forsich to attack Gabrielle; it was just evidence of Bruce’s paranoid state. But why was he so paranoid, and what did he know? If he wasn’t going to go to the police of his own accord, she was going to tell her nice inspector that if he so much as waved the handcuffs at him Bruce would crack.

  But it still left the question, who had attacked Gabrielle, and why? Even if the newspaper hadn’t made a connection, she rather agreed with Bruce that violent crime wasn’t a common feature of life in Forsich. So, what did it—

  She stopped herself with a ‘Tcha!’ of annoyance. He’d got her doing it too, now.

  ‘DI Hay,’ DCI Strang said as he and DC Murray escorted Morven Gunn into the police station in Thurso.

  The Force Civilian Assistant who was at the desk said, ‘He’s gone out, sir. He didn’t say when he’d be back.’

  Murray took Morven over to sit down. She was still crying, but quietly now; she hadn’t spoken in the car except to mutter sometimes, ‘It’s not fair! It’s not fair!’

  Strang was asking for the duty sergeant but the woman looked flustered. ‘He’s not here, sir. He was along at the incident room in Forsich.’

  ‘Sergeant Lothian?’ he said hopefully.

  ‘No sir. He wasn’t scheduled for this morning’s shift, but he came in then went out with DI Hay.’

  Murray could see Strang was annoyed at this further evidence of police cuts. If you came in with someone under arrest and couldn’t charge them, it left you stranded until that could be arranged. She didn’t want him to be more annoyed than he already was; she knew she was in the doghouse for having done it again – interfered in an interview. It was just when Morven had said that about the birds gathering, twice over, and it fitted so neatly with her own theory, she’d got excited.