by Owen Mullen
History wasn’t his subject though he was familiar enough with Lanark to know it had been a market town since medieval times. Unfortunately for the local traders, impressive though that boast was, it counted for nothing in the 21st century and the High Street was faring no better than most.
This wasn’t his first visit. Once, when he was a child, an uncle brought him to the cattle auction. He remembered sitting beside him while, in the ring, monsters with huge heads pawed the ground, snorting steam, saliva foaming at the corners of their mouths as farmers in overalls and tweed jackets appraised the beasts with critical eyes and listened stone-faced to the auctioneer rattling through the bidding.
On another day the memory would’ve been a thing to savour. Today his need for answers sucked the pleasure from it.
Now, apparently in this part of the world, selling houses was the business to be in. He came across three estate agents on the High Street. Cunningham and McClure wasn’t one of them and Gavin Darroch had a terrible thought. What if they weren’t in business anymore? At the bottom, in Wellgate, their office was sandwiched between an Italian restaurant and a dry cleaner promising twenty-four hour turnaround. The agent’s windows were filled with properties, mostly flats and bungalows to buy or let. No sign of the house in the Lowther Hills.
A woman in her late-thirties looked up when he went inside. Across the room, a male colleague was talking on the telephone, the top button of his blue shirt open and his tie loosened. He saw him, turned away and lowered his voice. Confidentiality, it seemed, was valued. The woman smiled and spoke. ‘Good morning. How can I help you?’
‘Are you the agent who deals with the Lowther Hills?’
‘No, that’s Megan.’
She pointed to a desk, neat and tidy apart from sunglasses on top of a pile of folders. ‘She’s late. Won’t be here ’til eleven. One of her kids is sick.’
‘But she’s definitely coming in?’
‘Yes. You can wait if you like.’
It was a nice offer; he turned it down. ‘No, I’ll come back.’
‘It wasn’t something I could help with, was it?’
‘I don’t think so, but thanks anyway.’
He called Geddes and heard his message go straight to voice mail and for the next forty-five minutes walked around the town centre, up one side of the High Street and down the other: four circuits and still had time to kill. What he’d learned was almost beyond belief. Too shocking to take in.
Where Wellgate met High Street, he stopped and called Andrew again. The detective’s phone stayed switched off and Gavin had to stop himself from throwing the mobile away in frustration.
He settled for cursing Geddes out loud. ‘Answer for fuck’s sake!’
He loitered anxiously outside the old tollbooth near the provost’s lamp, turning over what he’d learned so far, unable to completely believe it. When the clock on St Nicholas church above a statue of William Wallace struck eleven, he raced round the corner to Cunningham and McClure.
As soon as he went in he realised Megan hadn’t arrived yet; her chair was still empty. The woman he’d spoken to earlier was about to launch into an apology when the door opened behind him and a petite blonde burst in looking flushed and flustered.
‘God what a morning, you wouldn’t believe it. Sorry I’m late. Jake was sick all over the bed. Twice.’
Her colleague’s brow furrowed with concern. ‘Are you sure you should be here? How is the poor wee soul?’
‘Seems okay now. Can’t always tell with children.’
Her colleague pointed to their visitor. ‘This gentleman’s been waiting. He wants to speak to you.’
Megan moved past the window and shrugged off her jacket. ‘Let me get myself settled. Have a seat, Mr…’
‘Darroch. Gavin Darroch.’
‘Have a seat Mr Darroch. Can I get you a coffee, I’m having one.’
The hospitality annoyed him. He struggled to keep irritation out of his voice and just about managed it. ‘I won’t, thanks. It’ll only take a minute.’
‘Then the coffee can wait.’
‘I’ve just come from a property in the Lowther Hills with your sign outside it. The windows are boarded and the roof’s caved-in. Do you know the one I mean?’
She screwed up her face. ‘Yes, for my sins. The Baxter house. The original owner emigrated to Australia – or maybe it was Canada. He died, I understand. It belongs to his nephew. Spoke to him on the phone once. He lives in Antigua. Never even seen the property. Couldn’t care less about it. Over the years, as no doubt you noticed, it’s fallen deeper and deeper into disrepair. Are you interested in it? Do you want to put in an offer?’ She got up. ‘I’ll find the schedule. Pretty certain he’d accept just about anything to get shot of it.’
‘No, please, I don’t want to buy it. I wanted to know if you’d had any interest in it, any interest at all.’
She pursed her lips, considering how to answer the question, caught the tension in him and became defensive. ‘Why’re you asking? Why do you want to know?’
The truth would take too much time to tell and, if he was right, there was no time. Gavin looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. ‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that at the moment but I will say this: either you tell me or you tell the police. Sorry to be so dramatic. It’s very important.’
‘I’ve already spoken to the police about this. They showed me a picture of a man and asked if I’d ever seen him.’
‘And had you?’
‘No. Never.’
The turn the conversation had taken rattled him. He recovered and deliberately misled her. ‘Some new information has come to light. So, are you saying there hasn’t been any interest?’
She hesitated. ‘As a matter of fact there was.’
‘When?’
‘I had a viewing with a man but it was months ago. I’d have to look it up.’
‘Do you remember his name?’
‘Not off the top of my head. Took him round a few places. The Baxter house was the only one he got out the car for. Wasted an afternoon on him.’
‘He didn’t buy?’
She almost laughed. ‘Would you?’
‘What did he say?’
The estate agent shook her head, searching for the words. ‘He didn’t talk much. Shouldn’t really tell you this. I didn’t like him.’
‘Why?’
‘There was something…odd. Hard to describe. He was remote. Aloof.’
‘Would you recognise him again?’
‘Maybe.’
He took the print-off out of his pocket and placed it on the desk. ‘Is he in this picture?’
Megan’s eyes wandered over the Christmas party revelers. ‘Yes.’
This harassed mother held the final piece of evidence. From here on there could be no going back. He needed her to be absolutely certain.
‘Which one? Which one is he?’
Her finger stabbed the paper. ‘The man at the very back.’
* * *
He ran, half-staggering, his skin clammy and his chest so tight he might have been on the edge of a heart-attack. People who saw him assumed he was drunk and got out of his way. Later, he’d have no memory of getting to the car. Outside Morrisons, his fingers wouldn’t work and he fumbled for his keys. Driving was out of the question; he wasn’t fit. He waited until his pulse returned to normal before turning on the engine, at a loss what to do or where to go. It was bizarre. Twisted beyond anything he could’ve imagined.
He knew. He didn’t understand, but he knew.
The stranger with a grudge didn’t exist. Had never existed.
No matter how far-fetched it sounded, it was true. Derek Crawford had had his own wife abducted and used a disgraced former employee to do it.
Had he promised him money? Or was it the threat of going to prison that swayed it? Either way, from the beginning, Melia’s fate was never in doubt. Mackenzie could identify her captor and Gavin was certain the stranger who was his brother-in
-law wasn’t the kind of man to leave a witness to his twisted plan, or open himself to blackmail.
Silencing him was inevitable.
But why? What could Derek possibly hope to gain?
The estate agent had unwittingly found the right location for him. The derelict Baxter house couldn’t have been more ideal. After that, it was simply a case of fitting-out the basement and setting the plan in motion. Melia had played his part well, making his unwelcoming presence obvious, creating the illusion of a stalker. Mackenzie’s erratic drink-fuelled behaviour at Adele’s birthday party and her lie about a lover couldn’t have served Derek better. Far from humiliating him, it convinced the family he was the victim.
But again, why? Why would he do that to her?
The chase from Glasgow was a sham, orchestrated to lure Gavin to the house in the Lowther Hills to witness the fight to the death: Melia’s death. Crawford must have been sitting in his car somewhere, calling the shots. Toying with him. Getting him in position to be able to testify to his innocence.
The perfect murder. The perfect plan.
Could he actually put his wife through that kind of hell to keep her? Could anyone?
Gavin banged his fist on the steering-wheel. It was too much to take in. Every possible answer threw up more questions. He couldn’t make sense of it by himself and called Andrew Geddes again. Still no reply. This time he left a message.
‘Get to Derek Crawford’s house as quick as you can. It’s him.’
He broke the speed-limit and raced to Wellgate, fighting down panic – past the statue of William Wallace and on towards the motorway, with only one thought in his mind. Right now, why didn’t matter anymore.
Derek Crawford was a madman. He had to get Mackenzie away from him.
* * *
On the drive to Glasgow, he tried to put the pieces together. The nearer he got to the city the more he realised he was out of his depth. None of it added up. He overtook a long line of cars, one after another, and glanced at his silent mobile on the passenger seat. Where the hell was Geddes?
Heavy traffic on the Kingston Bridge slowed his progress. He thought about his sister and his wife. Adele and Monica had never understood Mackenzie’s unhappiness. Married to a man who gave her everything, who adored her, what more did she want? To them, Derek was a loving husband who worshipped his wife. Impossible to believe he was anything else. And they hadn’t. Only Blair had realised something more fundamental was wrong. Blair, whose own relationship was in pieces.
In Whitecraigs, the silver Audi – Derek’s pride and joy – was outside, and Gavin’s hope Mrs Hawthorne would be with his sister died. Derek opened the door before he reached it.
He smiled a thin smile. ‘What brings you here in the middle of the day? Monica thrown you out, has she?’
Gavin faked a smile of his own. ‘Not yet, thank God. Finished early. She suggested Mackenzie might like to spend a couple of hours with Alice. Do her good. Give you a break as well.’
Derek was convincing, his disappointment came across as genuine. ‘Should’ve called to let me know you were coming. Mackenzie’s asleep. Better if I don’t wake her.’
‘Didn’t Monica ring you? She was supposed to. I’ll wait ’til she wakes up. See if the idea appeals. You could go out if you wanted.’
They were still at the door. Derek hadn’t moved to let him go in. ‘That’s all right, I’m good. She didn’t have a great night. Doubt she’ll be up to it.’
Gavin stepped past him and Derek followed. ‘Worth a try. Besides, I’m here now.’
The lounge was showroom-tidy apart from his sister sleeping in an armchair. Her eyes fluttered open. ‘Gavin.’ She reached up and kissed him.
He felt Derek’s presence behind him. ‘Monica had a notion you might like to see Alice. Getting to be a big girl. Only right she knows who her Aunt Mackenzie is.’
Mackenzie fussed. ‘I’m a sight. Look at me. I’d have to get ready.’ Her eyes went to her husband for approval. ‘Should I make an effort and go? Haven’t seen Alice in ages. She’ll be wondering if she even has an auntie.’
‘Don’t think it’s a great idea. You know how tired you get.’
‘As soon as she starts flagging I’ll whisk her back.’
Mackenzie was unaware of the danger she was in. She answered brightly. ‘But I’m feeling fine. Babies cheer you up.’
Derek’s voice took on a firmer tone. ‘You’re better off here.’
Gavin stepped between them. ‘’Fraid I’m going to have to play the big brother card. My little sister could do with some colour in her cheeks.’ He spoke without taking his eyes off Derek Crawford. ‘You’re fine as you are, let’s go.’
There was something Mackenzie didn’t understand. She forced herself between them. ‘What’s happening? Will somebody tell me what’s going on?’
Her brother answered. ‘Just get in the car.’
‘She’s going nowhere.’
‘Yeah, she is, Derek. She’s going with me.’
Derek lost it. ‘She’s my wife, Darroch! She’s staying with me!’
Mackenzie started to cry. ‘What’s wrong! Tell me what’s wrong!’
Gavin didn’t see the punch coming. It caught him on the chin; his head rocked back. Derek lunged at him and pinned him against the wall. Gavin shouted ‘Get to the fucking car! Go! Now!’ Crawford’s hands closed round his throat. He dragged them away. ‘It was him, Mackenzie!’
‘What?’
‘The stalker, the house. All of it.’
Her husband spoke quietly. ‘Don’t listen to this lunatic. I’ll deal with him. He’s had a few too many or something. Go upstairs and don’t worry. Doctor Chilolo said you mustn’t get stressed.’
She wasn’t listening to him. ‘What are you talking about, Gavin? It was revenge. The police said it was revenge.’
‘It wasn’t. They were in it together.’
Mackenzie’s arms dropped to her side. The horrific realisation of what her brother was saying dawned. ‘He kept the balaclava on. He kept it on because it was you. You were there.’
Crawford dropped the pretence and turned on her. “’Til death us do part”. Remember? I wasn’t going to let you leave me. No fucking chance. Not then. Not ever.’
Shock drained the little colour she had. ‘You did that? You did that to me?’
‘He was never meant to hurt you. You know I could never hurt you. Melia was only supposed to scare you. That’s what I told him.’
‘Why? Why, Derek?’
‘You’d forgotten how much you need me. I had to make you remember.’
She didn’t hear. ‘That awful house…the rats…him.’
‘I can explain. Just come with me. Come with me now. We’ll go away. It’ll be all right. I’ll make it all right.’
Gavin shouted. ‘Mackenzie! Don’t listen to him! He’s insane!’
Crawford’s free hand stretched towards her; she backed away and fell to her knees.
‘I was chained. Chained! Do you understand what he did to me?’ She screamed. ‘Do you!’
Gavin Darroch punched Crawford on the side of the head. The bigger man staggered back and stumbled, regained his balance and ran to the door. Gavin rushed to his sister and helped her to her feet. ‘Stay here. Stay here. The police are coming. I’m going after him.’
The Audi reversed into the street and shot away in a crazy zigzag just as Andrew Geddes pulled up and jumped out. ‘What the hell’s going on? Crawford almost ran me off the road.’
Gavin answered angrily. ‘Took your fucking time, didn’t you?’ He started the engine. ‘Get in or we’ll lose him.’
The back door opened and Mackenzie scrambled inside.
‘I asked you to stay. He’s dangerous.’
The look she gave him told her brother he was wasting his time.
* * *
They were on the motorway, racing towards the city.
Crawford’s silver Audi was in the outside lane, its lights flashing to intimidate
the drivers in its path. Some moved aside to let it pass, others stubbornly held their ground, stopping its progress, among them a black Transit van which refused to go faster or give way. At times, their bumpers were no more than inches apart. Forced to accept it wasn’t on, the Audi cut in front of a bus. The driver braked hard and it edged into the gap. Seconds later it was on the move again, crowding out a beat-up Ford. Gavin kept his eyes on the road and told Geddes what he’d found out in the Welcome service station at Abington, confirmed by the estate agent in Lanark.
Geddes listened in silence, recalling a lecture he’d attended as a young detective: The Killer Within. One afternoon at Tulliallan Police College near Kincardine, he’d learned that given the right conditions, we were all capable of brutality beyond imagining. Everyone had a trigger. In a Polish town in 1940, a Nazi uniform had turned the village postman into an executioner. Innocent men, women and children died, their bodies buried in a ditch they’d been forced to dig themselves.
With Melia, an abandoned house and the role of abductor unleashed his monster. Why was chillingly obvious: because they could.
Geddes had been repulsed by the bitter truth then and was repulsed now.
Gavin weaved between cars, somehow managing to stay in touch with the faster Audi. On a clear road it would be a different story. Thanks to the traffic he had him in his sights.
But unless he drove as crazily as Crawford, he’d lose him. That knowledge spurred him on. One foot pressed the accelerator into the floor while the other tapped the brakes in time to avoid hitting the car in front. Gavin changed down to fourth, determined to find something extra under the hood and heard the engine complain. The driver waved an angry fist at him.
In the passenger seat, Andrew braced himself against the dashboard with his outstretched arm; they swerved round a Honda Civic, missing it by inches.
‘Fuck’s sake. You’re going to kill us!’
That wasn’t Gavin Darroch’s plan. He gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles threatened to break the skin as the outside world raced by. Geddes spoke urgently into his personal radio. He covered it with his hand and shouted across the car, his voice hoarse with tension.