The Distant Echo

by Val McDermid

  "Pretty isn't what castles are for," Weird said, joining them. "They're supposed to be a refuge and a strength."

  "So utilitarian," Alex complained, jumping off into the sand. The others followed him, scuffing through the flotsam along the high-water mark.

  Halfway along the beach, Weird spoke as seriously as any of them had ever heard. "I've got something to tell you," he said.

  Alex turned to face him, walking backward. The others turned in to look at Weird. "That sounds ominous," Mondo said.

  "I know you're not going to like it, but I hope you can respect it."

  Alex could see the wariness in Ziggy's eyes. But he didn't think his friend had anything to worry about. Whatever Weird was about to tell them came out of selfabsorption, not the need to expose another. "Come on then, Weird. Let's hear it," Alex said, trying to sound encouraging.

  Weird dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I've become a Christian," he said gruffly. Alex stared open-mouthed. He thought he might have been marginally less surprised if Weird had announced he'd killed Rosie Duff.

  Ziggy roared with laughter. "Jesus, Weird, I thought it was going to be some terrible revelation. A Christian?"

  Weird's jaw took on a stubborn cast. "It was a revelation. And I've accepted Jesus into my life as my savior. And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mock."

  Ziggy was doubled up with mirth, clutching his stomach. "This is the funniest thing I've heard in years… Oh God, I think I'm going to piss myself." He leaned against Mondo, who was grinning from ear to ear.

  "And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't take the Lord's name in vain," Weird said.

  Ziggy erupted in fresh snorts of laughter. "Oh my. What is it they say? There is more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents? I tell you, they'll be dancing in the streets of paradise, snagging a sinner like you."

  Weird looked offended. "I'm not trying to deny I've done bad things in the past. But that's behind me now. I'm born again, and that means the slate is wiped clean."

  "That must have been some blackboard duster. When did this happen?" Mondo said.

  "I went to the Watch Night service on Christmas Eve," Weird said. "And something just clicked. I realized I wanted to be washed in the blood of the lamb. I wanted to be cleansed."

  "Wild," Mondo said.

  "You never said anything on Hogmanay," Alex said.

  "I wanted you to be sober when I told you. It's a big step, giving your life to Christ."

  "I'm sorry," Ziggy said, composing himself. "But you're the last person on the planet I expected to say those words."

  "I know," Weird said. "But I mean them."

  "We'll still be your pals," Ziggy said, trying to keep the smirk off his lips.

  "Just so long as you don't try and convert us," Mondo said. "I mean, I love you like a brother, Weird, but not enough to give up sex and drink."

  "That's not what loving Jesus is about, Mondo."

  "Come on," Ziggy interrupted. "I'm freezing, standing here. Let's go up to the lookout." He set off, Mondo at his side. Alex fell into step beside Weird. He felt curiously sorry for his friend. It must have been terrible to have experienced a sense of isolation so profound that he'd had to turn to the happy clappies for solace. I should have been there for him,Alex thought with a twinge of guilt. Maybe it wasn't too late.

  "It must have felt pretty strange," he said. Weird shook his head. "Just the opposite. I felt at peace. Like I'd finally stopped being a square peg in a round hole and I'd found the place I belonged all along. I can't describe it any better than that. I only went to the service to keep my mum company. And I was sitting there in Abbot-shall Kirk, the candles flickering all around like they do at the Watch Night service. And Ruby Christie was singing "Silent Night" solo, unaccompanied. And all the hairs on my body stood on end and suddenly it all made sense. I understood that God gave his only son for the sins of the world. And that meant me. It meant I could be redeemed."

  "Big stuff." Alex was embarrassed by this emotional candour. For all their years of friendship, he'd never had a conversation like this with Weird. Weird, of all people, whose only tenet of faith had apparently been to consume as many mind-altering substances as he could reasonably ingest before he died. "So what did you do?" He had a sudden vision of Weird running down to the front of the church and demanding he be forgiven his sins. That would be truly mortifying, he thought. The kind of thing that would bring you out in a cold sweat to remember once you'd come out of the other side of the God-bothering phase and resumed normal life.

  "Nothing. I sat through the service and went home. I thought it was just a one-off, some kind of bizarre mystical experience. Maybe to do with all the stuff that Rosie's death churned up. Maybe even some kind of acid flashback. But when I woke up in the morning, I felt the same. So I looked in the paper to see who had a Christmas Day service and I ended up at an evangelical gig down the Links."

  Uh-oh. "I bet you had the place to yourself on Christmas morning."

  Weird laughed. "Are you kidding? The place was full to the doors. It was brilliant. The music was great, the people treated me like we'd been friends for years. And after the service, I went and spoke to the minister." Weird bowed his head. "It was a pretty emotional encounter. Anyway, the upshot is he baptised me last week. And he's given me the name of a sister congregation in St. Andrews." He gave Alex a beatific smile. "That's why I needed to tell you guys today. Because I'll be going to church just after we get back to Fife Park tomorrow."

  * * *

  The first opportunity the others had to discuss Weird's dama-scene conversion was the following evening after he'd packed his electric acoustic guitar into its case and set off to walk across town to the evangelical service down near the harbor. They sat in the kitchen and watched him stride off into the night. "Well, that's the end of the band," Mondo said decisively. "I'm not playing fucking spirituals and 'Jesus Loves Me' for anybody."

  "Elvis has now left the building," Ziggy said. "I tell you, he's lost any connection to reality he ever had."

  "He means it, guys." Alex said.

  "You think that makes it better? We're in for a rough ride, boys," Ziggy said. "He'll be bringing the beardie weirdies back here. They'll be determined to save us whether we want to be saved or not. Losing the band is going to be the least of our worries. No more, 'All for one and one for all.' "

  "I feel bad about this," Alex said.

  "Why?" Mondo said. "You didn't drag him off and make him listen to Ruby Christie."

  "He wouldn't have gone off like this if he hadn't been feeling really shit. I know he seemed to be the most cool of all of us about Rosie's murder, but I think deep down it must have affected him. And we were all so wrapped up in our own reactions, we didn't pick up on it."

  "Maybe there's more to it than that," Mondo said.

  "How do you mean?" Ziggy asked.

  Mondo scuffed the toes of his boots against the floor. "Come on, guys. We don't know what the fuck Weird was doing running around in that Land Rover the night Rosie died. We've only got his word for it that he never saw her."

  Alex felt the ground shift beneath his feet. Ever since he'd hinted at suspicion with Ziggy, Alex had forced himself to suppress such treacherous thoughts. But now Mondo had given fresh shape to the unthinkable. "That's a terrible thing to say," Alex said.

  "I bet you've thought it, though," Mondo said defiantly.

  "You can't think Weird would rape somebody, never mind kill them," Alex protested.

  "He was off his face that night. You can't say what he could or couldn't do when he's in that state," Mondo said.

  "Enough." Ziggy's voice cut through the atmosphere of mistrust and discomfort like a blade. "You start that and where do you stop? I was out there too that night. Alex actually invited Rosie to the party. And come to that, you took a hell of a long time taking that lassie back to Guardbridge. What kept you, Mondo?" He glared at his friend. "Is that the kind of shit you want to hear, Mondo?"

&nb
sp; "I never said anything about you two. There's no call for you to have a go at me."

  "But it's all right for you to have a go at Weird when he's not here to defend himself? Some friend you are."

  "Aye well, now he's got a friend in Jesus," Mondo sneered. "Which, when you think about it, is a pretty extreme reaction. Looks like guilt to me."

  "Stop it," Alex shouted. "Listen to yourselves. There's going to be plenty of other people ready to spread the poison without us turning on each other. We need to stick together or we're sunk."

  "Alex is right," Ziggy said wearily. "No more accusing each other, OK? Maclennan's just dying to drive a wedge between us. He doesn't care who he gets for this murder as long as he gets somebody. We need to make sure it's not one of us. Mondo, you keep your poisonous notions to yourself in future." Ziggy got to his feet. "I'm going down to the late shop to buy some milk and bread so we can all have a cup of coffee before those hairy-arsed Tories get back and clutter the place up with their English accents."

  "I'll come down with you. I need to get some fags," Alex said.

  When they returned half an hour later, the world had turned upside down. The police were back in force, and their two fellow residents were on the doorstep with their luggage, their faces a study in disbelief. "Evening, Harry. Evening, Eddie," Ziggy said affably, peering over their shoulders into the hallway where Mondo was being sulky with a WPC. "Just as well I bought the two pints."

  "What the hell is going on here?" Henry Cavendish demanded. "Don't tell me that cretin Mackie's been done for drugs."

  "Nothing so prosaic," Ziggy said. "I don't suppose the murder made the Tatleror HorseandHounds."

  Cavendish groaned. "Oh for God's sake, don't be so pathetic. I thought you'd grown out of the working-class hero rubbish."

  "Watch your mouth, we've got a Christian among us now."

  "What are you talking about? Murder? Christians?" Edward Greenhalgh said. "Weird's got God," Alex said succinctly. "Not your High Church Anglican sort, but the tambourines and praise the Lord sort. He'll be holding prayer meetings in the kitchen." Alex believed there was no greater sport than baiting those who believed in their privilege. And St. Andrews offered plenty of opportunity for that.

  "What has that to do with the fact that the house is full of policemen?" Cavendish asked.

  "I think you'll find the one in the hall is a woman," Ziggy said. "Unless of course Fife Police have started recruiting particularly attractive transvestites."

  Cavendish ground his teeth. He hated the way the Laddies fi' Kirkcaldy persisted in treating him like a caricature. It was the main reason why he spent so little time in the house. "Why the police?" he said.

  Ziggy smiled sweetly at Cavendish. "The police are here because we're murder suspects."

  "What he means to say," Alex added hastily, "is that we're witnesses. One of the barmaids from the Lammas Bar was murdered just before Christmas. And we happened to find the body."

  "That's appalling," Cavendish said. "I had no idea. Her poor family. Pretty grim for you too."

  "It wasn't a lot of fun," Alex said.

  Cavendish peered into the house again, looking discomfited. "Look, this is a bad time for you. It's probably easier all round if we find somewhere else to stay for now. Come on, Ed. We can crash with Tony and Simon tonight. We'll see if we can get transferred to another residence in the morning." He turned away, then looked back, frowning. "Where's my Land Rover?"

  "Ah," Ziggy said. "It's a bit complicated. See, we borrowed it and…"

  "You borrowed it?" Cavendish sounded outraged.

  "I'm sorry. But the weather was terrible. We didn't think you'd mind."

  "So where is it now?"

  Ziggy looked embarrassed. "You'll need to ask the police about that. The night we borrowed it, that was the night of the murder."

  Cavendish's sympathy had evaporated now. "I don't believe you people," he snarled. "My Land Rover is part of a murder investigation?"

  "Afraid so. Sorry about that."

  Cavendish looked furious. "You'll be hearing from me about this."

  Alex and Ziggy watched in grim silence as the other two staggered back down the path with their suitcases. Before they could say more, they had to step aside to let the police leave. There were four uniformed officers and a couple of men in plain clothes. They ignored Alex and Ziggy and headed for their cars.

  "What was all that about?" Alex asked as they finally made it indoors.

  Mondo shrugged. "They didn't say. They were taking paint samples from the walls and the ceilings and the woodwork," he said. "I overheard one of them say something about a cardigan, but they didn't seem to be looking at our clothes. They poked around everywhere, asked if we'd decorated recently."

  Ziggy snorted with laughter. "As if that's going to happen. And they wonder why they get called plods."

  "I don't like the sound of this," Alex said. "I thought they'd given up on us. But here they are again, turning the place upside down. They must have some new evidence."

  "Well, whatever it is, it's nothing for us to worry about," Ziggy said.

  "If you say so," Mondo said sarcastically. "Me, I'll stick with worrying for now. Like Alex says, they've left us alone, but now they're back. I don't think that's something we can just shrug off."

  "Mondo, we're innocent, remember? That means we've nothing to worry about."

  "Yeah, right. So what's with Henry and Eddie?" Mondo asked.

  "They don't want to live with mad axe-murderers," Ziggy said over his shoulder as he went through to the kitchen.

  Alex followed. "I wish you hadn't said that," he said.

  "What? Mad axe-murderers?" "No. I wish you hadn't told Harry and Eddie we're murder suspects."

  Ziggy shrugged. "It was a joke. Harry's more interested in his precious Land Rover than in anything we might have done. Except that it gives him the excuse he's always wanted to move out of here. Besides, you're the one who benefits. With an extra couple of rooms, you're not going to have to share with Weird anymore."

  Alex reached for the kettle. "All the same, I wish you hadn't planted the seed. I've got a horrible feeling we're all going to catch the harvest."

  12

  Alex's prediction came true a lot sooner than he'd expected. A couple of days later, walking down North Street toward the History of Art Department, he saw Henry Cavendish and a bunch of his cronies approaching, swaggering along in their red flannel gowns as if they owned the place. He saw Henry nudge one of them and say something. As they came face to face, Alex found himself surrounded by young men in the standard uniform of tweed jackets and twill trousers, their faces leering at him.

  "I'm surprised you've got the nerve to show your face round here, Gilbey," Cavendish sneered.

  "I think I've got more right to walk these streets than you and your pals," Alex said mildly. "This is my country, not yours."

  "Some country, where people get to steal cars with impunity. I can't believe you lot aren't up in court for what you did," Cavendish said. "If you used my Land Rover to cover up a murder, you'll have more than the police to worry about."

  Alex tried to push past, but he was hemmed in on all sides, jostled by their elbows and hands. "Fuck off, will you, Henry? We had nothing to do with Rosie Duff's murder. We're the ones who went for help. We're the ones who tried to keep her alive."

  "And the police believe that, do they?" Cavendish said. "They must be more stupid than I thought." A fist flashed out and caught Alex hard under the ribs. "Steal my wheels, would you?"

  "I didn't know you could do thinking," Alex gasped, unable to keep himself from goading his tormentor.

  "It's a disgrace that you're still a member of this university," another shouted, prodding Alex in the chest with a bony finger. "At the very least, you're a shitty little thief."

  "God, just listen to yourselves. You sound like a bad comedy sketch." Alex said, suddenly angry. He lowered his head and thrust forward, his body remembering countless rucks on
the rugby field. "Now, get out of my road," he yelled. Panting, he emerged on the far side of the group and turned back, his lip curled in a sneer. "I've got a lecture to go to."

  Taken aback by his outburst, they let him go. As he stalked off, Cavendish called after him, "I'd have thought you'd have been going to the funeral, not a lecture. Isn't that what murderers are supposed to do?"

  Alex turned around. "What?"

  "Didn't they tell you? They're burying Rosie Duff today."

  Alex stormed up the street, shaking with anger. He'd been scared, he had to admit. For a moment there, he'd been scared. He couldn't believe Cavendish had taunted him about Rosie's funeral. Nor could he credit the fact that nobody had told them it was today. Not that he would have wanted to go. But it would have been nice to have been warned.

  He wondered how the others were faring and wished yet again that Ziggy had kept his smart mouth shut.

  * * *

  Ziggy walked in to an anatomy class and was immediately greeted with cries of, "Here comes the body snatcher."

  He threw his hands up, acknowledging the good-natured ribbing from his fellow medics. If anybody was going to find the black humor in Rosie's death, it would be them. "What's wrong with the cadavers they give us to practice on?" one shouted across the room.

  "Too old and ugly for Ziggy," came the reply from another. "He had to go out and get some quality meat for himself."