He’s reading a poem about Florence, the Ponte Vecchio at twilight, with swallows catching insects in the gathering dusk. He describes their path with his slender fingers and I see, with him, the swallows weaving in the air, sewing the shadows together.
A knock at the door. The burly figure of the headmaster enters, whispers to Kidd, their heads close together. They both turn in my direction. I touch the empty seat beside me and hear the name, Shona McIver. Through the doorway I see the dark shape of a policeman and everything swims in front of me.
Chapter 3
Sarah sat bolt upright in bed. In the half-world between waking and sleeping she was back in her old classroom, every detail in heightened definition. She shivered; she hadn’t thought about that day for years. The school reunion, and seeing Captain Kidd and Tom had triggered the memory. She reached over to Rory’s side of the bed. It was empty. She rolled over, trying to blank the classroom from her mind. Shona had been gone for so long but the memories still came unexpectedly, sometimes like a video from the past, sometimes distorted dreams, but she was always there.
The phone rang. Reaching for it, Sarah saw the morning sunshine through the cracks in the shutters.
‘Hiya!’ It was Patsy’s chirpy voice. ‘How are you? Wasn’t it great last night? Is Rory there?’
‘Hi, Patsy. He’s just popped out. Can I give him a message?’
‘I wanted to tell him the Head Girl is going to be at the school to accept the presentation, and the photographer from the Evening News is coming at 2.30.’
‘I’ll let him know – and we’ll be there. We’re meeting at the front door at two, aren’t we?’
‘That’s right. Don’t be late. See you soon. Take care.’
Sarah rubbed her eyes and went through to the kitchen. Sultan strolled over, his tail erect, and rubbed his sleek black fur on her legs, hungry as always. She fed him, made a coffee and sat down at the long wooden kitchen table, holding the cup in two hands. No word from Rory, not that she was surprised. He would turn up for the presentation at the school because he loved any kind of publicity, but he’d probably arrive at the last minute as usual.
She paced the kitchen, impatient to set off. She’d see Tom again at the school. She thought of his face, so like Shona’s, with light brown eyes and a wide full-lipped mouth. She wanted to see him again, get to know him better, share more memories of Shona. How could she see more of him before he disappeared off to the Outer Hebrides?
She had an idea – Sunday lunch. Her mother and the twins always came and what could be more natural than inviting Rory’s old friend? Pleased to have a plan, she picked up her car keys and looked around for a scrap of paper to leave Rory a note. Gone to the school. Photographer coming at 2.30. Don’t be late.
He’d get a taxi. Rory had never driven since the day he knocked down an old man after a long drinking session in the Buckie Bar. The old guy survived, but was on the critical list for several days. Now it was just another facet of Rory Dunbar’s public persona, always taking taxis. ‘Don’t ask a man to drink and drive’, he loved to say.
*
Tom opened his eyes. A momentary feeling of disorientation. Where was he? He saw the floral wallpaper and counterpane and then remembered – Portobello, the Regent Guest House. He rubbed his eyes. There was the tour of the school today, which really didn’t interest him, but it was a good excuse to see Sarah and Rory again.
He looked at his watch. He’d missed his full Scottish breakfast but wondered if he could at least get a cup of coffee. His must be the only guest house in Scotland without tea-making facilities. The sound of a hoover downstairs told him Mrs Ritchie must be around.
He showered and got some crumpled but clean clothes from his case. The vacuum cleaner stopped, but the sound of the television came from a room at the bottom of the stairs. The door was ajar so he tapped gently. It swung open and he saw Mrs Ritchie, an overall tied round her ample figure, standing in front of the screen.
‘Oh, Mr McIver, it’s yourself. You’ve missed your breakfast.’
‘I’m sorry, late night. Any chance of a cup of coffee?’ Tom attempted a winning smile.
Mrs Ritchie turned back to the television. ‘I’ll just watch the end of my programme and then I’ll see what I can do.’
Tom looked at the screen and recognised Rory’s show. The landlady turned and smiled, her eyes shining. ‘Yon Rory Dunbar, he’s my favourite. I taped it because I was at the bingo last night. Cannae miss his programme. He’s from here, from Porty, you ken.’
Tom nodded. ‘Yes, I was at school with him and, in fact, I saw him last night.’
‘You know Rory Dunbar? Could you no get me his autograph?’ Mrs Ritchie smoothed her pinny. ‘It’s too late for a full fry-up but I can give you a wee cup of coffee and some toast.’
*
Twenty minutes later Sarah parked on the wide street outside the grey stone façade of the Regent Guest House, willing Tom to come out. She was about to knock at the door when it opened and Tom stood there, tall and lean in a navy-blue Helly Hansen jacket.
‘Thanks for coming, Sarah. I’m not exactly sure where the new school is.’
Sarah drove the short distance, chattering about the school, inviting him to Sunday lunch, very aware of Tom’s presence next to her. She knew she was talking too much, but he smiled at her and said he’d be delighted to come to lunch.
As they drove into the car park in front of the modern school building, Patsy came running over. ‘Sarah, thank goodness, you’re here.’ She stopped abruptly and Sarah could see the disappointment on her face when she realised who was in the car. ‘Where’s Rory?’
‘He’s coming here directly. Isn’t he here yet? I just went to pick Tom up because he’s never been to the new school.’
‘The photographer’s going to be here any minute and the Head Girl is waiting.’
Sarah was just about to say something conciliatory when a taxi drew into the car park and Rory leapt out. Patsy rushed towards him. ‘Rory, everything’s ready. So glad you’re here.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Patsy my love. You’ve done such a great job organising all this.’
‘I’ve got an engraved plaque for the machines. ‘Presented to the Senior Common Room on the occasion of the school centenary by the Class of 1977’. Because that’s the year most of us left.’
‘Nice touch, Patsy.’ Rory put his arm round her narrow shoulders and they walked towards the entrance to the school, where a small group of revellers from the night before was gathered.
Sarah walked behind with Tom. Rory hadn’t even acknowledged her presence, but she was used to that. Hearing footsteps behind her, she looked round and saw a crumpled-looking figure in his forties, with a camera round his neck and a cigarette hanging from his mouth, walking across the car park.
Rory’s face broke into a wide grin. ‘Archie, you old reprobate. What are you doing here?’ He punched the reporter on the shoulder. ‘No exciting crimes for you to chase?’
Archie’s drooping eyes glinted. ‘Bit quiet on the murder front today. Saw this request for a story, starring my old mate Dunbar, so thought I’d have a little trip down to Porty and get a bit of sea air.’
‘Which you’re polluting with your smelly fags. Don’t you read the government health warnings?’
‘Nonsense, they’re good for you. Clear the tubes.’
Patsy pushed between them and stood on her tip-toes. ‘Hello, I’m Patricia Mills, I contacted you.’
Archie and Rory exchanged looks over her head. Rory gave a mock bow. ‘Patsy, my apologies. Allow me to introduce the one and only Archie Kilbride, senior reporter at Scotsman Publications. We are honoured indeed.’
Patsy simpered. ‘Thanks for coming, Mr Kilbride. If we just go upstairs to the Senior Common Room, Rory can give the presentation and let you get away.’
The ceremony passed quickly. Rory gave a speech about water being good for the brain and coffee keeping students awake. The Head Gi
rl smiled appreciatively and thanked him on behalf of all the seniors, and Archie Kilbride took a photo with Rory drinking a symbolic plastic cup of water in front of the shining apparatus, his arm loosely round the Head Girl’s shoulders.
Afterwards, while Rory was surrounded by a group of school girls armed with pens and autograph books, Sarah saw Archie draw Patsy to one side; Patsy flushed with pleasure as she chattered to him, turning round and pointing in the direction of the old students.
They were still talking when Captain Kidd hurried up the stairs, followed by his wife Hannah; Patsy indicated him with a nudge of her shoulder and whispered something to Archie, before tottering off to greet her old teacher. Archie looked at Kidd carefully, nodded his head and then ambled over to Rory, who looked up from his autographing session as Archie approached.
‘I’ll be off now, Rory, my old son. But we must have a chat very soon. Come and see me in my office – aka the Cafe Royal – Monday lunchtime?’ Archie raised his eyebrows, looking for assent. Rory nodded, before turning back to the group of excited girls.
Archie took a cigarette out of the packet. ‘Better not hang around here too long or they’ll think I enjoy this kind of work. See you!’ And with a brief wave he shambled towards the stairs, his cigarette hanging out of his mouth and his lighter poised in his hand.
Captain Kidd greeted the group of old pupils. He was wearing the same corduroy jacket as the night before, with a pale blue shirt that picked up the bright blue of his eyes. His hair was still thick and black, shot through with strands of grey and worn a little longer than was normal. Sarah had to admit he was still a most attractive man.
The Head Girl obviously thought so. She beamed in his direction. ‘Mr Kidd, how wonderful that you’ve come. We really miss you at the school. English just isn’t the same without you!’
‘I just had to come and see you – and look around the school with this group of reprobates. They were my first ever class.’
Patsy clapped her hands. ‘Super. Thanks so much, HJ, for coming along.’
‘You’re a very hard lady to refuse, Patricia. Now I’m going to show you the new library and the English block, and then we’ll go down to the old school and relive our misspent youth.’
Sarah followed as HJ Kidd, Patsy and Rory led the group along the shiny new corridors, smelling of plaster and cleaning fluid, past classrooms where teachers gave demonstration lessons. Sarah brought up the rear with Tom, not talking but conscious of his every movement next to her.
After about twenty minutes, HJ suggested walking down to the old school. Sarah had walked past the building several times, but had never been inside since she left it so many years before. She felt a shiver, and looking at Tom, noticed his jaw clenching.
In through the heavy wooden doors. The dark wood and uneven maroon tiles of the entrance hall. The double stairs leading up to the first floor. The smell of history, dust and decay. HJ was talking about how much he loved the old building, but his voice seemed to recede into the distance as Sarah was swept back forty years.
He opened the door of room 23, his old classroom, like something out of the nineteenth century, with fixed desks stepped up to the back of the classroom. Smelling the familiar mix of wood and polish, chalk and dust, Sarah was transported back to the day Shona disappeared, seeing the young Captain Kidd caught in the sunlight shining through the high ecclesiastical windows. The walls began to blur and sway.
She would have fallen if Tom hadn’t caught her, and she allowed herself to be led outside. She sat on the sea wall, gulping in the salty air. HJ Kidd stood over her, his face full of concern. ‘Sarah, my apologies, that was thoughtless of me. I’m sorry. Please come and have a cup of tea at my house – it’s just five minutes away. Tom and Rory, please come too.’
The rest of the group started to melt away, muttering farewells, but Patsy hovered anxiously. When HJ grasped her hand and asked her if she’d like to come too, she bobbed up and down with relieved excitement.
Hannah appeared at HJ’s side and the small group walked slowly along the prom towards his imposing grey-stone house on the edge of Abercorn Park. As they walked up the short garden path, the heavy smell of the old rose bushes triggered something in Sarah’s memory. The wide front door with the brass step leading into the mosaic lobby, the inner door with the stained-glass window – it all seemed so familiar. Had she been there before, or to another similar house?
A memory floated in her mind, like a half-remembered dream. Then it came to her: the After School Writing Club. Captain Kidd had organised this for pupils in the junior classes interested in creative writing. Lots of the girls in her class had gone along, because it was given by their handsome young teacher. And sometimes they’d come to his house. She’d been here before.
As they went into the large drawing room on the left, the feeling of familiarity intensified; she recognised the large piano, the Chinese silk carpet, occasional tables and chairs with antique bowed legs.
HJ moved to the mahogany inlaid drinks cabinet. ‘Brandy, Sarah?’ She shook her head, but he poured a glass anyway. Patsy held out her hand too. ‘Tom, Rory, would you rather have whisky? I’m having one.’ They nodded and he poured out generous measures as Hannah appeared at his elbow with ice and a small crystal glass jug of water on a silver tray.
‘I hope you’re feeling better now, Sarah? Tom? I can understand that the visit to the school brought back unsettling memories for both of you.’ He raised his glass. ‘In memory of Shona. A delightful girl, whose life full of promise was cut tragically short.’
Everyone raised their glasses, but the toast was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Glancing out of the bay window, Sarah was surprised to see the journalist from the school, still with his camera slung round his neck. Captain Kidd went into the hall and, after a whispered conversation, ushered him in.
HJ Kidd looked pale. He looked around the room and said, ‘This journalist has got something rather shocking he wants to tell us. I think we should hear him out as it concerns all of us.’
All eyes were on Archie, who cleared his throat noisily. ‘I’m sorry to burst in on your gathering like this, but seeing you all together seemed so incredibly opportune I just had to seize the chance. I’ve got something I think you all should hear.’ Sarah sensed a warning in his voice. ‘This isn’t common knowledge yet, but it’s going to break soon and I think it’s better you hear it from me, rather than reading it in the newspaper.’ The room was silent as all eyes were fixed on the journalist.
‘Logan Baird is going to be released from Carstairs in the next few days.’
There was a collective intake of breath. Sarah felt numb with shock. Logan Baird, the monster who’d killed Shona, was going to be set free? HJ Kidd was the first to find his voice. ‘But we were told that he’d never be released. He’s criminally insane.’
Archie shook his head, ‘There’s no doubt that he’s completely loony tunes. He’s one of the longest-serving prisoners in Scotland and most people think he should stay locked up until he rots.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But new information has come to light which makes his original conviction unsafe. He’s always insisted he wasn’t responsible for Shona’s death, but nobody was interested in his case until some holy Joe started visiting him and persuaded the police to review his case.’
Nobody spoke, everyone’s attention fixed on Archie. Sarah realised she was holding her breath, afraid of what was coming next. ‘I’ve been tipped off by a mate in the SCCRC that they’ve uncovered evidence which proves beyond doubt that Baird couldn’t possibly be the killer.’
There was a stunned silence, until it was broken by Patsy’s shrill voice. ‘The SCCRC? What’s that?’
‘The Scottish Criminal Cases Review Commission. They look at cold cases where a miscarriage of justice is suspected. Apparently Baird’s lawyers are going to appeal against the sentence, based on their findings. The Appeal Court won’t sit until next year but they’re going for interim liberation, pending
the appeal.’
Sarah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The one comfort they’d all had was that Shona’s killer had been found quickly and imprisoned for life. ‘But he confessed.’
‘He did, but that was after eleven hours of questioning, and he withdrew his confession afterwards. I’d never put this in print, but to me it seems obvious that he was fitted up by the police. They had to find a suspect – the case involved the rape and murder of a teenage girl, the press was baying for an arrest – so they picked up the local weirdo and leant on him until he’d say anything to get out.’
‘But they had other evidence as well,’ Kidd’s face had gone from pale to flushed.
‘Apparently that’s what it all hinges on. His blood group matched semen found on the cardigan,’ the journalist paused as Sarah sat down heavily on the Chesterfield and buried her face in her hands. She remembered that pink cardigan so well; she could see it flapping as Shona ran away. She heard Archie’s voice as if in the distance. ‘But, to put it briefly, modern DNA techniques have shown that it couldn’t possibly be his.’
Sarah looked over towards Tom. He hadn’t said a word since Archie came in. He was staring at Archie as the journalist continued. ‘This is going to be a big story: Scotland’s longest-serving prisoner to be released. The police are trying to bury it – it doesn’t exactly show them in a good light at a time when confidence in the force is at an all-time low – but there will have to be a statement when Baird is released and I’m going to be ready with my story then. I’ll be able to do an insight piece, maybe even a book. And I was hoping I might be able to get some input from you, people who knew Shona.’
‘So you thought you’d come sneaking in here to get our stories? Well, you’ll get nothing from me.’ Tom stepped forward, his eyes blazing with fury.
Sewing the Shadows Together Page 3