What They Knew

by Marion Todd

  Chris sat forward. ‘You’re saying that John Mason admitted responsibility for Sam’s death, egged on by Alison Reid, Ingrid McKinnie and Ruth Williams? And that, after Sam had tumbled down the bank, they left him so they wouldn’t get into trouble?’

  Sandra nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice husky. ‘They left my little brother to drown while they put cheese on their pizzas.’ She reached across the desk and took a tissue from a box, blowing her nose. Then she said, ‘I think they thought Sam would come back up himself and they were going to say he was lying about being on the swing. But he never came…’

  The room was silent for a moment then Sandra cleared her throat. ‘I can still hear my mother screaming.’

  There was a pause then Chris said, ‘Dr Holt, did you kill John Mason, Alison Reid, Ingrid McKinnie and Ruth Williams because they were responsible for your brother’s death?’

  Sandra looked at Chris for a few seconds then she looked away and shrugged. ‘No comment.’

  * * *

  If she was tired before she watched the interview, Clare felt utterly wrung out after it. She congratulated Chris and Janey on a job well done and went back to her office stifling a yawn. She looked without enthusiasm at her computer and decided there was nothing that couldn’t wait. She had a couple of things to do in town before she could go home so she shut the computer down and turned out the light. She emerged from her office and found Jim in his usual place at the front desk. ‘Think I’ll head off, Jim.’

  ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘You do look weary, Clare, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  She nodded. ‘I am a bit. But I’ll see you tonight, yeah?’

  His face creased. ‘You’re not thinking of coming to the party, are you? You’re bound to be tired after your dip in the Tay.’

  ‘Tired I certainly am, but I wouldn’t miss that party for the world, Jim.’

  He smiled. ‘You’re fond of the lad, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am. He’s a lazy bugger at times but he and Sara are perfect for each other. And I want to see her face tonight.’

  ‘Aye. It’ll be a good night.’

  She headed out to her car, stopping only to put her work bag into the boot. Then she turned and began walking along Pipeland Road towards the town. The sun had melted the frost and there was a hint of warmth in its rays. As she walked along she spotted clumps of snowdrops poking through the frozen earth and the pale yellow of a winter jasmine bursting with delicate blooms. Perhaps spring wasn’t quite on its way but today it seemed a little bit closer.

  South Street was bustling, as it always was on a Saturday, its broad south pavement outside the Madras College building dotted with buskers and red-gowned students, back now from their Christmas break. She made her way over one of the many zebra crossings, so numerous in the town that they drove motorists mad, and she found the shop she wanted. It was a furniture shop she knew Sara loved.

  But it’s always so expensive, Sara had said. Clare thought a voucher for the shop would be the perfect engagement gift and she paid for her purchase, tucking it into her handbag.

  Her next call was two doors down, a shop she’d not visited before. The door dinged as she pushed it open and she was faced with a sea of baby clothes in pink, blue and every other colour imaginable. To the side were shelves of baby memento books, board books for toddlers, toys, rattles and a selection of Beatrix Potter baby dishes. It was a dazzling array and she scarcely knew where to start.

  An assistant approached and asked if she could help.

  ‘I’d like a gift for a baby girl,’ Clare said.

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Very new.’

  The assistant smiled. ‘Sometimes the parents are overwhelmed with gifts in the new-born size. I’d suggest maybe a summer frock, say six to nine months?’

  That sounded sensible and the assistant helped Clare pick out a dress in a tiny print with smocking across the front.

  ‘We have little socks to match,’ the assistant said and these were duly added to Clare’s order.

  She was just paying for her purchases which the assistant had offered to gift wrap when her phone sounded. A text message. Her heart sank. Surely not something else? She was longing to go home and put her feet up for an hour or two; but she couldn’t risk anything going wrong at this stage. As the assistant tied ribbon round the parcel, Clare took her phone out and opened the message. It was from someone called Greta. Clare couldn’t think who Greta was and she clicked to read it.

  Don’t forget your appointment with Greta this afternoon at two o’clock.

  McArthur’s Salon, South Street

  ‘Shit!’ Clare said and the assistant looked up in alarm. ‘Oh, sorry. Just realised I’ve forgotten an appointment.’ She checked her watch. Ten to two. She would just make it.

  Ten minutes later she was sitting in a comfortable black chair at McArthur’s Salon being scrutinised by Greta.

  ‘Been a while, then,’ Greta commented, lifting hanks of Clare’s hair and examining it.

  ‘Yeah. Work, you know?’

  Greta let Clare’s hair fall and studied her in the mirror. ‘What you thinking?’

  Clare spread her hands. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’

  ‘Okay. I think you need some layers to give it a better shape and definitely a colour to lift it. It’ll give it some body. But we’d need to do a patch test first so I couldn’t do a full colour today. You going anywhere special tonight?’

  ‘Engagement party.’

  ‘Yours?’

  For a split second Clare thought of Geoffrey, then she put him out of her mind. ‘No. Just some friends.’

  ‘Tell you what, then,’ Greta said. ‘I’ll put a natural colour through it for today – it’ll wash out though. And I’ll do a little patch test. If you react okay to that you could make another appointment for next week and I’ll do a proper colour then.’

  Clare smiled. ‘Sounds great.’

  Two hours later, Clare emerged from McArthur’s, feeling her new haircut swishing round her face. She had to admit Zoe had been right to recommend Greta. The new layers were flattering and she loved the warmer brown tone from the temporary colour. She had an appointment for Thursday after work to have a proper colour done and, for the first time since she’d called Geoff to end their relationship, she was starting to feel positive. She walked quickly, heading down Queens Terrace and took the footbridge across the Kinness Burn. She was soon back at the car and on her way to Daisy Cottage. The sun had set now but it didn’t look as if it was going to freeze tonight.

  As she drove home she wondered about Sandra Holt. It was quite a coincidence, her being around when John Mason had run out of petrol, just outside the hospital where Sandra worked. How on earth had she engineered that?

  And then she gave herself a shake. ‘You’re losing your touch, Clare,’ she said. Of course he hadn’t run out of petrol and of course she hadn’t met him in Cupar. She’d made the whole thing up so she could explain John turning up on her doorstep. And poor John Mason, seeing a message from her asking him to call round, had walked right into an ambush.

  Clare turned the car into her drive and jumped out, leaving the baby gift on the passenger seat to take with her later.

  Indoors she dropped her handbag at the door and went through to the sitting room. She lit the lamps then lay down on the sofa and was asleep within minutes.

  Chapter 58

  In the end she arrived at the party after Sara.

  She had wakened, to her horror, at ten to six and realised she’d missed lunch. She quickly put a cottage pie in the microwave to heat and went for a shower, feeling the grit from the river still on the tray. She stood half out of the stream of water, guarding her new hairdo, then turned the shower off and stepped out and towelled herself dry.

  In the bedroom she hunted through her wardrobe to find something suitable for a ceilidh. It was still January so it might be cold but then she’d be hot if she was up dancing. She found a dogtooth checked dress and
elected for flat-soled boots.

  ‘Not that I feel much like dancing,’ she said to herself.

  The aroma of the pie drifted upstairs and she ran back down to spoon it onto a plate. She ate quickly and loaded the dishwasher then ran back upstairs again to apply some make-up, admiring her new haircut as she did so. She really did like it. There was no sign of Moira dropping Benjy off and she sent a quick text to say she would be out for the evening but to feel free to leave Benjy in the cottage. Moira replied immediately saying they were just back from Elie, that Benjy had been swimming in the sea and was now fast asleep in front of their fire. She offered to keep him until morning and Clare sent back a heartfelt thank-you. The next morning, of course, would be dog training, a thought that filled her with dread. But that was tomorrow’s problem. She ran back downstairs and, picking up her handbag from where she’d dropped it at the door, she went out into the night to celebrate Chris and Sara’s engagement.

  The Kenlybank Hotel was an impressive building, one Clare had always admired, and it looked particularly handsome at night with lights burning in the front windows. She crunched up the drive slowly, following the signs to the car park behind the building. Then she walked back round to the front entrance and in through the revolving door.

  She stopped at reception and was delighted to see Pawel Nowicki back in his usual place behind the desk. He had dark circles beneath his eyes but otherwise he was unchanged, in his usual dark grey suit, tie knotted neatly at the neck. His face broke into a smile when he saw Clare.

  ‘Inspector, how lovely. You are here for the party?’

  Clare smiled back. ‘I am, Pawel, but first, may I congratulate you? I gather you have a little girl.’

  Pawel beamed and he reached for his phone. ‘Paulina,’ he said, holding the phone out for Clare to flick through the photos. She gazed at the tiny baby, dark eyes staring back at the camera. In some photos Pawel was holding her close as she nuzzled into his neck and in others a small dark-haired woman held the bundle. ‘She is perfect, Inspector. I know everyone says that about their baby but she really is.’

  Clare handed the phone back and pushed her gift across the desk. ‘Just something small to welcome her to the world.’

  Pawel looked as if he might cry and Clare wondered if that was what parenthood did to you. She seemed to recall her sister, Jude, and husband Frank, being misty-eyed over their toddler James on many an occasion.

  ‘You are so kind, Inspector. Thank you so much.’

  Clare smiled again. ‘Give her a kiss from me.’ And she headed for the function room Chris had indicated on their last visit.

  Sara was already inside, full of excitement at the surprise party. Clare stopped to take her in. She was utterly beautiful, in a red velvet dress, a tiny string of pearls round her neck.

  ‘Boss! You knew about this?’

  Clare shrugged. ‘I admit nothing.’ And she took Sara in her arms and gave her a hug. Then she fished in her handbag and took out the voucher. ‘Have fun with this,’ she said, and it was Sara’s turn to look as if she might cry.

  ‘No crying!’ Clare ordered her young PC. ‘This is a happy day.’

  Sara laughed and dragged Clare off to meet her parents. And then she saw Chris, a sturdy figure in a dark green and blue kilt and a black Prince Charlie jacket. She had to admit he wore it well and the waistband didn’t look too tight, either. He turned, saw her and came striding over, one of the laces on his kilt shoes unravelling.

  ‘Your lace is out,’ she told him.

  ‘Can’t get the damn things to stay in. But I’ve brought a pair of trainers – for the dancing, later.’

  ‘Good plan.’ She looked round at the party which was buzzing. Zoe was across the room, chatting to a group of officers, and Clare gave them a wave. The band was setting up on a dais at the end of the room and there were circular tables dotted round the edge with guests sitting behind them. ‘So you pulled it off then? Was she pleased?’

  ‘Absolutely gobsmacked, Clare. So surprised and…’ he turned to look at Sara who was greeting a clutch of perma-tanned girlfriends, ‘… she’s so happy.’

  Clare slapped him on the back. ‘Well done you. Now go and greet your guests.’

  Chris indicated a table in the corner. ‘Jim and Mary are over there. And Diane arrived a minute ago.’

  She smiled. ‘Thanks, Chris.’ She made her way across to where Jim was sitting with his invalid wife Mary. She was in her wheelchair but she looked happy to be there and greeted Clare warmly, admiring her new haircut. Diane was sitting next to Jim and she opened her mouth to speak to Clare when the band announced that the first dance would be a Gay Gordons.

  Clare went to the bar and ordered a round of drinks. The barman produced a tray and she carried them back to the table, dodging the dancers as she went.

  ‘I hear you had a bit of excitement,’ Diane shouted over the band and Clare tried her best to explain what had happened at Tayport Harbour.

  The dance came to an end and Clare moved her chair round so she had a view of the floor. The Gay Gordons was succeeded by a Virginia Reel, then another dance Clare wasn’t familiar with. And then the band announced a waltz and the dancers began drifting back to their tables for a well-earned rest.

  As the lilting music filled the room the door opened again. Clare glanced absently to see who had come in then her mouth dried. DCI Alastair Gibson was walking uncertainly up the room towards their table. He too was wearing a kilt, a brightly coloured tartan of red, green and yellow with a dark blue open-necked shirt and dark kilt socks. If Chris wore his kilt well, Clare had to admit the DCI wore his extremely well. He cut a handsome figure as he moved through the dancers, his kilt swinging gently as he walked. As he approached their table she caught a glimpse of his chest hair, nestling under the shirt. He looked a little uneasy and Jim rose to greet him, introducing him to Mary. He made polite noises and smiled at Diane.

  And then he turned to Clare. With a nod to the band he said, ‘May I have this dance?’

  Clare rose from her seat and took his hand. He led her onto the dance floor and put an arm round her back, offering his hand for hers. She put her other hand on his shoulder and he pulled her in towards him. She could smell his cologne, so familiar now, and she became suddenly aware of her own heartbeat. He led off and they began to dance.

  For a minute he said nothing. And then they both spoke awkwardly together.

  ‘Sorry, Al,’ Clare said. ‘I interrupted.’

  ‘Nice hair,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks. Time I had a change.’

  They fell silent again then he said, ‘I was going to say I’m so glad to see you, Clare. You gave us such a fright yesterday.’

  She smiled. ‘Gave myself a fright, to be honest, Al. But it turned out okay in the end.’

  He shook his head. ‘Will you never stop doing these things?’

  She laughed. ‘Probably not.’ Then she said, ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  This seemed to disarm him and he moved awkwardly, stepping on her foot. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘do you desperately want to waltz?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Then come with me.’ Still holding her hand, he led her through the dancers and out of the function room into the reception area. ‘Drink?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve a drink back in the room.’

  ‘Forget it. I’ll get you another.’

  ‘Erm, lime and soda please.’

  He shook his head ‘Clare, you can get a taxi home tonight. Let’s have a proper drink.’

  ‘You’re not driving back?’

  He shook his head. ‘Thought I’d treat myself. Booked a room for tonight.’

  ‘Lucky you. Go on, then. I’ll have a gin and tonic.’

  Clare sat down at one of the tables to await the drinks. A few minutes later he returned with two tall glasses, damp with condensation, bobbing with ice and lemon. He placed these down on the table and sat opposite. Then he said, ‘I wasn’t really invited here to
night.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Young Chris,’ he said. ‘After you were taken away in the ambulance he phoned me. Told me what had happened. I said I’d come up straight away but he said to leave it until you were home. And then he told me something that gave me a little bit of hope.’

  Clare watched him, waiting to hear what he was going to say, a lump forming in her throat. She picked up her drink and sipped at it, enjoying the coolness in her mouth.

  ‘He told me you had ended your relationship with Geoffrey. And that, as far as he could tell, you weren’t seeing anyone else.’ He took Clare’s hand in both of his and began gently stroking her fingers. She looked down and watched this, enjoying the sensation. She hadn’t noticed his hands before. They were long, tanned, possibly from his skiing trip, and she decided she liked them. Her own fingers seemed pale and slender by comparison.

  ‘And that gave me hope,’ he was saying. ‘Hope that perhaps…’

  ‘Al,’ she said, cutting across him. ‘I have to say this. I… can’t forget how I treated you. That time in the hospital – when they said I could go home and you and Geoff turned up together. I can’t forget that I chose him over you. I don’t deserve…’ She broke off, not knowing what else to say.

  He smiled. ‘That’s what’s so lovely about you, Clare. You always think of others. Of course you would choose Geoffrey. He’d just flown three thousand miles to be with you. And you were in a kind of relationship with him. It would have been unkind to have sent him away.’ He stopped feeling her fingers and gripped her hand more tightly. ‘And you couldn’t be unkind, Clare. You simply don’t have it in you.’

  She raised her eyes to meet his. ‘Al…’