Care to Die

by Tana Collins

  Care To Die

  Tana Collins

  Copyright © 2017 Tana Collins

  The right of Tana Collins to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by herin accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2017 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  Contents

  Also by Tana Collins

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  A Note from Bloodhound Books:

  Acknowledgements For Care To Die

  Also by Tana Collins

  Inspector Jim Carruthers Series

  * * *

  Robbing The Dead ( Book 1)

  Mark of The Devil ( Book 3)

  Dark Is The Day ( Book 4)

  This novel is dedicated to my wonderful mother and to Agnes and Miller Brown.

  Prologue

  The old man lies on his back, head turned towards her. His left arm thrown out in front of him, right leg bent beneath him. A pool of something dark stains the snow. But it’s his eyes that frighten her most. Wide open and terrified. She takes off a red mitten. Tentatively touches his hand with her bare skin. It feels as cold as ice. Now she knows she is staring death in the face. And not just death. Something worse.

  The wind picks up; a sudden rushing noise. The tops of the trees sway. Scrambling to her feet she screams – a loud lingering scream that pierces the stillness of the woods. Then she turns and runs. Icy air hits the back of her throat. Her mouth feels dry. Sheer terror makes her heart hammer in her chest.

  She tears through the silent woods. Adrenaline carrying her forward. Ghostly branches whip her face, ice from an elder tree cascades down her back. Her foot catches on something. She is propelled forward, her face slamming into the frozen earth. She feels the skin on her chin graze. She smells decaying leaves and earth. Her leg hurts where she has hit it against a tree stump. Whimpering she scrambles to her feet and runs.

  Her bare hand is cold. The taste of blood in her mouth where she’s bitten her tongue. It’s only now she realises she’s left the mitten behind.

  Breathless, she stops and squeezes herself through a gap in the old stone wall beside the Pink Building. She feels the heat from the run in her cheeks. The strap of the rucksack she carries over one shoulder catches on the jagged wall and with a huge effort she finally shrugs it loose.

  Her cry comes out in ragged sobs. The breath visible in the freezing air. Nearly out of the woods. Almost safe. Safe from whatever evil lurks in the forest. She still sees him. Bloodied, mutilated. Lying on the ground. Unmoving. Unimaginable horror etched in his dead eyes. She will never go back and play in the woods again. Never.

  Beyond the Pink Building her house is now in sight and she limps and cries towards what she knows will be the protective arms of her mother.

  1

  The hard ground crunched under foot and the air is so cold that DI Jim Carruthers felt it hit his throat, then lungs. He saw a knot of people up ahead and recognised Dr Mackie, the pathologist. As he put on his latex gloves Carruthers looked around him cataloguing the details. The corpse was lying on its back under an ancient oak. The whole front of the chest was a mass of dried blackish blood. The left arm was stretched out at a right angle to the body, hand clenched. The victim’s right hand was lying across his chest. Carruthers’ eyes narrowed as he observed the darkened ground where the man had bled out.

  The scene of crime officers had already taped off the area. Carruthers started to stoop to duck under the red tape but Mackie stopped him.

  ‘You’ll have to stay behind the tape. Liu hasn’t finished photographing the body yet. He’s just away for a piss,’ said Mackie. Carruthers craned his neck to look at the corpse better and took in the mop of thick white hair, the whiskery chin that ended a long angular face, which was already starting to mottle. He turned to Mackie. ‘What can you tell me?’

  ‘We’ll know more with the PM, laddie. All I can tell you at the moment is that he sustained a stab wound to the chest, which could be the cause of death. Certainly deep enough.’ Dr Mackie shifted his weight from one knee to the other. It was accompanied by a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. ‘In terms of a weapon you’ll be looking for a knife, kitchen or hunting, with a serrated edge. You’ll notice how the wound’s jagged.’

  Carruthers tried to peer at it from behind the tape. ‘Just one puncture wound?’

  ‘Aye, and done with some force, I’d say.’

  DS Andie Fletcher sneezed and tucked a tendril of dark hair behind her right ear. She was standing just outside the taped-up area. ‘Unlikely to be suicide then. And no weapon’s been found, Jim.’ Her breath was coming out in gasps and a gravelly voice hinted at a head cold. She was blowing on her hands and stamping her feet. ‘Christ, it’s parky.’ She dived in to the deep pocket of the coat she was wearing and put on her own latex gloves.

  A white flash startled Carruthers. ‘It’s January in Scotland. What do you expect?’ Both he and Fletcher looked up as the clipped voice of Liu announced the return to the locus of the police photographer.

  With difficulty Dr Mackie got up from the kneeling position and put his hand up to stop Carruthers from asking his next question. He placed his hands on the small of his back and straightened up.

  ‘Not as young as I used to be. My knees are the problem. Well, that and the hips.’

  ‘What do they say? Old age doesn’t come by itself. How long dead?’ said Carruthers.

  ‘Wouldn’t say that long. Rough estimate between twelve and twenty-four hours. Any longer and the body would start to freeze.’

  Carruthers could well believe that. Despite it being only January it had already been one of the coldest winters on record in Fife.

  ‘We need the PM to be definite,’ continued Mackie who was peering at the corpse. ‘There’s already been some evidence of animal activity. Possibly foxes. Poor buggers. They’ll be hungry.’ He licked his lips. ‘Reminds me we’ve got a nice bit of roast beef for supper tonight.’

  Carruthers shuddered. He observed Liu taking a series of photographs of the body from different angles, the constant flashing like strobe lighting. The watery sun was low in the sky and cast long dark shadows across the wood.

  ‘Your nose been in a fight with a cheese grater?’ asked Liu of Fletcher. ‘You look awful.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’ She blew her nose furiously.

  ‘He’s right,’ said Carruthers.

  ‘You’re all heart,’ she said.

  Carruthers turned to Dr Mackie. ‘Was he killed here?’

  ‘Every indication. There’s a fair amount of blood.’

  Fletcher angled her head to the side so she too could get a better look. ‘Appears to be in his late seventies.’

  ‘Any ID?’ asked Carruthers.
>
  ‘This’ll be what you’re looking for,’ said a young female officer. ‘The SOCOs have already bagged his effects.’ She gave a package to Fletcher who opened it and examined the contents before placing them back in the bag and throwing the bag over to Carruthers, who caught it deftly.

  ‘Wallet. Found in his back pocket. His RBS card says Ruiridh Fraser,’ said the officer.

  ‘And you are?’ asked Carruthers, appreciatively noting her natural white blond hair and fair looks. He wondered if she was of Scandinavian descent. More than likely if she came from the far north of Scotland. Her Shetland accent hadn’t escaped him.

  ‘PC Hutchison, sir. First on the scene.’

  Carruthers arched an eyebrow at her. ‘Don’t suppose we’ve got an address for him?’

  ‘We do, as it happens. Two Bridge Street, Cellardyke. Handy letter with him about overdue library books.’

  Carruthers looked over at the young officer, noting her wide eyes and earnest expression. He wondered if this was her first dead body.

  ‘Who found him?’ asked Fletcher.

  ‘Twelve-year-old girl, out playing, ma’am. Being interviewed at the moment. She’s in a bit of a state. Wouldn’t come back out to the woods to show us where she found it. But we’ve found this. Think it’s hers.’ She pointed to a child’s red mitten.

  ‘She being interviewed at home, then?’said Carruthers. ‘I take it she’s local?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Ten minutes’ walk from here.’

  ‘Unlike Ruiridh Fraser, if that’s who our body is. Cellardyke?’ said Carruthers, turning the package over. ‘That’s eight miles away. I wonder what he was doing here? There’s no sign of a car so how did he get here?’

  ‘Bus or a lift?’ said Fletcher.

  ‘Braidwood is part of a nature reserve so maybe he was out for a walk,’ said Mackie.

  ‘I thought this land was owned by the University of East of Scotland?’ said Carruthers.

  ‘It is. Well, the university owns the buildings, the meadow and the woods but there’s always been public access.’ Mackie gestured around him to the great sweep of land beyond the wood upon which stood several huge Victorian institutional stone buildings. ‘This is one of the places I go walking.’

  Carruthers knew Mackie enjoyed his exercise. He turned over the plastic-bagged library letter and looked at the address again. Since moving back to Scotland he had been living in Anstruther, a fishing village on the east coast of Fife, a stone’s throw from Cellardyke. They were practically neighbours. He took another long hard look at the man’s lined face, noting the white beard and still thick mass of wiry white hair.

  ‘Anything else on him?’

  ‘Twenty-five pounds, couple of bank cards, library card for Cellardyke library, organ donor card, and, like I said, a letter about overdue books,’ said PC Hutchison, tucking a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear.

  ‘We can rule out robbery then,’ said Fletcher. ‘Unless they were after his library books. Did you find a mobile or set of house keys?’

  ‘No,’ said Hutchison.

  ‘Pity.’ Carruthers scratched his eyebrow.

  ‘There’s something you’ll want to see in the wallet. Inside left,’ said the blonde officer.

  Carruthers flipped open the wallet. There was a passport-sized photograph of a child. The photo was old, the child blond.

  Carruthers studied it then closed the wallet and dropped it in to the plastic bag along with all the other effects.

  ‘We almost done here, laddie?’ Mackie asked Liu.

  ‘I’m finished.’ Liu slung his camera over his shoulder. ‘Got everything I need.’

  ‘Right, let’s get the body back to the mortuary,’ said Dr Mackie.

  Fletcher sneezed again.

  Carruthers handed her a tissue. ‘Look, I wouldn’t normally say this, but if you’re feeling really bad get yourself home. That’s an order.’

  ‘OK, I will do, but only after I visit Bridge Street. Find out if there’s a Mrs Fraser.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to it? Could give someone else the job.’

  ‘I need to do this. It’ll keep me sane.’ Fletcher’s face was set like granite. Carruthers knew when she got into this kind of mood, there was no point in arguing with her, even for her own good. It wasn’t just Fletcher’s cold that was bothering him. Four months ago she’d lost the baby she’d been carrying and was still finding it hard to settle back in to work.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Well, take DS Watson with you, will you?’

  Fletcher nodded. ‘I’ll organise for a couple of uniforms to go door-to-door around Braidwood too.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll accompany Dr Mackie back to the mortuary. Keep me posted.’

  Fletcher parked her car in one of the two public car parks overlooking Anstruther harbour. As she opened her car door an icy gust coming straight off the cold North Sea wrenched it from her hand. A blast of freezing air hit her full in the face and she gasped. Getting out of the car with difficulty, she managed to finally shut the door on the second attempt. She turned up the collar of her coat. She knew she was just going through the motions at work. She felt dead inside. Had done ever since she’d lost the baby and Mark had left her.

  From there she set off on foot for Cellardyke. It was a five-minute walk from the harbour to Bridge Street. It hadn’t been hard to find. She knocked on the door of number two. There was no answer. She knocked again. Still silence. She took a couple of paces back, stepping into the road, craning her neck so she could see the upstairs windows. Bridge Street was a typical quaint Cellardyke street, narrow pavement, squashed together tall stone buildings. She took a throat sweet from her pocket, unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth. Placed the wrapper into her coat pocket.

  The front door of a house two doors along opened and a middle-aged woman came out. She was muffled up against the cold.

  ‘Havenae seen him for a couple of days. You’re after Mr Fraser?’

  Fletcher nodded.‘That’s right. Who are you?’

  ‘Mrs Walker.’

  Fletcher showed her warrant card.

  The woman studied it. ‘Cannae be too careful.’ She sniffed. ‘Is this to do with the break-in? You’re a bit late. Happened last week. Didnae think he was going to report it.’

  ‘Break-in? When?’

  ‘Last Friday, I think.’

  ‘Much taken?’

  ‘I dinnae ken. He wouldnae tell me. Told me to mind my own business.’ She sniffed again.

  ‘Is there a Mrs Fraser?’

  ‘No. Lives alone.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘Thursday, I think. He’s alright, Mr Fraser, isn’t he? I mean, nothing’s happened to him?’

  ‘So, no children then?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a key to the house, would you?’

  ‘I asked for one in case of emergencies, but he said there wasnae any need. Probably thought I’d be having a good poke about.’

  You probably would, thought Fletcher.

  ‘What can you tell me about him?’

  ‘No’ much. Keeps himself to himself. Doesnae have many visitors.’

  ‘Do you know how long he’s been here in Cellardyke or what he used to do for a living?’ said Fletcher.

  ‘No, like I said, he isnae much of one for talking. And I’ve only been here five years.’

  Fletcher nodded, imagining that this could be the type of place that you would have to be living at least twenty years before you were accepted as a member of the tight-knit community. She made a mental note to ask Jim about that.

  Fletcher fished her black spiral notebook out of her pocket. ‘Can you give me a description of him?’

  ‘Now you have got me worried. He’s awful crabbit but I wouldnae like to think of anything bad happening to him. He is alright, isn’t he?’

  ‘
Just routine enquiries.’ Fletcher sneezed again and fished out a tissue. Her cold was starting to get the better of her. She felt as if she was wearing a snorkel.

  ‘This isnae much of a job for you, love. Do you no’ fancy getting married and settling down?’

  Fletcher stiffened. ‘You can be both married and in the police, Mrs Walker.’

  ‘Any kids?’

  She didn’t like the way the conversation was going and decided to head it off at the pass. Said through gritted teeth. ‘You were going to give me a description?’ She crunched rather than sucked her throat sweet.

  Fletcher listened politely as Fraser’s neighbour described the dead man. Thanking her she then bid a hasty goodbye. She knocked on the door of number one and a few other houses but there was no response. She returned to her car, sat behind the wheel with the engine off and allowed herself a little cry. Sleet was starting to lash the windscreen and the visibility across the harbour was poor. She could just make out the boats bobbing up and down. Told herself she was emotional because she was feeling lousy due to the cold but knew that wasn’t the real reason. She looked at her watch. There were a couple more jobs to do, including giving Carruthers a ring, then she could get back home, go to bed with some pills and block out reality for a few hours.

  ‘This is interesting,’ said Mackie.

  Carruthers peered over Dr Mackie’s shoulder. ‘What is?’

  ‘Tweezers please, Jodie.’

  Dr Mackie’s assistant handed over the tweezers without making eye contact with Carruthers. There was no reason why she should, but he had noticed that she hadn’t looked at him at all since he had arrived. Carruthers didn’t blame her. Months ago he’d told her he’d call with the promise of a drink and hadn’t. Life had got in the way and, if he was being honest, he had been holding out for his wife to take him back. That hadn’t happened.