by Tana Collins
Carruthers nodded. ‘I agree. We also need to think about where the body was found. Is there any significance? He was murdered at the scene, according to Dr Mackie. What was he doing there? It’s a local beauty spot but hardly local to him. Was Fraser in the habit of taking a stroll there? It’s eight miles from where he lives, not exactly at the end of his street and his car was back at Cellardyke. What, if anything, is his connection with Braidwood? We also need to keep in mind the fact that a bit of cloth was shoved down his throat. Why? Does it have any meaning?’ Carruthers paused, then looking over at Fletcher said, ‘Has there been any joy with the door-to-door?’
She shook her head.
‘I can’t believe there wasn’t a single person who saw anything. It’s a nature reserve, for Christ’s sake. I want Dougie and Gayle to conduct door-to-doors starting at Cellardyke. See if anyone knows the victim. We need to piece together his last few days. Sounds pretty reclusive, but somebody has got to know something. What were his hobbies? Was he much of a drinker? If so, find out which watering hole he drank in, speak to his drinking buddies. I also want a door-to-door done over a wider area around Braidwood. And let’s not forget we still haven’t got to the bottom of why Jordan Hunter called Fraser a paedophile. Is it because the man was looking at his little sister? I also want to find out about Jordan’s dad, Malcolm Hunter. If Fraser has been sniffing round his daughter then he’ll have a motive for wishing the old boy harm. Andie – I want you on that. Who have we got going through Fraser’s paperwork?’
‘Support team’s going through it. Nothing as yet,’ said Fletcher.
Harris leant over to Fletcher and hissed, ‘Desk duties? What have you done to piss off Jimbo?’ He rubbed his hands together, his face wreathed in smiles.
‘Oh, fuck off,’ she growled.
‘OK, well let’s go, people.’ Carruthers clapped his hands together. ‘We have a murderer to catch.’
Back in his office Carruthers picked up the phone to make the long overdue call to his brother. He figured he’d feel better when he heard Alan’s voice. Just as he was punching in the numbers Fletcher walked in.
‘Why have I been side-lined? It’s humiliating,’ she demanded. ‘Even Dougie has noticed. It’s because of what happened yesterday, isn’t it?’
He put the phone down with a sigh. ‘What are you talking about? You haven’t been side-lined. And by the way, have you never heard of knocking?’
‘Why have I been put on office duties when I should be the one to go door-to-door?’
‘I would have thought you would be glad of not having to go door-to-door in this weather with your cold. Anyway, as you know fine well, going door-to-door is a job for a DC not a DS.’
Fletcher snorted. ‘Since when did you ever stick by the rules? Why is she going instead of me?’
‘By “she”, I assume you mean DS Watson. She’s going because I need you here.’
‘You don’t think I’m fit for work, do you?’ Fletcher’s eyes glinted dangerously. ‘And I don’t mean because of my cold.’
‘Oh for God’s sake. If you really want to know, I think you’re a raging torrent of hormones and I—’
Fletcher marched across the room; body-swerved the big desk and slapped Carruthers round the face. The noise of the slap echoed around his office. She then left the room slamming his office door as she went.
Keeping her head down Fletcher stormed to the ladies’ toilet. Grateful it was empty she went to one of the cubicles and pulled handfuls of toilet roll. She found she was shaking. Walking out and looking at herself in the mirror above the basins she dabbed at her stinging eyes and inhaled a few deep breaths. When she felt composed enough she left, got herself a strong mug of tea and sat down at her desk. Her hand stung from where she had slapped Carruthers. She put her head in her hands. She was furious for herself for losing her temper. Just as she was about to pick up the phone, it rang.
Automatically she picked it up. ‘DS Andrea Fletcher,’ she said.
‘Andie, it’s me.’
‘What do you want?’ she hissed at Mark.
‘I thought you might have returned my call last night.’
‘Why would I want to do that?’
She heard an impatient sigh. ‘Don’t be like that.’
‘Like what? Upset my boyfriend walked out on me just after I’ve miscarried?’ She hissed this down the phone, looking around to see if anyone was listening. Harris was on another call and Brown had his head stuck in a file.
‘I’m sorry. Look, is it OK if I come over and pick up some of my stuff later today?’
‘What time?’
‘Sometime after work. I’d really like to see you as well. We need to talk.’
‘Knock yourself out, but I won’t be there. Just be out by eight.’ She hung up. Hearing a noise behind her she swung round to see Carruthers. His right cheek was red from the slap. Fletcher put her head in her hands. ‘Christ, do you usually creep up on people? How much of that did you hear?’
‘Enough. Why didn’t you tell me you were still having problems with him?’
She shrugged. Suddenly she was full of remorse and something else. God, she was not going to cry at the station. She just wasn’t. She felt her lips quivering dangerously so she said through gritted teeth, ‘Look, what happened back in your office … I’m really sorry.’
All the whispering had alerted Harris who having finished his call was watching them intently through narrowed eyes.
‘You can’t go on like this,’ said Carruthers.
‘I know.’
‘What time is he getting his stuff?’ Carruthers looked over at Harris who made no attempt to get on with his work and was just staring at them. ‘Look,’ said Carruthers, ‘it’s too public here. My office.’ Fletcher got up from her desk.
With the door firmly closed behind him he said, ‘What time’s Mark coming round?’
Fletcher sighed. ‘He said after work. Told him to be out by eight.’
‘Damn inconvenient time.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘What are you going to do whilst he’s there?’
‘Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.’
‘Come and have a bite to eat with me. Can’t promise gourmet food but I’m pretty good with pasta.’
Fletcher hesitated.
‘Oh for God’s sake. If it makes you feel any better we can discuss the case.’
She managed a feeble smile. ‘OK, you’ve got yourself a date.’ Suddenly serious she said, ‘Are you going to suspend me?’
Carruthers didn’t hesitate. ‘No, I’m not.’
She let out an audible sigh of relief.
‘However.’ He put his hand up. ‘Have you had any form of counselling since you lost the baby?’
Fletcher shuddered. ‘No, I’d rather poke my eye out with a sharp stick. All that navel gazing. No thank you.’
‘It’s not a request, Andie. I want you to get some help. You slapped me in my own office. Another DI and you could be up on a charge for that. Also, you should know your altercation with Gayle yesterday was seen by Brown, who’s by now probably told the whole station.’
Fletcher swore under her breath.
‘You’re losing control, Andie. I’m going to give you the number of our counselling services and I want you to call them.’
‘And if I don’t?’
Carruthers shrugged. ‘You’ll be off the case and back on sick leave. Your choice.’
Fletcher was silent.
‘Christ, we all need to accept help from time to time,’ he continued.
‘Did you have counselling when your marriage broke down?’
‘No, I didn’t. You know I didn’t, but now I wish I had. I might still be a DCI.’
Fletcher nodded. She thought back to the summer. It already seemed like a lifetime ago but in reality was only a few months. It had been their first real case together. They’d had to enlist the help of the anti-terrorist squad which had brought Carruthers back in
to contact with an old adversary, Alistair McGhee. She’d been worried then that her boss had been drinking too much.
As if echoing her thoughts he said, ‘Apart from hitting McGhee in the station, for which I got suspended, I also had a drink problem that nearly got out of control. Don’t go down the same road.’
‘Is it under control now?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your drinking? Is it under control? It’s just I couldn’t help but notice … Jim, are you back on the booze? I’m not judging or anything … the demotion, your brother …’
Carruthers ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’ll admit there’s been a couple of nights recently where I’ve had more than I should, but it’s under control. Anyway, we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.’ He handed her a little red card. ‘Ring them.’
She popped the card in her shirt pocket. ‘On one condition. Let me go with Dougie.’
‘You’re not in any sort of position to start bargaining, Andie.’
‘I need this, Jim.’
He turned away. Thought about it. Turned back to face her. ‘OK. Just don’t make me regret it.’
She gave him a half smile, turned and walked away. Looked round at the door. ‘You sure you’re OK? It’s just that I’ve smelt whisky on your breath a couple of mornings this week.’
‘I’m fine.’
4
‘OK, let’s start by finding his local,’ said Harris, rubbing his hands together gleefully. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime anyway.’
Fletcher gave him a look that could have withered a plastic plant.
‘What?’ said Harris. ‘I’m starving. I could eat a scabby dug.’
She glanced sideways at him. ‘What if he doesn’t have a local?’
Harris snorted, looked at her as if she’d just added up two and two and made five. ‘Everyone has a local.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘No. We’ll start with some door-to-door. And let’s get a move on.’
It was now just spitting with rain, but the sky was heavy with dark cloud that threatened to bring a further deluge. Fletcher neatly sidestepped the pools of water, which gathered in the car park. Harris, unconcerned just strode straight through them. The spray of dirty water flecked the bottoms of his navy blue trousers.
‘So, what’s the story with Mark?’ asked Harris. She and Harris had interviewed three local residents in Antigua Street and drawn a blank. They were now standing on the doorstep of the fourth. Fletcher rang the bell.
‘Cellardyke is so wee you’d think everyone would ken everyone else but they clearly dinnae,’ Harris grumbled. ‘We could be doing this all fucking day.’
‘Maybe Fraser liked his privacy,’ said Fletcher.’ She stepped up and pressed the bell again.
‘You were going to tell me about Mark?’ said Harris.
‘No, I wasn’t.’
‘I heard you and Carruthers whispering earlier. He’s left you, hasn’t he?’
Fletcher stayed silent. Harris shrugged. She turned her back to him.
A sudden blast of icy wind whipped in and, despite her black coat, Fletcher shivered. As she turned to Harris the front door was opened and a large framed woman, leaning heavily on a walking stick, looked down on them.
The call came in just as Carruthers was leaving the gents’. A uniformed PC approaching his desk caught sight of him in the corridor. Slipped him a piece of paper. ‘That was DS Fletcher on the phone, boss,’ said PC Dix. ‘They’ve just finished interviewing a woman in Cellardyke who knew the deceased.’ Carruthers nodded his thanks. In seconds Watson was at his side.
‘I need to talk to you,’ she said.
He handed her the scrap of paper after reading it.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘He has a son,’ was all she said.
Carruthers nodded. ‘So it would seem.’
‘Well, it’s a start at least. I’ll get the support team to chase it up.’
Carruthers turned to her. ‘How are you getting on?’
‘Just ringing the numbers in his appointment diary.’
‘Anything?’
She shook her head. ‘Barber; GP; bank. Nothing interesting yet. And before you ask, nothing for the day he died. The page has been torn out.’
‘Damn. Well, keep at it. What did you want to talk to me about?’ He led her towards his office.
‘Why did you change your mind and send Andie out today instead of me? Dougie and I, well, we’ve been working well as a team but, now Andie’s back…’
Carruthers ran his hands through his hair, feeling it stubbly. He thought about overweight misogynistic Dougie Harris. Who would have thought he’d get on so well with no-nonsense lesbian, Gayle Watson. He turned to her, ‘You don’t know where you fit in?’
‘Exactly.’
‘There’s room for both of you on this team. Sorry if you felt side-lined. Just try to cut Andie some slack, will you? She’s going through a tough time.’
Fletcher and Harris were sitting by the window in the Ship Inn. Fletcher had her hands cupped round a strong coffee. Harris was slurping a pint of Guinness. He managed to slop some over his black trousers. He pulled a face and stood up. ‘Pint’s aff.’
Fletcher looked up at him quizzically. ‘Can’t be much that’s wrong with it. You’ve had half of it.’
Harris stood up. ‘Willnae be a tick.’ Gave her a wink. ‘Watch and learn.’
Sighing, Fletcher watched the retreating back of her colleague and strained to hear the conversation between him and the disgruntled looking bartender. She glanced outside the window to see the choppy waves slapping against the harbour side. The Ship Inn was right on the corner of Shore Street, overlooking the harbour. Today low cloud and spitting rain obscured the Isle of May that sat six miles off the Anstruther coast. Fletcher had promised herself a visit to the fascinating little island but, as excursions only ran in the summer months, she’d have to wait until the long winter was over first. She’d read that it was an important nature reserve and was longing to visit. She dragged her gaze away from the window back to the pub, noticing how every so often an enormous silhouette of a seagull would cast its shadow over the cosy room and all who were in it. Harris, she noticed, was still arguing with the bartender. She decided to let him get on with it, craning her neck so that she could examine the fading black and white photographs of the ships and rugged looking fishermen that adorned the walls.
‘You’re looking very smug with yourself,’ she said after Harris had ambled back with a full pint. She watched the bartender polish the brass fixtures and fittings. ‘There was nothing wrong with that pint, was there?’
‘Way I look at it, got myself a top-up and dinnae have to pay for it.’
‘Do you always do that?’
‘Do what?’Harris managed to look smug and innocent at the same time.
‘Play the cop card?’
He beamed at her. ‘Only when it works. And the beauty of it is that I dinnae even have to tell them I’m a cop. Do it by pure menace alone.’
‘I’m sure there’s a word for people like you,’ she said looking at Harris critically. With a slow, deliberate movement Fletcher picked up her coffee cup again and inhaled the steaming aroma. It was clearing her sinuses.
‘It’s not a bad cup of coffee for a pub.’ She looked up at Harris, who was drinking his pint with a look akin to ecstasy, almost as if he was having a religious experience. ‘It felt good today, getting a positive lead,’ she said, ‘An estranged son and an ex-wife. As good a place to start as any.’
Harris swallowed two or three mouthfuls of foaming liquid. ‘Aye,’ he said, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. ‘Let’s face it, most families have skeletons in their cupboards. Mebbe we’ve just uncovered two of Fraser’s.’
‘She didn’t say it outright but I got the impression Fraser used to batter his wife. Maybe that’s why she left him. Did you notice how evasive she was when we pushed her on it?’
Harris shrugged. ‘Most folk dinnae li
ke to get involved. Anyway, my maw used to get a battering every now and then. My daw used to say it kept her in order.’
This was the first bit of personal information Harris had offered up since they’d started working together, other than the fact he was married.
‘What did he do for a living. Your dad?’
‘No much. Mostly drinking.’ Fletcher watched Harris staring into his pint. ‘In his spare time he was a bare-knuckle fighter. Made money out of it too.’ He took another slug. ‘Most of it went straight down the pub.’
‘Did he ever hit you?’ she asked.
‘Got belted a few times. Didn’t everyone?’ He stood up. ‘Right, I’m away for a piss and then to check on those pies. I’m dying of hunger here.’
Fletcher couldn’t swear to it but she thought she saw tears clouding Harris’eyes.
Fletcher sat tapping her pen against her teeth back at the station continuing to stare at the slip of paper. Ruiridh Fraser – son, Paul. Born approximately 1965. Current whereabouts unknown. Catching a movement, she looked up to see Superintendent Bingham striding towards her.
‘Where’s DI Carruthers?’
‘Back in his office?’
‘Ask him to see me, will you?’He started to walk away, hesitated, then half turned round. Fletcher wondered why Bingham couldn’t put his head round Jim’s office door. After all Jim’s office was closer to the superintendent’s than theirs.
‘Busy this afternoon, DS Fletcher?’
‘No more than anyone else,’ she answered carefully, thinking there wasn’t much left of it. It had already gone 4pm.
‘I want you to go over to Braidwood. Interview the little girl who discovered the body. I’ve got uniforms already going door-to-door there, but I want someone with specialist training to talk to her. Mother’s worried about the police talking to her again. Says she’s fragile. You’ve done that course on negotiating with children, haven’t you?’
Fletcher’s heart sank. She was doubting anything further could come of a second interview.