by Tana Collins
An elderly silver haired lady stood up. ‘I would like to know how many mature trees the developers propose to axe to make way for this development. I have a serious worry about increased flood risk. My home got flooded three years ago. We’re on Allen Street.’
A young harassed woman stood up to speak. ‘I have a three-year-old daughter and I would like to ask about schools. The schools in this area are at maximum capacity already. Will a new school be built?’
Fletcher listened to Buchanan carefully as he answered the questions. She realised that he was skilled in the art of evasion. He should have been a politician, she thought. But she also realised that members of the public weren’t buying his claims. There was, however, one older, attractive, well-dressed lady sitting in the front row with her legs crossed. Every so often Buchanan would catch her eye and smile at her. Was he flirting? She must be a good twenty years older than him. Fletcher glanced over at her. She was sitting coyly, eyes batting madly at him, seemingly hanging on his every word.
The public were starting to get angry at his evasive answers. The obvious tension in the air had started to give way to a low murmuring. Mutterings were growing louder and jeering was growing in its intensity. One man in particular was causing a disturbance in this way.
‘If you carry on like this, I shall have you ejected,’ said the Chair. ‘The public want to hear Edward.’
A man stood up with such force his chair would have gone flying had it not been boxed in by other seats. ‘I’ve heard more than enough. This man is nothing but a liar.’ He started to shout. ‘If the council let this development go ahead it will be a travesty.’ He pushed past his fellow neighbours and left the room to thunderous applause.
For the next ten minutes Fletcher watched as Buchanan navigated his way through some stormy community waters. He sounded smooth and confident, but there was evidence of a nervous twitch in his perspiring face, the only outward signs that the man was under any pressure. Clearly he was a man of immense wealth and power. Fletcher wondered just how many toes he’d stepped upon to get in to his position. And how ruthless he could be, if pushed.
The dark-haired spokeswoman of the Friends of Braidwood resumed speaking, directing her next comment to Edward. ‘We would like to know of any private meetings between yourselves and the council, and between the developers and the university. We will be putting in a freedom of information request. We’ve also noticed that since the university sold the land they’ve become members of the consortium. It’ll be interesting to know how big their financial kick-back will be.’
‘I’m afraid that we don’t have the council here to comment,’ said the chair, ‘but I would like to ask Edward to briefly discuss the style of new build. Is it in keeping with the conservation area?’
Finally, the meeting drew to a close. Members of the public filed out, many still muttering. Fletcher approached the chair.
‘Well, that went better than expected,’ she beamed. Fletcher wondered if the woman had attended the same meeting as her.
‘Tell me, who is that rather attractive lady with the silver hair sitting at the front?’ Fletcher realised, as she was speaking, that the lady in question had made a beeline for the developer and that they were locked in deep conversation.
‘Oh, that’s the chair of Fife Heritage.’
That would be a good person to get on side, thought Fletcher, watching Buchanan in particular. He had his hand on the lady’s shoulder and was leaning in towards her. She was laughing girlishly.
‘They look as if they know each other quite well,’ said Fletcher.
‘Oh indeed they do. Edward became a trustee on the board of Fife Heritage about a year ago.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, he’s also a member of the Scottish Wildlife Trust. I don’t think he’s a trustee, though. It’s wonderful isn’t it? I do think he’s much maligned, you know. He really does have a genuine interest in both nature and conservation.’
My arse he does, thought Fletcher. He didn’t even know that scrub was a valid habitat. ‘I would have thought it would be deemed a conflict of interest for a property developer to become a trustee on a heritage board?’
Fletcher never got an answer as the chair was already speaking to someone else behind her, who was asking about wheelchair access.
She left the building wondering exactly when Edward Buchanan had become a member of the Scottish Wildlife Trust and a trustee on the board of Fife Heritage. Call her cynical but she strongly suspected it might have been around the time that he’d first started showing an interest in the acquisition of Braidwood Nature Reserve.
Carruthers watched Fletcher as she left the classics and crime novels in the bookshelf to take a wander over to his CD collection. She took a sip of the glass of mineral water she’d been handed. ‘You’ve got a very eclectic taste in music, Jim. Did anyone ever tell you that?’ Selecting a CD by Neil Young she turned it over to look at the back before replacing it next to one by Iron Maiden. ‘By the way, when did you start drinking sparkling water? Somehow I don’t think having bottles of sparkling water in your home goes with the image of you as an Iron Maiden fan.’
He laughed. ‘I got it for visitors, then started drinking it myself. I found I liked the taste. Come on. Take a seat. Supper’s nearly ready.’
‘This is really good,’ said Fletcher, tucking in to her pasta a little while later. ‘It’s lovely being cooked for again. It’s like being back at my parents. Jim,’ she said looking round her at the décor, ‘I really like what you’ve done to the cottage. Have you been decorating?’ She looked at the cappuccino feature wall above the fireplace, warm against the cream of the rest of the living room.
‘Just a spot of paint here and there. I haven’t done much.’
‘Well, the feature wall really sets it off. Goes well with the brown leather sofa.’
‘Do you think so?’ He smiled. It had taken him a while to decide on the colour, which he judged to be between grey and brown. It was a soft natural colour and his initial fear that it would make the room appear smaller had been misplaced.
‘Who decided that it would work well with pine blinds?’
‘My mother.’ Carruthers took a sip of his water.
‘How’s she bearing up?’
Carruthers ran his hand through his bristles. ‘In a state of shock. Like the rest of us.’
‘Will your brother, you know, make a full recovery?’
‘He’s had stents put in one artery. The second’s still blocked apparently. He’s waiting for an assessment.’
‘Shit. I know we agreed no personal questions but do you want to talk about it?’
Carruthers shook his head.
‘You might feel better if you do,’ said Fletcher.
He laughed. ‘I could say the same to you.’
‘Ouch.’ Fletcher returned his smile. She took a hanky out of her pocket and blew her nose.
Carruthers leaned forward. ‘Feeling better?’
‘Yes, much.’
He set his glass down. ‘Up to talking about work?’
‘Of course.’
‘How did the meeting at Braidwood go?’
Fletcher shook her head. ‘Certainly interesting.’
‘You got me intrigued. Spill.’
‘Well, I knew local feelings were running high, but that meeting was something else.’ She forked a spiral of pasta. ‘Let’s just say the developers aren’t exactly flavour of the month. There’s a lot of bad feeling between them and the local residents. I thought there was going to be a punch-up at one point. I tell you, if you’re spoiling for a fight, a community council meeting’s definitely the place to go.’
Fletcher took a sip of her mineral water. ‘It had everything. A bullish community council leader; an arrogant, untrustworthy developer, and some fiery local campaigners.’
‘Not that you’re biased or anything. Untrustworthy developer? One to watch?’
‘Could be.’
‘Who are
the developers, anyway?’
‘It’s a consortium called Buchanan and Associates Heritage Development or BHD, led by a developer called Edward Buchanan.’
‘Haven’t heard of them.’
‘Buchanan had a couple of henchmen with him. I’m pretty sure I recognised one of them but can’t remember where from. Anyway, the meeting wasn’t boring, that’s for sure. Only disappointment is that nobody seemed to know Ruiridh Fraser.’
Carruthers took a glug of water. ‘Well, maybe someone will come forward. People don’t always like to be put on the spot in a public meeting.’
Fletcher licked her fork. ‘I wish I could remember where I know Buchanan’s “associate” from though. It’s really bugging me.’
‘It’ll come back to you. Tell you what, let’s put the development on the backburner. How did you get on with Fraser’s files? Had a chance to look through them yet?’ Carruthers reached for the grated parmesan and liberally sprinkled it over his pasta.
‘I’m still going through the last three months of his bank and phone statements,’ said Fletcher.
‘Anything interesting?’
Fletcher tilted her head to the side, considering this. ‘Bank statements pretty much what you’d expect. A few direct debits going out; TV license, gas and electricity. The usual. He’s had his phone bill itemised, which is handy.’
‘Turn up anything?’
‘Several local calls in the last couple of months; library, chemist, GP, barber’s. There’s one thing though. A few mobile numbers keep coming up. Calls seem to last five or so minutes.’
‘Do you know who they belong to?’
‘I’ve still got a couple to chase up. But there’s one in particular. The number’s been discontinued, which is a bit odd. I’ll get on to the phone company first thing tomorrow to see if I can find out who it was registered to.’
‘Good job. Find out the date it got discontinued.’
‘Oh, and one other thing. There’s been a few calls to another mobile number. I found out today the number belongs to Malcolm Hunter.’
Carruthers, who had brought his glass of water up to his lips, put it down promptly again. ‘That’s interesting. I wonder what he’s doing ringing his next-door neighbour. Especially on the mobile. They both have landlines, don’t they?’
Nodding, Fletcher opened her handbag and took out a notebook. ‘I’ve also managed to get some background on Malcolm Hunter.’
‘Go for it,’ said Carruthers reaching for the pepper pot.
Fletcher flipped her notebook open. ‘OK, so Hunter’s worked nine years as a medical rep for Moncrieff Pharmaceuticals. It’s an English company with a head office in Hertfordshire. His territory covers Scotland, Northern Ireland and northern England. I guess that explains his travelling. Before he joined Moncrieff Pharmaceuticals he was a hospital-based sales rep for Louden Pharma.’ She licked her index finger and turned the page over. ‘In terms of personal life, he married Anne in 1990 and, as you know, they’ve got two kids.’
‘What are your impressions of Jordan Hunter?’
Fletcher picked up her serviette and dabbed her mouth. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know the boy, but he gave me the creeps. Can’t put my finger on it but I found him disturbing. All dressed in black, the way he locks himself in his bedroom.’
‘Let’s face it, dresses in black, stays in his room. You could be describing teenage boys up and down the country.’
‘I don’t know. It was the way he was scuffing the carpet with his foot. Did you notice that? Just seemed to be so much pent up aggression. I get the feeling that if he ever lost it, he’d lose it big time.’
Carruthers nodded. ‘His father’s obviously quick to temper. Perhaps his son’s inherited the trait.’
Fletcher locked eyes with Carruthers. ‘Makes them both dangerous, if he has.’
‘What’s your gut feeling on this, Andie?’
‘I honestly don’t know. I don’t know whether Jordan’s capable of murder, but the logistics are against him doing it. I mean, how did he get himself and Fraser to Braidwood? Like we said, he’s too young to drive and it’s a few miles away.’ She mulled it over for a few moments. ‘I don’t think he did it. I have to admit, it’s got me baffled. Why kill an old man, dump him without burying him and shove cloth down his throat to boot?’She reached across the table and picked up the pepper pot. ‘Have you managed to find any contact details for Fraser’s son yet?’
‘Still working on it. You’ve really got the bit between your teeth on this one, haven’t you?’ said Carruthers. ‘Perhaps it’s just as well we’ve got a case to solve at the moment.’ He reached over and patted her hand, resting his on top for a moment. ‘Don’t shut everyone out. I know you like to be self-sufficient but no man’s an island.’
‘Ditto, Jim. Works both ways.’ She leaned closer in to him, saying through narrowed eyes. ‘I’m worried about you too, you know. Have you spoken to your—’
‘My mother? Yes.’
‘Was going to say brother.’
Carruthers shook his head. ‘Not yet. I don’t know what to say to him.’
‘Well, just ask him how he is. Can’t be that difficult, can it?’
Carruthers remained silent.
‘So all communication’s going through your mum, then?’
Carruthers nodded. Once again Fletcher was right on the money. She really was uncanny the way she seemed to understand him. ‘Often the way, isn’t it? Look, I will ring him. In fact, I’ve told my mum I’ll visit.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Glasgow.’
‘Not too far away then,’ said Fletcher. ‘You might feel better once you’ve seen him. But you are OK?’
‘There’s nothing for you to worry about. I haven’t been sleeping too well. That’s all. Nothing a good night’s sleep and a bit less to drink wouldn’t cure. Now I know you may not want to talk about it, but do your friends know about Mark leaving?’
She shook her head.
‘Parents?’
‘They’d only worry.’
‘You need to tell them.’
Suddenly it was Fletcher on the defensive. ‘I know and I will.’ She scraped the remainder of her uneaten pasta to the side of her plate putting her knife and fork down. Sighing, she pushed her plate away. ‘I guess I hoped it would be temporary and he’d come back.’
‘And it isn’t?’
‘No, it isn’t. The funny thing is that I don’t even know why he left. Not really.’
Carruthers listened quietly knowing that, now Fletcher was finally opening up, it would do her good to talk.
‘We didn’t really talk about it. The baby wasn’t planned. I didn’t know what Mark felt about my being pregnant. I didn’t know how I felt about being pregnant. But I started getting used to it and then losing it was traumatic. One moment it was alive and then…’ Fletcher hesitated, her voice grew suddenly quiet. ‘I couldn’t feel it move any more. We went to hospital but it had already died. Because I was so far gone the labour had to be induced, and I had to give birth to a dead baby. The pain was horrific and afterwards Mark was great. Really supportive. But a week later when I was back home it was like I was living with a totally different man. One morning we woke up and he announced he couldn’t do it anymore. I watched him pack a suitcase and then he left. Just like that.’ A single tear escaped and rolled down Fletcher’s cheek. Carruthers leaned over the table and squeezed her hand.
‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.’
Looking away from him she said, ‘I don’t expect you to say anything.’ She took her hand away.
‘I can’t believe you went through all this alone.’
‘Well, I didn’t though, did I? I went down to my parents. And you kept in touch by phone.’
‘You didn’t return many of my calls.’ His forehead creased. ‘Mark didn’t contact you in all that time?’
‘Well, I had a missed call on my mobile about ten days into my stay with them. It was from him.
He didn’t leave a message. I didn’t call him back. I just didn’t expect that returning to Scotland, to the flat, our home, would be so difficult.’
‘The constant reminders?’
‘Yes, although once he’s taken his stuff out it’ll be easier I guess. It’s a lot easier to be at work at the moment than at home.’
‘That’s how I felt when my wife left.’
‘Then you understand. Do you ever hear from her?’
Carruthers stared in to space. ‘No.’ Carruthers still felt a wrench when he thought of his ex-wife but it wasn’t the raw agonising pain that used to course through him.
‘What about Siobhan Mathews?’
Carruthers shook his head. Mathews had been the girlfriend of a murder victim during that first case they’d worked on together. He’d allowed himself to get too personally involved. His inappropriate feelings for her had clouded his judgement, something he deeply regretted. It had been a difficult time for him personally and professionally. And then there had been Alistair McGhee, of course. His old adversary had been shot and almost killed saving his life. He wasn’t sure, if truth be told, had the situation been reversed, he would have done the same thing. Perhaps after all, Alistair McGhee was a better man than him.
He had tried to contact Siobhan but after her rape ordeal she’d given up her studies moving away from Castletown, back to her parents. He thought of her now with her glossy black hair, green eyes and bohemian dress sense and felt a moment of immense sadness. He’d often wondered what might have been if they’d met under different circumstances.
Fletcher reaching over for her glass of water knocked over the pepper pot and the clatter broke the spell. Carruthers looked up at her, seeing a similar sadness in her eyes, said, ‘Perhaps you should take a leaf out of my book.’ Fletcher raised her eyebrows. ‘Maybe redecorating the flat would help?’
She grinned. ‘That’s a great idea. The first thing to go will be the purple couch.’ She put the pepper pot upright again and refilled her glass from the water jug.
‘Purple couch?’
‘Yep. It’s definitely gotta go. Reminds me of him. Parents bought it for us when we moved in together.’