by Tana Collins
Carruthers cleared away the plates. ‘Would you like coffee?’
‘Coffee would be great if you’ve got decaf.’
Carruthers smiled. ‘Coming up.’
‘I do feel so much better talking to you, Jim. Thanks for listening.’
‘My pleasure. But you know you still have to see a counsellor, don’t you?’
‘Is that an order?’
‘Yes. Phone them tomorrow. But if there’s anything we – Anything I can do to help at the office then let me know.’
‘There is one thing.’
Carruthers looked up.
‘I need to be active. Doing things. That’s why I lost it at the station. And yes, if I’m honest, I do feel I’m being pushed out by Gayle Watson. She’s a good detective.’
‘So are you. Don’t doubt yourself.’ He made eye contact with her, managed to hold her gaze. ‘The problem is that Gayle’s now feeling pushed out, too. I had a word with her. Got her and Dougie to go back and conduct some more interviews. And before you say it, I wasn’t checking up on the work you and Dougie did. This is a murder investigation. Someone interviewed may have remembered something later. Seriously, Andie, don’t let a bad experience with a Grade A shit-bag erode your self-confidence. And like I said before, Gayle’s not there to replace you.’
Fletcher smiled. ‘Look, Jim…’ She looked at her watch. It was ten. She stood up. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late. I’m going to head home.’
She was at the front door and grabbing her coat before he could think of something to say.
‘Thanks for this evening. Good night.’ She kissed his cheek. The one she had earlier slapped.
‘Oh by the way, I’m glad the date with Jodie went well.’
His mouth fell open. ‘How did you…’ But she was already gone. He shut the front door, and leaving the dirty plates on the table, walked in to the kitchen. He looked in the cupboard at his whisky selection and took out a bottle of Highland Park and a glass. He opened the bottle and took a deep sniff of the smoky, peppery whisky. He opened the fridge door and selected a blue cheese, sniffed it appreciatively. Picked up the glass and cradled it in the centre of his hand. He hesitated then sighed and changing his mind, placed the bottle back in the cupboard and the cheese back in the fridge. He hadn’t told Fletcher, but he’d been told to get his cholesterol checked. Looked like heart disease ran in the family.
The earlier rain had finally stopped falling. Standing on her boss’s doorstep shivering with the cold Fletcher looked up at the night sky, watching as a thick band of cloud pushed its way across. Without looking back she walked over to her parked car and drove off as the streetlights cast their yellow glow over the slick wet roads and pavements.
Driving in to her street, she became aware of a light on in her sitting room. She was sure she’d switched it off. She took a sharp and anxious intake of breath. Her heart was hammering in her chest. Hairs prickled on the back of her neck. She then chastised herself for getting worked up. No self-respecting burglar would leave the lights full on. With a groan she remembered that Mark was collecting his stuff. How could she have forgotten? The little shit must have left them on. How typical, especially as she would be paying the bills on her own now.
As she looked for a place to park she noticed the dark blue Mondeo a little way up the street. Mark’s car. She swore. What the hell was he still doing here? With a sick feeling in her stomach she let herself in to the flat. Without taking her coat off or putting her handbag down, she marched in to the living room. Mark was sitting in the middle of the purple couch, smoking a cigarette and drinking her whisky. The air was thick with the stench of cigarette smoke, and by the number of discarded butts in her favourite glazed soap dish, it looked like he’d been in the flat all evening. She wrinkled up her nose in disdain. He turned to face her.
‘Thank God. I’ve been really worried. Where have you been? Didn’t you get my messages?’
Fletcher dumped the handbag on the dining table and searched through it for her mobile. She couldn’t find it. Then remembered that she’d left it in the pocket of her coat, which had been hanging at the front door in Carruthers’ flat, out of earshot. She fished about for it, found it and found she had six missed calls, all from him.
‘No, I didn’t get your calls. I’ve been at a friend’s. What are you still doing here?’
‘Which friend?’
‘It’s a bit late to start getting jealous, isn’t it?’ She marched over to him, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and grinding it in to the soap dish. ‘And since when did you take up smoking? You’ve never smoked.’ She had her hands on her hips. ‘And you’re stinking the place out.’
‘You’re not making this very easy.’
‘What am I not making easy?’ She was confused. She looked around her and realised that the cardboard boxes she’d found in the attic for him were still empty. Her eyes darted to the CD stand and she saw with a sinking feeling that his CDs, DVDs were all still stacked in the racks.
Her brow knitted in a frown. ‘What the fuck are you still doing here? I thought you were coming round to collect your stuff? Instead I find you still here drinking my whisky and smoking.’
‘Oh for God’s sake. Do you have to be so petty? It’s not your whisky.’
‘I think you’ll find it bloody well is. I won it at the work raffle if you remember.’
‘You don’t even drink whisky.’
‘And you don’t smoke. But that’s not the point. You haven’t answered my question. What are you still doing here?’
Mark shifted uncomfortably on the couch. He swallowed the drink in one, placed the glass down carefully on the coaster and stood up to his six foot one inches.
‘Look, the truth is. I’ve been thinking…’ He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.
Fletcher raked her hand through her dark hair. ‘Just get to the point. I’m tired. I need to go to bed.’
‘I made a mistake. I’ve changed my mind. About us.’
‘WHAT? Since last night?’ she stared open-mouthed at him.
‘I want to give it another go. I need you.’ He walked round the low glass table over to the window and put a hand on Fletcher’s shoulder. He dipped his head, angling his face to move in and kiss her. She could smell the Laphroaig on his breath. She swept his hand away and turned her face to the wall.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean, “why”?’
‘Why do you need me? I’d like to know.’
‘I can’t put it into words. I just need you.’
She wondered if staying with his mum and dad was beginning to lose its appeal.
‘And where were you when I needed you the last few months,’ she said quietly. ‘How many times did you phone me? Text me? Email me?’ A moment elapsed. She shook her head. Her eyes were downcast. ‘No.’
‘No? What do you mean, no?’
She snapped her head up. Her blue eyes were blazing like the flame in a gas fire. ‘Do I have to spell it out? I don’t. Want. You. Anymore.’
‘You can’t mean that?’
‘Yes, I can and I do.’
‘Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I needed time apart. To get my head together. I lost a baby too, remember.’
‘Is that going to happen every time we face a crisis? You’re going to run off to your parents?’
‘I wasn’t at my parents. I’ve been with Dave and Stacey.’
So Mark had been staying at his best mate’s.
‘My parents actually thought I should be with you. They were on your side, so I moved out. They didn’t understand that I needed space.’
In that moment Fletcher could see Mark for what he really was: immature, selfish and cowardly.
‘Get out. It’s over.’ She made a grab for his jacket and threw it at him. ‘Go back to Dave and Stacey.’ The jacket ended up on the floor. He bent and scooped it up. His face was flushed.
‘I can’t. Stacey’s mum has taken a
fall and is moving in with them for a while. They can’t put me up anymore. They told me to come home to you.’
Disgusted, she opened the living room door. ‘But this isn’t your home anymore, is it?’
Fletcher knew Mark was defeated. Shoulders slumped forward he walked to the front door.
‘Where am I supposed to go?’
‘Not my problem.’ She could feel tears glinting in her eyes. She turned her head away from him. ‘Just go.’
Out of the corner of her eye she could see him turn towards the door. He hesitated. She didn’t look at him. Waiting until she heard the front door shut she went back in to the living room. Picking up the heavy crystal whisky glass, feeling its weight cradled in her hand, she hurled it against the mantelpiece. It exploded into a thousand silvery shards.
6
Given the drama of the night before, Fletcher had slept surprisingly well. She’d changed the message on the answer machine and a collection of Mark’s belongings was already sitting in bin bags in the boot of her car. She’d had a late night but it had certainly been worth it. Now all she needed to do was to get a locksmith. That way she wouldn’t have to ask for her key back.
A plummeting overnight temperature meant a hard layer of frost coated the ground. De-icing the car was a job that normally frustrated her, but today she found it oddly soothing. She went back inside to retrieve her mobile but then had difficulty locking the front door with the mortise as her hands were so numb.
She swung by a locksmith’s on the way to work. It had just opened.
‘You’re bright and early.’ She looked up to find a young man smiling at her whilst speaking. Deciding she liked him on sight she smiled back.
‘Thought I’d call in before we become too busy at work,’ she said. ‘Just wondered how quickly you’d be able to get my locks changed?’
‘You haven’t had a break-in, have you? We’re a bit pushed at the moment.’
‘Oh no, nothing like that. I, er…’ What on earth could she say other than she was trying to keep her ex out?
‘No need to say any more.’
He looked down at her, his eyes, she noticed, full of mischief. She felt like she should pat her hair or something. Grief. Was he flirting with her?
‘Live locally?’ he asked.
Cat must have got her tongue. She could do nothing but nod.
‘If you give me your phone number I’ll check the diary and get back to you. I won’t be able to make it for a couple of days though. Is that OK?’
‘Yes,’ she squeaked, wishing it was sooner.
‘We’ve got a lot of work on just now. John’s hurt his back so it’s just me. If you do need it done quicker there’s another locksmith in the next town.’
‘No, I can wait a couple of days.’ She wrote her phone number down for him feeling shy and awkward. In her haste to leave she nearly tripped over a draught excluder that was lying on the floor.
Arriving at the station, she sat at her desk and steepled her hands. Looking around her at the hustle and bustle of the already busy office she knew this was where she was meant to be. It was a good feeling. For the first time in months she felt, well, better. Comfortable in her own skin. Yes, life had certainly been a bitch but she was strong enough to cope.
Picking up the phone she grabbed the file so she could ring Fraser’s phone company. A good a place to start as any. As she punched in the first couple of digits the door opened and a red-faced Harris entered. He was breathless and his mouth was open. She stared at him noticing his cheeks were a mass of broken blood vessels and for the first time that his bulbous purple nose gave him a look of Alex Fergusson. His white shirt was straining over his belly where a couple of buttons looked as if they were about to pop.
‘Andie, you’re needed.’
She looked up, surprised at the urgency in his voice.
‘Now.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Another body’s been found up at Braidwood.’
‘Shit.’ Fletcher grabbed her jacket and car keys. ‘Has anyone phoned the SOCOs?’
‘Already on their way. Boy Wonder’s leaving in the next couple of minutes. Wants you with him.’
Standing up swiftly, she almost knocked her chair over. She wanted to get outside before Carruthers changed his mind and invited Golden Tits along instead. She headed out of the office. Meeting Carruthers in the corridor she fell in step with him. ‘What the hell’s going on, Jim?’
He shook his head, running his hands through his short hair. She noticed the tightness around his mouth and the concern in his eyes. ‘I wish I knew. Look, we’ll travel together.’
‘OK.’
A watery sun sat low in the sky, casting a weak early morning light across the car park. A light frost crunched underfoot and Fletcher rubbed her red hands together.
‘Who’s driving?’ she asked.
‘You are.’ Carruthers opened the car door stretching his long frame across to reach into the glove compartment for the de-icer. Threw it to her. She caught it cleanly. Noticed his breath coming out in short bursts of vapour. Turning his back to her he fumbled in his jacket pocket for his mobile. ‘I’m just going to give Dr Mackie a call.’ He pointed to the windscreen.‘ Look to it. We haven’t got all day.’
Even though the temperature was beginning to rise, the air was clear and sharp enough to make Fletcher’s eyes water. Her boots made a noise as they squelched through the wet brown leaves. There was a smell of decay in the air.
‘Body’s been found in the grounds. Not in the wood. Boiler houses to the east of Queen’s Braids,’ said Carruthers, taking his bearings.
‘Shit. I should have worn different boots,’ she said, looking down at her already muddy Timberlands.‘Thought everything would still be frozen.’
Approaching Queen’s Braids with the sweeping vista of meadow behind them, Fletcher took in the sculpted trees on the edge of the park, the abundance of Scots pine, holly and rhododendron. She eyed a couple of SOCOs striding across the meadow. The low sun threw their shadows fifty feet in front of them making them look like aliens on giant stilts.
As they drew closer to Queen’s Braids, Fletcher and Carruthers veered off to the right taking a dirt track that skirted Braidwood Woods. Trailing branches of ivy clad the trunks of ancient trees. As the woods came in to view Fletcher’s ears tuned to the birdsong. Shafts of sunlight suddenly pierced through the dark catching the dew on silver cobwebs.
Fletcher stepped gingerly over a tangle of weeds and half-hidden tree stumps. The undergrowth was thick with ivy and brambles. She slipped on some wet moss and Carruthers caught her arm in a firm grip.
She turned to him. ‘Watch it. I bruise easily.’
‘What would you prefer? A bruise or broken arm? You nearly took a tumble. And look. There’s some broken glass there.’ She followed his gaze to a half hidden broken green bottle wedged in the earth, its jagged edge ready to inflict a seriously nasty wound.
‘Shit. Well, if you put it like that.’ She offered him a small smile, thanks and apology rolled into one.
As they cautiously approached the boiler house, they caught sight of Dr Mackie, already kneeling by the body, which was half obscured by thick undergrowth.
‘Only been dead a few hours by the looks of it,’ he said, straightening himself up.
The corpse was lying on its front, a dark stain pooling by the side of the body. Fletcher felt the hairs prick up on the back of her neck. She could only make out the legs, which were encased in grey slacks. The top half of the torso was within the open door of one of the old disused sheds behind the boiler house.
‘Male or female?’ asked Carruthers, flashing his badge and stepping inside the cordoned off area. He lifted up the tape so Fletcher could duck underneath it.
‘Male. Looks to be in his seventies, Jim,’ Mackie’s voice was low. ‘He’s got a stab wound.’
‘Jesus. Cause of death?’
‘Could be.’
Fletcher stepped up to
get a better look, noting that one foot was shoeless. ‘Any ID on him?’
‘Nothing’s been found,’ said Dr Mackie. At that moment one of the SOCOs shouted over to him. Addressing his comment to Carruthers, Dr Mackie said, ‘I’ll be right back.’
Stepping further into the gloom of the shed, Fletcher brushed a cobweb and a dead spider from her coat. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she looked around and slipped her right hand into a latex glove.
‘Be quick and don’t let Mackie catch you,’ hissed Carruthers in her ear. Keeping one eye on Mackie, Fletcher half knelt down close to the body and put her hand into each of the corpse’s pockets. She glanced over at Carruthers and shook her head.
‘Nothing.’
Carruthers touched Fletcher’s arm. ‘He’s coming back.’
Straightening up she removed her hand from the glove, which she put into a plastic bag she kept in her coat pocket.
‘Had a good feel about have you, lassie? Honestly, do you think I was born yesterday? Been doing this job for thirty years. Know all the tricks.’
Fletcher reddened.
‘Will you move away? I don’t want my scene contaminated.’ Mackie held Fletcher back with his arm. ‘Ahh. Here comes Lui. What held you up?’
‘Traffic. What have we got?’ The diminutive Chinese man appeared, camera slung over shoulder. ‘Keeping me on my toes, I see.’ He peered in to the gloom of the boiler house.
‘Don’t want you to get rusty.’
‘Nae chance of that. See you got another stiff for me. Hey,’ he jerked his head at Carruthers and Fletcher. ‘You two are in my road.’
Carruthers guided Fletcher away by the arm and from a distance they watched Liu angling his body in a number of different positions to get the photograph he wanted. He took a series of shots, not just of the body, but also of the boiler house and scrub area just outside the boiler house. Carruthers looked at Fletcher. Between flashes of light from Liu’s camera Carruthers asked, ‘What do you think?’ The sun had hidden itself behind a cloud and another flash of light lit the gloom.