Care to Die

by Tana Collins

  The door buzzed and opened and Carruthers started climbing the stairs with long athletic strides. Paul and Anna lived in a second floor flat in the immaculately presented block. Paul Fraser was already by the open door with an outstretched hand. It was a friendly gesture but Carruthers noticed there was no smile in greeting. His eyes had a suspicious, almost defensive look about them. Carruthers judged him to be mid-to late-forties. He had a slim build, short dark hair and round glasses.

  ‘Anna’s at college,’ Paul said, once the introductions were out of the way.

  ‘Oh, does she teach?’

  ‘She’s gone back to studying. Training to be a nurse.’

  ‘That’s OK. I don’t need to speak to her.’

  Paul immediately seemed more relaxed. Carruthers sensed relief. He was curious as to the reason why. There must be things in his background that Paul didn’t want his wife to know. Perhaps in some ways he was very much his father’s son – secretive.

  Paul took him in to a light and spacious living area that was dominated by a sculpture of a woman and child in the centre of the mantelpiece. There were a couple of striking and colourful art works of Icelandic landscape scenes on the wall but apart from this, the colours in the room were muted – all cream and beige. The feel of the room was one of simplicity and elegance. Carruthers thought it had a distinct woman’s touch.

  ‘Look,’ said Paul, ‘I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know why you’ve come all the way over here. I’ve already been informed of my father’s death by the local police. I’m sure we could have conducted this over the phone.’

  Carruthers was surprised by this piece of news. He hadn’t said anything on the phone about Paul’s father’s death and expected to have to tell him in person. But it was true that he had liaised with the local police in Reykjavik prior to his visit.

  ‘This is a murder investigation, Paul. In fact, it’s now a double murder investigation.’

  Paul looked up shocked. ‘A second body’s been found.’

  ‘A double murder?’ Paul looked momentarily shaken but then shrugged. ‘The problem is that I haven’t seen or heard from my father in more than thirty years. I doubt I can be much use. I know nothing of the last three decades of his life.’

  ‘But that’s not actually true, is it?’ said Carruthers.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You wrote him a letter. Your father. Recently. One of my team found it in a box of your father’s things. I’ve read it. It was a pretty threatening letter. What I want to know is, why did you write it? Had he written to you?’

  Paul Hunter looked away from Carruthers and stared at the bare wall. ‘I don’t want to talk about this.’

  ‘You’re going to have to. You’re currently the prime suspect for his murder.’

  Paul swivelled round to face his unwelcome guest. ‘But that’s stupid. I haven’t seen him in over thirty years.’

  ‘Why did you write to him?’

  ‘He wrote me a letter. Wanted to “make amends”.’

  ‘What did you take that to mean?’

  Paul Hunter shook his head. ‘You said there was a second man murdered. Where was he killed?’

  ‘At Braidwood. Like your father.’ Carruthers noted that Paul tensed. ‘We found out this second man worked at Braidwood when it was a children’s home in the seventies. His name was Henry Noble. Does that name mean anything?’

  Paul Fraser shook his head. Carruthers looked at Paul to see if there was any hint of recognition in his eyes, but there was nothing.

  ‘I appreciate this must be difficult for you.’ Carruthers gave it the obligatory moment’s respectful silence before continuing. ‘Can you tell me why you were estranged from your father?’ Uninvited Carruthers took a seat on the cream sofa. ‘As you said, you’ve barely had contact with him for thirty years, yet we’re starting to believe the seeds of this murder may lie in his past. And that his murder is in some way linked to the place of his death.’

  Paul looked uncomfortable. Carruthers pushed on. ‘Look Paul, we know next to nothing about your father. We need you to fill in some of the gaps for us. And if you know something that might help us in our investigation you must tell us. Otherwise I’m going to think that you are the murderer.’

  Carruthers could sense a shift in Paul. It was almost as if he was weighing up whether to tell him something. Something important.

  ‘You think both people were killed by the same person?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Paul glanced outside in to the pitch darkness. ‘You know, it doesn’t get light in the winter here until about half eleven. I’ve been here eight years and you’d think I would’ve got used to it by now, but I haven’t.’

  Privately Carruthers found himself thinking that he would struggle to get used to it too, but he recognised avoidance tactics when he saw them, so pressed on. ‘What brought you over to Iceland?’

  Paul’s face softened. ‘Anna. I met her when she was on holiday in Scotland.’

  ‘Have you been together long?’

  ‘Ten years.’

  ‘Yet you’re not married and you don’t have kids.’

  ‘No.’

  Paul didn’t elaborate and Carruthers sensed his reluctance to speak about his personal life. He tried a different approach.

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying you don’t seem very upset by the news of your father’s death.’

  ‘I’m not. There were times I could have killed him myself. He got what was coming to him.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Paul looked away again. Out into the darkness. ‘You don’t know what he was like.’

  ‘What was he like, Paul?’ This question was greeted with silence. ‘You know there were allegations of child abuse around that time. It looked like they centred on the children’s home.’

  Paul remained silent but a flicker of something came in to his eyes that Carruthers found hard to interpret. He tried a different tack. ‘What age were you when you left home?’

  ‘Sixteen.’

  ‘Why did you leave?’

  Carruthers was starting to have a good idea of why Paul had left but he needed to hear it from him. In a lot of ways, he was hoping he was wrong.

  Paul continued to stare out of the window. He seemed lost in his own thoughts. ‘No, I haven’t got used to the pitch black, but there’s something rather reassuring about the darkness, don’t you think? Perhaps it goes back to us being inside your mother’s womb. You feel safe.’

  ‘Why would you need to feel safe, Paul?’

  Paul didn’t answer but continued to stare into the inky blackness.

  ‘Do you know what your father’s connection to Braidwood was?’ Carruthers pushed on. ‘We know there was one.’

  Paul was still looking out of the window, not making eye contact with Carruthers. Then suddenly said, so quiet that Carruthers wasn’t sure he’d heard him right, ‘He worked there.’

  Carruthers, who’d been holding his breath, finally expelled it in one long sigh. From his point of view his visit to Iceland was vindicated. He had got the information he needed. He had established the link the two men had to their place of death. Thank Christ for that. He could just imagine Bingham’s reaction if he’d come back empty-handed.

  ‘When?’ he asked, a little sharper than intended.

  ‘Back in the 1970s.’

  ‘When it was a children’s home?’

  ‘That’s a joke. Children’s home.’

  The bitterness was stronger than Carruthers had expected, but he tried not to let his shock show.

  Carruthers pushed on. ‘Did his work there have anything to do with why you left home?’

  Paul suddenly slumped forward. He put his head in his hands. Carruthers observed that his chest was rising and falling with great rapidity and when he spoke, his voice came out in great shuddering breaths. ‘He deserved to die.’

  ‘Paul, have you had any recent travel back to Scotland? Where were you between 6pm and 9
pm on 15th January?’

  ‘I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re getting at, although I imagine if others knew where he was living, there would be a whole queue of people.’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘The boys from that so-called care home. His special boys.’

  ‘His special boys?’

  ‘That’s what he called them.“My special boys.”’

  Carruthers stomach was turning. He was starting to feel sick.

  Paul eventually lifted his head making eye contact with Carruthers. He had a haunted look about him. Carruthers had seen that look before. It was the same look as had been in the eyes of the boy in the photograph Fletcher had shown him.

  ‘He brought them home, you know. To abuse them.’

  Carruthers looked up sharply. ‘Who?’

  ‘His special boys. Sometimes he used to bring them home. He made mum and me leave the house but we knew what he was doing with them. He used to use the spare room.’

  ‘Your mother knew?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She didn’t try to stop him?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘What could she do? She was scared of him. We both were. Don’t get me wrong. She did what she could. When she found out what he was up to, she turned the guest bedroom into a utility room. Got rid of the bed when he was at work one day and set up an ironing board instead.’

  ‘How did your father react?’

  ‘He was furious. I think he hit her.’

  ‘But it didn’t stop him?’

  ‘No. He started to use my room instead. I used to come home to find the bed, well, you know…’

  Carruthers felt disgusted. ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  Carruthers took a deep breath. ‘And how old were you when he started abusing you?’

  Paul turned his head away from Carruthers so he was staring out of the window again. His features were set like granite and his expression was unreadable. Carruthers wondered what he saw out there in the darkness. He couldn’t imagine the images were pleasant. Without looking at Carruthers he said, ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I’ve dealt with abuse cases before, Paul.’

  ‘I was eleven or twelve.’

  ‘How long did it continue?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘Until I was fourteen.’

  ‘You moved out at sixteen. Why did it stop at fourteen?’

  ‘I put a growth spurt on. I was bigger than I used to be. I started to fight back. Besides,’ he said picking at the skin round his nails, ‘he was working at the children’s home by then. He used to leave me alone.’

  ‘You said sometimes he used to bring them home. When he didn’t bring them home, where did he take them?’

  ‘There was a hotel they used. He thought we didn’t know. He used to rent rooms. On a Sunday night. They all did.’

  ‘All?’ said Carruthers, his heart sinking.

  ‘Yes, some of the other men at the children’s home.’

  ‘Would this include William Rutherford? Head of the home?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. And there was a policeman. He was pretty senior. I think he was a superintendent.’

  ‘Superintendent Bob Marshall?’

  ‘Yes, he came to the house once and I heard them talking. They thought I was up in my room playing music. They were discussing which of the boys they were going to take to the hotel. Poor blighters. My father had a particular favourite. Marshall liked him, too. I saw him a few times. I’ll never forget him.’

  ‘Do you remember his name?’

  ‘Mal. I don’t know his surname. It’s funny what you remember, isn’t it?’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  As he gave his description, Carruthers’s could feel himself growing colder than the icy lakes around Reykjavik, despite the central heating in the flat. Being given a physical description of the boy somehow made it more real to him. He could now picture him in his mind’s eye. It was an image he didn’t want lodged there. Very gently he laid a hand on Paul’s shoulder. ‘I could do with a coffee. Would you mind?’

  Paul shrugged again. ‘OK.’

  ‘Whilst you’re fixing up the coffees, I just need to make a phone call.’ Paul disappeared in to the kitchen. As soon as he had left the room Carruthers retrieved his mobile from his pocket and called the station.

  When Paul reappeared Carruthers asked, ‘Does your girlfriend know?’

  ‘That I was abused as a boy by my own father? No. I’ve never told anyone. The only person who guessed was my mother.’

  ‘Yet she still stayed with him after you had left?’

  Paul remained silent and Carruthers could sense that he was starting to shut down. ‘Where were you when your father was murdered?’

  ‘I was on a break to the Westfjords with my girlfriend and her parents. You can check.’

  ‘I will. I have to, I’m sorry. I’ll need to get the details from you. Just out of interest, have you heard of a man called Angus Dawson?’

  ‘No. Who’s he?’

  Carruthers wondered how these early years of abuse had affected Paul. Had he found it hard to trust? To form relationships? To banish the demons that must have plagued him? How had he felt leaving his mother with his father? Carruthers glanced over at Paul who was still picking at the skin around his nails again. They were starting to bleed. Suddenly he felt claustrophobic. The room, despite its initial bright, airy feel suddenly appeared too small for the both of them. He felt utterly depressed that man’s selfishness and depravity could have such long-term consequences – could blight lives and wreck futures.

  ‘Paul, I forgot to ask – what do you do for work?’

  ‘I’m an artist.’ Paul indicated the art works in the room.

  ‘You did these? They’re very good. You manage to make a living from it?’

  ‘A modest income, but yes, enough to live on.’

  So he had been wrong about whose taste had furnished the room. It was likely to have been Paul’s. Carruthers suddenly heard a noise behind him as a key was turned in the front door. Paul leapt to his feet. He looked agitated.

  ‘Paul, I’ve had to come home. I’ve got one of my head— oh. You’ve got a visitor?’ The woman who stood in front of him was a striking girl in her thirties. She had jet-black hair cut in a long bob, and blue eyes. She spoke English with a strong Icelandic accent. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know you had anyone coming round. I’m Anna Gunnarsdottir. Paul’s partner.’

  Carruthers thought quickly. Paul obviously hadn’t told her of his visit. He wondered if he’d told his girlfriend of his father’s death.

  ‘Jim Carruthers. I’m in Reykjavik for a couple of days.’

  ‘We had a bit of unfinished business. Work. It’s finished now though,’ said Paul.

  ‘Oh, are you an artist too?’ asked Anna.

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  Carruthers put his hand out and Paul shook it. Carruthers noticed that Anna had a questioning look in her eyes but he kept silent. He looked over at Paul. ‘I’ll be in touch if anything else crops up.’

  As Paul spoke, Carruthers could see that the shutters were back down. ‘It won’t. I’ll see you out. Won’t be a moment,’ he said to Anna. ‘Look,’ he turned to Carruthers once they were out of earshot of Anna. ‘I’ve moved on. All that’s in the past and I’ve worked hard to make sure that’s where it stays. Hopefully now that the old bastard’s finally dead, I’ll get some closure. But that part of my past is behind me.’

  ‘If it is, then I’m glad,’ said Carruthers, privately doubting that it was. All he could hope for was that Paul found some solace in his art and his relationship with Anna. ‘But if your father has been murdered for the part he played in what is sounding like a paedophile ring, then there’s somebody still out there for whom the past is much more recent. And with two people dead, we need to catch the killer before he strikes again. I’ll need you to give me the names of all the people you can remember who were connected with the care home and with your father. I
’m staying at the Hotel Leifur Eiriksson, near the Hallgrimskirkja.’

  ‘I know it.’

  Carruthers gave Paul his business card. ‘My flight leaves at 8am tomorrow. I’ll need to meet you tonight.’

  Paul remained silent.

  ‘You might have moved on Paul, but there’s somebody out there who hasn’t, and they’re dangerous. You have to do this. Imagine, if next time he strikes, he gets the wrong man.’

  ‘You think he’s likely to kill again?’

  Carruthers wasn’t sure but it certainly looked as if he might have a serial killer on his hands.

  Suddenly Paul spoke. ‘Do you know the Cafe Loki? It’s on Njardargata street, just down from your hotel. It’s run by a man name of Gunnar Arnason. He’s a friend. It’s late opening and quiet. Meet me there at 9pm tonight. I’ll have a list for you.’

  ‘Thank you. You will be there, won’t you? If not, I know where to find you.’

  ‘I’ve said I will. Now go. I don’t want Anna to ask any awkward questions.’

  ‘You should really tell her, Paul. About the abuse.’

  ‘That’s my choice. Not yours. I may not have had any choice about being abused as a child, but as an adult I have a choice about how I deal with it and who I decide to tell and when.’

  Paul was right, that as a child he had had no choice about a great many things, but as an adult, things were different, but only to a degree. Carruthers understood that finally having choices was important to Paul and the many other survivors of abuse. ‘But Paul, I am going to catch who did this and when it goes to trial, you may no longer have the choice of anonymity. I’m sorry.’ Carruthers suddenly remembered Ruiridh Fraser’s post mortem. ‘By the way. Your father. He was dying. Heart disease. Perhaps that’s why he wrote you a letter. Making amends?’

  ‘You and I both know that was never going to happen,’ said Paul.

  Carruthers left the apartment and hailed a taxi in the street. After an agonisingly dark morning it was now light and the sky was streaked with different hues of blue. By the time he got back to his hotel it was well past lunchtime and his stomach was growling. He found the cafe Paul was talking about at the end of his street. Its inviting lights indicated it was still serving lunch, so Carruthers entered and took a seat facing the window. He looked at the menu. He couldn’t quite stomach the flatbread with sheep’s head jelly, turnip and salad so he instead he ordered rye bread with eggs and herring and a coffee. As he waited for his lunch he took out his notebook and started to make notes. He decided that later he would head back to his hotel room and check Paul’s alibi.