Care to Die

by Tana Collins

She looked over at Harris who had finally managed to drag his gaze away from the barmaid’s cleavage and was staring in to an empty pint glass. He looked as bereft as if someone had told him his grannie had just died.

  ‘This doesn’t add up,’ said Watson as they walked back at the car. The rain had come on again and the wind had picked up, blowing litter across the street like tumbleweed. Carruthers looked across at her. ‘Lenny McBride killing Ruiridh Fraser and Henry Noble,’ she said. ‘I know we’ve said it before but if you were going to silence somebody to keep them from exposing you as a fellow paedophile, you’d hardly kill them at the very location the alleged abuse took place.’ Watson dipped in her shoulder bag for her mobile. She checked her messages. Glanced up at Carruthers. ‘I still think the murderer’s got to be someone who wants the abuse scandal uncovered, which means it’s not going to be an abuser. Or maybe it’s a family member of someone who’s been abused. The choice of location is deliberate, Jim, just as the cloth at the back of the men’s throats is meaningful.’

  ‘It’s interesting McBride’s got no alibi for either murder,’ said Carruthers. ‘And he’s definitely hiding something.’

  ‘And what’s he doing with a leaflet from the Friends of Braidwood? Do you believe that rubbish about being into the environment?’

  Carruthers shook his head. ‘Na. Not for a minute.’

  ‘Pull him in?’

  ‘Not yet. We don’t have enough on him.’

  Suddenly Carruthers’ mobile trilled. ‘It’s Andie.’ He put it close to his ear. ‘How’d it go?’ Watson looked across, eager to hear how Harris and Fletcher had got on.

  Carruthers’ eyebrows shot up and he scratched his stubble. He made eye contact with Watson. ‘So Coutts is willing to give Hunter an alibi. Both nights? Right, OK. You’ve got her statement? Anything else? What’s she like – this Coutts?’ There was a pause as he listened. ‘OK, see you back at the station.’ He put his phone away and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  ‘Looks like Hunter’s off the hook then,’ said Watson.

  ‘Or Julie Coutts is prepared to lie for him.’

  ‘Why would she? She doesn’t stand to gain anything by it. It’s not as if Hunter’s prepared to leave his wife for her.’

  ‘Maybe she’s hoping he will. She’s just done him a huge favour, after all. Puts her in a strong position.’

  Watson’s stomach rumbled. ‘Well, whilst Dougie has been having a liquid lunch, I’m starving.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind meeting this Julie Coutts myself,’ said Carruthers.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Watson gave him a curious look.

  ‘Get on to the pub will you? Find out her rota. I might just pay the King’s Arms a visit.’

  ‘Before or after lunch?’

  Carruthers laughed. ‘You’ve made your point. We’ll grab some sandwiches. Don’t want you to fade away.’

  ‘You got a hunch, Jim?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘What about Paul Fraser?’

  ‘Well, we’ve found there’s no earthly way he could have travelled over to Scotland and back in the time he was away from his girlfriend.’

  ‘He could have paid someone to kill his father.’

  ‘Maybe. The problem is, my gut is telling me he didn’t do it. Right. Let’s get that lunch.’

  He started the car, yanked the brake off and with one deft movement slid the car into a break in traffic. They both sat gazing at the windscreen in silence waiting for the lights to change. The drizzle had turned Kirkcaldy sepia, the only colour being the red of the lights.

  14

  ‘OK, when you asked me for a drink, this wasn’t quite what I was expecting.’

  Carruthers turned to his date. ‘Sorry.’ It hadn’t helped that they’d collided with an abusive drunk leaving the pub.

  ‘Why have you brought me here? It’s not exactly salubrious.’ Jodie frowned and wiped away a lipstick smudge from the top of her glass. It wasn’t one of hers. ‘I’m interested in your choice of venue. First date, The Dreel Tavern, Anstruther. Second, King’s Arms, Glenrothes.’ She brought the newly cleaned glass up to eye level and inspected it. ‘Hmm. Think they should invest in a new dishwasher.’ She turned to Carruthers. ‘Anyone would think you were trying to get rid of me.’

  Carruthers put down his pint of Belhaven Best and gazed at her. ‘God, no, not at all. Far from it.’

  ‘Are we eating here?’

  ‘No, no, of course not. Let’s just stay for a couple then head off somewhere else for food.’

  ‘OK.’ She looked relieved. Carruthers couldn’t blame her. He’d already visited the gents’. It had been disgusting.

  As she nursed her coke, he sat watching the bar staff and customers. ‘What sort of day did you have in the end?’ she asked.

  ‘Busy. How about you?’ Carruthers had his eye on a group of young lads at the bar. Was wondering if they were old enough to be served and whether the barman had bothered to ask for ID. Then again, the bartender hardly looked old enough to be pulling a pint himself.

  ‘Are you OK, Jim? You’re not being very communicative.’

  ‘Sorry. Just tired.’ Carruthers watched the staff and customers, whilst trying to keep his mind on their conversation.

  Jodie stood up with a sigh. ‘I’m away to the toilet. Back soon.’ He almost wished her luck but thought better of it. He caught her hand as she brushed past him and squeezed it. She let it go almost immediately. He was starting to regret his choice of venue. It had been a stupid idea. Just went to show that it didn’t always pay to try to kill two birds with one stone. But he’d been so desperate to see her again; she’d been free that night suggesting they meet for a drink. He’d known Julie Coutts was due to work the evening shift. It all seemed to just slot in to place. At least in theory.

  ‘Double shift?’ he asked with sympathy as a voluptuous red head sailed past his table carrying a tray of empty drinks. The woman stopped and frowned.

  ‘Were you in at lunchtime? I don’t remember seeing you,’ she asked.

  ‘They work you hard here.’

  ‘I need the money.’ She fixed him with a hard glint. ‘Did you want something? I’m busy.’

  Carruthers noted the lined, lived-in face of someone who’d once been a real beauty, before real life and broken dreams had too soon come crashing in. She was still a stunner though, if you didn’t get too close. She had an easy sensuality about her, which seemed at odds with the suspicious, calculating look she was giving him. He wondered what she liked in bed, and if he’d ever go there.

  He deliberated how to continue the conversation and then made the decision. ‘How badly?’

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘I said how badly do you need the money?’

  ‘Who are you?’ Her eyes had narrowed.

  ‘Enough to provide Malcolm Hunter with a false alibi?’

  He looked up quickly and caught the momentary fear in her eyes before it vanished. ‘I havenae provided anyone with a false alibi. Are you police? Your lot were in earlier. I explained everything then. Leave me alone,’ she hissed. ‘I’m at work.’

  ‘DI Carruthers. I’d show you my badge but don’t think it would go down too well in a place like this.’ He eyed up a couple of locals at the next table who were throwing him dirty looks over their shoulders. ‘I’m not ready to be run out of town by the local vigilantes.’ He picked up his pint glass and inspected it. ‘Glasses aren’t too clean though. And the toilets are bogging, no pun intended.’ He looked at her. ‘If we find out you’ve lied, you’ll have broken the law. Giving someone a false alibi in a murder investigation is a serious matter.’ Noticing Jodie fast approaching he clammed up.

  ‘That was an experience I’d rather not repeat.’ Jodie carefully put her handbag on another chair rather than the floor, which was sticky with spilled drinks. She sat down on her ripped stool. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, looking from Carruthers to Julie Coutts. Coutts turned to Jodie.

&nbs
p; ‘Your boyfriend’s hassling me, that’s what.’

  Jodie frowned. ‘How? And he’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘No doubt he’ll tell you he’s making enquiries.’

  ‘Just making polite conversation.’ Carruthers gulped the rest of his drink down quickly, hurt at Jodie’s last remark.

  Jodie looked at Carruthers with a wounded look in her eye. ‘Police business on our date? Why didn’t you say, Jim?’

  Carruthers was aware that they were starting to attract attention of the wrong kind. A few of the locals sitting nearby had tuned in to the conversation and were talking in low mumbling voices. Carruthers didn’t like the look of them. Then again, he didn’t like the look of anyone in the pub. Suddenly the place seemed hostile and he realised the folly of bringing someone like Jodie in to this environment. He could have kicked himself for being so selfish. He put his desire to see her above her safety.

  Somebody sniffed loudly. ‘Does anyone else smell bacon in here. I do.’

  ‘Aye. Distinct whiff of pig.’ There was a laugh.

  ‘Have you got someone under surveillance in here? Is this why you chose the place?’ hissed Jodie.

  Several pairs of hostile eyes looked over at them. ‘Well if I did, I don’t anymore.’ He stood up abruptly and grabbed Jodie’s hand. ‘We’re leaving.’

  Fletcher padded into her kitchen to make herself a cup of herbal tea when she heard her front door bell. She slipped on her pink mules and looked through the spy hole. There on her front door step was the locksmith. She let out a deep breath and turned round so that her back was against the door.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ She looked down at her dressing gown covering not much else and her mules. Of all the days to have an early night. Her newly washed hair was swathed in a towel; her pink face devoid of makeup. She momentarily wondered if she should apply some lipstick then decided that, given that it was pretty obvious she was just out the shower, it would look absurd. Slowly she opened the door a few inches.

  ‘Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ he said taking in her revealing bathrobe. Feeling embarrassed Fletcher pulled the robe tighter around her.

  ‘Are you going to open the door a bit wider so I can actually see you? I’m not going to bite. Anyway, let’s face it, it’s nothing I haven’t already seen.’

  ‘Look, what do you want?’ she asked. ‘I’m not in the habit of standing on my door step with nothing but my robe on.’

  ‘Don’t forget the towel round your head.’ He reached in and in a deft movement took the towel away from her head. Her damp dark hair curled round her ears. He threw the towel at her playfully. She caught it and tried to feel annoyed at him for pitching up uninvited but couldn’t. He looked gorgeous in his black leather jacket and checked shirt.

  ‘Well, are you going to let me in? It’s cold out here.’ He pretended to shiver.

  She opened the door wider and as he closed it quietly behind him with his heel, he’d already undone the belt of her bathrobe. It fell to the floor discarded. He took her in his arms and kissed her.

  ‘What is this?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Why don’t we find out?’ He kissed her again. ‘Why do you women always have to analyse everything? Why can’t you just go with the flow?’

  He took a step back to gaze at her then whistled. ‘Now that’s what I call a sight worth seeing.’ He closed in on her and traced a finger over her collarbone and over the swell of her breast. He shrugged himself out of his jacket, which went the same way as the bathrobe and laughing, caught her in an embrace. He had his hand on the top button of his jeans and as he unzipped himself she heard her phone ring in the living room. Briefly she wondered who it was, but within moments had forgotten she’d heard the phone at all.

  Jodie walked ahead of Carruthers to her car. He could hear the heels of her boots clicking on the pavement. The rain had finally stopped leaving behind pools of dirty grey water.

  ‘Jodie, wait up. Wait.’ He started to run to keep up with her. ‘Look, I’m really sorry. I know tonight’s been a disaster. Can we start again? I made a mistake. It was stupid of me.’ He caught her up and made a grab for her arm. She brushed him off.

  ‘I’m not interested in your excuses.’ She turned to face him. ‘Is it always going to be like this? Always a hidden agenda? I don’t do complicated. If you want to go out to keep a suspect under surveillance, then you can do it without me. Don’t ask me out for a drink when it’s clearly something else.’

  ‘Look, I made a bad call. I wanted to see you. It meant I could do both at the same time. That’s all. There’s not enough hours in the day. I’m sorry but this is a murder investigation. We’re all under pressure at the station. Trying to fit in having a personal life at the same time isn’t easy.’

  ‘Don’t you dare make me feel guilty for taking up your precious time. You asked me out, remember? And do you not think I have a busy job?’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Anyway, I’m not sure I believe you about wanting to spend time with me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Jodie stood just inches from him. Of a similar height to him, she looked him straight in the eye. ‘You needed someone, Jim. A woman on your arm. To look less conspicuous. It would have looked obvious, wouldn’t it? You coming in on your own asking questions of the staff.’

  She turned away and started to walk away from him. ‘You used me.’ She stopped and turned round. ‘You also embarrassed me. Do you think I didn’t notice you watching the customers and staff. I never had your full attention. Not for a minute. You were keeping up the pretence of having a conversation, but all the while you had your police head on. You were eavesdropping other people’s conversations.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Even as he said it, he knew deep down that Jodie had a point. He had missed some of her conversation because his mind had been elsewhere. She shook her head and started walking away from him. Carruthers didn’t know whether to let her go or catch her up. He stood dithering, feeling useless. In the end he watched her walk away, listening to the angry staccato sound her heeled boots made. ‘I would never use you,’ he shouted. Carruthers was appalled that she could even think it. ‘What about us? Can I see you again?’His voice was carried away on a sudden gust of wind. She didn’t answer him. He watched her as she climbed in to her silver Mazda and sped off. Shoulders sagging, he turned to walk to his own car. As he approached it, he noticed a dent in the driver’s door and saw that the driver wing mirror was at an angle, ripped out of its position.

  ‘Fuck,’ was all he said as he bent over and kicked the tyre.

  Fletcher stretched out her bare arm, luxuriating in the afterglow of sex. She watched as her lover snoozed, enjoying watching his chest rise and fall and the contours of his glistening muscles. Her work mobile, which she had left on her dresser when she had gone for her shower, suddenly trilled.

  ‘Shit.’ She reached across him to pick it up.

  He started to stir. ‘Do you have to answer that? I must have dozed off. What time is it?’

  ‘Yes I do. It’s work.’

  ‘You’re not at work now. You’re in bed with me.’ He traced a lazy finger down one arm, grabbing her at the wrist in an attempt to pull her towards him.

  She shook him loose and made a grab for the mobile.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Andie Fletcher.’ It was out before she had time to think about what she was saying. She realised that she hadn’t told him what she did for a living. There’d been no need. After all she never thought she would see him again. Worse than that she couldn’t actually remember his name. Had he told her his first name? How embarrassing.

  She was aware that he’d tensed beside her, and had started to tune in to the expected conversation. She leapt out of bed, looked around for her dressing gown and then remembering that it was still on the floor somewhere on the stairwell, yanked open a cupboard and grabbed a towel which she managed to wrap around herself.

  �
�Give me two minutes,’ she mouthed then she left the room closing the bedroom door quietly behind her. She put the mobile closer to her ear. ‘Sorry. I didn’t catch that. What was it you said?’

  ‘I have some information relating to the Braidwood murders.’ The voice was male. Fletcher detected an anglicised Scottish accent. The man wasn’t young, perhaps middle aged or older.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘My name’s Simon Wallis. I don’t want to talk on the phone though. Can we meet?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘London.’

  Fletcher gripped the phone tighter as her towel started to unravel. She grabbed it. ‘I can’t just drop everything and head to London. You’ll have to give me a bit more. You said you had information?’

  ‘Look, I was a police officer back in the day when Braidwood was a care home. I started working on the case of sexual abuse at the home before I was told to drop it.’

  Fletcher’s ears pricked up. Perhaps it might be worth meeting up after all. They had been tasked with trying to track down former police officers who had been around at the time of the alleged abuse. ‘Who told you to drop it?’

  ‘I told Superintendent Marshall I was going to go public with the information I had because I felt nobody was prepared to take it seriously. I knew kids were being abused.’

  ‘Did Marshall threaten you?’

  ‘Not Marshall. His nephew, McBride. I got told to lay off so I started to do some investigating of my own, in my own time. I ended up wishing I’d never started.’

  ‘McBride as in Lenny McBride? You’re saying Lenny McBride is Superintendent Bob Marshall’s nephew?’

  ‘That’s him. Is he still kicking around? If he is then I doubt he’ll be helping you with your enquiries.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Fletcher tried to keep her voice low. The last thing she wanted was the locksmith to be listening in to police business.

  ‘There’s a lot I know about Lenny McBride, and Superintendent Marshall come to that. I’m done keeping their dirty little secrets. I’m not going to do it anymore. I don’t need to, you see. I’m dying. I’ve got cancer, but before I die I want to make amends for not speaking out when I should have. It’s something I’ve always regretted. Then I heard about the murders at Braidwood. It just seemed the time was right.’