Snared

by Ed James

  MacDonald nodded. “Nineteenth of February this year.”

  “So, three months after Irene Henderson.” Forrester went back over to the coffee machine and set his mug in front of it. “So if it was them, it shows they were trialling their approach for a few months. And they’re getting worse — snaring someone is worse than trapping someone in a bin, right?”

  “Agreed.” Vicky twisted round to look at Forrester. “So they chucked a stone through his window and relied on him, what, running into a snare they’d placed in his drive? Seems a bit hopeful.”

  “Agreed. The other attacks have relied less on luck and a lot more on planning.” Forrester finished refilling his mug and took a slurp of coffee, eyes on MacDonald. “Did you speak to that woman in Montrose?”

  “Nothing much to report. Got a description of a woman walking down the country lane last night.” MacDonald shrugged. “Probably someone out walking.”

  “That doesn’t add up for me.” Vicky scowled. “Why walk there? It’s at least three or four miles from Montrose train station to Micky Scott’s farm. Why not just drive?”

  Forrester lifted his mug up for a drink. Stopped just short of his mouth. “You gave a press conference asking for a black car.” He took a slurp. “We’ve asked for information about their car, okay? They’ll be shit-scared of driving it around now, that’s for sure.”

  Vicky nodded. “Has anything else come up in the search for the car?”

  “Mac?”

  “Nothing at all so far.”

  Vicky sighed. “Maybe it is just someone out walking.”

  “In Montrose? In April? I’m starting to think it’s our lot.” Forrester grinned. “Anything else, Mac?”

  “Nothing back on the media search and Zoë’s drawn a blank so far.”

  “Anything else at all?”

  “Street teams have nothing.” MacDonald rubbed his chin. “Marianne Smith’s the only one we’ve got anything on and she’s not speaking.”

  “Raven was asking what searching we’ve done for this car.”

  “Had Kirk looking into it, sir.” MacDonald rummaged through his navy notebook. “Got a list of everyone with a black Lexus, Mercedes, Audi or BMW saloon in Tayside, cross-referenced against being in the vicinity of Dryburgh Industrial Estate between delivery of those cages and us rescuing Rachel and Paul.”

  “I’m going to regret asking this, but can you speak to all of them?”

  “Over a hundred cars, sir. OT bill will be colossal”

  “I know, but it needs to be done.” Forrester swigged at his coffee. “What about the surveillance on the Muirheads?”

  “What about them? Both gone to work, sir. That’s it.”

  Forrester peered over the edge of his mug as he drank. “We’re to knock that on the head, by the way.”

  Vicky frowned. “Really?”

  Forrester nodded. “Pask’s orders. I tried to argue the case but I’m not exactly popular.”

  “Why?”

  “Cost grounds, mostly. We can use Kirk and Buchan to speak to these car owners.”

  MacDonald shook his head, scowling. “Nothing to do with the threats Fergus Duncan’s been making?”

  “Not completely. He’d rather spend the money tracking down the cars.”

  “Bloody hell.” MacDonald leaned forward. “What if this DIY store warning comes to something and we’ve not kept an eye on them? Their alibis haven’t been remotely credible.”

  “I’ve raised it with the Super, Mac. That’s all I can do. My hands are tied.”

  Vicky massaged her neck — it felt like the ibuprofen was doing some good. “Did you speak to Raven about getting Fixit to stop the birds display?”

  “I raised it just then.” Forrester glanced away. “Raven’s going to speak to ACC Queensberry. Again, my hands are tied.”

  Vicky shook her head. “Do they actually want us to solve this case?”

  “We’ve got very few leads, Vicky.”

  “We don’t seem to want to try, though.”

  Forrester pushed his mug to the far side of the desk. “You’ve both done really well on this, okay? Pask might think I’m a fanny but he knows how good my team is.”

  Vicky got to her feet, fists clenched, nerve jangling a bit more. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.” She shut the door hard behind her before walking over to her desk and stuffing her possessions into her bag.

  Karen took off her headphones. “You heading off?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good luck tonight.”

  “The only thing that’ll touch my bad mood will be at least three bottles of wine.”

  “Text me later, okay?”

  “Maybe.” Vicky left her to it. A glass or two, that’d have to do. “Shit, shit, shit.” She had Robert coming round. She stopped by the door and texted him. Sorry — running late. Can you get some wine? White or rose. X

  MacDonald appeared beside her. “What’s going on here, Vicky?”

  She snapped her phone shut, realising she was blushing. “You mean with Forrester and Raven?”

  “Aye?”

  “Politics, I guess. I’ve half a mind to go and slash Fergus Duncan’s tyres.”

  “Not a bad idea. Halfers on the knife?” MacDonald scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Fancy a pint?”

  Vicky smiled, feeling sliced in two. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  MacDonald made his hand into a gun, shooting it at her. “Definitely tomorrow.”

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Hope these are what you were after.” Robert held up the Majestic bag, the contents clinking together. “I had to make a special trip up there, but I was running low anyway.”

  Vicky pecked him on the cheek and took the bag, glancing at the three bottles of wine. “I’ll have to inspect them closely.”

  Bella lurked behind Vicky, hugging her leg and keeping a distance.

  “Bella, this is Mummy’s friend, Robert.”

  Bella stuck out a lip and hugged tighter. “Hello.”

  Robert laughed. “Don’t worry, my Jamie’s just the same with new people.”

  Vicky held open the door. “In you come.”

  Robert walked in, patting Bella on the head as he passed. She squeezed back against her mother.

  Vicky led them into the kitchen. “Shuffle. I haven’t put the oven on.”

  “Don’t worry.” Robert got out the wine bottles — all had matte black labels, beads of perspiration on the clear glass. “What do you fancy first?”

  Vicky set the dial on the cooker. “You choose.”

  “Rosé it is.”

  Bella stood by the door, peeking into the kitchen. “Are you my Uncle Robert?”

  Robert knelt as he shared a look with Vicky. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Robert’s just Mummy’s friend, Bella.”

  “Is he a baddie?”

  Vicky laughed. “Are you?”

  “I’m not sure.” Robert sat back on his heels. “Bella, what does your mummy do?”

  “Catches baddies.”

  “Has she caught me?”

  Bella pouted. “Don’t know.”

  “Well, if she hasn’t, am I not a goodie?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Robert smiled at Vicky. “What do you think?”

  “The jury’s still out.”

  “Why’s jewellery out, Mummy?”

  Vicky picked Bella up. “Jury. It’s people who decide whether a baddie is actually a baddie or not.”

  “Do we need a jewellery for Robert?”

  Vicky smiled. “What do you think, Robert?”

  “I’m sure you and Bella would make a good jury.”

  “Bells, one thing a jury does is it deliberates.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It m
eans they go to a special place and think about things for a few hours.”

  Bella pouted again. “Does that mean I have to go to bed?”

  “It does.”

  “But, Mummy —”

  “But nothing. It’s time for your bed, young lady.” Vicky held up Bella’s arm. “Say goodnight to Robert.”

  Bella wiggled her fingers. “Night-night.”

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  It’s bloody ruined.” Vicky gritted her teeth as she stared at the charred mess on her plate. Disaster.

  “Looks okay to me.” Robert picked at his food, holding up a lettuce leaf. “At least you can’t burn salad.”

  “Oh, I could, believe me.” Vicky stabbed her fork at the pasta before taking a bite. The food was still boiling hot. “Actually, it’s not too bad.”

  Robert followed suit. “What cheese did you put on the top? Mozzarella?”

  “No. It was a hard one. Parmesan, I think.”

  “That’s what’s burnt. You need a bit of moisture in the cheese. Otherwise it’ll basically just go on fire.” He took another mouthful. “Still, it’s pretty good.”

  Vicky went through to the kitchen and found a block of Cheddar in the fridge. She grated it onto a plate, dumped the used grater in the sink then took the cheese through. “Try this.”

  Robert sprinkled the Cheddar on his pasta, which was still steaming. “Looks like it’s going to melt.” He took a forkful and ate it. “Right, that’s the stuff.”

  Vicky tried some of her pasta, now heaped with orange cheese. “This is good, actually. I didn’t know that about cheese.”

  “I used to work in a kitchen when I was a student. I learnt a lot, mainly how to make an arse of most dishes and then how to save them. But I generally only arsed them up once.”

  Vicky took a sip of wine — her glass was almost empty. “Ready for a top-up?”

  Robert nudged his over. “Aye, go on.”

  Vicky poured. “Have you got school tomorrow?”

  “I do, but Thursdays are pretty light for me. Lots of marking at this time of year, even in PE. Full afternoon, mind — First and Second Years are playing softball.”

  “Fills the time, I suppose.”

  “It does.” Robert frowned as he ate some salad. “Does this taste burnt to you?”

  “Very funny.” Vicky took another drink. “Do you enjoy teaching?”

  “I do, aye. PE’s a pretty weird subject. There’s nothing quite like it. All the kids get PE in First and Second Year. Bit of a nightmare as you’ve got the fat kids forced to do cross country and half the girls in the class having their period every week in swimming. What are the chances of that?”

  “Don’t.” Vicky prodded her fork at him. “The boys in my class were practically wanking themselves off at the girls in the pool. It was horrible.”

  Robert laughed. “Aye. I tried to get them to split the sexes in swimming classes. The two jobsworths who do the timetable knocked it back.” He took another drink of wine. “Anyway, the point is most kids doing PE learn to hate exercise. If we taught them to do what they enjoyed, then we wouldn’t have such a problem with obesity in this country.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “For me, it only gets interesting when I get my Standard Grade and Higher pupils. They’re the ones who’re really into it. They can run and they play football because they’re good at it, not because their dad wants the next David Beckham to pay off his mortgage or whatever.”

  “Is Jamie going to pay off your mortgage?”

  Robert chuckled. “Not by playing football. He’s a maths prodigy. He’ll be an accountant or an actuary or something.” His smile thinned. “That’s Moira’s genes.”

  Vicky felt the nerve spike at her. “But you enjoy your job?”

  “Of course. Wouldn’t do it if I didn’t, even with the holidays.”

  “Were you any good at football?”

  “Dundee had me on their books when I was a teenager. Never made it, obviously. Went to uni instead.”

  “When was this?”

  “You’re trying to calculate my age, aren’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I might be.”

  “I’m forty-one.”

  “Well, I’m thirty-five.” Vicky took a sip of wine before frowning. “Did you say you played for Dundee?”

  “Tell me you’re not United.”

  “My dad is. I can’t stand it.” She frowned. “No, I was wondering if you knew a Micky Scott.”

  “Name rings a bell. Why?”

  “He was a greyhound trainer. Played for Dundee in the eighties according to his son. Got an injury and had to retire.”

  “Is this the new murder case?”

  “It is.”

  “Mummy!”

  Vicky set down her cutlery. “I could have sworn I put you to bed, young lady.”

  “I want to stay up with you.”

  “Mummy’s having her dinner. You had yours at Granny’s. It’s bedtime.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll put you back to bed.”

  “But, Mummy!”

  “No buts, Bella.” Vicky reached down to pick up her daughter before smiling at Robert. “Back in a minute.” She carried Bella upstairs, the child’s feet catching on the banister. She put her in bed and tucked the sheets around her, putting a couple of teddies on the floor.

  “Think the jewellery’s back in, Mummy.”

  “Oh, is it?”

  “Is Robert a baddie?”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “Is he a goodie?”

  “Mummy thinks he might be.”

  “Am I a goodie, Mummy?”

  “Yes, if you go to sleep.” Vicky tickled her sides. “Otherwise you’ll be a baddie!”

  Bella giggled. “Okay.” She scrunched her eyes closed. “Night-night, Mummy.”

  Vicky kissed her on the top of her head. “Night-night, Bells.” She raced down the stairs, almost skipping into the living room. “Sorry about that.” She sat down, noticed that Robert had topped up her glass. “Are you trying to get me drunk here?”

  “You’re doing a very good job of it yourself.”

  Vicky took a sip. “I think Bella likes you.”

  “She’s certainly much more personable than my Jamie.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Six.” Robert took a long drink. “Where’s her father?”

  Vicky looked away. “Alan lives in Edinburgh now.”

  “And he’s not on the scene?”

  “Never has been, really.”

  “I see. Must be hard raising her on your own all this time.”

  Vicky shrugged. “Mum and Dad help out way more than they should.”

  “That’s the advantage of still living here, I suppose. That’s how I cope, myself.” Robert stared into his glass for a few seconds. “Bella’s father doesn’t help out, then?”

  “Bella’s father doesn’t want to know about her.”

  Robert raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t realise.”

  Vicky sipped her wine. “It’s better for all concerned, trust me. We’d known each other for years and just got together one night. We’d only been going out for a few months when he got a job offer in Edinburgh. I found out I was pregnant but I was kind of settled here. He didn’t want to stay in Dundee. I took that as meaning he didn’t want to stay with me.”

  “He doesn’t want her in his life?”

  “No. It’s fine. I’d much rather bring up Bella on my own than have to deal with him and his nonsense.”

  “Did you ever . . . You know?”

  “Think about abortion?”

  Robert scratched at his neck. “Aye.”

  “Every day at about this time.” Vicky smiled. “Only joking. I did think about it but I
couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’ve not regretted it.” She noticed that their plates were both empty and took a big dent out of her glass. “Shall we have a comfy seat?”

  “Go on.”

  Vicky stood up, almost toppling over. She held out her arm for Robert to take. Instead, he put his hand on her arm and kissed her gently on the lips.

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Vicky got out of bed and crossed the room, tugging the dressing gown around her naked body.

  “Not bad for your age.” Robert grinned across the darkened room at her. Just the one sidelight was on.

  She blushed. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She went into the bathroom, locking the door behind her, and sat down. She looked at the condom, the teat filled with semen, millions of half-Roberts swimming around. It stank. She dumped it in the bin, lifted the toilet lid and sat on the seat, head in her hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  What the hell was she doing?

  Was it fair on Bella?

  Bottom line, could she really commit to anyone other than herself or her daughter? And taking on a son?

  Her breath came in short bursts as she felt the weight of the relationship crushing her lungs. She peed and flushed the toilet before splashing cold water on her face. In the mirror, her face was pink and blotchy, her make-up still underneath. She went back through and sat on the bed.

  Robert snuggled up to her, kissing her neck. “I enjoyed that.”

  Vicky stayed still, letting him do the work. “You know you can’t stay, right?”

  “Wouldn’t expect it any other way.”

  “Really?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Vicky shrugged. “I just feel like such a shit mother at times.”

  “You seem great with Bella.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do. She loves you but you’re not letting her take the piss.” Robert brushed her hair aside and started stroking her neck, not far from that nerve. “Do you want to come to mine for dinner tomorrow night?”

  “It’s quite soon.”

  Robert gave her a puppy-dog face, lip out, eyes wide. “Don’t you want to see me?”

  Vicky laughed. “Okay, it’s a date.” She turned back to face him, tempted to kiss him back. “I’ll get Mum to look after Bella.”