Perfect Crime

by Helen Fields

  Ava and Callanach stared silently at one another.

  ‘So that’s the way you two are going to play it. Ava Turner, your mother would have wanted me to take better care of you.’

  Ava smiled and reached out an arm to hug the woman who’d been like a favourite aunt to her since she’d joined the police force.

  ‘My mother can rest peacefully, Ailsa. You’re taking perfectly good care of me and we’re headed directly to the hospital, okay? Cross my heart.’

  ‘Not that I don’t believe you, but I expect you to produce the medication for me tomorrow morning. Understood?’

  Ava and Callanach left, with Callanach extending a hand to help Ava to hobble down the narrow staircase.

  ‘You’d think, now that I’m a detective chief inspector, Ailsa might have decided I’m a grown-up,’ she grumbled.

  ‘I’m not taking sides in that argument,’ Callanach said. ‘Ailsa’s scarier than you.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m your boss, so you’re duty bound to agree with me.’ Ava winced as she climbed into the car and bent her leg. ‘To the hospital then, but we’d better make it quick. We’ve still got a lot to do tonight.’

  ‘Back to the station to start working on the Hawksmith case?’ Callanach asked.

  ‘Your place first. You can’t avoid it, Luc. This thing with the nursing home isn’t going to go away on its own. We’re doing all we can for Mrs Hawksmith for now, God help the poor woman.’

  They pulled away slowly, neither of them noticing the man who was watching from the window of the chippy across the road, clutching newspaper-wrapped cod that he had no intention of eating. You had to have a death wish to consume that much saturated fat and salt. He smiled at the irony of it and wondered what Mrs Hawksmith looked like now, three weeks after he’d last seen her.

  Chapter Eight

  4 March

  The Royal Infirmary’s emergency department was oddly quiet, but then there was a football match on. Most people would try to avoid serious injury until the pubs were kicking out. Callanach accompanied Ava to reception, knowing she’d play down the extent of the pain if left alone. She showed her badge and explained that time was limited. A nurse appeared immediately and showed them through to a cubicle.

  ‘I’ll give you some privacy to get undressed,’ Callanach said.

  ‘Not much point. You saw the wound last night and I’m guessing the sight of me in my underwear won’t be hugely thrilling at the moment. Take a chair and turn your head away.’ She unzipped her jeans and pulled them slowly down over the wound. ‘Shit,’ she muttered beneath her breath.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Callanach asked, keeping his focus on the sink in the corner.

  ‘Not really. I should have shaved my legs a fortnight ago. I look like a bloody yeti, and now I’m going to be stitched up by a doctor who’ll assume I’m some washed-up old maid whose idea of a good night is reruns of the TV series The Book Group while I sip vodka and Irn Bru, pretending it’s a proper cocktail because I dropped a maraschino cherry in it.’

  A slim, tanned hand appeared and gracefully drew back the curtain to reveal Dr Selina Vega, the only woman in the world who could make a white coat look sexier and more glamorous than a red-carpet gown.

  ‘Selina,’ Callanach said. ‘That’s a coincidence.’

  ‘Not really. One of the reception staff recognised you and asked if I wanted to take the case,’ she smiled. ‘Hello, Ava. That’s a nasty cut. Why don’t you lie down so I can get a better look at it.’

  ‘Er, sure … I think I probably just need a prescription for antibiotics, though. We’re on the clock. It’s good to see you again. You keeping well?’ she asked, horribly aware of the tension between Callanach and his ex-girlfriend, and wondering if tea-party conversation was going to help or make things worse.

  ‘I’m going to have to clean it out then stitch it. The butterfly stitches aren’t pulling the sides together properly. Left like this you’ll have a serious scar and the underlying tissue will be painful for life.’

  ‘So it’s a yes to the stitches, then,’ Ava said. ‘Luc, this could take a while. Did you want to go and get a coffee or something? Sorry, Selina, we’ve just come from a crime scene. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll bring you back a tea. Selina, espresso?’

  ‘Please,’ she nodded, taking various implements from a drawer and pulling a light over the top of Ava’s leg. ‘You need me to anaesthetise you first?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t bother. It’s so painful already that you sticking a needle in won’t add much.’

  Selina began peeling off the strip stitches and cleaning the wound. Ava watched her dexterous fingers work their magic and wondered how Callanach could have given up such a beautiful creature. They seemed to have so much in common.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about you and Luc,’ Ava said. ‘Truly. I think you were good for him.’

  ‘You’ll need a shot of antibiotics to get on top of this infection. There were some small stones and dust stuck in the bottom of the gash. It won’t start healing until the infection’s dealt with. How did it happen?’

  ‘Fell over late at night, checking out a potential crime at a castle, of all places. Thank God Luc was with me. He always seems to be in the right place at the right time. Fire away with the antibiotics. Needles don’t bother me. Do you mind me asking what happened? I know it’s none of my business, but Luc is so closed-off about his personal life and I worry about him.’

  Selina withdrew the needle from Ava’s leg and dropped it into the sharps bin.

  ‘Are you asking as his boss or in some other capacity?’

  ‘As his friend. You know, you stole my cinema buddy from me. No one else’ll watch black-and-white movies with me at midnight on a Wednesday. Even so, I’d have continued making the sacrifice to see him happy. I was hoping things would work out between the two of you.’

  Selina took a semicircular suture needle from a sterile packet and got ready to begin stitching.

  ‘Luc’s complicated,’ she said. ‘His past affects him every day. People have the wrong expectations of him and he feels the weight of that.’

  Ava closed her eyes and laid her head back, gripping the sides of the bed. It was one thing being brave about needles, but only a fool wanted to watch one being weaved in and out of their own flesh.

  ‘That’s why I was so pleased when the two of you started dating. After all the trouble with Astrid Borde and the rape allegation, he needed someone he could really trust.’

  She inhaled suddenly. The flesh around the wound was more tender than she’d realised and she’d been wrong to think that the pain couldn’t get any worse.

  ‘Did he talk to you about me much?’ Selina asked quietly.

  ‘Of course,’ Ava rushed to reassure, trying to recall specific conversations when Callanach had described what they’d done at a weekend, or the sort of person Selina was. She came up blank. ‘But it’s hard given our job. Lots of people prefer to leave their private life at the door, so you can go home without a crossover. You understand. It must be the same for you.’

  ‘Actually, I used to talk to my colleagues about Luc all the time,’ Selina said, dabbing the wound dry to make the stitching easier. ‘I was hoping we’d move in together this summer. He didn’t tell you I’d suggested it?’

  ‘I think he did say something about that, yes,’ Ava lied, looking at the curtain and wondering how long Callanach was going to take with the drinks.

  She was a bad liar and Selina was an intellectual match for anyone. Pretty soon, she was going to have make a clumsy attempt at changing the subject.

  ‘Like you, I thought Luc was happy. We’re both Europeans, immigrants to Scotland, we love active sports and sunshine, we understand the pressures of shiftwork. Perfect, right?’

  Ava managed a small nod. The pain really was quite bad.

  ‘So I keep asking myself, why did he decide it wouldn’t work out? Am I not enough fun, not a good enough cook, do I ta
ke life too seriously? But you know what, I don’t think it’s anything to do with me. That might sound arrogant …’

  ‘Not at all. My mate Natasha thinks you’re a goddess,’ Ava interjected.

  ‘… but I work hard, play hard and I’m not in bad shape.’

  It was all Ava could do not to roll her eyes.

  ‘So I think there must be someone else.’ Selina stopped stitching and sat upright, pausing to look Ava in the eyes. ‘What do you think, Ava? Is there another woman in Luc’s life I know nothing about?’

  ‘Bloody hell, no. He was reclusive until he met you. There was a weird moment with his neighbour, Bunny, but that was her doing rather than his and it stopped before it got started. Apart from that, he’s not had a single date since he moved to Scotland, as far as I’m aware.’ Ava inspected the neat stitching along her leg as Selina stuck a gauze pad over it. ‘Wow, great job. I’m really grateful.’

  ‘You mean, except for all the dates with you, at the cinema, dinner, drinks, fishing …’ Selina said as she cleared the debris from the operation.

  ‘Well, neither of us would call those dates,’ Ava laughed. ‘A couple of work colleagues keeping each other company because they’ve got no one else to be with, maybe.’

  ‘Do you know he wakes at night sometimes calling your name? He has this recurring nightmare. He told me it comes from a time when you were taken hostage and he was worried he’d reach you too late. That must have been terribly traumatic for you.’ Selina stripped off her gloves and dropped them in a bin.

  ‘It was,’ Ava said quietly, reluctant to recall the events. Other women hadn’t been as lucky as her. Not all of them had survived.

  ‘Those sorts of traumas create a strong bond between people. Sometimes it felt as if he’d have been happier holding you after waking from those dreams. I was always just a substitute. I suppose it’s better I figured that out sooner rather than later.’ She stood up and took a prescription pad from her pocket.

  ‘Sorry it took so long. Drinks at last,’ Callanach said, kicking the curtain aside to enter and thrusting steaming paper cups at them both.

  ‘Thank you,’ Ava said quietly. ‘Luc, could you wait outside while I get my jeans back on, please?’

  ‘Oh, sure, just give me a shout if you need any help.’

  He looked confused but exited anyway.

  Ava took a deep breath and tried to compose a reply. Selina had obviously misjudged the situation between Callanach and her, and if that was what had split them up, she needed to put it right.

  ‘Selina, Luc and I are just work colleagues. You know that, right? He sees me more like one of the guys than a woman he could ever be interested in. And it’s not always easy between us. My God, when we argue it’s like sailing through a storm.’

  ‘I bet it is,’ Selina smiled. ‘Here’s your prescription. You should get it filled immediately and start taking the antibiotics tonight. No alcohol until you finish all the tablets. Any problem with the leg, see a doctor immediately. Keep the stitches as dry as you can.’

  Ava sat up and pulled her jeans back on gingerly.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, taking the piece of paper from Selina’s hand.

  ‘Don’t hurt him, Ava,’ Selina whispered. ‘He may act tough but there’s only so much one person can take. If you don’t feel the same way about him as he feels about you, you should let him go.’

  ‘But I …’

  ‘With respect, stop playing dumb. It doesn’t suit you,’ Selina finished. ‘I hope the leg heals soon.’

  Ava sat on the edge of the bed, wondering if she should go after Selina, who’d either forgotten or abandoned her espresso. Not that there was anything else to say. She’d clearly made up her mind that there was something going on between Callanach and her, and as for the playing-dumb comment … that was a step too far. It was difficult to share someone like Callanach, she guessed. The good looks and French charm would make him a target for many women, so it was understandable that any girlfriend of his might get the odd pang of jealousy. And she and Callanach did work very closely together.

  She slipped her feet back into her trainers. More than just closely, she had to admit. This morning she’d woken up in his bed shortly after he’d saved her life. That was what Selina was feeling. It was that co-dependency that police partners sometimes developed, the sense that there was one person in all the world who’d never let you down. The knowledge that there was one human being who knew what you were thinking, who could anticipate your every action and decision, and who would catch you every single time you fell – physically, emotionally, professionally, personally – every single time.

  Ava took a sip of her tea and bit her bottom lip, wondering if she should talk to Callanach about Selina’s delusion. He might be a little shocked at first, but he’d see the funny side. Perhaps it would even allow Selina and him to have a conversation where they could mend the rift between them.

  The talk of nightmares had shocked her. She’d pushed those awful days of her life as far back in her mind as she could and in doing so had assumed everyone else involved had done the same. Callanach had lived with the prospect of losing her to a deeply deranged psychopath and that must have been hard for him. She composed herself and wandered down the corridor, finding him reading a noticeboard and grimacing over his coffee.

  ‘We can go,’ she said softly.

  ‘Great, that was quick. Where’s Selina?’

  ‘She got called to another cubicle,’ Ava said, lying becoming a theme of the night. ‘She said to tell you goodbye. You should call her soon. I’m sure she’d appreciate a drink when you’re both less frantic.’

  ‘Good idea,’ he said, putting an arm around Ava’s waist so she could lean on him and keep the pressure off her leg. ‘What did you and Selina talk about when I was getting coffee?’

  Ava barely paused. ‘Spain,’ she said. ‘Would you mind driving me to a chemist next?’

  ‘Whatever you need,’ he said, opening the car door for her. ‘I’m all yours.’

  Chapter Nine

  Before

  As Ava waited for her prescription to be filled at the chemist, a man armed with nothing more lethal than a fish supper walked the streets of Edinburgh, peering into windows carelessly left uncurtained. Dr Selina Vega had offered to cover a shift for a colleague who’d called in sick, knowing she wouldn’t get to sleep after seeing the man she loved and had lost. Pax Graham, sitting at his brand-new desk, read the statements taken from the staff at the nursing home and wondered how he was going to tell his boss on the second day of his new post that a colleague was the prime suspect in a murder case. And Mrs Fenella Hawksmith – Fenny to her bingo friends who’d been wondering where she was for the last three weeks – was being wheeled out in a body bag for transfer to the Edinburgh City Mortuary.

  Fenny had assumed for the last three years of her life that death would be something of a relief. Losing her husband to cancer had been bad but fast. Unable to continue living in the house they’d shared, she’d taken the cheaper, anonymous one-bedroomed flat on Easter Road. What pained her more was the daughter she’d lost to drugs in Glasgow. Alice had run away twelve years earlier. Came back. Went to rehab. Relapsed. Ran away again. Lived on the streets. Came home. Stole from them. Ran away again. For the last five years, Fenny hadn’t known if her precious girl was alive or dead. She couldn’t even share the knowledge of her father’s passing with her. There had been no one to hold her as she’d grieved, and no one for her to comfort and give her a reason to live.

  Fenny’s doctor had been sympathetic but overstretched, prescribing antidepressants on request when she’d described her feelings of hopelessness. Her husband’s hospice had reached out to her, but there had been too many ladies in flowery dresses. ‘Edinburgh posh’, her own mother would have said, and a million miles away from the Glasgow poverty she’d grown up in. It wasn’t that they were judging her, she just hadn’t felt like she belonged.

  Her first atte
mpt at exiting the miserable world she’d found herself inhabiting had come to an abrupt end when she’d simply thrown up all the tablets she’d taken, together with the bottle of cheap red wine used to wash them down. The only lasting result had been a nasty stain on a beige carpet and a hangover that had lingered for days.

  The next occasion had been better planned. Knowing better than to attempt the deed at home surrounded by photos of those she’d loved and lost, she’d spent a hundred quid of her savings, figuring she couldn’t take it with her, and booked a hotel room. The irony of that expenditure was that if she’d simply locked herself in her own bathroom, the suicide might have been successful. As it was, a member of housekeeping had failed to deliver a full set of clean towels that morning, so the woman knocked on the door while Fenny was slitting her wrists and entered when no response came.

  An ambulance had been called and Fenny had been whisked away to a nearby hospital. A psychiatric consultant had been engaged and she’d spent the following four months as an inpatient at a unit where the staff wore pink, smiled a lot more than was normal, and insisted that she do a series of daily classes including yoga, meditation and mindfulness. By the end of it, Fenny had been such a flawless student that she was released with cake and good wishes.

  They had no idea that she’d have done anything at all never to have to go back to yoga classes again, with a teacher who constantly talked in sing-song hushed tones and insisted that she should love her body and listen to it. Fenny’s body, she was pretty sure, fucking hated her and she didn’t want to listen to anything it had to say, but compliance had got her out of the unit, with a side-effect of making her truly angry. Angry that her husband had smoked forty a day and left her alone as she marched towards old age. Angry that the daughter she’d cried for every day for more than a decade was gone for no good reason at all. Angry at the neighbours who blasted rap music out day and night.