Death Parts Us

by Alex Walters

  ‘Jackie fucking Galloway indeed,’ Helena Grant said. ‘You developing telepathy in your old age, Alec?’

  ‘No. But, Christ, I just recognised Bridie Galloway standing across the street. The grieving widow.’ He remembered the bungalow up on the high street now too. He’d been there once, years before, to drop off some of the stuff that Jackie Galloway had left behind at HQ. He’d not exactly been welcomed with open arms that day, but then, he hadn’t really expected to be. Not, as Helena Grant would put it, in the circumstances. ‘She’s aged.’

  ‘While you’ve remained younger than springtime?’ Grant said. ‘We’ve all aged, Alec. It was a long time ago. And, from what I hear, she’s not had the easiest of times over the last few years.’

  ‘If she stayed married to Jackie Galloway, I don’t imagine she ever had the easiest of times,’ McKay said. ‘Man was an arsehole of the highest order.’

  ‘I believe he spoke very highly of you too, Alec. But, aye, you’re not far wrong.’

  McKay was still watching Bridie Galloway across the street. She didn’t exactly look the part of the grieving widow. Shocked, maybe, though that ashen pallor tended to go with the sunless territory up in this part of the world. But not greeting or wailing in the way he might have expected. But then, in this case, it probably wasn’t what he’d have expected. Jackie Galloway would have been a handful even at the best of times. If he’d been suffering from Alzheimer’s, then Christ alone knew what he’d have been like to live with. Maybe McKay’s flippant remark to the young PC hadn’t been so wide of the mark after all.

  ‘Okay,’ he said to Grant. ‘I’ll go and make my presence felt. Have the Examiners been called, do you know?’

  ‘I believe Jock Henderson and his pals are winging their way to you even as we speak.’

  ‘My lucky day. Just hope Jock doesn’t forget his spectacles this time.’ There was, for reasons neither could fully recall, a long-standing needle between McKay and the Senior Crime Scene Examiner. They treated their regular spats as jocular, but they never entirely felt that way to McKay.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, Alec. Give my regards to Bridie.’

  ‘Aye, I’m sure that’ll make her day.’

  McKay ended the call and stood for a moment in the weak sunshine, watching the scene in front of him. How long had it been since he’d seen Jackie Galloway? Twenty years or more. Chief Inspector John Galloway, in those days. Although not by the time McKay had last seen him, in that same bungalow up on the high street. By then, Galloway’s police career was already behind him, and his once unignorable presence was already being discreetly erased from the collective memory. When it came to creating non-persons, the force could give the Soviet Politburo a run for its money.

  Galloway had no one to blame but himself, of course. But that wasn’t how he saw it. That had been the constant thread of Galloway’s career. It was always some other bugger’s fault. He’d got a long way on the basis of that mantra, and that had just made his eventual downfall even more spectacular. There’d been a moment, on that rainy evening when McKay had turned up on the doorstep with a tatty cardboard box full of Galloway’s discarded junk, when Galloway had seemed almost like a tragic figure. It had been no more than a moment – lasting no longer than it took for Galloway to start spewing his usual invective at McKay’s rain-soaked figure – but McKay had brought himself to feel some sympathy for the man. In the end, he’d dumped the box on the doorstep and told Galloway to go fuck himself.

  He crossed back over the street and drew aside the young PC who was still unsuccessfully attempting to disperse the small crowd. ‘You’ll be delighted to know, son, that I’ve been asked to take charge here. There just the two of you?’

  The young man nodded, clearly relieved to hand over responsibility to someone more senior. ‘Roddy’s up at the bungalow making sure no one tries to get in.’

  McKay nodded. ‘Good lad. The Examiners are on their way, so we’ll all be able to sleep easy in our beds. You keep this lot at bay as well as you can, and I’ll go chat to the merry widow.’ He turned to the group of onlookers and held up his warrant card. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. DI McKay. We fully appreciate your concern, but may I kindly request you return to your business? There’s really nothing you can do here, and we need the space to carry out our work.’

  Despite McKay’s short stature, his authority was undeniable. The crowd, which had been blithely ignoring the pleas of the young constable, began almost immediately to move away, with only a few murmurings of discontent. McKay made his way over to where Bridie Galloway was standing. His initial assessment had been correct. She was pale but dry-eyed, he thought, as if she’d been shocked by the event but not necessarily distraught at the outcome.

  ‘Mrs Galloway. DI McKay. I’m really very sorry –’

  She peered at him. ‘McKay? You used to work for Jackie, didn’t you?’

  McKay almost expected she’d spit in his eye. Instead, she gave an unexpected half smile as if his presence had confirmed something she’d been suspecting. McKay, not normally a man short of words, found himself at a loss. ‘That’s right,’ he said, finally. ‘I didn’t expect you to remember me.’ As far as he could recall, they’d met only once or twice at the force’s Christmas shindigs.

  ‘Aye, well. Jackie used to speak highly of you. Well, more highly than he spoke of most people, anyway.’

  That was news to McKay. Galloway had never shown any obvious signs of approval when McKay had been part of his team. On the contrary, as the youngest member of the group, McKay had usually been selected as Galloway’s primary whipping boy whenever anything went wrong.

  ‘That’s good to know,’ McKay said. ‘This must be an awful shock.’

  She nodded. ‘What’s happened was a shock. I still don’t really understand it. But – well, you know, Jackie wasn’t a well man. Maybe it’s a blessing, really.’ She glanced at the two women beside her, as if seeking their approval for this sentiment. Both had backed away a few steps, McKay noticed. The police were loved the world over.

  ‘Do you feel up to talking about it?’ McKay said. ‘Nothing formal at this stage. Just to give me an idea of what happened.’

  ‘I’d rather not go back to the bungalow. Not just at the moment.’

  He nodded. ‘We’ve called out the Crime Scene Examiners, just to check the place over. We’ll need to borrow your keys to give them access if that’s not a problem?’

  ‘The Examiners?’ she said. ‘Does that mean –?’

  ‘It doesn’t mean anything, Mrs Galloway. It’s just routine. These days, any kind of unexpected – accident, well, we call them in just until we’re sure of the circumstances.’

  She looked unconvinced by his explanation. ‘The back-door’s open. I just came out looking –’

  ‘Aye, of course. I wasn’t thinking.’ He gestured to the young PC. ‘I’ll let them know. Look, why don’t we go and grab a tea at that restaurant place at the corner? Might do you good to have a sit down and a cuppa.’

  It was too early in the year for the small restaurant to be busy, but there was a couple enjoying an early lunch by the window. They’d been greeted effusively by the manager who managed not to look too disappointed when McKay waved his warrant card and asked if he could bring a pot of tea to one of the tables outside.

  ‘Not too cold?’ McKay lowered himself on to one of the unoccupied picnic benches and gestured for Bridie Galloway to take a seat opposite. ‘More private out here.’ There was a breeze blowing off the sea, but it was mild in the sunshine.

  ‘That’s fine.’ She seemed to have regained some of her composure in the short walk along the seafront. ‘It’s a grand place,’ she said, looking back at the small restaurant. ‘We could never afford to eat here.’

  McKay shifted uncomfortably. ‘Must have been a struggle for you both,’ he said.

  ‘Aye, well. Whose fault was that?’

  McKay was unsure what answer she expected, and was relieved when a young waiter arrive
d with the pot of tea. They sat in silence as he distributed the cups, milk and sugar.

  Finally, McKay said, ‘I’m sorry about what happened to Jackie. Not just today but – well, everything.’

  She shrugged. ‘Most of that was the stupid bugger’s own fault. He had nothing to complain about.’

  Aye, but you did, McKay thought. You were landed well and truly in the shite. He was amazed that she could talk about her husband with such equanimity. But then he’d been amazed, at the time, that she’d stuck by him. He couldn’t imagine that marriage to Jackie Galloway would have offered many other compensations. ‘I hear he’d been unwell?’

  ‘You could say that. Early onset Alzheimer’s. Started only a few years after we moved up here.’ She had the air of someone who wanted to talk, and McKay was content to let her. It was probably the first time in years she’d had an attentive audience. ‘I didn’t think much of it at first. It was the usual stuff. Being a bit forgetful. Standing in a room not knowing why he’d gone in there. You know.’

  ‘Only too well,’ McKay agreed. ‘But it got worse?’

  ‘He went downhill quickly.’ She stopped, and for the first time since McKay had started speaking to her, she was showing some signs of emotion. ‘I found him one morning searching for his uniform. Thought he was back on the beat. It just got worse after that. I mean, it came and went. There were good days – sometimes, days in a row – when he seemed fine, and you could fool yourself it was all miraculously going to be okay –’

  ‘What did the doctors say?’

  ‘Ach, they didn’t pull any punches. It was a nightmare just getting him to hospital. He wasn’t up to driving, and I’d never driven, so we ended up having to get the bus to the Raigmore every time. And there were times when he didn’t know where he was or what we were doing. He once tried to arrest some wee lad who was being a bit gobby on the bus.’

  ‘And you were his only carer?’

  ‘We got some help from social services in the end. Came in a couple of times a day to help me feed him and get him into bed. But he was hard work. He’d go wandering off at home. I tried to keep the doors locked so he couldn’t get out, but I’d find him wandering ‘round the house. He got out into the street once, and a few times, he was out in the garden.’

  ‘Is that what happened today?’

  She didn’t respond for a moment. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what happened today.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  She took a mouthful of her tea. McKay’s was growing cold in front of him. ‘I used to have to keep an eye on him all the time. But the last couple of years, it’s been different. He became more and more passive. The doctors reckoned that’s the way it is sometimes. As if his brain was slowly shutting down. Like, you know, his batteries were running out.’

  ‘So, he stopped wandering about?’

  ‘It was gradual at first. He’d spend more time sitting in his chair in front of the TV. Then, I had to persuade him to get up when it was time for bed or, you know, if he wanted the lavvy. In the end, he stopped doing anything. He’d just sit there, staring at the screen. He wasn’t really watching it. It was just the movement.’

  ‘So, what happened today?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t really believe it.’

  ‘Talk me through it,’ McKay said. ‘If you’re able to.’

  She took a breath. ‘I’d been shopping. Just over to the convenience store up the road. I get what I can there, these days, and just have the odd trip over to the Co-op at Fortrose. I was only out of the house for fifteen, twenty minutes or so.’

  ‘How was he when you left?’

  ‘Just the usual. I’d had the carer in earlier to help me get him dressed and give him breakfast. Then, I’d left him in front of the TV. He was the same as ever. Saying nothing. Just watching the screen.’

  ‘What happened when you got back?’

  ‘Something felt wrong as soon as I got into the house. It felt – empty, you know?’

  McKay knew well enough. He’d felt it the night he’d returned home, after all that business along the shore here, to find Chrissie gone. He’d known the house was empty as soon as he opened the door.

  ‘And it felt cold,’ she went on.

  ‘Cold?’

  ‘The back-door was open.’

  ‘You hadn’t left it open?’ He felt as if he were accusing her of negligence.

  ‘No, of course not. It was always locked and bolted. I only ever went out there to hang out the washing, and I always checked and double-checked it was locked. I had the bolts fitted to make sure he couldn’t wander out there.’

  ‘So, what do you think happened today?’

  She blinked. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’

  ‘Do you think Jackie could have unlocked the back-door?’

  ‘I’d have said not. I’d have said definitely not.’

  ‘But he must have?’

  ‘Well, aye. What else?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He paused. ‘There was no sign of any other disturbance?’

  ‘Disturbance? What, like a break-in?’

  McKay shrugged. ‘Anything like that. I don’t know. I’m just considering the possibilities. What about the carers? Do they have keys? Is it possible they could have come back while you were out?’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible,’ she said doubtfully. ‘We’ve got one those key safe things on the front door with a spare key so they can get in if I’m not around for any reason. But I don’t know why they’d have opened the back-door.’

  ‘Could the key safe have been left open? Maybe someone else got in? Kids or something.’ McKay felt as if he’d unintentionally begun to turn the conversation into an interrogation. Aye, well done, son, he told himself, just the way to treat a grieving widow. Even if she is grieving for Jackie fucking Galloway. ‘Ach, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to subject you to the third degree. I’m just trying to work out how it could have happened.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I want to know too,’ she said. ‘It was a shock finding him like that, even if –’ She stopped, as if she’d been about to say something else, but then went on, ‘Even if it’s a blessing in some ways. But Jackie wouldn’t have opened that door by himself. He couldn’t have.’

  McKay nodded. ‘Well, let’s not jump to conclusions. Stranger things have happened. Let’s see what the Examiners have to say.’

  ‘The thing is,’ Bridie Galloway went on as if she hadn’t heard him, ‘I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t really surprised that this happened. I should have known.’

  ‘Known what?’ McKay realised she was avoiding his eyes, staring past his shoulder at the open sea, the white scudding clouds.

  ‘That he really was in danger,’ she said. ‘That the letters were serious.’

  4

  Jock Henderson was leaning against the doorframe, smoking a cigarette. As McKay made his way up the path, Henderson blew out a cloud of smoke, not quite in McKay’s face.

  ‘They’ll be the death of you, you know,’ McKay said.

  ‘Aye, like we’ve all got so much to live for.’ Henderson dropped the cigarette on to the path, stubbed it out with his foot, then kicked it on to the garden. After a moment’s thought, he jabbed the cigarette end with his toe to bury it in the earth. He was a tall, angular man with an uncontrolled mop of greying curly hair, and it was like watching a stork performing a mating dance.

  ‘No white suit?’ McKay asked.

  ‘I’ve got Pete suited up checking out the rooms. I went straight down to do the body before the medics carted it away. And, yes, I wore protective clothing, even though the poor bugger had already been well and truly manhandled by those two jumped-up ambulance drivers.’ He shrugged. ‘Then, I was standing here enjoying the sun and a smoke. That all right with you, Alec?’

  McKay ostentatiously pulled a packet of gum from his pocket. ‘Your lungs, Jock.’ McKay had been a forty a day man until a few years earlier. He wasn’t generally e
vangelical about his new-found abstinence, but he was happy for any opportunity to wind up Jock Henderson. ‘Gum?’

  Equally pointedly, Henderson drew another cigarette from the packet in his top shirt pocket and went through the ritual of lighting it. ‘Wouldn’t have thought this one merited someone of your exalted rank,’ he said. ‘Too much time on your hands?’

  ‘Have you been told the name of the deceased?’

  Henderson shook his head. ‘Not yet. No ID on the body.’

  ‘Jackie Galloway.’

  ‘Jesus. I didn't even recognise him. Is this how he ended up? Even that old bastard didn’t deserve this.’

  McKay nodded, wondering whether Henderson was referring to Galloway’s death, the dementia, or maybe just the state and size of the bungalow. At least it was bigger than the place McKay had just agreed to rent. ‘Not been easy for them. Was just talking to Bridie Galloway. Jackie’s been away with the fairies the last few years.’

  Henderson shrugged. ‘He fucked up, that’s the long and short of it. Well and truly.’

  ‘She didn’t, though,’ McKay said. ‘She just had to live with the consequences. In sickness and in health. ‘Til death parts us. All that bollocks.’

  ‘Ach, she fucked up as well,’ Henderson pointed out. ‘She chose to marry Jackie fucking Galloway. Probably thought she’d jumped on a gravy train.’

  McKay chewed pensively on his gum for a few moments. ‘So, what are your professional conclusions, then?’ He placed a possibly satirical emphasis on the word “professional.”

  ‘Not much ‘til Pete’s finished with the rooms and the garden,’ Henderson said. ‘There was nothing suspicious about the body. Injuries looked consistent with falling twenty feet head first on to a concrete patio. Doc’ll confirm, but I couldn’t see anything to suggest the cause of death was anything other than the head injuries resulting from that. I took DNA samples from the two medics, so we can check if there’s any sign of other DNA on his clothing, but I’m not hopeful of finding anything significant.’ He shrugged. ‘Doesn’t mean he wasn’t pushed, but there’s not likely to be any evidence from the body. Any reason to suspect foul play? Other than the fact that at one time, the world and his wife would have been queuing up to push Galloway to his death?’