The Crook closed for a few weeks and with all the questioning Pam couldn’t stay. Initially they all supported her, and then they attacked her too. When it was discovered that she had a direct link to Dev – who it appeared had killed Ollie, the shock set in, and it was all a blur. But it was the right decision for her to get out, and a place in the halls of residence at Halbeath was granted by the College. It was all huge news. Children just don’t get kidnapped and murdered around here. People don’t get bludgeoned to death because of it. Not in these parts. Not here.
The lecture notes that the students were all waiting for were finally distributed. The time lost to the lecture may be minimal but the time it gives you to go over things in your head can be priceless. Or costly. Depending on how you look at it.
Pam leaned on her elbow looking down at the lecture hall. She would think again about her Simon. Her love. Positive mental attitude takes her and Simon away to sunnier climes, holding hands, bathing in the sea, a marriage maybe….
3
The murder mystery would take more organising than they thought, but Bob had worked out that the money saved by drinking the booze his friends would bring might offset the food costs - certainly if his contact came through with the cheap meat cuts he had offered – and that’s why Bobs nose was pressed to the front window now. Wednesday morning. He had left before Marie so not to have to tell her about his job loss…. Hoping that a news article on industry cutbacks could allow him to pretend it was normal redundancy. When he came home he had wandered down Primrose Lane, just to make sure her car sat in the Gym car park. Then he could go home to the quiet of the house. And here he sat. Waiting.
Everyone had agreed to come on Saturday. It would give them all a chance to enjoy themselves. To reminisce. To get so drunk that they would talk freely about Dev. To go over the letters Aid had been getting. To go over what happened that night. They had not spoken about it all together. They had each had to speak with the police that night and subsequently, but it was mainly informal and, as the evidence was so pointed towards Dev, and then to Ian Ingram, there had been little point in flogging a dead horse. From dead horses to prime cuts, a silver grey car pulled up to complete one of today’s non-work related tasks.
His mind reverted to the letters. Aid was worrying about them. That they seemed to insinuate. They appeared to question what was already known to the police. Bob had had time to look into this. He had to be out of the house if Marie came back, and he had to do something other than drink and gamble…or she would find out his situation… so maybe it was about time to find out what the hell was going on. He had only one lead and that was a PO Box in Glasgow. Bob grabbed his jacket off the banister, locked the front door, and moved through the hall to the back kitchen. A horn sounded.
Spiv had brought his red convertible sports car to the back door as requested. Top up of course. Bob shut the back door to his house and jumped the waist high back garden fence. Then, as a guilty knot festered in his stomach, he looked back along Primrose Lane towards the Gym. A silent sigh came out as he ambled into the passenger seat.
‘Aright mate’
Spiv looked through his redundant shades, revved hard in first and with wheels spinning took off, narrowly avoiding a collision with a Vauxhall Corsa whose driver cursed as Bob glanced back.
‘Woah there Lewis, lets get there in one piece’, said Bob slinging on his seatbelt
‘So what’s all this about?’ Spiv looked at Bob, although he should have been concentrating on the road.
‘I’ll tell you in a minute. Watch the road’
‘It’s fine. What letters has Aids been getting then? Formal letters?’
‘Looks that way. I just want to see where they were sent from, as the postal return is to a PO box at Bar L rather than an address. Strange though. Seems to be authentic.’
‘Isn’t that where most police stuff would come from though?’
‘Maybe. But why not addressed to a person. Like the Inspector or someone.’
A pause follows, Spiv silent in thought, Bob concentrating on the road and clenching the door handle as the car took another tight bend.
‘Do you think that Aids has anything to do with Dev's murder?’ Spiv blurted this out, but to Bob it appeared like a random rambling.
He hadn’t given it a moment’s thought.
‘No. Of course not. I guess it’s just admin - stuff they didn’t write up at the time’
Spiv didn’t seem convinced.
‘Maybe he thinks Ian Ingram didn’t do it’
‘Spiv. The man’s in jail. I think he did it – he was found battering in Dev’s skull with a torch handle!’ An uncomfortable silence.
‘I guess…. What a fuckin caper’, Spiv sped up as the roundabout appeared, and he flew across, inside wheel clipping the kerb as he did.
The road to Kincardine seemed like a quicker route to the Central Post Office in Glasgow, than attempting the Forth Road Bridge. Despite the removal of tolls it still seemed better to take a chance on the bridge further up the river - less likelihood of congestion. Bob wondered how Spiv would have coped if they were prevented from moving at warp speed on this journey. Spiv continued to fly along the road overtaking various ‘law abiding’ road users.
The sun shone low in the sky and Bob wished he had Spiv's sunglasses shielding his eyes from the glare as it poured in through the front windscreen.
‘I just dinnae ken why they are picking on Aids now? Do you think he knows more than he admitted to last year?’ Spiv's concern was obvious.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Mebbe he knows more now than he did then, and mebbe he has spoken or written to someone, and has to make out that its THEM that have contacted HIM’
Bob, a little confused, just grunted agreeably. But what could Aids know? Why would he contact anyone?
‘I don’t think so Spiv. I think Aids is as worried about this as you or me.’
‘So what’s he going to do about it?’
Bob felt the letter in his jacket pocket. He would tell Spiv, but not yet.
‘I guess he’ll just answer the questions again, just as they ask.’
The letter in Bobs pocket was written by Aidrian in response to the questions he had been asked. It was addressed to “Letter ID 234.22.178.II, PO Box 84, Glasgow, G1”. This was the address they were going to check out and then they would know if the questions were serious.
“Please give further explanation regarding the events of the night of Jan 29th 2007 - the night that Dev Coulding was found dead.
- We would often play these games. There was nothing unusual about the night. The game required couples to look for the clues. Dev Coulding was the only ‘team’ with just one member. I was with my partner Monica. The game started and ended at the Seven Kings pub.
Can you confirm the names of all those who were involved in the ‘Treasure Hunt’ game being played that evening.
- Aidrian Burgess, Monica Delaney, Robert Reilly, Marie Smith, Simon Deuchar, Pamela Watters, Tom McAndrew, Emma McAndrew
Can you confirm who wrote the clues for the Treasure Hunt and who issued the clues to the individuals involved in the game?
- The clues were written up by each of us. One per couple. You just made sure that no-one took the clue they made up themselves. The couples took one each and the game began. The game started at seven so if anyone was late we left the clue at the bar. Dev was last in, but this time he got the clue off the table. This was discussed at the time of the investigation and can be confirmed by all the others who were there as recorded in question above.
Can you confirm where you were and who you were with on the day prior to, and evening during, the treasure hunt game on Jan 29th 2007?”
3.1 Aid and Mon
Aidrian held onto Mon’s hand. She smiled at him. He held tight, and she rubbed the top of his hand gently.
They made their way down Bruce Street towards the Abbey, where they expected to find the second clue.
'Love you too'. They snuggle together and walked across the cobble street. The street lights shone off the wet ground and Aidrian pulled his jacket collar up to keep out the cold. Monica shivered, and they released hands. Aidrian put his arm around her and they walk on.
His financial worries were troubling him. He had gambled away too much of their holiday fund. Mon hadn't found out yet.
'Mon'
'What is it with you tonight?'
'Nothing. Why?'
'Are you OK?' Monica turned Aidrian to look at her hazel eyes, moist with the cold air.
Aidrian held her hands and then pulled her close to him.
'Nothing. I'm just so happy to be with you. You know. I never say. Sometimes I just think I don't say it enough'.
'Aw, hon'. She smooched Aidrian, and they kissed for a moment.
'Yeah. I'm a lucky man'.
They crossed the road again to the cemetery gate. Aids held it open for Monica and they walked in. The dark eerie feeling was lost to some football chants from nearby, as some smokers stood about outside the Gillie's pub. The clue had led them here.
'Where Bruce can be seen, the bench is warmed
Across from Thomas Anderlund'
There were only 4 benches in the Abbey grounds where you could see the 'Bruce' writing on top of the Abbey turret. The next clue would be on one of these - near to the gravestone of Thomas Anderlund they surmised.
Aidrian glanced at his watch.
'You late for something?' Mon grabbed his coat, 'or someone?'
'No. Nothing. Just habit', Aidrian was nervous of his work situation, and this made him fidget frequently. He knew that it would all come out sooner or later. Or maybe it wouldn't, but the guilt was killing him.
'Thomas Anderlund...' Sure enough the gravestone was found across from a statue of a large bird, the peacock, which had been given the freedom of the town.
'There's the clue'. A paper envelope was stuck onto a tin under the wooden bench.
'Its a bloody tin of beans, Choice Beans...'
'Well open the clue. The sooner we get back to the pub the better and the warmer.' Mon rubbed her hands together, breathing out white air.
"Where do you think I came from? A little way away,
Did you think we'd let you get back to the pub first today?"
'Bastards! Who made up these clues?'
'I need the loo', Monica did a little dance, bouncing from foot to foot.
'Bastards', Aidrian threw the beans at the bucket.
'That'll be Farm foods. That’s miles away'.
'Can we go to the pub first?'
'Yeah, sure. Come on.'
They made their way out of the cemetery, leaving the Abbey basking in darkness and dripping with icy cold raindrops from earlier. They held hands and walked off towards the pub.
'Listen. You get the drinks in and I'll run up and back'
'You sure?' Monica wasn't really up for another cold walk tonight.
'Yeah. I need the exercise and you look awfy cold'
'I love you', she kissed him, and walked off down in the direction of the Glen gates.
'Hurry up, mind'
'Sure. Sure.'
Aidrian's large frame ran off up Bruce Street.
3.2 Bob and Marie
'Fuck sake Bob!' Marie gripped the door handle as Bob tore off down from Inverkeithing and across the first roundabout, avoiding traffic from the park and ride. He grinned at her.
'What?'
'I want to get to the pub in one piece thanks'. On the straight Marie folded her arms disapprovingly as Bob grinned out the front windscreen, wipers taking away the spit of rain.
Traffic passed freely onto the Forth Road Bridge, and Bob sped under the motorway looking for the next exit up towards North Queensferry. Headlights flashed across the road barriers and then off to the woods.
They had already got the first clue which presented them with the next.
'Overlook the Rusty Red,
Over the ____ blue ____
Where in the 'world'?
Stick your head in!'
Deep Sea World. Further away than Bob had hoped. It would take ten minutes to get back up to the centre where they would leave the car til tomorrow.
The road wound past the Ferry Lodge, and onwards and downwards beneath the bridge again. The Forth Bridge came into view, lit up to show all its 100 years of engineering glory.
'What does 'stick your head in' mean?' Marie quizzes.
'We'll see in a minute'
'It'll no be open'
'It'll no mean stick yer head in the door ya daft besom', Marie slaps his thigh.
Through the town and into the emptiness of the car park for Deep Sea World, Bob slowed the car, thinking to himself that maybe they would have to run down to the door after all.
'There'. Bob drove across towards the barrier that prevented folk from falling into the sea-water filled quarry below. There were a couple of benches, some bins and a seaside photo opportunity. A big fat woman in a red stripy swimsuit, a skinny bloke with long johns and a dog, all with missing faces, were in front of them on a large hoarding awaiting the tourists and day trippers when the summer came around again.
Bob stopped the car. Marie opened her door.
'Where you going?'
'To see if the clue is there'
'I'll get it', Bob undid his seatbelt.
'Whats the point in that?' Marie gets out. Bob stayed put feeling peeved as Marie walked in her high heels towards the board.
'I can't see anything'
Bob rolled his eye, turned off the engine and opened his door again.
'Open yer eyes then', he said while jogging over to be with her.
'Bob, there isn't any clue'
'It won't be a clue. It'll just be something to take back so they know we got all the clues'.
'Like what though?' Marie turned and looked over the edge of the barrier.
Bob stood by the board with light streaming from the car, puzzled.
'Like a welly?', Marie asked.
'A welly?'
Marie pointed over the barrier. An old wellington boot was hanging off a bit of string.
'That’s it'. Bob began to pull it up.
'How do you know?' Bob pulled it up and over the barrier.
'Because of this'. The welly had 'Back to 7 Kings' written on it in what looked like Tippex.
Bob ran back to the car. Marie toddled back.
'Come on Marie!'
'I'm coming'. She got in the car.
Bob turned the key. The car tried to tick over.
'Oh don't!' He turns the key over again, but the engine failed to start.
'That’s because you left the light on. You should have left her ticking over.’ Marie stated the obvious. For a Sporty car it was an unreliable bastard!
'Thanks for that'
'I'm just saying'
Bob heard the click as the key failed to spark any response and then tried again. A little rev. Again. A bigger rev. Longer this time.
'Don't you break my car’ The car powered into life.
'Ha ha!' Bob laughed in relief.
'Well get going then'
Out of the car park. 10 minutes to the 7 Kings and the start of the session. The car took off across the roundabout up towards Rosyth and a quick way back to the centre. Bob put down the pedal and attempts to fly up the hill. The front tyre clipped the inside of the road, and the car spun away to the right.
'Bob!' Marie screamed. Bob adjusted his hands, focusing on the road ahead and trying not to veer off towards the motorway and the traffic beyond. They were going to crash. The car screeched on full brake, the tyres locked, and the car slid across the damp surface and up onto the side of the road where it came to a halt.
'You OK?' Bob turned to Marie.
'You fuckin loony', Marie smacked Bob on the leg over and again.
'Sorry love', Bob leant over the steering wheel panting, shaking and sweating.
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"You OK?' Marie asked Bob.
'I'm fuckin fantastic!' Marie rubbed his back and he turned and smirked at her. She hit him again lightly on the back.
'You are going to get us killed one day'.
'But not today. That was well close though.' Too close he thought, and he grinned at the prospect of telling the others about tonight’s adventure.
'You better not have broken my car you shit!'
'Sorry love'. He pouted in pretence of kissing her. She pushed him away.
'Let’s just go before someone comes along'. Bob, still pouting, closed his eyes waiting for a kiss.
She kisses him lightly and quickly. ‘Let’s Go!'
Bob turns the key. Nothing. Again. Nothing. One more time. Nothing!
Hunt Hunted, Murder Murdered Page 5