by Iain North
Jim lead the way, Amber followed.
‘Go through.’
Jim wandered uncertainly down a narrow hallway, a thick red nylon carpet crunching beneath his feet. Open doors on either side revealed a bedroom, the bathroom and another bedroom, then the kitchen. All the rooms were neatly decorated with bright wallpaper and dado rails and there were new units in the kitchen, and a smart white washing machine.
The woman led from behind, ushering them into the living room at the far end of the hall. She squeezed past and gestured towards a black sofa slung across the back of the room. Jim plonked himself down, sitting forward. Amber settled next to him, clutching her handbag to her side.
‘She’s just gone for some messages. She’ll be back in a minute.’
The woman sat in a chair next to the television; large flat screen, Nicam stereo, a chat show screening, the volume muted. She picked up a packet of Lambert & Butlers balanced on the armrest, flicked back the top, took a cigarette out and lit it with a disposable lighter. She offered the box to Jim.
‘Thanks.’ He took one and she handed him the lighter.
Amber declined politely.
‘What is it you want?’ The woman exhaled a dark cloud of smoke, curious, but not unwelcoming.
‘We’re doing a feature,’ Jim said. ‘On victims of abuse.’
He thought it best to be straight. Besides, Baxter had paved the way, setting up the interview in advance. The family knew what was what. They talked and they got a cheque for £200.
‘She never got over it, poor lass,’ The woman shook her head. ‘Probably never will.’
Jim gestured to a framed photograph wedged between porcelain teddy bears – the sort advertised in the Sunday magazines – on the mantelpiece. ‘Is that Katrina?’
The woman nodded, flicking ash into a tray. ‘We had that taken last year. At her sister’s wedding.’
Katrina was clad in an all consuming yellow bridesmaid’s dress. Her blond hair was tied back and she was clasping a posy of red and white flowers. She was a beautiful girl. Fresh faced with blue eyes and a clean complexion. But it was so very flat. Katrina was smiling in the picture, but there was no sparkle in her eyes.
‘Has she just the one sister?’ Jim asked, making conversation.
The girl’s mother nodded. ‘Laura. She’s 18, a year older than Katrina, never been in trouble in her life. She’s a good girl.’
Katrina, on the other hand, was not. Jim did the obligatory cuttings search before he left Dundee. He checked for stories on the attack itself and on the accused, Maurice Bennet. He also ran Katrina McBurney’s name through the system. And out popped a well documented account of her criminal career; breach of the peace, police assault, possession of an offensive weapon, all condensed into a seven month period starting just a couple of months after she turned 16. There may have been more before then, but Children’s Panel verdicts rarely made the papers. Like Samantha O’Brien, Katrina had done time. Three trips to Cornton Vale Women’s Prison to date: two remand sentences and one short stretch.
‘I know Katrina’s been in trouble with the law, Mrs McBurney,’ Jim said.
She nodded slowly, her head heavy. ‘It’s not her fault. It’s the drink. Sometimes she’s so unhappy she just goes on these massive benders. I’ve tried to stop her but she just won’t listen. What can I do?’
Jim had no answer. His thoughts turned to Kirsty again, a headstrong girl.
‘And when she’s had a few she just gets into trouble. It’s stupid.’
‘It must blank out what happened.’ Amber chipped in. Jim had forgotten his partner on this assignment was formerly a student of psychology.
Mrs McBurney nodded. ‘What else can she do? She still has nightmares. She can go for weeks and she’s okay. Then it all comes back. Sometimes I have to sit up with her all night. She just can’t sleep.’ Her voice changed, sadness replaced by anger. ‘You see what that bastard done to her? He should have hung for what he done.’
‘You know he’s out?’ Jim added.
She nodded. ‘I read something in the paper. Five years, that’s all he did. And she’s got to live with it for the rest of her life.’
Amber handed Mrs McBurney a paper hanky to mop her reddening eyes.
‘Thanks.’ She lit up another Lambert & Butler and inhaled sharply, her fingers quivering noticeably.
‘If I could get my hands on him...’ She stopped and put the cigarette to her lips again.
Jim was left to imagine just what she would do.
In the silence, they heard the Yale lock click, followed by the rustling of supermarket carrier bags.
Mrs McBurney levered herself out of her chair and shuffled past Jim and Amber. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
They heard mother and daughter talking in the kitchen. Domestic chat – Katrina had bought the wrong brand of washing powder and forgotten to get milk – nothing significant. Jim turned to Amber and whispered, ‘Happy families, eh?’
Katrina appeared in the doorway a moment later. Jim stood up and extended his right hand.
‘Hi Katrina. I’m Jim Buchan.’
She shook his hand limply with her skinny fingers and sat down opposite. Her hair was tied back tightly in a scrawny ponytail. There was no make-up on the pale face beneath.
‘I’ve been out shopping.’ Her voice was soft, apologetic. ‘I had to get a few things in for my mum.’
‘No problem.’ Jim smiled kindly.
She sat uncomfortably, leaning hard against the arm of the chair furthest from Jim and Amber. ‘What is it you want?’
‘Just a quick chat,’ Jim said. He was still deciding on how best to broach the subject.
The direct approach, or beat about the bush with small talk? He was training to go straight to the point but there were occasions when that worked and others when it didn’t. This fell into the latter category.
But the decision was made for him. ‘They said you wanted to talk about him.’ Katrina opened the interview. ‘He’s out, isn’t he?’
Jim nodded.
‘And that’s why you’re here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you going to get him for what he done?’ She sounded hopeful.
‘We’re going to tell people what he did, and how it affected his victims.’
‘And you need my help?’
‘We just want to tell people what you went through, help them understand what he did. If you’re willing to talk about it.’
She nodded. ‘You know what he did, right?’
‘I read about it.’
‘I remember every second of it, every second, like it was only yesterday. And I’ll never forget what he done to me.’ She took a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of her jeans and peeled off the crinkly cellophane. She tapped the side of her head with a finger. ‘It’s in here, all of it. It’ll never go away.’
‘You’re mum said you still have nightmares.’
‘I did. Every night. He was always in them. Standing behind me, grunting...’ She broke off, lit a cigarette. ‘I just looked at the tree, starred at it, waited for it all to end. I always see that tree, every rough line of the bark. Sometimes I managed to block the memories out. If I’d had a drink, it was all right. Then I got some pills. They made the bad dreams go away. I feel okay when I’m on them. They help. Without them I would have topped myself. Believe me, I would have.’
‘Tranquilisers?’
She nodded. ‘And anti-depressants.’
‘What would you have liked to have seen happen to him?’ Jim asked.
Katrina became more animated. ‘He should have got life for what he done. He shouldn’t be allowed out. He should be left to rot in jail. They should have locked him up and thrown away the key. What happens if he does this again?’ She lifted the cigarette to her mouth again. ‘Do you know where he is? Is he still in Inverness?’ A line of fear etched itself across the tightly knit lines of her narrow forehead.
Jim shook his head. ‘He’s not
here. He was staying in Kyle of Lochalsh but he was forced out of there.’
Traces of a smile flickered across the girl’s thin lips. ‘Good.’ But it quickly died. ‘So he could be back here?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Jim tried to reassure her, but in reality he had no idea where Maurice Bennet was, or where he would end up. He could be standing right outside the tidy Inverness council house where Jim, Amber and Katrina were sitting, watching, waiting. Or the council could have moved him in next door. Such absurdity was not unknown.
The living room door slid open again and Mrs McBurney padded in with a tray of coffees.
‘You see what he’s done to my girl.’ She had clearly heard every word of the conversation through the paper-thin walls of the flat.
Jim nodded sympathetically.
They took their coffee, talked some more and then left.
*****
‘Opening up old wounds, it’s a messy business,’ Jim said as he wandered through the communal close ahead of Amber and down the front path to the car. He triggered the locks and looked across the shiny steel roof to her. ‘What would a psychologist make of it?’
‘I only did a year,’ she replied, before getting in.
Jim pulled his seatbelt on. ‘But you must have a view.’
‘It’s pretty straightforward. She’s been using the drink, and the pills, to block it all out. To an extent it’s worked, but it’s not a cure for something so deep-rooted.’
‘And will she ever get over it?’
Amber shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. It’s engrained now.’
He started the engine and the car moved off. ‘Bad luck, eh?’ he whispered cynically.
Amber let her window down a little, breathed in the fresh air. ‘Tell me about her convictions.’
Jim pointed back to a folder on the rear seat. ‘See for yourself.’
Amber reached over to retrieve it. ‘Always prepared, eh?’
Jim smiled. ‘The wonders of computer technology, that’s all.’
She opened the docket and pulled out a thick wad of paper.
‘The Sunday Mail emailed it all over, everything on Bennet and Katrina.’
‘It’s hardly surprising,’ Amber said, reading the top sheet. ‘That she’s getting into trouble. It says here she was drinking two bottles of cider a night.’
‘The strong stuff, too,’ Jim said, turning out of the street on to the main road.
‘But there’s nothing over the past couple of months.’
‘The drugs are obviously working.’
‘Probably.’ Amber lifted her head out of the folder and turned to Jim. ‘On the way up you mentioned another girl.’
‘Samantha O’Brien.’
‘The girl who died in the car crash?’
‘Her background is exactly the same. I thought talking to Katrina might shed a bit of light on what happened to her.’
‘And did it?’
‘Not really.’
‘So what now?’
‘We go back to the hotel and write this up.’
‘And Samantha?’
Jim shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
*****
The Travel Inn conveniently provided a telephone socket for Jim’s laptop. He plugged the computer in and emailed his copy to the news desk.
‘Did you learn a lot today then?’
Amber was sitting on the bed behind him flicking through Katrina’s criminal past. ‘It was better than another day in the office making tea.’
‘The thrills of provincial journalism,’ he chuckled. ‘We all have to start somewhere.’
‘I know, but this has been good. I’ve enjoyed working with you.’
‘You’ll find out pretty quickly that good stories don’t come along every day. There’s a lot of shite to trawl through between the big exclusives.’
‘You old romantic!’ she laughed.
‘It’s the truth, there’s nothing romantic about this job.’
‘Why don’t we find Bennet, see what he has to say?’ Amber’s youthful enthusiasm was impressive.
‘You want to interview a convicted sex attacker?’
‘Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to see why he did this?’
‘I imagine the experts have spent the last five years trying to figure that one out. Put simply he’s just a pervert with no self control.’
‘But why do some people do this and others don’t?’
‘Are you saying we’re all capable of doing something like this?’ Jim turned from the laptop.
‘You said it yourself – self control.’
He tried to dismiss the argument. ‘It’s probably a bit more complex than that.’
But Amber pressed on. ‘Is it? We’re all born with the same instincts, the same urges.’
Jim’s eyes narrowed. ‘For little girls?’
‘No. But isn’t a schoolgirl every man’s fantasy, the innocence of youth?’
Jim shook his head. ‘Maybe you should have finished your course.’
‘But for some men it goes beyond fantasy.’
He humoured her. ‘Bennet?’
‘Precisely.’
‘So why does he go through with it and millions of other men don’t?’
Amber shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Only he knows that. Psychology only goes so far. No one really knows what is going on inside another person’s head.’
‘And you think he’s going to tell us?’
She pondered the question for a moment before taking a different tack.
‘You and me, for instance.’
‘What?’ Jim loosened his tie and frowned.
‘That night in my flat,’ Amber continued. ‘You’re a married man. Something should have told you to go home. But it didn’t.’
‘That’s completely different.’ He stood up and fumbled with the remote for the television.
‘Is it? The control mechanism in your brain failed. You did something you knew wasn’t right.’
‘And I regretted it.’ He switched on Sky News.
‘Now you’re ignoring it.’
Jim switched the TV off and turned to face her. ‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Maybe he regrets what he did.’
‘Maybe.’
‘He didn’t do it again.’
‘He didn’t do it again because he was arrested.’
‘But maybe he wouldn’t have done it again, even if he hadn’t been caught.’
‘But maybe he would. Maybe he’d been doing it for years, but he’d just not been found out. What happens if he goes out tomorrow and does the same thing again? There’s no guarantee.’
‘Exactly. The human brain, no one really understands how it works.’
‘So why bother with psychologists?’
Jim put the TV back on. He thought Amber would provide some light relief as he delved into the world of deviants. But instead she set about raking up his past. He didn’t feel too good about himself right now.
‘Let’s get some dinner,’ he sighed.
Amber tucked the cuttings back into Jim’s cardboard folder.
‘Would you do it again?’ she asked.
*****
They sat silently in the hotel restaurant, nursing their drinks. Jim had a pint of Stella, Amber a half of lager.
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
He ignored her. ‘What are you having to eat?’ he asked, handing her the menu.
‘We never really talked, did we?’
‘When?’
‘After it happened.’
Jim was regretting the chance meeting in the macaroni cafe. Why had he brought her to Inverness? How could he have been so stupid?
‘There was nothing to talk about. You made that pretty clear,’ he said at last.
‘When?’
‘When you threw me out of your flat.’
Amber flicked her eyes over the card. ‘I’ll have the scampi.’
He was in the depths of depression that nig
ht when fate took him to Amber’s flat. He was looking for his daughter. She had run away. Amber was her best mate. It was a natural place to look. Only, he had done more than look.