Dead but not Buried

by Iain North

  ‘It’s a simple enough question. Scaffolding collapses and the police are treating it as suspicious.’

  ‘If you’re trying to say that had something to do with us, I think you’d better go.’

  ‘I’m just saying it’s a bit of a coincidence, that’s all. You guys want to close the yard down and this happens.’

  ‘Jim noticed the folks round the fire were growing restless, agitated. It was time to cast oil over troubled waters. Not an environmentally friendly solution, he admitted, but George had riled the man and he had to step in.

  ‘We have to ask,’ Jim explained. ‘It’s our job.’

  Simon seemed content to accept Jim’s words at face value. ‘It had nothing to do with us. But if that gets the yard closed down, I’ll not lose any sleep.’

  George was heating up again. ‘A man lost his life!’

  ‘One man’s life to save the environment, it’s not a particularly high price.’

  George was about to speak again, but Jim butted in. ‘Thanks very much, Simon. I think we’ve pretty much covered everything.’

  He hustled his friend away and the greenies watched intently as they skirted the fence back to the car.

  ‘That fucking little shite!’ George exclaimed angrily as he pulled his seatbelt on. ‘Did you hear what he was saying? The man who died was a man with family. What do his wife and kid do now that he’s dead?’

  Jim turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared into life. ‘I heard him.’

  ‘That little fucker’s got blood on his hands, I’ll tell you,’ George ranted.

  Jim spun the car round in the gravel and accelerated down the loch side road. George had a point.

  ‘Save the planet but not your fellow man.’

  ‘What right does he have to come up here and tell us what we should be doing? The wee shite should just piss off back under the rock he came out from under. People like that really piss me off.’

  ‘Aye, I can tell.’

  ‘I’ve a good mind to go up there tonight with a big stick and beat seven shades of shite out of him.’

  Jim slowed the car down for the junction with the main road. ‘A good whisky’s what you need.’

  *****

  They were back at the Marine Hotel at midday.

  Jim opened the door for George.

  ‘Fuck it!’ He spotted Amber sitting at one of the tables, with the Bellboy.

  ‘Come on mate.’ George had released all his tension on the journey back. ‘Ignore him and get the drinks in.’

  Jim’s was just starting to build.

  Amber waved them over. Jim was at the table like a crow swooping on carrion.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  Bell slowly turned his attention from his pint, pausing to eyeball Amber as his head rotated. ‘Good to see you too, mate.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Amber asked.

  ‘This guy,’ Jim thundered.

  George was standing behind him. He butted in. ‘You got a good show. With my stuff.’

  Bell was flippant. ‘The cheque’s in the post.’

  ‘It better be. ‘

  Jim gestured towards the bar. ‘Amber. Are you joining us?’

  She shook her head. ‘We’re talking.’

  ‘Fine.’ Jim turned his head and walked over to the bar. ‘Black Bottle. Twice.’

  He and George climbed on to their stools as the barmaid lifted two glasses to the optic.

  ‘You’re telling me there’s nothing going on between you two,’ George whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. If that’s what you say.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘It’s just the way you acted there.’

  ‘The way I acted?’

  ‘With Amber and the Bellboy.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ A tang of irritation crept into his voice.

  ‘She’s with another man. Enjoying his company. And you acted like a jealous boyfriend.’

  ‘Fuck off George. It’s Bell, that’s all. I don’t like the man. There’s nothing going on between Amber and me. ‘

  George peered over his shoulder at the couple. ‘Amber seems to be getting on all right with him.’

  ‘Fuck off!’ Jim knocked back his whisky and pushed the glass across the bar for a refill.

  Before the glass came back his Blackberry rang. Jim lifted it wearily.

  ‘Yes?’ he growled. It was Mrs McBurney. He softened his tone. ‘Hello.’

  Her voice faltered. She’d been crying. ‘I wondered if I could speak to you,’ she whispered.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Will you come round?’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I need to talk to someone.’ She broke down in tears.

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Who was that?’ George asked.

  ‘Do you fancy a trip to Inverness?’

  ‘The big city? I think I’ll give that a miss. The last time I was in Inverness I got lost.’

  ‘What? In the town centre?’

  ‘In the railway station. It was as far as I got.’

  Jim smirked. ‘Okay. But can you keep an eye on Amber?’

  ‘You’re not taking her with you? I though you pair went everywhere together.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for her right now.’

  George nodded. ‘What about your drink?’

  ‘I’ll get it when I come back.’

  Jim ignored Amber as he walked out of the bar. Through the corner of his eye he noticed her looking up as he left, expectant, like a dog waiting for its late night walk. But he didn’t turn round. He got into his car, revved up the engine and hit the road to Inverness. It was good to be alone for once. He let the window down and breathed in deeply as the cool breeze whipped the side of his face. Jim pushed the accelerator to the floor and headed south out of Kyle of Lochalsh.

  If she wanted to spend her time with Grant Bell, then good luck to her.

  *****

  The curtains of Mrs McBurney’s flat were drawn. Jim parked outside the block, set the car alarm and jogged up the communal stairs. He chapped the door and it opened straight away. Mrs McBurney was still in her dressing gown. He wondered whether she had any clothes. Her eyes were red and she was clutching a scrunched up ball of kitchen paper. She ushered him in without a word, led him into one of the bedrooms. It was tiny, just enough space for a single bed and some self-assembly furniture. The duvet was lost beneath a sea of soft toys – cute furry animals and colourful characters from Disney movies. He recognised some of them from Kirsty’s room at home.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asked.

  Mrs McBurrney wrapped the kitchen paper round her red nose and blew noisily into it.

  ‘It’s Katrina,’ she spluttered, through a throat of mucus.

  Jim remained silent. He guessed this was her room. Mrs McBurney rolled the paper towel back up into a loose ball and wiped her eyes with it, left first and then right.

  ‘The prison, they called me this morning. Katrina’s...’

  She broke off and Jim feared the worst.

  ‘What’s happened to her, Mrs McBurney?’ he asked softly yet insistently.

  ‘She’s in the hospital.’

  Jim hid a sigh of relief. The way she’d been talking he thought Katrina was dead.

  ‘They said she tried to take her own life.’ Mrs McBurney began to cry out loud.

  Jim helped her down on to the edge of the bed. He slipped a pack of paper hankies from his pocket and handed one to her. She wept into the tissue, her head hung low. Jim was uncomfortable. He was out of his depth with outpourings of emotion like this. They overwhelmed him. He didn’t know what to do for her. He sat down next to her on the end of the bed and slowly extended an arm round her skinny shoulders.

  ‘I didn’t know who to call,’ she stuttered.

  ‘Do you have anyone who can take you to see her?’

  Mrs McBurney shook her head.
/>   Jim made two cups of tea as Mr McBurney went off to get dressed. He had to hunt around for the teabags but finally found them in the cupboard above the sink. Teaspoons were in a drawer by the cooker and the milk was easy enough to locate. He left one cup on top of the hall storage heater outside Mrs McBurney’s bedroom and padded uncomfortably about the house with the other clasped in his hand. He wandered back into Katrina’s room and took a cursory glance around. It was clean and tidy; clothes folded into drawers or hung up neatly. There was a portable colour TV perched on top of the wardrobe and on the unit by the bed the remote control sat next to a mirror, some make-up and a few pieces of cheap gold-plated jewellery. He pictured Katrina sitting there, combing back her lank hair and applying foundation cream to inject some colour into her pale cheeks.

  Jim caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked like a housebreaker who had stopped to make himself a cup of tea midway through the job. Below the mirror he spotted some pill bottles below the mirror. Jim sifted through them carefully. Aspirin, Paracetamol, sleeping pills, Valium, and one he recognised instantly. He picked it up and examined the label. Providon. Again, there was no prescribing information, no drug company name. It was exactly the same as the same as the bottle he lifted from Maurice Bennet’s caravan. The container was half full. Jim clicked the child lock and popped one of the pills out into the palm of his hand. It was a plastic torpedo-shaped capsule, one end green and the other end yellow.

  ‘I’m ready.’ Mrs McBurney appeared behind him. She didn’t bat an eyelid at him rifling through her daughter’s possessions.

  He held the Providon bottle up. ‘What are these for?’

  Mrs McBurney squinted to examine it. ‘They’re Katrina’s. She got them to help her come off the drugs, I think.’

  ‘Heroin?’ Jim asked.

  She nodded sadly.

  ‘Where did she get them?’

  ‘In the prison.’

  Jim put the top back on the bottle and replaced it on the dresser. He slipped the free capsule into his pocket without her noticing.

  They accessed the prison like anyone else, through the main visitors’ gate. Mrs McBurney didn’t need a special order, not for the hospital. An officer led them through a series of locked doors, along seemingly endless strips of lifeless corridor until at last they were there. The ward Katrina was in was much like any other hospital ward. Clinically clean and with an ever-present smell of detergent and sick. The only obvious difference was the presence of prison wardens at every turn.

  Jim paused as they entered the room. ‘Do you want me to wait here while you speak to her?’

  Mrs McBurney was trembling like her detox patient daughter. He’d held her up most of the way from the car.

  ‘Come with me, please,’ she begged.

  A nurse led them over to Katrina. She was asleep.

  ‘We’ve given her something to help her sleep,’ the nurse said kindly. ‘You won’t get much out of her, I’m afraid.’

  The white bed sheets were pulled up to her neck. Her face was exactly the same colour.

  ‘What happened?’ Mrs McBurney asked.

  ‘She took an overdose. We don’t know the exact circumstances but she was on anti-depressants from the doctor and we think she must have been hoarding them in her cell. ‘

  Mrs McBurney kissed her daughter on the cheek, clasped her pale, skinny hand and slumped down into a chair by the bed. She muttered something Jim couldn’t quite catch.

  He stepped back with the nurse. ‘Is she going to be okay?’

  ‘She’ll pull through. The wardens got to her in the nick of time.’

  ‘Was she on anything else?’

  The nurse scanned Katrina’s chart. ‘She was on an opiate withdrawal programme. But that’s not uncommon here. ‘

  ‘Providon?’

  The nurse looked blankly at him and shook her head. ‘Never heard of it.’

  Jim slipped out of the room into the corridor. He took out his mobile phone and dialled George’s number.

  ‘West Highland Weekly News.’ Amber answered in her best secretarial voice.

  ‘Hi, it’s me. Is George there?’

  ‘Where are you?’ she growled.

  ‘I’ve only got a minute. Is he about?’

  ‘Hang on,’ she huffed.

  Jim waited for a moment.

  ‘Hi mate,’ George answered. ‘What’s fresh?’

  ‘Can you do me a favour? Can you have a word with Macdonald and see if toxicology tests were done on Bennet, Sam and Billy Reid?’

  ‘As part of the post-mortems?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Should he be looking for something?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll fill you in when I get back. Just set up a meeting with him for tomorrow morning if you can.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘In prison.’

  ‘They caught up with you at last, eh?’

  ‘A women’s prison.’

  ‘You lucky sod!’ George laughed.

  Katrina was awake and talking to her mother when Jim went back into the ward. She remembered him from his last visit to their home.

  ‘Hi, Mr Buchan,’ she mumbled. ‘Thanks for bringing my ma down.’

  ‘No problem,’ Jim said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘No’ bad, considering.’

  ‘I’ve been telling her, I’ll have her out of here as soon as I can. Your solicitor’s been working on a bail appeal,’ Mrs McBurney said.

  ‘I hope so, ma,’ Katrina added groggily. ‘I cannae stand it in here. It’s doin’ ma heid in.’

  ‘Aye lass, just you hold on.’

  There was one question Jim wanted to ask, but he didn’t know if this was the right time. He paused for a moment and went ahead anyway.

  ‘The pills you have to help you come off the heroin, where did you get them?’

  ‘What pills?’ Katrina looked from Jim to her mother, maybe for some assurance.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Mrs McBurney said, ‘He knows.’

  ‘I was interested in the Providon.’

  ‘The Provie?’

  Jim nodded. ‘It is for the drugs isn’t it?’

  Katrina paused, looked at her mum again.

  ‘Aye,’ she whispered.

  ‘Where does it come from?’ he pressed.

  ‘My prison drugs worker.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Siobhan. I dinnae ken her second name.’

  ‘Are you clean now?’

  ‘Aye.’ She paused, looked at her mother slightly apologetically. ‘Well, I was until I came back in here. But Siobhan gave us some more the other day.’

  ‘Does Siobhan work here all the time?’

  ‘She just does a couple of days a week here. She runs a centre for druggies in the town.’

  The nurse returned. ‘Katrina. You really need to get some sleep.’

  She turned to Jim and Mrs McBurney. ‘You can come back and see her tomorrow.’

  Katrina was reluctant to let go of her mother’s hand. ‘Will you come back and see us the morrow?’

  ‘Aye, lass,’ she said, kissing her daughter lightly on the forehead. ‘I’ll be here.’

  Jim dropped Mrs McBurney off at her flat and drove into town. It was too late to head back to Kyle of Lochalsh so he grabbed a bite to eat and gave George a quick call to see if he’d managed to set up a meeting with Eddie Macdonald. It was arranged for midday, which gave him just enough time to find Siobhan’s drug den first.

  *****

  Chapter 13

  Jim needed to know more about Providon. He flicked through the business and services section of the Phone Book until he found D. D for Drug Problem Centre. There was one listed, in Bank Street. He knew that was down by the river. It was worth a shot. It was as good a place to start as anywhere. If Siobhan didn’t work there, chances are they would point him in the right direction. He put a call through on his mobile.

  ‘Hello?’ A young man’s voice answered.

  ‘Is
Siobhan there?’