Dead but not Buried

by Iain North

  ‘Hang on...’

  Jim hit lucky first time. There were some days when fate smiled upon the persistent and today was one of them. He waited a moment and the voice returned.

  ‘Sorry, mate, she’s not in yet. Can I take a message?’

  ‘When do you expect her?’

  ‘Call back at ten.’ The line went dead.

  Jim started up the car and drove from the Travel Inn on the edge of town to Bank Street. He counted along the street numbers and found a space opposite the front entrance, a scruffy white door crying out for a lick of paint sandwiched between two empty shops. There was a small plaque above the letterbox: ‘Inverness Drug Problem Centre. Open 9-4’.

  He checked his watch: it was just after 9.30am.

  Jim pulled the sun visor down and rummaged through the glove box until he found the Providon bottle taken from Bennet’s caravan. He retrieved the pill from Katrina’s bedroom and sat them on the dash. He lifted the bottle first and opened the top. There were half a dozen capsules in the bottom, all exactly like Katrina’s. He popped one out into his hand and rolled it around with his forefinger. There were no markings on it.

  Jim pulled the car atlas out of the door pocket and set it across his lap to form a makeshift desk. He held the capsule between thumb and forefinger and gently pulled it apart. A white powder trickled out. He had no idea what he would do with it; he had no specialist pharmaceutical analysis equipment or knowledge. He was just curious.

  Tentatively he wet the tip of his forefinger with his tongue and poked it into the powder until there was a light coating on the skin. He lifted his finger up towards his face and examined the substance closely. It looked like talc, perhaps closer in consistency to a gritty salt.

  Jim gave it a light sniff. But there was no discernible odour. He looked at it again, thought about a quick lick, and then considered its potency. It was an opiate replacement, a tiny shot of heroin. What would happen if he consumed it? He had never taken hard drugs before. His chemical experience was confined to the contents of the medicine cabinet at home, and nicotine. Would a dot on his tongue provide any noticeable kick? He had no idea. Maybe he should wait until he had talked to Siobhan. A quick flick of his wrist showed he still had at least 25 minutes to wait for her. He should have brought George – he would try anything at least once. Jim was more reserved. Or scared.

  He lowered the electric window and flicked the powder out on to the street. He needed an expert opinion and that was Eddie Macdonald’s department. He slipped the bottle into his jacket pocket, sat back and read the free copy of The Times served up with breakfast.

  Just before 10am, in the rear view mirror, he saw a young woman walking towards the rear of his car, hands dug into the pockets of her black duffle coat and head dipped against a chill wind blowing down the street. She was solid, but not bulky, with short, jet-black hair, a pale face and bright red lips. She was frowning, obviously looking forward to another day at the office.

  Jim knew it was Siobhan – call it a gut feeling. As she neared, he fidgeted restlessly in his seat, angling the mirror to keep her in view. He tugged the car keys out of the ignition and watched. She turned right, taking a diagonal line across the street to the door of the Drug Problem Centre. She opened it and went in.

  Jim held his position for a minute before climbing out of the car. He locked the door and casually wandered across the street, fumbling fingers caressing the pill bottle in his pocket.

  He pushed open the door and mounted a flight of concrete stairs up to a door on the first floor. There were a couple of dog-eared posters on the whitewashed walls – giant pictures of hypodermic needles, lots of red ink and a smattering of bold references to death, HIV and AIDS. It wasn’t quite the same as going to the dentist.

  The door at the top of the stairs wasn’t fully shut. Jim took a deep breath and pushed it open. He found himself in a bright airy room, large windows overlooking Bank Street and the river. There was a double desk with computer in one corner and a line of plastic chairs along the wall. A coffee table in the centre of the room was laden down with health education leaflets and boxes of condoms.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A young bald man with a heavy brow and crooked nose – by the sound of his voice he was the person who answered Jim’s initial call – appeared from a side door.

  ‘Could talk to Siobhan?’

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  Jim shook his head. He feigned what he hoped would be construed as a look of worry, anxiety even. ‘It’s about my daughter.’

  The man paused for a moment, then pointed to the plastic chairs. ‘Take a seat. I’ll see if she’s available.’

  Jim plonked himself down beneath a huge rubber plant and leafed through a few of the leaflets on the table. One caught his eye: ‘Drugs – Do you know the dangers?’

  He opened it out to reveal lucid pictures of illegal substances with a quick checklist of what each one could do for you – the highs and the lows. Then the condoms caught his eye and for some reason he immediately thought of Amber.

  The hairless man appeared from the side door again.

  ‘She can give you five minutes. If you’d like to come through.’

  Jim leapt to his feet and followed the man down a short strip of corridor and into a small, wood-panelled room on the right. The girl with black hair and red lipstick was sitting behind a desk, sifting through files. She looked up when he entered.

  ‘Hi,’ she said cheerfully. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I was just looking for some advice,’ Jim replied.

  ‘That’s what we’re here for. Bob said it was something to do with your daughter.’

  ‘I didn’t know where to turn.’

  ‘Hopefully you’ve come to the right place. Have a seat.’ She gestured to a chair crammed between the front of the desk and a row of metal filing cabinets hogging the back of the room. Stacked on top was a jumble of old computer equipment – out of date dot-matrix printers, broken monitors and keyboards pounded so hard many of the more common letters had been completely erased from the keys.

  ‘We got a lottery grant for new equipment so that lot’s on the way out,’ Siobhan commented.

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ Jim said, allowing his voice to waiver slightly. ‘My daughter is on heroin. My wife and I have tried everything to get her off it but it’s no good. We need help.’

  ‘Why have you not come to us before?’

  Jim shrugged helplessly. ‘We thought we could manage. Keep it in the family, like.’

  ‘And what have you tried?’

  ‘Everything we can think of. We’ve had her to the doctors, to the hospital. We’ve even tried locking her in her room, like on that film Trainspotting. The cold turkey.’

  ‘You’ve been taking your drug detox information from a film?’

  It was all Jim could think of on the spur of the moment. Perhaps he should have spent more time preparing for this. ‘It worked for them.’

  ‘Have you considered a proper detox programme?’

  ‘Like methodone?’

  Siobhan nodded. ‘Has she tried it?’

  Jim nodded. ‘Several times. It worked for a bit but then she just went back to the heroin. It wasn’t enough for her.’

  ‘I’m glad you’ve come to us. But you should have made contact sooner.’

  ‘We were embarrassed. We didn’t want the neighbours to know. We live in a small village.’

  Siobhan smiled sympathetically.

  ‘I know the sort of problems you face. We get a lot of families like yours coming here. Hopefully we can now do something for... what’s your daughter’s name?’

  ‘Amber.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Sixteen. ‘

  Siobhan was scribbling some notes on an A4 pad.

  ‘How long has she been taking heroin?’

  ‘About two years I think. She started on cannabis. We think she tried it at a party. Then she started mixing with the
wrong crowd, running wild. Nothing her mother or I could do would make her see sense. She just wouldn’t listen to us.’

  Jim was settling into his new role as the anxious father of a drug addict. Siobhan had clearly heard it all before and his performance was remarkably convincing. Stressed dad at the end of his tether.

  ‘She’s out of our control,’ he continued, rubbing the palms of his hands over his face. ‘She was such a good girl when she was younger. We just want our daughter back.’

  Jim wondered if he could squeeze a tear out. He screwed up his eyes when Siobhan’s attention was on her pad but it was beyond his theatrical repertoire.

  ‘We can help her,’ Siobhan promised. ‘But I need to meet Amber. She must want this too.’

  ‘She knows it’s destroying her life.’

  ‘Will she come and see me?’

  Jim nodded, hoping he could convince Amber on this one.

  Siobhan unearthed a diary from the clutter on her desk. ‘When’s a good time?’

  ‘Is today too soon?’

  ‘This afternoon? Three o’clock?’

  Jim nodded and allowed himself a quick smile, to show relief.

  ‘In the meantime, take some of these leaflets away with you.’

  She handed Jim a flutter of colourful paperwork.

  ‘They’ll give you an idea about what’s going to happen.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘First, I’ll have a chat with Amber. We’ll take it from there.’

  ‘More methodone?’

  ‘Maybe. But there are other options now. We’ll discuss it this afternoon. I’ll see you both then.’ She stood up and showed him to the door. ‘Don’t worry, we can help.’

  Outside, he lit up a cigarette and drew deeply on the nicotine stack. He was drained. And that was half the job. Now he had to convince Amber she was a smack happy teenage junkie.

  *****

  ‘You’re cutting it a bit fine.’ George was outside Kyle of Lochalsh police station, arms folded in much the same way Jenny did when he was late.

  ‘The traffic was a nightmare. ‘

  ‘How was your away day?’

  ‘Very successful: I even came away with some free johnies.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘Eddie’s waiting for us.’

  They stepped into the police station.

  ‘Where’s Amber?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Pining for you. ‘

  ‘Very funny!’

  ‘She went off with the Bellboy early this morning. They should be back for lunch.’

  ‘Good. I’ve got a wee job for her.’

  George marched up to the counter where a young WPC was leaning over some forms.

  ‘Hi, Lorraine, how’s the wedding plans coming on?’

  She smiled sweetly at him. ‘We’ve got the church booked at last.’

  ‘You know...’ George smirked, ‘If you ever change your mind, I’m still single.’

  ‘The last thing I need right now is to lose a good officer to your questionable charms.’

  Inspector Macdonald appeared from his office behind the reception desk. He ushered the two men through and took his seat behind a big wooden desk.

  ‘Well, Mr Buchan, have you found me a new body today?’

  Jim smiled politely. ‘Sorry, I just haven’t had the time. But it’s early yet.’

  The policeman grinned broadly and gestured to two seats opposite him. ‘Plonk yourselves down. If you have no a body for me, you must have something else on your minds.’

  ‘Billy Reid, Maurice Bennet, Samantha O’Brien and Gary O’Brien,’ Jim said.

  ‘Who else?’ the inspector sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘Would post mortems have been carried out on all four?’

  Macdonald flipped through files on his desk. ‘I’ve reports from Dr Mackenzie for the O’Brien girl, her uncle and young Billy.’

  ‘And do these include toxicology tests?’

  Macdonald ruffled the papers once again. ‘Here we are. William Reid. Nothing untoward in that one.’

  He slipped it back into place and shuffled further through the thick sheaf of documents.

  ‘Samantha O’Brien.’ He lifted a single sheet and scanned it. ‘The tests on both Samantha and Gary O’Brien found traces of an unidentified chemical compound.’

  He looked up at Jim and then switched his gaze to George. ‘This is off the record, right?’

  They both nodded compliance with his request.

  ‘The quantities were higher in Samantha. The lab is still attempting to determine what the compound is.’

  He looked Jim straight in the eye. ‘Do you have information that could help us on this?’

  Jim ignored the question for now. ‘Did it have anything to do with their deaths?’

  Macdonald shrugged. ‘It didn’t do for Bennet or Gary O’Brien. We know exactly how they died and, as you well know, it wasn’t drug related. As for Samantha, it could be significant. It might explain why she drove off the road.’

  Jim produced Maurice Bennet’s pill bottle from his pocket and placed it on the desk.

  Macdonald picked it up and examined the label. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It might be the substance you are looking for.’

  ‘Providon.’ He considered the name for a moment. ‘A new one on me.’

  ‘I asked the local chemist if he’d ever heard of it,’ Jim continued. ‘He looked through his pharmaceutical register and found no reference to a drug called Providon.’

  ‘What makes you think this is the drug found in Gary and Samantha O’Brien?’

  ‘I found this in Maurice Bennet’s caravan at the yard.’

  Macdonald sat upright in his chair, his eyes narrowing into an accusing frown. ‘You removed evidence from a crime scene?’

  ‘I found it after the police made their search,’ Jim pointed out.

  The inspector hunched back over his desk. Someone was for the high jump.

  ‘What do you know about it?’ he asked.

  ‘I found the same bottle in a drug addict’s flat in Inverness. She said a drugs’ worker in prison prescribed it. It’s my guess that Sam, Gary O’Brien and Maurice Bennet got hold of it in the same way. They’ve all been inside.’

  Macdonald held the bottle up to the light and examined its contents. ‘What’s it for?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jim admitted. ‘But it is a common link between three of the victims.’

  Macdonald clasped his hands together and rested his stubbly chin on the arched fist. ‘Do you know the source?’

  ‘The only lead I have so far a drugs’ worker in Inverness. Her name is Siobhan.’

  ‘Surname?’

  Jim shook his head. ‘I met her this morning. I told her my daughter was a junkie and we needed help.’

  ‘It’s lucky you’re not governed by a code of ethics, Mr Buchan,’ Macdonald scowled. ‘If we’re looking at an unlicensed drug, that could be serious stuff.’

  ‘And a good story,’ George interrupted.

  Jim’s focus remained on Macdonald. ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  ‘Leave this with me,’ Macdonald added, popping the pill bottle into his desk drawer. ‘I’ll get the boys in the lab to take a look.’

  ‘What about Siobhan?’ Jim asked.

  ‘The less I know about your movements there, the better. But, for your sake, make sure I don’t read about it in the Sunday Mail first.’

  Jim and George stood up and turned towards the door.

  Macdonald was closing his files when he interrupted their departure: ‘Oh, another thing that might interest you.’

  Jim turned. ‘Aye?’

  ‘You didn’t hear this from me, but Samantha O’Brien was pregnant when she died.’

  ‘What?’ Jim was not certain he heard the inspector right.

  ‘About eight months. But according to Doctor Mackenzie’s report, the foetus was pretty badly deformed. I won�
�t go into all the gory details, but things may have turned out for the best for the wee critter.’

  *****

  They found Amber picking at a ham salad in the bar of the Marine Hotel.

  ‘Hi,’ Jim said.