by Iain North
‘Okay,’ he said reluctantly. ‘We’ll go and see her when we’ve finished here.’
Jim pulled the Mazda on to an area of waste ground around a mile before the housing estate where Helen McBurney and her daughter lived.
‘You should have gone at the coffee shop,’ Amber winked.
‘Very funny.’ He stepped out of the car and peered around. ‘Come on.’
Amber watched the pellets of rain smack on to the windscreen. ‘It’s hardly the weather for a walk in the country.’
‘This will only take a few minutes.’ He retrieved two cagoules from the boot, pulled one on and flung open Amber’s door. ‘Here.’ He dropped the other one into her lap.
She eased herself out and they sprinted across to the relatively shelter of leafy woodland 20 metres or so away.
‘What is this?’ she asked, zipping the jacket right up to the neck.
‘This is where it happened.’
A shiver ran down her spine.
Jim pushed his way through the trees and scrambled down a steep embankment to level ground below. Amber followed, tripping on a tangled web of prickly bramble stems. She stumbled down to where he was standing, brushing mud off her blue denims.
He led, walking briskly along the old railway line, Amber jogging to catch up with him. Every time he pushed his way through branches protruding into the path they flicked back at her, spraying her with cold flecks of water.
‘This was your idea,’ he said, noticing the heavy scowl on her face.
She was annoyed now. ‘It was my idea to visit Mrs McBurney, not to go hiking in the rain,’ she spat.
‘We’re nearly there.’
He stopped abruptly.
‘What now?’ she huffed.
‘This is it,’ he said. It was exactly the same as the place in his dream.
The undergrowth cleared on one side, a bare earth slope dropping to a small stream. Amber peered down. She saw a row of small stepping-stones bridging the flow.
‘This is where is happened?’ she asked.
Jim’s blood ran cold as excerpts from his dream replayed in the auditorium of his head. He scrambled down to the edge of the water. He crouched by the stream and closed his eyes. He could see two children playing, could hear their laughter filtering up through the canopy. They were having fun. He saw the stones Katrina and Amanda placed in the stream, the water gently massaging the smooth edges.
He stood, turned and looked up to where Amber was standing, legs slightly apart, hands on hips. He squinted at her and she was replaced by the vision of Maurice Bennet, a middle-aged man staring down at the girls. What was going on in his mind? What was he thinking?
‘It’s kind of creepy,’ Amber whispered.
‘Shhhhh,’ Jim snapped.
He stood there, a cold sweat mingling with the drizzle of rain on his forehead. He could see Bennet, his broad body silhouetted against the trees. He was walking forward, down the embankment, down towards him, towards the little girls in the stream.
Jim closed his eyes, opened them again. The movie ended. He saw Amber shuffling her feet back and forth.
‘Can we go now?’ she grumbled.
He scurried back up the slope, smiled at her. ‘Thanks.’
‘What for.’
‘Nothing, just thanks.’
‘Can we go back to the car?’
‘In a minute, there’s something else I want to see.’
‘What?’
‘You can wait here if you like. ‘
He walked along the line a little way. Amber paused for a moment, then followed. Jim found the path he was looking for, a narrow groove in the long damp grass. He lifted the neck of his cagoule up over his chin and shoved his way through the brambles, gorse and broom. Beyond the heavy gate of vegetation was the clearing beneath the broad old oak tree. Amber was right behind him.
‘I don’t suppose children come and play here any more,’ she said.
‘No,’ he agreed.
‘It’s quiet, isn’t it.’ She was talking to break the unbearable silence.
‘So quiet.’ Jim touched the old oak tree, stroking a finger over the coarse bark.
He spotted something propped up against the trunk. Brown stems in a cellophane wrapping. He knelt down and examined the loose package.
‘Someone’s left flowers,’ he said. ‘A long time ago by the looks of it.’
Amber was standing behind him.
‘There’s a card,’ she said.
He reached down and plucked out the small white square. The blue ink had run over the damp paper.
Jim read out the words: ‘Amanda. I’ll never forget you. Love K.’
‘Katrina?’ Amber guessed.
‘Yeap,’ he said softly.
‘Do you think she screamed?’ Amber asked.
He shook his head. ‘Too scared.’
‘I don’t suppose anyone would hear anyway.’
‘You’re probably right.’ Jim slumped down into the grass and sat, his back against the tree. The cold dampness of the ground seeped through his trousers, but he paid no attention.
‘I had a dream...’ he started, then broke off.
‘About Bennet?’
He nodded. ‘It was so precise.’
‘That can happen,’ she said.
‘I forgot you studied psychology.’
She sat down next to him, took his hand, held it.
‘It was frightening, Amber. I saw it all happen. Bennet, the girls by the stream.’ His heart skipped a beat. ‘This place.’
She remained silent.
Jim continued: ‘I saw him holding her against this tree.’
‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ she said, squeezing his fingers in hers.
‘I had to see it for myself. ‘
She saw a tear form in the corner of his eye.
‘We should go.’
‘In a minute.’
He inhaled deeply, held his breath for a moment and then exhaled. ‘Why was the dream so vivid?’
‘It was on your mind, the case.’
‘But this place, it was exactly as I dreamed it.’ Amber was wishing she had finished her course. She could have offered an explanation, given him an answer. But she couldn’t.
She stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
But Jim buried his head in a cradle of folded arms and cried.
*****
There was no time to see Mrs McBurney. That would have to wait. It was lunchtime when they got back to the hotel and they only had an hour to have a quick sandwich and prepare for their meeting with Mike Macerlane.
Jim wasn’t sure how to handle it. He needed to find out as much about Providon as he could, without arousing suspicion. But his head was muggy, over-crowded with thoughts about the stream and the old oak tree.
‘Are you ok?’ Amber asked. She was walking around the room dressed in her pants and bra. She’d just come out of the shower. ‘You should have one too, it might help clear your head.’
He wasn’t really paying attention to her. He was staring out the window again. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Have you seen my top?’ she asked.
He didn’t answer.
‘If you’re trying to get into Bennet’s head, it’ll never happen.’
‘Uh?’
‘You’re trying to puzzle him out, aren’t you?’
‘Maybe. ‘
‘You could read all the psychology books in the world, but when it comes down to it only he knew why he did what he did.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘Forget him.’
Bennet would be forgotten easily enough, but for the dream. It was the sticking point. ‘It was all there, in my head.’
The journey back to the hotel gave Amber time to ponder the dream. ‘You read up on the case, right?’
Jim nodded.
‘The press reports, all the background.’
‘Uh hu.’
‘So you knew exactly what happened. ‘
‘Yes.’
‘And maybe you saw a picture in one of the papers on where it happened. ‘
That made sense. ‘I suppose so.’
‘There you go.’
*****
Mike Macerlane was sitting at one of the restaurant tables, a briefcase in front of him and an inquisitive look on his face. He was well turned out, neatly filling a smart black suit with matching waistcoat. He stood up and reached out his right hand to greet Jim.
‘Mr Thomson.’
‘Call me Andy.’ They pressed flesh and sat down.
‘Do you want a drink?’ Jim offered.
‘Just a coffee, please.’
Jim summoned the waitress and ordered two lattes.
‘So Mr Thomson... sorry, Andy... what can CaleyPharma do for you?’
‘I run a drug treatment centre. We’re looking for a new supplier.’
‘Right.’ Macerlane was scribbling some notes on a company pad with a company pen.
Jim continued: ‘We’ve a number of HIV positive youngsters.’
The salesman stopped scribbling. ‘Tell me a bit more about your centre.’
‘It’s a private clinic. We work with health board and court referrals and do a fair bit of private work. Rich kids, that sort of thing. Our clients come to us from all over the central belt.’
‘Where are you based?’
‘We operate from premises in Dundee. Do you know the city?’
Macerlane shook his head. Jim breathed a sigh of relief.
‘I cover the north and north east,’ the salesman explained.
‘Can you help us?’
‘We are working on something, but it is still undergoing trials.’
‘Providon?’ Jim suggested.
Macerlane paused, held Jim’s gaze for a moment. ‘Where did you hear that name?’
‘Word gets around.’
‘Aye, it does.’
‘So is it available?’
Macerlane was cagey. ‘It was originally developed as an anti-convulsant but we’ve found it can inhibit the growth of HIV cells in test tubes.’
‘That sounds promising.’
‘We are fairly confident we will take it to the marketplace in the not too distant future.’
Jim looked impressed: ‘If it’s successful it’ll be huge.’
Macerlane clicked his company pen and closed his pad. ‘It’s not a cure for AlDS, but it is a step in the right direction. Now, if you’ve got a business card, we’ll keep you posted.’
Jim reached into his pocket and produced a small white card run up earlier in the morning by one of the computer design shops in the centre of town. He pushed it across the table with all the flair of a croupier dealing a hand of Blackjack.
Macerlane picked it up, examined it briefly – didn’t look too impressed – and slipped it into his notepad. In return, he offered up a glossy Caleypharma brochure.
‘I hope we can do business at some point in the future. ‘
They shook hands again and Macerlane left. Jim watched as he dashed through the rain to silver Mercedes on the far side of the car park. He wasn’t quite sure whether the meeting had been useful or not.
*****
‘Journalists seem to spend an awful lot of time sitting in cars,’ Amber grumbled. ‘Or at least we do.’
Jim polished off the final strands of sauce-drenched lettuce from his Big Mac and flung the polystyrene tray into the passenger foot well behind his seat. ‘It’s called observing and it’s what we do.’
‘Who or what are we observing now?’ she asked without enthusiasm.
‘Well, we’re outside the front of the drug treatment centre.’ Patronising. ‘Who do we know that works there?’
‘Siobhan Anderson.’
‘And why are we here?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ she huffed.
‘Because just maybe she’ll have an unexpected visitor.’
‘The police?’
‘No.’
Jim grabbed the Caleypharma brochure from the dashboard and leafed through it. There were bright photographs of a sun-drenched Caleypharma factory – it didn’t look quite like that earlier in the day – and the company’s smiling management team and leading scientists. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here. Caleypharma was conducting a perfectly legitimate trial of a potentially very lucrative new drug. Siobhan had supplied willing volunteers.
It all appeared to be perfectly above board. But whichever way Jim sliced the events of the last week, Providon was a common factor. Three people he knew were taking the drug were dead and the other had attempted to take her life. If Siobhan told Macerlane there was a journalist snooping about, perhaps there was a chance something more might come to light.
‘How long are we waiting here?’ Amber asked.
Jim looked at the car clock. It was just after three. ‘As long as it takes.’
‘Do you even know if she’s in there?’
‘I phoned anonymously. She’s in there.’
‘And if she comes out?’
‘We follow her. We’re sticking to Siobhan Anderson like glue from here on in.’
*****
Chapter 16
Siobhan Anderson didn’t leave her office until well after midnight. Jim was starting to lose hope. He was dozing off when Amber prodded him hard in the ribs.
‘She’s on the move!’
He opened his eyes. ‘At long fucking last.’
They watched as she walked a short way up the street to a car parked three behind the Mazda.
Jim turned the key in the ignition excitedly. ‘Here we go.’
A red Ford Fiesta pulled out behind them and accelerated noisily past in a low gear. He let it gain some distance, then flicked the headlamps on and followed.
‘What happens if she sees us?’ Amber asked.
‘It’s the middle of the might. She won’t,’ he assured her.
The Fiesta stopped at traffic lights ahead of them. Jim waved a taxi in ahead of them and waited for the red to diffuse into orange and then green. Siobhan’s car pulled off straight and they followed, out of the city centre into the neat stone terraces of the suburbs beyond. The taxi was still in front of them. Jim sat on its rear bumper. Siobhan was pulling away from them.
‘Get a bloody move on,’ he cursed.
‘Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,’ Amber coughed.
But it pulled off the main drag into an all-night petrol station on the left. He pushed the accelerator down and watched the speedo rise through 30 to 40mph. It didn’t take long to catch Siobhan. She was stationary at a roundabout waiting for a Tesco lorry to negotiate the circle. Then she was off, and the Mazda followed.
Amber looked anxious. ‘Pull back.’
‘We’re okay.’
They were on the A9 now, heading north across the Kessock Bridge, up and over the suspended span and on to the Black Isle.
‘It’s certainly black,’ Jim smiled.
‘They must have named it at night,’ Amber added.
There were a few cars on the dual carriageway besides the Fiesta and Mazda, mainly taxis, taking people from the pubs and clubs of Inverness home to the outlying towns and villages. Siobhan’s car pulled out to overtake an articulated truck before returning to the inside lane. She gained distance on them. Jim repeated the manoeuvre in time to see the Fiesta indicate left. He slowed right down, let the lorry follow through then pulled in behind it.
The Fiesta turned into a narrow country lane. Jim slowed right down, watched the taillights of the car disappear into trees and pulled off the carriageway. The lane was short, petering out at a small cottage next to a cluster of outbuildings. He stopped, switched off the headlamps and peered into the darkness.
The red taillights of the Fiesta were motionless next to the cottage. They disappeared, replaced by the white interior glow of the car as the door opened and Siobhan stepped out. She closed the door and there was a double flash of orange.