Cause & Effect (The Gemini Borders Trilogy Book 3)

by Toni Parks

  They arrived at the lay-by well in advance of the prison transporter and re-familiarised themselves with the plan. With ten minutes to go Jonnie Turnbull left the van and headed across the road. He crouched behind a gorse bush in the still damp grass, his intention being to signal his sighting of the approaching targeted vehicle. The signal came, quickly followed by the transporter itself. Although bigger than expected, Eduardo set off as planned. Metal squealed as two vehicles came into contact, then, tyres screeched on gravel as re-control was attempted. The shunted vehicle came to rest in the farm entrance but it was the wrong vehicle. As luck hadn’t it, the collision that occurred was between a Royal Mail van and themselves. The said vehicle was heading north in the direction of Scotland at exactly the wrong time. By the time Eduardo assessed the situation, the prison vehicle was long gone with only minor corrections to a slight skid and a few glances in the wing mirrors by the driver.

  The postman alighted from his dented van, sans mail. He belligerently faced up to Eduardo by way of compensation for all the paperwork he would now have to suffer. Eduardo annoyed that the plan had failed even before it had started, nullified the belligerent man’s concern and suffering by punching him on the jaw and instantly knocking him out. ‘Well at least now he won’t feel any pain or have any form filling until he wakes up,’ he surmised as he strode across to his own van; into which all three failures reboarded, and then headed north, glum faced and silent, towards Edinburgh.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE The way Barnham was feeling, he could have been knocked over with a feather. Taking into consideration his supposed lack of memory, there was one remembrance, which did not pose him a problem; it was hot wired for the preservation of his future generations and no less for his enjoyment. And Emma, having just scratched his itch with her proposition, saw it as her duty and as an act of continuance with his therapy. Jessica had warned her, quite vociferously, to stay away for both their sakes but Emma’s addictive streak needed satiating and so both brain and body advocated differently. And anyway, she enjoyed Terry’s company and even more so now that his ‘Barmy’ nickname had achieved a certain truism.

  She chaperoned him back to his own tiny bed-sit, holding tightly to his hand in case he became lost. But Terry’s mind was anything but, he clearly understood his presentiment and relished the thought of the outcome. Once through the outer door Emma made the first move or more accurately, pounce. Still holding on to his arm she pulled him towards the stairs, leaving him to wonder whether the key was still in the lock outside or if he had made the bed, or not. By this time, Emma was unconcerned about either; she had very strong feelings for this ex DI, both emotionally and physically and now wanted to know if they were still reciprocated. And she was not disappointed on either front; Terry rose to the occasion more than once, and Emma for one of the few times in her life experienced true love without the influence of drugs, alcohol or violence.

  They lay there in post coital bliss with Terry gently brushing his thumb over one of her supine nipples in the interest of anticipated bonus activity. Emma arched her back and purred catlike, “In the past it’s been occasions like this when I’d be reaching for something stronger but now I’ll be happy to settle for a coffee, even though I know it will be instant.”

  Terry surprised her with, “Oh I can do better than instant now. I’ve bought some fancy Italian ground coffee,” he announced with pride. “Although I’ve no idea what to do with it, and that’s nothing to do with my memory loss, honest.”

  Emma lay on the verge of ecstasy as Barnham ran his fingers over the areas that she enjoyed his fingers running over, and still deliberated her options. “It’s no good, I suppose I’ll have to get up and do it myself, then. Have you got a dressing gown? And,” she smirked adding a dirty edge to her voice, “don’t you be thinking of going anywhere. I’m not quite finished with you yet!”

  The caffeine fuelled break almost over had given Terry’s brain chance to flex itself on matters other than carnal. By way of a short term interlude, he offered, “By the way, I’ve got some news. I forgot to tell you earlier. Listen to me, of all people, saying I forgot to say something. Oh, what was it now?” he joked, modelling his interpretation of The Thinker, who had probably been, more than likely, in the same state of undress, too! “DC Blister’s been in touch. He hasn’t completely given up on me yet. He’s arranged for me to spend a day at the station, in Record Updates. To see if it appeals to me and helps with an increase in my memory recovery.”

  “That sounds positive, are you looking forward to it?” replied Emma a little guarded.

  “No. Am I bollocks, it will be a load of crap. Desk job, I’ll end up fat and pale looking.” Here he paused and laughed as Emma eyed him skeptically. “Yes, OK. That’s what I used to look like before. But, don’t you see, it might give me chance to do some snooping. Perhaps find out about your Aunt and Grandma and see what’s going down with Jessica.”

  “Haven’t you got enough on your plate with one black sheep, without going looking for more, you little boy who lives down the lane? Perhaps you ought to get on the Spiyweb thingy that might be able to give you answers quicker. Surely, they’ve got all sorts of information on people and suchlike. But I suppose then you’d be working against the good guys, wouldn’t you? Not quite PC, hey?”

  “Well, who knows, maybe I will? It could come to that. But I’d probably need you to talk to your new Italian relations and use your persuasive powers first. Talking of which, enough shop for the minute. My memory has just reminded me that there are other interesting activities to undertake, ones which don’t necessarily involve dialogue,” he whispered as his now re-warmed hands alighted and rested on Emma’s soon to be swollen tummy, on their journey further south.

  She woke with a start, oriented herself by commanding her eyes to circumnavigate the room. She spied a pile of clothes on the floor but Terry was not in them. Neither was he parked next to her in the bed. Gingerly and quietly she crept out of it, but still the 210 pounder heard her feet caressing his 80/20 twist-pile carpet, and so looked around as her near silent footsteps approached. Nursing his drink of choice, Irn-Bru, and dressed in the same ubiquitous dressing gown, he was sitting at the small kitchenette folding-table, like some Wee Willie Winkie with nowhere to run. He said in defence, “I woke up, was thirsty, my brain decided to work overtime, there’s always a first; so I thought I’d make a list.” Raising both hands to show his can in one and a biro in the other.

  “Clever boy, so now we’re multi tasking, are we?” “Yes, you’ll be impressed with where my thoughts are taking me. In fact I’ve just remembered that I’ve something to tell you,” he said a little sheepishly.

  Emma flushed as she replied, “Terry, it’s a bit late to remember you’ve got something to tell me! Particularly now that the lord mayor’s parade’s just been and gone! And, on more than one occasion.”

  “No it’s not about what we’ve been doing all afternoon, but we can either discuss or re-enact that if you’d prefer?”

  “Get on with it then, you sauce!” holding her hand out in a ‘stop sign’ manner.

  “Well, it’s three things. One is a question really.” Emma remained silent and still as he continued, “Do you believe in fate?”

  “Oh, bloody hell, Tel. I’ve already got a psychologist sister so why would I need another ‘ologist’ in my life, one who talks about fate. Your dad wasn’t Edgar Allan Poe, by any chance?”

  “No, that’s not where I’m going. It’s just when you look at where we started and where we’ve ended up and what went on in between.”

  “I know exactly what went on in between. You’ve just had three for the price of one of what went on in between, and I’ll bet you’ll still be smiling about it next week. Talk about starter for ten and I’ll have you know I’m not, repeat not, asking for payment.”

  “No you still don’t get it. We’ve left a train of coincidences behind us and that has brought us to where we are today. The initial causes have had va
rious effects. Like you nearly being killed by Jessica, then us having sex before you tried to kill me. And me not dying because of your actions, but being found by that Tractor guy, what was his name again. And like I say here we are now, as if nothing had happened. Well I know it has and I’m truly grateful, what with the baby and everything but not necessarily for the nearly dying bit though.”

  “I don’t know whether to be annoyed or happy, now. But I can vaguely see where you’re coming from. Hey, it’s usually me who has other thoughts on my mind, but I can see I’ve got serious competition now. Are your other two questions such conundrums too? I don’t know if I’ll cope, my will to live is already sliding towards oblivion, as it is.”

  “OK. Second is more straightforward. My boss has said that if I don’t go for the Record Updates job in a big way, then he’ll make me a presentation, followed by a ‘do’; a leaving celebration, both to be at the old Lothian & Borders station. That’s so I’ll be able to say proper goodbyes to the mates that are still left. And thirdly, if number two comes off, I’ll be back on the premises and who knows what I might find vis a vis Jessica.”

  “And by vis a vis, do you mean something that might help wipe her slate clean?”

  “It could more than wipe her slate clean, it might even wipe her nose too!”

  “Oh, Tel. Get back in that bed now, I could kiss you all over,” gushed Emma before accepting that her libido was at rock bottom. “Or alternatively, we could crash out on the sofa and watch a DVD, even I’m exhausted with all this chattering.”

  *

  Jessica and her fellow passengers were none the wiser at the severe action the driver had taken to avoid a collision; they already had accepted that their lives did not belong to them anyway so fate may as well play its part. The driver and his two colleagues knew better. In case of an accident their orders had been to continue if at all physically possible, no matter what the situation left behind or the ongoing consequences. Their arrival at Rampton, with the hand over of Jessica, concluded the drama, thus sealing another nail in her mental coffin. A place had been found at short notice and her safety was assured prior to her next visit to court.

  Cornton Vale had liaised with Rampton over her imminent arrival, needs and personal safety but the argy bargy of that expletive phone call of 24 hours ago still rankled, as protection by overworked staff although expected was not a given. Added to that Jessica was now entering a realm where all inmates possessed severe and more often than not, dangerous personality disorders. The building itself although clinical to the naked eye, oozed a grave foreboding and a constant air of tension and watchfulness as it restrained inmates, categorised as being immediate dangers to the public. Even the wardens and medical staff were under considerable stress and strain dealing with nearly 400 inmates, suffering from some form of mental illness or other, many with ongoing violent tendencies, and all needing psychological counseling and/or behavioural treatment. And from experience, this imprisonment regime only tended to worsen that illness instead of curing it.

  Jessica was compliant, perhaps a little unstable from the journey and her growing guilt complex, but there was no rebellion, no defiance, and no dissent, to be found. If she cared to delve deep enough into her muddled brain she would have known exactly what was going on but she was not yet in any hurry to find out.

  The exact opposite could not have been more true, for DC Blister. Even he could see through his inexperienced eyes that his prize was slipping away professionally, geographically and mentally. He was all for a speedy psychiatric review, but more so to prove it negative. To him, detention under The Mental Health Act was a cop out. Murder would be reduced to culpable homicide or manslaughter and then be further diluted to diminished responsibility and so deemed to be mental illness due to a disordered personality. Jessica Lambert would end up in an institution; an asylum staring at a magnolia washed wall with no understanding as to why she had been put there in the first place. Rather than residing in a cell, staring at bars and knowing that everyday for the rest of her life, would be exactly the same, with her five murders adding up to a very lengthy sentence indeed.

  His chances of a murder sentence were vanishing before his eyes just as quickly as Eduardo’s chances of springing Jessica from the justice’s clutches. So neither was happy that she had gone south. In an angry frame of mind Eduardo had rung Elspeth and surprisingly he had reached her first time, not least because she knew no one else would be calling on that particular mobile. This time, he had not even waited for her to confirm her name, “You’re not off the hook yet. That attempt with the prison vehicle has failed miserably,” he recalled. “So we’re going to have to re-look at the other options you originally had.”

  “Pointless. They are no longer available to me. And as I told you the last time, I already have the Sheriff questioning me with his looks and it won’t be too long before he puts those into words. The only option I have left is suggesting ‘a plea in bar of trial’, where the suspect would be qualified as being too unfit to stand trial now or unfit even at the time of the offenses. But that opportunity is some way off,” replied Elspeth in an equally rude manner.

  “So be it. But you know what the consequences will be. I’m giving you fair warning.”

  Elspeth, adding bolshie to rude, replied, “Look here. I’ve put my neck on the line and compromised my career already. There is nothing else available to me, so do your worst.” With that she terminated the call and immediately rang her parents’ home number on her other mobile.

  “Hi Dad, it’s Elspeth, not at work?” she said tearily. “I’ve failed you all …,” and then burst out crying.

  “Darling, what’s the matter? What’s happened? You have not failed anybody, not your mother, not Joe, not me. We should never have put you in this situation. I can’t work for thinking about it and now you too are upset. And by my actions, you could end up in jail with me.”

  Elspeth interrupted, “Dad it won’t come to that. Think positive, we’ll get through this. I just needed to tell someone and find some comfort. We’ll get through.”

  “We will, Elspeth, we will. I’ve decided to speak to the head of the gypsies and put the whole thing out in the open. I should have done that in the first place instead of involving you. But thank you from the bottom of my heart for trying anyway. And I’ll keep you out of any conversations I have.”

  “Oh Dad, are you sure that’s the right way to go? It has a good chance of backfiring on you.”

  “Listen, Love. It’s the only way. Honesty is always the best policy and I should have stuck to that sooner. So you dry your eyes and take a deep breath. It’s going to be all right, I can feel it in my bones. And I know in my heart that I have nothing to be frightened or ashamed of.”

  “It’s good to hear you being so positive, Dad. Give Mum a hug from me and you will talk it through with her before you do it, won’t you?”

  “Yes, hen. I’ll get her blessing. Now you better get back to work before all those criminals start escaping justice. Bye bye.”

  “Yes, bye Dad. You will inform me of the outcome?” But she received no answer to that, as with Seth gripping the phone so tightly he had accidentally disconnected the call. His emotions running high he grabbed his jacket and went in search of one of the gypsy elders.

  Balloch Tait, the gypsy bandolier or law keeper and grandfather to Rawnie, was sitting outside his caravan, whittling merrily. He greeted Seth with, “Hi Seth, have you come to see how a true craftsman works with wood?”

  “Something like that,” replied Seth. “Then again, perhaps not,” as he plucked up courage to continue. Balloch noticed the change in his voice and the direction in which the conversation was heading.

  “What’s on your mind, Seth? Not at the mill today? Are you here in an official capacity?”

  “No, unofficial. In fact, very unofficial. And I can’t work because of it.”

  “OK. Just give me a minute whilst the kettle boils and then you’ll have my full attenti
on. And perhaps it will give you time to think of how you want to offload your burden, ‘cause it certainly sounds to me a heavy one that you’re a carrying.”

  “Thanks, Balloch. Tea would be good and yes, I’ll just sit here and contemplate awhile.”

  Balloch took longer than expected with the tea but for good reason. He reappeared from his bowtop with two cups and a kettle of tea. As he poured Seth could contain himself no longer and launched into the whole story of Rawnie, first stealing, then working for him as recompense for her misdemeanour, and now this fictitious libel of Seth molesting her at that time. He left out the part about Elspeth as he did not wish to compromise her situation any more than it already had been. On finishing, he took a gulp of the scalding tea, before he realised that it was both without milk and sugar. He pulled a sour face, at both the heat and bitterness of the brew.

  Comically Balloch said, “Sorry Seth, I should have said. We don’t stand on ceremony with the fineries of tea drinking.” This had the effect of lightening Seth’s foreboding and now gave Balloch time to think. Seth had carried the angst around for several days and even Balloch could see its release as a blessing. He spent another minute ruminating before saying, “Seth, I’ve known you for far longer than I’ve known our Rawnie, and my gut instinct tells me that you are the same honest man you have always been, both personally and in village dealings. Now Rawnie, well we know she’s a bit of a wild one and she’s not been around for some while now. But blood is blood and we’ve got to do right by her. Although I am confused as to why she suddenly starts making accusations, after supposedly bottling it up for so long.”

  “It’s like I told you, it’s about a woman called Jessica Lambert. I don’t know her, you don’t know her but somehow she’s instrumental in infiltrating our lives and, given half a chance, destroying them, probably without even being cognisant of that fact.”