Burnout

by Claire MacLeary

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Must be lovely,’ Maggie ran on, ‘to have help with the wee one. I’ll bet they’re spoiling him rotten.’ She paused. ‘You, too.’

  There was another silence. ‘That’s just it,’ Ros said, her voice grave. ‘For the first time in I don’t know how long, I feel free.’

  ‘Oh, Ros.’ Maggie’s heart tugged. ‘I knew things were bad. I never imagined they were that bad.’ How Maggie wished, now, she’d sought out Ros’s friend, Fiona. Had a heart-to-heart.

  ‘’Fraid so,’ Ros answered. ‘After that last meeting of ours, they sort of spiralled.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘A downhill spiral. But I’m home now.’

  ‘That’s good. Make the most of it. You can tell me all about it when we…’

  Ros cut Maggie short. ‘That’s why I’m calling.’

  ‘You’re taking extra leave, is that it? Staying longer than the holiday weekend?’

  ‘Yes. And no.’ There was steel in Ros’s voice that was new to Maggie. ‘I’m leaving Nic. Full stop.’

  Something Missing

  Detective Constable Douglas Dunn faced Gordon Struthers across the interview room table. Next to Dunn sat his sergeant, Brian Burnett. As before, Struthers was accompanied by his solicitor.

  Douglas ran through the preliminaries. ‘Do you understand why you’re still here?’ he asked Struthers.

  Gordon Struthers nodded. Hunched in the hard seat, he looked more compact than ever, his chest concave, his eyes blinking rapidly behind the round spectacles.

  ‘Last time we spoke, Sergeant Burnett questioned you on the subject of your marriage. Do you remember that conversation, Gordon?’ Douglas hesitated. ‘Is it alright if I call you Gordon?’

  A fleeting glance at the solicitor. Another slight nod.

  ‘You stated, then, that you had no cause to wish your wife Sheena harm.’

  ‘That is correct.’ Small voice.

  ‘Can you speak up, please, for the tape?’

  ‘That is correct,’ Struthers repeated.

  ‘Even though you admitted to searching the internet for…’ Douglas ventured a sideways glance at Brian, who sat, impassive. ‘Deviant material.’

  Gordon Struthers looked down at the table.

  ‘Is this a practice you’ve maintained, Gordon?’ Douglas was enjoying himself.

  Whispered: ‘No.’

  ‘Louder, if you will.’

  ‘No.’ The word came out as almost a shout.

  ‘Would you like to take a break?’ The solicitor leaned in towards his client.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Gordon Struthers pulled a linen handkerchief from his breast pocket. He shook it out and mopped his brow.

  ‘Turning to the other matter I raised at your last interview: the numerous searches on your computer for pharmaceutical products – have you reconsidered your position?’

  Vigorously, Struthers shook his head. ‘I still don’t understand how they got there.’

  ‘You maintain you have no knowledge of these searches,’ Brian stepped in.

  ‘Yes,’ Gordon Struthers responded, wild-eyed. ‘No. I’ve absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Then, how do you explain this?’ Douglas slid a sheet of paper across the table. ‘For the benefit of the tape, I’m once again showing the suspect a list of internet searches for non-traceable drugs from a number of Canadian pharmacies.’

  Struthers answered, his voice quavering, ‘I can’t. I told you before.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ the solicitor interrupted. ‘The entire world can surf the net. That piece of paper isn’t evidence. It doesn’t mean a thing.’

  ‘Accepted,’ Brian answered. ‘But, if you’ll bear with us, I think you’ll find my constable has more.’

  ‘Then it had better be good,’ the solicitor snarled. ‘My client has been detained for coming on twenty-four hours. Without good cause, I should add.’

  Douglas suppressed a smirk. ‘This,’ he brandished another sheet from the file in front of him, ‘is a copy order from that same computer. A computer,’ he paused for effect, ‘belonging to your client.’ He looked Gordon Struthers in the eye.

  Struthers’ mouth opened and closed like a fairground goldfish.

  Even the solicitor was lost for words.

  ‘An order,’ Douglas pressed on relentlessly, ‘for the date rape drug GHB.’

  The prolonged silence that ensued was broken by a loud rat-tat on the door.

  Fuck! Douglas shot a glance at Brian.

  He responded with a yank of the head.

  ‘Will you excuse me for a moment?’ Furious, Douglas scraped back his chair and rose to his feet. He stuck his head round the door.

  Susan Strachan stood in the corridor, her face flushed with exertion. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she panted.

  ‘You cunt.’ Dunn’s veneer of sophistication deserted him. ‘You’ve just screwed up my interview.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she replied. ‘But this is really important.’

  ‘So fucking important it’s giving Struthers the chance to regroup?’ Douglas came back at her. ‘I’ve just shown him the fucking copy order.’

  ‘And,’ Susan fixed Dunn with her brightest smile, ‘has he held his hands up to it?’

  ‘You didn’t give him the opportunity,’ he retorted, running his eyes up and down her body.

  Inwardly, Susan shuddered. ‘The reason I didn’t make the briefing,’ she explained, ‘is I was taking a statement from Sheena Struthers.’

  ‘Haven’t we got that already?’

  ‘Not a full statement. I’ll be brief.’ She threw Douglas a triumphant look. ‘Mrs Struthers has admitted to fabricating the supposed murder attempts. I’ll give you the background later. However, she insists that clifftop fall was no accident. She was so spooked she went into Gordon’s computer, turned up those searches.’

  ‘So?’ Douglas moved to re-enter the room. ‘Tell me something new. You’ve just screwed up a critical interview for fuck all.’

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ Susan feigned concern. ‘I might equally have saved your skin.’

  ‘How?’ he sneered, looking over his shoulder.

  ‘You’ve no proof it was Gordon who placed that order. Sheena knew his password. She might equally well have…’

  ‘Faked her own suicide? You reckon that’s a goer, Strachan?’

  ‘It’s not beyond the realms.’ The longer she’d spent in Sheena’s company, the more ambivalent Susan had become.

  ‘Whatever.’ Douglas turned on his heel and slammed the door.

  Such a Fool

  ‘I feel such a fool.’ Maggie sat, head in hands, in Wilma’s conservatory.

  ‘There’s nowt to be said.’ Wilma responded with a wry smile. ‘Woman fair took a ride out of you.’

  ‘You can say that again. I’ve been well and truly conned. And I’ve only myself to blame. Didn’t you warn me from day one it would be a rerun of the Argo business?’

  ‘That was different. Argo, she was a psychiatric case. Come to think on it, I haven’t seen her up at ARI for a good while. Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s been sectioned.’

  ‘You don’t think Sheena Struthers is mentally ill, then?’

  ‘No. If you ask me, the whole business was down to burnout.’

  ‘I don’t get you.’

  ‘In a word,’ Wilma replied, ‘it’s exhaustion. ‘Only emotional rather than physical. You’re that stressed out by the abuse, you completely lose the plot.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Wilma shrugged. ‘Been there.’

  ‘Oh, Wilma.’ Maggie raised her head. She looked searchingly at her friend.

  ‘Aye. In and out of the women’s refuge I don’t know how often.’

  ‘This was with Darren?’

 
‘Aye. Bastard! But by the time I got that length, he’d reduced me to an emotional wreck. And not just emotional, I suffered physical symptoms too: headaches, irritability. I was always tired, forever getting colds and urinary infections. It was like all my defences were shattered.’

  ‘You think it was the sexual abuse, not the menopause that tipped Sheena Struthers over the edge?’

  ‘Who knows? The change can have a massive effect on a woman, by all accounts.’ Wilma gave Maggie a nudge. ‘How long, do you reckon, before it hits us?’

  ‘Not for a long time, please God,’ Maggie responded with a grimace. She’d a hard enough time reconciling the chafing and the stomach cramps and mood swings of her ‘time of the month’ with the demands of her home and business.

  Wilma grinned. ‘Watch this space. But, mentally,’ she ran on, ‘I reckon Sheena’s as sharp as they come. How else could she have planned all that? Mind you, she’s had plenty of time. That Gordon’s had it coming to him since they first got married, if her account’s to be believed.’

  ‘But that’s just it, Wilma. Right from our initial meeting, she came over as so authentic. So suburban, so unworldly, so… “straight” I suppose is the word.’

  ‘Bit like you, Maggie.’

  ‘Well, I have to admit the thought did occur to me. Sheena Struthers came across like how I used to be. Before,’ she cast Wilma a sideways look, ‘you corrupted me.’

  ‘Dinna lay the blame at my door.’

  ‘What do you think will happen to her now?’

  Wilma snorted. ‘Bugger all. If he sticks by her, that is.’

  ‘You think that’s on the cards?’

  Wilma shrugged. ‘Stranger things have happened. As I said, if he stands by her… and she gets herself a fancy solicitor. And don’t forget the GP. If some smartass lawyer comes out all guns blazing, waving a medical certificate, it’ll likely go no further.’

  ‘All that time wasted for nothing!’ Maggie wrung her hands in despair. ‘That’s what I get for being a narrow-minded, snobbish, self-regarding idiot.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up. We’re none of us perfect.’ Sly grin. ‘Though some of us are more perfect than others. The way you were aye ticking me off when we first got started. Comes from working with teachers, I suppose. Still, it fair got my goat.’

  ‘Don’t rub it in. But, seriously, Wilma, I thought I had it sussed, this PI business.’

  ‘You and me both.’

  ‘Agreed. We’ve come such a long way from those first clumsy attempts at investigation. Learned such a lot. The experience has made me more savvy, that’s for sure.’

  Wilma pulled a comic face. ‘Cynical’s the word I’d use.’

  ‘Less trusting, that’s for sure. And a better judge of character. At least, I thought I was all those things until…’ Her voice wavered. ‘Since this thing blew up, Wilma, I haven’t been sleeping. Lying in the night questioning everything. The whole point of us taking on the agency was to get justice for George. And we’re not there yet. Nowhere near. I doubt we’ll ever be there. If I’m honest, I don’t even know if it’s worth the effort, not anymore.’

  ‘But, Maggie…’

  ‘Don’t interrupt,’ she held up a hand. ‘I blamed myself for the mess I was in before. Laid it on false pride – wanting to keep the kids in their private schools, keep up appearances. But now I don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘What if it was largely down to George: his misguided loyalty in not speaking up about Brannigan’s interview tape, rolling over rather than squaring up to a disciplinary hearing, shutting himself away up that close in King Street with his tin-pot agency instead of sticking out for something better.’ She sighed deeply. ‘I have to face up to the fact that George, nice as he was, lacked imagination. Even if he’d gone before that hearing and acquitted himself well, chances are he’d have been happy to stick at sergeant, stay on in that tatty wee house next door, settle for pipe and slippers the minute the kids moved on. Whereas I…’ She drew a breath. ‘I’ve always wanted more, ever since I was a wee girl.’

  ‘Oh, Maggie, you can have more. Look how the client list is building. And they’re good clients. Gilt-edged.’ She grinned. ‘Some of them.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been telling myself. But George is dead, Wilma. Whether I succeed or fail in this crusade of mine won’t make any difference to him. Sometimes, if I’m honest, I suspect I’m not doing this for George at all. I’m doing it for me. To stop the whispers and the pointed fingers and the snide asides.’ Her voice wavered. ‘False pride again. I’ll tell you what I think when I lie awake in the night: what the hell is the point?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what the point is. You’ve two kids, Maggie Laird. Young kids with their lives still ahead of them. There’s nothing will bring their father back. But you can get rid of the stigma attached to his name. So do it for them, Maggie. Your pride will recover soon enough. And you’re young enough, yet,’ stage wink, ‘to find someone else.’

  ‘I don’t want anyone else.’

  ‘Not now, maybe. But come the time Colin’s gone and you’re rattling around the house on your own…’

  ‘Even then.’

  ‘That’s what you’re saying now, but mark my words…’

  ‘Anyway, who would want a forty-something widow with a wall eye?’

  ‘Plenty.’ Wilma stuck out her boobs. ‘Look at me: a divorced wumman wi twa useless loons. I could have had my pick, let me tell you, before I settled on Ian Harcus. As for you, Maggie Laird, you’re a fine-looking woman. You only have to see the way that Brian Burnett hangs on your every word.’

  ‘Och,’ Maggie pooh-poohed. ‘Brian’s a pushover.’

  ‘That Chisolm, then.’

  ‘Don’t remind me.’ Maggie could imagine the inspector’s reaction to yet another faux pas from Harcus & Laird.

  ‘I’m serious. All through that Fatboy’s trial I caught him giving you sideways glances.’

  ‘Sure. If looks could kill…’

  ‘Might be the fella’s lonely. Didn’t he move up here from Glasgow? He’s sure to be missing the talent.’ She wiggled her hips. ‘Never mind a bit of gallus humour.’

  Maggie pursed her lips. ‘If that’s the case, he’s more likely to get both from you than me.’

  Wilma beamed. ‘There is that. But…’ She was serious again. ‘I was thinking…’

  Maggie’s heart sank even lower. ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘The PI business is a helluva hard way to earn a crust. And I should know.’ Stage wink. ‘The things I’ve done. Now a pal of mine, he left school like I did with nothing to show for it show and went to work in an undertakers.’

  ‘Right…’ Maggie wondered where this was going.

  ‘And didn’t the old boy die. This was years later, mind you. And my mate got the lot.’

  ‘The business, d’you mean?’

  ‘On the nail. He’s driving a Bentley now.’

  ‘Nice story,’ Maggie observed, ‘but I hope you’re not suggesting we go into the undertaking business.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Other than the hearse, there wouldn’t be a great outlay.’ She pondered for a moment. ‘And you can likely lease the cars.’

  ‘Wil-ma, there’s more to undertaking than carting a body from A to B. And if you think the PI business is messy, put your mind for just one minute to the embalming process – all those bodily fluids.’ As she spoke, Maggie was back in that undertaker’s office in George Street, her dead husband being ‘processed’ downstairs.

  ‘It’s no science,’ Wilma scoffed. ‘More like plumbing. Bit smelly, but you get used to it. And you can make a packet.’ The big blue eyes were like saucers. ‘And make it fast. Not like us and our “baby steps” as you call them.’

  ‘I don’t need “a packet”. Just enough to see the kids through their educatio
n, pay off the mortgage and see me out.’

  ‘Fair dos, Maggie. All I was trying to say was, now we’ve done our apprenticeship, we could turn our hand to anything, you and me.’ She grinned. ‘Not that I’d say no to the Bentley.’

  A Pantomime

  Brian Burnett sat in Chisolm’s office. Hidden by the desk, his left knee jerked spasmodically.

  Chisolm fixed him with a gimlet eye. ‘As senior interviewing officer, Burnett, would you care to explain this morning’s proceedings?’

  Brian quailed. When Dunn had stormed back into the interview room, red-faced, he’d suspected something was awry. What he hadn’t bargained for was the ensuing chaos.

  ‘Well, sir,’ he began, ‘you’ll have received Strachan’s report.’

  Chisolm inclined his head.

  ‘So you’ll know Sheena Struthers is standing by her allegations?’

  ‘I do,’ Chisolm snapped. ‘In a statement given to a junior DC acting without authority.’

  Brian’s shirt collar felt suddenly too tight. He ran a forefinger round the inside, felt the perspiration pooling at the nape of his neck.

  ‘Thus rendering its use in evidence against the suspect inadmissable.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘I’ll deal with Strachan later. Meantime, cut to the chase, Burnett. Tell me what happened in that room.’

  ‘Dunn was lead interviewer. Kicked off with the porn. More to unsettle the suspect than anything.’

  ‘I was under the impression that had already been covered.’ Chisolm’s voice held a sharp edge.

  ‘Affirmative.’

  ‘So Dunn was having a bit of sport, is that what you’re trying to tell me?’

  Brian shifted in his seat. ‘You could say that, sir.’

  ‘I thought I told you to keep Dunn in check.’ He saw Brian’s face flush. ‘Oh. Never mind. How did Struthers react?’

  ‘Had the desired effect.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Brian’s shirt was sticking to his back by now, sweat pricking his chest. He took a deep breath. ‘Dunn shows him the pharms searches. Struthers maintains total ignorance. The solicitor starts jumping up and down, screaming there’s no foundation, it’s all conjecture. Dunn’s just producing the copy order for the GHB when Strachan calls him out the room.’