by Ken McClure
‘ Fine,’ said Susan.
Steven left, saying that he would call her at the university on Monday to finalise arrangements. He was already looking forward to spending the evening with her. He suspected she knew a lot about a lot and he enjoyed the company of bright women.
Steven wondered which of the three he should tell first, Macmillan, McClintock or David Little. He decided on Little because it seemed only right although he knew that Little was a man almost beyond caring. Forty-five minutes later he was standing in an assistant governor’s office at Barlinnie, hearing him say, ‘I think we know who talked to the papers but we can’t prove it.’
Steven nodded. He didn’t much care because the damage had been done. He was not interested in apportioning blame after the event. ‘The tests confirmed Little as being Julie’s murderer. I’d like to tell him personally,’ said Steven.
‘ Well, thank Christ for that. Claiming wrongful conviction seems to be a national sport these days. Little’s been moved. He’s not well. I’ll get someone to take you down.’
Steven had to wait for a few minutes before being escorted to see Little by the same prison officer who’d accompanied him on the last occasion, the man with the harelip. Steven would have put money on him being the source of the leak but he didn’t give any outward sign of this. He did wonder however, if the same man was under suspicion by the prison and this was why he’d been detailed to accompany him again. This time the authorities might be counting on him leaking the new result to the papers.
As they walked along the corridors it became clear that the prisoners had their own ideas about what had been going on. A muted chorus of, ‘McGregor’s off to sunny Spain, Viva Espa n a,’ broke out to mark their progress and brought an angry flush to the cheeks of the officer. Steven pretended that he had heard nothing. His inner feelings of amusement evaporated in an instant however, when he saw the state of Little.
Little had been moved to accommodation of the type used for prisoners who were ill and required medical care but who were not going to be moved to hospital for whatever reason. Little was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and taking rapid, shallow breaths. If anything he seemed even paler than last time and his cheekbones were making him look positively skeletal.
‘ It’s you,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Come to tell me it’s all been a horrible mistake.’ He tried to laugh but a cough beat him to it and seemed to rattle his very ribs. He picked up a metal bowl that sat beside his bunk and spat into it. His lack of energy and co-ordination made it a messy business and bloodstained sputum trickled down his chin as he fell back on the pillow, seemingly exhausted.
Steven took out a couple of surgical gloves from the box by the sink and put them on. He picked up a pack of surgical wipes and cleaned Little’s face before dumping both gloves and the used wipes in the pedal bin marked ‘Biological Waste.’
‘ No, I haven’t,’ he said. ‘The tests proved beyond doubt that it was your semen they found in Julie Summers’ body.’
Little shook his head despairingly and resumed his survey of the ceiling. ‘It just cannot be,’ he murmured. ‘I didn’t do it.’
Steven remained impassive.
‘ Christ!’ exclaimed Little angrily after a moment’s thought. ‘I actually allowed myself to believe that you were going to come up with something where the others failed or didn’t even bother. And what happens? I get kicked in the balls again. Fuck! I just can’t win.’
Little’s emotional outburst brought on more coughing and Steven gloved up again before helping him through it. He held his bony shoulders while Little hacked in protest at the pneumonia that was attacking his defenceless lungs. A sudden clunk in the bowl made him look down to see with revulsion that one of Little’s teeth had come out of his gum and now lay in the bowl attached to a stringy piece of bloody tissue. Little’s gums had been retracting with his severe weight loss. ‘I’ll get you some help,’ Steven said.
Little spat out some blood from his mouth and held up his hand. ‘No,’ he said, looking at Steven with eyes that were dark pools. ‘Just fuck off, will you?’
Steven arranged for medical staff to see to Little before walking back to the office with McGregor.
‘ I take it you had bad news for him then,’ said the officer. ‘Good. Maybe that’ll stop the bastard playing the injured innocent from now on.’
‘ Si,’ said Steven as the strains of Viva Espa n a broke out again.
Steven called Macmillan from the car park and gave him the news.
‘ I won’t pretend I’m not relieved,’ said Macmillan.
‘ I’ve just told Little,’ said Steven. ‘And now I feel awful.’
‘ You raised his hopes?’
‘ I didn’t mean to, but yes, I did. For whatever reason — and don’t quote the Boys’ Own Psychiatry Manual at me — the man still clings to the delusion that he’s innocent. He must have seen me as the saviour he’s been waiting eight years for. For my part, I just had to make sure the DNA tests were right.’
‘You intentions were honourable,’ said Macmillan. ‘You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘ Thanks,’ said Steven.
‘ As to whether Lothian and Borders Police are going to share that view, that’s another matter. Have you told them?’
‘ Not yet. I’ll call DI McClintock before I drive down to see Jenny tonight.’
‘ When will you be back in London?’
‘ I thought I might take a couple of days off at the start of the week to clear up here and say thanks to a couple of people. I’ll see you Wednesday, Thursday at the latest.’
‘ You are going to let this go now, aren’t you?’ asked Macmillan.
‘ That’s what I agreed,’ replied Steven.
‘ But the bad feeling remains?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ See you Wednesday.’
Steven drove back to Edinburgh haunted by images of Little’s tooth falling out of his gum and the dead look in his eyes when he’d told him to get out. Even if the man’s proclaimed innocence was down to self-delusion, the feelings inside his head must surely be the same as if he really were innocent, he reasoned and that must come pretty close to being hell on earth. The loss of wife and family, eight years of solitary confinement, the onset of full-blown AIDS and now he had just done his bit to make matters worse. Talk about kicking a man when he was down.
Steven lingered in the shower when he got back, hoping the warm water would wash away some of the stress of the day. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the water cascading off his shoulders, using it as white noise to block out all other thoughts. He sought the temporary absolution that would allow him leave his professional self behind and step into the role of being Jenny’s father again. He wanted to join her world, unfettered by thoughts of his job, thoughts that she must know nothing about with its cast of Hector Combes and David Littles. Tomorrow he would take her and Sue’s two kids to the swimming pool in Dumfries and be an ordinary father and uncle doing what ordinary folk did at the weekends. This was the plan but first he would have to call McClintock. He did that, sitting on the bed, rubbing his hair with a towel.
‘ Thank Christ for that,’ said McClintock when Steven gave him the news. ‘I’m so relieved I won’t even say I told you so.’
‘ Kind of you,’ said Steven. ‘We’ll have a beer before I go back to London, huh?’
‘ Sure thing. Are you going to tell the papers?’
‘ That’s being taken care of,’ said Steven.
‘ Fair enough. Don’t feel too bad about this. You were right about there being a lot wrong with the Summers case but at least we didn’t stitch up the wrong guy.’
‘ There’s still some mileage in taking a look at Paul Verdi’s involvement with the police lab at the time though,’ said Steven.
‘ We can talk about that before you go,’ said McClintock. ‘Want to make it tonight?’
Steven apologised, saying that he was goi
ng down to Dumfriesshire. He’d call and fix up something when he got back.
Following one of his practised rituals of the changing of lifestyles, he put on a pair of black Levi jeans and a Nike sweatshirt instead of one of the dark suits he wore during the week. He pulled on a pair of K-Swiss trainers and finally slipped on a tan leather blousson before grabbing his travel bag and heading for the car park. All that was required now was that his mind would play along with the game. It got off to a bad start when he found himself humming Viva Espa n a.
He pressed the remote button on his key to unlock the car door but nothing happened. He tried twice more before realising that it was already unlocked. He must have forgotten to lock it when he’d got back from Glasgow. He didn’t usually forget to do that but then his mind had been on other things. He got in and turned on the radio, searching briefly through the stations for some middle-of-the-road music, before starting the car.
Ella Fitzgerald was singing, Take the A train, when the man who’d been hiding in the back of the car suddenly sat up and clamped something over Steven’s face. He held it there with vice-like fingers. Steven’s attempts to get to grips with his assailant were hampered by the seat’s headrest and by the time he’d changed tactics to trying to prise the man’s fingers off his face, the sweet heady scent of chloroform had subverted his senses and lulled him into unconsciousness.
FOURTEEN
It was such a lovely dream. He was afloat on a sea of wellbeing where only gentle waves of happiness disturbed the calm of blissful content. It was warm and light and bright and the colours were so vivid that he couldn’t focus on anything long enough to take in shape, but then geometry was a thing of the past. A kaleidoscope of beautiful, fragile images came and went in a seemingly endless carnival of bliss.
Then, out of the rainbow whirls, came the girl, the blonde, smiling girl who knelt down beside him and started rubbing warm oil into his chest in a slow circular motion. She did it gently with her fingertips and then harder with the heels of both hands, alternating with perfect regularity so that he could anticipate when the change was coming.
Steven’s heart was full of love. He smiled at her as if the sun were inside him instead of above and shining down on both of them from an azure sky. He reached up to run his fingers through her silky blonde hair and trace the line of her slim tanned shoulders as she worked the oil into his skin. They knew each other so well. Love and affection just flowed between them.
Steven caught his breath as her hands started to move down on him and he responded by bringing his hands up to cup her breasts and marvel at their firmness. She paused for a moment to undo her bra top and slip it off, shivering as Steven gently used his fingernails to tease her now hard nipples.
With a knowing smile, the girl sat astride him and moved backwards to work both hands between his thighs. He groaned with pleasure and closed his eyes as for a moment he was transported back to the past. He was fourteen years old and Miriam Barnes was introducing him to the mysteries of the opposite sex in the youth club hut in Patterdale. A few of them had stayed behind after the Friday night dance — ostensibly to clear up — but with teenage hormones raging, an alternative agenda was always on the cards. One of the kids had turned the lights out after putting on some music and at some point, he and Miriam had found themselves in the storeroom where the camping and games equipment was kept. They had made a makeshift nest out of bits and pieces and lay down to explore each other in the dark. She had tugged down his zip to slip her hand inside his jeans while he had rejoiced in the swell of her young breasts and the glorious journey his hand made up under her skirt to slip inside her panties. All this while outside in the hall the others were pairing off to the sounds of Pink Floyd’s soulful, Wish You Were Here.
Miriam had brought new meaning to his life that evening, one that was to leave a smile on his face for days. His sense of wonder was perhaps never to rise again to the heights it had scaled on that occasion… until now.
This girl was more skilled than Miriam and knew how to ensure that what might well have been a sprint became an odyssey. Using her mouth and hands she took him to the brink then reined him back. Such pleasure was not unknown to him but the sense of wonder was as great as on that first time so many years before.
The girl moved up on him and guided him expertly inside her. Three short squats and she had impaled herself on him to begin gyrating her hips in a slow rhythmic grind, making him wonder it were possible to die of pleasure. He tried to share this thought with her but found that he couldn’t get the words out. It didn’t matter: she just smiled and put a finger to her lips then continued on her mission.
There came a point when Steven grew impatient with his passive role. Male hormones were demanding that he take charge. He wanted the girl beneath him. He needed to dominate her, thrust deep and hard into her until this beautiful journey came to its rightful end.
He reached up to take her by the shoulders but she recoiled from him. She was no longer smiling. Something had broken the spell: she was now detached, distant and alarmingly different.
Feeling confused, Steven looked at her questioningly but in an instant the dream evaporated and the world exploded inside his head. Pleasure gave way to searing pain as he was rolled off the bed and blows rained down on him. His body shuddered as boots thudded into his ribs and fists smashed into his face. The pain soared until the bright lights and colours of a few moments ago yielded to an agonised spiral downwards into seemingly infinite blackness.
The dream had become a nightmare. He was in such pain that he couldn’t move without stabs of protest coming from his injured body. The bed was hard and it was wet; he could feel it grazing his cheek. In fact, it wasn’t a bed at all; it was… a pavement… it was raining… and it wasn’t a dream.
Steven’s eyes flickered open to see flashing blue lights reflected in a puddle in the gutter where he was lying. There were people nearby but he felt that he couldn’t turn his head just yet. He went on gazing at the puddle, watching a cigarette butt and a chewing gum wrapper float hither and thither on the rippled surface as a slight breeze rose and fell away again. He moved his attention to some moss growing in a join in the pavement as he tried to determine which part of him was hurting most. The vague sounds nearby however, were starting to become distinguishable words.
‘ I don’t fucking believe it, Mike,’ said a man’s voice. ‘Do you know who this guy is?’
‘ Surprise me,’ said another man’s voice sourly.
‘ None other than Dr Steven bloody Dunbar.’
‘ You’re joking!’ exclaimed the other man, now sounding very interested. ‘The Home Office guy the boss has been shitting bricks about?’
‘ The very same. Take a look. Her Majesty’s Sci-Med Inspectorate.’
Steven who had now regained full consciousness realised that his warrant card had been taken from his pocket. He tried to move without much success but the two men above him noticed the attempt and knelt down beside him. He could see now that they were policemen. He could smell boot polish and the wet serge of their trousers.
‘ Just you stay put, pal,’ said one. ‘An ambulance is on its way. You’ve had a bit of a doing.’
‘ And well deserved too,’ said the other. ‘If what we’ve been hearing is anything to go by. Santini is going to love this. Man o man. Yes siree. I can almost feel promotion in the air.’
The two policemen started laughing as they stood up.
Steven, wondering just what the hell they found so funny, tried to raise his head to demand an explanation. The arriving ambulance however, drowned out his words and two different uniforms jumped out to take centre stage.
After an examination by two paramedics, during which it was established that none of his limbs had been broken, Steven was helped up and into the back of the vehicle after waving away a stretcher. The last thing he saw before the doors were closed was a lilac neon sign on the wall of the building outside. It said, ‘Cuddles’.
�
�� You were lucky,’ said the young woman doctor in A amp; E.
Steven closed his eyes and felt sure that if he had fallen into a mincing machine and lost all his limbs, someone would be sure to come up to him and say these self same words.
‘ No broken bones,’ continued the severe looking young woman. ‘Just bruised ribs and a variety of cuts and bruises that should keep you out of mischief for a bit. We’d like to keep you in overnight though, just as a precaution. You took quite a beating about the head. We’ll do some tests. Any idea how long you were unconscious?’
‘ What time is it now?’ Steven asked.
‘ 2 a.m. give or take.’
‘ Since the back of six last night.’
‘ What?’ exclaimed the doctor. ‘Are you serious?’
‘ The last thing I remember is getting into my car around six last night. Someone grabbed me from behind and then… nothing until I came round in the gutter.’
‘ Well, memory loss is not that uncommon after head trauma. It’ll probably come back to you. In the meantime the police would like to have a word if you feel up to it?’
Steven nodded. As he waited, he ran his hand over the strapping that had been applied to his ribs and then explored his face for lumps and bumps, grimacing as he came across each of them. He was counting the butterfly stitches above his right eye when two plain-clothes officers entered. Neither smiled but they exuded an air of smugness as they introduced themselves that put Steven on his guard.
‘ There’s not much I can tell you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t really get a chance to see who attacked me.’
‘ We know who “attacked” you,’ said the elder of the two, glancing at his colleague and endowing the word with a degree of mockery that put Steven’s hackles up.
‘ Who?’
‘ The men who… restrained you are bouncers at the Cuddles sauna near Haymarket. According to these gentlemen, you came over all nasty with one of their girls and started knocking her about when you didn’t fancy the bill she presented you with after you’d had your wicked way with her. They claim they acted purely in defence of the girl. They tried reasoning with you but you insisted on playing the hard man so they had no other option than to give you a bit of a smack. The lady in question, health club assistant, Miss Tracy Manson, will be pressing charges for assault.’