2007 - The Dead Pool

by Sue Walker; Prefers to remain anonymous

  She shook her head. ‘Thank you. Really. But not tonight. Ross will be here soon. He’s coming round to show me exactly what’s to be done.’ Then she’d remembered. ‘And…speaking of Ross…he told me that you knew each other. When you were kids? You didn’t mention it.’

  He moved back into the driver’s cab and for a second she couldn’t see his face. Then she heard his laugh as he leant forward, smiling. ‘What? Oh, that. Well, we hardly knew each other. We inhabited rather different worlds, Ross and I, socially speaking. Me and my lot were, not quite from the wrong side of the tracks, but…eh, we thought everyone who lived round Ross’s part of the river were the posh lot. I guess they were, actually. I remember we had a fight once, me and Ross. But I was only staying nearby for a very short time. My parents rented a cottage for a while. Funnily enough, the one Bonnie Campbell lived in. It was a kind of stopgap when my dad was between jobs. Then we moved away.’

  He leant backwards into the Land Rover again and started the engine, talking over its noise. ‘That was one of the main reasons I wanted this job. To be near the river I remembered from my childhood. Look, I’ll let you get on. Take care. I’ll miss you.’

  Kirstin raised her hand in farewell and wandered back dirough the house into the study. She sipped at her wine, surveying the endless piles of paper and notebooks on the desk and floor, alongside various cardboard boxes marked in Ross’s scrawl, ‘Dad’s river work’. She readied herself for work, but Glen’s visit stayed in her mind. He had been too good to be true after all. Now she knew at least one of his faults. Please let that be the worst.

  But, as she bent over Jamie’s desk, ready for her task, the niggling doubts refused to melt away.

  Twenty-Eight

  She’d still not made a start on Jamie’s study. Instead, for the last hour, she’d allowed herself to be waylaid by some photos of Jamie, taken early last summer before the awful events at the Cauldron. Glen had given them to her, along with Jamie’s baseball cap, during their first evening together. The memory of that recent generosity lifted her doubtful mood, and she felt more optimistic about him again.

  She heard a car door slam. Ross.

  ‘Kirstin!’

  She scrabbled to hide the photos under a pile of papers. Shit. She should keep them in the car, away from Ross’s prying eyes. The last thing she wanted was him asking any questions. Where are they from? Who gave them to you? She certainly wasn’t up for anything tonight. Just a quick guide through Jamie’s study and what had to be done.

  Ten minutes later, they were sitting looking out at the darkened garden and river. Ross had picked up on her downcast mood and they’d abandoned the work in the study to open a welcome second bottle of wine.

  He was being genuinely sympathetic. ‘The thing is, Kirsty, I’m sorry to hear Morag Ramsay’s taken an overdose, but she’s clearly a very troubled woman. Leave her to the professionals. There’s nothing you can do.’

  She shook her head at him. ‘I don’t agree. I’m going to be her voluntary helper, carer, if you like, for the next week or two. Until her therapist gets back from the States. I’m also going to ask my friends on the Devon coast if they can help her out with work. She’s going to relocate somewhere. Why not the south-west? It’s beautiful, and far enough away from here.’ She paused before making her final point hit home. ‘Your dad would have approved.’

  Without warning, he stood up. The action was abrupt, unexpected. She stared up at him. ‘Ross?’

  He walked the length of the room in silence and then returned to sit down again, his hand raised in appeasement. ‘I want you to hear me out on something. Please.’

  He looked at her for consent. She gave an almost imperceptible nod and began to feel the tug of anxiety.

  Ross seemed relieved. ‘Good. Okay.’ He took a deep breath before going on. ‘When Dad began to get what I considered to be over-involved with Morag Ramsay, her case and all that, I wanted to do something. I was worried about him for a number of reasons that we both know about. But this murder, or rather manslaughter, thing was just about the limit.’

  He broke off to refill their wine glasses. Kirstin sensed he was reluctant to go on. ‘To be frank, I didn’t trust this woman. Look, I’m no naive fool. I know the police get things wrong and their investigation of the Cauldron killings was a joke, by all accounts. On the other hand, they’d looked at all the victims’ contacts and eventually locked on to her. It wasn’t some arbitrary decision on their part. I’m sure they thought they had the right person. I gave all this careful thought as I witnessed Dad being sucked further into it. And, I was suspicious. In short, I thought Morag Ramsay might be using Dad. So I began my own investigation into her.’

  Kirstin felt her stomach muscles tighten. Where the hell was this conversation going? What d’you mean, ‘investigation’?’

  ‘I mean, I wanted to know a bit more about the woman whom my elderly father was going out on a limb for. As it happens, I didn’t get very far. He died soon after visiting her on remand and…I had other things to think about then.’

  Kirstin saw the hint of tears in his eyes. ‘But what did you do, what did you find out, before that?’

  He brushed a hand down his face, as if tired, trying to hide his real emotion. ‘I went to see someone you should meet. I have an old law school acquaintance. Harry Kinnaird. He’s a corporate lawyer at the pharmaceutical firm that Craig Irvine worked for. Harry and Craig became friends. Saw a lot of each other socially. Until Morag Ramsay put a stop to that.’ Ross paused. He was finding it difficult to go on.

  Kirstin prompted him. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘I mean, Harry tells a tale of an excessively jealous, unstable woman, who would fly off the handle at Craig with disturbing regularity. Break stuff up in the house and she certainly hit him on more than one occasion. In short, she was a bit of a bunny-boiler.’ Ross held up both hands. ‘Yes, you can say this was maybe just lads’ pub talk, slagging off women. But Harry’s not like that. I know he spoke to the police, he was so concerned after the killings. I would have got Dad to go and see him. Maybe that would have changed his mind. But…but he died before I could arrange that. I think you should go and see Harry, though. Please. I don’t want you…to be…adversely affected through being too kind to this woman. Yes, she may be innocent. Who knows? But I think you should find out more about her before you offer too much of yourself to her cause. I’m serious, Kirstin.’

  He held out a pleading hand. ‘Let me put it another way. As a favour to me, will you please go and see him? Tomorrow.’

  Twenty-Nine

  The east end of Princes Street gardens, down the slope from the Scott monument, was surprisingly quiet. The main throngs of tourists were elsewhere and it was still too early for the gangs of office workers, desperate to catch some lunchtime sunshine. Kirstin sat on a shaded bench, staring blankly at a couple of feuding pigeons ten feet away.

  Harry Kinnaird had sounded surprisingly personable on the phone. She’d wanted to dislike him. Giving her prejudices free rein, she had him down as insufferable and arrogant, like all overpaid corporate, lawyers. But he’d seemed far from that. Rather, he’d been quietly spoken with a warmth to his voice.

  Nevertheless, she still felt guilty about being here. Later today, or certainly tomorrow, she’d have to face Morag. Pop in and see her, pretend that she hadn’t met up with someone who quite possibly thought her guilty as sin. And why was she here to see this person? As a sop to Ross, who was obviously genuinely worried about her? Yes, but that wasn’t reason enough. There was something nagging away in the back of her mind about Morag, however much she wanted to ignore it. Two things, in fact.

  First, there was Morag’s frantic phone call after she was attacked by Alistair Sutherland. Her first words. ‘Kirstin! Kirstin! I’ve killed him. It’s happened. Again!’ Again. What did she mean by that? Was it merely a panicky reference to her fear that she was going to be unjustly arrested for killing again? Or, did the reference have another meaning?
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br />   Secondly, Dr Lockhart at the hospital. Although apparently confident of Morag’s mental resilience, Kirstin had picked up on…what? A hesitation? A doubt? Somediing the doctor couldn’t discuss with a lay person?

  Kirstin was ninety-nine per cent sure that Morag was a wronged victim. Yet still, she was here…

  ‘The woman in red. That was a good idea of yours. Hi, I’m Harry.’

  She twisted round in her seat to see a tall, slim man in shirtsleeves smiling at her. ‘Oh? Hello. Yes. Just as well I’m the only one in the vicinity wearing red.’ She stood up and took his outstretched hand. ‘Shall we just sit here?’

  He smiled, hanging his sunglasses from his shirt pocket. ‘Yeah, why not.’

  He sat down with his body turned towards her, the suit jacket slung casually over his knees. ‘I had another chat with Ross this morning. He told me about you…you knowing Morag Ramsay…and helping her?’

  ‘Yes. Look, I’m sure Ross will have told you that I have a very different perspective on Morag than either of you. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean that I in any way seriously doubt her. However, as I used to say to myself when I worked in criminal law, if you’re going to take the side of the angels, you’d better be sure that they really are angels you’re fighting for.’

  Harry Kinnaird looked amused and glanced away from her, down the slope to a group of teenagers cavorting on the grass. ‘And if you discover they’re not?’

  She followed the direction of his gaze, and gave an involuntary smile at the joyful group. ‘Then you have to live with that. And, hopefully, learn from it. You obviously think Morag’s no angel. I’d like to know why.’

  Harry Kinnaird’s open features closed, leaving his expression serious, almost stern. ‘I was, I am still very upset at Craig’s death. The shock of it. The way it happened. I didn’t immediately jump to the conclusion that Morag had done it. Whatever I thought of her, I couldn’t imagine her doing something like that. No, at first I thought it was just incredibly bad luck. That some nutcase had come upon them.’

  He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. ‘And that may still be the case. One must always keep some part of one’s mind open. But what made me become suspicious of Morag was when Ross got in touch with me. I’d only met Jamie a few times at Law Society do’s and suchlike. He was a great old guy. So when Ross told me he was worried about his father becoming involved in her case, I was prepared to help.’

  He looked directly at her, his voice low but firm. ‘And from what I could gather, the Morag that Jamie knew seemed a million miles away from what I’d heard via Craig, and seen with my own eyes.’

  Kirstin glanced over his shoulder, not wanting to meet his penetrating gaze. The story was beginning to sound familiar. As with Jamie, was there another version of Morag?

  She met his eyes. ‘Who was the Morag that you knew?’

  He bent his head to the ground and began toeing a loose tuft of grass. ‘Let me start at the beginning. This part I know only through Craig. We didn’t become friends until he moved to Edinburgh. A job Morag headhunted him for. Craig was a bit blown away by her then. Granted, headhun-ters aren’t shrinking violets, but she’d oozed determination, delivered with charm, and she showed a real knowledge of what his work was about. She’s a science graduate herself, so they could speak the language, as it were. In a flash she bagged him for the job and, ultimately, for herself. Though her…her…possession of him took a while. It was a slow-burn process, you see. And all the more chilling for it, in my view.’ He moved his jacket to the back of the bench before continuing. ‘Let me explain. The first year saw each of them being a bit cautious. Both admitted to a string of unsuccessful relationships. He did have some long-term relationship history. But that was in his early twenties when he was fast-tracking on his PhD. He’d welcomed stability then. And, for a while with Morag, he thought he might again.’

  Kirstin nodded. ‘So at one time he was serious about her? After all, they were together…what? Two and a half, three years?’

  ‘Yes. But after a while, he began to crave change. Like many men, afraid of emotion and commitment. It coincided with Morag buying the house near the river and hooking up with that lot. Craig was a big hit with them, and it went to his head. Morag hated that.’ He gave a hopeless shrug. ‘It was a mess. He’d thrown himself into the relationship with Morag while it suited. But he was far from happy by this stage. She wasn’t happy either. That was obvious. If only she’d made the first move to end it. The thing was, Craig told me that Morag had never been the kind of woman whose neediness was immediately obvious. She’d fooled him. As soon as she got wind that he was restless, the trouble began.’

  Kirstin frowned. ‘So far it’s a pretty everyday story of love going wrong. What exactly was this trouble?’

  Harry Kinnaird stretched out his long legs and peeled his sticky shirt from his back. The day was now sweltering. ‘Craig made a big mistake. Two mistakes. Although they spent most of their time at her house—not surprising, really, it’s beautiful—Craig still refused to move in with her. Secondly, and I witnessed this after a boozy dinner party, Craig raised the subject of open relationships. I don’t know what possessed him. Maybe it was a coward’s way of saying ‘I want out’. But it created a state of near hysteria in Morag. He’d known her insecurities were there under the surface, but this seemed to push her almost over the edge, leaving him wishing he’d never raised the subject.’

  He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the neck of his shirt. ‘Morag walked out of the dinner party…Craig batted it all off as ‘unimportant’, just ‘a topic of discussion’, but you could see he was upset at her behaviour.’

  Kirstin half smiled. ‘Well, she’s got a point, don’t you think? I’m sorry, Harry, all that you’ve told me seems iffy second-hand gossip from Craig, and he had his own motives for demonizing her. He wanted rid of her, after all. Her reactions seem perfectly reasonable.’

  He scowled, shaking his head in disagreement. ‘What’s not reasonable is what she did to him outside that dinner party. I was there. He went after her, and she smashed him in the face with a heavy umbrella. He needed stitches. She then went round to his flat, drowned his new laptop in the bath, and smashed a couple of picture frames with photos of them together. That wasn’t the last time episodes like that occurred. She also had an obsession, a deep insecurity about her age.’

  ‘Her age?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Morag lied about her age to everybody. She was actually something like ten years older than Craig. But hid it well. Spent a fortune on keeping young. That particular insecurity surfaced regularly. And ended inevitably in another violent scene. Granted, these episodes were often committed under the influence of drink, or something she’d shoved up her nose or down her throat. But they were hardly ‘reasonable’ behaviour.’

  The sun was too much for him, and he plucked the sunglasses from his shirt pocket. ‘Look, I’m not sure if she lost it that day. Knew about an affair that had been taking place under her nose for ages. I simply don’t know. What I do know is that the version of herself she sold to Jamie, and may be selling to you and others, is not the full story. At the time of his death, Craig had had enough.’

  ‘What, you mean he was going to leave her?’

  ‘That was the plan. By the end of the summer, Craig wanted to have made a fresh start. Preferably with lona. He knew he’d have to get his timing right, but he was definitely going to tell Morag. I remember the last time I saw him. He said that one thing was certain. Morag’s reaction would be a big problem. I still recall the words he used. ‘Heaven help me when I break the news. I’llneed a suit of armour to face her.’’

  Thirty

  Kirstin threw the keys on to the hall table and headed straight for the garden, grabbing an ice-cold bottle of mineral water from the fridge en route. She made her way across the lawn to the river’s edge, and dropped down on to the grass, exhausted. All the way back from town she’d gone over what Harry had said. Just as had ha
ppened with Jamie, a completely different person was now being described to her. And, coupled with the nagging queries that had lain in her mind for the past few days…

  ‘Hello! Where are you?’

  The shout jolted her into life. She twisted round, ready to jump up. Ross was wandering down the garden, smiling. Uninvited, he plonked himself down beside her. ‘Harry said he enjoyed meeting you but reckons he lost his case. Did he?’

  She was beginning to tire of him popping in to see her whenever he liked. They weren’t married now. It wasn’t her house, but she had to be allowed her privacy. She managed a forced smile. ‘Hi, Ross. His case against Morag is weak and circumstantial, I’m afraid. And sexist. At least he had the good sense not to call her a bunny-boiler in my company, unlike you. She’s got problems, yes. But I knew that anyway.’

  ‘Wow!’ He held up both hands in mock surrender. ‘Play the gender card if you like, but I think you’re missing the point with Morag Ramsay. You bloody softie! That woman’U run rings round you. But let’s leave that for now…I’ve come to pick up those boxes for the recycling centre and to invite you to have some fun.’

  She needed to be alone. Company, any company, was the last thing she wanted and, to make matters worse, Ross was in one of his jolly moods. She knew what that meant. ‘You win your case this morning, Ross?’

  He laughed. ‘Hah! I did indeed. But instead of running off straightaway to wallow in champagne with the rest of the team, I thought I’d try and tempt you to an all-afternoon lunch with us. I think you need cheering up. There’ll be some familiar faces.’

  She kept staring ahead. The slow-flowing river and its quiet gurgling had an almost hypnotic effect. Ross would never change. When he was happy and upbeat like this, it was infectious. In the last few minutes, he had lifted her tired spirits a few notches. But the thought of having to face his colleagues—people she’d never particularly liked anyway—had her groaning inwardly.

  ‘Kirsty? What’s up? You’d be very welcome. And…Annelise won’t be there. She’s on a girls’ shopping weekend in London.’ He sighed and shifted his body away from her, at last picking up her message: I need space. ‘I’m sorry that you seem so…so low, sad. Maybe you should leave off going through Dad’s stuff. Take a break, rest up. You’re very welcome to stay here for as long as you need. At least, until I can organize getting the place cleared properly. It’s all been a bit piecemeal to date. I must speak to Glen. I need more time.’