The Inglorious Dead (A Doug Michie Novel)

by Tony Black

  The car door hissed closed and I pressed my head into the seat. I took a few minutes just to gather my composure and then I removed the CD and tried it in the player; the disc receded slowly, slid back out.

  ‘Must be data …’

  I stored the disc in the glovebox and tried not to let my imagination get the better of me. Whatever it was that DI Scott had delivered, it would give up its secrets soon enough; speculating wasn’t going to expedite the process.

  There was no sign of the DI’s car as I headed back onto the street, I kept an eye on the rear-view mirror for a little while, just in case he had decided to keep tabs on me, but he didn’t show. There was a point during my service in Ulster that I became obsessive about being followed and having the unsettling feeling return made my shoulders tense.

  I parked up in one of Welly Square’s angled-parking slots and removed the disc. I headed for the print shop over the road from the bus station, which had some computer access. The man on the till nodded to me as I selected a terminal and started to get down to business. My fingertips were sticky, my palms hot, as I slotted in the disc; it didn’t take long to display one document icon on the screen.

  I clicked it open.

  The document was a facsimile, seemed to have been printed and then scanned. It was on official police paper, the type I knew only too well. I scrolled further, there were lots of documents: an incident report; witness statements; post-mortem results.

  ‘The file …’ It looked like Scott had copied the complete police incident file from the Steven Nichols case and simply handed it over to me.

  I couldn’t believe my luck at first, and then I started to wonder why.

  ‘Excuse me, mate … can I print from here?’

  The man at the till pointed to a free-standing printer. ‘Yeah, will come out there.’

  I set the file to print; the pages started to stack-up on the other side of the room.

  From even the most cursory scroll through the pages I could tell Scott had been thorough; nothing had been left out. Every ‘t’ had been crossed; every ‘i’ dotted. It felt like an exercise in grandstanding – a case of look how professional I am, how could you doubt my findings? It would take closer scrutiny to turn up anything I could use; as the printer wheezed to a halt, I paid up and headed back to the car.

  I found myself driving to clear my head. I was going nowhere in particular, just looking to release some throttle, gun the engine into that reassuringly hypnotic sound that lulled you out of grim reality. One second I thought of the case and just why DI Scott would hand over the file, unbidden, when even Mason was averse to that kind of patter. The next second my mind rushed onto my domestic situation and how to solve it, but neither stream of thought delivered answers.

  On the shore I realised I’d circuited the town like a boy racer. I stopped for a while, watching the dark sea, still and silent, soughing against the port walls. Occasionally a spill of sand erupted from the beach path and started to chase the litter. The minutes sauntered along in fine style until I realised all I was achieving in my distraction was avoiding returning home.

  Before Lyn had installed herself in my parents’ house I hated the thought of returning to the empty, lonely existence I had there. Now, I avoided the place with the same enthusiasm but for a different reason. I knew, at some deep level, I was probably afraid of having my feelings bruised again. But, perhaps more than anything, I was afraid of upsetting Lyn when she’d clearly been through enough.

  The westering sun was cutting a red welt across the evening when I finally pulled up at the house. The small table lamp in the living room window was on, something I hadn’t seen for years. I knew Lyn was inside, likely slaving over a hot stove, but there was something about the picture that unsettled me more than usual. As I got out the car and made my way towards the front door I could hear voices coming from the house. I turned the handle on the door and went inside – narrowed the chatter down to two females – both of whom I recognised.

  Disbelief was the primary emotion swirling inside my head as I walked into the living room and set eyes on Lyn and the back and shoulders of the woman sitting beside her.

  ‘Oh, hello …’ said Lyn. ‘Look who’s here!’

  She seemed chipper, her words a skilled glissade reserved for social niceties; they couldn’t have been more misdirected on this occasion.

  ‘You?’ I spat the word as my chest began to tighten. I couldn’t believe the scene before me.

  My sister’s gaze traced the line of the ceiling and then fell sharply to the floor as she sprung from her seat and placed a polite peck on my cheek.

  ‘Hello, Doug … I bet you weren’t expecting to see me so soon.’

  Chapter 26

  This day was turning out to be full of surprises. As I stood before Lyn and my sister in the living room I felt momentarily lost for words – lost for a lot more besides if I was to tell the truth.

  Lyn clasped her hands together, spoke: ‘Right, well, I think I’ll go and make some tea.’ She was smiling as she left us, delicately enclosing my sister and me in a private pow-wow.

  ‘She seems to have her feet under the table,’ said Claire.

  I breathed deep but stifled the urge to sigh. I knew I was being tested, I could handle that, but the next level on the dial I wasn’t so sure about. ‘She’s trying to be nice,’ I said, then, changing the subject. ‘I didn’t see your car outside.’

  ‘I came on the train. We only have the one car now, it’s too expensive to run two.’ Claire’s answer was curt, a broadside signalling her intentions. ‘But I’m sure you’re not interested in my travel arrangements, Doug.’

  I couldn’t stop my gaze rolling away from her and around the room, desperate for something less painful for it to alight upon.

  Claire pulled me back into her ambit. ‘Is she staying here?’

  ‘Her name’s Lyn.’

  ‘Oh, I know she has a name.’ The remark was calculated to be interpreted any way I wanted. Claire could turn on the bitchiness like a tap when she needed to; it wasn’t her usual state, far from it, but when she felt boxed in she became belligerent. I knew this because it was a family trait that I kept in my own locker.

  ‘Look, Claire, you’ve nothing to fear from Lyn.’

  My sister folded her arms, huffed. ‘No, not much …’ She paused for a moment then unfastened her hand and pointed a sharp fingernail at me. ‘Do you think I came up the Clyde on a biscuit, Doug? I know what’s going on here.’

  She was edging dangerously close to venting. For years we’d batted our frustrations with the outside world off these walls and at each other, but I thought that time had long passed. We were adults now, we had lives of our own beyond silly sibling rivalry. The issue at hand wasn’t who got the family saloon on the weekend, or whose turn it was to take the school trip; we were beyond all that, surely.

  ‘Claire, sit down …’ I reached out an arm and she flicked it away. ‘Please, Claire.’

  My sister turned away from me and went to the front of the room where she stood staring out of the window. ‘I just can’t believe what you’re doing here, Doug.’

  My palate dried over, I pressed my tongue on to the roof of my mouth in an effort to activate some salivary glands. I knew what I wanted to say to her, and how I wanted to say it, but was also grateful my anxiety was keeping a check on it.

  Claire’s voice rose, ‘I mean, shacking up with some random …’

  I cut in. ‘Shut up.’

  She turned, her mouth drooped open. I didn’t give her a chance to reply.

  ‘Just listen to yourself will you …’

  The door handle moved behind us as Lyn pushed into the living room carrying a tray, balancing cups and a teapot. She looked on edge, her eyes moving quickly as she spoke. ‘Well, here’s the tea, I’m sure you could do with a cuppa after the trip, Claire. I’m not going to join you both. I have a few things to do in town, so will let you catch up together.’

  She hurried
out the room, avoiding all eye contact. I hoped to hell she hadn’t heard Claire earlier and I could tell by the way my sister crooked her head that she felt the same way.

  When the front door closed, Claire spoke. ‘Do you think she heard me?’

  There didn’t seem any point in making matters worse for her. ‘I doubt it, she’s just giving us our space, she knows we need to talk.’

  Claire brushed her upper arms with the palms of her hands and sucked in her bottom lip; it was a remorseful look. ‘I don’t want to get at Lyn.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I mean, I like Lyn, we all went to the Academy together …’

  ‘Claire, you don’t need to explain.’

  ‘But, Doug, you have to see this from my point of view,’ her tone started to rise again. ‘I mean, first you announce out of the blue that you’re selling up and next thing you’re moving her in! I mean, just what’s going on?’

  I turned towards the tray, made a fuss of pouring out the tea and stirring in the milk. I noticed there were little triangular sandwiches, cheese and ham, but my appetite deserted me. I passed Claire a cup. ‘The two incidents aren’t related, in any way.’

  My sister frowned, painted a disbelieving smirk on her face. ‘Please, credit me with some intelligence …’

  I took my cup over to the chair my father used to sit in and lowered myself onto the seat. ‘Claire, coming back here was a bad move for me. I thought it would give me some kind of context, after all that had happened in Ulster …’

  She prompted me. ‘But …’

  ‘But it really only gave me a place to hide. I can’t stay here, if I do it’s like I’m in retreat from the future, don’t you see that? I’m moving backwards instead of forwards.’

  Claire looked into her teacup and fell silent. She seemed to be digesting my words.

  ‘I know the market’s not good right now, Claire. We might get more if we hold on, but life’s too short, surely.’

  She looked up, her eyes seemed moist. ‘You were never one to hold back were you?’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning, it’s always been about what you want. Off and away at the drop of a hat, chasing rainbows and the like, and now you’re back telling me you need another adventure.’ She gripped the cup tightly. ‘I did all the right things, Doug. I settled for what I could get, I stuck with it. We might not have much in Inverness, but we got there playing by the rules.’

  I didn’t understand why she was targeting me. ‘Are you blaming me for your choices?’

  ‘No!’ She rose, stood in front of me. ‘But you must see how unfair it is. I have a mortgage and kids and a husband with no prospects of ever advancing in a career he’s worked hard at for years … this house, this inheritance, is all I have to make the sums add up, Doug.’

  I understood where she was coming from; neither of us were ever going to have the kind of security our parents had from this life. I knew it, felt sore about it, but I also knew as a parent it created much more misery for her.

  ‘Look, Claire, I told you I don’t want anything from the house sale.’

  ‘I can’t let you do that.’ She was forceful, adamant, her blurred eyes suddenly sharpening on me.

  ‘Well, what else can I do, Claire?’

  She stepped towards me, ‘Don’t sell up. Just ride out this recession a bit longer, wait and see if the market recovers … this is all we have, Doug, all we’ll ever have.’

  My sister stared deep into me, I could feel her gaze burrowing inside me for the answer she wanted. If I refused her then I’d lose my last link to family, to normalcy, in this world. But if I stayed, I was a good as dead.

  Chapter 27

  I dropped Claire off at the train station and parked up at the far end, overlooking the track. I watched the Glasgow Central train pulling out and wished, somehow, that I was on it. My sister had kept her farewells on the down-low; I’d usually pass her a couple of quid to get the nippers some sweets but raising the spectre of money didn’t seem the thing to do.

  If I was being the selfless adult I knew I should be then I’d withdraw the house from the market and leave it at that. But the deep sense of soul-weariness the thought created inside me said it wasn’t an option. I could live with keeping the house on, maybe renting it out – after all, I wasn’t going to profit from it. But I knew the real reason I didn’t want to keep it was because of the ties it represented to my past – I wanted out of Ayr, I couldn’t be on hand to play the landlord’s role every time a pipe burst or the guttering blew away. I wanted a fresh start; at my age, there weren’t going to be too many of those coming along.

  I walked down the High Street, heading towards the Bridge’s Bar. I texted ahead to confirm Andy was in residence and he replied in the affirmative. It was time to put this case on the front foot, though after reading further into the files DI Scott had provided, I knew I was more than likely to put a few people on the back foot. After going through the files I felt more involved than ever – was it the fact that the case provided a distraction from my current home life? Maybe. But there was also the fact that, perhaps for the first time, I could see the shapes coming together at the end of the kaleidoscope.

  I shouldered into the door at Bridge’s, seemed to bring too much light into the place, the crowd of bar-flies greeted me with squinting eyes.

  ‘God, it’s like a vampire’s pit in here!’ I smirked to the assembled.

  ‘Have you a stake? … and garlic?’ said Andy.

  ‘Do I look like Jamie Oliver?’

  He slapped my stomach, ‘Few more pizzas and you won’t be far off.’

  I put a stare on him and ordered a fresh round. We retreated towards the rear of the pub. The tables were empty, the years of carvings – initials and band names mainly – stood out as the sun crept down from the back window.

  ‘Look, Simple Minds,’ said Andy.

  ‘Great band …’

  He pointed with his finger to the delicate engraving that had been there long enough to gather a colouring darker than the wood’s patina. I could hear Jim Kerr belting out Alive and Kicking inside my head, it transported me back to a time and place where things were much simpler. It also conjured up an image of Lyn in her younger days, pogoing at the Piv, for some reason. She was wide-eyed and gallus, smiling like a starlet; it had been so long since she looked that way I felt the image about to fell me.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Andy.

  ‘Oh, nothing …’

  ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  I shook off the suggestion, lest it led to further probing.

  I reloaded with my new ammunition, hoping to catch Andy off guard.

  ‘I got hold of the police files for Steven Nichols’ case.’

  ‘What?’ It didn’t sound like a question.

  ‘Makes for some interesting reading.’

  Andy leaned forward, balanced on his elbow. ‘I bet it does.’

  I let him hang for a moment, took a sip from my pint of mild. ‘There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, right from the start I’ve noticed something …’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Grantie and Bert … they’re never together.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, Andy, what I want to know is … why?’

  He slouched back in his seat, looked speculative then shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Oh, come on now … it wouldn’t be because they’re at each other’s throats now, would it?’

  Andy took a deep breath, fidgeted on his seat; his agitated manner told me all I needed to know.

  ‘Don’t answer, then …’ I said. ‘By that, I mean you don’t need to, your face says it all.’

  He tried to claw some ground back. ‘Well, I don’t suppose it’s any secret that the pair of them don’t really see eye to eye, personally like … in terms of the Order they’re well and truly on the same page.’

  I’d had my doubts before about Grant, simply because in Ayrshire, big men l
iked to throw their weight around. ‘And what if, say one time, this animosity spilled over …’

  Andy creased his nose, showed the palms of his hands. ‘I don’t know what you’re saying?’

  ‘Well, then, let me make it black and white for you.’ I produced a page from the police file, just one page, with one highlighted paragraph where DI John Scott had listed a possible suspect with a possible motive for the murder of Steven Nichols.

  Andy read slowly, his lips tracing the words as he struggled to take in what the page said. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘It’s all written down there … the police had your old mate Grantie in the frame.’

  ‘But … how? I mean, why?’

  ‘I suppose we’d really need to ask DI Scott for an explanation to that one … But before we take that step I think we should put the question to Mr Grant himself, don’t you think?’

  Andy’s face lit, ‘Oh, come on … he won’t like that.’

  ‘Won’t like what? Being asked if he’s a murderer or why the hell he’s hired me to investigate a case that’s going to put him on the suspect’s list for a second time?’

  The colour drained from Andy’s cheeks, he seemed to be losing the original flush of anger. His breathing slowed, then stilled as he picked up his pint and started to drain the glass.

  ‘Aye, you better drink up, mate. We’ve got people to see.’

  Chapter 28

  Summer rain shadowed us out to Dalmellington. What was normally a bleak stretch of road became bleaker with each tick of the odometer. Grey-to-black clouds flanked us, threatening a heavier downpour over expectant fields.

  ‘We’ll have had our summer then,’ said Andy.

  ‘We just about got a whole week of it this year, you complaining?’

  ‘No, no … any more and we’d be in the record books.’