by Anne Randall
His hand throbbed. The pain seemed to reverberate to its own internal rhythm. It was a physical reminder of his cowardice; he’d been caught by a sharp blade while running away. Running away! Owen peeled off the filthy bandage and the odour hit him. The wound had blackened and smelled like liver that had gone off. A scent that whispered of maggots and decay and death. He clumsily rewrapped the wound. The song ended and he switched off the radio. Touched the card. His birthday card. His talisman. Suddenly, he felt clear and certain. He knew that he was going to die in this collision. He let the knowledge settle around him like a cloak. All the fear and frustration and anxiety about the world, the fucking world that he had never belonged to, left him. In death there would be a quiet dignity. This would be his last move on earth. The one gift which would convince Mason that he had been a faithful foot soldier. That he was to the end brave and true and good. That’s the way he would be spoken about, it’s how Mason would remember him. A fitting epitaph his grandfather had often said when reading the obituaries of his friends. This would be his fitting epitaph. Owen glanced again at the picture, was startled and delighted to hear the horses and the unicorn snort, saw them paw the ground. Impatient, they wanted to get going, for their journey into the underworld to begin. He heard the organ music in the distance. There had never been music in the picture before, the forest had always been silent. But now it was transformed, the stage was set. The horses moved rhythmically, the unicorn to the fore, the music getting louder and louder until it surrounded him and all he could see and smell and hear were the dancing horses. He felt the heat from a myriad of coloured light bulbs. The scene sucked him in. If he could make it to the forest after the crash, he would be home. Finally, he would have a home.
Paul Furlan parked the car and began to haul the tarpaulin, which contained Holly’s body, out of the boot. There was nowhere he could conceivably dump it. It would have to be the river. He’d driven her car from the McIver Club and parked it in long-term parking at Prestwick Airport. His mobile chirped a text.
His father.
Where the hell are you? We were supposed to meeting for a nightcap. I’m waiting here in the bloody bar.
‘Shit.’ He started texting.
Sorry, Dad, have to work late at the club.
An emergency. Lunch tomorrow as arranged?
Bloody useless, I could have met up with one of the guys.
See you tomorrow?
Be sharp.
Furlan stuffed the mobile back into his jeans, heaved the tarpaulin over his shoulder and began the journey. The area was deserted, the night air warm and pleasant. He reached the riverbank, hauled the package to the edge. Slipped it into the water, watched it sink. Threw her mobile in after her. Not ideal, he knew, but time was short.
Chapter Forty-Two
Friday
Laura McCormack
Wheeler met him halfway down the stairs, ‘We’re off out, Ross.’
‘I haven’t bloody arrived yet.’
She kept walking.
He caught up with her at the door. ‘Where to now?’
‘Laura McCormack, Karlie’s colleague, has a place in Greenfield. Her flight from Amsterdam landed at eight this morning. I’ll drive.’ She paused. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Better now I’m back on the case; might need to make a few calls en route though.’
And he did.
On the way she heard him talk to the funeral director, heard the change in tone. Glanced at him, saw him kill the call. Saw the tears threaten.
He took out a pair of reflective sunglasses, slipped them on.
‘That your Hollywood look?’ said Wheeler.
‘Yeah. Difficult to imagine that I could look even cooler.’
‘It’s a struggle.’
‘George Clooney or what?’
‘I’d have to go for the “or what”.’
‘You’re in denial.’
‘You need a hand with anything? Are you going back to Pittenweem?’
‘The house needs to be cleared, but I’ll wait until after the funeral. I took a load of his clothes and books to the charity shop, and the bigger stuff, the artwork and sculptures, can wait. I’m not sure what to do with the house.’
‘You wouldn’t want to keep it?’
‘As a holiday home?’
‘Either that or maybe let it?’
‘Not sure.’
‘Don’t make any rash decisions. These things take time.’ She turned the car into Lightburn Place. Laura McCormack lived in a semi-detached house midway down the street.
‘Anything turn up on Karlie Merrick’s social media accounts?’ he asked.
‘Not yet. Robertson and the team have gone through all her posts, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Mainly selfies. Lots of likes and retweets. So far no obvious flashpoints.’ She parked the car. ‘And the clubs we’ve visited have turned up negative.’
The woman who opened the door to them was physically very different from their victim. While Karlie had been petite, with dark hair and delicate features, Laura was tall and broad with blonde hair and strong features. She’d obviously been crying. ‘I can’t believe wee Karlie’s dead. I just can’t believe it.’
They followed her into the living room.
‘I mean, I just don’t feel safe any more . . . I look at Gary, Johnny and Will and wonder would they be capable? Of course I know they wouldn’t. But still . . .’ Laura began to cry again, then to hyperventilate.
Wheeler spoke calmly. ‘Deep breaths, Laura, that’s it, nice deep breaths.’
‘I’m sorry, I just got scared. The thought of poor Karlie being left out all night in the pitch dark terrifies me. I mean, her lying there on her own all night.’
‘You were talking about Gary, Will and Johnny?’ said Wheeler.
‘I just look at every man now and wonder what he could be capable of. It’s scary.’
‘Go on.’
Laura was wide-eyed. ‘Oh no, I don’t mean that they really could be capable of doing anything, well, definitely not Johnny or Will.’
‘But Gary?’ said Wheeler. ‘You’re not so sure of him?’
‘Gary shouts a lot; he’s got a hell of a temper but . . . I don’t think he could ever do that. Not really, no. He just gets angry.’
‘What does he get angry about?’
‘If you don’t face the camera properly or you don’t move the way he wants you to. It’s not like we don’t try, but sometimes he expects us to be mind-readers. Move this way, no, I meant the other way.’ She mimicked him.
‘Did Karlie and Gary ever argue?’
‘No more than the rest of us with him. He can be an absolute prick sometimes. Karlie would get pissed off about the poor lighting or the lack of script or the fact that there’s no bloody washing facilities, the usual stuff. She often tried to develop the storyline, to be more professional, but Gary just wanted her naked and moaning. He didn’t care about dialogue.’
‘Did she mention anyone else? Was there anything she was anxious about or anyone who wanted to harm her?’
‘No.’
‘What about the group, the Kill Kestrels. Did she ever mention them?’
‘No.’
‘Think, Laura,’ said Wheeler. ‘Was there anything at all? It could be really helpful for the investigation. What about a club. Did she ever mention a club?’
Laura was silent for a few seconds. ‘Yes, she did once. We were at my cousin Sandra’s twenty-fifth birthday party. Well, her birthday and her divorce day combined. It was at the Sandy-Shack; do you know it?’
Wheeler gave a brief nod. The Sandy-Shack was a complete dive, which had a reputation for attracting a rough crowd. It was known as the Shit-Shack.
‘Karlie didn’t drink, but some idiot put something in her Diet Coke. Spiked it. She was staggering about like she was really drunk. The guy was watching her and laughing. Well, I knew exactly what he was up to. I quickly got her out of there and into a taxi and brought her back here. My cousin w
as pissed off that I’d left so early, but I thought Karlie needed taking care of.’
‘And the guy who spiked her drink?’
‘Never saw him again. I asked my cousin but she says he came with a friend of a friend, she’d no idea who he was. Karlie was babbling, talked about her mum and dad and stuff and how she missed them. It all got muddled up together.’
‘But the club? What did she say about it?’
Laura took her time. ‘She said she’d had to sign a confidentiality thingy at the club.’
‘A confidentiality agreement?’
‘Yes, that she wasn’t supposed to talk about it, but that it felt odd to have to sign an agreement. She said she went to the unicorn and then she started laughing and said that she thought that maybe it was a good omen. I’d never seen her like that.’
‘The Golden Unicorn, the hotel in the West End?’
Laura shrugged. ‘I didn’t know what she was talking about; it was as if she was drunk. She said it was the view from the unicorn that did it for her. It was when she was talking about the club.’
‘Not the view of the unicorn?’
‘I’m sure she said the view from the unicorn because I thought she was on a horse or some type of unicorn on a carousel, like they have at the carnival? She said she loved the view and that it was historic.’
‘Was there a carnival here at the time?’
‘Not that I know of, and when I asked her the next morning she denied saying any of it, said she made it up for a laugh.’
‘You didn’t believe her?’
‘I wasn’t sure what to think. Maybe she didn’t want me to apply to work at this club. Karlie was great in lots of ways but she was really competitive, she liked to think of herself as a star. She was a bit of a diva.’
‘Can you think of anything else about this unicorn place? What made it historic? Could it be the Kibble Palace at the Botanic Gardens? It’s across from the Golden Unicorn Hotel.’
Laura paused, thought for a few seconds. ‘She said it was a historic monument. Sorry. Believe me, if I knew anything else, I’d tell you.’
‘This is very helpful, Laura,’ said Wheeler. ‘And, just to be clear, as far as you know, no one had threatened her or implied that they wanted to harm her?’
‘No, she wasn’t involved in anything dodgy. She had a normal life.’
‘What about Cal Moody or Keith Sullivan?’
‘Never heard of them.’
‘Boyfriends?’
Laura shook her head. ‘I feel like I haven’t helped at all.’
Wheeler tried again. ‘Did she ever mention soap?’
‘Soap?’
Wheeler nodded.
‘Not really, no. She was pissed that there were no washing facilities at the farm, but not specifically soap.’
They left their card and thanked her. ‘If you think of anything else, Laura, no matter how small, will you call me?’
Laura followed them to the door. ‘I don’t feel safe with the killer out there. I mean, what if it’s someone she knew, someone we both knew?’
‘If you feel threatened at all, please get in touch. Straight away. Promise?’
‘Promise.’
The door closed and Wheeler heard the lock being turned. ‘This place, the Unicorn, if it’s the hotel, is diagonally across from the Botanic Gardens. You reckon the historic monument Karlie talked about was the Kibble Palace? There’s a marble statue of Eve in the Kibble, by the Italian sculpture Scipione Tadolini. Remember it featured in a load of Gary Ashton’s wedding pictures? Let’s get over to the Golden Unicorn, see if they remember her. And the Kill Kestrels were also at the hotel. Karlie wrote to them, tried to get in touch with Josh. I’ll get on to the café in the Botanic Gardens. She may have been there since coffee shops were her thing.’ On her way to the car, she continued. ‘It had to be a bloody unicorn; they’re everywhere, being Scotland’s official animal.’
‘I thought it was the lion rampant?’ said Ross.
‘It’s the unicorn. Used to be used on Scottish heraldic symbols. Think of all the unicorns dotted about the place. The Lion and the Unicorn staircase at Glasgow University? Mercat Cross, Edinburgh? The UK coat of arms?’
‘Can’t say I’ve really noticed.’
‘You’re driving; I need to make a call.’ She spoke with the manager of the café at the Botanic Gardens, listened to her agree to talk to the staff, heard her reiterate that they’d all seen the report of the murder in the papers and also the television coverage and she was certain that if any of her staff had seen Karlie, they would have mentioned it. But yes, of course, she would speak to them all again, but she’d already put the poster with Karlie’s photograph and the appeal for information on the noticeboard. Wheeler thanked her and ended the call.
‘Any joy?’ said Ross.
‘Not yet, but the unicorn is a breakthrough.’
‘I hope so, Wheeler.’
‘I can feel it.’
Chapter Forty-Three
The Old Neighbour
Downfield Street, in Glasgow’s East End, was a mixture of housing, mainly semis and flats. Adele Free lived in a housing complex for the elderly. Josh rang the bell, waited. A few seconds later, he heard a voice. ‘Out of the way, Barney, get out of the way.’ The door opened and an enormous ginger cat shot past him. Adele Free stood in the hallway. She was the same as he’d remembered her. She’d always looked like an old lady, with her white hair and an old-fashioned apron tied around her waist. ‘Adele Free? You won’t remember me, but I used to live a couple of doors down from you. Susan Moody fostered me and my sister for a while in 1994?’
She peered up at him. ‘Give me a minute. Who’d you say you are?’
‘Joshua Alden. I was ten at the time. Susan Moody fostered me and my sister, Amber.’
‘I recall that Susan fostered a lot of kids.’
A long pause.
‘There was a fire when we were there.’
‘Oh my God, I remember the fire, and yes, there was a wee girl that was killed, poor thing. It was awful.’
‘I just wanted to have a bit of a chat about it, if that’s OK?’
‘How did you get my address?’ Suddenly suspicious.
‘A friend of mine asked around. He knew some folk from our old scheme. He’s a PI.’
‘A what?’
‘A private investigator.’
‘Would I know him?’
‘Cutter Wysor?’
‘Hell of a name.’
‘Yeah, it’s unusual.’
‘Means nothing to me.’ She opened the door fully. ‘It’s as well you managed to find your way here. My son Ricky only lives down in Bridgeton, but can he make it over here to see his old mother? No chance. My four girls make the effort to see me though.’ She ushered him into the living room. ‘Sit down. Mind you don’t get covered in cat hair. Barney’s a big boy and he moults everywhere and you’re dressed all in black, the hairs will show. That’s what young folk tend to wear, isn’t it, black, even in this heat? In my day it was different. And your ear lobes! What on earth have you done to them? There are holes straight through them.’
‘I’ve stretched them. It’s the fashion.’
‘Looks painful.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, son?’
Josh sat on the sofa. ‘I’m OK thanks, Mrs Free. I just wanted to ask you a couple of things about when we stayed with Susan.’
‘I bumped into old Agnes last week down at The Forge shopping centre. She told me Susan was poorly.’
‘Yeah, I went to see her in the hospital.’
‘I don’t go near those places, I’m feart that I’ll not come back out again. How did she seem to you?’
‘I don’t think she’ll be coming out.’
‘See. Telt you. Stay away from hospitals, folk die in them. What with them superbugs and the other sick folk coughing and sneezing germs all over the place.’
‘Were you frie
nds with Susan?’
‘No, we weren’t really friends exactly, just neighbours. We went to the bingo a couple of times together. Not that I went out a lot, what with the kids and all. Maybe a couple of times a month, I’d see her at the bingo hall if there was a big prize.’
‘Was Susan at the bingo the night of the fire?’
‘I can’t remember. She moved away soon after, said she couldn’t stay in that house. Don’t think anyone blamed her. The wee girl who died, you say she was your sister?’
‘Yeah. Amber Ellis.’
‘I’m awfully sorry, you two hadn’t been there long, had you?’
‘Only a few weeks.’
‘It was a tragedy, a right horrible thing to have happened.’