Torn

by Anne Randall

  Josh let the silence stretch, allowed the old woman to remember the night. It had happened in her housing scheme, to her neighbour, and it would have been in all the papers. ‘Had Susan lived in the house for a long time?’

  ‘About four or five years if I remember rightly. Mind you, although they rehoused her the day after the fire, it took them a good few months after that to do up the house. I moved away not long after.’

  ‘She lived alone, didn’t she? I mean other than the kids she fostered?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Only I was wondering if she had anyone around that night, maybe someone she asked to babysit?’

  ‘Did you not ask her when you visited her in the hospital?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘She denied it. But I don’t believe her.’

  Mrs Free stared him. ‘Why would she lie?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Silence.

  He broke it. ‘Can you remember anything else about her, Mrs Free? Anything at all?’

  ‘Give me a minute.’ The old woman closed her eyes, frowned in concentration. Eventually, she spoke. ‘She had kids, they would’ve been older than you and your sister, but they didn’t live with her. She’d only ever had the two. I wondered if that was why she fostered; maybe she’d wanted more kids but couldn’t have them? Or maybe it was just because things hadn’t worked out between her and her man?’

  ‘The kids weren’t there when Amber and I lived with her, not that we were there that long. But she never mentioned them.’

  ‘They lived with their dad. I think it all went sour around the time of the divorce. The kids sided with their dad and the three of them moved to the Temple area. Susan said she hadn’t seen them much afterwards, said it was like a kick in the teeth to her. A bit like me and my son, Ricky. I’ve not seen him for five years and even then it was at my cousin’s funeral. His youngest will be eighteen now. It happens in families. Folk take sides against other folk.’ She paused. ‘You have family?’

  ‘No. After my mother died, it was just me and Amber.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I just open my mouth sometimes. I thought that you might’ve had kids of your own.’

  ‘Maybe one day,’ said Josh. ‘Right now I’m concentrating on my career.’

  ‘What is it that you do?’

  ‘I’m in a band, the Kill Kestrels.’

  She blinked, her expression blank. ‘Then good for you, here’s hoping you make the big time, eh?’

  Josh sat forward on the sofa. ‘Susan’s kids, what were their names?’

  The old woman thought for a long while. ‘I can’t remember now, I never met them. She only moved in after her divorce. Susan usually called them “the kids” when she was ranting about the divorce and the falling-out. She was really angry with them. There was a rumour from one of the other neighbours who knew the dad, think she was maybe seeing him on the fly, that the son got into drugs, heroin it was. That stuff was everywhere back then. Thank God none of my kids ever touched it. Give me a second, that’s right I remember now, the neighbour said the son’s name was Cal. I think that was it. Not sure now. But I can’t remember what the daughter’s name was. The neighbour said there was a bit of a stand-off between Susan and the daughter, something about a boyfriend Susan didn’t approve of. Wait, I think the daughter’s name was Lynn or Lyndsay. Susan wanted her kids to come about the house more – not sure if they ever did though.’

  ‘A boyfriend?’ He had heard a man and woman shouting. The daughter and a boyfriend? Or the son and daughter?

  ‘Aye. Susan said he was applying for the forces or the police or something. She thought he was going to go off and the daughter would be dumped, probably left holding a baby.’

  ‘Can you remember his name?’

  The old woman took her time. ‘The neighbour mentioned the boyfriend’s name and it was the same as our minister’s name. What was the minister’s name? Furness or Furlan? Give me a minute. That’s it. It was Furlan.’

  ‘First name for the boyfriend?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No worries, it’s a start. And you had no way of knowing I’d pop up after all these years.’ Josh stood to leave. ‘Thanks very much, Mrs Free.’

  She followed him into the hall. ‘It was my pleasure. I’m sure your mum is looking down on you and is really proud of you being in a band and all.’

  He doubted it.

  ‘And wee Amber will be reunited with her; they’ll be together now.’

  He certainly hoped the fuck not. He knew the old woman was just trying to be nice, that she was speaking in platitudes uttered by the well-meaning, however inappropriate. Perhaps that’s why her son stayed away? Families could be toxic; his certainly had been.

  When Mrs Free opened the door, the cat meandered in and sat at her feet.

  ‘You used to have a white cat. Willow. I remember it.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve a great memory. Willow was a gentle wee thing, not like this big bruiser.’ She bent down and stroked the cat’s head affectionately. ‘He eats me out of home and habitation. Still, he’s great company. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, son.’

  The door closed behind him and he walked to the car. The old woman had given him names and so the next piece of the puzzle. He could feel it; this was important.

  The internet was his friend in these matters. And if he couldn’t find Susan Moody’s son Cal or her daughter Lynn/Lyndsay or the Furlan guy, something told him that he could count on Cutter Wysor to do so. Josh felt optimistic about the chase. He pulled out his phone, typed ‘Furlan Glasgow’ into the engine, got a couple of hits.

  First up an article about a cop. DI Edward Furlan had retired from the police. Josh read on. Adele Free had mentioned that the boyfriend might have been in the forces or the police. Age wise, Eddie Furlan would have been forty at the time? Presumably, given Susan’s age, the daughter would have been a lot younger. Was that why Susan Moody didn’t approve, or was it another Furlan altogether?

  Next up was a death notice from the Chronicle. Eddie Furlan’s wife had died a month previously.

  Furlan

  Jean Dorothy, peacefully at the Royal Infirmary on Thursday 12 June, aged 60. Devoted wife to Eddie, much loved mother of Paul and James. Funeral service to take place at Cathcart Old Parish Church on Friday 20 June at 11 a.m.

  Josh punched the numbers into his mobile.

  ‘Cutter? I need your help. I need to find Susan Moody’s son, Cal. And her daughter, Lynn/Lyndsay and her ex-boyfriend. I think the guy’s name is Eddie, James or Paul Furlan.’

  ‘Don’t know any Furlans but there’s a guy name of Cal Moody works out at the Cockroach. Give me a bit of time to check if it’s the right person and I’ll get back to you.’

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Memories and Meetings

  Josh knew that the work he’d done with the hypnotherapist had uncoiled parts of his memory. He thought about the policewoman, Wheeler, who had asked him about Karlie Merrick. His memory didn’t include her. She had never figured in his life. He closed his eyes and was back in his mother’s house. He felt the familiar resistance to go there; ignored it. Finally, he let the memory flood his mind. The night she’d died, his mother had passed out. He was kneeling on the kitchen floor, looking through the cupboards for food, when she’d woken up and begun screaming at Amber for crying, for her own lack of drugs, for the whole sorry mess that was her fucking life. He saw his ten-year-old self take out an old bottle of drain cleaner, pick up a half-empty bottle of vodka and pour the drain cleaner into it. He’d shaken the bottle well, mixed the two liquids thoroughly. Heard his mother slap Amber, saw her stagger through to the kitchen, grab the bottle and begin to drink the liquid. The vodka alone might have killed her; she drank it like Coke. But even back then he’d known what had happened, had understood somewhere deep in his psyche that it would kill her. Finally, he’d heard her retch. He’d ignored her and had quietl
y taken Amber’s hand and they’d left the house. Began walking. He understood completely that his mother had been dying. The images came flooding back, sharp and clear as ice. He crossed to the minibar, opened the bottle of white wine, poured a large glass, began drinking. He would wait for Cutter to call.

  Cutter parked outside the Cockroach.

  Inside, the manager Andy Carmichael nodded to him. ‘Cutter, what brings you out?’

  ‘Need a quick word with one of your staff.’

  ‘That right?’

  ‘Cal Moody.’

  ‘What’s he been up to then? It’s not his week. He had a bit of a mishap the other night.’

  ‘So I heard, he was clumsy with a knife, ended up in A and E.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Interesting that Ian Bunyan was in the kitchen with him at the time.’

  ‘Purely coincidental.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’

  ‘This anything to do with Bunyan’s gripe? Only, he’s on his way over for a drop-off?’

  ‘No, personal business. Just need a bit of information, a couple of names and addresses.’

  Carmichael stood aside. ‘Moody’s in the back. Help yourself, I’m sure he’ll tell you whatever you need to know.’

  ‘He’d better,’ said Cutter.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Josh’s mobile rang and he listened to instructions. ‘Meet up at the Coach House in twenty.’

  Josh texted for the Range Rover to be brought around.

  Soon they were parked behind the pub.

  ‘I don’t like the look of this place, not one bit,’ said the driver. ‘You sure this is the place?’

  Josh sat in the back seat of the car. ‘Cutter said it was here.’

  The driver tapped a finger on the wheel. ‘It doesn’t look too salubrious, Josh. Maybe you can meet this guy back at the hotel? This place looks very fucking dodgy.’

  ‘We’re staying.’ Josh watched a black Honda pull in and park. Saw the driver pull off his helmet.

  ‘Shit,’ said the driver. ‘That lunatic there is Ian Bunyan. A creep and a sadist. Believe me, you don’t want to be hanging around with people like him.’

  ‘He’s not the one I’m here to see.’

  ‘Christ, if you get into a barney inside, Dougie’ll kill me.’

  ‘No worries, I’m meeting Cutter and he can handle himself. Not that I can’t.’

  Five minutes later, and they were in the back room.

  Cal Moody tried and failed for a smile. ‘All right, guys?’

  Cutter sat opposite him. Josh stood.

  Andy Carmichael approached. ‘Listen, Cutter, I don’t want any trouble. If Moody’s fucked up, take it outside. I’ve already had the filth crawling over the place and Bunyan’s just left. Talk about trying to keep this place under the radar.’

  ‘Just need a quiet word, Andy.’ Cutter smiled.

  ‘You want a drink? On the house?’

  ‘Absinthe for me.’ Cutter turned to Josh. ‘You?’

  ‘Vodka.’

  ‘Right it is then, gents.’

  Moody spoke. ‘I’ll have a—’

  Carmichael ignored him, made his way to the bar.

  Josh looked around the place. It was a low-rent dive of a bar and, from his perspective, Cal Moody looked like hell. He was shaking and his hand was bandaged. But he was also the image of his dying mother, Susan. Things were looking up.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The Birthday Lunch

  The McIver was busy, the atmosphere loud and convivial. Lunch at the club, often a boozy affair, was served in the Oak Room. A smattering of members were dining alone. Some were talking discreetly into mobile phones, making deals, organising meetings.

  Paul Furlan strode into the room. He led as usual with his shoulders. He wore a grey linen Ted Baker suit, a pristine white shirt and a teal tie. An expensive stainless-steel diver’s watch was just visible on his left wrist. He nodded to an ex-MP who was lunching with one of the city’s leading barristers.

  A waiter approached him. ‘Your guest’s already here, Paul.’

  He could see his father had been seated at his favourite corner table. ‘Fine.’

  Furlan saw Mark Ponsensby-Edward at a table. Ponsensby-Edward’s white hair and moustache were in stark contrast to his black suit. Paul approached the table, heard the boast, ‘It was heaven.’ Mark raised his wine glass to his guest. ‘Honestly, Mauritius was sublime, the hotel was magnificent . . .’

  ‘Enjoying your lunch, Mark?’ said Paul.

  ‘Paul.’ Ponsensby-Edward smiled. ‘The lamb heart is excellent.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ Paul continued on to his father’s table. ‘Hey,’ he greeted him. ‘How goes it, birthday man?’

  ‘You’re late, you always were. It used to drive your mother mad.’

  ‘Sorry, Dad.’

  ‘And what the hell happened to you last night? We were supposed to be meeting for a nightcap. I was left in the bloody pub alone.’

  ‘Apologies, I had to stand you up. I was working late.’

  ‘What was so important that you had to do it last night?’

  ‘Forget it, it’s all sorted now, Dad.’ Paul tapped the menu. ‘This new menu looks great, doesn’t it? I can’t decide between the pig’s ear or lamb heart. What says you?’

  ‘The lamb heart followed by steak tartare. Mark recommended it. If it’s good enough for Mark Ponsensby-Edward, it’ll do me fine. I’ve just had a quick word with him; he was telling me how well Hugo’s doing. He’s a real success, with a beautiful wife and kids, not to mention a stellar career. He has his constituency in London and is a rising star in the Tory Party. And now that Nathan chap has resigned. You could do worse than to look to Hugo as a role model. What do you think?’

  Paul studied the menu. ‘I think I’ll have the pig’s ear.’

  A waiter approached. ‘Would you like to order?’

  Paul recited his father’s order, added a main course of venison for himself and glanced quickly at the wine menu. ‘What do you fancy? I’d settle for the Côtes du Rhône. It always does the job.’

  ‘Brilliant, why don’t we settle for it, there’s no point in overdoing it on my birthday.’

  ‘Christ, Dad, you said you didn’t want a fuss.’

  The waiter jotted down their order, returned a few minutes later and poured the wine. Left them to it.

  ‘Cheers.’ Paul raised his glass. ‘Happy birthday.’ He slid a package across the table.

  Eddie opened it, took out the stainless-steel diver’s watch, frowned. ‘It’s the same as yours.’

  ‘You said you liked my watch.’

  ‘Why would I need a diver’s watch? I barely swim at the local pool.’

  ‘It’s—’

  ‘Never mind, it’s fine.’ Eddie put the watch back into its case, snapped it shut and pushed it aside.

  ‘You said you didn’t even want a present,’ said Paul.

  ‘Not on your salary.’

  ‘I’m doing all right.’

  ‘Not in comparison with your brother James or Hugo Ponsensby-Edward.’

  ‘No one makes their salaries—’

  ‘They do.’

  ‘Dad, I’m well thought of here. I’m respected.’

  ‘You only got this job because Mark Ponsensby-Edward put in a good word for you. You owe him big time. He did it as a favour to me and don’t you ever forget it.’

  ‘Mark owes us!’

  ‘Me, not you. You did nothing but fuck up. Remember?’

  The starters arrived. They ate in silence.

  Eventually, Eddie broke it. ‘The good news is I get to play golf at Gleneagles tomorrow.’

  ‘That right?’

  ‘Your big brother’s very generous. I told him I didn’t want a fuss, but there we have it. It was very good of him. He must have spent a fortune, but he knows how to do it in style.’ Eddie sipped his wine. ‘I had an interesting visit from a detective.’

  ‘That ri
ght?’

  ‘An officer from Carmyle Station. Wanted to chat about an old case. Twenty years back. John Merrick.’

  Paul stared at him. ‘I see. Why did they come to see you?’

  ‘John Merrick’s daughter Karlie was murdered. Her body was found over in Sandyhills Road on Wednesday morning. She was only twenty-eight. Bad luck runs in some families.’

  Paul paused. ‘She did some work here at the club but she wasn’t here the night she was killed.’

  ‘What did you tell the police?’

  ‘I haven’t contacted them. No point in dragging the McIver into a murder inquiry. It has nothing to do with the club. What did this guy want?’

  ‘It was a female officer, DI Kat Wheeler.’

  Paul put down his knife and fork. ‘Tall, blonde?’

  ‘She was tall and blonde, a good-looking woman. Why, are you interested? I think you’d be punching above your weight with her.’ He paused. ‘What the hell’s the thunder-face for?’

  ‘It might not be the same woman, but there was a Kat Wheeler in the army with me. I suppose she was attractive enough physically, but if it is the same Wheeler, she caused real problems for me. It’s fair to say we never hit it off.’

  ‘You can be quite the acquired taste; even your own mother struggled with you.’

  Their plates were cleared and the mains arrived. They waited until the waiter had moved off before resuming their conversation.

  ‘Wheeler had a real problem,’ said Paul. ‘She wore her feminism like some jagged badge of honour and—’ he stabbed his forefinger in the air ‘—men were in the wrong with her, purely because they were male.’

  Eddie took up his cutlery, drew his knife through the food on his plate. ‘Eat something,’ he instructed his son. Waited until Paul had eaten a few mouthfuls before he spoke again. ‘So you and Kat Wheeler had a falling-out?’

  ‘One of our squad, a wee squirt name of Jenkins, was mouthing off and he and I had a bit of a go at each other.’

  ‘As in fisticuffs?’

  ‘Nothing serious, just a bit of verbal.’

  ‘Your anger management issues again?’