Deception aka Sanctum

by Denise Mina

  “Come on, Harvey. I’m not the fighting kind,” I said, cheerily. “I need to talk to you. It doesn’t seem much to ask. I’ve had a terrible time.”

  Still he hesitated, afraid to give up the stick, until I leaned back and flicked the light on. “I just want to ask you some questions about Susie.”

  The room was cluttered, again decorated with a lot of money, some obviously inherited furniture, and very little taste. It was done in dark, depressing colors, blue and red paper, two green chenille armchairs and matching couch, a coffee table with bow legs, a massive gray marble fireplace with a black belly, and a posy of crunchy dried flowers in the grate. On the mantelpiece sat posed professional photographs of a ten-years-younger Harvey and a pinched-faced woman. They were dressed in eighties shoulders and sharp angles, and they were sitting next to each other in front of a “stormy sky” backdrop. Next to it, in a matching thin gold frame, was another picture of Harvey sitting with the same woman and two young girls of about ten, again in front of a stormy sky. Their knees were all pointing in different directions, father left, mother right, children front and side. It gave the picture a splintered quality, as though they would all try to run away from each other the moment the shutter closed, which, judging from the quietness of the house, they had.

  Harvey let the walking stick drop to the ground, the end of it hitting the nasty nylon carpet with a loud thunk that reverberated through the house, reminding us that we were alone.

  My talking seemed to have calmed him a little, so I rambled on. “I’m sure you can imagine how many questions I must have about what happened to my wife. I’m pretty much in the dark about everything that went on. I thought she was going to the supermarket and then suddenly she’s arrested in Durness for a gruesome murder. I don’t even know anything about her job or what happened there with Gow and Donna. All I know”- I was being sneaky, I knew I was-“is that you were responsible for getting her sacked.”

  It had exactly the effect I wanted it to: he shouted at me.

  “I did not get her sacked. No one got her sacked. She stole Gow’s files from the hospital. She was caught on videotape putting the files into her bag. That’s why she got the sack.” He leaned back against a mock-Georgian liquor cabinet and panted for breath.

  I couldn’t breathe. My mind raced over all the cozy nights we had spent together since her dismissal speculating about Sinclair’s motives: whether he was jealous of her professionally, whether he was a misogynist. I was flattered that Susie’d included me in a discussion about another man’s misogyny. It blinded me to her bald-faced lies. She had known it would. It was so unfair. I’d tried hard to be a good husband and she’d just stood there and lied to me.

  I nodded at the liquor cabinet. “Please, can I have a drink, please, Harvey, please?”

  Harvey led me by the arm to a chair and sat me down, handing me a tissue. Then he gave me a glass of a nice malt whiskey to sip. I was glad it was only Harvey I cried in front of. I said I was sorry, it wasn’t his fault, not his problem at all, but I needed to know some things. He got himself a big drink and sat down opposite me, on the other side of the marble fireplace.

  “I’m sorry for all that’s happened,” he said. “I like Susan very much. Before all this started she was irreproachably professional. She was a good friend to me as well.” He looked up at the photos on the mantelpiece. “My wife and I separated last year, and Susan talked me through it. I don’t think I could have survived it without her. That’s why I felt so bad in the court. I didn’t want to give evidence against her, but they forced me to.”

  I said I thought he had seemed a bit ambivalent, and he nodded. “I couldn’t look at her in that dock without thinking about all the help she’d been to me. I felt awful about it all.” His voice cracked, and I looked up. He was staring absently at his glass, looking vacant and old. A dark opening gaped in his trousers. He still hadn’t noticed. “They made me give evidence against her. I liked Susan.” He was talking about her as if she were dead.

  “What about Gow? Did you like him?”

  He snorted joylessly. “He was a psychopath.”

  “Did Susie spend a lot of time with him?”

  He put his glass down and looked straight at me, saddened by what he had to say. “An inordinate amount of time,” he said softly. “Inordinate. Hours at a time. We questioned her about it. Sinclair knew there was something wrong. He brought it up at a case conference, and she got very defensive. Said she was concerned about the wedding and wanted to make sure nothing was going to happen. Sinclair said that if she thought there was a security risk, she should report it immediately. It wasn’t that at all, we all knew that. We all knew and none of us did anything about it. If we had done something, none of this would have happened. Sinclair wanted to ask Donna McGovern what was going on, but I and a social worker convinced him it would be unprofessional to go behind Susan’s back. None of the people who were at that case conference can look at each other now.” His chin sank to his chest; a string of hair fell over his forehead, and he caught it between his thumb and forefinger, placing it back. “It’s a terrible thing to have happened,” he whispered. “Just terrible.”

  “How would Donna know?”

  “Eh?”

  “What would the point be in Sinky speaking to Donna about it? How would she know what was going on?”

  “Well, Susan spent a lot of time with Donna as well, didn’t you know?”

  I shook my head. There was very little I did know.

  “Yes, Susan spent a lot of time with Donna, more time than Gow did, technically. Trying to convince Donna not to marry him, I suppose. Have you found the files?”

  I shrugged. I could hardly admit to myself that Susie was a liar, much less to a stranger.

  “The files Susie took from the office?” continued Tucker. “They should be returned. They’re Prison Department property. You haven’t come across them?” He took a drink, watching me over the rim of his glass.

  “Tell me what it is you’re looking for, and I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “A disk with a table of Gow’s correspondents over the past two years. Susan deleted all the copies, but I was rather hoping she kept one on a disk. We were writing an article together. Because of the Human Rights Act, we’re not supposed to read prisoners’ mail anymore. We won’t be able to collate that sort of information ever again. It could be a unique bit of research.”

  It would have been Susie’s idea, we both knew that. She’d have read ahead and anticipated the change in the law, thought about it, and drawn up the research outline, and Harvey was hoping to get all the credit now that Susie was in prison.

  “I’ll look out for it,” I said, swirling the last of my drink and swallowing it.

  “Please phone me if you find it. It’s Prison Department property.”

  I don’t think he had anything to do with that research at all.

  Tucker watched me drive away. I think he wanted to make sure I actually left. He stood on the step of his dark, empty home and saw me off like a visiting relative, waving for too long, making sure I was out of sight before he went back in.

  I stopped the car around the corner and dropped my head to the steering wheel, concentrating on breathing in and out. My head was bursting. My chest ached. I opened the car door and threw up into the street.

  They’ve been right about her all along. They were right and I was wrong.

  chapter twelve

  A TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE DAY. I’M SITTING HERE IN FRONT OF THE computer with this document from Gow’s files, and I can’t even be bothered to read it:

  Box 1 Document 3 Note of Circumstances 1994

  1. This note of circumstances represents the Secretary of State’s understanding of the circumstances surrounding the offense for which Mr. Gow is serving a life sentence. The information in it has been obtained from a number of sources. If Mr. Gow disagrees with any of the details in the note, he should record the disagreement on the form provided for written repr
esentations.

  CONVICTION AND SENTENCE

  2. At the High Court, Glasgow, on March 4, 1994, Mr. Andrew Alfred Gow was convicted of murder by a unanimous verdict and given five consecutive life sentences. There was no appeal against conviction.

  INDICTMENT

  3. The indictment bore that Mr. Andrew Gow did:

  3.1 On March 23, 1993, while acting along with people or person unknown, assault Mrs. Elizabeth MacCorronah, then residing at Flat 3/1, 6 Ochil Place, Milton, Glasgow, push her bodily, repeatedly punch her on the head and body, knock her to the ground, forcibly detain her in motor vehicle registered number B513 DSF, and abduct her from Mitchell Road, Anderston, Glasgow, and there, or elsewhere in Scotland, repeatedly strike her on the head and body with a hammer or similar instrument, repeatedly strike or slash her in the chest with a knife or similar instrument, all to her severe injury, and in Ferry Road, Yorkhill Quay, Glasgow, did remove said Elizabeth MacCorronah from that motor vehicle and abandon her there, whereby she died of her injuries there, and did murder her.

  3.2 On May 19, 1993, did assault Karen Dempsey, then residing at 46 Glen Tanar Street, Lambhill, Glasgow, repeatedly punch her on the head and body, repeatedly strike her on the head and body with a hammer or similar instrument, abduct her from Waterloo Street, Anderston, Glasgow, abandon her at the Netherton canal bank, Temple, all to her severe injury, whereby she died of her injuries there, and did murder her.

  3.3 On June 12, 1993, while acting along with people or person unknown, did assault Martine Pashtan, then residing at Flat 1/1, 236 Saltmarket, Glasgow, repeatedly punch her on the head and body, knock her to the ground, forcibly detain her in motor vehicle registered number B513 DSF, and abduct her from the bus station at Anderston, Glasgow, and there, or elsewhere in Scotland, repeatedly strike her on the head and body with a hammer or similar instrument, repeatedly strike or slash her in the chest and face with a knife or similar instrument, all to her severe injury, and in Water Row, Govan, Glasgow, did remove said Martine Pashtan from that motor vehicle and abandon her there, whereby she died of her injuries there, and did murder her.

  3.4 On July 28, 1993, did assault Alice Thomson, then residing at Flat 16/3, 5 Calder Street, Polmadie, Glasgow, repeatedly punch her on the head and body, and there repeatedly strike her on the head and body with a hammer or similar instrument, forcibly detain her in motor vehicle registered number B513 DSF, and abduct her from Dundas Street, Glasgow, all to her severe injury, and in Millerfield Road, Dalmarnock, Glasgow, did remove said Alice Thomson from that motor vehicle and abandon her there, whereby she died of her injuries there, and did murder her.

  3.5 On October 1, 1993, did assault Mary-Ann Roberts, then residing at Flat 1/2, 38 Langa Street, High Carntyne, Glasgow, repeatedly punch her on the head and body, and there repeatedly strike her on the head and body with a hammer or similar instrument, forcibly detain her in motor vehicle registered number B513 DSF, and abduct her from the Broomielaw Road, Glasgow, and repeatedly strike or slash her in the chest and face with a knife or similar instrument, all to her severe injury, and at the Garden Festival site, Govan, Glasgow, did remove said Mary-Ann Roberts from that motor vehicle and abandon her there, whereby she died of her injuries there, and did murder her.

  PREVIOUS CONVICTIONS

  4. Mr. Gow had six previous convictions, including theft (x 4), taking and driving away (x 1), breach of the peace (x 1), and drunk and disorderly (x 1). The convictions were disposed of by three short periods of detention and two fines. The last sentence was completed in 1990.

  SITUATION AT TIME OF OFFENSE

  5. Mr. Gow was aged 28 at the time of the indictment.

  The police found samples of blood in his car from all but the second woman. Gow started off with someone else helping him sometimes, and then he killed alone. The killings got closer and closer together and more frantic. He cut their tongues out, initially, it was thought, as a symbolic gesture so that they couldn’t talk if they survived. The tongue became part of his fetish, though, and they found evidence that he watched them bleed to death. His DNA was found on several bodies, although I heard that the bleach he threw on them degraded the semen samples. I remember them showing a cheap bottle on a TV crime show and asking for information. Dowsing a cut on someone’s skin with bleach- the intrusion of that small, imaginable domestic detail, somehow makes him seem unimaginably callous. The bleaching seems much worse than what was done to Gow himself, much worse.

  It was all over the papers around the time of our wedding. They called him the Water Rat because the bodies were always abandoned near the River Clyde. The name was alarming; it sounded as if the killer was climbing out of the water, hunting people, and then slipping back into the dark river. A historian on television at the time said that when the River Clyde stopped supporting Glasgow, when the ships went to be built elsewhere, then the brokenhearted city turned its back on the water. I realized that he was right: everything in Glasgow faces away from the river, all the buildings have their backs to it, and the fast roads skirting it keep pedestrians away. The Water Rat felt like the river’s revenge on the faithless city. The name stuck until the national press got hold of the story and changed his nickname to the Riverside Ripper. I think Water Rat was better.

  The city changed during that time: women wouldn’t go out; men were afraid to slow their cars down in dark streets in case they attracted suspicion. Everyone who had been in the city on the nights around the killings claimed that they saw something, a shape, a car, felt someone watching, smelled fusty river water a mile from the bank. The city glowered, every dark corner and deep shadow became a moist and needy mouth waiting to swallow the careless. Our wedding reception was in a riverside hotel. Later on, when the band had finished, I remember groups gathering around the glass walls, looking out at the dread water sneaking past the window, exchanging gossip about the case in an undertone.

  * * *

  It stinks in this study this evening. I’ve regressed so completely to teenage sulkiness that I’m smoking a cigarette up here in the dark. I resisted starting again for a whole year after Susie did. She used to smoke up here. She started again one year to the day after Margie was born, as if she were celebrating having her body back. I read somewhere that it’s a sure sign a woman is having an affair: weight loss and starting smoking again, going back to old habits. I didn’t think she could possibly be seeing someone at the time because all she did was work, and I knew what her colleagues looked like.

  The last year and a half have been coming to me in flashbacks all day today. Every minute we spent together since she went back to work after Margie. Every word she said to me has another aspect now, an extra side that I knew nothing about at the time.

  The day she got fired I found her in the kitchen drinking brandy and smoking a cigarette. It was late June, and the door to the garden was open. The delicious smell of freshly cut grass wafted around the room. I recall the kitchen as dirty for some reason; maybe Mrs. Anthrobus was on vacation.

  “How can they fire you? Don’t they have to give you warnings before they fire you?”

  She didn’t answer me. She shut her eyes, pursed her mouth, and sucked on her cig, holding the smoke in her lungs, exhaling reluctantly. She had been warned, however many times they have to warn you- it’s usually three, I think. A trinity of warnings, and she never told me. When I think back, she didn’t tell me very much about anything. She’d say, “Oh, yeah, by the way, the car needs oil,” or “I met so-and-so at Sainsburys on the way home.” I suppose I thought I was getting the big picture because she told me the details.

  “Fucking Sinky has been putting in reports about me behind my back. It’s like an orchestrated scheme to oust me from the department.” She slapped the table, a gesture that now seems overemphatic. “D’you know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he stole those files himself.”

  “Why would Sinky do that?”

  “Because”- big inhalation, eyes closed-“he can’t fucking stand to have a w
oman on staff in a position of power. He’s the most misogynistic man I’ve ever met. He honestly loathes women. That’s one of the reasons he works at fucking Sunnyfields, he’s looking for an exclusively male environment.”

  I wonder if it was just luck or she knew the impact this assertion had on my ego. She has known me long enough. She knew how it would blind me.

  “It’s just a dreadful shame”- big sigh, sad nod-“that all men don’t appreciate the wonder of women the way I do.”

  I probably didn’t say that, but I feel as though I did. I feel as though she played to my weakness so completely that I might as well have smiled and shrugged and told her to fabricate anything she liked about what had happened, however implausible, because really, Susie, I’m such a self-involved prick, I’m not even really listening.

  Sinky had, according to Susie, been building up to making his big move for quite a while. Having noticed that she was off when Margie was running a fever and hadn’t filled out her time sheet accordingly, he filed complaints about her timekeeping (strike one). He then complained about the record-keeping in the addiction group she ran on Thursdays. No one had ever kept proper records, and although it had been established at a previous departmental meeting that the group was supposed to be closely minuted, no one had ever done it or worried about it until now (strike two). Strike three was pretty close to not being a lie. Strike three was some records missing from the back office, and Sinky accused her of taking them, although she hadn’t. Strike three was not that she stole the files and was caught on film slipping them into her bag and tiptoeing out of the room, creating a huge potential security risk for the prison because they couldn’t be sure what she had taken out or who she had taken it out for. That was not the representation of strike three that she presented to me.