The Initial Blow

by Paul Vincent Lee

  ‘Oh yes. Lovely.’

  The curtains will be all aquiver on Hyndland Road when they see me coming home in a police car. How exciting! I’ll tell them it was shop lifting!

  She was confident her visit had sorted everything out. Kate would soon be found, but I won’t tell her I gave out her lock of hair, she could be quite childish at times.

  ***

  Pete Harris was in turmoil. Kate, his love, his life. What had he done? He was sitting in the living room of his semi in Uddingston, just outside Glasgow, not sure if things were real or he just needed to waken up. He knew that this was not the stuff of dreams or nightmares. You wake up eventually from even the worst of nightmares. Over the last few months he had been thinking of starting his own business. He had gone to a seminar on business start-up, “Dream to Reality” was the slogan. Christ how he wished he could hide away from this reality.

  Run or stay?

  Hand himself in or try and sit tight?

  What would happen to his wife and kids?

  What would happen to him? What had possessed him?

  He loved her, would never harm her. Why did he do it?

  But why had she not come to him for love? Once she finally realised that Joe Turner was not right for her… why had she not come back to him? She knew he was waiting. She knew.

  He looked back on the good times with Kate. It was one of the better things that had come out of tracing his estranged kids by Ann, his first wife; although his son had never forgiven him for putting them up for adoption. Even changed his name.

  I was only 22 at the time, two babies, for Christ’s sake, how could I be expected to cope with that? Fuck him.

  His daughter had at least kept in some kind of touch, and it was through her that he had met Kate, wonderful, vibrant Kate.

  Besides, it wasn’t his fault their mother, the booze bag, had fallen down the stairs. He had hardly touched her.

  “Paralysis by analysis” was part of the management speak they’d used at the seminar. He now knew what it really meant. He couldn’t make a rational choice; and found it hard to even physically move. He hadn’t been to work this week. Sally, his second wife, knew there was something wrong but put it down to disillusionment with his job.

  What kind of job was Male Nurse anyway? They didn’t say Female Nurse so why Male Nurse?

  He felt it was because normal men wouldn’t even consider it as a job. It was women’s work, like shopping, cleaning and watching kids.

  Christ, his kids.

  Peter Harris wished he believed in God, Divine Intervention. His parents had sent him to Sunday School but like most people in Scotland he had drifted away from churches and prayer in his teens. Christenings, weddings and funerals were the only times they saw the inside of a church or even heard prayers, never mind said any.

  Strange for a country blighted by sectarianism.

  When Kate had gotten into the car she looked beautiful...and sexy. On the way out to the bar in the Clyde Valley she had squeezed his knee a couple of times, even leaned over and kissed his cheek once. She was hyper about something, tactile, familiar, said she wanted to talk to him, tell him something. She was sending out all the signals he’d longed for. He knew her better than anyone, especially that pillock husband of hers. She did love him. He was sure. She’d just realised; that’s what she wanted to tell him.

  He had been certain. Why then did she come out with the shit she did? She couldn’t have meant it. Didn’t know what she was saying. He was the one for her: not this guy she’d just met.

  Pete Harris was able to sit and cry openly; as his wife was at Asda with the children.

  ***

  The Incident Room was buzzing. The whole squad was in, all the lights were on, despite the bright morning, and the coffee machine was on its second fill. Photos of what was left of Kate Turner adorned the see-through screen at the front of the room. D.S. Matt Healy was in deep discussion with Dornan in front of the screen and Detective Chief Inspector McFarlane was overseeing operations. In his own mind anyway. As far as the squad were concerned, he was an irrelevance. Susan Dornan was eager to get things moving and to show McFarlane that she could lead her first murder enquiry without any input from him.

  ‘Right, you lot. We all know the score; why we’re here. OK. Facts.’

  The press were pushing for information but Kate Turner’s family hadn’t been informed yet. The pleasure of calling on Martha Reid was yet to be allocated. Matt Healy knew he would do it. He always felt the family should be able to put a face on the guy who was going to nail the bastard who was putting them through this.

  ‘We’re pretty sure the dead woman is Kate Turner, nee Reid. Originally from Oxford but now, or should I say up to now, resident in Spain. Married to Joe Turner, who is originally from Glasgow, but who hasn’t lived here for thirty-odd years. Two grown up kids. Back for long week-end, ostensibly to see her mother, Mrs Martha Reid, 48 Hyndland Road, out in the West End, but did not actually stay with her. Apparently staying with a pal; Julie Connor, in a city centre hotel. Paul Allen has traced her to the Marriott and D.S. Healy and I are going to interview her now. Her husband by all accounts didn’t come over with her but we’ll need to check; might have to involve Spanish police with that. The victim died due to multiple stab wounds...no weapon found at the scene….but was still alive when she went into the river; small amount of water in lungs. Traces of semen from two different males found on the body. We’re waiting for DNA on these. As you can see, body badly decomposed and subject to attention from wildlife. Estimated that she died and went into the water late Saturday, early Sunday. Signs of possible forced intercourse.

  Any questions up to now? No, right…she had a gold necklace with the name Tunstall. Any ideas anyone?’

  ‘Kid’s name? Nickname?’

  ‘OK. We’ll ask the husband. He’ll have to come over here anyway to identify the body; can’t ask her mum to face that. Right, get moving.’

  ‘You happy to deal with the media, sir?’ Dornan enquired of the Chief once the room was cleared.

  ‘Yes, yes. Leave that to me. I’ll take that worry off your hands’ the Chief replied.

  Somehow Dornan was expecting that answer.

  ‘Thank fuck for that, Susan’ Healy said to Dornan on their way to the squad car ‘double result, fucking leeches and vultures of the fourth estate out the fucking road and McFarlane as well, result.’

  Neither Healy nor Dornan spoke again on the way to Hyndland Road. They broke the news to Martha Reid as gently as they could and then moved on to The Marriott Hotel to speak to Julie Connor.

  ‘Julie, when was the last time you spoke to Kate Turner?’ Susan Dornan asked.

  ‘Don’t know exactly, over a year ago. We used to speak every two or three weeks but the gaps just got bigger over time. She was in another country, married with two kids; I’m more of a career woman.’ Julie’s last words were said with a hint of sarcasm as she looked round her tiny office with a hint of regret that Dornan silently acknowledged.

  ‘So you were unaware she was even in Glasgow last week-end?’

  ‘Not a clue.’

  ‘Julie, over the years did Kate have any affairs?’

  ‘God, what a thing to ask!’

  ‘It could be important.’

  ‘You think she knew her killer? Was meeting him?’

  ‘It’s possible, probable even’ said Dornan, deferring to Matt Healy’s theory.

  ‘Shit. Kate may have had the odd fling. I don’t know. 30 years is a long time with the one man, especially Joe but...’ Julie’s reply tapered off.

  ‘You don’t like Joe, then?’

  ‘No, it’s not that. He’s a nice enough bloke just, well, thick.’

  ‘Not enough for Kate...intellectually?’

  ‘Exactly, never really understood what she saw in him, to be honest.’

  ‘Money?’

  ‘Money?’ Julie was laughing. ‘Are you kidding? British bars on the Costa Brava are a waste of
time.’

  ‘So they had money problems?’

  ‘Not problems. Kate earned reasonable money, but they weren’t flush.’

  ‘Julie, Kate was staying in Glasgow for a few days. She didn’t stay with her mum or you. Any idea where she would have stayed and why?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  Dornan handed Julie her card.

  ‘OK, Julie, we’ll be in touch if there’s anything else. Call me anytime if you remember anything. Will you be in this hotel for the next wee while?’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately.’

  ‘Why you say that? Looks like a nice place.’

  ‘The job isn’t what it used to be. Take this hotel, for example. Three quarters of the staff are foreigners and I’m no racist; but it makes the job incredibly difficult, too many different cultures, different standards.........mind you, their English is better than the locals!’

  All three smiled, but Susan Dornan remembered reading a few days ago that there were thirty thousand Poles alone living in Glasgow; and wondering what the outcome of that kind of trend would mean for the city.

  Meanwhile Julie Connor was wondering if she was doing the right thing, agonising over whether to tell the police everything she knew about Kate’s life.

  ***

  At first I couldn’t make out who was on the phone or what they were attempting to say.

  ‘Goony Ray.’ the voice wailed

  ‘What’

  ‘Goony. Topped’.

  I realised it was Joe.

  Sounds bloody pissed.

  ‘Joe. What is it? What are you saying? You pissed?’

  ‘Kate. Ray. They’ve found her body; she’s dead Ray, dead.’

  I felt paralysed.

  ‘What are you saying? Who told you this?’

  ‘Martha phoned. Police have found a body. They’re pretty sure it’s Kate. I’ve to go over to do a formal ID.’

  My head was spinning, the room reeling.

  ‘Must be a mistake, Joe, must be.’

  ‘No, Ray, it’s her. I know it’s her.’

  ‘Joe……’

  ‘Will you meet me, Ray? Tomorrow. I need someone there apart from Martha. Will you, Ray?’

  ‘Sure, Joe, sure. What time are you flying in?’

  ‘Land about two. Police said they’d meet me. I need you there, mate.’

  ‘Did the police say anything else, Joe? What happened? Was it an accident?’

  ‘Martha never said. Dare say we’ll find out tomorrow.’

  ‘Right. Don’t drink any more Joe; try and get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  I hung up; and threw up, at roughly the same time. This wasn’t happening. I had to call Martha.

  ‘Martha, it’s Ray Ford again. Joe just called. Is it true? Surely it’s a mistake?’

  Martha Reid was dignity and calmness personified. I had only met her once or twice but she was old school, stiff upper lip etc.

  ‘I wish it were, Ray, but there’s no mistake. It’s very good of you to call.’

  ‘Are you OK.....well.....Christ, Martha.....I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘It’s alright, Ray. I’m fine. Kate had a brother you know?’

  ‘No, I didn’t know that. She never mentioned him to me anyway.’

  ‘He died. Twenty odd years ago now. Car crash. Do you know something, Ray, what the real sorrow surrounding death is? Of course you are devastated at the time; but the real sorrow, the real pain, is realising that you keep on living. Josh, that was his name, he was gone but I had to exist, function, communicate...live, but one of my reasons for living was gone. That is the real sorrow, Ray.’

  ‘You still had Kate’ I replied, instantly regretting my stupidity.

  ‘Yes, that was certainly true…..then.’

  I wanted to move on but to where? To what? There was only one topic of conversation.

  ‘What did the police say apart from......’ my question tapering off into the ether.

  ‘Well, one thing Ray; the hotel Kate was staying at; did you find Julie?’

  My mind was racing, frantically trying to weigh up what to reply.

  ‘I did, Martha. But the thing is; Kate didn’t actually stay with Julie either. In fact, they haven’t spoken in over a year.’

  ‘Stupid girl.’

  It took me a moment to realise Martha wasn’t talking about Julie Connor.

  ‘Oh my, I just can’t make head nor tail of this, Ray. What was my poor Kate up to?’

  ‘I’m sure she wasn’t up to anything, Martha. She wasn’t like that. It’s no secret she and Joe had their problems; maybe she just wanted to get off the treadmill for a while. We’ve all felt that way at some point, Martha.’

  ‘Well, she’s off it now that’s for sure, Ray.’

  In another context Martha’s reply may have sounded comical; but the heartache travelled down the line and entered my heart as sure as if it had been placed there by hand.

  ‘I’ll see you soon, Martha. Joe asked me to meet him when he arrives in Glasgow tomorrow; you know, for support.’

  ‘As I said, Ray, you are very kind.’

  I sat down: my thoughts suddenly, strangely coherent.

  Joe’s temper. Kate’s flirtatiousness. Shit. What am I doing? He wasn’t even in Scotland, for Christ’s sake.

  I forced my mind back to the present. I would have to get organised at work. Thankfully I didn’t have any court appearances to make over the next two or three days, so I would be able to organise everything else, and be free to help Joe out with all the things that would hit him over here. I looked down; I’ll need to clean up my vomit or the carpet will smell.

  ***

  The following day, Dornan, Healy and Joe Turner were standing outside Glasgow City mortuary, a nondescript red brick building wedged in between the new and old Glasgow High Court buildings. Joe Turner didn’t smoke but had a Benson and Hedges he mooched off a morgue attendant lit and stuck between his lips.

  ‘Joe, that building there is Glasgow’s High Court and I swear I’ll have whoever did this to Kate standing shitting themselves in there as soon as it is humanly possible,’ said Healy. The added maybe you featuring only in his mind.

  The identification was mercifully brief. Joe had been warned that Kate was not as he remembered her. He looked at her legs and body, avoided her face and said it was her. The sheet went back over her and she was gone from his life forever.

  ‘Joe’ it was Susan Dornan speaking ‘we’ll go back to the station now. We need to ask you one or two things. OK?’

  ‘Will she want buried here or in Spain, do you think?’ Joe ventured to no-one in particular.

  ‘Plenty of time for that, Joe. I’m afraid it might be some time before the body can be released.’ said Susan Dornan in reply.

  ‘Right, right’ muttered Joe.

  Matt Healy and Susan Dornan sat opposite Joe Turner in the same room Joe’s mother in law had sat in. Joe had no thoughts on the decor.

  ‘Joe, I know this is difficult but we need to ask you some things. OK?’

  ‘Right.’ Joe appeared almost as if he were in a trance.

  ‘You alright, Joe?’

  ‘Terrific.’

  Healy was neither surprised nor fazed by the reply.

  How would any human being react to what this guy had gone through in the last twenty four hours...still.

  ‘How were things between you and Kate, Joe?’

  ‘We’d been married 20 odd years. How do you think they were? Hard sometimes, but mostly good. I loved her.’

  ‘Why did you not come over with her?’

  ‘Too busy. You ever been to the Costa Brava in the summer? Blackpool with the sun….and just as shit.’

  ‘Did she ask you to come?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is that normal? You both taking separate breaks.’

  ‘We go on family holidays together when we can, you know during the close season. I go on breaks with the lads sometimes, you know, golf maybe; or over he
re for a Scotland match; and she comes here to see her mum.’

  ‘She told you she was staying at her mum’s then?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘But she wasn’t.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So does she normally lie to you?’

  ‘She didn’t lie. I just don’t listen half the time.’

  ‘Where do you think she was staying, then?’

  ‘She has a pal here, Julie. She was staying with her apparently. Her mum told me.’

  ‘She wasn’t staying with Julie either.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘We spoke to Julie. She never even knew Kate was in Glasgow.’

  Joe sat up, his body rigid. He couldn’t quite take it in….but he knew, he knew.

  ‘Where you think she did stay, then, Joe?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Did Kate wear a wedding ring, engagement ring, Joe?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  ‘She wasn’t wearing any when we found her.’

  ‘Bastard who did this stole them, then.’

  ‘We found them in her bag. Why would a married woman take off her rings do you think, Joe?’

  Joe Turner’s eyes seemed to glaze over. Somehow the thought of her cheating was worse than her death. He lent forward, put his head on the table, wrapped his arms around his head and wept.

  ***

  DC Brown entered his sixth hotel of the afternoon, The Cathedral House Hotel. The hotel was next to Glasgow Cathedral, The Royal Infirmary and the Eastern Necropolis Graveyard. Brown smiled to himself,

  Best name link choice from those three possibilities, methinks.

  ‘Good afternoon; DC Brown, Police. We’re trying to trace the hotel where a woman may have stayed over the last few days. Well, I say stayed; we think she may have booked in for three or four nights but only stayed for two. Didn’t come back to check out.’