by Tana Collins
Keeping a tight grip on the gun, he went to the foot of the stairs. Ran his gloved hand up the polished wooden banister. Quietly climbed the stairs. Hesitated. At the top of the stairs was another bathroom. The door was ajar. The light was on.
The man stood at the threshold. Here the atmosphere was different. The air was warmer. Whisky scented the air. And something else. Something metallic. He frowned. Pushed open the door cautiously with the barrel of the gun. And after forty years finally came face to face with the man who had shot his sister.
***
Carruthers was processing the paperwork from the interview with Roberts’ parents when Harris approached him at his desk. ‘That Chinky girl’s here to see you.’
‘Chinky girl?’ Carruthers had no idea what Harris was talking about.
‘Flatmate of Evans’ girlfriend.’
Carruthers frowned. ‘She’s Japanese, Harris. Put her in interview room one, will you? I’ll be right along,’ he said already standing. Alarm bells went off in his head. Why was Tomoko here? ‘Bring us two coffees straight away.’
Dougie Harris sniffed. ‘Do I look like the hired help?’
‘To me you look like a DS who’s already on thin ice for beating up a civilian, is apparently palming off his own duties to uniform and who could do worse than learn to listen to his superiors. So, two coffees. interview room one. Now.’
Carruthers knew that Tomoko would have been more comfortable in his office but he was too embarrassed to subject her to the pile of paperwork that was spilling out over his desk. Even if he had wanted to, he didn’t have time to tidy it up.
***
‘I’m so sorry for disturbing you,’ said Tomoko, looking owlish in her round glasses.
‘What is it Tomoko? Is Siobhan OK?’
‘Well, that’s just it. I haven’t seen her for ages. I’m worried.’
Carruthers felt his stomach twist. With a sense of dread he asked, ‘What do you mean? When did you last see her?’
‘Just after she got back from the station. I was going to the library to study for the evening, so I ate early. She said she was going for a walk by the harbour to clear her head. She was pretty shaken by the interview and–’
‘You mean you haven’t seen her since Sunday?’ said Carruthers.
‘She was pretty upset with you. Said you had been tough on her. You don’t really think she had anything to do with her own boyfriend’s death, do you?’
Carruthers’ sense of discomfort grew. He felt he’d been too hard on her. Now she had disappeared. He could kick himself. After all, she might be at university but that didn’t necessarily prepare students for the real world. He looked at Tomoko. ‘What were her plans that night? Was she going to go out for the evening after her walk?’
‘No, she didn’t have any. Told me she was going to eat a pizza in the flat, watch some TV, go to bed early.’
‘Go on…’ urged Carruthers.
‘I came back from the library around 10pm.’
‘What happened when you got home?’
‘That’s just it. Absolutely nothing. There was no sign of life in the flat. The lights were all off. I just assumed she’d gone to bed. The next day I got up early. Didn’t have time for breakfast. Had to see some friends over in Edinburgh. I stayed over. By the time I got home the next day it was late. It was only when I got up this morning and went to open the door to the fridge to get the milk that I saw her pizza was still in the fridge.’
Carruthers felt his pulse quicken. ‘OK, so what did you do next?’
‘I knocked on her bedroom door. There was no answer but the door was unlocked.’
‘Was this unusual?’
‘No, sometimes we lock our doors, if we are going away for a few days. Mostly we leave them unlocked. Anyway, I knocked on the door. There was no answer. I went in. Her room was empty. Bed hadn’t been slept in.’
‘She could have changed her mind and gone out after all.’
‘And not come back overnight – for three days?’
‘Perhaps she met someone.’ Even as Carruthers said this, he knew it wasn’t true. He’d seen Siobhan as she left the interview room. She was horrified to learn of Roberts’ death and angry she’d been accused of some involvement in her own boyfriend’s death. She’d also been embarrassed about her one-night stand with the Welshman.
‘She isn’t like that, inspector. She wouldn’t have gone home with someone else this close to Rhys’ death. They haven’t even had the funeral yet.’
‘No, of course not. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll–’
‘Sir,’ interrupted a striking auburn-haired police officer at the door, ‘can I have a moment? It’s important.’
Carruthers made his excuses to Tomoko and left the interview room.
‘It’s PC Waugh, sir. The man who was posted on the door guarding Holdaway. He’s on the phone. You’d better get over to The Lodge, Strathburn.’
Carruthers felt his blood run cold. ‘Why?’
‘A body’s been found. Waugh says it’s Professor Nicholas Holdaway.’
‘Christ.’ Carruthers’ mind was racing. ‘Can you arrange for Tomoko to be taken back to Edgecliffe?’
The police constable nodded. Carruthers grabbed his car keys and mobile. ‘Harris?’ he bellowed. ‘You’re wanted over at the Lodge, Strathburn. Drop everything. I’ll be right behind you. I’ll meet you there.’
‘Aye-aye, boss.’
He stuck his head back in the interview room. ‘I’m sorry, Tomoko. I have to go. Urgent business. Try not to worry. I’m sure Siobhan will be OK. Maybe she’s gone to her parents for a few days, eh? Have you got a number for them?’
Tomoko shook her head.
‘See if you can find Siobhan’s address book. Perhaps start ringing round her friends first? When she comes home, will you get in touch with me, please? If she’s still missing by evening, then we’ll get something organised.’
Tomoko looked less than reassured.
***
The recently painted navy blue front door to Holdaway’s home was wide open. PC Waugh was standing none too steadily with his hand against the door frame. The man’s face was caked with dried blood.
‘For Christ’s sake. What happened?’ said Carruthers.
‘I had to take a piss, sir. Didn’t see him until he was on me.’
‘Was it Ewan Williams?’
‘I don’t know. Aye. Mebbe.’
‘When did you last check in on Holdaway and see him alive?’
PC Waugh looked at his watch and touched his head. ‘It’s all a bit hazy. About eleven last night. I saw the bathroom light go on at around one this morning, so he was still alive then.’
‘Get yourself to hospital, man. Get that head looked at. Don’t drive yourself. Get an ambulance.’ The miserable-looking Waugh turned away.
With a heavy heart Carruthers walked into the house.
‘Dougie, you here?’ His voice echoed in the hall.
‘Up here, boss,’ called DS Dougie Harris from the length of the hall. ‘I’m up the stair.’
Carruthers walked through the hall and took the polished wooden stairs two at a time. Harris was at the top of the stairwell. The DS jerked his head towards the open door at the top of the stairs. ‘He’s in there. Bathroom. I havenae been in. Didnae want to contaminate. Ye can see round the door. It’s no’ pleasant.’
There was an empty whisky bottle lying on the floor in a small pool of liquid. But Carruthers’ eyes were drawn to the pattern on the wall in the shape of an arc. It took a moment to realise what it was. Blood splatter. The window was shut. Condensation ran down the mirror. Carruthers began to sweat. A naked man was lying in the copper bath. It was or had been Nicholas Holdaway. His hands were turned upwards towards the ceiling, as if pleading with his maker. His wrists were a mass of criss crosses and congealed blood. The bath water was copper-coloured.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Carruthers said. No need to enter the room. There was nothing he or anyone could do. The
man was dead. He turned to Harris. ‘Go downstairs. Search the house for any sign of disturbance. Don’t touch anything. Wait for the SOCOs. I take it you’ve called them?’
‘Aye, boss.’
‘Oh, and Dougie, make sure PC Waugh gets to hospital.’
There is no dignity in death, thought Carruthers, looking from the broad retreating back of Harris, to the now immobile face of Holdaway.
***
Mackie straightened up and sighed. ‘Looks like suicide.’
Carruthers frowned. ‘Could it be murder made to look like suicide?’
‘In my opinion it has all the hallmarks of suicide. See the marks across the wrists?’ said Mackie. ‘Deeper gashes are likely to have caused his death, but do you see the fainter gashes at the side? Looks like the poor bugger was building up courage. Used the whisky to calm his nerves. What a waste.’ Dr Mackie shook his head, staring at the now near empty bottle of Highland Park on the bathroom floor.
Carruthers wasn’t sure if Mackie meant the whisky or the Professor.
‘Still, we mustn’t jump to conclusions,’ said Mackie. ‘We’ll conduct a full post mortem.’
As they came out of the bathroom, Harris appeared at the foot of the stairs, with his hand on the banister. ‘Everything looks normal, boss. But it’s weird. When I got here the lights were on in the dining room, dinner table set and classical music was playing. Creepy, eh?’
‘Take your hand off the banister, you fool.’ Dr Mackie’s face appeared round the bathroom door, scowling at Harris. ‘Next time, don’t be so careless. In fact, just get him out of here.’ He motioned to Carruthers, tutting and shaking his head. Harris and Mackie had crossed swords before, and Jim knew Mackie had little time for Harris, considering him nothing more than a thug in a police uniform.
‘Can you give me a time of death? PC Waugh says the last time he looked in on him was around eleven last night; and he saw the bathroom light go on at 1am,’ said Carruthers.
‘We’ll need the PM for that. Don’t beat yourself up, laddie. Concentrate on the living now. There’s nothing you can do for the dead. You’re no use here. Best thing you can do is get yourself back to the station. I’ll call you when I have some news.’
Carruthers nodded, choked. He guided Harris out of the house. ‘I know I don’t have to tell you, but don’t touch the door on the way out, will you?’
‘What do you think I am, some sort of numpty?’
Carruthers barely heard Harris’ response. Mackie was right. There was nothing further he could do for Holdaway. His thoughts now turned to the living. Where was Siobhan Mathews? He brought out his mobile. Phoned her. It went to voicemail.
TWENTY
Siobhan had stopped trying to free herself from the rope. Struggling was futile. However hard she tried to loosen it, the rope just seemed to tighten. She could feel it digging into her wrists, cutting the circulation off to her hands. Her fingers were cold, starting to tingle. She wondered if she was going to die. The same man had periodically come in and given her food and water. She had seen him four or five times but she had no idea how long she’d been in the barn now. She was just vaguely aware of day turning into night and night turning into day.
‘Get her up,’ a Welsh accent commanded.
She felt herself roughly pulled to her feet. Placed in a chair. The strip of cloth covering her eyes was again untied; the gag loosened from her mouth. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the half-light. She had lost feeling in her left arm. She narrowed her eyes in an attempt to focus. She saw the silhouette of two men standing a few feet in front of her. Both wore balaclavas. One was the shape of the man who had been giving her food. But the other smaller man… she began to tremble.
‘We’re waiting for the boss. If you answer his questions, he won’t hurt you,’ said the taller of the two men. The man whose voice was familiar.
The door of the barn opened and a third figure entered. This man was large, his broad frame making him menacing.
‘What do you want?’ whispered Siobhan. Her throat felt scratchy, her mouth dry. She was trying not to give into a rising sense of panic, made more acute by the fact she couldn’t see the men’s faces. Why are they wearing balaclavas? They can’t want to kill me, she rationalised. They don’t want me to identify them. If they were going to kill me, they wouldn’t care. Whilst they keep the balaclavas on, I’m in with a chance of getting out of here alive.
Knowing this gave her some strength. ‘The rope is cutting into my wrists. It hurts.’ Her voice came out as a whisper.
The tall man with the broad frame motioned for one of the other men to step forward. ‘Loosen it,’ he said, ‘but keep her hands tied.’ He sounded older than the other two.
The shorter man stepped forward, close enough to Siobhan for her to smell his pungent stale sweat. She cowered where she sat.
‘Sorry about this,’ the old man said. ‘You’ll feel a bit sick and have a headache for a while. I told them to go easy on you.’
There was something about being up close to this other shorter man. Memories came flooding back of rough arms, calloused hands, rank breath on her face and of her legs being forced apart. A man’s body weight on hers, crushing her. The taste of saliva as he tried to kiss her. She couldn’t breathe. Had he been the man in the back of the van with her? The smell was the same.
‘Get him away,’ she screamed.
‘What’s she talking about?’ said the old man.
‘Get him away.’
‘Shit, Mal, you didn’t touch her, did you? Is that what that noise was in the back of the van?’
The man called Mal begun stammering.
‘You bloody fool,’ said the second man. The man who had been giving Siobhan her food.
‘I d-d-didn’t rape her.’
Siobhan was still trying to wriggle free of the ropes.
‘Nobody mentioned rape but you,’ said the old man. ‘I always know when you’re lying. I said no violence, and especially no violence towards women. This isn’t the first time you’ve let me down. You’ve become a liability.’ He turned to the taller man. ‘John, you know what to do.’
The taller man pulled a gun from the breast pocket of his jacket. Pointed it straight at the forehead of the stammering man. Siobhan fell silent through shock. Found she was holding her breath. The shorter man tried to back away. The taller man pulled the trigger. A deafening noise. A smokey gunpowder smell. Mal fell backwards. Sprawled on the ground. Blood oozing from the single bullet wound to his head.
Siobhan could barely hear her scream over the ringing in her ears.
‘What should I do with him?’ asked the man.
‘Christ. Why do I have to come up with all the answers. Shut up and let me think.’
***
‘Any idea how he died?’ asked Bingham. The Superintendent was sitting in his office behind his large mahogany desk. He cracked his knuckles. Once again Carruthers detected a faint whiff of cigarette smoke.
‘Slashed wrists. Looks like a suicide. Can’t rule out the possibility of murder, though. Mackie’ll keep us informed. They’re working as fast as they can. As soon as they have the official cause of death, they’ll let us know. To be honest, I don’t think it’s in any doubt. Not for me, anyway. It all fits with him wanting to be on his own.’
‘And why was he on his own, Carruthers? PC Waugh shouldn’t have left his post.’
Carruthers felt a terrible pang of guilt before speaking. ‘He was stationed in his car outside the house. Holdaway didn’t want anyone inside. Waugh was answering a call of nature when he was jumped.’
‘What a ruddy mess. We’ll have to get someone who knows Holdaway to ID the body. Then, of course, his wife in Spain has to be notified, unless she flies home to do it herself. What else is going on at the moment?’
‘I’ve had Siobhan Mathews’ flatmate in, Tomoko Kawase. Says Mathews hasn’t been seen since Sunday. She’s worried about her.’
‘Should we be?’
As he spoke Car
ruthers felt his chest tightening. ‘I don’t like the fact she doesn’t seem to have gone back to the flat. Apparently, she was going to stay in and have an early night after her interview.’ All his senses screamed to him that she was in trouble. He hoped to God that he was wrong.
‘Last known movement?’
‘Tomoko left her to take a walk on her own, down by the harbour at East Castle Beach after her interview. She was upset. I know that much.’
‘Hasn’t been seen since?’
‘No, sir. And I can’t raise her on the mobile.’
There was a knock on the door. Brown’s grey head appeared.
‘Reports have just come in of a gunshot over by a farm just outside Cupar.’
‘Gunshot? Who reported it?’
‘A birdwatcher. There’s something else. Gunshot was followed by the sound of a woman screaming.’
‘What do you think, Jim?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, could be just a local farmer scaring off pests or trespassers but I’ll get it checked out. Might be nothing to do with Williams, but with a bunch of terrorists on the loose… They’ve got to be somewhere. A remote farmhouse would be perfect.’
‘Brown, do we know who owns the farm?’ said Bingham.
‘Used to be old man Docherty’s, before he sold it. I know it was on the market for a few months, but I don’t know who bought it.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Carruthers. He looked across at Bingham. ‘Can I use your phone?’
Bingham gestured for him to go ahead.
Docherty had been a friend of Mairi’s father. Carruthers had got on well with him though they hadn’t been in contact since Jim’s marital split. The memories of the times they’d gone fishing together were good ones.
He picked up the phone on Bingham’s desk and dialled out. It was picked up on the third ring.
‘Ronnie’s garage. Ronnie Thomson speaking.’
‘Ronnie, Jim Carruthers here. No, nothing wrong with the car. Just wanted to pick your brains about something. You know old man Docherty, don’t you? Yes, that’s right. Used to have the farm out by Cupar. Do you know who bought the property off him?’
Carruthers listened intently. ‘Anything else you can tell me? OK, that’s great, cheers. If you can think of anything else, you’ve got my number. No. Nothing wrong. Just routine enquiries for a case we’re working on.’ Carruthers laughed. ‘Yes, you’re right. We do always say that. Cheers, Ronnie.’