by Alex Gray
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Detective Superintendent Lorimer parked his car in front of the double garage and looked up. It was a fine, stone house and, as his eyes carried on taking in details like the crow-stepped gabling, Lorimer was curious about its provenance. Old habits die hard, he chuckled to himself as he swung his long legs out of the car. His art history training had never really left him.
Mrs Livingstone had called him on his direct number, asking that he come to her house. An attempted break-in, was that what she had said? At any rate there had been something about a smashed window during the night. And, no, she hadn’t called the local police station.
Looking up, Lorimer could see pale hardboard covering a long space where the window had been. Narrowing his eyes and shading them against the rays of the sun, he noticed bright bits of colour reflected within the window frame. Not an ordinary window, then, but something much more precious, he thought, striding to the door and ringing the bell.
To the detective’s surprise it was not Nancy Livingstone who answered the door but Sarah Wilding, the nurse who had been so upset at David Imrie’s death.
‘Hello. Didn’t expect to see you here,’ Lorimer said, stepping forward as the nurse ushered him inside.
‘I’m staying here at the moment,’ Sarah explained. ‘My last digs weren’t up to much and Nancy wanted a lodger.’
She avoided eye contact with him, Lorimer noticed, as the blonde girl scampered off upstairs, calling on the lady of the house and leaving him standing alone in the hallway.
A quick look around him sufficed to let the detective see he was in a well cared for home. The polished side table with its huge bouquet of chrysanthemums, the richly patterned carpet (a tree of life design, he thought) and a glimpse of an original oil painting along the nearest corridor all spoke of a comfortable lifestyle. He took a couple of steps closer to the painting, its style tugging at his curiosity. Yes, unmistakable once you saw it; the turquoise waters and flying clouds above a dark brooding land mass. A Tom Shanks, unless he was very much mistaken.
‘Detective Superintendent.’
Lorimer whirled round as Nancy Livingstone came up to him, her footfall so silent that he had not heard her arrival.
‘Mrs Livingstone!’
‘Can we go into the lounge, perhaps?’ she began. ‘Or would you like to see the damage upstairs first?’
Lorimer followed her glance. ‘Upstairs, I think,’ he agreed and waved her to proceed before him. ‘You said it happened about four o’ clock this morning?’
‘That’s right,’ Nancy agreed. ‘Sarah sleeps over there.’ She motioned to the nearest door along the corridor. ‘She heard it first.’
‘Have you any idea who would do something like this?’ he asked, as they stood together on the landing, looking at the damaged window. ‘Have there been any other instances of vandalism in the neighbourhood? Friday nights can be notorious for things like that.’
‘No.’ Nancy shook her head. ‘I think this is an isolated incident.’ She looked at the detective superintendent and nodded towards the stairs. ‘Shall we go down now? There are things I would like to discuss with you.’
Lorimer frowned as he followed her back downstairs. She was being very calm about this. No hysterics, no wringing of hands or voicing any recriminations about the perpetrators of this act of vandalism. And all his senses were on alert to find out why.
‘You met Sarah at the door,’ Nancy said, waving a hand towards one of the pale cream settees that sat at an angle to one another in the spacious lounge. Lorimer resisted the temptation to stare at the walls, where several decent-sized paintings were on display.
‘Yes, she said she was staying here. You take in lodgers?’
Nancy managed a thin smile. ‘No, not really. But Sarah needed a better place to stay and…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s a big house for one person to live in, I suppose. Detective Superintendent, can I come straight to the point?’ She sat forward a little, making sure that he was paying close attention. ‘I think Sarah Wilding is in danger,’ she said quietly. ‘But I need to have an assurance from you that what I am about to tell you will not have her put back in prison. She’s had enough sorrow in her young life and I think she is on the path to a better way now.’
Back in prison? What on earth was going on here? Lorimer shifted uncomfortably. He was unused to being stared at so directly and yet there was no malice in the woman’s look, more a determination to make him see things her way.
‘If this is a police matter —’ he began.
‘It’s also a personal matter,’ Nancy broke in. ‘I called you because I wanted your help, not to make an official report. Sarah was released just a few weeks ago and she has been doing really well.’
‘I see.’ Lorimer leaned back and crossed his legs, waiting for her to continue.
‘Sarah Wilding was imprisoned for stealing drugs from the hospital where she used to work,’ Nancy told him. ‘She did it to help her brother. An addict.’ She shook her head and pursed her lips in a gesture that was more despairing than condemning of human frailty and the tall policeman found himself liking her for it.
‘Well, he died of an overdose.’ Nancy sighed. ‘Waste of a young life.’
‘It’s a common story these days, I’m afraid,’ Lorimer agreed.
‘He told his sister that he needed the drugs to give to some dealers. Told her they would kill him if he didn’t.’
‘And she believed him?’
Nancy nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. And now she blames herself for his death.’
Lorimer thought back to the emotion that the blonde nurse had displayed at the nursing home. She was a bit fragile, wasn’t she? And maybe now he was finding out why.
‘What has this got to do with the damage upstairs?’ Lorimer asked, although his mind was already turning to possible scenarios of his own.
‘Sarah has been threatened by some men who claim to have known her brother,’ Nancy said carefully, dropping her gaze for a moment, something that Lorimer picked up on immediately. Was he being given an edited version of what had happened?
‘Go on.’
‘They visited this house only yesterday, shouting through the front door. But Sarah pretended not to hear them.’
‘And how did they know she lives here? Has she been in contact with them?’
Nancy sighed and shook her head. ‘This is the hard bit, Detective Superintendent. I’m afraid that these men have been coercing Sarah Wilding into something she didn’t want to do.’
There was silence between them, the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece sounding loud to Lorimer’s ears. He was a patient man but there was something going on that needed to be said and he wasn’t going to shift from this chair until that happened.
‘I think,’ he said at last, ‘I’d better talk to Sarah herself.’
Nancy stiffened where she sat and he could see from the way her eyes flitted to the door and back that the nursing home manager was anxious. Why? What was it about this young woman that had elicited such a measure of concern?
‘I don’t want to make any formal complaint against Sarah,’ Nancy said at last. ‘She may have made an error of judgement but I understand why she did.’
‘If your lodger is found to have committed a crime —’
‘She did something without permission,’ Nancy broke in. ‘Any part she may have played in a crime would have been quite unwitting,’ she insisted, her voice clear and calm, a smile even hovering upon her lips.
‘And if I decided that she had committed a crime…?’
‘I think there is a greater judge over us all, Superintendent, don’t you?’ Nancy said quietly. ‘One who will eventually decide who is the sinner and who has been sinned against.’
Lorimer stifled a sigh. She was one of those Holy Willies, then. And she’d taken an ex-con into her home to try to show her the way to salvation. Yet sitting opposite and regarding him gravely, Nancy Livingstone did not give Lorimer the imp
ression that she was soft in the head, no matter how kind her heart might be. Rather, there was a no-nonsense air about her that he was inclined to respect.
‘It is possible that Sarah may have been involved in the death of David Imrie,’ Nancy began, then held up her hand as Lorimer was about to reply. ‘Hear me out, please.’
Lorimer took a deep breath and waited.
‘Sarah was abducted by some men who held her at knifepoint and forced her to promise that she would copy the names and details of our patients’ next of kin,’ Nancy explained. ‘I told you that she was in fear of her life and I meant it. These are very dangerous people, Superintendent. And I imagine that you would like to apprehend them rather than a frightened young woman,’ she added drily.
‘I still need to speak to Sarah. Hear the story from her,’ Lorimer sighed.
Nancy Livingstone stared at him then dropped her gaze and nodded. ‘I’ll go and fetch her,’ she agreed. ‘And then I think I’d better put the kettle on. Would you care for some tea or coffee?’
He was standing by the window when he heard the light footstep behind him. Turning, he saw the girl standing in the middle of the room, twisting her hands nervously together. Her eyes were red rimmed. Tears of contrition? Or had she been sobbing in fear of being returned to Cornton Vale again so soon after her release?
‘Sarah, come and sit down,’ he said gently, waving a hand at the long settee that faced the fireplace.
For a moment he thought that the girl might turn and flee from the room. She looked so young standing there in her stocking soles, no make-up on her pale face and hair tied back in a ponytail. He’d seen plenty of ex-cons in his time, tough women who would narrow their eyes when he looked at them, mendacious creatures, some of those whose lives were punctuated by spells inside HM prisons. But this girl looked different, almost as though her experience inside had left her untouched and still vulnerable. He could see why Nancy Livingstone had taken such a shine to her. Wasn’t she the perfect material for a religious type to get their claws into?
As soon as the thought came to him, Lorimer felt ashamed. That was not worthy of him. Everyone deserved a second chance, didn’t they? And he was all in favour of organisations like SHINE and SACRO that helped prisoners fit into the outside world.
‘What did Nancy tell you?’ Sarah whispered, sitting in the farthest corner of the settee from the tall detective.
‘I know a bit about your recent history,’ Lorimer admitted. ‘But I need to know more about what has been happening to you since you left Cornton Vale.’
The girl looked at him with wide, frightened eyes.
‘I want to help you if I can, Sarah,’ he continued gently. ‘But I can’t do that unless you are prepared to trust me.’
He smiled at her, softening the blue gaze that had crushed many hardened criminals.
‘I wouldn’t have hurt Mr Imrie,’ she whispered at last. ‘That’s the last thing I would’ve wanted. I didn’t know…’
‘It’s all right, Sarah. Just start from the beginning and tell me everything.’
Lorimer drove back into the city, his head full of tumbling thoughts. He had instructed the girl to hold on to the mobile in case they made contact with her again. There would be time to have it examined by their own technical people, see if they could trace any of the calls, but he reckoned that it was better kept in Sarah Wilding’s possession for the time being. By rights he should arrest the girl, but there had been no official complaint about her copying these patient files. Only Nancy Livingstone knew, the girl having broken down in tears, confessing her guilt. And the nursing home manager was not about to reveal this to her sister. Perhaps, he thought cynically, because Mrs Abbott would be less lenient with the former inmate.
Why had anyone wanted these patient files? And had this anything to do with Maggie’s cousin’s death? Was Sarah Wilding playing a dangerous game here? Okay, she’d been held at knifepoint (something that could not be proved in a court of law) and was in fear for her life. But she’d trusted Nancy Livingstone. And, though he was reluctant to admit it to himself, there was something about that woman that William Lorimer grudgingly admired. Not only did he feel she was telling him the truth, but he was certain that she only wanted the best for the girl. And, if he were to make this a part of his official inquiry, then Sarah Wilding might well find herself back in Cornton Vale.
‘Why?’ Sarah stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking in.
Nancy turned from the sink where she had been cleaning vegetables to make some soup, a weekend task that, she told Sarah, gave her a lot of satisfaction.
‘Why what?’
‘Why do you want to protect me?’ Sarah came into the kitchen and sat down at the wooden table. ‘What do I mean to you? I mean, you hardly know me and yet…?’
‘Oh, Sarah.’ Nancy wiped her hands on a dishcloth and came to sit next to her. ‘I want you to have that second chance. Don’t you see? You’re so full of remorse for what happened with your brother. And if you don’t try to put all of that behind you, then you may be sucked right back into whatever it was Pete was involved in.’
‘Did that policeman say what he was going to do?’ the girl asked dully.
‘No. But if he had been going to make something of it, wouldn’t he have taken you down to the police station? Besides, nobody has made an official complaint against you.’
‘That’s because you haven’t told Mrs Abbott,’ Sarah said.
‘And until I need to do that, my sister will remain none the wiser about how these files got into the hands of those men!’
‘But why would you bother with someone like me?’ Sarah murmured, looking down at her hands.
‘Because you’re worth it?’ Nancy asked with a smile. ‘Can I tell you a story?’
Sarah tried to return the smile, lips trembling. ‘A once upon a time?’
‘If you like.’ She settled herself at the table and looked into Sarah’s eyes. ‘Once upon a time there was a shepherd who had a flock of sheep. A hundred of them, all ages and sizes, lambs as well as ewes and rams. Well, one day he saw that one of them was missing. A wee lamb.’
‘Someone had stolen it?’ Sarah suggested.
‘He didn’t know,’ Nancy replied. ‘But he left the flock and set off over the rough hill country and called out all the time to see if he could find it. Eventually he heard a weak little cry.’
‘His wee lamb?’
‘Right. And it was stuck under a tree root in a place that was difficult and dangerous to access. He would be putting his own life in danger just to rescue that little creature.’
‘And did he? Or did he do the sensible thing and leave it where it was?’ Sarah replied, her eyes giving Nancy a knowing look as if she could tell which way the tale was proceeding.
‘I think you know what choice he made, don’t you, Sarah?’
‘So he found the lamb, carried it back and they all lived happily ever after.’ The girl’s voice held a note of cynicism.
‘Don’t you want a happy ending, Sarah?’ Nancy asked, her expression quite serious.
The girl shrugged and looked away.
‘Or do you still feel that you don’t deserve to have another chance at life?’
Nancy rose from the table and resumed her chore by the sink, now taking the leek and carrots and beginning to slice them into little pieces.
Sarah sat still, gazing at the woman’s back. Nobody had ever given her future a second thought. Well, maybe Catherine Reid… and of course she was Nancy’s friend, wasn’t she? She looked at the woman busily peeling a carrot, its skin one long orange strip curling on to the chopping board. They were different from the people she had known, even the nurses whose profession was to care for others. But this was personal.
This woman cared enough to make the young woman consider her question carefully. Was she a little lamb worth saving? Sarah had dim memories of the Bible story and its underlying meaning.
And how she responded to this old, ol
d tale was going to determine just what steps she took next.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
When she awoke it was to a sense of bewilderment; the where am I feeling that comes from the day after a holiday when home appears strange for those initial seconds.
She was in her own bed… well, that was a moot point, wasn’t it. Sarah sighed. It was the bed that had belonged to another woman, Tracey Livingstone. It was only hers for the duration. Another sigh. How long could she remain here? The incident of the night-time rock crashing through that lovely window had made Sarah think hard about her future.
Not for the first time did she regret her rejection of SHINE, the organisation that existed to help female offenders get back on their feet. I’m not like them, Sarah had told herself. My life isn’t in chaos like theirs. She had compared herself with the junkie women who had mental-health issues, kids at home running mad… she didn’t have such problems in her life. If only she had known then how things would turn out!
And yet, Sarah mused, she did have a mentor, didn’t she? Catherine Reid, her social worker, had put her in touch with Nancy and the woman who slept along the corridor was better than anyone SHINE could have provided.
God is good, Nancy had said last night, a simple phrase as she’d kissed Sarah’s cheek and said goodnight. But she meant it, Sarah thought, turning in the bed and coorying more deeply under the duvet. Today was Sunday. Would she go to church with Nancy again? The thought depressed her a little. To be sitting there with all those worthy folk seemed like a cheek. Sarah Wilding, ex-con, in amongst the good, respectable people of Bearsden!
Yet the notion of spending Sunday alone in the house made her shiver. What if they came back and found her here? No, going to church and feeling like an outsider was a penance worth enduring.
‘Here.’ Nancy thrust an armful of clothes on to Sarah’s neatly made bed. ‘Tracey told me ages ago to give them to Marks and Sparks. They pass them on to Oxfam, you know.’ She smiled and shrugged. ‘Must be some reason I kept putting that off,’ she laughed. ‘Perhaps they were meant to come to you, Sarah!’