She dropped her head, chest heaving. For a moment Doug thought she was crying, then felt his body go cold as he realised what she was actually doing.
Laughing.
“Oh, Mr McGregor,” she said, not lifting her head. Her voice had taken on a sing-song lilt that grated in Doug’s ears and made him glance at the door, figure out how fast he could get there. “You are a clever boy, a very clever boy. Charlie was a clever boy too, wasn’t he? Thirty years I helped those fucking wasters, junkies and petty thieves. And what did I get for it?” She looked around the room, her face a sneer of contempt. “This. A dead-end life with a son who would never leave and a husband who could never come home. So when I saw the chance to do something for me, to right the wrongs we had suffered, I took it. And so what if a little shit like Paul Welsh got hurt in the process?”
Doug felt the air around him grow heavy, charged. Oh shi…
She exploded forward from her chair, hissing. Collided with Doug’s chest and drove him back onto the couch. Lashed out at him with feral intensity, clawing, punching, gouging. She made no sound other than her panting breath.
“Get the fuck OFF ME!” Doug roared, bucking his hips and rolling her away. She fell awkwardly off the couch, rolled and came up to her knees. Her eyes were blazing with hate and intent and, in that instant, Doug saw the killer behind the mask she had worn.
She smiled at him, baring small teeth, then darted back towards the shelves next to her chair. Grabbed an ornament and hurled it at Doug. He flinched instinctively, bringing his arms up. Grunted as something small and sharp bounced off his head, felt blood start to ooze from the wound.
He lunged to his left, for the door, screamed at a bolt of agony that lanced up his leg. Looked down to see the jagged stump of a glass ornament jutting out from his thigh.
Diane pounced on him again, raining blows down on his back and neck. He thrashed around, trying to throw her off, felt his elbow connect with something hard, felt teeth collapse under the force.
She cried out, staggering back. Wiped the blood from her mouth across her face like war paint, that same empty smile playing on her lips.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” she snarled. Doug made again for the door, managed to pry it open an inch. She kicked it closed, followed up with a thundering blow to his already wounded temple. He slid to his knees, the impact ringing in his ears and making it hard to think. Cried out as she stamped down on his hand, fingers making a brittle, crunching noise as they snapped under the weight. Instinctively, he pulled his hand to his chest and she drove forward with a knee to his chin. He collapsed and she danced around him, kicking, panting, laughing. He grunted as the kicks drove the air from his lungs, tried to gasp for breath.
Thought of Greig, also gasping for breath. Is this what he felt? Lungs heaving, unable to fill them and ease the agony in his chest. Blood spouting from his mouth, his body a traitor, his hand feeling only ragged and torn flesh where his throat should have been.
Look at me.
Another kick landed. Doug screamed as a rib gave way.
The sound of Greig’s skull cracking open as it hammered off the conference table.
He grunted as a kick hit his shoulder, numbing his arm.
The feel of his blood between Doug’s fingers, slick and hot and viscous.
With a scream, Doug straightened up. Adrenalin pounded through his body, washing away the pain, the fear, the doubt. He grabbed for her foot, caught it clumsily and pulled as hard as he could. Diane toppled to the floor, grunting with shock as the breath was driven out of her. Doug rose unsteadily to his feet, looked down, saw she was trying to get up.
Swung his leg and kicked her in the side of the head as hard as he could.
She cried out, head snapping to the side with the force of the blow. He lashed out again, tears streaming down his face, Greig and Pearson and Harvey filling his mind. Betrayal. From all of them.
She whimpered, tried to pull herself away.
He kicked her again.
Her arms flailed and then fell to the floor as blood dribbled from her mouth and her glasses slid from her face.
He kicked her again. And again. And again. This bitch who had led to two people dying in front of him, who had forced him to look at everything he had believed in and shown it to be a lie.
I think I know what it’s like to be a father.
He looked up at the walls. Danny smiled down at him from everywhere. He vaguely noticed he even looked like Greig. Something about the nose and the eyes.
Doug backed away, slid down the far wall next to the door. Watched the bloodied lump of Diane Pearson on the floor in front of him very closely.
When he saw her chest rise and fall, he dropped his head between his knees, crying harder, everything he had been denying bleeding out of him with his tears. He had come here to confront Diane with the truth, to show her that there was a price to pay for what she had done. Instead, he had beaten her half to death, fuelled by rage and sorrow and loss. And what did that make him? Was he another of Harvey’s pawns, manipulated into exacting one last dose of revenge for someone who had lied to him for years, collateral damage in his grand plan to try and justify his actions to himself? Or was he a man driven beyond his limits and lashing out against the horrors he had seen?
He didn’t have an answer, and that terrified him. He had known who he wanted to be and what he wanted to do his whole life. And now what? Susie had once called him a story-hungry idealist, and look where that idealism had led him.
He took a deep hitching breath, forced his lungs to fill and his mind to quiet as he focused on Diane’s ragged, guttural breathing, and dimly wondered how long it would take Susie to make sense of the message he had sent her.
65
Burns sat across his desk from Susie, red hair glowing in the desk lamp he had trained over his head. His lips moved soundlessly as he read her reports, absently gutting a cigarette and flicking tobacco off the pages. When he reached the last page, he closed the folder slowly, placed his hand over it and looked up at Susie, eyes bloodshot from a lack of sleep and too much coffee.
“I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from that wee shite McGregor?” he said finally.
Susie felt her cheeks begin to burn. “Yes, sir, you did. But it just didn’t work out that way. McGregor contacted me when he was en route to Mrs Pearson’s house. Given the cryptic nature of his message, I felt I had no option but to investigate further.”
Burns snorted, rubbed his fingers together as he added to the growing pile of tobacco on his desk. “And it never occurred to you to contact the local station and get them to send an officer to Mrs Pearson’s address?”
“Well, I, ah…”
Burns took his hand off the folder, held it up. “Forget it, Susie, I’m too tired for bullshit. You should have reported it as soon as he got in touch. He left a fucking crime scene, for fuck’s sake, you knew he was a person of interest. You’re just lucky Pearson was so willing to spill her guts when she woke up.”
Susie nodded, remembering the scene that had confronted her when she arrived at Pearson’s home. The living room looked as if an earthquake had hit it, shattered ornaments twinkling on the floor, furniture upturned and jostled out of position. Doug sitting propped against one wall, his face puffy with tears and bruises, blood oozing and pooling around the jagged stump of an ornament sticking out of his leg. Opposite him, Diane “Frankie” Pearson lay crumpled on the floor, murmuring and cackling between quiet sobs of pain.
Susie had arranged ambulances for them both, called the local station and had them cordon off the whole street as a crime scene. By the time the ambulances arrived, every house had a light on, the blue strobes from the emergency vehicles bouncing off the opening curtains and freezing curious faces in their glare. They were taken to the Victoria in Kirkcaldy, which had the closest A&E, put in private rooms with of
ficers on the doors.
After checking on Doug, and making sure he kept his mouth shut so he didn’t say something to land himself in any more shit, she went to check on Diane Pearson.
She was lying propped up in bed, white-blonde hair fanned out on the pillow behind her. The dark, angry bruises creeping across her face seemed to merge with the gloom of the room, leaving only her eyes glittering from the shadows. The doctors said she had three broken ribs, a hairline fracture of her left leg and had lost at least four teeth. Thinking about Doug’s mangled hand – three fingers broken, the thumb dislocated and the bones in his palm fractured – she wished it was more serious.
Pearson looked up, smiled through bloodied lips when she saw Susie slip into the room. When she spoke, her voice sounded amused, almost mischievous, and it made Susie’s skin crawl.
“Ah, Susie, good to see you again. How’s your friend? I didn’t hurt him too badly, did I? I hope not. He seems like such a nice boy.”
Susie saw her watching her, the cold amusement and calculation. She was trying to get a reaction. Fine. Fuck her. She wasn’t going to get one.
“He’s fine,” she said quietly, slipping into a chair beside the bed, making sure it was just out of arm’s reach, even with the cuffs chaining her to the side rail. “However, he did make a troubling accusation about you. That you were somehow involved in the death of Charlie Montgomery and linked to a known drug dealer in the city?”
Diane threw back her head and laughed, the sound of bottles crashing into a recycling bin. Susie could see bruises trailing across her neck like wine stains, made a mental note to make sure Doug’s statement had a line in it that he felt he was in “mortal danger”. Which wasn’t much of a lie.
“Oh, Susie, Susie,” Diane said, the manic laugh giving way to the occasional amused snort. “Mr McGregor really is a clever, clever boy.”
She looked off out the window, the glow from the street lights making her bruises look gangrenous. “There’s no point in denying it now, I suppose. After all, I’ve got what I wanted.”
Slowly, she told Susie everything, as if it was a secret she had been holding on to for years and was dying to tell. About how she had found Paul and got to Dessie Banks through him, sold drugs to the patients she was supposed to be helping. How she had got in touch with Gavin not long after he had been released from prison, using Paul and Dessie as go-betweens so they weren’t seen together. “After all,” she told Susie, her eyes dead and calm, “it wouldn’t have done for a respected counsellor to be seen with a convicted murderer, would it?” So they met in a flat Banks had arranged, with Danny getting the first real chance to meet his dad. “They spent hours together reading comics,” Diane told her, as though she was sharing gossip.
When Danny was hurt, and Greig had reacted in the way he had, she had snapped. Contacted Gavin, set him on a killing spree for them all. “It wasn’t hard, Susie – he loved Danny more than life. He never asked for a DNA test, you know, even after I told him about Greig. He didn’t care. Danny was what he wanted him to be. Our child. His son.”
So she had cashed in her favours with Dessie and got Gavin what he needed. But Charlie was all hers. After all, Gavin was capable of shooting a coward and dealing with an old man, but taking out a relatively fit man? “No, that was woman’s work. Gavin was there with me in spirit, though. He gave me a spare bullet to give to Charlie as a memento.”
Burns coughed pointedly, bringing Susie back to the present. She sneered in disgust as she saw him shovel a handful of the raw tobacco into his mouth. He smiled and nodded towards her.
“Better than smoking,” he said. “You know you’ll have to get her statement verified, don’t you? And will that little scrote who was dealing for her corroborate all this?”
“Yes, sir,” she nodded. “We got the records from Diane’s office, which shows he was a client of hers. We’ve also got her business card in the belongings taken from Stevie Leith’s flat. Stevie never met her face to face, he only ever dealt with ‘Frankie’ on the phone. But with Dessie Banks backing her up, he wasn’t going to say no to her.”
Burns nodded slowly, chewing on his tobacco like it was a succulent steak. “Dessie Banks,” he murmured. “I’ve been waiting for years to have a shot at him.”
Susie said nothing, waited as Burns enjoyed a private fantasy. Finally, he refocused on her, almost surprised she was there. “Okay, get the paperwork done on this ASAP. I don’t want any slips, especially with the Chief watching.”
Susie shifted in her seat slightly. “Sir, ah, about that…”
Burns looked at her coolly, seemed to read her thoughts. Sighed. “I don’t know, Susie, I really don’t. The Chief has a thing for you for some reason, though I’ll be fucked if I know what it is. He’s still pressing me to keep you on the sidelines. This,” – he tapped the folder – “will help, but that little shit McGregor being involved is going to create a world of problems.”
A world of problems, Susie thought. That summed Doug up perfectly. The contact who was also a friend. Sometimes. The friend she had set up with another friend. So why did she feel so… jealous? Did she want more with Doug? Maybe, but was it a price worth paying? Lose a friend, and, given what Burns had said, her career. And for what? And, anyway, what feelings had Doug shown for her – or Rebecca, for that matter? She knew his type: all charm and easy smiles, more focused on his career than even she was. So what was she playing at?
“…I said you’re dismissed, Drummond.”
Susie started in her chair. “Sorry, sir, just thinking. Thank you, sir.”
He nodded, shovelled another wad of tobacco into his mouth. “Go home, Susie, get some rest. And think about what I said. McGregor might be handy, but he’s not worth it. And cutting corners like this is only going to get you in the shit.”
Susie murmured agreement, closed the door gently behind her. Walked through the almost empty corridors of the station, Burns’s words echoing in her ears in time with the click-clack of her heels.
He’s not worth it. This is only going to get you in the shit.
She pushed the thought away, changed course for the locker room and the trainers and running gear she kept there. She could run home in less than an hour, sweat out thoughts of Doug and Rebecca and Diane Pearson’s dead, leering smile long before she reached the front door.
Everything else, she could worry about tomorrow.
66
Hal sat in the living room of Doug’s flat, sipping on coffee he insisted making himself and studying the page Doug had called up on his iPad.
“So,” Doug asked, limping into the room carrying a plate of biscuits in his right hand, his left in a cast, “what do you think?”
Hal looked up at him. It had been a week since Doug’s confrontation with Diane Pearson, and the damage was starting to heal. The bruises crept across his face like a sunset, and Hal could see him wince every time he took a breath. Not surprising, two broken ribs would do that to you. But the morose silence that marked the first days was passing, thawing like ice in the sun, the old Doug peeking through slowly.
“What do I think?” Hal asked as Doug put down the biscuits and eased himself into his seat. “Fix the PR for the hotel where a killer ex-soldier blew his own brains out in the lounge? Make it a destination resort for the rich staycation and foreign tourist markets? Yeah, I can do it. Question is, why?”
I think I know what it feels like to be a father. To see a man you consider your son and be proud of him.
Doug glanced at him from across the lip of his mug. “It’s not for him,” he said softly. “It isn’t. It’s for Esther. I want her to see the place doing well before she… you know.”
Hal nodded. Harvey had some tough questions to answer, but despite Diane’s letter and the recovered articles in the Tribune, there was no real evidence that he had done anything wrong. He had arranged for Charlie to oversee Gavin’
s case, but it was Charlie who had ensured Pearson got the maximum sentence. Then Harvey had made sure Greig had honoured his word to look after Diane and Danny. Yes, he’d received an overly-generous retirement package, which might go some way to explaining the cuts and financial problems the Trib was now facing, but there was no evidence of criminality in his actions. Telling Kevin Drainey that the Greig and Montgomery murders were linked? Nothing more than an old reporter sharing a theory. Definitely not an attempt to lure Doug away from Skye and Pearson, and back to the story – and absolutely not a way of pinning both murders on Gavin in a desperate, misguided attempt to protect Diane when he worked out what was going on.
The shorthand interview, and his notepad being in Pearson’s possession was more difficult to explain, but not impossible. There was nothing in it to confirm if it was genuine or Harvey had made the whole thing up – after all, it wouldn’t be the first time a reporter fabricated a source or tried to make up a story. As for the note at the front of the book, any good lawyer could argue that it was the deluded rantings of an old man pushed to the brink by nursing a terminally ill wife, trying to play himself back into the industry he loved and be part of the story again.
And if Doug had learned one thing, it was that Harvey knew a lot of lawyers.
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