Where There is Evil

by Sandra Brown

  ‘I’m not responsible.’ I repeated William’s words like a talisman.

  ‘D’you understand that? You are not to take the blame though there’s some who would like to pass it. They should be looking in,’ here William pointed to his heart, ‘before they look out. Because their criticisms are just coming off their tongue like that, and the simple reason is, it’s easier to blame others rather than themselves. I’ve got to be honest with you, they don’t seem to feel they are at fault. The lady’s saying that the most important thing here at the moment is you, right? Where is there a child?’

  I wondered if William was using telepathy. I’d thought of Moira, and he had mentioned a child. Wordlessly, I extracted from my bag a nameless head-and-shoulders photo of Moira.

  I pushed the photo towards him.

  ‘This is the child,’ I said.

  ‘I know.’ William glanced at the photograph briefly. ‘All I keep getting is – I’m not getting a link on the other side . . . All I keep getting told is that there’s a lady in the world of spirits who is trying to help.’

  ‘I’ve had nightmares for ages about this child,’ I interrupted him. There was a silence, then William regarded me with great compassion in his eyes. He concentrated hard, as if listening to a conversation to which I was not attuned.

  ‘What I’m being told is . . . there’s somebody connected to that child – family? – who has taken her away.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They actually lured her into a false sense of security – and then took her away, miles from where she lived. And also it is not totally sorted out yet.’

  ‘It’s not, no.’

  ‘Right. The child is now grown-up and doesn’t know the half of it.’

  ‘I was a child when this happened, and I don’t, but this child,’ I pointed to Moira’s picture, ‘is she on the other side? Can you say that?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got to be honest. I’m sorry, I feel that.’

  ‘Yes, I think she is,’ I agreed sadly.

  ‘She’s there, yes. She is there.’

  ‘She’s not a member of my family, but I feel—’ I broke down at this point. ‘I feel my father’s responsible for this child not being here any more.’

  William stared into the corner of the room, beyond me, but I could see nothing.

  ‘I feel that now this child could be late thirties or early forties, maybe forty-three? And not long after she disappeared, she went.’ He snapped his fingers quickly, and the sound made me jump. ‘But you’ve had her several times in your material life back to you.’

  My own eyes widened. There was only one thing he could be referring to.

  ‘She – I’ve been having nightmares about this wee girl,’ I croaked.

  ‘Because she’s visited you three times in dream form.’

  ‘Yes.’ The word was just a whisper. It can just be heard on the tape recording.

  ‘It’s to let you know—’

  ‘She’s told me the truth.’

  ‘That’s what’s breaking you apart. All I keep seeing is that she’s forgiven him.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘But I can’t forgive him,’ I said.

  ‘That’s what I mean. What I’ve been told to tell you is that if it’s getting opened up, watch. Right? Because you’ll feel the pain.’

  ‘I’m feeling it now,’ I said, and it was true.

  ‘I feel as if you don’t know who to turn to, and all she’s saying is that she’s – calm down, calm down.’ William attempted to comfort me. Then he sat up, and seemed to become another person altogether. ‘She was very chatty and very cheerful, and very, you know, as a child . . .’ William tossed his head as a young girl would, and his voice altered to that of a child: ‘ “Yes, let’s go here.” She’s got a wee bit of properness in her voice. And she’s showing me a playground . . . where I’m near . . . a playground.’

  Where I’m near. It could only be Dunbeth Park, so close to her home.

  ‘A park with chutes?’ I asked William quietly. He was still being her, I could see.

  ‘Yes. I’m actually getting somebody playing with skipping ropes as well. There seem to be some trees, and a main road behind me – d’you understand? – and I seem to have a blue-coloured dress on, some kind of blue colouring. I have to make sure I know that whom I’m giving this to, it’s correct – my guide tells me that it’s taken a lot of strength and power to bring her here. But she is on the other side of life, she’s not here on the material. OK?’

  ‘I understand,’ I said. ‘I’ve known that, I think, for a year now.’

  ‘She’s passed away.’ William’s voice was his own now, which relieved me as the last few moments had been spooky, and the back of my neck was prickling. Moira had managed, through this young man, to confirm for me the one memory I had of seeing her which I had written down so recently. ‘And I wouldn’t say it was natural causes. I have to be honest, I feel the child has seen too much. She’s deluding, and she’s not showing me – but then again, sometimes there’s things I’m not allowed to see – but I feel you’ve seen some of it.’

  William looked at me hard.

  ‘I’ve definitely seen some of it.’

  ‘I feel that you couldn’t believe it when you were seeing it. And it is not your imagination at all. Because,’ added William, snapping his fingers once more, ‘your life just went like that, overnight. I feel that what I’ve been told to tell you is you’ve got to let things go the way they are just now. What I’m getting here is that the child – she trusted the person that had taken her away. She trusted the person. All I’m getting is that she’s come to you – you must’ve been close at some point? – and she’s only been able to contact you in the recent past . . .’

  ‘Very recently, only the last few weeks.’

  ‘Because the simple reason is, she didn’t want your material life disturbed earlier, because it would have damaged your life,’ William explained, ‘and, in spirit, we’re not allowed to interfere in people’s lives until it comes to a stage where something must be done. That’s why the guides wouldn’t allow her to come to you before, but she seems to be coming through now. You had to get on with your own life, and plus when your children were coming you would have been over-protective, and you would’ve gone over everything, and you’d have been going out of your mind. But now they’re up, and they’ve got their independence.’

  ‘They have.’ I was staggered at how much William seemed to know about a woman he’d never encountered before, and when he only knew my first name. Certainly, you could tell from the diamond ring and the wedding band on my left hand that I was married, but there were no clues to my children or their ages.

  ‘They’ve got independence,’ he repeated, ‘they’re finding their own level, and they’re going out into the world. So they’re now able to let the contact come through.’

  ‘Contact come through?’

  ‘Don’t forget that she’s not a child any more. We’re looking at a grown woman, and you’ll probably see her in a grown form.’

  ‘No, I’ve actually seen her as she is here,’ I said, tapping on the photograph, ‘but in my dreams, she’s turned into my own wee girl.’

  ‘Is that right? That’s probably because of the innocence of it. Do you understand what I mean? Also, she could be trying to warn you as well.’

  ‘Warn me?’

  ‘Like, watch what you’re doing. Be careful with your emotions. Do you know what I mean? That type of situation. Also, she’s probably walked with your own wee girl in her life – she’s been there to protect her and make sure nobody harmed her. But you haven’t seen her in a grown-up form, though you’ll probably be aware of her maturity at one point, when she comes back to you. The dreams have stopped slightly – right? – just to ease your mind a bit. Because you’ve got to ease your mind at the moment or you’ll go out of it. And I’ve to say this, she’s more worried about you than anything else and you’ve to try and accept that she is away.’r />
  I noticed beads of sweat on William’s brow now. He looked exhausted. But there was one thing I felt I had to ask before the session stopped.

  ‘But, I’ve got to try and find out where he put this wee lassie. Her family never knew what happened to her.’

  ‘It seems to be near a quarry or where there’s a lot of land.’ William was tense, straining his ears. ‘But I’m being told by my guide that it will be almost impossible to find the remains of that child, where her body is.’ Then he added, ‘They’ll probably reveal something to you. But it will be difficult to obtain it, because there are a lot of changes in the area that it happened in. Sorry I couldn’t give you anything else, but this is what’s dominating your life. You would never have turned against a man you felt respect and love for if you didn’t feel it was so important. But I feel as if your family probably won’t accept it.’

  ‘My mother won’t accept it.’

  ‘For anything,’ agreed William. ‘If anything, she probably thinks you’re going out of your mind, and she really won’t accept it – but she knows things about your father that nobody knows. She will probably defend him—’

  ‘Right to the end!’ we said in unison.

  William reassured me again that Moira’s spirit was fine and added that both her parents were now with her. I asked if he thought the body might have been dumped in water.

  ‘All I’m getting’s a quarry, so it could be water, I’m not sure. When you get sites like that, there’s usually water round about it. But I don’t see her being flung in the sea.’

  ‘You know how you said she was taken away? I’m sure she was,’ I mused, ‘but I can’t see it being far.’

  ‘It’s not far but it’s definitely near a quarry,’ said William, getting up and heading for the door. ‘Now she didn’t tell me what happened. I’ll see what I can do for you. Stay here and I’ll get you a glass of water.’ He was visibly shaken.

  When C took him to the station, he told her not to take the car she was driving north next day. Then he said, ‘How close are you to that last girl I saw there?’

  ‘Actually, we’re all related,’ said C. ‘I’m her cousin. What is it?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell her that what we were getting . . . It was a murder. Tell her if she wants me to help the police I will. Good night. Don’t take this car on your trip.’

  C stared at him as he got out and went into the station.

  The following day, she took her car in for a service. A number of faults came to light.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  There are those, I am sure, who will be cynical about the events that occurred in Coatbridge that evening of 23 April 1993, and of what passed between a young man from Glasgow and a woman he had never set eyes on before, from Edinburgh, and who will question both sincerity and authenticity. All I can say is that Jim McEwan was not one of them.

  D’s brother-in-law taped a copy of the recording of our consultations and Ronnie listened to it carefully. He said, ‘Give it to the police team, tell them he’s willing to help, and leave it to them to decide on whether this man is some kind of fraudster or the genuine article.’

  While the tape made its way to Airdrie police station, I got William’s full name and address from D and telephoned him to let him know the police might contact him. He did not sound surprised. ‘I’ll do all I can to help,’ he said simply. ‘Something similar has happened before.’

  He told me a little of his background, and I realized he took his gift very seriously.

  ‘So, anyway,’ I said, ‘you’re quite happy for me to pass on your name to the police?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said William. ‘What you should be aware of is that your gran told me she couldn’t rest in peace, knowing she had covered up for your dad all these years. Now she’s in spirit, she knows he’s responsible. This is why something is being done to try and balance the scales of justice now.’

  I was silent. I thought of Granny Jenny and the cryptic remarks she had made to me, always retracting them or changing the subject.

  ‘I’ve had her back,’ said William, as if describing someone he’d bumped into in the street.

  ‘So is she still worried about me?’ I asked with interest.

  His answer was forthright. ‘Oh, no, I don’t think so. She’s just very upset that he has the same name as his father, who she tells me was a very respectable ambulance man.’

  ‘Did she say his name to you?’ I held my breath.

  ‘Yes, she did,’ he answered cheerfully, ‘and I can see you’re called after him, too – it’s Sandy, or Sanny or something like that, short for—’

  ‘Alexander.’

  ‘That’s right. She was worried about the surname too, because it was unusual.’

  Jim McEwan and Gus Paterson arranged to interview William a week or so later. They assured me it was not preposterous to involve him and Jim spoke of a recent murder investigation where the killer of a Rutherglen woman taxi driver had been traced through the help of a clairvoyant. Jim’s view was that, with a murder case as complex and long ago as Moira’s, he was willing to meet William and form his own opinion. The two policemen picked up William, escorted him to Coatbridge and drove him around the area to see what he picked up in the way of vibes.

  I spoke to Gus the day after. He said that he had been almost as staggered as I was by William. ‘It was uncanny,’ he said. ‘Jim and I were determined to give the guy as few clues as possible, so we just drove him around to see what he would say and do. We headed through the Cliftonville area, and it was as if the guy came to life. He recognized her street and murmured something about it “not looking right”. The Andersons’ home was knocked down years ago. He said, “It isn’t there any more,” though all the rest of the houses are exactly as they were. He talked about the park being nearby, and directed us to Dunbeth Park. Then, at the gates, he asked us outright if it was an ex-cop we were interviewing. He seemed confused, then stressed the man we have to speak to wore a uniform. He kept repeating, “She says she trusted him because of his uniform, so I guess it must be a cop.” Then, a moment later, he was saying, “Where is a bus involved in all this? I’m clearly picking up she got on a bus.” On the way back from the Townhead area, he made us turn off a side road. We went up Gartgill Road, into quite a desolate area. It takes you up towards abandoned pits and quarries, but he got us to stop at the large pond that’s round that way, near the old signal box. He seemed to be looking for three big brick chimneys near railway lines. There were old brick works round there, years ago, but they were demolished in the sixties.’

  ‘I lived in Coatbridge all through my childhood,’ I said, ‘and I’ve never wondered where that little road goes or used it.’

  ‘It’s a real backwater although it’s only a mile from the town centre,’ Gus agreed, ‘and few people seem to notice it. The pond is hardly any distance from the bus terminus in Townhead. All the drivers would probably know that a pond was screened by the wood near their turning circle. Now you can’t see it for high flats. William got out of the car and indicated to us that he felt Moira all around. It’s marshland and you’re sinking up to your knees in bog, but though he couldn’t pinpoint an exact spot, he said he was certain he was being directed to the general location. Then he looked pale, and started choking and being sick. He threw up, and told us he wanted to leave.’

  I recalled William’s pallor when I’d last seen him, and decided it would be difficult to vomit unless it was the real thing.

  ‘He talked about people being burned and drowned and said it was a tragic spot. He was in a state, so we decided to take him up to the station in Airdrie and let him get cleaned up.

  ‘We checked the map of the whole burgh on the wall here,’ Gus added. ‘I’d been trying to remember the local name for the pond, when some guy said he’d lived in a police house round that area of Townhead. Told us the tower block’s called Witchwood Court, and the pond’s been called that too for donkey’s years.’

  �
��Witchwood Pond,’ I repeated.

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Gus. ‘You’d need to check it out with the local historian.’

  I had few problems finding my way round the familiar haunts of the Carnegie Library, where John White, an expert on the folklore of the Monklands area, has built up a formidable archive. I discovered that while there is only fragile historical evidence for witch-hunting having taken place in that part of Coatbridge several hundred years ago, no one has ever been able to explain why those woods and that pond carry the name they do. I resolved that I would visit the spot when I could.

  On my first free afternoon, I set off to explore an area of my childhood home that we kids had never gone near. I parked my car by the signal box, climbed over some wire, then set off towards Witchwood Pond, with its spread of bright marsh marigolds.

  I had worried that I, too, would pick up horrible feelings in this lush green place so incongruously set in an industrial sprawl, but this did not happen. I did not feel nervous, although I was alone for half an hour without seeing another soul. Perhaps dreadful events had happened here, but I could not detect the malevolence that had so upset William. I placed the bunch of red carnations I’d brought on the soft moss before I rose to leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I knew Jim had arrested my father on suspicion of the murder of Moira Anderson on his visit to Leeds on 18 May, then had to release him on bail until 11 August. He planned to use divers to search the pond at Witchwood in the autumn when the undergrowth could be cut back, but it began to look more and more likely that things would go public in a much more national way in the summer.

  His months of work, contained in seven large boxes of documentation, were all with the Depute Procurator Fiscal, a Mr Griffiths, who Jim thought would wish to see A and B. We would have to wait for his decision on the next move. His recommendations would be considered higher up in Edinburgh’s Crown Office.