by Kerry Watts
‘Go away,’ she stammered and ran her tongue over her lips. Her mouth was dry and her head seemed glued to the pillow.
‘Come on, or you’ll miss your breakfast,’ the voice drifted under Theresa’s duvet. ‘I’ve kept you a roll and a wee box of cornflakes. Come on, sweetheart.’
Does she think you’re stupid? the voice inside Theresa’s head whispered.
‘I know, don’t worry, sshhh.’ Theresa muttered her answer so the nurse didn’t hear.
Theresa would not touch anything that nurse put aside. She hadn’t eaten any of the food there since she arrived. It wasn’t safe. She could smell it. The poison. Not just that – the voices let her know. Sometimes they were nice to her. Keeping her safe. The face that appeared close to hers startled her again, but the heaviness held her in place. Theresa hadn’t invited her in.
‘Go away,’ she repeated. ‘I didn’t say you could come into my room.’
The young nurse, crouched at the side of the bed, smiled.
They know. The voice grew louder. Hurry, they’re coming for you.
Theresa panicked and clumsily peeled back the duvet. ‘Get out of the way.’ She pushed the nurse over and made for the door, tripping as she tried to run, landing on her knees in the centre of the room.
‘Don’t touch me!’ she screamed when the nurse reached out to help her up. ‘I know what you’re doing. I know what you’re all doing.’ She tapped her temple. ‘Did you really think they wouldn’t tell me?’ She lashed out, and threw a slipper at the nurse.
‘OK, it’s fine, I’ll leave you.’ The nurse moved slowly past and left Theresa’s room.
Good girl, but they’re coming back. You know they won’t let you get away with what you did.
‘No,’ Theresa slammed her hands over her ears. ‘Help me, I have to get out of here.’
She pulled her shoes out of the wardrobe and quickly slipped them on. She grabbed her jumper from the end of the bed, then opened the door as quietly as she could. There was nobody in the corridor. She moved out and started to tiptoe past the nurses’ office door, which was slightly ajar. Theresa didn’t want to hang about to hear what they were saying once she heard her name being said, especially given the expression on their faces. She peered out the window of the patients’ smoking room at the falling snow and tugged the jumper over her head, wishing she’d picked up her jacket. But it was too late now. She wasn’t going back for it and risking being caught. She reached out for the ward door handle as a voice called her name.
‘Theresa, where are you going?’
Theresa wasn’t stopping for anyone, and pushed the handle down. It wouldn’t budge. She shook it and tugged hard, then turned to see the nurse in charge walking towards her with his student behind him.
This is it. They’re coming. Run, Theresa, run. The voice was urgent and Theresa couldn’t ignore it.
‘Stay back.’ Theresa held up her hand. ‘I’m warning you. I know what you’re doing.’ Her eyes darted between them, trying to decide which was the biggest threat.
‘Come on, Theresa. Come on in and tell me what’s up.’
The nurse’s voice was gentle, but Theresa wasn’t fooled by his smile. Not one ounce. She stared at the two other patients who had been attracted into the hall by her shouting. She frowned at them, whispering to each other.
Look, there’s more of them.
‘Stop it,’ Theresa shook her head and glanced behind her. ‘I can handle it.’
‘Is she written up for anything else?’ Theresa heard the student ask her colleague.
‘What are you saying?’ she called out. ‘You can’t touch me. I know my rights.’
The nurse in charge moved slowly back towards the treatment room, pulling his keys from his pocket.
‘What’s he doing?’ Theresa boomed. ‘Where is he going?’
Theresa spun round and reached for the locked door handle again. She tugged and pulled as hard as she could but it wouldn’t move.
‘Come on!’ she screamed, much to the alarm of the other patients.
Oh dear, here they come. The voice intensified the warning.
Theresa glanced back to the other end of the hall to see two more smiling nurses walk towards her with their hands up.
‘No! I said no! Open the door. I need to get out of here.’ Theresa was frantic, yanking the handle furiously.
Within minutes she was back in her bed. The voices that had shouted all the warnings had been quietened, and the light in the room was dimming, until everything went black.
Twenty
Jessie had no reason to detain Dianne after she’d established the sad reason for her suitcase and the hotel booking. She’d left a message for the aunt in Orkney, asking her to get back to her to confirm Dianne’s story. The hotel were happy to clarify that Dianne had indeed only just managed to book their last room for that night. A family room.
Ultimately, Jessie couldn’t see Dianne or Colin as a threat to Finlay. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was clear Dianne adored the infant, but Jessie still had a nagging doubt that Dianne knew more. After Martin Lucas’s revelations and her own investigation, a meeting with Tim and Peter McCabe was much more pressing. A little bit of digging revealed the full tragedy the family faced after Martin drunkenly lost control of his Vauxhall Astra. His car skidded as it clipped the kerb, then mounted the pavement and collided with Laura McCabe, who had decided to walk home from school that particular summer’s day. She wasn’t killed instantly, spending six days in intensive care fighting for her life until she finally died. Martin Lucas was more than four times over the drink-drive limit at the time of the accident. He hadn’t even stopped. Unaware that he’d hit her, he had carried on driving until his car came to an abrupt stop against a tree. He was lucky to walk away from the accident in one piece. Unlike Laura who, at fifteen, had had her whole life ahead of her. What a tragic waste, Jessie thought.
Losing their mother to a heart attack not long afterwards seemed to be the last straw for Laura’s brothers, who felt it was brought on by the grief of her broken heart. They blamed Martin for their mother’s death, and their father’s continuing spiral into depression. Jessie wasn’t surprised they were filled with anger and hate towards him, but what Martin did had nothing to do with Darren, and especially not with Finlay.
‘Where are we headed?’ Dylan asked, and shivered against the chill wind.
Jessie unlocked the doors on her Fiesta and got in without answering.
‘So?’ Dylan questioned. ‘Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking?’
‘I think we need to pay Peter and Tim McCabe a visit, don’t you? Time we found out more about these letters they’ve been sending. I’ve asked Martin Lucas to bring me them.’
Dylan’s eyes widened. ‘I totally get that they would be angry at Martin, and what better revenge than to hurt his family? But to do something to a six-month-old baby? That’s extreme.’
‘It’s not just the letters – guess where the McCabe family garage is located.’ Jessie watched Dylan frown and shrug at her question. ‘Bridge of Earn. A mile away from Finlay Lucas’s home.’
Twenty-One
Martin lifted the top letter from the three in his sideboard drawer. The horrific notion that Laura’s brothers would take Finlay to punish him was unbearable. He should have said something sooner. As soon as the first one arrived. If not to Darren, then maybe to the police – if he’d reported it straight away, maybe this wouldn’t be happening. His probation officer would have known what to do. He would never forgive himself if anything terrible happened to Finlay. Darren and Claire would never forgive him either. The memory of what he did to Laura McCabe lived with Martin every day. He wished he could make her family see that.
He put on his glasses, then opened the envelope and peeled open the most recent short letter.
Martin Lucas,
I hope you know that every minute you are free to live your life is a minute Laura has been robbed of. It would be better for everyo
ne if you did the decent thing. Your son and his family wouldn’t miss you. You let them down the day you killed her. Killing yourself is the only way. Surely you can see that. It won’t bring her back, but it would be a start. Here’s a photo to remind you whose life you stole. Look at her every day and hope that one day nobody steals someone precious from you.
Martin sniffed and wiped the small tear that gathered in the corner of his eye. He pulled the photo of Laura McCabe’s smiling face out of the envelope. His chest tightened, as it had done several times recently. More so since the letters started arriving. Probably just the stress, he reassured himself. Martin laid the three letters on the hall table to remind him to take them with him when he went to see that detective again. She wasn’t sure if they had anything to do with Finlay’s disappearance, but she said she was keeping every possibility open at this stage. She also guaranteed she was doing everything she could to find him. Martin believed her. He was confident in her ability to sort this out one way or another. She was tough. That was clear. Talking to her about his conviction hadn’t been easy, but she listened patiently and intently.
The sound of post landing on the doormat made him turn. His heart raced dangerously fast as he approached the small pile. Bills and statements. A couple of flyers. His relief on not receiving another bit of hate mail flooded his system. He wasn’t naive enough to believe this was over, though. Not one bit.
Twenty-Two
Maggie McBride stopped to catch her breath at the end of Darren and Claire’s road. She leaned on her knees and exhaled sharply then guzzled from her water bottle. That police car looked like it was parked right outside their house, but it was a busy street. Perhaps that was the only space available. Maggie jogged closer and could see a policewoman standing in the living room window. She clasped her hand across her mouth and wondered what to do. What was going on? Maggie was torn, but if she didn’t tell Darren soon she thought she was going to burst. She took a deep breath and walked down the drive and round to the back door. She knocked and let herself in, the way she always did.
‘Jesus, Maggie, you scared the life out of me!’ Darren exclaimed as he walked into the kitchen. ‘What the hell are you doing here? This is not a good time.’ He tried to guide her back out of the door before Claire could see her.
Maggie just blurted it out. ‘Darren, I’m pregnant and the baby is yours.’ That wasn’t strictly a lie, Maggie told herself, because it could be true. She wanted it to be more than anything in the world. More than she’d ever wanted anything before.
‘Shut up,’ Darren covered her mouth with his hand. ‘Are you stupid? You can’t come here saying shit like that. What do you mean, it’s mine? It can’t be.’
Maggie’s heart broke at Darren’s obvious rejection. She hadn’t expected this, and her hormones were already all over the place.
‘Darren, how can you say that, after everything?’ She started to reach out to touch his cheek with her fingers.
Neither of them had noticed Claire enter the room.
‘Maggie, I’m so glad you’re here.’ Claire broke down at the sight of her best friend. ‘Something terrible has happened,’ she whimpered. ‘Finlay’s been taken.’
Maggie gasped and moved towards her friend immediately. She hugged her tight and held her close while she sobbed. Darren was angry with Maggie for being so careless, fearing Claire might have overheard them. Finding out like that was the last thing Claire needed right now.
‘Shh, hey, it’s OK. I’m sure the police are doing everything they can to find him,’ Maggie told her. She couldn’t leave now, could she?
Darren was reeling, and took a step away from the two women. He couldn’t deal with Maggie and any pregnancy right now. Not until his son was safe. He heard a car pull up in Colin and Dianne’s drive and peered out of the kitchen window to see them walking towards their back door. He ran outside to confront them.
‘What did the police want to talk to you about, Dianne?’ he called out. ‘Where is my son? Did you tell the police what you did with my son?’’
Colin ushered Dianne inside and closed the door after her before turning to face his neighbour.
‘Look, we’ve got nothing to do with Finlay’s disappearance. Now please, go back inside and leave us alone. Dianne has had a very difficult night and she needs to get some rest.’
Colin turned to walk away, but Darren grabbed his arm.
‘Dianne needs to rest, does she?’ he boomed. ‘What about Claire? And me? How can we rest knowing Finlay is out there somewhere, probably scared and hungry? If you know something, please just tell me.’
Colin yanked his arm back and heard Benson barking and scratching to get outside.
‘I’m sorry, Darren, I really am, but I have enough to cope with,’ Colin muttered as he walked away with his head down. ‘I hope they find your lad soon. I really do.’
Twenty-Three
‘Aargh!’
The torque wrench had slipped from Tim McCabe’s grip, sending it at speed onto his foot, clipping his ankle on the way past before landing on the workshop floor. He rubbed the bone and peeled back his sock to peer down the top of his boots. Tim sucked in air through his teeth when it started to sting. He was sure he’d torn the skin, and figured a nasty purple bruise would soon erupt. Time for a brew.
He reached for the rag in his pocket to wipe off the surface oil from his hands and moved into the little garage kitchen-cum-office, complete with traditional girly calendars plastered over the walls. He clicked on the kettle and snatched a mug from the draining board then rinsed away the residual washing-up bubbles. He called through to his dad when he heard him arriving on the forecourt.
‘Kettle’s on, Dad.’
Mike McCabe mumbled something in return. Tim rinsed the soap residue from the second mug in their grungy sink. The filth in the place was another consequence of the loss of his mum. Angie McCabe had kept the family garage spotless as well as doing all the accounts and invoices, but Martin Lucas had destroyed all that. His selfish, reckless behaviour hadn’t just taken Laura’s life. The thought of him living his life like nothing had happened sickened Tim.
‘Where’s your brother?’ Mike asked. ‘He better no’ still be in his pit at this time.’
Tim placed his dad’s mug on the table and glanced up at the clock on the office wall. ‘He’s up. He’s just not in yet. He did mention something about being late. I don’t know why.’
The sound of a car pulling onto the forecourt attracted Tim’s attention. He dried his hands on a grubby, greying towel and headed outside.
‘Good morning,’ he smiled at the strangers and his eyes drifted over the bodywork of the Fiesta. ‘What seems to be the trouble?’
Jessie pulled her ID from her pocket, as did Dylan. Tim’s heart raced. He swallowed hard. A visit from the police was the last thing he wanted. Peter had assured him everything would be fine. Trust his brother to be late, today of all days.
It’s fine, it’s fine, keep calm,Tim told himself.
‘What can I do for you, Officers?’ Mike spoke from the garage doorway. ‘I’m Mike McCabe. This is my garage. Tim, go and get the Morrison invoice sorted, son. Robbie is coming in later to square up.’
‘Sure thing.’ Tim smiled and nodded at Jessie and Dylan, then turned towards the garage door.
‘So, what’s the problem?’ Mike repeated.
‘It’s actually your sons we need to speak to, Mr McCabe,’ Jessie told him as she moved forward. ‘Can we talk inside?’
Mike frowned. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry, go straight in.’
Jessie shot a wide-eyed glance at Dylan, wondering why Mike was so quick to usher Tim inside. Tim turned round from the filing cabinet as they pushed open the office door.
‘Tim, it’s actually you and Peter we need to talk to you. Is your brother around?’ Jessie asked. ‘It would be better if you were together for this.’
Tim leaned his back on the cabinet and pushed the drawer shut with his weight. He swallowed h
ard, desperate not to show weakness. Peter always said he was a poor liar. Tim wondered if they could feel his heart thundering. It felt so loud and his head pounded. He was sure they could hear the blood surging round his head.
‘Please, take a seat,’ he muttered. ‘What can I do for you? Peter won’t be long.’
‘Thanks,’ Dylan answered, and pulled out a chair.
Jessie sat down on the opposite side of the table, and Tim felt trapped in the confines of the small room – it felt hot all of a sudden. He was relieved to hear the sound of Peter’s Suzuki motorbike roar into the garage.
‘That’s him. Hang on, I’ll go and get him.’
Jessie stood to obstruct his exit. ‘Nah, it’s OK. I’ll go.’
She watched Tim blush and retake his seat with a forced smile plastered across his lips. Dylan allowed silence to fill the room. He knew Jessie would want the tension ramped up. Stressed people tell the truth faster than comfortable suspects. They are more likely to let information slip out accidentally. Dylan’s phone buzzing made Tim jump.
‘Sorry about that,’ Dylan offered, and switched his phone to silent before raising his eyebrows in greeting to Peter when Jessie brought him in to fill the ever-decreasing space in the office.
‘What’s this all about?’ Peter demanded without taking his eyes off his younger brother. ‘We’ve got a busy book of jobs to deal with today.’
‘Tell us about Martin Lucas.’ Jessie didn’t hang about.
‘What about him?’ Peter snarled. ‘Son of a bitch pisshead killed oor wee sister.’
It was quickly becoming apparent to Jessie who the dominant partner in this team was.
‘Tell me about the letters you’ve been sending him since his release from prison, Peter.’
Peter’s bravado slipped.
‘What letters?’ He screwed up his face with a shrug and tried to lie. ‘Don’t know what you’re on about.’