Safe Home (ARC)

by Kerry Watts

  ‘Come on, Peter. Don’t waste my time,’ Jessie said. ‘The colour burning in your brother’s cheeks tells me you’re lying, both of you.’

  Tim shuffled uncomfortably in his chair and stared at his brother, searching his eyes for the right thing to do.

  Peter looked away from Tim, shrugged again and stared Jessie down, his confidence returning. ‘Don’t know what you’re on aboot, I told you.’

  Jessie pursed her lips, eyes narrowed, and stared right back at him. He didn’t intimidate her. It wasn’t until Dylan spoke that she broke the glare.

  ‘Look, it’s not about writing a few letters. Martin’s grandson has gone missing. Do you two know anything about that? Claire and Darren are desperate.’

  Tim’s chair scraped rapidly from the table as he stood. ‘Finlay!’

  Jessie and Dylan both turned, startled by his unexpected move.

  ‘Do you know them?’ Dylan asked.

  Tim’s hand had flown to his mouth in agitation, and he exhaled deeply through his fingertips. ‘My ex-girlfriend, Theresa Moran, is Claire’s sister. I saw Theresa just yesterday. She looked’ – he hesitated, searching for the right word – ‘strange. She looked strange. Kind of wide-eyed and staring, and she was in a hurry, running across the bridge. She didn’t even seem to see me. She doesn’t keep well.’ He found himself rambling, unable to control himself. ‘She has mental health problems. Has done for ages. She looked terrible when I saw her. Like she’d seen a ghost or something.’

  Jessie didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit. Her blood turned cold at the thought that was growing inside her head.

  ‘There you are,’ Peter said. ‘Go and speak to Claire’s nutcase sister and stop harassing us about some letters.’

  ‘Peter,’ Tim blasted. ‘Don’t talk about Theresa like that.’

  Finally, some backbone, Jessie thought.

  ‘Where were you yesterday afternoon between three and five?’ Jessie asked Peter without taking her eyes from his.

  ‘I was on a job,’ he replied, holding her gaze. ‘Check the diary.’

  Jessie was first to break the stare and turned to see Tim nod quietly in agreement, then look away.

  ‘Martin Lucas is bringing the letters in for forensic analysis. You both realise that, don’t you?’ Dylan added, and split his gaze between the two brothers. ‘If there’s evidence to suggest either or both of you are involved we’ll find out.’

  Peter McCabe shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

  Jessie had nothing to bring them in on but wished Peter’s arrogance could be used in evidence.

  ‘You’ll be seeing us again soon, I imagine.’ Jessie’s words seemed directly aimed at Peter, who scoffed and shook his head before walking out of the office.

  She wanted to talk to Theresa Moran in the light of Tim’s statement, but she meant what she said. Peter and Tim wouldn’t be far from her mind. Jessie took one last look at Tim, who blushed and turned to avoid her gaze. She and Dylan followed Peter.

  ‘Good day, detectives.’ Peter lifted a hand and waved behind him as he moved away. ‘Drive safe.’

  * * *

  Tim was relieved to see the back of the two detectives. He was angry with Peter. His attitude was going to land them in hot water sooner or later. He felt awful about sending those two detectives to Theresa. They seemed very interested in her behaviour all of a sudden. That was clearly the last thing she needed in her state. He looked across at Peter, who was unlocking the safe. Peter opened the door and pulled out a small metal box, then turned back to face Tim and smiled.

  ‘Stop worrying. Everything will be fine.’

  Twenty-Four

  Maggie hung the tiny socks back on the rail. But they were so cute, with their yellow trim at the ankle. She yanked them back and laid them in her trolley and moved on. She didn’t get far, stopping at the pretty little dresses. She would love to have a daughter. Maggie wondered if she might jinx it by buying a dress so soon, and moved on. Her phone buzzed in her handbag, interrupting her daydreams. She sighed when she saw it was Calum. She pondered the idea of ignoring it but figured he would only call back in five minutes anyway, then ask her later where she had been. It wasn’t worth the hassle.

  ‘Hey, babe,’ she answered, and listened to his dinner suggestion. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll get us one of the freshly made pizzas and a salad to go with it.’

  That seemed to satisfy him enough to allow her to go back to her browsing. She was aware of how impatient she was becoming with Calum – and she did feel bad. As she moved out of the baby clothes aisle, a sudden tight cramping pain pulled on her belly, causing her to bend and clutch her abdomen. The warm trickle between her legs made her cry out.

  ‘Help me, somebody help me.’ Maggie tried to grab her phone from her bag but it slipped from her grasp and dropped to the floor. She fell to her knees, the pain terrifying her. She couldn’t lose this baby.

  Calum sat next to Maggie on the bed and held her close as she stirred from her nap.

  ‘Hey you, sleepyhead.’ He smiled and kissed the top of her head. ‘You’ve been out for the count for well over an hour. Shows just how tired you were.’

  Maggie stared at him without speaking, then burst into tears.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ he squeezed her tight next to him. ‘Doc says the baby’s fine. He said you need to rest, that’s all.’

  ‘I know,’ Maggie answered through her tears. ‘I’m sorry, Calum. I’m sorry for worrying you, but I was so scared.’

  ‘You silly woman,’ he said affectionately. ‘I said I was going to take care of you and this little one, didn’t I?’ He stroked Maggie’s stomach, then lifted her hand to kiss her wrist. ‘It’s my job to worry now, isn’t it?’ He grinned and pulled her head into the warmth of his chest.

  Maggie couldn’t help feeling safe in his embrace. She always had. Calum had been the steadying influence that helped her grow up. He would do anything for her. This scare was a sign that Maggie had to start thinking about what she really wanted.

  That’s not true. She knew what she wanted. What it really meant was that she had to do something more to get it. It didn’t matter who got in the way. If this scare had taught her anything, it was that she had to be determined enough to defeat any challenger.

  Twenty-Five

  Jessie replaced the petrol cap and opened the driver’s door.

  ‘Pass me my bag, will you?’

  ‘Sure,’ Dylan reached down. ‘Wow, what you got in here? A brick?’

  ‘Very funny.’ Jessie took it from him and waited until a builder’s van passed before crossing the petrol station forecourt. She frowned at the smile the driver gave her and shook her head, then held the shop door open for the elderly woman who was coming back out.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Jessie muttered when a thank you wasn’t offered. ‘Hi there, pump three, thanks.’ Jessie grabbed a couple of Mars bars and laid them down on the counter. ‘I’ll have these as well.’

  Her phone rang on her way back across the forecourt. Caller ID unknown again. It irked her. She wished he would just stop.

  ‘Hello,’ she snapped on answering, and listened to the silent response. ‘Dan, I know it’s you.’ Jessie thought she heard breathing on the other end. ‘This is pointless. I got your card, OK?’

  Before she could say more, the caller hung up. She shoved her phone deep inside her jacket pocket and climbed into her car.

  ‘There, lunch is served. Don’t say I’m not good to you.’ Jessie tossed Dylan his chocolate before laying her bag back at his feet.

  ‘Cheers. I’m a bit peckish, right enough,’ Dylan said. ‘Who was on the phone?’

  ‘What?’ Jessie asked as she ripped the wrapper from her own bar and took a large bite.

  ‘Out there. I saw you on your phone. Has something happened? You looked serious,’ Dylan stated.

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ Jessie hated the thought of Dylan knowing. ‘It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.’ The last thing she needed
was questions. Even if Dylan did mean well. ‘Right, let’s see what Theresa has to say.’

  Jessie hoped that was enough to curb Dylan’s curiosity. She might tell him one day, she supposed. But today wasn’t that day.

  Twenty-Six

  Claire curled her body into the foetal position and tried to get back to sleep. She ignored Darren – who she knew had popped his head round the bedroom door – grateful that he thought she was asleep. She couldn’t believe she’d had a seizure. She had been seizure-free for more than ten years. She hoped this wasn’t the start of regular seizures again. They had plagued her childhood and stalked her through her first year of secondary school. A change of medication when she was twelve stopped them. One of a new range at the time. Claire felt like it was a miracle. Being able to have a life and, soon after, a boyfriend. She met Darren when she was fifteen and had never been with anyone else.

  It was no use – she wouldn’t sleep now. She sat up on the edge of the bed and tucked her long, messy hair behind her ears. The silence was eerie. She couldn’t stop thinking about the days she’d prayed for peace and quiet, but not like this. She really should shower, but the effort was too much. She spotted one of Finlay’s socks on her dresser and leaned over to pick it up. She held it to her cheek.

  ‘Where are you?’ she whispered, and stared at his photo on the bedside cabinet.

  ‘You’re awake?’ Claire turned at the sound of Darren’s voice. ‘I thought I heard movement. How are you feeling?’

  Claire scoffed. ‘How do you think I’m feeling?’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry.’ Darren moved closer and flopped down on the bed next to her. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.’ His shoulders drooped. ‘Are we meant to sit here and do nothing? Wait for them to tell us something?’

  A strong gust of wind funnelled along the alley at the side of their house, catching on an empty plant pot which scraped along the chipped driveway. Claire pulled back the bedroom curtain to see what damage the wind had done. Not much, considering the gusts that had been blowing. She allowed the curtain to drop back into place and walked towards the bedroom door.

  ‘Claire?’ Darren called out to her, his voice full of pain.

  Claire kept walking. She couldn’t cope with Darren’s suffering on top of her own.

  Twenty-Seven

  ‘Colin,’ a small voice drifted through from the bedroom.

  Colin allowed his head to drop as he sighed. A selfish part of him had hoped to avoid her. Discovering Dianne’s secret last night had come as a blow to the marriage he thought was built on honesty in every part of their lives. Dianne had cried and said how sorry she was so many times that Colin had lost count.

  ‘I have to get going, honey, or I’ll be late for the delivery at work,’ he called out and glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll see you tonight. I’ll bring home a fish supper if you like.’

  Dianne closed her eyes when she heard the front door close behind him, and laid her head back down on the pillow. She’d dozed fitfully since being brought home from the station, but didn’t feel rested in the slightest. She rubbed the tears away with the top of her white cotton nightgown. She was desperately sorry that Colin had found out like that. She hadn’t deliberately tried to deceive him, not about any of it. She was surprised he’d never discovered the suitcase before last night, though. It wasn’t like she tried to hide it. Heading into Dundee on the train and shopping for baby items made Dianne feel whole; like her daughter wasn’t missing from her life. Like Stacey wasn’t lost any more. It was as if Dianne was living her life the way it was meant to be, in some kind of alternative universe where she got to be the mum she should be. The last time Dianne had added to the suitcase was just before Finlay was born. Being able to focus on him seemed to help her, probably more than it helped Claire.

  The knock on the back door stirred Dianne from her thoughts. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and wiped her wet face before opening the door. She was confused to see Claire standing there.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Claire whispered, her words barely audible.

  Dianne opened her arms and nodded. ‘Of course,’ she murmured, as Claire fell into her chest and cried.

  The woman held the baby close to her chest and stared down at him, sleeping soundly in his blanket. She checked the time on her watch. Their flight was delayed by half an hour, but shouldn’t be much longer. The delay was less than usual, which pleased her. She was too old for the long ferry crossing now, she told herself. All the swaying made her feel sick these days, and she was keen to get back quickly. It had all been so sudden, so last-minute. But, as had been explained to her, sometimes things just happened that way. She should take the opportunity when it came. It had been inconvenient, but she’d managed to rearrange things to make it work. A voice came over the loudspeaker announcing her flight was ready to board. She rubbed her hip and winced as she stood to gather the one bag she had to take on with her. The infant stirred as she stood, until she rocked the little one gently back to sleep. It had been a long day, and she would be glad to get home and have a decent cup of tea.

  Twenty-Eight

  Jessie hammered her fist on the door and rolled her eyes at Dylan while they waited. She could hear the sound of a radio playing and shook her head. She listened with her ear to the door while she hammered again. This time the music stopped abruptly, and footsteps were heard moving closer before the door opened. She offered Claire’s father, Phil Moran, a smile as she held up her ID.

  ‘Detective, come in, come in,’ Phil held the door wide open for them. ‘Has there been any news on my grandson?’

  His words were urgent and searching, and Jessie genuinely wished she was going there to give him good news.

  ‘Not yet, I’m afraid. It’s Theresa we’re here to talk to. Is she in?’

  Phil’s eyes dropped into a serious frown. ‘Theresa isn’t here. She was admitted to hospital yesterday.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Jessie contained her instinctive alarm, and acknowledged the information calmly. ‘I hope it’s not too serious.’

  ‘My daughter suffers from bipolar disorder. My wife found her in rather a muddled state. Her mental health has deteriorated recently, Detective. We were very lucky to be able to have her seen and admitted as quickly as we did.’

  Jessie’s mind ticked over at speed. What might have triggered Theresa’s deterioration?

  There was a small piece of paper in Phil’s hand, and when Dylan glanced towards it both detectives noticed how swiftly it was put away.

  ‘Is your wife in?’ Jessie asked, taking in the floral-carpeted hallway and stairs, her eyes coming to rest on the pine bookcase at the top, that bore a huge vase of pink and yellow carnations. Not unlike church flowers, she noticed. ‘Did Theresa tell either of you if there was something specific that got her so muddled, as you put it?’

  Phil shrugged and his eyes darted left and right. ‘If she told Bridget then Bridget hasn’t told me, but you have to understand, when my daughter relapses like this her mind is’ – he tapped his temple with a finger – ‘complicated. The way Theresa herself describes it is like all the buttons are done up wrong, so nothing fits or matches up properly. Different thoughts go with the wrong thoughts. If that makes sense. Everything turns foggy and she can’t think. The voices come back, too.’

  Jessie could see the years of worry etched on his face. It couldn’t have been easy worrying about his daughter’s mental health, and when Claire was diagnosed with post-natal depression, Phil and Bridget must have feared she was heading for the same future as her sister.

  ‘Bridget isn’t in either, I’m afraid. She was up and out before me this morning.’ Phil shrugged again and abruptly rubbed at his left eye. ‘She said she had to go out. She usually does the flowers in the chapel and there’s a funeral today, so she probably went to help set up. She won’t want to let Father McKinnon down.’ He glanced sideways and ran a finger across the hall table. ‘I’m heading over to Claire�
�s, so that’s where I’ll be if you need me.’

  Phil grabbed his car keys and slipped his feet into a pair of heavy boots, then tugged a winter fleece from a coat hook. I guess we’re done here, thought Jessie.

  ‘We’ll be over to see Claire and Darren soon,’ she informed him, before she and Dylan headed back to her car.

  Dylan tightened his jacket around him. The sky loomed heavy above them, as if it might snow again at any moment.

  ‘What do you make of the sudden hospital admission?’ Jessie was curious to see if Dylan sensed the same unease about it that she did. ‘Convenient?’

  Dylan tugged at his seat belt, struggling to pull it across him.

  ‘Hey, you have to treat her gently.’ Jessie reached across and slowly encouraged the belt across Dylan’s chest. ‘She doesn’t appreciate being manhandled like that.’

  Dylan shook his head but said nothing.

  Jessie figured there was no point trying to talk to Theresa today. They had been down this road before, and knew very well that mental illness makes interviewing people very difficult. So they’d focus on Bridget instead. Maybe Theresa told her mum what had distressed her so much. Did that have something to do with her frantic behaviour outside the McCabe’s garage?

  Twenty-Nine

  Father Paul McKinnon heard the heavy oak door of the chapel squeak open and shut just as he was finishing up the confession. Bridget Moran thanked him as she always did, and he was glad to help her. He’d known Bridget and her family since the girls were very small and had supported them throughout Theresa’s illness. After learning of Claire’s condition his heart hurt for all of them, and he included them in his prayers often.