Safe Home (ARC)

by Kerry Watts

  ‘But,’ Jessie tried to find the words, ‘why the hell does a cot death victim end up in a rucksack hidden in Moncreiffe Wood?’

  Forty-Seven

  Gertrude Laing swept around the dining table in the chapel house kitchen, wondering how such a well-dressed, tidy man could make such a mess when he ate. She glanced out of the window to see Bridget Moran moving quickly from the bus stop across the road towards the chapel. She lifted her hand to wave, but her gesture was abruptly ignored, which was unusual. Bridget had a reputation for being aloof, but she and Gertrude were good friends. Well, as good and close as Bridget allowed people to get, that was. She’d made Bridget many a cup of hot sweet tea while they chatted about their lives. She figured Bridget must have been distracted, and thought nothing more of it as she returned to her chores. She swept the collected crumbs and flicked them into the small compost bucket that sat on the kitchen window ledge, then brushed the mess on the worktop into her hand and flicked it in beside them, wiping the excess on her apron. She tugged the bin bag and tied it tightly before heading outside with it. Raised voices caught her attention, and she stopped to listen before Bridget charged past her on the pavement, her face red.

  ‘Bridget, is everything OK?’ she called out, startled, but Bridget surged past without so much as a glance in her direction. ‘Bridget?’ she tried again. ‘What’s happened?’

  Gertrude was worried. She’d never seen Bridget look so scared, but was helpless to do anything as she watched her friend retreat down the road. Gertrude was left scratching her head in confusion, and returned to the hall only to overhear Father McKinnon on the phone. She quickly realised it was Bishop Menzies on the other end of the line. It took her a moment to process what she was hearing, but when she did, she listened on. She covered her mouth, fearing Father McKinnon would hear the rapid breaths she was trying to stifle.

  What did he mean, he couldn’t handle this alone?

  Forty-Eight

  ‘Morning, Jess,’ Dylan said as he walked into the office, relieved to get inside. The weather was showing no sign of abating.

  ‘Get yourself a coffee and come into my office as soon as, will you?’

  ‘Sure thing,’ Dylan unzipped his jacket and tossed it across the back of his chair then followed Jessie into her office. The coffee could wait, judging by her expression.

  ‘Close the door,’ she told him without looking up.

  ‘What’s the latest?’ Dylan probed.

  ‘I attended Finlay’s PM first thing this morning. The indications are that his fractures were inflicted after death. Benito says he is still trying to establish definitive cause of death for us—’

  ‘After death?’ Dylan cut in, scratching his cheek. ‘I didn’t expect that.’

  ‘Yes, I know, you and me both. Benito has a theory. I’m just waiting on him to confirm it.’

  ‘What about Claire? Is she part of his theory? What do we make of the confession?’

  What did Jessie make of it? She had no idea.

  ‘She’s been arrested pending further investigation. I’ve got someone with her at the hospital until she’s fit to be discharged. The mother and sister are hiding something, though, aren’t they? What do you make of them, Dylan?’

  Dylan shrugged. ‘It’s weird. I get an odd vibe off Bridget Moran. I don’t like it.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you say that, because I do too.’

  Jessie’s phone buzzed against the desk. She answered straight away.

  ‘Benito, hey, how are you?’

  Jessie’s head drooped forward while she listened and sighed. Perhaps it was better for Finlay that it happened this way, she thought. That was a blessing at least. It was unlikely he had suffered. Not that she supposed that would be much comfort to his family. Finlay was and would always be gone from their lives. She thought of Darren’s broken expression when he’d told her what Claire confessed to him. But Claire’s confession just couldn’t be possible now, could it?

  ‘Results of the post-mortem?’ Dylan suggested, his eyebrows raised as Jessie put the phone down.

  Jessie nodded. ‘Benito has confirmed his theory and initial findings. Cause of death is sudden infant death syndrome.’

  Dylan listened in disbelief. ‘Cot death? But then why was he dumped?’

  Forty-Nine

  Maggie stood under the hot water, her face directly beneath the steaming spray. She ran her fingers over her stomach and wondered when the pregnancy would start to show. She couldn’t wait to show it off. She turned and allowed the water to flatten down her long blonde hair, then cascade over her shoulders and roll off her breasts. She was tired but she was happy. Happier than she’d felt for a long time, despite little Finlay being missing. Surely they’d find him soon, though? Then, once Claire was feeling a bit better, she and Darren could talk to her.

  She grabbed her towel from the back of the shower cubicle and tied it around herself. She flopped down onto the edge of her bed and scrolled through her phone. Her heart leaped to see a text from the letting agent, but it sank again when Calum opened and shut the front door. She would have to read it later.

  ‘I’m in the bedroom,’ Maggie called out, rubbing the towel over her head.

  She heard Calum shout something back to her but she wasn’t really listening. Something about getting some shopping in? She wasn’t sure. He was a good man, and Maggie knew she should feel guilty about all the plans she was making. Plans that didn’t include him. His voice echoed along the hall once again. This time he said he was putting the kettle on and did she want anything. Maggie sighed.

  ‘Yes, go on then. I’ll be through in a minute, thanks.’

  She stared at her reflection in her dresser mirror. She looked as tired as she felt, but the midwife assured her it would pass. As would the nausea. As long as she was getting plenty of rest and eating properly, both she and the baby would be just fine. Calum’s voice interrupted her thoughts again, this time insisting she should have a sandwich. He was making one. What did she fancy. Maggie closed her eyes and sighed.

  ‘Anything, really. Surprise me,’ she shouted back. ‘Make it cheese and pickle, actually. I quite fancy cheese, thanks.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  Maggie jumped when Calum’s face peered round the bedroom door. She hadn’t heard his footsteps.

  ‘Jeez! You scared me half to death. Don’t creep up on folk like that.’

  Calum flopped down next to her and began kissing her neck. ‘You smell good,’ he murmured.

  Maggie pulled away. She could see exactly what direction Calum wanted this to go in and that was the last thing she wanted.

  ‘Not now, babe,’ she whispered.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Calum tested, and continued to place soft, nibbling kisses on Maggie’s shoulder until she rose from the edge of the bed.

  ‘I said not now,’ she snapped, and moved away. ‘I have to get dressed. I have to be somewhere. I’m going to check on Claire.’

  ‘You want me to come?’ Calum asked. ‘I don’t have a client until twelve.’

  Maggie smiled and shook her head. That was definitely not what she wanted.

  Fifty

  Darren’s eyes blinked open and for a wonderful few seconds his life hadn’t changed irreversibly. Claire would be lying next to him, her messy blonde hair strung across her face as she slept with her mouth open, a hint of a snort escaping when she inhaled. Finlay would be sleeping in his cot in the room next door. His blanket would be crumpled at the bottom after he’d kicked it off in the night. But none of that would ever happen again.

  If he hadn’t been screwing Maggie, if he had been there at home with Claire and Finlay, this wouldn’t be happening. His life would still be good. Yes, it had been hard, but it was good. Darren tossed back the duvet and sat up at the edge of the bed, rubbing warmth into his goose-pimpled arms. It was already lunchtime. He couldn’t believe he’d slept so long, but after getting home from the hospital at such a late hour he shouldn’t have been s
urprised. Even after being told of Claire’s arrest, he hadn’t wanted to leave the hospital. He’d sat outside her room until the nurse on duty suggested it might be a good idea for him to get some rest. He was so deep in shock that he’d only thought to contact his dad, and Claire’s parents, once he’d got home. He couldn’t remember what he’d said to any of them other than that he needed to be alone. A gentle tap on his bedroom door startled him, and he watched it swing slowly open.

  ‘Maggie, for Christ’s sake, you scared the life out of me. When did you… I mean, how did you get in?’

  ‘I still have your spare key, remember?’

  Darren had forgotten that, and they had Maggie and Calum’s key. It’s what best friends do, isn’t it? Maggie tossed her jacket onto the end of the bed, then sat close to Darren without speaking. She reached for his hand and gripped it. Darren lifted his head and turned to face her. He heard every beat of his heart in the silence between them.

  ‘Finlay’s dead. They found his body yesterday evening. And Claire’s been arrested.’ He said the words almost without emotion, as if he was describing the plot of a film. He felt so numb.

  Maggie was quiet for a while, seemingly trying to process the news. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she eventually whispered, and gripped his hand a little tighter.

  Darren snatched his hand out of hers and took hold of her cheeks. He pressed his lips firmly on hers. His heart ached. He didn’t break away until he became aware of a persistent knocking on the front door. He moved quickly to answer it.

  ‘Come in, come in.’ He held the door wide open for Jessie and Isla Wilde. ‘When can I see him? DC Logan promised he would take me to him.’

  ‘I know,’ Jessie agreed. ‘PC Wilde and I will take you to see Finlay this morning.’ She thought it was a good idea if Isla came too. She glanced over Darren’s shoulder to see a young woman walk out of the bedroom. Jessie did her best to hide her repulsion. How could he? she wondered.

  Darren caught her glance. ‘Er, this is Maggie. McBride. She’s a close friend of Claire’s… of ours. She came to see how I was. Anyway, I’ll go and put some clothes on.’ Darren turned, but Jessie interrupted him.

  ‘Can we talk first, Darren?’

  ‘Yes, come through.’ He grabbed a sweater from the back of the sofa and slouched down. He scratched at his face and sniffed, clearly dreading what was to come.

  It was clear to Jessie that Maggie felt awkward, but that didn’t bother her. She deserved to feel that discomfort.

  ‘I have the results of the post-mortem.’ Jessie took a seat close to Darren on the sofa.

  Darren surged to the edge of his seat. ‘What happened to him?’

  Jessie’s eyes drifted briefly from Darren to Maggie, then right back at him. ‘Finlay passed away from cot death, Darren. Our pathologist was able to come to this conclusion after ruling out everything else.’

  Jessie wished Darren would say something. Instead he just stared at her, a look of utter confusion on his face. Maggie clasped both hands across her mouth. When he did start to talk, it was a jumble of words in search of a sentence.

  ‘But… that’s not… I mean… why… how can that be? How is that even possible?’

  ‘I know this must be confusing for you.’

  Darren stood, then stared at Maggie, now searching her face for answers. Finding none, he left the room.

  ‘Darren,’ Maggie murmured, then tried to follow him. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Leave him,’ Jessie urged. ‘Just give him a minute.’

  Maggie sat on the empty armchair by the door and lifted one of Finlay’s little vests from the arm. She ran her fingers across the garment, then held it to her cheek.

  ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’ She spoke through her tears.

  Before Jessie could respond, Darren’s voice called out to her.

  ‘OK, I’m ready.’ He reappeared in the doorway. ‘I want to see my son.’

  Fifty-One

  Jessie was reluctant to allow Maggie to join them, but didn’t want to seem cruel by telling her no. Darren needed all the support he could get, and Claire wasn’t able to come. Whether Jessie condoned their relationship or not wasn’t important. She lifted her hand to acknowledge Benito, waving to them from David’s office. He made his way down to let the group inside.

  ‘Hello, Mr Lucas, I’m Dr Capello. I’m so sorry for your loss.’

  Darren didn’t answer. He clutched Maggie’s hand in his and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. His legs trembled so much and his heart fluttered in such a disorganised pattern he wondered if he might be having a heart attack. He squeezed Maggie’s hand as they got closer to a large window set into the wall of the hallway. Finlay is in there. A pair of navy-blue curtains were pulled across on the inside. He stopped suddenly. His chest felt like it was trapped in a vice.

  ‘Hang on, please.’ His lips were so dry. He ran his tongue over them but that too was dry. ‘Can I just have a minute?’

  ‘Of course,’ Benito stopped next to him. ‘We will go at your pace. We don’t have to hurry.’

  Benito opened the door to a room next to them and switched on a lamp in the corner. ‘We can sit in here for a while.’

  Jessie knew right away what this room was, with its low lighting and comfortable sofa and chairs. It had a kettle and even a mini-fridge, where she assumed they kept the fresh milk. The temperature was different, too. It was warmer, much warmer than the hall. It was designed for comfort. The kind of comfort grieving relatives crave. Darren allowed Maggie’s hand to fall from his as PC Wilde placed a cup of water into his trembling hand. She laid her own hand over his to support him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he murmured, before walking across to the window and peering out at the rest of the world, carrying on as usual. There was even a bin lorry in the distance, overtaking a bus by a set of traffic lights where people waited on either side to cross. It was amazing, the detail he picked out in that moment. The teenagers in school uniform, who he assumed should actually be in school. The elderly man who narrowly avoided colliding with them on his motorised scooter. Darren sipped the last of the water. It had done nothing to moisten his dry mouth, but he appreciated the officer’s gesture. He set the cup on the worktop next to the kettle and took a deep breath. Part of him wanted to put this off for ever, but another part of him wanted to discover they were wrong. That it wasn’t Finlay at all. He turned to face the door.

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ Maggie stepped forward.

  Darren shook his head at her offer. This was something he wanted to do alone. The trembling in his legs remained with every step he took behind Benito, who stopped just outside a white door.

  Jessie watched them walk down the hall. Benito’s compassion was beautiful. Isla Wilde laid her arm around Maggie’s shoulders when it became clear she too was struggling. She was human, after all.

  ‘Is he in there?’ Darren whispered, and rested first his fingers then his head on the door. ‘Is that where Finlay is?’

  Fifty-Two

  Jessie’s mind drifted back over the day. Darren Lucas. Benito Capello. Maggie McBride. Every one of them invaded her mind. As well as Ryan. She’d thought about him so much these past few days. Part of Jessie knew how Darren felt, and Dianne, but her circumstances were very different. She’d needed that glass of wine last night. It was strange that Smokey hadn’t come in for breakfast this morning. She’d stuck a note through Dave’s door, asking him to feed him if she was late getting home. Dave was a lifesaver in that respect.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ Dylan said as he entered the incident room, smiling when he spotted PC Isla Wilde sitting across from Jessie as he let the door swing out of his grip. ‘How are we all?’

  ‘Fine, fine, come on in, join the party,’ Jessie teased, also trying to break the dark mood.

  ‘Hello again, Isla. Good to see you.’

  ‘Hi Dylan. Good to see you too,’ Isla responded.<
br />
  ‘I’ve asked Isla to join us on this. We now have a specialist family liaison officer in place, and she’s been closer to the Lucases than we have. I thought having her on board might help.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Dylan agreed with a smile. ‘Welcome to the dream team.’

  Isla couldn’t stifle the little chuckle that pushed its way out of her mouth, then blushed, fearing Jessie would think her behaviour inappropriate. She needn’t have worried. Jessie continued as if it hadn’t happened.

  ‘As you already know, the PM shows Finlay Lucas died from cot death.’

  Dylan raised his hands in exasperation. ‘I’m struggling to get my head around this, I have to be honest with you.’

  ‘The mystery has deepened, I’ll give you that.’ Jessie shrugged and stared at Finlay’s smiling baby photo on the board. ‘There’s something about Theresa, and the Moran family in general, that irks me. Claire, too. What the hell is that partial confession about? We now know she didn’t kill him. We’re going back to the McCabes’, too. Why was their van in the street? It might be a perfectly plausible reason, but until we talk to them again we won’t know. We’ve left that thread hanging long enough – Isla, I want you over there today.’

  Isla nodded. ‘Sure thing.’ She took a deep breath and tentatively added her thoughts, despite her growing anxiety. She was keen to impress Jessie. ‘Claire isn’t very well – mentally, I mean – is she? Is her confession even admissible? I mean, she confessed to Darren, allegedly.’

  Jessie spun to face her. ‘Allegedly?’

  ‘Allegedly,’ Isla repeated with a shrug. ‘We only have Darren’s say-so. She hasn’t been interviewed yet.’

  Before Jessie could comment further, her phone buzzed in her pocket. ‘Hold that thought,’ she told them while she answered it.