Her Missing Child

by Kerry Watts

  Calum looked at Maggie again – the emotionless gaze was back.

  ‘I don’t need them.’

  He’d seen enough. His head was still spinning as he made his way down the long corridor and out the station exit, back to his car. He sat and stared at his reflection in the rear-view mirror before slamming the car into reverse. He wasn’t going to keep so calm when he visited Darren, that was for sure.

  Ninety-Eight

  Gertrude Laing’s car had been spotted with a back light out, and been pulled over quite by chance outside a primary school, Jessie was told. When the young traffic officer discovered that the woman he’d pulled over was wanted in connection with a murder, he hadn’t hesitated to contact Jessie, who was now on her way to the road that linked the centre of Perth to Scone – the home of Scone Palace and crowning place of the Scottish kings. Keir Street was also home to the block of sheltered residential homes for the elderly where Gertrude’s ninety-six-year-old mother still lived. Jessie figured that must have been Gertrude’s destination, and was grateful she’d been intercepted before she made it there. Arresting her in front of a frail elderly woman would have been uncomfortable for both of them. Not to mention devastating for her mother. Jessie didn’t want to be responsible for causing a heart attack in an elderly woman, which might well be a consequence of such a shock. That would have been awful.

  Jessie gave a wry smile at the circumstances that had led to Gertrude’s apprehension. It was like something from the movies. The killer is trapped by a simple traffic violation. It didn’t matter how, though. Gertrude had been located and that was what mattered.

  ‘Do you think she’ll admit it?’ Dylan asked as Jessie pulled her car in across the road from Gertrude’s.

  ‘I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.’ Jessie switched off her engine.

  ‘She’s a tiny pip of a thing though, Jess,’ Dylan said. ‘Could she really do something so brutal?’

  ‘Desperate people do desperate things. We know that now better than ever,’ Jessie answered, and made her way across the street.

  Gertrude Laing was angry with herself for being so careless. Her attention to detail was usually so precise. It was one of the qualities that made her job with Father McKinnon work so well; she maintained order over his untidiness. Maybe if she hadn’t stopped for petrol when she did? Gertrude sighed. She was normally so careful about checking her car was in order – if there was a bulb needed fixing she got her son to change it for her – but she’d had a lot on her mind recently.

  That could probably be seen as an understatement. She couldn’t believe everything had got so out of control. This was not her. She’d been living on her nerves these past few days. Part of her was relieved she’d been stopped. The smart young officer was kind. He said she would have to go with him, and she probably should; but not yet. She wanted to explain. She needed to tell that nice young detective inspector first. She wanted to explain, on her own terms, before coming in. It was important to Gertrude that the young detective understood first.

  Ninety-Nine

  Darren jumped with fright when the first bangs landed on the back door, even before he recognised the voice of his angry visitor. He had been expecting him. Maybe he should have gone to see Calum himself, but he was here now. It was time to face him.

  ‘Open this door, you piece of shit,’ Calum roared, kicking the door hard as he yelled. ‘Or I’ll break it down. You hear me?’

  The ten-minute drive from Perth Police Station back to Bridge of Earn was more than enough time for Calum’s rage to reach boiling point, especially after seeing the state of Maggie.

  ‘Open the damn door, or I swear I’m going to kick it in.’

  Calum didn’t hear Dianne’s front door open, or Claire come running towards him.

  ‘Calum! Stop!’ she screamed. ‘This won’t help anything.’

  He spun and held up his hands to keep her back. ‘Stay out of this, Claire, please. Go back inside. This is between me and him.’

  The anger in his eyes scared Claire.

  ‘Claire, come on back,’ Dianne called out from her doorway when Calum resumed hammering and kicking the door. ‘I’ll call the police.’

  When Claire didn’t return, Dianne rushed over and pulled her away to protect her. Calum was out of control. She pushed Claire inside and locked the door.

  ‘Darren – I’m coming in whether you open this door or not.’ Droplets of spit flew from his mouth. Chips began appearing in the wood at the bottom of the door. ‘Darren, I mean it. You don’t want to test me, you really don’t.’

  Darren stood at the end of the hall and watched his friend’s progress. He was relentless. His rage would soon remove the barrier between them. He wondered if that would really be a bad thing. He deserved what he had coming.

  Then it happened – Calum’s foot broke through the bottom of the door.

  ‘I’m going to kill you!’ Calum yelled, and kicked and hammered even harder. ‘When I get in there, you are a dead man.’

  When Calum finally swept the last part of the door aside, Darren realised he no longer felt scared. He watched the shattered, ragged pieces of the door scatter into a heap on the carpet.

  Calum stopped just inside the doorway, sweat lashing from his face and neck. He gasped to catch his breath. This was his chance. He’d never done anything like this in his life before. Never even had a fight in school. But right now he wanted to kill Darren Lucas. The best man at his wedding. His best friend. The man who had slept with his wife. The man whose illicit affair with Maggie had driven her to do the unthinkable. The anger built in him like nothing he’d ever felt, and it was growing with every breath.

  Darren stood still and waited. He didn’t run. He didn’t hide. Instead, he took a breath just before the first punch slammed into his cheek. It didn’t knock him down, but only because he braced himself against his bedroom door frame. He winced with the pain of what he figured was a broken cheekbone, and spat the blood from his split lip. He faced Calum again, without fighting back. This wouldn’t bring Finlay back, but he deserved every one of the blows that rained down on him.

  The strength of Calum had shocked him, despite his size. The pain and the rage powered into him, and Calum kept on punching until the police officer’s words drifted into the fog that surrounded him. He was yanked backwards by three of them.

  ‘Get off me,’ he yelled, and fought against the officers who struggled to get control of him. ‘Let me go. This is between me and him.’

  Claire watched Calum being restrained and then marched towards the waiting police van, his fists covered in Darren’s blood. She winced. His anger made him a stranger to her. She turned her head as the paramedics lifted her husband into the back of the ambulance, his face covered with an oxygen mask. His pain didn’t give her any satisfaction, even after everything he’d done to her. Dianne wrapped her arm around her shoulders and led her back inside.

  One Hundred

  A cordon had been put in place before Jessie arrived. The confused onlookers were all moved back from the road outside the village bowling club. The school kids were long gone, but not before some had managed to snap pictures on their phones, which Jessie assumed were already on Snapchat, Instagram and Twitter. She wished she’d considered that possibility and fixed her lipstick before getting out of her car. Or at least run a brush through her hair. She turned and smiled at Dylan, who winked and mouthed to her that she had this. She wished she had his confidence as the driving rain battered her cold cheeks, dripping down her soaking-wet hair. Typical, Jessie thought to herself. Why don’t these things happen on a steamy hot summer day instead of a manky, wet, cold winter one? She noticed that Gertrude was watching her approach her car in her wing mirror. When she got closer, the driver’s window opened a little more than a crack, but not much.

  ‘Hello, DI Blake.’ Gertrude’s voice was barely audible over the sound of the heavy rain battering off the car roof.

  ‘Gertrude,’ Jessie answered, and w
iped her wet face with her palm. ‘Could you at least open the window a bit more so we can talk? I can hardly hear you in this rain.’

  Gertrude hesitated then narrowed her eyes and looked her up and down.

  ‘Get in,’ Gertrude said unexpectedly, as Jessie heard the passenger door unlock.

  Jessie looked back to where Dylan and the other officers had gathered, and licked her lips nervously. She became aware of a headache growing across her temples from straining her eyes against the rain.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for, lass? Get in out of the rain,’ Gertrude repeated. ‘I won’t do anything stupid, don’t worry.’

  Dylan watched in horror as Jessie walked around the car and opened the passenger door. He dialled her number.

  ‘Come on, pick up, pick up. What are you doing, woman?’ When it went to voicemail he tried again. ‘Bloody hell, Jessie, don’t be a hero.’ He anxiously scratched at the back of his hair then got out of the car, pacing back and forth and considering marching across the road to bring her back. He should have gone in her place. He watched her close Gertrude’s passenger door behind her. He hammered his finger on Jessie’s number again and listened to it ring out. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ He tugged open the car door and threw his phone onto the seat in frustration, before getting in and slamming the door shut.

  Jessie was soaked. Her hair dripped onto her jacket and dribbled down her face and neck. She was so cold.

  ‘Here.’ Gertrude passed her a handful of tissues from a packet in the driver’s door pocket. ‘That should help you get dried. A wee bit at least.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Jessie was genuinely grateful. Her wet hair made her feel even colder and she noticed her teeth were chattering. Then the enormity of what she’d done slammed into her – she’d just got into a car with a murder suspect. She could soon be a hostage. For all she knew, Gertrude could have a knife or any other kind of weapon in her bag or anywhere in the car. The glove box, perhaps. Or in her coat pocket. Jessie glanced back towards her own car to see Dylan anxiously staring back at her.

  ‘I expect you’re wondering why I wanted to talk to you, Detective Inspector?’

  Jessie wanted to say that she wondered a hell of a lot more than that.

  ‘Yes, I’m definitely curious,’ Jessie answered. ‘Why did you disappear like that? What are you trying to run away from, Gertrude?’

  Gertrude turned her body to face Jessie and her sudden move made Jessie jump. Then Gertrude shrugged.

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know. It was a stupid thing for a woman of my years to be doing.’

  ‘It was unexpected, I’ll give you that.’

  A wry smile crossed Gertrude’s lips. ‘I’m just a silly old fool.’

  ‘I know about the money you lost and what you owe.’ Jessie was confused by the growing frown. ‘And the will.’

  ‘What will? What are you talking about?’

  The look of confusion that grew on Gertrude’s face perplexed Jessie.

  ‘Come on, Gertrude. You don’t have to lie to me. Not any more. I know everything. You killed Father McKinnon because you found out about his will. That you were to be one of his beneficiaries.’

  Gertrude gripped the steering wheel and wept. Jessie waited and watched. She seemed genuinely upset and surprised.

  ‘Paul left me money?’ she asked, and wiped at her eyes.

  ‘You’re telling me you didn’t know?’ Jessie shook her head. ‘Forgive me if I don’t believe you.’

  ‘On the life of my children and my mother and as God is my witness, I did not know anything about Paul’s will.’

  Jessie sat back and tilted her head to stare at the car roof. Coming from Gertrude, that oath carried weight.

  ‘Then why?’ Jessie waited while a silence settled between them. She watched Gertrude’s expression soften. This little slip of a woman didn’t seem capable of such brutality.

  ‘Why did I kill him?’ Gertrude asked.

  ‘Yes, if you didn’t know about the money. Why would you do that?’

  Gertrude clasped her cold hands together and blew warm breath into them, then faced Jessie. ‘Do you have faith, Detective?’

  That question really made her think. What did she believe in? She shrugged and searched for an answer.

  ‘I guess I do, yes. I believe in doing the right thing.’

  Gertrude nodded and smiled at Jessie’s answer. ‘Paul believed that, too. That’s why he was torn between his faith and doing what was right. I heard him talking to Bishop Menzies about it. He was getting so upset and angry.’

  ‘About what?’ Jessie asked.

  ‘Bridget Moran and her confession.’

  ‘Could you hear what they were saying? Paul and the Bishop?’

  Gertrude nodded once again. ‘Oh, I heard, and I couldn’t let him do that. I couldn’t let Paul betray the sanctity of the confessional. You know what they do to priests that do that, don’t you? I couldn’t have that, could I?’ She paused, then carried on without looking at Jessie. ‘But of course, I did try to get someone to do it for me first. When blackmail didn’t work, I had to do the job myself.’

  Jessie was genuinely confused. She couldn’t think of anyone Gertrude could possibly coerce into murder. ‘Who?’

  ‘That lad was never going to amount to much anyway. Not the way he’s been carrying on.’ Gertrude continued as if she hadn’t heard Jessie’s question. ‘So sad. He’d been such a lovely wee boy.’

  Jessie still struggled to figure out who she was referring to and her frustration with Gertrude’s reluctance to tell her was growing. ‘What lad are you talking about?’ She found her voice had risen an octave in a bid to get the truth.

  Gertrude briefly glanced at her own reflection in the rear-view mirror and finally turned to face Jessie.

  ‘Does it really matter now?’ Gertrude sighed, her voice echoing the defeat she felt.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it does, Gertrude, because he knew what you had planned.’ Jessie informed her. ‘Who was it?’

  Gertrude sighed again. ‘Will he get into trouble, Detective Inspector? Because he didn’t do anything. Not really.’

  ‘I can’t promise that. You must know that.’ Jessie was running out of patience. ‘Who was it?’

  Gertrude pulled a tissue from her jacket pocket, wiped her nose and shook her head.

  ‘I overheard young Tim McCabe talking to Paul about something he and his no-good brother had done.’

  Jessie narrowed her eyes as Gertrude paused. ‘Oh yes, what was that?’

  ‘They have a gun. A gun that’s been involved in an armed robbery. They’re keeping it at the garage for someone. I didn’t hear who, though.’

  ‘And you told him you would tell the police if he didn’t help you?’ Jessie suggested.

  ‘Aye, but he got cold feet, didn’t he? Probably for the best in the end. Told me not to do it and it wasn’t too late to change my mind.’ She sighed in resignation. ‘This way, at least he’s got a chance to have a life. He made the right choice.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘He had more strength than I gave him credit for. I have to admire him for that.’

  Jessie watched Gertrude Laing being guided into the back of the police car, her hands in handcuffs, pondering the bizarre rainbow that streaked across the sky above them. Jessie had been adamant that Theresa and Claire held the key to solving both Finlay Lucas and Father Paul McKinnon’s deaths, but the truth was that neither of the sisters were to blame. Instead, Theresa and Claire became victims, too. Jessie felt guilty.

  The sound of Dylan’s voice woke Jessie from her trance. He draped a tartan blanket around her shoulders to stop her shivering.

  ‘Hot cup of coffee, Jess? I’m buying.’ He grinned.

  ‘Damn right you’re buying.’

  Dylan smiled and tightened the blanket around her shoulders. ‘I think we can both agree that was the bravest and stupidest thing you’ve ever done, Detective Inspector Blake.’

  ‘Hey, remember who you’re talking to, young
man.’ Jessie shivered until Dylan draped his arm round her shoulder and led her back to her car. ‘I expect a Kit Kat to go with my coffee at the very least.’

  ‘Whatever you say, boss.’

  One Hundred One

  Dan Holland felt more settled than he had for a very long time. He hung up his phone and punched the air with delight, then corrected himself when he realised the council housing officer had seen him. But she grinned.

  ‘Good news, I’m guessing?’ she asked, pulling a pen from her bag.

  ‘Yes.’ He coughed to compose himself. ‘I had a job interview yesterday. Not much, just a kitchen porter position, but that was them.’ He shrugged. ‘I got the job.’

  ‘Wow, that’s good news. I’m really happy for you.’ She laid the tenancy agreement on the window ledge in the flat’s kitchen, music from the upstairs neighbour drifting into the room.

  ‘Yes, I’m finally getting my life together. It’s been a long time coming.’ He sighed. ‘But I’m getting there.’ Dan held the pretty young woman’s green eyes, then looked away.

  ‘Well, there you go, Mr Holland.’ She handed Dan three keys that all looked the same, and a larger one. ‘The big one is your shed key. The numbers are on the doors. You’ll find it easy enough. OK, well, if there’s nothing else, enjoy your new home.’ She zipped up her bag and slung it across her arm. ‘If you have any questions, my number is on the back of your copy of the agreement.’

  ‘Thanks a lot. I really appreciate your help.’

  ‘No problem. Good luck with the new job, as well,’ she added before closing the front door behind her.

  Dan stood with his back to the door. He pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed the number next to the letter J. He listened to it ring out then hung up.

  Epilogue