by Rena George
'So, what are you doing here?'
'I don't really know, other than I'm drowning in the mind-blowing banality of paperwork upstairs.' He'd caught sight of one of the statements and was reading the name of the witness upside down. Olivia. He'd forgotten about Olivia. He'd still have her number in his phone.
Gail noticed his interest and quickly bundled up the papers. 'Was there anything else, DI Drummond?' She looked up at him.
Drummond pulled an expression of hurt. 'If you're telling me my company is not wanted then I'll leave you in peace.'
'Thanks for the coffee,' she called after him.
There was a smile on his face as he walked away.
Back at his desk Drummond got his phone out and scrolled through his contact list, pausing when it came to Olivia's name.
Joey came out of her office and glanced across at him as she left the room. He wondered what she would say if he rang Olivia now. She wouldn't be happy, but he guessed that would be more on a personal level than a professional one.
He hit the name and listened as Olivia's number registered the engaged tone. He cursed. That wasn't what he'd wanted. It put the ball in Olivia's court. He knew she would ring him back as soon as she saw the missed call. They had only gone out a couple of times and he liked her, but Olivia had wanted more. She had turned up unannounced at his flat one night and narrowly missed meeting his house guest, Emily, but she saw enough to realize Drummond had a woman staying with him. She'd jumped to a wrong conclusion that he was in another relationship and fled. That was the last time he'd seen Olivia. He stared at his phone. Maybe he was kidding himself imagining she would ring back.
It was two hours before her call came. 'What do you want, Jack?' She sounded supremely bored.
'Just a catch-up. It's been a while. I wondered if you fancied meeting up for a drink?'
'A drink? Why would I want to have a drink with you?'
'I can't think of a single reason,' he said. 'What about the Blue Lobster at six?'
'That won't be happening,' she said. 'I never met a man with such colossal cheek.'
'You're right,' he said. 'It was presumptuous. Would seven thirty be better for you?'
He heard her heave a sigh at the other end. 'OK, the Blue Lobster, but I'm only staying for one drink.'
Drummond glanced around his flat after Olivia left next morning. No arrangement had been made for them to meet up again, but he knew they probably would. He liked Olivia and now they had straightened out previous misunderstandings they could be good together without the complication of strings. He had no doubt Olivia would put him in his place when necessary. He kind of liked that. She was one of the few women he knew who got him.
But now that he was here on his own again all the old insecurities returned. He hadn't discussed his current situation with Olivia. He didn't want her sympathy. Allowing himself to be swept along by the moment in the company of a warm and loving woman had been more than enough. For a few wonderful hours he had forgotten his problems and felt like a member of the human race again.
Everything had changed so much in the last forty-eight hours. Two days ago, he was in the depths of despair, still full of anger that Angus McLeod had taken the knowledge that he had murdered Emily to his grave with him. Drummond's career in the police force was undoubtedly over, and all he'd wanted was to sit morosely in a corner of the pub getting drunker than drunk.
He gave a grim smile as Nick Rougvie's serious face swam before him. Nick and Pete…friends who cared. They had taken him home that night, stopped him drinking, but more importantly they had let him talk until all the anger had been talked away.
And yesterday he'd gone into the nick expecting to hear he'd been suspended. But Joey…lovely Joey, had spoken up for him.
And now he had Olivia back in his life.
So many good people around him. He could feel himself becoming emotional. Two days ago, all he'd wanted to do was to give up. But fighters didn't give up. If he did that then Angus McLeod would have won. And he had no intention of allowing that to happen!
Thirty-Eight
The Reverend Andrew Guthrie ran a finger around the inside of his dog collar as he and his wife, Elizabeth, waited nervously for the senior police officer to arrive. 'I suppose we're doing the right thing by coming here,' she said uneasily.
Andrew wasn't entirely sure either, but they were here now. He glanced at the letter he'd placed on the table and wondered what Angus McLeod would have thought about his letter being passed to the police. When the contents became public, as they surely must, the implications of what he had written would be far reaching. They would also cause much grief for the man's family, especially his widow, Rachel. And what about the church? Would the things Angus had done reflect on that? The repercussions it could cause were unthinkable and yet here he was ready to hand over the damaging letter.
It was only minutes before Detective Chief Inspector Gavin Fraser came into the room. Andrew got to his feet and offered his hand. 'The Rev Andrew Guthrie,' he said solemnly, his eye going to the seated woman. 'And my wife, Elizabeth.' The officer introduced himself and they all shook hands.
'It's about this letter,' he said hesitantly. 'We think you should take a look at it.'
Fraser glanced at the letter and sat down, pulling it towards him. The couple watched uncomfortably as he began to read. They saw his eyebrows rise as he took in the contents. Andrew had experienced the same shock when he'd read the stark words. He hadn't been prepared for what the church elder had written. When he'd been handed the letter, he hadn't questioned it. Members of the congregation occasionally left such things with the minister to be held in trust and opened after their death. It usually meant there was to be a bequest to the church. He had no reason to believe Angus McLeod's letter was any different.
Andrew had opened it on the day news of the man's untimely death reached him. His heart lurched even now as he remembered the words.
"I have entrusted this letter into the care of the Rev Andrew Guthrie in the understanding that it will be read after my demise.
There are things I have done in my life for which I will be criticized, but they had to be done and I will set out here the reasons why.
I was ten when my mother, Mary Ann McLeod, left us and ran off with James Shaw. I cried and cried and was broken-hearted that she didn't love me. Father said she was evil. He preached from the pulpit that those who turned their back on family and God must be driven out and never be permitted to return.
I was fourteen when I killed them both. No need for me to go into the details except to say their bodies are buried by a rowan tree on the hill behind the croft where they lived in Letters overlooking Loch Broom.
My next transgression – although I have always seen this as a good deed on my part – involves Alan Rogers, a local banker in Stornoway and a despicably evil man who sought his pleasures with young boys. The creature offered to take me under his wing and teach me banking. Father was enraged when I told him what Rogers wanted from me in return. Together we decided he must pay. We forced him to confess his evil ways in his diary and then we took him to his garage and strung him from a high beam until he was dead. I took great satisfaction at the sight of his body dangling there. I would have taken the credit for it, but the court decided Alan Rogers had taken his own life in a fit of remorse over those boys he abused.
Emily – my beautiful stepdaughter, Emily, was different. Every day I feel sad knowing I will never see her again, never touch her soft cheek or stroke her shining hair. She knew I loved her and yet she rejected me. I only wanted to care for her, to take her to that place where life is exalted, but she cast me aside.
Emily broke my heart. I know I shouldn't have taken my despair out on her mother, Rachel, but what was I to do? I wanted Emily and all I had was Rachel. It was so unfair!
Emily knew how much her leaving would enrage me, but still she went.
My association with Judy Meadows was purely for convenience. It provided me
with respite and somewhere to stay latterly on those trips I made to Glasgow to look for Emily. Our marriage took place in a register office. In my eyes that didn't count.
It was weeks before I found Emily. It was by chance in a place I would never have thought to look. She was on a street corner in the red-light district of Glasgow mingling with the prostitutes. Emily was offering complete strangers the thing she denied me…and she was doing it for money. She had betrayed me. She had betrayed God. I knew I had to show Emily the error of her ways.
It was hurtful the way she hurried off when she saw me approaching. I only wanted to speak with her, to persuade her to return home.
The night I followed her into the alley she had been taking drugs, lots of drugs. Her speech was slurred, and she was swaying, pointing a finger and yelling abuse at me. Even in that state I itched to touch her, stroke her face, hold her body close to me, but she struggled.
I don't remember putting my hands around her neck, only the silky softness of her skin and how it yielded to my touch. I felt more and more aroused as my thumbs pressed deeper into her throat. Suddenly she stopped struggling. I thought she was surrendering herself to the passion of the moment. But that wasn't it.
When I released my hold, Emily slid to the ground, her body lifeless. I stared at her and almost vomited. The woman at my feet was no longer my beautiful girl. She was a prostitute in revolting prostitute clothes who had destroyed her body with drugs. She was a vile creature and a complete stranger to me. I felt totally crushed as I walked away.
I don't regard any of the aforementioned things as true transgressions. Each one was justified and understandable, but I know there will be those who will not agree with this.
I do not want to go to my maker without laying out the things I have done. I am a Godfearing man. Only He can judge me. So be it.
This is an accurate and true testimony of the things I have done.
Angus McLeod."
Andrew swallowed as he watched the officer re-read the letter and frown. 'You see why we felt it was important to bring this on to you.'
'When did Mr McLeod give this letter to you?'
'It was some weeks ago. It was after he and his wife came to the manse for dinner.' He gave a little smile. 'I've only recently been appointed as minister for this church. Angus McLeod was one of our elders and we wanted to meet him and his wife in an informal setting.'
Elizabeth Guthrie nodded. There was a catch in her voice. 'We had such a lovely evening. Who could know it would end like this? Such a tragedy.'
'Did he explain why he was giving you the letter?' DCI Fraser asked.
'No. He gave no indication of the contents, if that's what you mean. He simply asked me to put it away safely and treat it with confidence until the day it was opened, or he had asked to have it back.'
'Were you not curious?'
'Not really. I assumed it had something to do with his estate…something he didn't, for whatever reason, want to put in his will.'
'So, you had no idea of the contents until you read it?'
Andrew shook his head.
'It's two weeks since Mr McLeod's demise. Why are you only bringing this letter to us now, sir?'
'I…err…I wasn't sure what to do. What Angus put in his letter affects so many people, especially his widow. It was a difficult decision to make.'
'Have you shown the letter to anyone else, Reverend Guthrie?'
'No, of course not.'
'Not anyone in the church?'
'No.'
Fraser stood up. 'You should have brought this letter to us sooner, but now that you have you can leave it with us.' He made no move to offer his hand, but the interview was clearly over.
Andrew shot his wife a glance. 'Is that it?'
'Yes. We will deal with this now.'
Fraser saw the couple out and watched from the window of his office as they got into their car and drove out of the car park. The letter they left behind had the potential to be a bombshell. He sat at his desk and spread the pages before him, staring at them.
He would have to hand the letter over to the investigation into Angus McLeod's death in the Glasgow cells. And the investigations that had been reopened into banker Alan Rogers' death in Stornoway and the disappearance of Angus McLeod's mother and her lover would have to be halted.
He frowned, glancing out to where Nick Rougvie was on the phone at his desk. He had a right to know about this, but could he be trusted not to get right on the phone to his pal, Drummond?
Thirty-Nine
DCI Buchan was heading up the briefing session into a spate of burglaries in the Drumchapel area that had recently turned violent. She was aware of Drummond's repeated glance to the clock. His attention was clearly elsewhere, and she didn't blame him.
At nine forty-five she nodded to him. 'You should get off now, Inspector. A chorus of 'good luck' followed Drummond from the room.
Drummond's heart pounded as he took the stairs to the top floor. He could have taken the lift, but he felt his legs might buckle under him unless he kept them moving. In just a few minutes he would know his future. His career in the Force could be about to end and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. His hand shook as he entered the interview room. A man and woman he didn't recognize sat serious faced at the table. Neither of them looked friendly. He gave them a courteous nod.
'Take a seat, Detective Inspector Drummond,' the woman said, lowering her spectacles to examine him. 'I am Chief Superintendent Monica Salt, and this is Chief Inspector Graham Wright.'
Drummond sat, hoping he wasn't looking as nervous as he felt. Nerves could be seen as guilt. And he wasn't guilty, no matter how high the odds were stacked against him.
He was wearing a new shirt and the collar felt uncomfortably stiff around his neck, but he resisted the urge to loosen it.
Both officers were giving him a cold stare. Drummond suspected it was a stance designed to intimidate. He had employed it himself numerous times when questioning a suspect. But this time it wouldn't work. He needed to focus, to get the measure of these two. His future career could be in their hands and right now he suspected they wanted to hang him out to dry.
Little stabs of anger were beginning to rise from somewhere inside him. He'd have to watch that. He would force himself to stay calm and look them in the eye when he answered their questions, no matter how probing they were. These people were no better than him. If they were going to shaft him then let them do their worst.
The woman glanced down at the papers in front of her. Drummond waited. She looked up. 'Can you take us through that last interview you conducted with Angus McLeod?'
'It's all on tape, isn't it?' Drummond flashed a frown from one to the other and immediately regretted the comment. Bad move. He shouldn't be snapping at them.
'We want your version of events, DI Drummond,' the woman said.
Drummond tried not to sigh. 'The reason Angus McLeod was arrested and in the cells was because he viciously attacked his wife in Inverness and then took off down here to Glasgow hoping his other wife would give him an alibi.
'I also had reason to believe he had murdered his stepdaughter, Emily Ross. This is what I questioned him about.'
The woman straightened her papers. 'How would you describe your attitude during that interview?'
'Professional.'
'Not forceful?'
'It was a robust interview,' Drummond conceded. 'I am a trained and highly experienced officer. The interview was conducted correctly.'
'Was it now?' Inspector Wright tilted his head to look at him. 'It sounded to us like you were browbeating the man. Wasn't it the case that you had decided this man was guilty and you had no intention of letting him wriggle off the hook, no matter what it took?'
'He was guilty. I knew he was.' Drummond was aware that his voice was rising. If he lost his temper now this pair would win.
He was aware of Chief Superintendent Salt's eyes assessing him. 'We've been having a look at your rec
ords, DI Drummond,' she said. 'Taking an overall view of what we read we've concluded you are insolent, insubordinate and frequently ignore instructions from senior officers.'
Drummond pressed his lips together. It was coming now. This is where they would tell him he was getting the bullet. He braced himself.
'On the other hand,' Salt continued. 'You appear to get results, and apart from rubbing some of your colleagues up the wrong way most of them speak highly of you.'
'Really?' Drummond blinked. 'Was she complimenting him?'
'And there's this,' she added, sliding what looked like a handwritten letter across the table to him. 'Would you read this, please.'
Drummond reached for the letter and pulled it towards him and began to read. The words McLeod wrote were jumping from the page. He murdered Emily, he murdered all of them. He was admitting it. Drummond felt the blood drain from his face. Everything he had suspected about McLeod was true. His hands shook as he looked up, eyes wide. 'McLeod wrote this?' He made no effort to disguise the shock in his voice.
Chief Superintendent Salt nodded. 'What are your thoughts?'
Drummond's head was all over the place. The image of Emily Ross's poor body discarded like a piece of rubbish in that lane was racing before his eyes on a loop. McLeod had admitted in the letter that he'd murdered Emily, but there wasn't an ounce of remorse in his words. He'd accepted no responsibility for the evil he'd done.
Drummond leapt to his feet with a force that sent his chair flying across the room. He ignored it as he began pacing the room. He'd killed Emily! The words seared across his mind. McLeod had killed all of them and he couldn't have cared less about his victims. The blood was coursing through Drummond's veins. The man was a monster!
'Please sit down, Inspector.' The woman's tone was firm. 'We understand how you feel but you must try to remain calm.'
Drummond's rage was so fierce he could feel the prick of tears. He turned away, forcing himself to control his breathing, aware that Salt was waiting for him to regain his composure. He made a colossal effort. 'I apologize for my behaviour,' he said quietly, recovering the chair and sitting back down, still not looking at them.