‘Ronnie? You awake, Ronnie?’ The nurse, Annie according to her badge, wore white-soled shoes that squeaked as she made her way around the bed, talking as she went.
Ronnie Dempster looked swamped by the plumped white pillow his head rested on. His eyes were closed, translucent skin seeming to show every vein in his face, wispy grey hair doing nothing to hide the map of blue lines that continued upwards and across his scalp.
Eve and Mearns loitered outside the door to the room. They didn’t speak as they waited while the nurse roused her patient to let him know they were here. Eve conscious of her shiner and how unprofessional she looked. The corridor was quiet, scuff marks where trollies had met the wall, posters showing smiling nurses, an open door next to a visitors’ water machine.
Annie was raising the bed, helping Ronnie to sit up a little, his groans audible. She held a white plastic cup to his mouth, dabbed it dry when he’d finished sipping, said something meant for his ears only and then motioned for Eve and Mearns to come in, her upper arms wobbling as she did – two seats already positioned for their arrival.
‘Not too long, please.’ Annie’s voice was brisk, no-nonsense, not waiting for an answer before she marched her large frame from the room.
‘Help yourself to water. Think I can even stretch to a biscuit if you open the cupboard there.’
Though his eyes remained shut, Ronnie Dempster’s voice was unexpectedly strong. And friendly. It was that more than anything that surprised Eve. She glanced at Mearns before answering.
‘We’re OK, thanks.’
‘Say what you came here to say then.’
Direct. Eve had to give him that. Then again, knowing what Ronnie’s future held removed any reason for him to waste time. The problem was that Eve wasn’t sure what they’d come here to say – she didn’t think there was anything to be said. They were here on a whim. Mearns’ whim.
She leaned forward. ‘We wanted to talk to you about what happened twenty years ago.’
Ronnie opened his eyes, turned his head towards them. Eve wasn’t expecting his eyes to be clear, deep blue irises, striking against white. Eyes that looked as kind as his voice sounded when he spoke.
‘Annie said. She didn’t think it was a good idea, but, like I said to her, it’s a bit late in the day for me to be worrying about myself.’
‘Thanks for seeing us.’ There was a softness to Mearns’ tone that Eve remembered from when they’d broken the news to the Rosses that their daughter was gone. It seemed Mearns was as thrown by Ronnie as she was.
Eve continued. ‘You’ll be wondering why we’re here about that. I’ll be honest and say we’re not entirely sure ourselves. Call it a chat. Something we need to explore and remove from our inquiries.’
Ronnie nodded his understanding. ‘I’ve been thinking about it since you called. As you can probably imagine, I’ve never stopped thinking about it in twenty years.’ He moved his head on the pillow, stared at the ceiling. ‘I never saw myself making it this far, you know. Wanted to be away long ago but never had the guts for it. Don’t need to worry about that now.’ He smiled the saddest smile Eve had ever seen. For a moment, she felt sorry for the guy, had to remind herself why they were here, why the room showed no signs of family or friends.
‘You sound like you have a lot of regrets, Mr Dempster. Are you able to talk to us about what happened?’
‘I don’t know what there is to say other than what the police files would’ve said at the time and all the newspapers after that.’
Elliott had got hold of some archive material, and Mearns had given Eve the gist on the drive down. ‘It would help to hear it from you. Not the formal interview. Not the media gossip. Your story.’
Ronnie took his hands from beneath the blanket, clasped them upon his chest, thin fingers and wrists looking like they might snap if touched. ‘Surely you can’t think this is to do with what’s going on up in Aberdeen?’
Mearns looked surprised.
‘I may be terminally ill, but I can still read and see the telly.’
‘Of course.’ Eve nodded. ‘Yes, it’s connected to what’s happening. Your case came up on our system and we’re ruling out anything that we can.’
‘Look at me, officer. Do you think I’m capable of going anywhere?’
‘No, Mr Dempster. We don’t think you have anything to do with the recent murders. We’re here to chat.’
‘To chat.’ Ronnie frowned, looking as unconvinced as Eve felt. Eve wanted to say something to stop them from looking any more stupid than they already did.
‘Mr Dempster.’ Eve turned as Mearns spoke, relieved that she had. ‘We don’t want to cause you any unnecessary pain or distress. As my boss said, this visit is purely the chance for us to talk, nothing else. As you may appreciate, the method that you used,’ Mearns paused, ‘it’s the same that’s being used in these murders.’
Ronnie’s sharp intake of breath was to be expected.
Mearns gave him a moment before continuing. ‘We want to know that we’ve looked into anything and everything that shows some similarity – no matter how tenuous. You’re under no obligation to talk though. We respect that.’
Ronnie’s eyes focused on the ceiling. ‘I’ve nothing to lose. Call it a final confession if you like.’
Eve leaned back in her chair. ‘Thank you, Mr Dempster. In your own time and how you want to tell it. We’re here to listen, not judge.’
Ronnie sighed, a deep rasping exhalation. ‘Susie was five. The most beautiful wee thing. Inside and out.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘I know every father says that, but she was. When we lost her, everything changed.
‘Of course you try to keep it together. You have to. Your marriage. Your other kid. Yourself.’ Ronnie’s voice cracked, tears filling his eyes. ‘We did that for a year. I think we even managed to fool folk we were managing. But it was a lie. We weren’t keeping anything together. Everything was falling apart around us.’ A tear slid down the side of Ronnie’s face, the pillow sponging it.
‘I tried. I tried hard to keep things going. But I felt like we were clinging to each other on a rock that was in danger of being washed away, dragged under. Sometimes I clung to it so hard, trying to save us, that I felt we were fighting each other off.’ Ronnie coughed, choking on his tears.
‘Can I get you some water?’ Mearns was on her feet, helping Ronnie with a tenderness that Eve had to look away from.
‘Thank you.’ Ronnie lay against the pillow, gathered himself before continuing. ‘It was Shaun who found her. Hanging.’ Ronnie gulped. ‘She’d been playing, tried to hoist herself up on to a wide ledge to hide, lost her footing and became tangled.’
Mearns spoke softly. ‘It must’ve been difficult for your son.’
‘It was torture for all of us. I lost my job. Angie stopped looking after herself. Stopped looking after Shaun. He was only nine years old. He doted on Susie.’
‘Did he ever talk about it? About what happened?’
‘He tried to. I wanted him to. But me and Angie were struggling to deal with the grief as adults. God knows how we expected a child to handle it.’
Mearns gave him a minute and then asked, ‘What happened?’
‘The honest answer? I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘How it got to there, I don’t.’
‘Grief is a powerful thing, Mr Dempster, as is stress.’
Ronnie unclasped his hands, dry skin scratching. ‘We’d had a good day. One of the few we’d managed since we lost her. Spent some time together, the three of us. Everything seemed fine – I felt fine when we went to bed. I woke about eleven p.m. A nightmare. I had them often after Susie died.’ He lifted a hand to his forehand, rubbed it. ‘I was thirsty. Went to the kitchen to get something to drink. I decided to sit at the table, to shake off the dream. Couldn’t stop thinking about Susie. About what had happened.’
‘What happened then?’ Mearns’ voice still gentle.
‘Angie came downsta
irs. Before, it would’ve been to check on me, but by then it was to refill her glass.’
‘She was drinking?’
‘Yes, and had been for some time. Probably since it happened, but she hid it at first.’
‘Did she say anything?’
‘No. She didn’t give me a second look. Headed for the cupboard to get the whisky. Then the fridge to get the water. Not that it was worth it, for all she added to the glass.’
‘Strong stuff.’
Mearns glanced at Eve. They were both aware that eventually Ronnie had turned to drink himself. It was the reason he was in here. Liver cancer.
‘Yeah. I asked her to sit with me, said I needed the company. It was the look she gave me. Like I was nothing. That she hated me. She didn’t even answer – just turned to leave the kitchen.’ Ronnie resumed turning his hands. Over and over. ‘It’s then that I don’t know what happened. Something exploded, something that I hadn’t even known was in me. Next I knew she was on the floor, the water jug in pieces beside her.’
‘You hit her with it?’
Ronnie nodded, tears streaming down the sides of his face. ‘I was in shock. Scared. Worried Shaun would come downstairs.’
‘What did you do?’
Ronnie gulped, whatever was in his throat seeming to stick as he started sobbing. ‘She came to. Started mumbling, but then, when she realized what had happened, started shouting, blood pouring down her face. Blaming me for what happened to Susie. Belittling me. Pure venom in her voice.’ His chest hitched as he breathed in. ‘I wanted her to stop. I wanted her to take back what she was saying. I … I didn’t know that woman. I wanted my Angie. I loved her. Jesus. I still love her … I’m sorry. I’m …’
Ronnie was falling apart in front of them. Eve spoke. ‘Mr Dempster. Ronnie. It’s OK. We know what happened next. It’s OK.’
Eve wanted out of here. To leave a dying man in peace. A man who had nothing left and probably hadn’t had anything for a long time. Eve knew evil. She’d seen it plenty of times in her job and Ronnie Dempster wasn’t it. Yes, he’d killed. In the most gruesome way. But it was clear from the court findings and from speaking to him that he wasn’t in his right mind that night. That he’d done his time – both in prison and in his life since. She waited for Ronnie to calm himself.
‘I’m sorry we made you go there. We’ll get Annie to come and see to you and then we’ll leave you alone. But I would like to ask one more thing if I could, Mr Dempster.’
Ronnie’s face was soaked, blue eyes diluted with grief. ‘What?’
‘What happened to Shaun?’
Ronnie closed his eyes, his face creasing in pain. ‘I lost my son that night. Angie’s parents took him in. I never heard from him or them again.’
‘Have you ever tried to find him, to get in touch? To explain?’
‘Explain what? How I took his mother from him? How, after losing Susie, I did that to him? And because of that he lost me too?’ Ronnie laughed, a brittle, bitter sound. ‘I didn’t deserve to see my son. I still don’t. He had a chance at a new life, and I hope he grabbed it with both hands. With good people. That he’s a good person and he’s forgotten I ever was. And that’s the only way it should be.’
Eve was glad to be closing the car door and leaving the Dundee Hospice behind.
‘That wasn’t what I was expecting.’
Mearns adjusted her seatbelt against her shoulder. ‘No, me neither. Never thought I could feel sorry for someone who’d tried to cut out a woman’s tongue.’
‘You’re right there.’ Eve turned on the radio, low, some background noise while they talked on the journey home. ‘Definitely a dead end, yeah?’
‘Eh, yeah. Dead as a dodo. Would be interesting to know what happened to the son though.’
‘Nosey.’ Eve smiled, realizing how comfortable things had become between her and Mearns, glad of it. ‘You’d hope that Ronnie’s dream for his son did come true. Something good to come out of all that.’
Mearns raised her hand, forefinger and thumb an inch apart. ‘You’re a little bit curious too?’
‘I guess.’
‘No harm in me having a casual check on the grandparents’ whereabouts then?’
Eve sighed. ‘If you do, then you didn’t get clearance from me. I’m in enough shit as it is.’
‘No biggy. A wee check. Curious, that’s all.’
Eve smiled, noting Mearns’ use of the Scottish word, which sounded bizarre in her Bolton accent. She indicated as she joined the dual carriageway, thinking. Her own thoughts, not to be shared. Adrian Hardy still at the forefront of them.
Chapter 38
Then
It’s smaller than he remembers. Even standing here on the pavement outside looking in, everything around him feels miniature, different through adult eyes. But there’s something else too. Something that he can’t figure out.
He’s standing by the lamp post, the one that used to shine its light into his bedroom at night, allowing him to read the words on his wall, helping him to see. To see the truth.
Thick snowflakes are coming fast, turning his hair white, resting on his shoulders like a cloak. He’s reminded of the night he heard his parents talking in their bedroom. It was snowing that night too. A duvet around him. A different kind of cloak. But always invisible. He remembers this house. More bad memories than good.
There’s movement at the downstairs window. The sitting room. He doesn’t move, doesn’t stop looking. He locks eyes with the man staring out at him. Realizes what’s different about the house at the same time he thinks it about the man at the window. Old, haggard, uncared for. A stranger.
Still he stands there, his hands by his sides, freezing, fingertips tingling, burning in the cold; his toes inside his boots the same. He blinks, a snowflake falling off an eyelash on to his cheek. He wonders if he looks real, standing out here, slowly turning white, fading away to nothing.
He breathes out, his only movement, a cloud of white fog escaping his mouth, making him real, showing he’s alive.
The man at the window is moving, stepping away out of sight. He sees his shadow moving behind the glass panel of the door, hears the familiar rattle of the chain as the man attempts to unlock the door.
By the time the door opens, he is gone. Invisible. The old man probably left wondering if he was ever there at all.
Chapter 39
Friday, 6 December
Eve aimed her empty coffee cup at the bin, threw and missed. She tutted, stood from her desk and went to get it, taking that morning’s newspaper with her, determined not to miss with that. A week since she’d scrapped with Ferguson outside Hardy’s and the guy was still getting column inches – the same photo of them tumbling about on the ground splashed across the paper again and again – albeit getting a little smaller with each passing day.
How the hell could it be Friday already? Over a week since Sanders had been killed. And all to show for it, a pointless visit to Ronnie Dempster. They’d searched for potential articles and headlines from the Aberdeen Enquirer in the vain hope of a link. So many of them a possibility but yet impossible to cover everyone that featured in them. They didn’t have the manpower or the justification. Besides, such a move could create chaos. They’d also revisited the Scottish Intelligence Database again, this time concentrating on the nursery rhymes, and explored school teachers, nursery teachers, people that could be connected to the rhyme. All a very long shot but tasks that made them feel they were trying, doing something. It had given them nothing but dead ends – everyone fully aware there could be another murder tonight.
And to think she’d been convinced that cracking the nursery rhyme had been a breakthrough. All it had done was rub their faces in the fact that they knew what was coming but still could do bugger all to stop it from happening.
Friday’s Child. Loving and Giving. How could they even know where to start with that? Eve shoved the newspaper in the bin, stomping on it with her foot for good measure. They couldn’t.
But she knew where she needed to be tonight.
Eve was struggling to dislodge her foot from the mesh bucket when Mearns walked into the room.
‘I know things are quiet but …’ Mearns raised her eyebrows, motioned towards the bin.
‘Funny. I’m taking out some frustration on Hardy’s bullshit in the press.’
‘How about shaking it off in the staff canteen?’
‘You are joking?’
‘Relax, we’ll all be on the soft stuff.’
‘Not what I meant. All? How can anyone be thinking about chilling in the canteen knowing what could happen tonight?’
‘We weren’t. Hastings is.’
‘Eh?’ Eve couldn’t get her head round that one.
‘Yup, bit of a team grouping. He knows no one’s going home tonight, everyone waiting for the call that we know is going to be coming.’
‘And we hang out in the canteen? No wonder the press are ripping into us.’
Mearns shrugged. ‘We’ve exhausted everything we can. It’s all led nowhere. Apart from Shaun Dempster’s grandparents. I managed to get a hit on them. The grandmother at least. Grandfather is dead. But she’s in a sheltered-housing complex in St Andrews.’ Mearns said the last sentence in a hushed tone, aware Eve didn’t want anyone to know she was pursuing that line of inquiry. She had managed to uncover a missing-persons report for Shaun Dempster, lodged fourteen years ago, but nothing else.
‘Arrange for us to go and see her instead of doing bugger all else but waiting about.’
Mearns nodded. ‘I’ll get on it. Don’t be hard on yourself. What else can we do but wait?’
Eve curled her lip. ‘I can think of other things apart from sitting in the canteen. You know, stuff that would feel more useful while we sit and let another woman die.’
Hold Your Tongue Page 23