Foreign Bodies

by Colin A Millar

  Or he would kill someone else.

  Kill someone else.

  Kill.

  He pushed that particularly disturbing thought to one side. That was unthinkable, went against everything he had been raised to believe. He still held the values of his parents. More to the point, he simply knew it was wrong to consider taking another person’s life. Didn’t everyone know that? It was basic instinct, wasn’t it? And you certainly don’t kill your own. What was it called? Natural Law? He didn’t need his bastard father to tell him that, or anyone else for that matter.

  Then he thought about her. She was long gone, had moved away while he was at Uni. But she was still there in his mind, still part of his dreams, desires and ambitions. What had happened to their becoming a couple at school and going to university together, living in rooms next to each other in halls, and then sharing a flat for the final year or two? What had happened to their life after university – marriage, children, the works?

  All of it had turned to dust because of them – his parents, the kirk congregation, her. Gone because of what they did, how it was done and everyone eventually finding out, thanks to her. Why shouldn’t he think of committing murder on these people, on all of them, the rest of the village and anyone else who had been involved?

  He closed his eyes and tried to clear the horrendous thoughts swirling in his mind, the images of her and them ripped and torn, and the idea that he would be free if only he could be rid of them all. Cleansed of the guilt and humiliation he could get on with his life. His plans for the rest of his days could, would be fulfilled. He would have a chance.

  He had to get himself out of this way of thinking. He could just move on, lose contact and get on with his life – never return here, never see his parents again and definitely never see, think or hear of her again. But the feeling and the hatred had stayed with him. He couldn’t move on from the idea that they had to go, had to die. He was becoming a slave to his own desire for revenge and release and for them all to suffer.

  Sobs still wracking his body, he screwed his eyes tight shut in a final effort of will to stop it all.

  And then, unbidden into his mind, came her laughter.

  She had laughed.

  She wouldn’t stop laughing until he stopped her. Permanently.

  With that thought he threw up on the frozen ground, knowing that he was now trapped by his own nightmares.

  Chapter 12

  Charlotte couldn’t shake her wide-eyed incredulity at Agatha’s outburst but tried to hold together the small talk they had descended into. Agatha had switched seamlessly and blithely to enquiring after the children and Charlotte’s work.

  After half an hour or so of the inconsequential chatter, Agatha placed her drink meaningfully on the table. Clearly another change of subject was due, Charlotte thought, and this one perhaps of more import. Agatha looked at the table a moment, clearly weighing her next words.

  ‘Are you aware the police were enquiring about Marcus at the Foreign Office a few days ago?’ she asked in a quiet, almost conspiratorial voice.

  ‘Well, yes I would imagine they would,’ replied Charlotte, with surprise in her voice. ‘After all, they are still looking for him and anything from work or home may help them.’

  Agatha shook her head. ‘No, not entirely, my dear. You see a young DC—’

  ‘That would be DC Handley,’ Charlotte interrupted.

  ‘Quite,’ continued Agatha. ‘You see he spoke to Sir Frederick for some time. Now I wasn’t party to what was said, but afterwards I was asked to find and send a lot of information about dates, absences and expense claims.’

  ‘OK,’ was all Charlotte could think of to say, still not really seeing where this was going. ‘Again, surely they are just trying to trace his movements and establish a pattern as to his whereabouts.’

  ‘No, Charlotte, you are missing something – I hadn’t finished about the information. You see, they asked for details going back several years, which I was a little surprised about. I tried to discreetly question Sir Frederick about it afterwards but he wasn’t very forthcoming. But from the little I could glean I got the impression they weren’t just trying to find Marcus because he is missing, but more that they were very interested in catching up with him for another reason.’

  Agatha paused and lifted her drink.

  ‘Like what?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘That, I’m afraid, I can’t say,’ Agatha replied. ‘Like I said, Sir Frederick was less than forthcoming on the subject. But it really felt like there is some form of investigation going on that you are unaware of.’

  ‘Hmm, well that might explain the hair and fingerprints DC Handley came looking for this morning,’ Charlotte said, as if to herself.

  ‘Hair and fingerprints?’ Agatha asked.

  Charlotte explained DC Handley’s visit, along with the man from forensics, explaining she had been told it was for elimination purposes, should anyone materialise with resemblance to Marcus.

  ‘Yes, that could be the case, but I now wonder. If you were to put these two pieces together along with a very minor hint from Sir Frederick, I think you should probably prepare for a difficult revelation from your DC Handley at some point in the not too distant future,’ Agatha said quietly.

  Charlotte sat for some minutes digesting this information. Agatha remained silent, allowing Charlotte space to think.

  She was lifted from her reverie when Agatha tutted and muttered, ‘Speak of the devil and he’s sure to appear.’ Then she said, more audibly this time, ‘Frederick, you’ve finished earlier than I expected.’

  Charlotte turned her head to see Sir Frederick Derringham approaching from the doorway, with a wide, white smile crossing his handsome features. The smile dropped slightly and a small frown creased his brow as he saw Charlotte.

  ‘My dear Charlotte,’ he said with genuine surprise in his voice, ‘what on Earth brings you here?’

  Charlotte returned his smile, taking his proffered hand, and in that very affected manner he made to kiss her knuckles without actually making contact.

  He sat down and glanced quickly at Agatha. ‘Yes, frankly Agatha, I’ve had that damn report up to my ears today,’ he said. ‘I’ve emailed number 10 saying they’ll have to wait until the end of the day tomorrow before they get it. Damned if I’m going to spend all evening writing it for them when they’re probably out enjoying themselves.’

  Agatha allowed herself a half-smile at the back of Sir Frederick’s head as he turned towards Charlotte.

  ‘Well Charlotte, what has brought you here?’ he asked, whilst waving at the bar staff. They clearly knew exactly what he wanted.

  Charlotte explained about her attempt to connect with Marcus’ frame of mind at the time of his disappearance, and how she had found herself heading to the St. Martin’s Lounge as she had remembered the place from an early date with Marcus.

  Sir Frederick listened attentively throughout then asked, ‘And did you find the answers you were looking for?’

  ‘Not really Frederick, no,’ Charlotte replied. ‘The only conclusions I can draw are that I’m not sure I knew Marcus as well as I thought and that there are some big holes in my knowledge of the sort of man he really was. I realised I know next to nothing about his past. I wonder, now, whether there was something I didn’t know that led to him leaving – some family secret that raised its head. But then I could equally be totally wrong. I’m as lost now as I was three months ago.’ Her voice broke slightly as she finished speaking and Sir Frederick placed his hand comfortingly on her shoulder.

  ‘I can only imagine how terrible this has been for you my dear, dear girl,’ he said softly, patting her shoulder gently.

  ‘I have no more idea than you why Marcus has disappeared,’ he said. ‘However, I may be able to shed some light on a little of his past. We have been friends for such a very long time that I have picked up some of his story along the way. If you think it might help you?’

  Charlotte nodded, ‘Yes it ma
y do. I suppose I won’t know until I hear it but anything I don’t already know could well be the key to what has happened.’

  ‘Well, let me see,’ Sir Frederick said, looking towards the ceiling and stroking a hand down the underside of his chin and neck. ‘Where to begin? You know we come from the same area of Scotland?’

  Charlotte nodded again, an affirmative and a prompt for him to continue combined in a single gesture.

  ‘We grew up only a matter of miles apart,’ Sir Frederick continued, taking the cue, ‘but far enough apart that our social paths simply never crossed. When finally we did meet – both of us young men looking to build a career in the civil service – we quickly became firm friends and marvelled at the coincidence of our shared geography. We would go out together quite often back then so inevitably talk would turn to that of home and family.’

  ‘He rarely, if ever, spoke to me about his family,’ Charlotte said, trying to disguise the feeling of jealousy creeping over her – clearly Marcus had been more open with Sir Frederick than with her.

  ‘No, I’m not surprised,’ Sir Frederick said. ‘It took quite some time for him to tell me anything. It was, as I understand it, not a very happy childhood – another thing we shared, unfortunately. You see, we were both raised in particularly Calvinist families. Strict does not begin to describe our respective fathers’ rule of their families. Their word in the house was law, their authority absolute. They were both brutal and unforgiving men; affection wasn’t just in short supply, it was non-existent.’ His brows furrowed and his eyes darkened as he dropped his gaze to the table. He was silent for some time, the memories of a cold and unhappy childhood playing across his expressive face.

  Eventually he looked back up. ‘So you see, perhaps it’s not so surprising that he didn’t talk about his family to you. I suspect he was happy, as was I, to see them safely put under the ground and forgotten as soon as possible afterwards.’

  ‘Yes, I can perhaps see that,’ said Charlotte. ‘I’m not sure I can see though how that connects to him walking out on us – unless the letter he received had something to do with them, but after all these years I find that hard to fathom.’

  ‘The letter?’ Sir Frederick asked, his brow furrowing further. ‘I was unaware of any letter – what did it contain?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Charlotte replied. She went on to explain that Marcus had received the letter on the morning of his disappearance. She found herself unable to mention the notes she and DC Handley had discovered, without really knowing why. Embarrassment, she decided in the end, and shame of course, with a healthy dose of disbelief and non-acceptance mixed in.

  Sir Frederick considered this for a while with pursed lips.

  ‘Do you know?’ he eventually said. ‘This talk of the past and your thought that it might connect to Marcus leaving somehow reminds me of a further point I had forgotten. You see, when Marcus’ mother finally died – a few short years after his father, probably from relief at having got rid of the old goat – the house wasn’t left to him. They left all their possessions including the house to the kirk. I recall being a little surprised that Marcus seemed rather unbothered by the whole thing. He said at the time that he was glad he didn’t need to have anything to do with the place – that the church was welcome to it and that he hoped they would discover it required major renovation and would cost them a fortune to restore.’

  Sir Frederick took a sip of his drink before carrying on, again perhaps considering the situation or remembering the loss of his own parents – it was hard to tell. Charlotte continued to sit in silence, her mind trying to find any connection between what she knew – flimsy as it was – and this new information. She could see none.

  ‘I could never understand why he wasn’t more annoyed by the whole affair,’ Derringham continued. ‘I mean they made his whole childhood and early adult life a pure misery. The least he should have expected was to make some money out of the old buggers. Mind, that was maybe me projecting my attitude onto him. It occurred to me some time later that he may have simply wanted to put everything from his past as far behind him as possible. Perhaps he wanted nothing to remind him, ever again, and so couldn’t bring himself to even set foot in his old family home, even just to sell it.’

  Agatha, who up to this point had sat silent and inexpressive, now interrupted, ‘I don’t see how this could possibly help Charlotte, Frederick. It seems to me you’re simply reminiscing, not shedding any light on the matter.’

  Charlotte was a little taken aback by Agatha’s tone and abrupt words to Sir Frederick. She had always assumed his staff treated him with the same deference outside as he received in the office. Then it occurred to her that he and Agatha had worked together for many years and as a result had probably formed a greater bond than that of boss and PA. And, given Sir Frederick’s lack of reaction he was obviously used to such reprimands, out of the office at least.

  ‘Yes, yes Agatha,’ he said, mildly enough, ‘as usual you’re quite right. I’m waffling on and not helping poor Charlotte here one bit. Only I had begun to wonder, after the mention of that letter – and I have to say I’m speculating wildly – that it may have been to do with this property or his parents or both. And like Charlotte, I’m now wondering – did it stir up something from that horrendous past I’ve described? Did Marcus, in fact, receive some communication about the house or his parents’ estate in general that set a chain of events in motion that ultimately led to his disappearance?’

  They all sat in silence for a while, Sir Frederick and Agatha allowing Charlotte the time to consider what he had had to say.

  Eventually, she shook her head and said, ‘I don’t know Frederick, it’s possible I suppose, but he’s been gone over three months now. What on Earth could it be that has made him completely disappear for that length of time? And why has he not been in contact? It all seems a bit implausible. I mean if it was as simple as some family issue, surely he would have said and let me know he would be away for a while. He would still have called regularly and I would know where he was and what he was doing and that he was safe and well. Instead I have none of those things.’

  ‘I have no answer to those questions, my dear,’ was all Sir Frederick could say in response. Then he added, ‘I only wish I did, if only to give you some peace of mind.’

  Charlotte could think of nothing else to ask Sir Frederick or Agatha; she realised it was now very late and she was acutely aware of the effect the alcohol was having on her. She felt woozy and her head was swimming. Too many new things to consider with no real resolution in sight and now she was struggling to think straight through the whisky. Time to go, she decided.

  ‘Thank you, Frederick,’ she said and heard the slur in her voice. ‘I think I’ll need time to consider what you have said and see if it leads me anywhere. Now, I think, it’s time I went home.’

  ‘Yes, me too,’ said Agatha, rising from the table. ‘Charlotte, tonight is on me.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Sir Frederick interjected. ‘I would be affronted if you wouldn’t allow me to pay.’

  Both women accepted this with a shrug.

  Once outside, it became apparent that they were all going in separate directions. All the same, Sir Frederick insisted that he share a cab with Charlotte to see her safely home.

  They spoke little during the journey. Charlotte was silently considering how much the last few hours had cost Sir Frederick and then decided that he could easily afford it. Not far from her home, he turned to her and looked at her for a little longer than was comfortable. She squirmed a little under his gaze and determined to avoid looking back at him.

  Eventually he put a hand over hers, which she realised was resting on her knee and as a result so was his hand, which only increased her discomfort.

  ‘You know, Charlotte, that although – to my regret – we have not had the opportunity to meet each other with the frequency I would have liked, I have always held you in very high regard. Please do not misinterpret my words a
s some crass attempt at seduction – they most certainly are not.’ He had clearly read the look on her face and interpreted it correctly. He didn’t, however, remove his hand.

  ‘I only wanted you to know that you, and Marcus naturally, but especially you are very dear to me.’ He continued patting her hand. ‘I have felt from the first time Marcus introduced us that there was something very special about you, although I don’t think I could put it into words with any coherence.’

  He stopped talking for a second and gave an embarrassed half-laugh. ‘I am being ineloquent in the extreme and realise I have worried you further with my clumsy attempt to express my desire to see that you are OK. Nothing more. That you only need to ask and if it is in my power to do so I will be of every assistance possible.’

  Feeling only a little less worried than a moment ago, Charlotte smiled weakly. She really was quite tipsy now and simply said, ‘Thank you, you’re a very kind man Frederick.’

  He waved this away with a ‘tsk’ and a gesture she took to mean ‘not at all’.

  She was somewhat relieved when the cab rounded the corner into her street; she still felt a little uncomfortable at Sir Frederick’s words and, as she saw it, over-familiarity – albeit well-meaning and obviously with nothing more than platonic concern.

  As she walked more than a little unsteadily up the drive to the house, the cab idled at the kerbside and she had no doubt that Sir Frederick watched every step until she was safely inside.

  ‘80

  It had never bothered him until that Sunday – having to sit in the front row of pews alongside his mother and aunt. His father was the minister after all and his family were therefore expected to be at the forefront of the weekly worship. But this Sunday was different. This Sunday he desperately wanted to be able to see the rest of the congregation, or more precisely one member of it. He wasn’t sure where she was sitting but he knew she was there, had seen her family enter the kirk and had watched intently as his father had welcomed them warmly into, as he put it, their ‘new family in Christ’.