by R. D. Nixon
‘I’m no doctor,’ he said at last, ‘but I’d say you could do with some attention. I’m going to leave now, but I’ll send an ambulance out to you soon as I get a signal, okay?’
Doohan nodded, but still looked suspicious. ‘What are you doing here, anyway? It’s not that tired old good-cop-bad-cop thing is it? They come in here and smash the place up, and then you come along and try to win me over with kindness?’
‘Kindness is it? You’ve been beaten up; I call an ambulance. Seems like common decency to me, nothing more. Besides, I’m not a police officer.’
‘But you are after the collection.’ It wasn’t a question, and Mackenzie shrugged.
‘If you mean the one belonging to Sarah Wallace, aye, I am. Her friend’s paying me to find them.’
‘So you’re a private eye?’
‘Not an expression I’m fond of. I provide an investigation service, and she wants this investigating.’
‘No doubt. Time was I’d have told her, too, if I’d known.’
Mackenzie frowned. ‘But not now?’
Doohan shook his head, and his expression altered. Now he seemed confused and unhappy. ‘Duncan Wallace was my best friend; his family was my own, since I had none. They even asked me to be godfather to their only child, and I was happy to accept. When Duncan and Mary died, the same year I was released, I swore over their graves I’d protect and look out for wee Sarah.’
‘Hard to protect her when she’s on another continent,’ Mackenzie observed.
Doohan nodded again. ‘True enough, but when she left, I believed it was for the best. And all these years I’ve kept an eye out, even from here. Sent letters, gifts... Not that she sent much back, but her life was different from mine, aye? I had more time.’
Mackenzie glanced at his watch, mentally counting Bradley’s head start. Doohan appeared not to notice his impatience, and Mackenzie was about to say something, but Doohan’s words stopped him.
‘I don’t know how reliable Bradley is with his information, but I believe he believes it. I’d bet on it, too.’ He looked calmly at Mackenzie. ‘She’s the one set the house afire and killed Duncan and Mary.’
‘Christ!’ Mackenzie felt his eyes widen. ‘Murder or accident?’
‘Oh, it’ll have been deliberate,’ Doohan said, matter-of-factly. ‘Duncan would never tell her where he’d hidden the collection, and she’d a vicious temper on her when she didn’t get her own way. When she was a wee girl it was quite funny...’ His voice tailed away, as if losing himself momentarily in the memories of a small girl stamping her foot, to the indulgent smiles of her parents and their friends.
‘Not so cute now, eh?’ Mackenzie said. ‘Listen; I’ve got to be away. I’ll call that ambulance, and see if I can find out where Bradley’s—’
‘Och, I don’t need an ambulance. Don’t bother yourself with that.’ Doohan suddenly stared harder at Mackenzie. ‘What did you say your name was, lad?’
‘Mackenzie.’
‘Can’t throw a stone without hittin’ a Mackenzie out here – what’s your first name?’
‘Paul. Mr Doohan—’
‘I thought you had a familiar look about you. I knew your mum and dad, you know.’
‘Aye, I remember you, a bit. You used to come to the house.’
‘It was a shame about your mother. And I always liked your dad.’
‘You can visit him anytime you like; he might even be pleased to see you.’
‘Visit?’ Doohan stared at him. ‘He’s not dead?’
‘Dead? No.’ Mackenzie shook his head, realising he shouldn’t be surprised; Frank might as well have disappeared off the face of the earth to everyone except his younger son, and, if he had his way, even to him. ‘He’s in a place called The Heathers. It’s a nursing home. You knew about the stroke though?’
‘Aye, I did, Duncan wrote to me in prison. But he also told me the man had gone the way of your poor mother.’
‘Well, he hasn’t,’ Mackenzie said shortly. He stood up. ‘Mr Doohan, I’m sorry to hear your Sarah isn’t the shining angel you always thought she was, but there’s a child missing and I need to find him, even more than I need to find those stupid bloody statues.’
‘Hardly “stupid bloody statues,” lad.’ Doohan paused, then added quietly, ‘Thank you for coming in. You’re your father’s boy all right.’
Mackenzie swung back, suddenly angry. ‘If you liked him so much, why did you never try to find a grave to visit, like you did with your precious Duncan and Mary?’
There was a heavy pause.
‘Guilt,’ Doohan whispered at last, and raised watery eyes to Mackenzie, who frowned.
‘Guilt? What the hell are you saying, man?’
Doohan didn’t answer at first; he just kept his eyes on Mackenzie’s, then smiled. ‘Frank Mackenzie’s boy, eh? Who’d have thought? You know, I’d almost forgotten his real name – we never called him Frank. To us, he was always Mick.’
Chapter Thirteen
Glenlowrie Estate, New Year’s Eve 1987/8
‘We can’t keep it, Dunc.’
The rucksack lay protectively close to Duncan Wallace, on the upturned tea chest between the three men, its contents hidden from the feeble light of three candles. Rob saw the panic on Alexander Broughton’s face as he leaned closer.
‘Dunc! I said—’
‘Shut up, Sandy, I’m thinking.’ Duncan reached out and dipped his hand into the canvas hold-all. Rob knew that somewhere in there nestled the hypnotic Fury, the Lightning Ridge opal of such fiery intensity that Stephen Spence had found no other name that could come close to describing it. Duncan also had no idea Rob even knew it existed, and that was the way he wanted to keep it; Mick had only let a few people into his confidence, and kept them ignorant of one another for a reason. Rob wondered if William Kilbride knew about it, but decided not; he would have been a lot less scathing about the way Mick went on about the collection if he’d known the Fury was part of it.
Duncan withdrew his hand, and an earring dropped onto the tea chest. Rob wanted to pick it up, but there was always this feeling that, although equality coated the surface of their group, Duncan Wallace was very much in charge. He saw Sandy look to him for support, but he shrugged, refusing to be drawn. All he wanted to do was get his share and get out; this had been too close for comfort. After all, he’d been the one to actually take the damned things out of Mick’s safe, the other two were supposed to have put them back, and failed spectacularly when the police had arrived and scared them off.
But Sandy was pushing it. ‘Duncan, man, this is serious. A joke’s a joke, but now—’
‘Aye. Now, my friends, we’re richer than anyone’s a right to be,’ Duncan said.
Rob smiled. ‘We were already rich,’ he pointed out.
‘Not like this.’
The wind gusted as Duncan picked up the emerald earring from the table, shaking the hut and almost blowing the candle out. Shadows and light created the illusion of animation on the still faces around him, but Rob kept his own features steady as Duncan looked at them in turn, gauging their trustworthiness.
He felt a twist of guilt as he thought of their friend; Frank Mackenzie – Mick – would normally have been with them that night, joining in whatever childish excursions and dares Wallace had dreamed up for Hogmanay, but since he was at some big family function in Inverness he’d instead been selected as the target. A sort of punishment, even, for shunning Duncan Wallace’s big party. And yes, Sandy was right; it had initially been a challenge, a joke, but now things had got serious. Thank god Will hadn’t been involved as well; things would have taken a very different turn, no doubt.
Sandy kept on at Wallace, the idiot. Rob felt a little sorry for him, but knew he was digging himself a pit of bother in the long run. Better just to shut up, take his share, and bugger off. But of course he wouldn’t.
‘This isn’t just any old collection – this belongs to Mick. Our friend, remember? This was supposed to be nothing
more than a prank. Jesus, Rob, tell him. Maybe you’ll get through.’ He sat back in his chair, rubbing his jaw.
‘He’ll listen to whoever he wants to,’ Rob said calmly.
The wind shrieked around the hut as Duncan told them what they would do with the Spence jewels, a plan that would take years to come to fruition. Sandy kept flinching and looking up, as if he could see the dark, heavy branches dipping ever closer to the roof of the hut; perhaps he was expecting to be struck down for his part in the robbery.
Rob leaned forward and felt inside the bag, letting the loose chains and rings pass through his fingers, and surreptitiously hunting among the velvet covered boxes for one that might contain the Fury. All the while, the arguments went back and forth, but of course in the end Duncan had the say of it. He began the task of separating the spoils of their raid, and Rob strained to catch a glimpse of the opal, but not knowing how it was packed, and short of seizing Duncan’s own pile and sorting through it, there was nothing he could do. Still, there was time yet. Thirty years, in fact.
Rob and Sandy took their shares, left Duncan in his shed, and walked in silence down to the entrance to the Glenlowrie Estate.
Before they went their separate ways, Rob touched Sandy’s arm. ‘You’ll be careful with your share now, won’t you?’ He kept his voice gentle, and Sandy nodded.
‘Aye, of course. I’ll find somewhere to hide them, and try to put it out of my mind.’ He looked miserably at Rob. ‘I just wish I could give it all back, honest to God I do.’
‘We’ll still be arrested for breaking and entering,’ Rob pointed out. ‘Mick’ll not take this lying down, not now. We’ll do time, and what’ll that do to your family?’
‘Maybe when it’s all died down, we can go and see Mick, and let him have what we’ve got?’ Sandy sounded hopeful. ‘We can keep Duncan’s name out of it, but Mick’ll probably thank us. After all, he’ll get the insurance—’
‘Bollocks he’ll thank us!’ Rob’s voice hardened. ‘You know him as well as any of us! You do what you feel you have to, but if you can keep Duncan’s name out of it, you’ll damn well keep mine out as well.’ He leaned in close. ‘Friend or not, if I go down for this, you’re going to wish to Christ you’d kept your mouth shut.’
They went to their respective homes, and when, the following morning, they learned of Frank Mackenzie’s shock-induced stroke, Rob guessed it was all over. He was right.
Faced with a possible charge of involuntary manslaughter, and riddled with guilt, Sandy Broughton had panicked and tried to return his share of the Spence collection. It was only a matter of hours then, before the police came knocking at his, Rob’s, and Duncan Wallace’s doors.
Aonach View, August 2018
‘So your little prank cost me my home, my family, and my father’s health,’ Mackenzie said in a hollow voice, and the truth of his words cut Doohan deep.
‘It was never—’
‘Don’t.’ Mackenzie shoved himself away from Doohan’s chair and stood up. ‘You and Bradley, between you, have taken everything. And you sit here calmly accepting my help? You’re no better than he is.’
Rob looked away. ‘I’ve no idea how Duncan managed to swing it with young Bradley,’ he said quietly, ‘but you know what it’s like; one i not dotted and the whole bloody case falls apart. Whatever it was, it worked. Duncan was released, and I served five years even though I gave up my share of the collection.’
‘Nowhere near what you deserved.’
Rob couldn’t argue with that. ‘I didn’t say a word to anyone about Duncan’s involvement – how could I? He was my best friend. Plus he was always one for rewarding people he’d put his trust in. He told me he’d had those stupid bloody statues, as you called them, made up by a local craftsman, with his share of the collection split up and sealed inside. That man, Dougie Cameron, was under his protection from then until the day Duncan died. Dunc told me he’d got Cameron to put the flaw in the base of each one, so he’d know them, and I told Sarah. To protect her against people like Bradley.’
‘And presumably you’d know them too.’
‘I would, if I ever saw them again, but we both know it’s unlikely now.’ Rob took a deep breath and could hear it shuddering in his chest. ‘I don’t know about Superintendent Bradley, what he may or may not have done since. I’ve wronged you though, and I’m sorry for it.’ His eyes met Mackenzie’s mistrustful glare without flinching. ‘But you need to put that aside now and find the boy.’
‘Easier said.’ The hopelessness in Mackenzie’s voice made Rob look away again, feeling wretched. His gaze wandered the room, surveying the wreckage with a bubbling outrage at the way his life had been reduced to this. A framed photo lay face down by his feet, and he bent with difficulty and picked it up. He turned it over to see a picture of Dunc, Sandy, William Kilbride and himself, back in the eighties judging by their clothes, squinting against the sun and ready for a shoot; some glorious twelfth or other...
He looked up at Mackenzie again, his heart skipping and his fingers suddenly tight on the photo frame.
‘I think I might be able to help.’
Charis finished her shower and found a towel large enough to wind around herself twice and still leave room for potentially tripping up. This was definitely no cheap travellers’ hotel. She sat down and rubbed her leg where she’d banged it on the corner of the bed; bending down to see if the skin was broken, she saw trailing laces under the bed. With a small moan she reached under and pulled out one of Jamie’s trainers.
At the sight of it dangling from her hand, she hitched a sharp breath that hurt her chest. Poor, lost boy with nothing to keep his feet warm and dry... Please, God, let that be the worst of his worries.
She’d heard nothing from Mackenzie. And as for Maddy, the truce of last night seemed a million miles away now that emotions had had chance to cool off, and they’d all, presumably, slept at least a little. She herself had lain awake for most of what had remained of the night, but she knew she’d slept towards dawn because of the vivid dream she’d had, where Jamie had returned and slipped quietly into his hotel bed. She had been so speechless with anger at him for frightening her, and so frustrated when he laughed, that she had smacked his legs and made him cry. But it was her own eyes that were wet when she awoke.
Charis clutched the towel tighter. Unable to stop herself, she let her mind wander, finding her boy and picturing him as she’d last seen him; sitting up in bed, waving as she’d left him to go down to the hotel bar. So trusting, so defenceless, so heartbreakingly precious. She closed her eyes to hold onto the memory, until a door slamming somewhere down the hall brought her back and she jumped, a chill brushing her skin as she moved; she must have been sitting there for ages.
She reluctantly got up to find a clean set of clothes from her bag. It was all badly creased, but she shivered in relieved warmth as she pulled on a dark green sweatshirt. Her spare jeans were clean and dry now too, after their trip to the launderette. Was that only yesterday? How long had this weekend been going on for?
Her heart leapt as she heard a knock at the door. Mackenzie, thank God! She opened the door, but her smile became fixed as she saw the cool beauty on the other side, dressed in full police uniform once more. Maddy glanced downwards, and Charis realised the button on her jeans was still undone, and her sweatshirt was rucked up where she had been fighting with the newly washed jeans zip.
‘They’ve just come out the dryer,’ she began, then stopped; she didn’t need to justify herself. ‘Is there any news?’
Maddy shook her head. ‘I just came for a progress report. Have you heard from Paul yet?’
‘No, have you?’
‘No. Can I come in?’
‘Can I stop you?’ Charis flinched at her own rudeness, but the frustration of waiting around and swapping pointless chat was starting to wear her down. Maddy gave her a thoughtful look and came in anyway. Charis closed the door behind her, hating her for not being Mackenzie, wishing she could turn ar
ound and see his kind face, filled with compassion and warmth, instead of those clear green cat’s eyes that appraised her and doubtless found her wanting.
‘If I’ve heard nothing,’ she said, more harshly than she’d intended, ‘there’s nothing I can tell you.’
‘The longer we go without contact, the less time we’ll have to wait for it,’ Maddy pointed out reasonably. She sat on the edge of the bed, ostentatiously averting her attention while Charis did up her zip.
‘Did you see Stein downstairs?’ Charis asked, yanking her sweatshirt back down.
‘Yes I did.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
Charis snapped at last. ‘Do you always have to be so bloody snotty?’
Maddy blinked. ‘Am I?’ she said, frowning. ‘I don’t mean to be. I’m just a bit preoccupied, I suppose.’
‘And you think no-one else can possibly have anything on their mind as important as what’s on yours? Did it not occur to you that I might be sitting here out of my mind with worry about my little boy, and you come marching in here, giving me those...looks, and assuming I want you here? No, it bloody didn’t. Now if you’ve got nothing to tell me, why don’t you just get out?’ She pulled open the door again and glared at Maddy, who was staring at her in amazement.
Charis gave her a tight, unfriendly smile. ‘Yeah, the little pain in the arse has teeth. Now are you going or what?’
‘Look, I understand you’re scared.’ Maddy stood up. Her police uniform, with its padded body armour, made her seem taller than ever, and her eyes shot bolts of ice. ‘But I still don’t believe you have any idea of the danger you’ve placed everyone in. Even Jamie.’ She closed her eyes briefly as Charis started to protest. ‘Just shut up and listen!’ She reached out and slammed the door shut again, and her Glaswegian accent grew stronger as her voice rose. ‘Those police officers are not comic strip bad guys. One of them is a psycho in all but certificate, and the other would like nothin’ better than to tie concrete blocks to my best friend’s feet and drop him into the middle of the nearest loch. Are you getting this? Now I’m going to help out where I can, but understand this: my loyalty is not to you, it’s to Paul. No matter how desperately I want to help you find your son, I will do everything in my power to make sure that your paranoid interference does not hurt Paul. Got it?’