2007 - The Dead Pool

TO BE PROOFREAD

Title:

The Dead Pool

Author:

Sue Walker

Year:

2007

Synopsis:

Kirstin Rutherford’s return to Edinburgh after two years away is tinged with sadness because five months ago her beloved father-in-law, Jamie, drowned in a deep pool in the Water of Leith, known locally as The Cauldron. And no one is sure whether it was a tragic accident, or a suicide, or something much more sinister…One person who may know is the enigmatic Morag Ramsay. For Morag’s boyfriend and his lover were murdered at The Cauldron only a few months before Jamie’s drowning. Morag was accused of the killings but recently released due to lack of evidence. Convinced Morag holds the key to Jamie’s death, Kirstin befriends her. Yet it soon becomes clear that the brittle and unpredictable Morag is a less than reliable witness. And Kirstin’s journey is making her suspicious of everyone’s motives, including those who died. Who can she trust? And, more importantly, who should she fear?

She had crossed the bridge now. She was in the wood. It was so quiet. Except for the weir, giving out its soft, summer shushing noise. Trickling down from the Cauldron, on its way to the sea
.

‘Find us if you can!’

The shout sounded miles away. Too echoey to make out. How long did she count for? A whole hundred?

And again. A different noise
.

‘
Hey! You’re not scaring me, you know. I’m going to catch you in about ten seconds flat. Ten…nine…eight…seven…
’

A cough like a retching this time. Someone had been drinking even more than her
.

‘
Six…five…four…three…
’

What was that?

‘
Two…one…got y
—’

The vivid colour broke through her dazed senses first. No! They had stolen her sarong to lie on, the vermilion floral pattern screaming out through the dark foliage. They must have heard her, but they hadn’t bothered to cover their nakedness
.

‘
You bastards!
’

Not a movement. But that noise again. And more vermilion. From his mouth this time. Dripping on to her face…

‘
Get up! Wake up! Now!
’

‘Morag Ramsay! Get up! Wake up! Now!’

‘Why is th—’

The lock was being turned. The cell door banged open. ‘Get dressed, Ramsay. They’re letting you out.’

She hated making the journey along the walkways and stairs, even though this time she was on her way out.

She waited for the chorus to start. Sure enough.

‘
Witch! Witch! Witch! Bitch Witch! Bitch Witch! Witch! Witch! Witch! Cauldron Killer! Cauldron Killer!
’

The rhythmic chant from the all-female chorus—oddly melodic thanks to one or two fine voices in the throng—made the nausea wrench at her gut as she passed into the public area, the part of the prison they had tried, and failed, to make look normal. At least it was soundproofed from the hell that lay within. But still, in her head, she heard it. Knew she would always hear it. In sleep, on waking, in night terrors. In nightmares.
The
nightmare.

‘
Witch! Bitch Witch! Cauldron Killer!
’

Four months later

How Well Do You Know Edinburgh’s River?

Why Not Enjoy a Guided Walk Along the Water of Leith?

Whether you were born and bred here, or you are a tourist from another part of the world, all should sample the delights of the Water of Leith, the river that winds through Edinburgh. From its source in the Pentland Hills, the river meanders through some of the most beautiful parts of the city, ending its 35 km journey down at the port of Leith, where its waters pour into the Firth of Forth.

And you can share that journey with one of the great authorities on the Water of Leith, Jamie Munro. A former lawyer and well-known face in the Scottish courts, Jamie has owned a riverside house for more than thirty years. He has spent his retirement getting to know our river intimately, and Jamie now heads up our team of volunteers who patrol the Water of Leith and offer guided walks.

Kirstin Rutherford folded the bright green A5 flyer, put it back in her pocket, and knelt down to tend the rose bush she’d planted a few minutes earlier.

‘Christ, Jamie. What the hell happened to you?’

She lost her balance as the tears started, and had to grasp on to the edge of the headstone, its shiny grey marbled surface reflecting the sun’s piercing rays into her eyes.

James Ross Munro

Born 24 March 1936

Died 11 February 2007

Devoted husband to Jean

Loving father to Ross

’I AM HAPPY NOW WITH MY JEANNIE’

Kirstin eased herself back up on to her feet, offering a last caress to the smooth headstone as she turned to its neighbour.

Jean Margaret Munro Née Keir

Born 20 December 1941

Died 2 March 2004

Beloved wife to Jamie

Devoted mother to Ross

’TAKEN TOO SOON BUT WITH US ALWAYS’

She nodded, a sob catching in her throat.

‘Kirstin?’

She scrabbled in her bag to find sunglasses before turning round. She was damned if she’d let him see her crying.

‘Kirstin? I thought we were meeting at the cemetery gates? I’ve been waiting back there for ages.’

At last she turned to face him, already bristling at his familiar peevish tone. Her outward composure was back, but she was keeping the sunglasses on for protection. From Ross, and from the searing day. She almost burst out laughing. Ross was doing exactly the same.

His sunglasses were locked firmly in place. He looked overheated, even in shirtsleeves, his suit jacket slung too casually over his shoulder. She could sense he was nervous, as well he should be. She felt his scrutiny and ignored it. Yes, she looked in better shape than he did.

He cleared his throat. ‘Well?’

A one-word demand that hauled her back through years of happiness, semi-happiness and, finally, misery. Well, she wasn’t married to him any more. Didn’t have to explain herself to him. Quite the reverse. She turned away again and made some unnecessary rearrangements to the newly planted rose bush, her trowel pinging out sharp notes as it hit the stony ground.

‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Ross? Your father would have wanted me to see him buried, you know that.’ She continued her over-vigorous pummelling of the earth. She’d kill the damn bush if she didn’t watch out.

His feet shifted behind her and the nervous clearing of the throat was back. ‘Oh, God! Not this again. We’ve been through it all on the phone. I had trouble tracking down your address. I told you. All I knew was that you’d been abroad and were, or
might
be, living in Devon now. You’ve changed your mobile, so what could I have done?’

She dropped the trowel and stood up, tugging off her sunglasses. ‘Donald Ferguson has always kept in touch with me. At least a card at Christmas. You knew that.’ She paused, willing herself to cleanse the mixture of grief and anger from her voice. She
had
to keep control, hold vulnerability at bay, or he’d have the better of her. ‘You know, I wasn’t going to do this on the phone. But I will now. Donald told me that you expressly asked him
not
to get in touch with me about your father’s death. That you’d make arrangements for me to come to the funeral. Lying to your father’s best friend! Unbelievable!’

She halted again, the fury and grief making her legs shake. ‘I can’t believe I’m here, tending Jamie’s grave, five months too late, and…and not even the chance to say goodbye. That was a nasty thing to do to me, Ross. The lowest of the low, no matter
what
you’ve got against me. I simply
cannot
believe it. That he’s dead. That you didn’t tell me.’

A silent sob caught in her throat. She bent down to pick up her trowel and bag, praying that he hadn’t noticed the tears starting again.

‘That’s not fair, Kirstin. It wasn’t like that. I’ve had a lot to cope with, what wi—’

In one swift movement she stood up again, turned round and brushed past him, ignoring his outstretched hand.

‘Where are you going? I thought we could have lunch or something. I want to explain.’

She stopped halfway down the dusty path, her tone still icy. ‘I don’t think so. Tell me, Ross.’ She knew she sounded demanding, needling even, but didn’t care. She wanted some answers. ‘How did your father die? Donald said it happened down at the Cauldron, of all places.’

Ross nodded. ‘That’s right. Though why the hell he was down there when the river was in full spate, God only knows. We’d had a right downpour. He shouldn’t have been anywhere near the place in those conditions. His body was found nearby. At the weir. Drowned.’

Kirstin shook her head. The anger was still simmering, but she wouldn’t give in to it. Not yet.
Keep control. Don’tlet him win
. She took a deep breath, struggling to keep her voice low and even. ‘But why would he be down there in such bad weather? Your father knew the river better than anyone.’

Ross stepped towards her, frowning. ‘No one knows. But the inquiry looked at two possibilities. Either it was a pure accident, the result of poor judgement. Or…what happened was, as they put it,
intentional
.’

Kirstin stared back at him in disbelief. He looked away from her. ‘The fact is, life had been hard for Dad once Mum had gone.’

‘Suicide?
Rubbish!
Jamie cared about life. Even after your mother went. And I don’t recall him ever suffering from poor judgement. It’s no answer, Ross. When I last saw Jamie, he was a vibrant and energetic old man. Now we’re being asked to believe that he was either incapable of making important decisions or was a suicidal old codger. You’re not trying to tell me that he underwent a complete personality change in less than eighteen months?’

She stared at Ross, waiting for an answer. He shuffled his feet on the gravel, clearly uncomfortable. As a peace offering, he removed his own sunglasses.

His eyes looked tired. ‘Actually, that’s pretty much what
did
happen. It’s complicated. It wasn’t just Mum’s death or Dad having had trouble adjusting to retirement. His river work got out of hand. It took over his life. There was a falling-out with some people. Then something happened that chan—‘ He stopped abruptly to let out a long, dramatic sigh. ‘But here isn’t the place for all this. It’s too complicated. Dad
was
different and I just didn’t notice in time. I…I don’t know…I hadn’t been seeing much of him. I’d had a lot on this past year. Appearing in court practically every day and…’ He gave up. The excuses clearly weren’t working on her.

‘You mean you’d not been paying him enough attention. Situation normal.’ Kirstin frowned her disapproval at him. ‘Well, I’m going to give your father some attention now.’ She’d just about reached the end of her tolerance. Once more, Ross had succeeded in pressing all the right buttons to irritate her. She should never have agreed to meet him here. ‘You know, I don’t believe that your father could have changed that much. And if he did, I want to know why. What the hell is wrong with you, Ross? Didn’t you ask any questions about his death? I’d like to think he had an accident, since it would be infinitely preferable to thinking he was so distressed that he threw himself into the Water of Leith. And, if I’m wrong and your father
did take
his own life, then I, at least, would like to know
why
.’

She paused to shake her head again at Ross, who was clearly dumbstruck by the ferocity of her outburst. But she wasn’t finished with him yet. ‘I don’t care if it sounds cliched, but Jamie was like a father to me. The one I never really had. He mentored me in work, introduced me to you, cared for,
loved
me like his own. I can think of nothing more important to his memory than to find out
exactly
what happened to him. So you’d better get used to me being around again.’

At last Ross found his tongue. ‘What do you mean?’

She turned on her heel and threw her answer back on the hot breeze.

‘I mean, some cold, bureaucratic inquiry might not care much about what happened to one old man no one knew the first thing about. And it seems
you’re
not that curious either. Well, I am. And I’m not leaving Edinburgh until I find out how and why your father died.’

T
hey’d been settled for a few minutes and still Kirstin couldn’t get comfortable. The nineteenth hole of Donald Ferguson’s golf club seemed designed to prevent any form of relaxation, with clubhouse chairs forcing the sitter bolt upright. Maybe that was why Donald looked so fit, posture erect, movement sprightly. Or maybe it was the result of his formative years having been spent in the army, along with Jamie. Eventually bodi men had wanted to do other things with their lives, and they had left the service but remained firm friends. In his mid-seventies, Donald was a bit older than Jamie would have been, but absolutely on the ball, mentally as well as physically. He was offering her his customary open smile as he poured them each a cup of tea.

‘You look so well, Kirstin dear. You back to stay up here for good, then?’

‘No. Just here for a while. At my old flat in town.’ Kirstin paused, deciding against repeating her dramatic promise to Ross that she would stay until she’d discovered what happened to Jamie. She glanced out of the window that overlooked the first tee. It wasn’t quite that golden hour before sunset but at least the day had lost most of its blistering heat. She felt relieved to be here. The first telephone conversation with Donald after Jamie’s death had been awkward. He had clearly assumed that she deliberately stayed away from Jamie’s funeral, and she’d had to work hard to convince him that Ross had told her nothing about the arrangements. She looked across at Donald, nodding her thanks for the tea. Finally, she leant forward.

‘Look, Donald. I don’t have to tell you how fond I was of Jamie and…how much it hurt to not see him any more. Ross was…well, he wanted me to cut all family ties. It just became too awkward.’