2007 - The Dead Pool (12 page)

She began swinging her legs over on to the path when she heard it. Another scuffle. But louder, nearer than any of the previous ones. She grappled for her torch lying nearby on the wall, and listened. Again! That was no wild creature. Fumbling with the torch in her trembling hands, she pushed the ‘on’ switch.

H
er beam caught the figure full in the face. Standing ten feet away.

‘Turn that bloody thing off. You’re blinding me.’

It took her a moment to recognize who it was. The voice didn’t fit with the vision before her.

‘Get it out of my face!’

She kept the torch on but shifted its beam to his side so she could keep him in clear view. It was Ally all right. But he was different, completely altered. Shirt and shorts were crumpled, his chin showed several days’ growth, and she noticed that his left hand trembled as it toyed with a half-smoked cigarette.

‘Ally?’

He took a step backwards, to escape the torch’s glare. ‘I’m astonished that you have the nerve to be here. I still spend a lot of time here, and I’ve not seen you. Well, not since they were foolish enough to let you out. Why have you come now? You’ve got no right to be here.’

Immediately, she felt the need to get away. What had she been thinking of, coming down here? It had been a mad idea. She knew Ally used to haunt the place, so why hadn’t she thought about that on her way here tonight? She’d never known him to be violent, though she’d had her fair share of rows with him. But he looked so different now. Like he’d lost control of…everything. She had to leave but there was no room to back off. Her heels were jammed against the wall. Instead, she took two steps sideways as he approached.

She held up a hand, suppressing the instinct to flee. ‘Ally, look. Wh—’

‘I consider this to be a sacred place. For lona, her memory. I can’t believe you’ve got the nerve to be here. I tell y—’

Without warning he lost his footing on the bumpy ground and fell to his knees. The impact must have been agony on his legs, but he seemed not to feel it. The cigarette had gone flying. He ignored it as he scrambled to stand up.

She saw her chance and made a run for it, dodging round his body, the torch flickering wildly in front of her as she tried to avoid hidden obstacles on the uneven ground. But she hadn’t given him enough clearance.

‘Wait! I want to tell you something.’ His right hand grasped her ankle and she felt herself falling, the torch arcing away overhead, its bright beam illuminating a useless path through the long grass as it fell to earth. He’d managed to get to his feet and was pulling her by one arm. ‘Get up, Morag! I want to talk to you.’

He released her arm and stood over her. She began lashing out at him with both feet, scrabbling backwards out of his grip, thanking the gods that she’d worn stout trainers tonight. In a moment she was on her feet. He seemed momentarily dazed by the ferocity of her attack and backed off a couple of steps.

‘For Christ’s sake, Morag! Wait! What the hell are you do—’

‘Get away from me, Ally! I mean it!’ She spotted the torch and grasped it in her fist.

He was shaking his head. ‘You are absolutely fucking mad. Go on, then. Piss off. But I want to tell you something before you go.’ He began inching towards her as he spoke. ‘I don’t want our paths to cross here again,
ever
. You have absolutely no right to be here.’ He was getting too near now.

‘And I want you to know that I’m going to do
everything
in my power to make sure that the police get you. I swear to that.’

With her full strength she aimed the torch at his head, and hurled it, catching him on the left temple. ‘Just…fuck off, Ally! Leave me alone!’

The blow had caught him off balance, and she watched as he staggered the few feet back to the edge of the Cauldron. The loud splash told her what she needed to know. She was tempted to move forward and see where he was. But fear took over. She turned on her heel and began racing along the path. As she sprinted away, one thing cheered and worried her in equal measure. He couldn’t run after her now, but why had she heard nothing after the initial splash? Ally was a good swimmer. His instinct would have been to reach the riverbank.
Christ! Had it happened again’?
Was this to be her justice? Damn it all, there was irony indeed! Seeing herself facing a prison cell for accidentally plunging her bitter enemy into the Cauldron. That would be too much to bear. Too much of a punishment to endure. As she hammered along the path towards the exit, she took one final glance backwards. Nothing. Had he got out and given up? Or was he lying at the silty bottom of the river?

Yet another victim of the Cauldron?

‘
I…I want to go back down there to the Cauldron to seel
’

K
irstin held up a restraining hand and pressed Morag back into the passenger seat. They were parked, out of sight, near to Ally Sutherland’s house.

‘Please, Morag, we can’t do that. Just wait.
Please?

The call on her mobile had woken Kirstin in what she thought was the middle of the night. In truth it had been just after midnight. She’d thought for a millisecond that it was a dream, but realized only too quickly that it wasn’t. She’d driven to Morag’s, breaking every speed limit, and arrived to find her a dishevelled, scratched and sobbing wreck, babbling almost incoherently that she thought she’d killed Ally Sutherland. But, as she calmed Morag down, the picture became clearer. He had, in some way, made her feel threatened, and she’d retaliated. In truth, Morag’s actions had sounded like an extreme overreaction to Kirstin. But they were understandable. Morag had ventured out to the Cauldron, at night, for the first time in an age, to confront her inner demons. Instead, what she’d been confronted with was an all too real demon in the shape of Ally. If anything, Morag’s relatively unprovoked attack underlined to Kirstin just how vulnerable the woman was. She should be helped, not condemned.

Morag had wanted to go back to the Cauldron to see what had happened to Ally. Kirstin couldn’t think of a worse idea and suggested a compromise: that they drive over to his house to see if he’d come home. But they’d been waiting for twenty minutes and still there was no sign of him. Kirstin glanced outside. She was worried they might attract the wrong sort of attention in this sparsely populated and exclusive area. Two women, one in a clearly distressed state, parked late at night, seemed to be asking for trouble. But all was quiet. She looked again at Ally Sutherland’s property, hoping to see some signs of life.

The house was of a modern, split-level design, like something out of a luxury car advert. The garage door was open, and, sure enough, there it was; the rear end of a top-of-the-range BMW. At least he wasn’t in his car, then. The entire place was in darkness except for the faintest glow coming from somewhere on the ground floor.

‘
Kirstin!Kirstin! Look!
’

She followed Morag’s outstretched finger as it pointed through the windscreen and down the lane. Their wait had paid off.

‘
Ifshim! He’s alive! I must talk to him
.’

Morag had released the passenger door, illuminating the interior for a second, before Kirstin had time to switch it off. ‘
No, Morag! Shut the door! Now!
Think what’s happened, for goodness’ sake. No one’s going to talk to him tonight.
Look at him!
’

The tall shambling figure approached. Kirstin touched Morag’s arm, indicating that they should both slide down out of sight behind the dashboard. It was an unnecessary precaution, since Ally Sutherland was keeping his eyes directed firmly down towards the ground. Kirstin peered through the darkness, grateful that streetlights were few and far between in this area. Another couple of faltering paces and he’d reached his front door, where the porch light held him in its dim yellow pool.

Kirstin heard Morag’s loud intake of breath and knew what had caused it; the state that Alistair Sutherland was in, plain for all to see. His clothes stuck to him, obviously still damp. His head had a deep gash near one temple, and there were a number of scratches around his shorn scalp. The left arm seemed to be causing him some pain and both knees were bleeding. He had certainly come off worse in his encounter with Morag. That apart, he had been lucky to reach home at all, and apparently without attracting attention. Presumably his homing instinct had taken over and got him back safely. He’d know the back routes and deserted streets of this quiet area. Now he was fumbling with a zipped pocket at the side of his shorts.

Kirstin thought it would have been comical under other circumstances. ‘He must be looking for his key.’

Morag nodded in agreement, her eyes terrified, but she seemed transfixed by the swaying figure a few yards away. His repeated curses of frustration filtered down the drive and through the open driver’s window, rising in volume with every failed attempt to undo the pocket. The struggle was obviously hurting his left arm and forced him to make a one-handed attempt. At last the zip gave and he wrenched out the jangling bunch of keys. Kirstin was waiting for the next stage of the pantomime. But by the second attempt he’d undone the locks and disappeared with a slam of the door.

Morag turned to her. ‘What if he calls the pol—’

But Kirstin was already getting out of the car. ‘I know. I’ve thought of that. Stay here. I’m going to see if I can hear or see what he’s doing. If he’s going to call the police, he’ll do it straightaway. Now, wait. And lock the doors!’

She scurried up the short drive, half running and half crouching, until she reached a side window, praying that he’d not turned on some fancy security system that would suddenly flood her in its unforgiving glare. But there was nothing, only the continuing glow from the porch and a trace of faint light coming from somewhere deep inside the house. The window she’d settled by looked into what had to be a games room. A pool table held pride of place, cues neatly lined up in order of length, standing in a rack on the far wall. The door to the room lay to her right. It was ajar and the light was coming from what looked like the main hallway.

His sudden appearance in the doorway had her almost tumbling backwards into the shrubbery. He stood naked except for a white towel round his waist. After a moment, he turned to his left. The bar was small with two high stools situated either side. With his back to her, he switched on a wall light, immediately illuminating an array of bottles. Through the closed window she could still hear the clanking of bottle against glass. Without warning he turned round, forcing her to duck. With her back pressed hard against the wall, she was struggling to control her breathing. What the hell had she got herself into? This was sheer madness. It was time to go. If Ally Sutherland was going to call the police surely he wouldn’t be behaving so damned casually, would he? She raised her head for the final time. He’d lit a cigarette and was standing at the far end of the pool table, slowly rolling the cue ball back and forth to the far cushion with his right hand. In his left, with some difficulty, he held a whisky tumbler and cigarette. She watched as he carried out the ritual five, six, seven times.

And then, without warning, he paused the white ball, trapping it under his palm. She noticed the shoulders first. Shaking. Then his upper body bent over the snooker table as he half collapsed on to the green baize. The whisky tumbler slid from his hand as he stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray perched on the edge of the pool table.

The light behind him made it impossible to see his face, but she could guess at his expression. His entire body was wracked by powerful yet silent sobs as he pressed both palms against his eyes to staunch the flow of tears.

Kirstin’s tired eyes squinted against the late-morning sun. Hard to believe that eleven hours ago, she had been peering nervously into Ally Sutherland’s house and observing the most unexpected sight of him breaking down. Kirstin had kept that piece of information from Morag, for the simple reason that she had no idea what it meant. Had he just experienced the fright of his life and was sobbing with relief at his narrow escape? Or, was it a deeper expression of grief at the loss of his sister and his meeting with the person he genuinely thought had killed her? She didn’t know what to think.

But now, here she was, back at Jamie’s grave. Morag was bending down to place a loose bunch of white lilies, clutched tightly in both fists. Kirstin tugged gently at her shoulder.

‘C’mon, Morag. Let’s sit down. There’s a bench over that way, in the shade.’

The wrap-around sunglasses were back, hiding the eyes, and Kirstin watched as, almost painfully, Morag got to her feet and stood hugging herself, fists still clenched. A muscular tension seemed to encase her entire body as she stood ramrod straight. Kirstin gave her a moment and then guided her towards the nearby bench, settling her down carefully, as if she was an infirm old woman, before taking her own seat. It was clear to her that Morag was in a bad way. Perhaps she should suggest they go round to her GP immediately and get an emergency appointment?

But Morag seemed to sense her concern, and turned to her, offering the hint of a smile.

‘I’m okay now. Much better this morning.’ The clipped, defensive delivery was back.

Kirstin nodded.
Shedoesn’t want to appear vulnerable. Okay, let her be
.

‘But I want you to know, Kirstin, to believe me. The truth is, I really thought he meant me harm. I know what you must think. The look of him last night. What I did. But Ally’s a different person now. I can see why that should be, given the level of his grief. But, I think he might wish me real harm.’

‘I
do
believe you, Morag. It was just the worst thing that could have happened. Him turning up like that. But…from what he said to you, it seems that he wants you charged with murder…that implies he wants to do things the official way. He may wish you ill, but that’s a far cry from taking matters into his own hands. And he obviously hasn’t reported last night’s incident to the police or you’d have heard from them by now.’