2007 - The Dead Pool (26 page)

The tears came at last. She felt Morag stir but make no attempt to physically comfort her. Instead, Morag was staring past her, the face stony, unreadable. Had she offended Morag by trying to defend him? Why wasn’t she jumping up in fury and outrage at the misery Jamie had caused her?

Kirstin heard her give out a short, almost nervous cough.

‘At least we have some answers now.’

‘H
ere. I should have…I
meant
to destroy them.’

Kirstin accepted the bundle of photographs from Ross’s cold, trembling hand and held his fingers, just for a moment. He nodded his gratitude, eyes still reddened. She’d seen him cry before, but it was still heartbreaking to witness. She’d called him just as dawn broke and, though she’d been cautious in her wording, he’d picked up on her tone immediately and was instantly awake. He knew something was very wrong. By the time she’d arrived, he was showered, shaved and on to his second coffee. And waiting. Anxious. She handed over the notebook and the sketch. Minutes later, his life had been changed forever.

Now Kirstin shuffled through the sheaf of photographs Ross had handed her. Various security cameras had tracked Jamie’s stealthy progress through lona Sutherland’s extensive garden, culminating in a shot of him at the side of her house, peering through an open window. Kirstin shook her head in disbelief.

Ross sat down opposite her. ‘She gave me an ultimatum. Confront him with these. Stop him, or she’d make ‘big trouble’, as she put it.’

‘But…after she died? Didn’t these come out?’ Ross shook his head. ‘No. Last year, when these were taken, she was getting a new system put in. They’re the only copies. I promised to have him reined in. And if it didn’t work, she could have the photos back and do what she had to. I…I didn’t have the guts to show them to Dad then.

Only after, when…when everything happened at the Cauldron.’

His eye was drawn again to the bundle of photographs. ‘I should have taken these more seriously. I mean, lona Sutherland had had to come to me before. Over some letters that Dad had fired off to her and her group. I felt defensive towards Dad then. I mean, most of them were a bunch of shits really. Overgrown spoilt brats. Anyway, Glen called me too and, for God’s sake, we both should’ve sat up and paid more attention. And yes, I know. You’ve told me often 1 enough. I’m rotten at paying attention to the important things. But anyway, both Glen and I had to cover Dad’s back with the police. In truth, they weren’t interested in the river feud. And from what I could gather from the police, I the likes of Alistair Sutherland and the rest of them weren’t interested in that either. They’d all just had the biggest, most traumatic shock of their lives. A petty feud with a seventy-year-old bore wasn’t uppermost in their minds.’

She looked at him. ‘But it must have been in your mind? Just a bit?’

He shrugged and rubbed at his reddened eyes. ‘No matter what I felt about him as a father, I could
never
have believed him capable of such violence. Of course I trusted him. I wanted to. I
had
to. He assured me he knew nothing that would help the police and so, a bit like Glen with the logs, I colluded with Dad. And that was that, I didn’t think any more about it. I got kind of distracted by all his other behaviour. His interfering with Morag’s case. And then…he died.
Jesus, God!
Why the hell didn’t he leave a note or something?’

She saw the tears well up again, and gently touched his arm. Laying down the photos and picking up the logbook, she nodded. ‘He did. He left this. But, you know, I don’t think he planned it, his suicide. Not for that night in February specifically. If he had, I think he
would
have left some other explanation.’ She paused, thinking about how best to go on. ‘Tell me, I don’t suppose you’ve seen the letter Jamie left for Glen?’

Ross shook his head.

‘Right. Well, I’m sure Glen will let you have a look. It’s about Mill House, the bequest. But, the thing is, I think the letter reads like a suicide note.’

Ross looked as if she’d struck him. But she knew she had no choice. Ross had to know everything that she knew.

She tried a reassuring smile. ‘So you see, your instincts were right when you described Jamie’s bequest as a suicide note. I mean, how could anyone go on living after doing what he’d done? I want to believe that Jamie didn’t mean to do what he did. But he did it, and then he panicked. And then things got worse with Morag’s arrest, and then…he was his own judge and jury, finally delivering the only verdict and punishment possible on himself. But the truth is, we don’t know what happened. Though maybe, in some mad way, he was hoping to make amends with this bequest.’

Ross shrugged again, a single tear rolling down towards his quivering lip. Gently, she wiped the tear away with her finger. He’d covered his face with both hands, and she moved closer as he rocked to and fro, the sobs silent but powerful as they wracked his body.

‘Look, Ross, come on. Come on now. We’ve got to decide what to do. See the police. All that. There are people grieving for Craig Irvine and lona Sutherland. Their loved ones. We owe it to them to get things sorted out. It’ll be horrible. As soon as you can, I think you should go away. I’ve told Morag to. She thinks that, luckily, Alistair Sutherland has already gone away. Bonnie said as much before she died. Just as well. I don’t know about Eraser Coulter, but Alistair Sutherland
will
come back as soon as he hears. He’s completely unbalanced. You’ll need to protect yourself. I mean it.’

She caught the flicker of concern as it crossed his face. Ross was no physical fighter. ‘Right. Okay. If you think that’s best. But…when d’you want to talk to the police, then? I suppose we need to do it straight away. Should someone come over here, or to Mill House? Or shall we go in and see them, or what?’

Normally so cool in a crisis, he was now utterly impotent, disempowered. She gave his arm another reassuring squeeze.

‘It doesn’t really matter about that. Whatever we decide, we can do it together. But, first, there are two people I must go and see.’

‘Glen?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. And Donald. It’s only fair. What we know will wait until after I’ve seen them. Both deserve some warning. I fear Glen’ll be heading for some trouble over the logs. And the publicity will be disastrous. And Donald,
Christ!
It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

Ross sat up. ‘But…I’m not sure about that. I mean…shouldn’t we go to the police
noy?
’

She stood up. ‘No, I think we owe it to Glen and Donald. They both put themselves out for your father. Let me deal with them. After that, we’ll do what needs to be done. And we’ll do it together. You’ll get through it, Ross. We both will.’

A
s she approached Donald Ferguson’s house, Kirstin felt the humid air claw at her skin, heightening the anxiety that had been growing as she envisaged the encounter ahead. Unlike Ross, Donald failed to pick up on her tone of voice over the phone. Just as well. In fact, the old man seemed excessively jolly, insisting that she come for afternoon tea.

For twenty minutes she half listened to his news while trying to swallow cake that tasted like sawdust. Finally, she could take no more.

‘Please,
please
, Donald. I have to talk to you.’

The notebook lay open at the sketch, the bundle of lona’s security photographs beside it, both nestling incongruously among the detritus of afternoon tea. Donald was very pale now. And still. His voice had been kept to a low whisper.

‘But he told me he had been at home all day. With his hip. I don’t, I just don’t understand it. How…tell me, how can you know someone for so long, know him so well, like a brother. And then…
this?
How can that happen? He was a good man. I thought Jamie was a good man.’ He wouldn’t look at her. Just kept his glazed eyes fixed on the sketch.

‘Donald?
Donald?

At last he jerked his head up to make eye contact. He seemed to be having trouble focusing on her, blinking repeatedly as she talked.

‘Donald, you’re right. Jamie
was
a good man. Once. I’m sure of that.’
God, how long can you keep going on saying that?

‘But something happened to him. I don’t begin to understand what. You’d need to be a psychiatrist to analyse that. And Jamie’s gone. Any attempt at understanding him is redundant.’

‘That’s not what those poor people’s families might think. They’ll demand to know why their loved ones had to die.’ Donald’s simple observation held an accusatory tone.

Rightly so, Kirstin thought. ‘That’s true, very true. And I didn’t mean to seem so callous about the victims. They
are
the most important thing in all this. Maybe I, maybe Morag and I, should have gone straight to the police last night. But first I wanted to tell Ross, tell you, and Glen.’

Now it was Donald’s turn to apologize. He sat forward, hands held out. ‘No, no, no. I didn’t mean to criticize. It was a kind thing to do, coming here. Frankly, I don’t know what I’d have done if the police had just turned up here with
that
sort of news about Jamie. It was bad enough when he died. But
this?
It would have just about killed me.’

Kirstin gave Donald’s hand a final squeeze and stood up. ‘I must go now. I’m going to see Glen and then, after that, well, it’ll be time to talk with the police.’

As he escorted her to the door, one hand lightly on her shoulder, Donald slowed his pace and then stopped. They were standing in the hallway. He moved back from her, a look of worry on his face. ‘I should have thought more about this at the time, and especially after his death. But I put it to the back of my mind. I was actually going to tell you about it when you first came to visit a couple of weeks ago.’

Kirstin frowned. ‘Tell me about what?’

In answer, Donald moved to a small wedge-shaped door positioned under the stairs. He opened it and disappeared down some concrete steps. Two minutes later he emerged, clutching a slightly battered cardboard box, sealed with brown packing tape.

‘See this? Jamie left it with me. Under strict instructions never to give it to anybody unless he said so. He was very firm, very secretive, very obsessive, almost hysterical about it. It was when he was acting at his oddest. When he died, I felt very strange about having this. But a promise is a promise. He didn’t give me permission to look inside. Nor have I. I was going to destroy it. Chuck the whole damn thing on a bonfire come the winter.’ He paused, shaking his head at the box. ‘Now I’m going to break my vow. Here. Have it.’

Reluctantly he held out the box. Kirstin took it, feeling faintly bewildered. He moved swiftly to open the door for her.

‘Goodbye, Kirstin dear. We’ll meet again. But please, unless you have to, don’t ever tell me what’s in that box.’

K
irstin was relieved to be sitting in the quiet lay-by off the Ayo. The rain had, at last, arrived. Its steady hammering, as the deluging stair rods hit the roof of the car, was strangely soothing. The break in the oppressive weather seemed, uncannily, to match her mood. A cathartic outpouring, but also the sort of dull grey light you could hide in. A cocoon.

Donald’s farewell words had remained stubbornly with her as she’d driven out towards Glen’s offices. Once she’d placed the box on the back seat she’d decided she wasn’t going to open it here, alone. She put the car into gear and prepared to pull away, taking a final glance at the notebook and the bundle of photographs lying beside her. Glen was the last person she had to show them to before the police saw them. Then she could relinquish all responsibility for them. God, how she looked forward to that moment. There would unquestionably be some raised eyebrows when it emerged that she’d withheld evidence for a day. But she’d face that one when it came to it.

The reception desk was deserted. No Rory, struggling with the switchboard. She stood stranded in the middle of the floor, casting around for any sign of life. But along the corridor all the office doors were firmly shut. Then she heard the click of one opening.

‘Hi.’

He was strolling towards her, smiling.

The next moment she had collapsed into his arms, the sobs that had been held in for so long at last finding their voice.

She’d awoken to the smell of cooking. She could hear the reassuring sounds of Glen moving about his kitchen as he prepared dinner. From the bed she could see the rain, still in stair-rod formation, sheeting down outside, the battering on the iron balcony rising and falling as the downpour periodically lessened and strengthened again. And underneath, the whoosh of a now swollen Water of Leith as it swirled by. A flash of what the Cauldron must be like at this moment—perilous, as on the night of Jamie’s death—passed through her mind. She pushed the image away.

Resting back on the pillows, she thought over the last hours. Following her collapse at Glen’s office, he’d given her a drink that had been, temporarily, restorative, allowing her to unfold the story, complete with notebook and photographs. Oddly, she couldn’t recall much of his reaction. This fourth retelling had just poured out of her between uncontrollable sobbing. He’d looked stricken, for sure. But he’d been gentle and calm. Driving her back to his home, he’d held her hand constantly, cooing reassurances at her. ‘
It’ll be all right, Kirsty. It’ll be all right
.’

Padding through to the kitchen, she caught him unawares, humming along to the delicate strains of Vaughan Williams’s
The Lark Ascending
. His choice of music left her with mixed feelings. It had been one of Jamie’s favourites.

Hearing her, Glen swung round, wooden spoon in hand, a look of surprise and joy on his face. ‘Well, well. You look a billion times brighter.’

She moved forward to hug him. ‘I am. I feel a bit…wobbly. But I’m fine. I think I’ll take a shower. Oh, but before that, I need to go down to the car. Where are my keys?’

He frowned. ‘They’re on the hall table. You going for the box?’ She nodded. ‘You sure?’ She smiled. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

She sat cross-legged on Glen’s bed, the unopened box before her. Glen had understood and left her alone. He’d switched on a bedside lamp for her and shut the door gently behind him as he returned to his kitchen duties.