2007 - The Dead Pool (4 page)

Kirstin nodded. ‘I see. But what made them change their minds and settle on you?’

‘Two words. Eraser Coulter.’ The wry smile had returned. ‘One of my party ‘friends’ there that day. He gave a new statement to the police, saying that I had admitted carrying out the killings. I don’t intend to go into the details of my previous group of ‘friends’ but what I will say is that he was lying. lona’s brother, Ally, thought I’d done it and was using his little gofer, Fraser, to do his dirty work. Plus, there were other complications…’

‘Like what?’

‘Quite simply, I had lied to the police in my early statements. But not in the way you might imagine. Let me make clear that we had all had a lot to drink, smoke, snort that day. Frankly, my memory was shot to pieces by the time it came to playing our ludicrous game of hide and seek. Much is blank or fragmentary up to the point where I stumbled across Craig and lona lying there, and ‘woke up’ as it were.’

Kirstin watched as the fists were returned to their previous position under the table. ‘In the immediate aftermath of it all, I was reluctant to admit to the police the state I had been in. Drinking to excess, using illegal drugs. Despite the shock of the deaths, I still had my life, my career, my future to consider. To admit what we’d been doing was unthinkable. So, I made the earlier part of the day up. Fabricated, guessed what I was doing and when. Later, when I became the subject of closer police scrutiny, this became apparent. And looked highly incriminating.’

She paused, and Kirstin heard the long intake of breath as Morag composed herself for what was to come next. ‘I have recently discovered, thanks to Bonnie actually having the guts to admit something to me, that some of these so-called friends had been spiking my drinks for quite a while. To allow Craig and lona to enjoy themselves behind my back. Nice, eh? Anyway, that is all by the by. I despise all these people now and, Fraser’s lying apart, had they not interfered with my memory, I might not be in this position today. A grim fact that would test the equanimity of a saint. But, as regards my useless recollection that day, the police thought I was faking it. After that, I was doomed.’

Tm…I’m sorry. That’s horrible. About your friends, I mean. And the police?’ Kirstin leant forward. ‘They had nothing else on you?’

Morag shook her head slowly. ‘They had no forensic evidence against me. Most of us were nearly naked after sunbathing and being in and out of the river all day. So our clothes were no use to the police, although lona had helped herself to my sarong, which she and Craig were lying on when they died. The police tried to make something of that. You know, there they were, your boyfriend and his other woman, fucking on your sarong. Enough to make you snap, etcetera, etcetera. Crudely simplistic, I know. But that’s police thinking for you.’

The corner of her mouth twitched. In a smirk? A grimace? Then, after another long intake of breath, she went on. ‘What else…oh, yes. No weapon was found, which was doubtless a source of constant frustration to the police. But they did try to hit me with one other thing. In my initial statement I’d said that I thought Craig and lona had been attacked only minutes before, and that one of them may even have been breathing their last as…’ She faltered momentarily and then rallied, ‘As I came upon them. That was confirmed by forensics and, no doubt, added to the circumstantial evidence against me.’

Kirstin shifted in her seat. ‘And they eventually dropped the manslaughter charges?’

Morag seemed to grimace to herself again before replying. ‘Yes. Eraser made a third statement. I don’t know why. By then he was a busted flush, his credibility as a witness shattered. Indeed, should I ever be charged with murder, his antics will be a gift to my legal team. Eraser’s recanting, coupled with a lack or weakness of supporting evidence, clinched it. But my lawyers have made it plain, I’m not out of the woods yet. No one has been charged with murder
and
the police still view me as their chief suspect.’ She sat up even straighter. ‘All in all, it’s an intolerable position and one I fear Jamie would have been unable to help me with.’

At last, Morag leant back and seemed to relax the muscular tension that had been holding her rigid. Kirstin let the silence lie between them, looking past Morag towards the river. If there truly was no reason why this woman should have been incarcerated, then Kirstin felt overwhelmingly sorry for her. And the actions of her so-called friends were unforgivable.

Morag stood up. The visit was over. Kirstin felt surprisingly disappointed. Her need to talk about Jamie had been far from satisfied. She’d been here for more than an hour but, not surprisingly, as far as Morag Ramsay was concerned, her sorry plight had taken up most of that time. Still, Kirstin felt some vestige of hope. She had made a connection with someone who had known Jamie at the time of his apparent personality change. Although, given the predominantly closed nature of Morag Ramsay, could she gain her trust? Encourage her to open up about how Jamie had seemed during the weeks and months after the Cauldron killings? Face whatever the truth was?

If so, maybe, just maybe, she could lay Jamie to rest.

Brilliant! Just as forecast. It was going to be a scorcher. All day to mark on that tan. Fraser Coulter bundled the last few items into his backpack, adding an extra bottle of wine for luck. It was getting on for noon. He’d probably be the last there. Best plan was to walk down to the viaduct and cross the river on foot. To hell with going the long way round by the official footpath. With luck that old tosser Jamie Munro would spot him and they could have a long overdue set-to. Clear the air before the party began
.

Twenty minutes later he had the Cauldron in sight. Only ananxious-looking Morag and a distinctly sullen Craig had arrived. Christ, had they had a row or something? Craig was swigging at a bottle of San Miguel, between puffs of a spliff, while she was two-thirds of her way through a bottle of white wine. It was going to be a party all right. Blankets and mats had been strategically placed to deter other footpath users from coming too near their area. Great! They’d booked the place
.

He raised a hand in greeting. ‘Hey, well done. We’re all set then, eh? Where are the others?
’

Morag shrugged and turned away to fiddle with something in her bag. Craig wandered over to welcome him with a handshake and a beer. ‘Hi there. Don’t know where they are. Thought Ally would be here staking our claim hours ago. You know what he’s like. Bet he’s first with the towels on the loungers when he’s on his hols, eh?
’

Fraser twisted the bottle cap, breaking the seal, and slugged down a deep gulp. ‘You okay, pal? You and her seem a bit…?’ He finished the sentence with a nod towards Morag
.

Craig gestured for them to move a few feet further away
.

‘
Yeah. To be honest, this was the last thing I felt like doing today. We’re…well, it’s not so much that we’re not getting on. We’re…petering out, you could say. Though that’s what
I
feel. I don’t know about her. I think she’s refusing to see or feel anything at the moment
.’

Fraser shook his head at the proffered joint and nodded again towards Morag. ‘Time to be cruel to be kind
.’

Craig frowned. ‘What’s that?

‘
Finish it. Clean cut. Move on
.’

‘
Funny you should say that. I’ve been thinking about that all morning. For weeks, actually. But look at her mood. I tell you, I’m beginning to lose my nerve.’ Craig finished off the remainder of his bottle with a final swig. ‘I can’t take female histrionics, least of all Morag’s. You know how unbelievably temperamental she is. Call me a coward but she’s going to need careful handling
.’

Fraser smiled his sympathy and slapped Craig on the shoulder. ‘I don’t envy you, pal. Let’s get you another drink. And listen, come hell or high water, we’re going to have a great day
.’

M
orag stood on her front doorstep, tracking Kirstin’s progress down the cul-de-sac until she disappeared round the corner. Then she removed her sunglasses and headed back to the patio, risking a seat facing the river.

The visit from Jamie’s daughter-in-law had left her shaken. Yet, in another way, relieved. She’d surprised herself at how calm, cool,
logical
she could portray herself to be with this stranger. And the encounter marked something new, or at least long overdue—that she could have direct contact with another human being. Recent weeks had seen her relating to only one person: her psychotherapist, Dr Lockhart.

Morag cleared the coffee cups from the table and moved back into the kitchen, picking up Kirstin’s scribbled phone numbers that were lying on the worktop. Her visitor had been somewhat dramatic in her need to find out why Jamie died. The hunger for an answer was written all over her. She didn’t fancy the woman’s chances. Accident or suicide? Either one would leave her feeling guilty that she hadn’t been there for him.

Nevertheless, by the end of their conversation she had decided that the woman was likeable. Trustworthy? Well, she’d let her into her fortress in the first place, hadn’t she? And Kirstin had seemed genuine when she’d expressed her regret at all that had happened. The killings, the arrest, the aftermath.

Morag stepped back on to the patio, looking more boldly at the distant ribbon of river. It was very,
very
early days, but she needed to build a relationship with someone
real
, not just a shrink. For the first time in ages she thought it might, just might, be possible to break out of this twilight world in which she existed.

With a firm nod, she turned and made her way back inside. As she replaced Kirstin’s scribbled details on to the worktop, she heard the sharp rat-a-tat. Swiftly, she moved to the front door, carefully peering through the spyhole and then opening the door six inches.

‘Delivery for Ramsay. Sign here, please.’

Morag pulled the door wider, scrawled a barely legible signature and then closed it quickly, turning over the registered letter in her trembling hand. When every second delivery brought final demand letters she couldn’t hope to meet, and the occasional anonymous piece of hate mail, she could congratulate herself that there wasn’t a stack of unopened envelopes stashed behind the radiator. However, today’s delivery had been expected. Court papers. There would be no holding back the repossession proceedings any longer. And with that, the inevitable: bankruptcy and personal ruin. She smiled to herself. Since any vestige of optimism was fast disappearing, what about opting for the sink and the garrotte again?

She threw the letter on to the hall table and moved slowly back through to the kitchen. But this time, the searing radiance of the summer sun had her retreating into the hallway. Hesitating, she searched in a pocket for her sunglasses. Protected by the dark lenses, she walked out on to the patio once more.

She turned to look upwards, taking in the full splendour of the building. She’d miss this house. Situated on a hill overlooking a wide valley where the Water of Leith snaked through a near rural area of outstanding beauty, she’d adored the location on first sight. Who would believe that less than two miles away Edinburgh’s city centre bustled and vibrated with life? But this area was special. No one had been allowed to build here for years. The conservation brigade had thankfully ring-fenced it for good. There were only a handful of houses scattered across the valley. Further behind her, atop the hill and shielded by the woods, was Scotland’s premier modern art gallery, converted from a building of faded grandeur that had once housed a private school. Culture on her doorstep, should she want it. And once she had. The area was a true idyll. Best of all, she could stand, sit, drink, eat, relax out here and not be overlooked. No one could see her. Not on her patio and not anywhere in her hillside garden. Nature,
this
part of the world, was there for her, and her alone, to admire. And that was the problem. That was why she hid indoors. Because what couldn’t be hidden even in summer, no matter how abundant the foliage, was the glinting silver ribbon of the river below, in the distance. Once the source of breathtaking, uplifting views, the vista was now a source of perpetual torment.

Her heart started to race, accompanied by a shortening of breath. She recognized the symptoms immediately: the beginnings of a full-blown panic attack coursing through her system. She squeezed her eyes tight shut behind the sunglasses, swaying slighdy from the exhaustion of yet another tortured and sleepless night.
For God’s sake! Let it stop! Let it stop!

The phone’s ring had her scurrying, gratefully, back inside. She stood rigidly to attention over the answering machine and went through her ritual. On the fourth ring, the digital readout reported that it was in ‘screen’ mode as the familiar voice began her message.

‘Morag, it’s Isobel Lockhart. Are y—’

She snatched up the cordless handset and inched her way back towards the patio, the sunglasses still wrapped protectively round her eyes.

‘Dr Lockhart. Yes, I am screening. You didn’t expect me to be out, did you? Not at this time of day. Although I
am
on my patio as we speak. And facing the garden, would you believe?’ The fact that she’d received a visitor, and such an interesting one at that, she’d keep to herself for now. Dr Lockhart didn’t need to know
all
her business.

‘That’s good, Morag. Really, really good. A small step forward?’ The gentle, soothing voice sounded genuinely pleased.

Morag settled herself on the metal garden chair, the frame under her thighs already warmed by what was going to be another day of sweltering heat.

‘Yes, but I’ve just been pushed a hundred steps back. The court papers have arrived. I’m going to lose the house.’ She paused to let the news she’d been expecting for weeks sink in. But Dr Lockhart was going to let the silence be. A familiar tactic. ‘But, you know what, Dr Lockhart? Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise because
this
isn’t living. I love this house but I can’t live here any more. Too many memories. Too many enemies about.’