by Kerry Watts
She grabbed her phone and walked out of the living room. She snapped her eyes tight shut while she listened to Dylan’s words. She exhaled loudly and pushed her phone back into her pocket. Her heart thudded when the living room door swung open.
‘What is it?’ The fear in Jason’s voice was palpable.
‘The drops of blood in Andrew Foster’s home are Shannon’s.’ Jessie spoke in hushed tones. ‘But let’s not jump to conclusions.’
‘I’ll kill him, I’m going to fucking kill him!’
He pushed past Jessie before she could stop him and slammed the front door shut. She gave chase, but he sped out of the driveway before she could stop him.
‘Dylan, get to the hospital!’ Jessie shouted into her phone. ‘Jason is on his way there. He knows about the blood.’
Louise watched, motionless, through the living room blinds as Jessie stared back at her.
Chapter Twenty
Jason’s Audi skidded to a halt, flicking up stones outside the hospital entrance. His heart pounded thunderously in his chest. The rage consumed him. Foster was going to answer his questions even if Jason had to beat the information out of him. Dylan Logan arrived seconds after to see Jason flee his vehicle, leaving the driver’s door wide open and engine running, and enter the building.
‘Shit,’ Dylan muttered as he locked his car. ‘Jason, stop!’
Dylan pursued him through the hospital, scaling the stairs two at a time. Sweat poured from his forehead as Jason seemed to get further away from him with every stride. When Jason arrived at the Psychiatric Intensive Treatment ward and found it locked, he screamed, ‘Open this door!’ He thrust his entire weight into the locked steel door, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his shoulder. ‘What have you done to my daughter, you freak!’ He hammered his fist on the door until the skin broke and bled, then he tried to peer in at the small shatterproof glass window at the top of the door.
‘Jason.’ Dylan finally caught up with him and raised his hand out in front of him. ‘Just calm down. You know you can’t go in there. Come with me.’
Jason spun to face him and spat, his eyes fixed and staring. He slammed his palm on the glass. ‘Open that door!’
‘You know I can’t do that. Come on. Let’s go somewhere we can talk about this.’
‘Talk?’ Jason screamed and hammered again. ‘Talking won’t help anyone. He knows where Shannon is. Let me in so I can get it out of him.’
‘No, Jason,’ Dylan repeated. This time he lowered his voice in the hope it would help neutralise some of Jason’s venom.
‘I said, open that damn door!’ Jason roared at the top of his lungs.
‘Jason.’ Louise’s voice was barely audible over the banging.
She grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him backward. Jason’s eyes softened but neither of them spoke. They just stared, Jason’s pulsing anger seeming to decrease slowly.
‘Do you want me to arrest him?’ Dylan asked Jessie, who had rushed Louise there to see if she could calm Jason down.
Jessie shook her head. The last thing Louise needed was to be alone tonight.
Chapter Twenty-One
1997
Dr Julia Hudson removed her cardigan and draped it across the back of her chair. Review day was always a long day and not always a satisfying one. Dealing with frustrating setbacks was part of the job. She rubbed her arms against the chill and resisted putting her cardigan back on, knowing the heat would soon build in the meeting room. It always did, although at times the cause of the heat was the content of the meetings.
‘Good morning, Camilla.’
Cam Walsh poured them both coffee and took her seat at the table.
The two women were soon joined by Pat Murphy, a forty-five-year-old Irishman with the blackest hair and bluest eyes Julia Hudson had ever seen.
‘Good morning, Pat.’ Julia smiled and pointed to the table under the window. ‘Camilla’s got the coffee going already, you’ll be pleased to hear.’
‘Grand, I’m in need of something to heat me up. I can’t get warmed at all this morning.’
The snow had been falling for days. Staff were having to do double shifts to cover for colleagues who couldn’t get through the drifts. Julia had considered several times already that morning whether she should turn back and, by the look of the weather outside, she wished she had. She took one small sip from the piping-hot coffee before she began.
‘Right, we’ll start with Daniel Simpson.’ She lifted Daniel’s file off the top of her pile. ‘Pat, what have you got for us?’
‘Daniel is doing incredibly well. I for one am impressed with his progress.’ Pat reached for his reading glasses. ‘He’s settled well into the library job. He’s keen to work and is helpful, he even takes the trolley now. That one hiccup at the start came to nothing, just as I hoped,’ Pat continued.
That one hiccup had been Daniel’s impulsive response to being called a queer boy for working in the library. Since lashing out that one time, he had managed to find a way to control his temper, thanks to anger management sessions. Sessions he had balked at in the beginning.
‘He is proving to be a hard worker.’ Pat removed his glasses. ‘The lad is incredibly intelligent. His academic progress has been astonishing.’
Cam Walsh beamed. She had spotted Daniel’s potential early on and encouraged his studies. She could see that all he lacked was confidence and focus. His chaotic family background had destroyed his early chances at success, but Cam was able to spot the tiny flicker of hope and built on it. She encouraged his love of reading and pushed for him to study hard for his English qualification. He had a flair for maths, and even showed promise in art.
Pat put his glasses back on. ‘Mr Solomon, his English teacher, is delighted with Daniel’s progress, and has no doubt he will achieve several academic qualifications. His social interaction is a work in progress, however. While his anger is under much better control, my main concern is that he chooses to avoid interaction altogether whenever he can.’
Julia glanced at Cam, then frowned. ‘Do you think he’s becoming withdrawn?’
Cam shook her head. ‘On the contrary, I think he’s choosing his company wisely and that’s no bad thing. He enjoys intelligent conversation, if you get my drift.’
Pat tilted his head back and laughed.
‘What’s funny about that?’ Julia grinned.
‘What she’s trying to say is Daniel’s too clever to be hanging about with some of the lads in here. I mean, he’s the only one who’s ever borrowed a George Orwell from the library.’
A wry smile crept across Cam’s face.
‘I’m afraid I can’t do anything about the intellectual standard of his peers.’ Julia answered.
After a rocky start, Daniel Simpson settled well into life at Carseview young offenders’ unit. Intensive counselling to cope with his confused feelings about the loss of his mum and Jack helped. Coming to terms with the impact of his crime took longer, and he was still working hard on that.
Daniel Simpson sat on his bed. Spending his sixteenth birthday behind bars was not how he had seen his life panning out. Although he had no idea what he would have been doing if he wasn’t locked away where he was. He couldn’t imagine his mum would have been able to celebrate properly with him. Jack would have been cool about it. Despite everything, he still missed Jack. He was a good mate.
‘Come on, hurry up, they’re waiting for you.’
The hammer of the officer’s fist on his door interrupted Daniel’s daydreams.
‘Sorry, I’m just coming.’
Daniel was escorted to the meeting room to join the team for his review. A commotion interrupted them when his escort had to intervene in a potentially inflammatory disagreement between two inmates. Daniel stood back from the argument and watched the teenagers lash out angrily at each other. Once upon a time Daniel would have been one of them.
‘Hello, Daniel.’ Julia welcomed him with a warm smile.
He reciprocate
d her welcome with a nervous smile.
Cam spotted his anxiety immediately. ‘Have a seat.’
Daniel lowered himself into the chair in front of them and rubbed the palms of his hands across his legs, then coughed to clear his throat. Pat leaned back and pushed his coffee cup onto the table behind him.
‘We’ve got nothing but positive things to say about you, Daniel. School is going well, I hear. Your library work is going well. You’re staying away from confrontation.’
Daniel glanced up once from staring at the floor to nod his acknowledgement. He wasn’t used to praise. He didn’t know how to react to her encouraging words. It wasn’t that Rita Simpson had been actively cruel to her son. She was a child herself when Daniel was born. At sixteen she wasn’t emotionally capable of motherhood. Life as a single mother was a struggle and the escape offered by alcohol and drugs too powerful to resist. Her neglect led her intelligent son into thrill-seeking to ease his feelings of loneliness. Although he avoided alcohol and drugs because he didn’t want to end up a zombie like his mum, Daniel Simpson developed a taste for extreme horror. As he got older it evolved into hardcore pornography. It was that freedom he had been given to watch harmful images that contributed to the murder of Sophie, the judge had decided.
‘You should be very proud of your progress. I’ve been telling Dr Hudson about your academic achievement,’ Pat added. ‘We’re all really very pleased with you.’
Daniel struggled to maintain eye contact, and Cam scribbled a note in her pad to remind her to spend time with him to work on his self-confidence. It was early days, but a little extra input wouldn’t hurt.
‘Is there anything you would like to talk to us about, Daniel?’ Julia asked.
Daniel chewed his bottom lip and shook his head. Cam frowned at the contradiction of his body language.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Can I have a notebook and one of those pens with the four colours?’ He lifted his eyes to Cam.
‘I’m sure Pat can sort you out with that,’ Julia told him.
Pat nodded. ‘You know we have to read any letters you want to send, don’t you, Daniel?’
Daniel shrugged. ‘I know. I’ve got nothing left to hide.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Blair Crawford dropped the handle of his small suitcase and raised his chin to attract the barmaid’s attention, then rubbed his arms against the cold. He’d figured Scotland in October would be chilly, but he hadn’t anticipated being able to see his breath in the air this soon in the year. But the drive up there had been spectacular. Scotland in autumn really was amazing, but it also reminded him of the past; his first case as a rookie. He didn’t want this story to end the same way, especially when he was so close to retiring. Earning a living as a journalist was wearing thin. Now he was hitting fifty and had been diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes, it was time to make changes. His nest egg would keep him going while he wrote the novel he’d dreamt of doing for many years. Let’s face it, he’d seen enough evil to fill a crime novel many times over in his career.
He thought perhaps a series with a retired private investigator as lead character would be good. A maverick not afraid to push the boundaries. A man who trod a fine line between legal and not so legal. He might even make him a fifty-something, slightly overweight, balding man. Blair knew how a man like that would think, let’s face it. The temptation to make him luckier with the ladies would be hard to resist. Hell, it’s fiction, after all.
‘What can I get ye?’ Maggie Malcolm draped her tea towel over her shoulder and walked over to serve him.
‘I have a room booked in the name of Crawford.’
Maggie put a tick next to his reservation.
‘Aye, you’re in room two. Through the door, up the stairs. It’s at the end of the hallway. I can do you breakfast at eight, if that suits.’
She handed over the key, which made Blair smile because it had been a long time since any place he had stayed used real keys. A credit-card-sized key card was more the norm these days, and Blair knew that better than most. Just over twenty years as a crime correspondent had taken Blair Crawford to hundreds of places to cover all sorts. Shannon’s disappearance gave him the chills. It was an echo of the Sophie Nicoll case from twenty years ago. Teenage girl. Didn’t come home from school. Not been seen or heard from since. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Something about this case made Blair very uncomfortable.
‘I’ll take a pint before I go up,’ Blair said while Maggie went back to drying the glasses.
‘Aye, nae problem.’ Maggie held the glass under the tap. ‘You’re no’ from round these parts.’
Blair pulled a five-pound note from his jacket pocket and slid it across the bar with a smile.
‘You’ll be a journalist then,’ she added.
‘Is it that obvious?’ Blair grinned.
‘Aye, it’s the 666 tattooed on your head that gives it away,’ she chuckled.
Blair almost choked on his pint. ‘That’s a good one. I’ve never heard that before.’
Maggie wiped the top of the bar. ‘Don’t you go bothering her family now, you hear? They’ve got enough to worry aboot.’
‘I’m one of the good guys, don’t worry. I know they’re going through hell right now.’
Blair sipped from his glass, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Shannon is their only child?’ he asked.
‘Aye, that’s right.’ Maggie stared at Blair in a bid to size up his intentions and made her decision; his eyes were kind. ‘Of course, they wanted more but Louise’s last two pregnancies ended in heartbreak, and now this. They dinnae deserve this. Jason and Louise are such a nice young couple. I hate to think that—’ Maggie abruptly stopped talking and began to wipe down the bar again. She sniffed back a tear. ‘If you need anything else, just ask.’
With a sharp flick of her tea towel Maggie disappeared through to the back of the pub.
Blair made himself comfortable on the bar stool to finish his pint. A large framed oil painting at the end of the bar caught his eye. He screwed up his face to try to read the inscription underneath it until he was forced to pull out his glasses. It read:
Morag McIver burned as a witch on this day of 14th August 1681. To this day the Black Witch wanders the Inver Wood in search of retribution.
The painting depicted a shadowy figure, long grey hair flowing behind her, running between thick rows of trees. The Black Witch pub was said to be built on the spot where witches were burned at the stake.
He sank the last of his pint and slid his empty glass across the bar. He picked up the room key. ‘Thank you.’ He raised his hand to Maggie, who smiled and nodded in return.
As he turned to walk away, Blair nudged shoulders with a well-dressed, pretty woman whom his radar immediately identified as a detective.
‘I’m sorry, that was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.’ He smiled an apology but kept his questions for later. Blair needed a freshen-up and perhaps even a shower after his long drive.
Jessie smiled and accepted the apology. She glanced down at her watch. She intended to spend the morning studying Shannon’s diary and laptop. The mountain rescue team was heading back up Ben Lochty later that morning with the dogs. A group of volunteers had joined the officers and the search of Inver Wood had begun at first light, which was a monumental task given the vast acreage it covered. It was perfectly possible for someone to fall in the middle and not be found for days. She hoped that was what had happened to Shannon, but at this point, nothing could be ruled out.
She waved a greeting at Maggie, who raised an eyebrow in return. As she walked to the station she smirked at the Superman emoji her sister Freya had texted her, then answered Dylan’s call.
‘Dylan, hi.’
‘Morning, Jess. How’s it going?’
‘Not so bad. I meant to ask, how’s your mum?’
‘She’s OK, thanks. Well, as good as she can be, I suppose. The girls at the home have got her on bed
rest until some of the bruising goes down. It could have been worse.’ Dylan shook his head. ‘Dementia is a horrible disease. I’ve told Shelly if it happens to me, just chuck me down the stairs but make it look like an accident.’ He offered a half-smile.
‘Not sure you should be telling me that. What if you go home tonight and fall down the stairs?’ Jessie grinned.
‘Aye, very funny. Listen, I’m heading over to speak to Andrew Foster. I’ll catch up with you later.’
Jessie really wanted to speak to Andrew Foster, but she also wanted to get a head start on Shannon’s diary and laptop. They might contain vital information, and any leads at this stage were priceless. Shannon was last seen by Ben going inside Andrew Foster’s house. Since then she appeared to have vanished into thin air. She didn’t even have her phone with her.
‘That’s great news. Let me know how you get on. See you soon.’
Jessie thrust her shoulder against the door to the police station and made her way to the room that had been converted into her investigation room. She took the photo of a smiling Shannon from her bag and pinned it at the centre of the evidence board. She picked up the marker pen and scribbled Andrew Foster’s name on it.
Shannon’s diary and laptop had been brought up from Evidence and were on her desk, waiting for her. Jessie clicked on the kettle and retrieved a mug from the cupboard. While the water boiled, she stared at Shannon’s smiling face. The photo Louise had given her was barely a month old. Jessie had worked missing persons for a long time before transferring to CID, but it never got easier when it was a child. It was now over forty-eight hours since Shannon had been seen last. She had no phone and no money with her. Whatever Dylan could get from Andrew Foster was vital.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dylan couldn’t believe Andrew Foster’s appearance. Rather than the over-sedated, dishevelled zombie Jessie had tried talking to before, Andrew was sitting in the dining room clearly having showered and in clean clothes. His unruly burst of curls was tamed. His eyes were still heavy, but this was a huge improvement. The charge nurse took Dylan aside.
