by Kerry Watts
Tommy stared at Jessie; his eyes narrowed then immediately he widened them in recognition.
‘I knew I knew your face.’ He tried to smile through his tears and rubbed his wet puffy cheeks. ‘Jessie Blake. You went to the Grammar, didn’t you? Same year as me.’
Jessie smiled. ‘Aye, I had that pleasure. Feels like a lifetime ago.’
Tommy’s mouth fell into a warm grin. ‘Dad loved his blackface ewes. Aye, but when his Parkinson’s got diagnosed he and Mum both knew it would be wrong to keep them. Neither of them were fit enough to take proper care of them anymore.’ He hesitated. ‘Dad sold the paddock to her at the other side.’ He stopped and stared at Jessie. ‘Mum said on the phone she could see Rachel walking this way. She didn’t know if she was coming here but she was walking in this direction. She said the horses were out in the field.’
Jessie grabbed her notebook and pen from her bag. ‘Rachel is their closest neighbour? What’s Rachel’s surname?’
‘Ferguson. She’s married to that haulage firm guy. Kenny Ferguson. She trains a couple of racehorses over there. She wanted to turn the paddock into something for the stables – I don’t know exactly what – but I think Mum and Dad objected to the planning application. They said it would be too close to the house or something. Mum was adamant she wasn’t having her view ruined by a “racetrack”, she called it. Rachel wasn’t happy by all accounts. I believe she and Mum had words on the phone about it.’
Jessie tightened the lid back onto her pen just as she heard the pathologist’s van coming up the gravel drive.
‘And she definitely said it was Rachel who was on her way here?’
Tommy’s eyes filled up again as he nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
Jessie dropped her hand onto Tommy’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll find out who did this.’
First stop would be the disgruntled neighbour. Jessie stood at the sound of the front door opening again.
‘Excuse me, Tommy. I’ll be back in soon.’
2
Jessie opened the front door to pathologist David Lyndhurst, dressed in his white forensic suit, and showed him into the kitchen.
‘Merry Christmas,’ David murmured as he moved through the long farmhouse hallway, careful to avoid as many of the muddy footprints on the wood floor as he could.
Jessie glanced again into the pitiful sight of Tommy slumped forward on the sofa wiping his face with tissues then met David’s greeting with a smile. She felt anything but Christmassy. It had been a pleasant surprise not to get a card from her ex-husband Dan. She hoped he’d finally got the message their marriage was over at last. Jessie’s years as Mrs Holland were a nightmare best left in the past.
As she walked into the kitchen behind David she noticed Tommy’s son, Gordon, still sitting next to his grandfather’s dead body. Her eyes moved from Malcolm Angus’s slumped figure to his wife Jean’s body, which had fallen forward and was resting precariously over the kitchen sink, dishcloth still in her hand, with a single gunshot wound to the back of her head. Her blood wound a trickling pattern of dark red streams through her short grey curls. Jessie fixed her eyes on Gordon Angus. He had finished his sandwich and was now playing a game on his phone, laughing inappropriately. Jessie was more than a little perplexed that he seemed completely detached from the horror around him.
‘Gordon, my name is Detective Inspector Jessie Blake. I’m going to have to ask you to come with me so my colleague can examine your grandparents.’ She waved her hand at him then pointed to the kitchen door.
‘Have you got ID?’ Gordon asked through his long, dyed-black fringe. He flicked his head quickly to one side to shift the hair that hung over his eyes. He fixed her with a steely glare, his eyes so pale they looked almost white. Jessie struggled to look away from his unusual appearance, which reminded her of a character from a gothic horror.
Jessie didn’t answer. Instead she lifted her ID from her pocket and held it close to the young man’s pale, anaemic face. He had piercings in his lips, nose and eyebrows. A moment later the chair he was sitting on scraped loudly on the floor and he wandered at his own pace, smirking at something on his phone, into the living room to join his father. Neither man spoke to each other; Tommy barely lifted his head to greet his son.
Jessie followed Gordon out of the kitchen and waved to one of the uniformed officers outside to come inside.
‘Hi, yes, could you go and sit in with those two?’ Jessie asked the young female officer. She kept her voice low, talking from behind her hand. She nodded towards the living room. ‘Keep your ears and eyes open.’
‘Sure, no problem.’ The officer nodded before heading inside.
Jessie quietly pulled the living-room door closed after her and rejoined Dylan in the kitchen. Gordon Angus’s behaviour was odd and unnerving. Downright bizarre if she was honest. Definitely suspicious.
‘What can you tell me?’ Jessie asked and leaned down to where David was examining Malcolm Angus’s single gunshot wound.
‘I can’t see any signs of a struggle. At first glance, it looks to me like a straightforward gunshot as cause of death and it must have been damn quick because I can see no defence wounds. Poor man didn’t even stand up. Mercifully quick, perhaps.’ David shook his head. ‘Shot where he sat.’
Jessie scanned the floor for shell casings then turned to look at Mrs Angus, still slumped over the sink. ‘The same for his wife?’
David nodded. ‘Most likely. Time of death can’t be any more than two hours ago.’
Jessie whistled. ‘Wow, their son almost caught the killer in the act then.’ She glanced at Dylan, who had pulled on a pair of gloves and was looking through the drawers of the couple’s pine Welsh dresser, which stood along the back wall of the long galley kitchen. ‘If they were in here, their killer must have let themselves in. Any signs of forced entry?’
Dylan shook his head then lifted a sheet of paper out of the drawer. ‘Not that anyone has seen.’ He stopped to read the letter he’d just found. ‘Look at this.’
He walked across and handed the letter to Jessie; it confirmed what Tommy had already told her about the planning application that the couple objected to, hinting at the ill feeling it had caused between the neighbours. She placed the letter into an evidence bag.
‘Come on, Dylan. I think we need to pay the Fergusons a visit.’
But before they left Jessie ordered Tommy and Gordon’s hands to be tested for gunshot residue. Right then nobody was above suspicion.
3
Kenny Ferguson poured himself a large nip of whisky from the bottle of Glenmorangie and swallowed it straight down before refilling his crystal glass. The sound of their three black Labradors barking alerted him to the arrival of unexpected visitors.
‘Quiet,’ he called outside to the luxury stone kennel block he kept his gundogs in. ‘Rachel, there’s someone at the door,’ he continued to boom and poured himself another nip. When the doorbell rang out for a third time he sighed and muttered something inaudible under his breath. He was surprised to see two detectives on his doorstep holding their ID close to his face. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Mr Ferguson?’ Jessie asked.
‘Yes?’ Kenny frowned and looked behind them to see his wife Rachel locking the stable door before heading around to the back of their five-bedroomed new-build bungalow.
‘Could we come in and have a word, Mr Ferguson?’ Jessie continued.
‘What’s this about? You do know it’s Boxing Day, don’t you?’
Jessie smiled. ‘I’m well aware what day it is, sir. I’m afraid some of us don’t have the luxury of office hours.’
Kenny Ferguson stared at the two detectives for a moment then opened the door wide for them and held out his hand. ‘You better come in. I’ll go and get my wife.’
‘Thank you.’ Dylan wiped his feet on the doormat and followed Jessie inside.
Jessie spotted immediately that the couple clearly weren’t short of money. Expensive-looking works of art hung o
n the wall. Not that Jessie was any kind of art expert. The collection of heavy bronze horse ornaments displayed on the mahogany unit that lined the hallway couldn’t have been cheap either. The Gucci shoebox under the table was also a clue to their wealth. Their haulage business must be doing well.
‘Hello,’ Rachel Ferguson greeted them, tying the belt of a pink fluffy dressing gown. The sound of a washing machine filling in the background echoed along the hallway before she closed the utility-room door behind her. ‘Who are you?’
‘These two detectives need to speak to us apparently,’ Kenny told her and opened the living-room door for them. ‘Please go through.’
‘Oh.’ Rachel blushed. ‘I’ll not be a minute. I’ll just go and pop some clothes on.’ She patted her hand over her chest. ‘Just give me a minute.’
Jessie shook her head. ‘This won’t take long. There’s no need to change on our account. I would appreciate it if you’d just come and answer a couple of questions for me.’
Rachel looked at her husband then back at Jessie. ‘OK, sure,’ she muttered.
Jessie smiled but sensed the atmosphere thicken. ‘Thanks, I appreciate your cooperation.’
‘What’s this about?’ Kenny boomed. ‘What’s so important my wife can’t even put some more appropriate clothes on first?’
Rachel feared the detectives would see how she was trembling inside. Goosebumps trailed up her arms. A fog of cold air swarmed around her body.
‘It’s fine, Kenny,’ Rachel tried to bluff her fear away.
Jessie spotted quickly that the couple didn’t share the Anguses’ minimalist taste. Cluttered wasn’t the right word for their style. Chaotic perhaps was more appropriate. Half a dozen copies of a shooting magazine lay strewn across the small square coffee table that sat right in the centre of the room. Both detectives spotted the magazines at the same time and caught each other’s gaze. A thick layer of dust was evident on the few bits of surface still visible, as well as the marks from hot drinks that had been laid down without the benefit of one of the pile of coasters that were gathering more dust at the edge of the table. What looked to Jessie like sticky, wet nose prints left a cloudy trail across the living-room window. The dogs clearly spent a lot of time in the house.
‘I have some bad news,’ Jessie began.
‘What?’ Rachel gasped. ‘What is it?’
Jessie narrowed her eyes at her reaction and Dylan noticed Kenny reach for his bottle of malt.
‘Your neighbours. Malcolm and Jean Angus.’ She paused, searching their faces for signs they already knew what she was about to say. ‘They were found dead at their home this morning.’
Rachel fell back onto the large blue leather recliner armchair that was right behind where she stood, her legs unable to support her any longer. She lifted both of her hands to cover her mouth. Her breathing quickened in line with her heart.
‘Jesus, that’s horrible.’ Kenny sank his whisky then filled a second glass and handed it to Rachel who was now visibly shaking. ‘Here, darling, drink this. For the shock.’
Jessie shot a glance at Dylan who tried to shrug without giving himself away.
‘Thanks,’ Rachel whispered then sank a huge gulp and winced from the bitterness, but held the glass out for more. ‘What happened to them?’
Jessie dropped down onto the armchair opposite. ‘They were shot.’
Rachel gasped again and sank more of the whisky then pressed her long, fine blonde hair close to her scalp. The mousey brown roots were beginning to show through. ‘That’s awful. Who would want to hurt such a nice old couple?’
‘I have to ask,’ Jessie began. ‘Where were you both this morning between—’ She paused when she spotted Kenny’s demeanour change in an instant.
‘You think we had something to do with this?’ Kenny blasted and moved closer to where Jessie sat, standing over her. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘Mr Ferguson.’ Dylan stepped forward, and being three inches taller made Kenny move backwards. ‘You must realise we have to follow every line of enquiry.’
Kenny swallowed down more of the whisky, the nostrils of his red-veined nose flaring. ‘Get out of my house. If you want to talk to me or my wife again I suggest you contact my solicitor.’
Jessie turned to face Rachel. ‘Mrs Ferguson?’
‘I already asked you to leave.’ Kenny stormed into the hallway and snatched open the living-room door.
Jessie’s eyes held Rachel’s briefly until Rachel blinked first and stared down to the floor. There was no point in staying. That was clear. They would need a warrant to search their property.
‘What now?’ Dylan asked as the pair walked back across the bark-lined driveway to Jessie’s Fiesta. The sound of barking from the back of the property as well as raised voices echoed through the unseasonably warm breeze. ‘The letter we found doesn’t threaten the Anguses at all. She just said how disappointed she was that they objected to her plans and could they talk, hinting she could offer them a substantial amount of money.’
‘Time to do a little more digging I think,’ Jessie replied.
‘What did you make of the grandson?’ Dylan probed. ‘Creepy or what?’
Before Jessie could answer, the Fergusons’ bungalow door opened with Rachel standing in the doorway. Jessie turned at the noise.
‘DI Blake, there’s something you need to know,’ she called out to them. ‘Something you’ll find out very soon so I’d rather tell you myself.’
Kenny tried to grab hold of Rachel’s arm to pull her back inside until she pushed her husband away.
‘Rachel,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘For goodness’ sake. Think about what you’re doing. This isn’t a good idea. At least let me call our solicitor first.’
Rachel pulled away and shook her head before walking away from the front door.
Jessie looked at Dylan and clicked the car locked again before the two intrigued detectives followed the couple back inside.
4
1990
Alice Connor’s eyes snapped open. She gasped and sucked in as much air as she could take when she remembered what they’d done. She hoped the short, sharp puffs would be enough. She sat bolt upright and tugged the collar of the sweatshirt back from her skin. They’d taken her clothes and given her a pair of baggy jogging trousers and a sweatshirt that was far too big for her. A solicitor had told her last night that she would have to spend the night at the station and that she would be back to see her in the morning. She would explain what was to happen next then. Alice knew David had been taken to Dunvegan. She’d heard one of the policemen saying that and that he was to travel to Perth prison after that. She’d heard the words ‘maximum security’ as well as some swear words her grandmother would not approve of.
Alice was scared. David had assured her everything was going to be fine afterwards and she’d believed him. She always believed David. Meeting him was the best thing that had ever happened to her. He spoke to her like an equal, not a child. He told her she was pretty and that she should smile more. He liked it when Alice smiled. It wasn’t hard to find reasons to smile around David. Alice thought this must be what love feels like. She couldn’t get his face out of her mind. Being away from him made her heart hurt; tied her stomach in knots.
Her grandmother wanted to stop them being together. She said David was too old. She told her it wasn’t appropriate for a man his age to be spending time with such a young teenage girl. He was sick. But her grandmother was wrong. What they had wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t sick; it was beautiful. David helped Alice see that. Their love felt right. This was the only way they could be together. The police would look at her grandparents’ deaths as a robbery gone wrong then the couple would be free to be together, forever. David had promised he would always take care of her.
The sound of the cell door opening startled her into sitting up. She really needed to pee but she wasn’t going to use that thing in the corner. The smiling face of the solicitor that had been allocated to Alice th
e previous night beamed in.
‘Hello, again,’ she greeted her.
Alice stared at her without smiling.
‘I really need to pee.’
Her solicitor smiled. ‘Come with me – I’ll take you to the bathroom before your interview.’
Alice frowned. ‘My interview?’
Alice was confused. They hadn’t talked about any of this. Alice needed David more now than ever. He would know what to do.
5
Rachel Ferguson sat close to her husband on the sofa, their fingers entwined. Kenny squeezed his wife’s hand for support as his way of appreciating this wasn’t easy for her. They had been in an intimate relationship for six months before she’d told him her secret. He could see the pained expression on her face now.
‘I’m Alice Connor,’ she began. ‘When I was fourteen, along with my boyfriend, we murdered my grandparents in our farmhouse on Skye. We hit them with hammers until they were dead.’ She said it rapidly as if ripping off a plaster quickly to get it over with, then sighed as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. ‘The courts changed my name after I left the young offenders place.’
‘Oh,’ Jessie replied, stunned by her revelation. ‘OK.’
‘Please let me finish,’ Rachel pleaded while Kenny squeezed her hand again. ‘I’m not proud of what happened. I normally never speak about it. Very few people know who I am. Who I was,’ she corrected herself. ‘I’m telling you now because I don’t want you to think I’m trying to hide away from it. I knew you would find out and then suspect me because of what David and I did all those years ago.’
Jessie tried to recall the name but it didn’t sound familiar to her.
‘I appreciate your honesty and you’re right: if I’d found out later I would have come straight here, especially given the circumstances.’
