by Kerry Watts
‘Sure.’ Caroline helped herself to a second cup of tea.
Rachel sipped from her mug and sat down at the dining table without speaking. She couldn’t stop Caroline being there but she didn’t have to like her. Rachel grabbed a copy of the Racing Post from the previous week and flicked through the pages in silence with Caroline standing behind her, hoping she would take the hint that Rachel didn’t want conversation. She was sure she could feel her eyes burn into the back of her head. Rachel wondered what a pretty young woman like that saw in a middle-aged, balding, overweight man like her husband. He wasn’t even good in bed. More of an undignified grunting style of lovemaking than a tender, passionate lover, though if Rachel was honest she was grateful Kenny didn’t pester her to fill his needs these days. Caroline was welcome to that part of her husband.
‘So how are you doing, Rachel?’
Rachel wished Caroline would get the hint she didn’t want to chat. She turned and painted on a smile.
‘Fine, Caroline, what about you? I hope my husband isn’t working you too hard. Especially over Christmas like this. Your family must be missing you.’
Caroline shot her another smile. ‘I live alone and both my parents are dead so…’
‘Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realise.’ Rachel felt terrible then wondered why that would be a reason to smile so widely.
‘I don’t mind working over Christmas really.’ Caroline shrugged. ‘It’s not much of a celebration for me.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ But in truth wasn’t Rachel in exactly the same boat? She daren’t tell Caroline that, though.
‘I’m used to it now I suppose.’
Rachel couldn’t stand the sickly-sweet niceness of the girl but could see exactly what Kenny saw in her. She would probably do sexual things for him that she could never do.
‘Sorry about that, ladies.’ Kenny came back into the kitchen and grabbed the keys for his Land Rover. He kissed Rachel’s lips this time. ‘See you tonight, darling. Don’t wait up for me – just in case.’
‘But you said—’ Rachel stopped. What was the point? ‘Have a good day then, you two.’ She forced a smile.
‘Goodbye.’ Caroline beamed and followed Kenny outside, her high heels clip-clipping across the wood floor.
Rachel stood by the kitchen window and watched Kenny’s Land Rover disappear out of the drive and onto the back road towards Perth. He would pick up the motorway to Dundee from there. She stared again at the empty paddock and imagined her horses thundering around the gallops she wanted to create. She could see the sand being kicked up behind their hooves and the sound of them on the ground drifted into her imagination. That was Rachel’s favourite sound. It stirred a sense of excitement and calmness at the same time. If a noise could become your happy place then that was hers.
To the right of the paddock was the estate that had given the council permission to erect ten large wind turbines on their land. Rachel thought they were a blot on the open Perthshire countryside but Kenny told her how much they’d been paid for their trouble. She despaired that everything came down to that. Money. Before the turbines, she had hacked through the estate on the horses. Long summer evenings riding through the quiet country lanes were wonderful when the only sounds were your horses’ hooves and the low hum of bumblebees. It was magical. She had considered asking the estate manager if she could rent some land for her gallops, then the chance to buy the Anguses’ paddock had come up. Now that was tainted.
With her mind elsewhere, Rachel hadn’t heard her visitor come into the house. She spun quickly when she became aware of footsteps. Recognising the face coming towards her, she asked, ‘What are you doing here?’
18
Jessie was still reeling from the fact she might well have just missed Gordon Angus by minutes or even seconds – if it was him who’d delivered the envelope with the bank cards in it. Returning them like that was strange, with a note too. Where the hell was he now? She hoped he would be at the hospital when she got there.
Jessie stared into the side room at the slim middle-aged woman sat on the chair at the side of Tommy Angus’s bed, cradling his hand in hers. Jessie assumed she was his wife, but there was no sign of their son. Tommy had a mask over his mouth and an intravenous drip in each arm. It was then Jessie realised the accident was more serious than she’d first thought. Nobody had told her he was still unconscious.
‘Go and grab us a couple of coffees.’ She handed Dylan some change. ‘I want to speak to her alone,’ she whispered. ‘She’s probably the wife. Which makes her Gordon’s mum.’
‘Good idea.’ Dylan took the money and walked away, leaving Jessie to go back to staring. For a divorced couple, she seemed genuinely concerned about Tommy. She held his hand – tight too by the looks of it, from where Jessie stood. Maybe she still loved him.
Jessie pressed on the handle and opened the side-room door as quietly as she could. The woman at Tommy’s bedside turned. Her eyes looked red and sore from crying.
‘I’m sorry to intrude. My name is Detective Inspector Jessie Blake. I’m in charge of the investigation into Tommy’s parents’ murder.’ She showed her ID.
The shock on the woman’s face abruptly informed Jessie that this woman hadn’t been told that devastating news yet. The colour drained from Arlene Angus’s cheeks and she dropped Tommy’s hand from her grasp to clasp her own hand to her mouth.
‘What? I don’t understand,’ she mumbled. ‘What do you mean their murder? Tommy’s parents can’t be dead. Someone would have told me.’
Jessie pulled another plastic chair from under the window on the far side of the room and placed it next to her. She reached out and laid her hand softly on Arlene’s arm.
‘That must have been a terrible shock. I’m so sorry you had to find out like that. I had no idea you hadn’t been told.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ Arlene repeated. ‘I only spoke to Jean yesterday morning. To wish them a happy Christmas.’
‘What time did you talk to her?’ Jessie grabbed her notebook from her pocket.
‘It was, em, I think it was about nine-ish. What the hell? I don’t understand. She sounded fine when I spoke to her.’ She pulled her arm away from Jessie’s grasp. ‘When did they – I mean—’ She couldn’t finish her question as the foam of fizzy tears spewed from her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, this is just such a shock. I mean, Gordon didn’t mention anything when I spoke to him.’
‘You’ve spoken to Gordon?’
‘Yes, I called him when he didn’t call to wish me a merry Christmas. Silly, I know.’
‘Where was he when you spoke to him?’
Arlene narrowed her blue eyes. ‘Why is that important?’
‘Forgive me, I don’t mean to imply anything. It would just be really good if we could find him and have a chat with him about a couple of things.’
‘Find him? What do you mean “find him”?’ She turned to look at Tommy. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. He’s lying there close to death, Gordon’s disappeared and his grandparents have been murdered. I knew there was something wrong. I knew it. I always know.’ Arlene’s tone sharpened. ‘I hate this, being right, but I was then and I am now. Oh my God, what has he done?’
Jessie turned when Dylan knocked on the window of the side room. She shook her head and then nodded for him to leave them. She refocused her attention on Arlene.
‘What does that mean? What has who done?’ Jessie urged.
Arlene turned to face Jessie and raised a hand in the air. ‘You have to understand something first.’
Jessie’s curiosity deepened and she nodded. ‘OK. I’m listening.’
Arlene closed her eyes and gave a sharp sigh. ‘Gordon isn’t like other young men his age. Sure he looks like any other 21-year-old.’
Jessie recalled the way Gordon Angus sat, coldly indifferent, close to his grandparents’ still-warm dead bodies as he tucked into a sandwich. She wanted to shout out, You’re not wrong there, but resisted.
‘In what way
do you mean he’s different?’ she asked instead.
‘I said for years Gordon wasn’t like the other kids in his class. I knew he was different. I just…’ She paused. ‘I knew. His behaviour was a struggle some days but he was my son, Detective, my son and I did love him. I do love him.’
Jessie was growing more curious by the minute and wished the woman would get to the point. She tried to hide her impatience with a sympathetic nod.
‘We fought,’ Arlene continued. ‘No, that’s not strictly true. I fought for Gordon to be assessed by a psychologist who just said he was immature, a little anxious perhaps, but he would grow out of it.’
Her emphasis on the ‘I’ told Jessie more than she needed to know. The couple clearly had differing views about their son. Perhaps disagreement about their son had been the cause of the breakdown of the marriage.
‘Do you think Gordon is capable of doing something to hurt someone? His grandparents, even?’ Jessie suggested cautiously.
But the boot print and the hair. Jessie’s mind raced. Gordon’s hair was jet black and the boot’s size was just a four. It couldn’t be Gordon, could it?
Arlene stood up and pressed the palm of her hand gently across her red, stinging eyes. She walked across to the small window that looked out onto the roof of the lower floors of the hospital. A large grey pipe billowed smoke from the middle of it.
‘Gordon was such a sensitive little boy,’ she declared. ‘He didn’t like the taste of certain foods and cleaning his teeth was a nightmare. Obsessive behaviour, too. Does that sound like autism to you?’
Jessie shrugged. ‘I’m not a doctor. I couldn’t possibly say but clearly you thought something was wrong. A mother’s instinct, perhaps.’
‘Exactly.’ Arlene pointed her finger in Jessie’s direction. ‘But Tommy didn’t listen. He thought we should just accept what they said and move on.’ She shook her head. ‘But I was right to worry, wasn’t I?’
Arlene moved quickly back to Tommy’s side and squeezed his arm. ‘You should have listened to me, you stupid man.’
Jessie was alarmed at the darkness in her tone.
‘Why don’t you come and sit back down. I’m interested to hear more about Gordon.’
Arlene turned her attention back to Jessie.
‘Jean, my mother-in-law, gave me the money, you know.’
Jessie was perplexed. ‘The money?’
‘For the private doctor – well, psychiatrist,’ Arlene declared. ‘It was the only way to prove I was right but I would give anything to be wrong. Anything.’
‘You took Gordon to see a psychiatrist privately?’ Jessie asked, wondering how much that had cost her mother-in-law. Private consultations were not cheap. Jean Angus must have been worried about her grandson too. ‘Did you get the answers you were looking for?’
Arlene nodded. ‘Part of me was relieved, you know.’
‘I’ve heard people say that before,’ Jessie replied. ‘What did they tell you?’
Arlene’s shoulders drooped and she stared at Tommy’s motionless body next to her; listened to the gentle rhythm of the sounds of life coming from the monitors strapped to him. Then she stared at Jessie.
‘Our son is on the autistic spectrum. Asperger’s most likely, they said, just as I suspected all along.’
Jessie wondered if saying she was sorry to hear that was the right thing to do. Perhaps that would be wrong. It was the next part of the diagnosis that scared her.
‘The doctor that assessed Gordon also suggested that he had a psychopathic personality.’
‘Oh.’ Jessie released an involuntary gasp at the same time.
‘Yes, oh, indeed. So you see why I’m worried, Detective. My son is a psychopath and someone has just murdered his grandparents.’ Arlene’s gaze drifted to the floor. ‘Gordon doesn’t feel things like you and me. It’s not his fault.’
Then Jessie remembered the contents of the red tin. She showed the tin to Arlene but before she could ask her about it Arlene was quick to explain.
‘I know what’s in there, Detective.’ Arlene spoke with her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘Gordon is obsessed with serial killers. Not them so much as their crimes. The violence fascinates him. How it feels to kill. He wants to go and talk to a serial killer. He’s written to a couple too.’ A hint of a laugh escaped to hide her discomfort. ‘I’ve explained to him that people will find his interest strange and creepy but I’m in over my head. I don’t know what else to do.’
Jessie didn’t have to look at the pictures in the box again. The various newspaper clippings of grisly crime scenes connected to Ted Bundy and the Yorkshire Ripper to name a few still turned Jessie’s stomach. She knew there was a fascination with serial killers these days. Some had even been romanticised by Hollywood.
‘What I’m about to tell you has to be kept confidential, promise me. I don’t even know if it’s true but I don’t want any of us getting into trouble for exposing someone.’
‘I can’t promise anything but please go on,’ Jessie began.
Arlene stood and paced towards the side-room window. She stared out while she shook her head. Jessie could sense Arlene was about to tell her something shocking. She hoped it might help her get closer to uncovering what had happened to the elderly couple.
‘Gordon has a—’ Arlene paused to search for the right word. Jessie watched her nibble her top lip between her teeth and inhale a huge breath, before exhaling it slowly. ‘He has a thing for Malcolm and Jean’s neighbour. He thinks she’s a serial killer or something, I don’t know. Says he recognised her from a photo.’
Jessie frowned, unsure exactly what – if anything – Arlene knew for sure.
‘Why would Gordon think something like that?’ she responded, encouraging what Arlene knew out of her.
Arlene shook her head and sat back down opposite Jessie. ‘He has it in his head she’s really a woman called Alice Connor.’ She shrugged. ‘Have you heard of her?’
Jessie nodded. ‘I’ve heard the name mentioned, yes.’
‘She murdered her grandparents, Detective. Brutally by all accounts.’
Jessie had a fair idea where Arlene was going with this but didn’t want to confirm or deny her suggestion. ‘Did she?’
Arlene nodded. ‘I looked the story up on the internet, you know, to be sure.’ She sighed and drew her shoulders up towards her neck. ‘It was horrible. He seems fixated though and I can’t get through to him.’
Jessie pulled a card with her details on it and laid it on the bed next to Tommy’s hand, then stood up and zipped her jacket right up.
‘If you hear from Gordon please let me know right away, will you?’
Arlene picked up the card and nodded without meeting Jessie’s gaze. ‘I will,’ she murmured then snapped her head up to meet Jessie’s gaze. ‘What will happen to him if—’ She stopped herself before finishing her question. ‘I’m sorry, ignore me, forget I said that.’
Jessie had a good idea exactly what Arlene was about to say and didn’t blame her for feeling the need for answers – but it wasn’t Jessie’s job to reassure her. Her job was to find the person who shot and killed Malcolm and Jean Angus, and if that person happened to be related to them she couldn’t allow that to get in the way of their conviction.
‘I hope Tommy gets better soon,’ Jessie commented before turning to walk out of the room. She took one last look at Arlene. Her defeated expression told Jessie she feared exactly the same thing as she did. Both women also had the same question in their minds.
Where the hell was Gordon Angus?
19
‘What do you want?’ Rachel blasted despite the anxiety that gripped her chest. ‘I didn’t say you could come in. You can’t just walk into someone’s house uninvited.’
Rachel stared behind him and hoped the dogs were close, but then remembered that Kenny had probably closed them in the utility room to eat their breakfast. What did he want and why was he staring at her like that? She pulled her dressing gown tighter aro
und her body. Her legs trembled and she wondered how to talk herself out of this situation. She swallowed back nausea that rose in her throat through fear. Sweat gathered on the back of Rachel’s neck. She lifted her hand to dab it away then he moved forward.
‘What is it you need. Is it money? I have money.’ She knew she was rambling. She always did when she was nervous, and right then she was terrified. He must have been the one who’d called her last night. He must know her secret. ‘I can pay. You name your price. Just please don’t tell anyone. I’m not the same person.’
He moved closer but still didn’t speak. He sat down on the armchair that looked directly out of the bay window and looked up at her.
‘What about making us a cup of tea? I’d love a cup, wouldn’t you? I have so many questions,’ he said then pulled a dog-eared notebook from his hooded fleece pocket and leafed through the pages. ‘I can’t believe I’ve found you.’
Rachel couldn’t move. She struggled to understand what was going on until he spoke again.
‘Go on then, put the kettle on.’ This time he smiled. ‘If you’ve got any biscuits I’ll take one of them too, chocolate preferably. Mm, have you got any Jaffa cakes?’
Rachel smiled at the absurdity of the situation. ‘Em, yes, sure; I’ll, em, just go and check.’
Before she turned she spotted an Audi moving along the driveway and saw that it was the two detectives coming back to speak to her. She’d figured they would. She was even prepared for the moment they asked her for her fingerprints and DNA. What she and David did to her grandparents all those years ago would never go away – and after such a horrific double murder so close to Rachel’s own front door, of course they would look closely at her. When she glanced back at the armchair, her guest had already disappeared through the back door.
20
1991
Rachel laid her bag down on the small bedroom floor. Her new name was growing on her, though she’d had no choice but to get used to it. She stared at the posters on the wall next to a single bed with a plain lilac duvet set. The pillow was covered in a variety of soft toys ranging from a small stuffed flamingo to a large brown teddy bear that almost covered the whole thing. On the bedside cabinet, there was a small red lamp and a glasses case next to a copy of a book she didn’t recognise. Next to the book was a notebook. Rachel squinted to read some of the scribbles on the cover and could make out the words ‘KEEP OUT’ in bold blue writing as well as the name Ella but couldn’t make out the rest of it – and there was a lot of it.
