by M. A. Hunter
Dr Savage’s lips moved and Jess lowered her paintbrush to listen, but Mike and Polly couldn’t hear a word. Scanning the area immediately around the window, Mike looked for anything that might resemble an unmute button but, not finding one, called out, ‘We can’t hear you.’
Neither Jess nor Dr Savage looked up, suggesting they hadn’t heard. Mike began searching the walls for any other buttons, when Dr Savage’s voice suddenly cut into the room. ‘Go ahead, detective, ask your first question.’
Mike took a step closer to the window, so he’d feel more like he was addressing Jess directly. ‘Hello, Jess. Do you remember me? I’m Detective Inspector Mike Ferry. We met briefly last night. I want to know why you were at Morag Kilbride’s house last night.’
Jess’s shoulders tensed at the mention of Morag’s name, and she slowly shook her head. Dr Savage leaned in and muttered something unintelligible.
‘Okay,’ Mike continued, ‘can you tell me what happened at the house last night?’
The head shaking intensified, and the easel started to shake too.
‘I’m sorry, detective,’ Dr Savage announced, now trying to calm Jess, ‘but this isn’t going to work. We need to end this now.’
‘No,’ Mike barked back. ‘Jess, listen to my voice. All I want to know is: who killed Tommy?’
The easel toppled as Jess let out a pained cry and fought to get away from Dr Savage, as if the psychiatrist meant her harm.
‘Who killed Tommy, Jess? Was it Morag? Did she kill her son?’
Dr Savage glared venomously at the mirror. ‘This interview is over.’
The sound of Jess’s crying stopped instantly, and no amount of shouting or demanding the truth would be heard by anyone but the two of them in the soundproofed viewing portal.
‘What now?’ Polly asked.
‘We get Morag Kilbride in for questioning.’ Mike grimaced. ‘Have they picked her up from the hotel yet?’
Polly was studying her phone and didn’t answer at first. ‘Shit! Mike, they just went into her room, and the place is empty. Morag, Angus, and Daisy are gone. Hotel staff said they’d paid for two nights, but nobody saw them leave.’
The room seemed to spin. ‘Shit, shit, shit!’ Mike roared in frustration. The Chief Super would skin him alive for having let Morag escape. But he was resilient to the end. ‘Let’s go back to the house. Maybe they left a clue as to where they might flee.’
Chapter Sixty
Now
The outer perimeter around the Kilbride residence had now been reduced, but still blocked half the road, with access only available to police personnel and residents of the neighbouring properties who were being inconvenienced.
Mike and Polly showed their identification and signed in, before slipping on plastic mesh over-clothes, and were then led to meet the Scene of Crime Manager, who was standing by the rear doors of a van as bagged samples were being carefully loaded in.
She looked up from her clipboard and nodded at the two of them. ‘Veronica Leyburn.’
‘DI Mike Ferry and DC Polly Viceroy,’ Mike said, lowering the thin mask covering his lips. ‘How are you progressing?’
‘We’ve completed our work downstairs, and should be finished with the upstairs by tonight,’ she explained. ‘No traces of blood outside, and nothing obvious upstairs. Looks like the death was contained to just the kitchen and hallway. When we’re done here, the clean-up crew are going to have real job on their hands. The carpet in the hallway and the linoleum in the kitchen will probably need replacing.’
Mike nodded towards the front door, which was still barely hanging from one of its hinges. ‘Any chance we can take a look around inside?’
‘Sure, but please try and stay out of the way of the team, as we’re against the clock today.’
Mike thanked her and replaced his mask. Polly followed him up the steep driveway and into the detached property. The hallway carpet was dotted with numbered markers, and Tommy Chamberlain’s body was clearly outlined as a dark patch where the hallway met the kitchen floor. Bypassing that area, Mike veered into the long living-cum-dining room. More numbered markers were visible on the two cabinets, bookcase, and window sills.
‘Doesn’t look like the site of a burglary, does it?’ Mike commented rhetorically. ‘Given what we’ve learned about the victim’s background in narcotics and gang violence, I’d have expected a greater disturbance here.’
‘Maybe his mum tidied up before the first responders arrived,’ Polly replied flippantly. ‘What exactly are you looking for?’
‘Anything to tell us where she might go in blind panic. Put yourself in her shoes. You’ve just killed – or at the very least witnessed the death of – your only son. The police suspect you of the crime, but don’t yet have the evidence to arrest and charge. We know that they’ve fled, and that screams to me that she’s panicking. So where does she go? Where would you go?’
Polly looked down at her hands. ‘When things went south with us, I went home to my mum for a few days. I’ve already checked that, and both Morag and Angus’s parents died years ago.’
Mike looked at her. ‘You really went back to your mum’s when we broke up?’
She nodded, avoiding his gaze. ‘I was hurting, and I didn’t want to be surrounded by things that reminded me of what you’d chosen to throw away.’
Mike took a step closer. ‘I had no idea. When you wouldn’t return my phone calls, I assumed you were just pissed off with me.’
‘This isn’t the place to be discussing this, Mike,’ she replied, and he could hear the pain in her voice.
‘I never meant to hurt you, Polly. With everything that was going on with the Professional Standards Inquiry, I didn’t want you being dragged into my mess. I’m sorry.’
Polly turned away, and Mike moved back as Veronica Leyburn entered the room, and the moment passed.
‘Nothing unusual noted in this room,’ she announced. ‘Mrs Kilbride did ask to come in here when she stopped by earlier, but we told her the downstairs was out of bounds for now.’
Mike frowned at her. ‘Morag Kilbride was here? Today?’
‘Only to collect some clothes and money. Don’t worry, I had one of the team escort her up to the main bedroom upstairs and made a note of the clothes she put into a bag.’
Mike’s eyes widened. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that when we arrived? Who agreed for her to be let into the house?’
‘She said you’d told her it was okay,’ Veronica replied defensively. ‘We hadn’t had any word that she was under suspicion or not to be allowed in.’
‘Tell me she didn’t take her passport with her.’
‘What do you take me for? Passports are still on site upstairs. She didn’t even ask for them.’
Mike turned to Polly. ‘Let the team know she has cash and clothes as well. It’s going to make her more difficult to trace.’
Mike stopped as his eyes fell on a framed picture on the bookcase. The once silver frame was covered in black powder, the remnants of the SOCOs’ search for fingerprints, but it was the volume of powder that had caught his eye. Moving across to it, he studied the image more closely. In it, a younger Morag had her arm wrapped around another woman, facial similarities apparent. In the distance, a pub sign saying ‘The Black Ox’ was caught in the wind blowing off the large body of water behind them.
Mike turned and looked at Polly. ‘What was the name of that officer Nazia said she spoke to, PS Rupert something or other?
Polly nodded. ‘MacTavish. Why?’
Mike smiled for the first time since learning Morag had gone AWOL. ‘Get hold of him for me. I think I know where she’s going. Home.’
Chapter Sixty-One
After – Morag
The air in my lungs is so much cleaner that I feel giddy as I march onwards across the uneven ground, the bitter wind forcing the overgrown heath to almost bend backwards. Dorothy was right; there’s no place like home.
I told Angus to park in the next village over
from Gwen’s, in case the police are looking out for our car. Their time will come, but right now there is one thing I must do before I don’t have a chance.
Poor Daisy was upset when I told her she wouldn’t be going to school today, and she sobbed as I strapped her into the car. She wants to know why her dad turned up at our house when we’d told her he was dead. How do you explain to one so young that we lied with the best of intentions, that everything we’ve done has been to keep her safe and away from him?
I know she recognised him. The moment he looked into her eyes and said her real name, I spotted the recognition. Poor sweet, confused lamb. What if us taking her wasn’t the best thing for us to have done? What if all we’ve achieved is screwing up her emotional state more than ever? Angus reassured me last night that our efforts weren’t in vain, and I do so want to believe him when he tells me everything is going to be okay, but how can it be after what I did? No parent should ever have to bury their child, but what kind of monster kills their child? I am the worst kind of human being, and I don’t deserve to live happily ever after. My son is gone, my sister has little time left, and now my granddaughter – the one person I would give my life for – probably despises me.
Where did it all go so wrong?
A warm tear escapes my eye as the wind catches it just right.
I do wonder how our lives would have ended up had we never run. Would Tommy have pursued us in quite the same way, or would we have managed to negotiate some kind of truce, allowing him access to Mia’s life? Most parents acknowledge that having a child changes you, and maybe if we’d given Tommy the chance, he could have changed too. Or maybe I’m just trivialising all my bad decisions in order to punish myself for what I did.
The heath breaks, and Gwen’s wee cottage comes into sight. I’m pleased to see a plume of smoke escaping that old brown chimney pot, meaning someone is home. It is hard to believe that two days have passed since I watched my son’s life ebb away. Two days in which I’ve barely slept, unable to find a way forward in my life, but knowing I have to for Daisy’s sake. I don’t think I could ever get used to calling her Mia again. Mia was a sweet angel whom her mother would bring to see me. That is like a past life now. The little girl strapped in to the back of Angus’s car has changed so much, and I think for a time I did start to think of her as my own daughter rather than granddaughter. I’m sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with how messed up our family dynamic is.
The battered old wooden door opens as I approach, and I see Gwen’s husband Rufus standing there, his muddied dungarees tucked into his large brown boots, and the flannel shirt catching in the breeze. I wave to him, and he nods, stepping away from the door and moving further into the cottage. The air is so much warmer inside, and I quickly unbutton my coat and unwind the thick scarf from around my neck as I step inside, closing the door behind me. The top of my hair brushes the low ceiling as I move further into the old cottage we grew up in. I can still picture the day they brought Gwen home and told me I was going to be a big sister, and I remarked that I would have preferred a puppy. I can remember my dad sitting me on his lap close to the hearth and explaining how it would become my responsibility to look after Gwen and keep her safe at school. I’ll never forget the way she held my hand that first time, her tiny fingers coiling around my thumb, tugging gently, in her own way agreeing to become my wee sister.
The breath catches in my throat as I step into the living room and the evening’s sun catches on the purple bruising beneath her right eye, as she sits in the tall chair beside the window. She is so much thinner than when I last saw her, and for the briefest of moments I see my ageing mother sitting there staring back at me. It’s as if someone has come in and aged my wee Gwen with makeup or special effects. This is not whom I picture when I think of my sister.
I rush over and drop to my knees, taking her frail hand in mine and pressing it against my moist cheek. ‘I am so sorry. What has he done to you?’
I feel her free hand drop onto my head, and she gently strokes my hair. ‘’Tis nae yer fault,’ she says soothingly.
There is no sign of Rufus, and I can only assume he has left to give us time to get reacquainted.
I look up at Gwen, and now that I’m closer I can see just how raw the purple and yellow colouring of her eyelids is. Her lips break into a tender smile as our eyes meet, yet somehow that only increases the guilt flooding my heart in that moment.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, instantly regretting the lameness of the question. Of course she isn’t okay! She is fighting the cancer riddling her body, and recovering from what I know is Tommy’s handiwork.
‘Aye, ’tis nae bother.’
Here I am, the woman charged with taking care of this beautiful and brilliant spark, and yet she is the one – as always – looking out for me. I’ve never felt so hopeless, and yet blessed.
‘I am so sorry for putting you through this,’ I begin, reciting the words I have practised over and over since demanding that Angus drive us home to Aberdeenshire. ‘I should never have left you in a position where you were at risk. You deserved a sister who could take real care of you, and I’m sorry you got stuck with me. If I could—’
She pulls her hand free, and presses both hands against my cheeks, using her warm thumbs to brush the tears from my eyes. ‘You did what you had to do. Who are we to challenge what the world throws at us? I wouldnae choose any other woman in the world to be my big sister. I’m the lucky one, and don’t you be forgetting that.’
I want to stay in this position for ever, with my wee sister cradling me and telling me that everything is going to be okay, but the moment is over the moment the blue flashing lights erupt through the window and flicker on the walls.
In my mind I should be terrified, and desperately seeking any means of escape, or a place to hide, but I ignore my base human instinct to flee, and remain where I am, taking in the beauty of my battling sister’s smile, and knowing that if she says everything will be okay, then it will.
Heavy pounding at the door is followed by muttering and a moment later Rufus leads the suited detectives into the warm room. I recognise the tall male with the close-cropped beard from our encounter two nights ago, and the wee woman beside him, who looks embarrassed about barging in on my and Gwen’s tender moment.
‘I have to go now,’ I tell Gwen, as her hands move to mine and squeeze. ‘You said earlier that you think you’re the lucky one, but I know in my heart of hearts that I was the one blessed by your arrival. I will be back, my little one, and I promise I will see you again before our time on this cruel world is through. Stay strong for me, won’t you?’
It breaks my heart to see her eyes shining back at mine, but I feel calm, as I push my wrists towards the tall detective, and he begins to read me my rights.
Chapter Sixty-Two
After – Jess
I’m physically exhausted as the young woman helps me back into my wheelchair.
‘You’ve made fab progress today, Jess. It’s early days, but we’re on the right track.’
I love and loathe her positivity in equal measure, but I know she’s only doing her job. I can’t imagine how much money it would take for me to remain so positive with strangers all day.
Five weeks have passed since Detective Inspector Mike Ferry advised me that the CPS would not be looking to bring charges against Morag or me for the untimely death of the man known as Tommy Chamberlain. Personally, my memory of that night doesn’t scream that it was an act of self-defence, but that seems to be the picture they’re painting, and I have little reason to disagree.
Members of the press are no longer camped on our doorstep, which is the biggest relief. I now have a far greater appreciation for what celebrities go through, seeing paparazzi at every turn. Poor Grace didn’t know what to do with herself. Mum has been great at taking her to and collecting her from school. I can’t wait to reclaim that responsibility, as it’s not the same hearing about Grace’s day at school once she’s home. S
he’s usually forgotten half of the things she’s done by then, and I want to be the first person she tells every day.
Mum claims there have been no more rumours about me in the playground, but I don’t know if she’s just trying to spare my feelings. I’ll know soon enough, as I’ve told her I’m going to collect Grace from school this afternoon. To hell with the gossips like Nadine. If their lives are so boring that they’ve nothing better to talk about than me, then that just shows how small-minded they are. I’ve had several friend requests on Facebook from some of the other mums in Grace’s class, but I haven’t accepted any yet. I can’t be sure how many really do want to make friends, and whether any are just hoping to cling to the coat-tails of my recent notoriety.
The biggest surprise has been Charlie. All that skulking around, sending messages, and meeting with mysterious women had me jumping to all the wrong conclusions. Last night he drove me to a bungalow on the other side of town, a stone’s throw from Grace’s school and the park. The woman I saw him meeting in town was in fact an estate agent.
‘The woman who owned it is moving into a nursing home, and has no family to leave the house to,’ he told me, as we pulled onto the flat driveway. ‘As soon as I saw it, I knew it would be perfect for us,’ he added.
And for once his promise of a surprise was gratefully received. The bungalow already has a purpose-built shallow concrete ramp up to the front door, as the elderly seller had difficulty with stairs after her hip replacement. The kitchen is almost double the size of our current one, and there are three bedrooms, one for each of us and a spare for when Mum wants to stay over.
‘And the internal garage could be converted into a fourth room,’ Charlie added. ‘Several of the houses in the road have already done it, so planning permission shouldn’t be a problem.’
I know why he’s so keen on converting the garage. We talked about it last night, and for the first time, the thought of trying for a new baby didn’t terrify me as much as it once did. I will never forget the heartbreak and grief of losing Luke, and he will remain a part of this family long after Charlie and I are gone. But maybe Grace does deserve a second chance at becoming a big sister; I know she’d be great at it.
