by V Clifford
The only good thing about the situation, apart from the fact that it takes less than five minutes to power walk home, is that she didn’t have to politely decline Mac. Cursing herself for being an idiot, her disappointment takes the form of criticism and she generalises about how exploitative men always are. Then consoles herself with the advice that she should stick to women. Once in the security of the flat she strips her new kit off and steps into a hot shower, definitely a form of penance. She scrubs her hair, applying too much shampoo, but standing inches deep in bubbles allows the heat to work its magic. Within five minutes she can no longer recall the frustration of the meeting. Her tension has slipped down her back and out through the drain.
Chapter Twenty-One
As she rubs at her hair with a towel she spots the answering machine light blinking. She hesitates imagining it’ll be Mac with an apology. But no it was Sal very tentatively suggesting lunch. Viv keeps rubbing, but replays the message. A tingle of excitement rises in her gut and before she has too much time to think it through she punches number one to reply. Sal picks up immediately. When Viv hears Sals actual voice she gets flustered.‘ Oh hi, it’s Viv. I’d love to do lunch. When did you have in mind?’
‘As soon as you like.’
At this very moment Sal’s straight, no nonsense approach appeals to Viv and she smiles, toeing a ball of hair that’s gathered on the rug beneath her bare feet. ‘Well I haven’t eaten lunch yet today.’
Sal interrupts her. ‘I’ve got some transcripts to evaluate but I could do a very late lunch at say four?’
Viv’s interest is piqued but she stops herself asking ‘what transcripts’. Sal breaks the silence. ‘We’ve had to go wider at the school…’
It’s Viv’s turn to interrupt. ‘No, no I was just wondering… No four is great.’
‘What were you wondering Viv?’
But already there’s an idea tickling at the edge of her brain. ‘No honestly four is great. How about Susie’s Diner, I haven’t been for ages?’
‘Susie’s it is. See you at four… and Viv you can relax we’re only having lunch.’
Viv is slightly taken aback but the idea that’s kicked in distracts her.’
‘See you there.’ She replaces the handset still grappling with the vague notion. She can’t quite grasp it and is clever enough to know that the only way to retrieve it is to let it go. After flicking through the channels on the TV she decides that the only way to clear her head is to go for a run. But while she’s pulling on a pair of joggers the piece that she was missing begins to surface again. She berates herself for not seeking out Pete’s mother. His home life is bound to give her the edge on what he is capable of. In the sitting room she leafs through the pages of her notebook knowing that she must have written down Pete’s address at some point. Nothing. She goes back on-line and searches. As usual there’s not much she can’t find on the net and she jots down an address in the Grange. Within a few minutes Viv is jogging over the Meadows, into Marchmont, then five minutes further south she reaches Lauder Road. The vast Victorian pile whose stable has become a double garage, nestles within a high walled garden. Open gates allow her access to the front door. Whether she’ll get beyond that is down to luck. As she approaches she hears a voice coming through an open window. The closer she gets the more hysterical the person sounds. She tiptoes over the gravel to the front door and tucks herself beneath the porch. Her hand hovers over the bell. The voice is female and sounds as if it’s speaking on the telephone. Viv can’t make out words but the tone is distressed. After a few minutes of continuous ranting everything goes quiet. Viv waits another couple of minutes and presses the bell. The sound of heels clicking on wood, echo in the hallway inside. They stop and Viv imagines the person behind the door sorting her hair or her skirt, but instead a slim man in brogues, a pale blue shirt and chinos, swings the door back. He looks exactly like Pete. Must be his brother.
‘Hi, I was wondering if I might speak to Mrs Brendan?’
He looks quizzical but gestures with his arm for her to enter. She steps onto the polished parquet and stares up at walls adorned with modern paintings. Viv spots a Vettriano and smiles. She is led through a door on the right into a large sitting room where a woman, recovering her composure, stands to shake Viv’s hand. But when Viv says her name the woman looks confused and retracts her hand. ‘Oh, you’re not from the police then . . . they said they’d send a family liaison officer.’
‘No, I’m not from the police but I have been working with them.’
For the first time the young man speaks, the frustration in his deep voice evident. ‘Why are you here, then? You can see that this is a difficult time.’
‘Yes, yes, I can see that. But I wondered if I might be able to help.’
Mrs Brendan stares at Viv. ‘Do you know Peter?’
‘Well, yes. I do. But . . . I wondered if you know the head girl . . .’ Viv doesn’t get the chance to finish her sentence. Mrs Brendan’s contorted face almost has Viv reeling back on her heels.
‘That little vixen. What would you like to know about her? She’s . . .’ She chokes back more tears and the young man turns away toward the window, as if he can’t bear the sight of her distress.
‘I suppose I had an idea that maybe she was involved with Andrew . . .’
The young man swings round. ‘Involved with Andrew, he couldn’t stand the sight of her. She’s toxic. Always threatening him with . . .’ He crosses his arms across his chest.
Viv prompts him. ‘With what?’
‘With outing him. Always threatening to ‘out’ Andrew.’ His frustration mounting.
Viv screws up her eyes. ‘But I thought . . .’
‘You thought he was out and proud . . . yes, well, maybe with his close chums. Like Pete and Tom and Johnny, but not his family. That little bitch, ‘Head Girl’ as you call her, has been blackmailing him for months.’
Viv waits quietly taking in what they’ve said until he continues. ‘All this because he wouldn’t go to the year end dance with her. Tradition has it that head boy and head girl go to the year end dance but from the minute they were named she was on him and he wouldn’t agree to go.’
Viv, trying to keep all the information she’s already holding in her head, can’t believe she’s been so blind. How stupid could she be?
She turns as if to leave, but then asks, ‘You don’t happen to have a name, or even an address for her?’
He marches over to a desk and scribbles a few lines on a pad then hands it to Viv.
Mrs Brendan drops her head into her hands again and the man, shaking his own head, draws in a deep breath and leads Viv back to the front door.
‘How is Pete?’
‘As you’d expect. Distraught. In pain . . .’ He shakes his head again, this time as if he’s fighting back tears himself.
‘What sort of . . .’
‘His hands are burnt, he tried to pull Andrew . . .’
Then he does choke and nods as he closes the door behind her.
Viv stands beneath the porch again and shakes her own head. What a mess. She checks what’s written on the paper and looking right then left starts to jog west towards Bruntsfield. The address she has is in Merchiston, West Castle Road.
When she reaches the Links she stops to catch her breath. Mrs Brendan couldn’t have been more vehement when she spat out ‘that little vixen’. What does a young girl have to do for people to hate her so much? And who was the young man? Was he Pete’s brother?
West Castle Road is in one of Edinburgh’s most elegant Victorian areas. As in the Grange, people built their houses for maximum privacy with high walls protecting grand houses, and with spacious, professionally tended gardens. Mature leafy trees shade drives with ‘high end’ four by fours which, beyond mounting the pavement on the school run, have never been off road in their lives. Viv checks the number on the paper but reaches the bottom of the street without identifying the house. The houses have names, no numbers. The postie mu
st clearly know where to deliver what. She retraces her steps, scanning the glass above the doors and gates, and ever hopeful of spotting a wheelie bin with a number painted on it. Not a chance. As she approaches the top of the street for the second time she recognises a car and its driver coming round the corner. She ducks and pretends to collect a parking ticket from the machine. She glances to the side; the car halts midway down the hill. It’s Johnny. He parks and steps out pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt as he closes the car door behind him. Furtively he looks right and left then begins to walk in her direction. Unsure what to do she bends down and presses the buttons on the machine as Johnny passes without giving her a glance. He looks determined, on a mission. Another three or four houses up he tries to open a gate but either it’s stuck or locked. He shakes it and blasphemes. Just as she’s about to step between two parked cars he looks back down the street and recognises her.
He approaches her with an ugly questioning stare. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I might ask you the same thing.’
He digs his hands into his pockets and shakes his head again. ‘I’ve got to find Ruthie.’
Viv nods, acknowledging with her eyebrows that he spits her name out in the same way as Mrs Brendan had called her a vixen.
‘Shall we take a look?’
He glances towards the gate then shrugs. He turns to Viv resigned. ‘Not much I can do to stop you, is there?’
Viv smiles. ‘No. Not much . . . Safety in numbers, though.’
She takes off but he remains. She turns. ‘You coming or what?’
He hesitates again then decides. As they approach Viv notices that the house has the same sort of high-security panel as Morgan Clifford and she wonders what’s inside that requires this.
‘So what is it that Ruthie’s parents do?’
‘Dunno really. She just says he works for the Civil Service.’
Viv snorts. ‘A cover-all.’
Johnny throws her a puzzled look. ‘What . . .’ Then, as if he understands, he says, ‘D’you think he could be in Special Services?’
‘I just mean he could be anything from a road cleaner to prime minister. They’re all civil servants. But I’d be surprised if the road cleaners have such high-end security.’ She points at the panel. The gate is solid so she wedges her foot into the masonry at the side and steps up. She only gets a swift glance before she slips off.
‘See anything?’
‘No. But if you give me a hand up. . .’
Johnny blows out a huge breath then bends, clasping his hands together in a basket, Viv puts her foot in and he hoists her as if she’s feather light. ‘That rugby training certainly comes in handy, eh?’
‘You’re not exactly ten ton Tess. What’s happening over that wall?’
‘Well, I’m on camera for posterity that’s for sure. The good thing is, I can’t hear any dogs.’
She jumps down and brushes off her jacket. ‘Thanks. Technology is easier to overcome than dogs.’
‘Look there’s no way I’m doing anything illegal. It’s alright for you. We’re all in enough trouble as it is. But Ruthie can’t get away with what she’s done. Someone’s got to make her see sense.’ He sounds calm and rational.
‘And what has she done exactly?’
‘She must have killed Andrew . . . or set him up to be killed. By the time we reached him the car was ablaze. There was nothing we could do.’ His eyes screw up as if he can’t bear to let the memory in.
‘Whoa! Are you saying… No wait, how did you know where he was?’
‘Pete got a text.’
‘What did it say?’
He shook his head. ‘Just where we’d find him. We’d no idea ‘til we got there that she was the one who had torched the car.’
‘There’s a world of a difference Johnny between saying you want someone dead and actually killing them.’
‘No, there isn’t. She’s responsible for his car bursting into flames. I don’t know how she did it, but she didn’t become head girl because she’s thick . . . She thinks she’s beyond the law.’ He gestures to the house. ‘All this?’
Viv cranes her neck at the height of the wall then steps back off the pavement. Cameras and security indicate fear of invasion. Little Miss Ruthie has had a life of incarceration.
‘Why would she want to kill Andrew? I mean, it’s one thing to have a spat with someone, but a whole other to want them dead.’
Johnny releases another huge sigh. ‘You don’t get it.’ He sighs again. ‘She’s a fag hag. She thought all she had to do was destroy the other sides of the ‘love triangle’. Pete loved Andrew, Andrew loved Pete but Ruthie also loves Pete, who has, by the way, played her like a fiddle . . . Andrew was in her way. She made a fuss of Andrew as a pretence. He wasn’t the one she wanted.’
‘She couldn’t really believe that killing him would make things better for her? She’s got to be too bright for that?’
As they speak a large, well–polished, dark blue Jaguar pulls up on the opposite side of the road. The driver steps out and opens the rear door, allowing Viv and Johnny a view of a female passenger dressed in an expensive trouser suit with beautifully coiffed blonde hair. No one speaks, but Viv and Johnny glance at each other then back at the vaguely familiar woman who beckons them over with a throw of her head. Johnny is about to step off the pavement when Viv puts her hand out to stop him. The driver’s hand hovers over his trouser pocket. Although this is Edinburgh, Viv’s had enough drama over the last few weeks to keep her alert and she’s seen this gesture before. Guys in Special Services, although trained not to give the game away, keep a weapon close to hand. In addition he looks on the large and fit side for a bloke who spends his days at the wheel. The woman in the car concedes, swings her long legs out of the car and saunters across.
‘I’m guessing you’re here to see Ruth?’
Johnny’s a quick learner because he follows Viv’s lead and stays quiet.
The woman smiles. ‘Okay. You’re wasting your time. She’s gone.’
Viv nods and says, ‘And you are about to tell us where?’
The woman laughs, but not because she’s amused. She sighs. ‘They said you’d be difficult.’
A puzzled look flits across Viv’s face, which Johnny catches.
He asks, ‘Anyone going to let me in on this little game?’ He turns his back to the woman and spots a curtain moving on the upper floor of the house. Viv, noticing his distraction, gives the slightest shake of her own head and widens her eyes in warning. He, at first confused, says, ‘Well is anyone going to . . .’
The woman interrupts. ‘Ruth has been taken somewhere for her own security.’ She sneers. ‘Am I likely to tell you where that is?’ A laugh. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, piss off, then.’ Viv is vehement. ‘If you’ve got nothing useful to tell us just piss off.’ The woman is taken aback but recovers her composure before stepping back towards the car. Once inside the woman turns her face to Viv. ‘I’d be careful if I were you.’
Viv’s response, ‘But you’re not me, are you?’ Then adds an after thought. ‘You’re just a messenger.’
The flunkey closes the door and slips back round to the driver’s side. Suppressing a smile, he shoots Viv a nod of approval before he climbs in and drives away.
Johnny plants his hands on his hips, stares at Viv and says. ‘So who the fuck was that?’
‘Someone’s PUP.’ Because of his raised eyebrows she continues. ‘PUP means pumped up PA.’ Then, gesturing to the upper floor of the house, ‘So what did you see up there?’ They both stare at the windows where all the curtains are still.
‘There was someone at the window on the far left . . . could have been Ruthie.’
‘Time for a bit of adventure. You give me a hoist up again, and once I’m in I’ll get this gate open. It’s bound to be easier from the other side.’
Johnny shrugs. ‘Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb chop.’
Viv looks at h
im and smiles, thinking everyone has their own version of the world. If he wants lamb chop then where’s the harm in that?
Johnny clasps his hands again and Viv is efficiently hoisted up to the top of the wall. She swings her leg over and lets out a squeal. ‘Shit! There are shards of glass embedded on this side. I’ll have to jump.’
Viv noisily hits the deck on the other side. Then comes the sound of scratching metal on metal.
‘What the hell are you doing over there?’ Viv doesn’t answer but after a long few minutes, the gate scrapes back the opposite way from that which he’d expected.
‘My God! You’ve unscrewed the hinges . . . how clever is that!’
Viv grins and snaps her Swiss army knife closed. ‘Get your backside in here and we’ll push it back into place.’
Viv thinks if Ruthie was at the upper window she won’t have gone anywhere while all this has been going on, and sure enough, when she looks up again the curtain in the left window gives the slightest twitch.
The first thing she does is press the brass front door bell. There’s no way Ruthie will have idly watched that scene. Viv tries to imagine what might be going through the head of a girl who was angry enough to kill one boy in the hope of getting to another, either to gain his affection or to make him furious. She certainly won’t give herself up without a battle. She presses the bell again but there is no movement inside the house. They both step back and check the window again. No sign of anyone this time.
‘What now?’ says Johnny, not taking his eyes off the window. ‘She’s definitely in there. We can’t get to her without breaking in . . . can we?’
Again Viv tries to imagine what’s going on in Ruthie’s head and what the parents might be willing to do to protect her. Then something strikes her. Ruthie may not be free to wander round the house. She could be a captive, held by one of her parents or almost anyone on behalf of her parents. Before she makes a decision on her next move she hears a car and then another pulling up outside the gates. The sound of eight doors slamming means there’s a crowd. Whoever it is rattles the gate then pushes it, and it gives way at the wrong side. Viv indicates to Johnny to step into the shadows but she recognises Red’s voice, sighs, shrugs and then beckons Johnny out towards the voice.
