Carrion Comfort

by Aline Templeton

  He didn’t pick her up on it, saying only, ‘Let’s meet somewhere civilised, then. My car’s still in Caithness so I’ll take a cab. You say where.’

  She mentioned a bar he hadn’t heard of and when he got there, he was surprised; it wasn’t the smart wine bar he’d expected but a rather downmarket, impersonal-looking pub in one of the backstreets, mainly empty at this time in the evening.

  Finella swung in, tall and blonde and smiling, and greeted him as brightly as usual. ‘Still in one piece, I see. Always preferable. Now swear to me, cross your heart and hope to die, that you’ll never let Betsy find out I’ve seen you. She wouldn’t speak to me for a week and when Betsy’s not speaking to you it’s like someone constantly shouting in your ear.’

  Kelso laughed, promised, then fetched her a gin and tonic and himself a Scotch. He let her chatter on, talking about their parents, their brother, who had actually managed to get round to phoning from the States last week to speak to his mother, until she ran down. Then he said quietly, ‘Fin, come on. Level with me. You didn’t want to see me to tell me family gossip. Why are we in this odd place? Why didn’t you want me to come to the house – and don’t give me the crap about Betsy. What’s wrong?’

  To his dismay, her eyes filled. Finella wasn’t a crier: he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen her in tears.

  ‘I just wanted to make sure no one would interrupt us.’

  ‘No one,’ he said. ‘You mean Mark.’ Mark would never be seen in a pub like this.

  She blinked hard, not meeting his eyes. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Oh dear. Is it the “M” word?’

  She looked up, surprised. ‘What’s the “M” word?’

  ‘It’s how Mark describes marriage when you’re not around.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. Stupid of me. Oh Kelso, I wish it was! Mum and Dad care about marriage – I don’t. It’s—’ She broke off. He didn’t say anything and after a moment she went on, ‘What I really want is for you to tell me I’m being ridiculous, that I’m being suspicious about nothing.’

  His heart sank. Another woman. Well, he’d never rated Mark; a bit too pleased with himself and too flash for his liking. ‘What makes you suspicious? Receipts, phone calls …? Nights away?’

  Finella gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, you think it’s a woman? I could deal with that.’ From the way she said it suggested that she’d dealt with it before. ‘No, it’s – worse.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Oh God, how can I say this! You know we moved to the flat in Morningside, after Mark left Tesco and got the job in the law firm. Well, of course you do. You helped us move in. Sorry, I’m just—’

  She broke off and he realised she was shaking. What on earth was coming next? Was it about the flat – persecution from a neighbour, a structural problem … He squeezed her hand and tried to sound confident. ‘We’ll sort it, whatever it is.’

  Finella got it out at last. ‘It’s – it’s just there’s too much money.’

  ‘It’s not a problem you often hear people complaining about,’ he said gently. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When he got the new job, it paid better than the previous one, I know that. But even so, it was a bit of a stretch to pay the mortgage on the flat we had. And then he got a big bonus, the first Christmas, and he said we should look for something in Morningside, and I was really excited. Much better catchment area for Betsy when it comes to schools and it’s such a lovely flat too. And the mortgage payments didn’t seem to be too much of a problem any more.’

  Kelso felt sick. He knew what was coming now; he’d seen the pattern professionally all too often before.

  She was going on, ‘And he started splashing money around. That Greek holiday – well, it was fabulous, really, but that was when I started worrying. The firm I’m with is just a wee firm – conveyancing, mainly – and I’m paid a pittance. He’s with a top commercial chain, right enough, but it’s not as if he’s a partner or anything. I can’t see how they could be paying him as much as that.’

  ‘Have you tackled him about it?’

  ‘I tried, very tactfully, but he just got angry – really angry. Asked me if I was accusing him of something – and I couldn’t, I really couldn’t, not to his face, Kelso. Then later he calmed down and said he should have told me he’d been put in the way of some good investments and with the stock market doing so well he’d made quite a bit that way. And I wouldn’t know about that – he’s always been very secretive about financial stuff.

  ‘So perhaps it’s true. It’s what I really, really want to think. Because, if it isn’t …’

  If it wasn’t, Kelso could see all too clearly what it would mean. Very few people were clever enough to get away with embezzlement for ever and when they were caught … He felt sick at the thought of what that would do to Fin and, worse still, to trusting little Betsy, so happy in her nice home with her mummy and daddy.

  Finella was looking at him hopefully. He said, ‘You know I can’t tell you that of course you’re wrong, that everything’s fine. I can’t tell you either that he isn’t making money on the market – perhaps he is. I don’t like to suggest that you should snoop, but maybe there’s a paper trail for the investments—’

  She gave him a scornful look. ‘Do you really think I haven’t? Nothing in the flat – he even keeps his bank statements in the office.’

  ‘Look, Fin, you don’t actually know there’s anything wrong. It’s probably pointless to tell you not to worry too much, but don’t push it until I get back from Caithness. I’ll make some cautious enquiries about the firm, put out a few feelers to see if there’s any gossip. If you’re still not happy, I’ll talk to Mark myself. If he’s in the clear he’ll probably clock me one, but it won’t exactly be the first time that’s happened to me. If he isn’t, he may even realise he’s getting in too deep and want advice.’

  She gave him a watery smile. ‘Thanks, kid. It’s helped just to tell you. Don’t say anything to Mum and Dad, though, will you?’

  ‘Oh, just as well you warned me,’ Kelso said with heavy sarcasm. ‘I’d just been planning a long cosy session with Dad to get his advice. Don’t be daft – and drink up. All your ice has melted.’

  DS Livvy Murray took the road out of Forsich, past the Mowats’ farm once more. The rain was still teeming down so hard that it was bouncing back up off the tarmac and every so often the car shuddered as a gust of wind took it.

  She was feeling tired. She’d pulled all the stops out to get the reports in and hadn’t even taken a proper break, so she was starving now. Still, this visit shouldn’t take long – she’d basically been forbidden even to exchange the time of day with the Rosses – and it was quiz night in the pub she’d been to last night. It had a good line in steak pies.

  It would be good if the husband was there. She’d screwed up with Gabrielle before and she didn’t want the embarrassment of being reminded of it. She liked to think she’d learnt from it and that she was improving – the boss had texted her a pat on the back – and as long as nothing went wrong while he was away she could feel she’d made some progress in wiping out her sins of the past. With that history, it wasn’t exactly surprising that he was keeping her on a tight rein, but she’d produced some useful stuff so maybe he’d listen to her idea about the ravens’ attack being almost planned, not an accident. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became.

  That was the house now. As she slowed down she saw with relief that there were two cars at the house, a 4x4 and a BMW 5 Series. A five-minute conversation and she’d be on her way back to Thurso to have a bath and change before she went out. She parked in behind them.

  Murray grabbed her weatherproof jacket and draped it over her head as she got out – for all the time it wasn’t worth putting it on properly. She slammed the door, glancing up at the big window and a man’s figure appeared. He looked agitated and when he saw her, he gave a sort of frantic wave then hurried out of the room, appearing a
moment later at the front door.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ he called. ‘It’s my wife – she’s been attacked. Help me!’

  She raced up the path. ‘Police,’ she said as she pushed past him and went into the front room.

  Gabrielle Ross was lying on the floor. She was grey-faced and unconscious; she had a bloody bruise on her left temple and there were scratches on her face. She was lying against the stone fender that went around the fireplace and there was an injury to the back of her head as well, to judge by the blood staining the sharp edge. A small table was lying on its side nearby.

  Ross was babbling. ‘I’ve just got back from Aberdeen. I walked in two minutes ago and I called, and she didn’t answer and then there she was – she’s not dead, is she? She’s breathing, I think – tell me she’ll be all right!’

  Murray dropped to her knees and put a hand on either side of Gabrielle’s head to stabilise it as she checked the airway – you had to assume there might be a spinal injury. It was clear, but the breathing was shallow and when she took her pulse it didn’t feel very strong; she was no expert, but the woman’s condition looked alarming. Even as she did it she was reaching for her phone, dialling 999, snapping, ‘Priority! Ambulance. Woman assaulted.’ As she gave instructions she fetched a throw that was draped across the sofa to put over Gabrielle.

  When she had finished she saw that Ross was wringing his hands and he seemed to be swaying slightly. There was nothing more she could do for his wife now; Murray stood up and took his arm, leading him to the chair by the window.

  ‘Sit down, sir,’ she said. ‘Lean forward and put your head between your knees.’

  He obeyed, slumping forward as if he had no strength left. Murray waited for a moment then let him sit up again.

  ‘Just take it easy,’ she said. ‘They won’t be long. She’ll be all right – a bit of concussion, I’d say.’

  ‘It’s just – just the shock,’ he said feebly. ‘I feel cold – so cold.’ He shivered.

  ‘Would you like me to make a cup of tea?’ she offered. Doing something – anything – would be better than sitting here wondering if Gabrielle’s breathing was just going to stop.

  ‘Brandy. Somewhere in the cupboard off the kitchen.’

  Murray went through, deciding to make tea anyway. She could do with it herself and if she brought brandy as well he could lace his mug with it if he felt like it. While the kettle was boiling she rooted in the cupboard for it, thinking about the man waiting next door. It was certainly common enough for a man to claim his wife had been attacked by some stranger and he’d just come in and found her – known as the ‘a-big-boy-did-it-and-ran-away’ defence.

  But the man was plainly shocked – and now she thought of it, she’d heard the sort of clicking a car makes when it’s cooling down as she went past the Audi. And he looked surprisingly unmarked for someone interrupted during a violent assault and the scratches on Gabrielle’s face – they had looked like nail marks. She’d be taking a good look at his fingers.

  When she came back Ross was looking better. He was sitting beside his wife, studying her face, and gave a deep sigh as Murray came into the room.

  ‘It’s so cruel! She didn’t need this, after all she’s been through already. How could someone do this to my poor girl?’

  She made a sympathetic noise as she handed him the tea and the brandy bottle; as she looked at him she could see that his hand still shook as he tipped some in, though he seemed a bit steadier. There was an anxious frown between his brows, but he was a pleasant-looking man, with fair curly hair and blue eyes. Perhaps there was something weak about the chin; having met Gabrielle briefly and heard a lot about her, Murray was prepared to bet that she’d be the one who wore the trousers. She got a good look at his nails: perfectly clean and neatly trimmed.

  Ross sipped the tea then looked up at her with a smile – a very attractive smile, even though it was strained. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. You just said, “Police”, which was something of a relief, I can tell you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I should have told you at the start – DC Murray. I think you spoke to my boss, DCI Strang, about an interview. He’d been hoping to arrange it for tomorrow but of course—’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said heavily, glancing down again at Gabrielle. She hadn’t shown any sign of returning consciousness, but the breathing didn’t sound any more laboured, either. With a restless movement he got up and went across to the window, as if somehow that would make the ambulance come more quickly. ‘How long do you think it’ll be?’

  ‘They’re giving it priority, sir, and there was one available. Coming from Wick so twenty-five minutes from the time I phoned, perhaps?’ She glanced at her watch – still ten minutes to go. It was amazing how slowly time passed when you were waiting anxiously.

  Ross was drumming his fingers nervously on the window ledge. To distract his attention she said, ‘Perhaps you can tell me again exactly what happened?’

  He turned and went back to take up his place again beside Gabrielle. ‘I’d been out on a rig – I’m the go-to man for any computer problem – and they brought me back to Dyce this afternoon. I drove up, parked my car, came in. As I said, I called to her, then came through here looking for her. I-I don’t know exactly after that. I can only remember the horror. I thought she was dead. I bent down to check and I could see she was still breathing, and it was just then that I heard your car door slam. Thank God you came just then. I was panicking.’

  ‘We’ll get the details later – name of the rig, time of the flight, that sort of thing,’ Murray said. ‘But do you have any idea who might have done this?’

  Ross gave a sigh that was almost a groan. ‘You probably know that the Currans weren’t exactly popular around here. But Niall – and now this. His sister was all but deranged about her son’s death and Gabrielle’s mother phoned me today about Niall’s will – he left nothing to Morven and everything to Gabrielle. To be honest, I’m only surprised she didn’t make absolutely sure Gabrielle was dead before she left.’

  It chimed so exactly with her own thinking that Murray found it quite hard to sound non-committal. Morven Gunn probably thought she had killed her before she left. This was going to be an open-and-shut case, though any half-competent brief would go for diminished responsibility.

  Ross suddenly sprang to his feet. ‘That’s it! Thank God,’ he said, crossing to the window. Hearing the siren now, she joined him.

  But it wasn’t the ambulance. A police car, lights flashing, drew up outside and to Murray’s dismay the unhelpful DI Hay emerged, dapper in a suit and tie, and strode up the path.

  She went to meet him. ‘DC Murray, sir. We’re just waiting for the ambulance.’

  He looked round. ‘Is DCI Strang here?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted, without adding that he was in Edinburgh.

  ‘This is my patch. I’m in charge. Is that clear? A domestic, I take it?’

  He didn’t give her a chance to reply. His little Hitler moustache was positively bristling with importance. As he strutted into the sitting room, she heard him say, ‘So you’re the husband?’ just as sirens announced the arrival of the ambulance at last.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DC Murray had a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach as she left the police station in Thurso and only part of it was hunger because it was ten o’clock and she’d only had a sandwich since breakfast. Mostly it was because of what she was going to have to tell the DCI.

  She’d had to deal in the past with a superior officer who was stubborn, and it certainly wasn’t the first time she’d had one who was stupid. But she hadn’t had pig-stubborn and pig-stupid together before and it was a bad combination.

  Even while Gabrielle was being carried out on a stretcher, DI Hay had started bullying David Ross. His opening gambit was, ‘So what’s this story about an attacker who seems to have disappeared?’

  Ross looked shell-shocked. ‘What do you mean? Look, I need to go wi
th my wife—’

  ‘She’s in good hands now – nothing you can do. What you do need to do is explain to me what happened. Had a row, did you?’

  ‘Are you accusing me of doing this? Look, I’d been away. I just got back, came in and found her like this.’

  ‘Oh aye? Heard that one before.’

  Ross was getting angry. ‘I can’t believe this. Ask the officer – she arrived just after me.’

  ‘And how would she know that?’ Ignoring Murray’s, ‘Sir—’ he ploughed on, ‘You’ve got a story to tell, I see. I think the best thing would be to take you down to the station and get it all on tape. You see, unlike some people I don’t believe in going round and round in circles before I take action.’ This was said with a sideways look at Murray.

  She tried again. ‘Sir, there’s one or two things—’

  Hay glared at her. ‘Not now, Constable. Later. Maybe.’ He turned to one of the two uniformed officers who had come in with him. ‘Take Mr Ross out to the car.’

  She looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t arrested Ross, but he hadn’t told him either that he was entitled to refuse – it was a distinctly unprofessional con game. Ross had gone white – with rage? Murray wondered.

  ‘Do I need a lawyer?’

  Hay smiled. ‘That’s entirely up to you, sir. There’s only one defence lawyer in Thurso and his office will have closed at five. Of course, we can wait till tomorrow, but you’d probably prefer not to have to kick your heels at the police station all night.’

  Murray thought Ross might explode. But his voice was very, very calm. He turned to her. ‘I want you to witness that this is outrageous behaviour. I am in a state of extreme anxiety about my wife, and I am being bullied. I will accompany you now, but I will be making a complaint at the highest level.’

  Hay threw a sideways glance at Murray. ‘Leave the room, Constable,’ he said. ‘I have noted your comment, Mr Ross. This officer will show you to the car.’ He turned to the other PC. ‘Secure the house. I’ll be getting it fingerprinted first thing tomorrow morning.’