When she opened the door Lilian and David were sitting at the table, heads together in earnest conversation. Lilian jumped. ‘Good gracious, Fran, I didn’t hear you coming.’
‘I haven’t got shoes on,’ she said. ‘I’ve just got up. How – how is she?’
David turned and smiled at her and she remembered suddenly just how desperately she’d wanted him to choose her, not Gabrielle. But it was obvious that there wasn’t going to be another chance; he might look strained and weary, but this wasn’t a sorrowing widower.
‘It’s all right, Fran,’ he said. ‘I’ve just phoned and she’s going to be fine. She’s still a bit woozy and they’re doing a scan to check, but it should be OK.’
‘That’s good,’ Fran said, and she meant it, really. Gabrielle was her sister, despite everything. ‘I’ll get dressed and then maybe I can go along and see her, do you think?’
‘That would be good,’ Lilian said. ‘David’s got stuff he needs to sort out and he hasn’t even got his car here, so I’ll have to be chauffeur. There should be someone there if she’s fit for a visitor.’
Fran nodded. ‘Are they going to arrest that Gunn woman? If I were Gabrielle I’d want to know that she wasn’t going to sneak into the hospital and murder me in my bed.’
‘I’ll rely on you to protect her, then, Fran,’ David said with another of those smiles that cost her another sharp pang.
‘Of course,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m on my way.’
She padded off in her bare feet. Of course she was relieved and happy that her sister was going to be all right. She’d be a monster if she wasn’t.
There was no answer when they knocked on the door of Morven Gunn’s flat. They walked along the pavement to peer in at the windows, one with obscured glass and the other two with net curtains. There was an alleyway down one side but when they walked along they realised that it backed directly onto another flat and that those three windows were all there was. They knocked on all of them but with no response and no sign of movement behind the curtains.
‘Across at the cafe, perhaps,’ Strang said. ‘She may be planning to open as usual if she wants everything to look normal.’
But when they reached the Lemon Tree there was no one in the cafe and the kitchen door was open so they could see right through to the back. It was empty. They looked at each other.
‘She’s done a runner,’ Murray said. ‘What do we do now?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Gabrielle was drifting between sleep and wakefulness, finding it hard to distinguish between the curious, fleeting dreams and the reality of the cold impersonality of the hospital room. There was a muted throb of pain in her head and when she licked her dry lips her face felt stiff and sore. An Asian man had come to and fro, giving her water and taking her wrist to check her pulse; in the dreaming moments he was a shadowy, robed figure with a great brown pitcher the water poured from; awake, she knew he was a male nurse and tried to thank him.
She knew she had been sedated. She had lived so much herself in that odd, twilit world of late that this state was more familiar to her than full wakefulness. But now her mind was clear enough; with the vividness of a film running before her eyes she could see Morven, her lips drawn back over her teeth in a snarl and her eyes wild, flying at her like a madwoman, her hands like claws aiming for Gabrielle’s eyes. She remembered screaming, bringing up her own hands to defend herself, lashing out, losing her balance as she tripped on the rug, feeling the nails raking the side of her face. Then she was stumbling, falling backwards – hearing the crack as her head hit the stone fender. Then blackness coming in as Morven bent over her.
She’d thought she was dying. Death would be the blessed end to the agony she had gone through these past months; death had been wooing her like a lover with that shiny little knife. And yet when it came to it she had fought to try to save her life – and succeeded, though probably only because Morven believed she’d killed her when she left.
The nurse had come back in. He was carrying a mug and when he saw her eyes were open he smiled. ‘That’s good! Can you sit up, dear? You’ll feel better after a drink.’ He put it down on the locker and helped her prop herself up on the pillows.
Gabrielle’s head swam a little, but the hot milky tea was comforting. ‘Is my husband here?’ she asked.
‘Not at the moment,’ the nurse said. ‘I heard he and your parents were here till late last night, till they knew you were going to be all right. We’ll be taking you down for a scan just as a precaution, so they’ll maybe be here after that. You’ve got a pal, though; there’s a constable outside, waiting to speak to you.’
She shrank away. ‘No, no,’ she cried. ‘I don’t want to! I’m not well – my head hurts.’
‘Now don’t you go getting yourself upset. I won’t let him near you till you give the OK. Now, they’ll be bringing round the trolley in a minute. Cornflakes, roll and butter—?’
Gabrielle’s stomach heaved. ‘Just more tea,’ she said hastily, though her hands were shaking so much that she wasn’t sure she could manage to drink the tea she had already, and she set down the mug. If the constable was the woman who had all but directly accused her of murder, she’d probably side with Morven and feel that Gabrielle had got what she deserved. There was a little knot of panic in the pit of her stomach – she couldn’t bear the thought of the questions, all the questions. She was tired, too tired. She fell back against her pillows.
When there was a tap on the door, she didn’t open her eyes. Even if it wasn’t the police, there wasn’t anyone she wanted to see. She just wanted to be left alone in this safe place where nothing could happen to her, where by closing her eyes and letting her mind drift she could shut out reality again.
‘Gabrielle? Are you awake?’ It was Francesca’s voice.
Wearily she opened her eyes. Francesca was staring at her, looking shocked.
‘God, she made a mess of you! You look like hell. Have you seen yourself?’
She struggled to sit up, but her voice was tart.
‘Always the soul of tact, Fanny. No, I think I’d rather not.’
Francesca went round to take a chair on the other side of the bed. ‘Oh, well, sorry. I suppose I should have brought you flowers or something, but the shops wouldn’t have been open. They say you’re going to be all right, anyway.’
‘Oh, absolutely fine.’ Gabrielle’s tone was sarcastic. ‘I’m just malingering really – making a fuss about nothing.’
‘I didn’t mean—oh, never mind. Mum’s had to take David back to your house to fetch his car – they took him away last night to answer questions.’
‘Questions?’ she said sharply. ‘What questions?’
‘It was him found you last night, after you’d been attacked. Don’t know what that was about – he was in a bit of a state when he phoned last night. They’d have been better to go after Morven – he told them it would be her but they didn’t pay any attention.’ Then she paused. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’
Gabrielle gave a little grimace. ‘Oh yes, it was her all right. She just went berserk. I think she’s completely flipped.’
‘That’s one of the reasons I’m here – to make sure she doesn’t creep in and finish you off.’
That hadn’t occurred to her. Gabrielle looked at her in horror. Her ‘safe place’ here could be breached with only a tap on the door. ‘You-you don’t think she will, do you? Did anyone check who you were?’
‘Nope. Just walked in. There was a policeman outside, but he was having a cup of tea and didn’t even look at me.’
There was no end to this nightmare. No end, apart from death. Her eyes filled with tears that spilt over. ‘I’m-I’m scared, Fran. I’m just so scared.’
Looking at her younger sister’s frightened face, so bruised and battered, Francesca felt a lump in her own throat. She leant forward to take her hand. ‘Oh, come on love! It’ll be all right. We’re all looking out for you – me and Mum and David, and Malcolm too, of co
urse, ready to step in for a chat any time you feel the need for sedation. I’ll make sure you’re not left alone. Can’t have my wee sister victimised by anyone except me.’ There was a box of tissues there and she took some and leant forward to dab Gabrielle’s face gently.
It was surprisingly comforting. Gabrielle managed a weak smile. ‘Thanks, Fran. That’s kind. You were good at that when we were small.’
‘Do you mean the protection or the victimising?’ Francesca said.
They both laughed. When was the last time they had laughed together? Not for years and years.
Francesca went on, ‘Now don’t you go worrying. The police are probably rounding up Morven even as we speak and then you’ll be OK.’
‘Mmm,’ Gabrielle said. If only it was as simple as that.
‘So, what happens now?’ DC Murray turned to look at DCI Strang as they stood in front of the empty Lemon Tree cafe.
He said nothing for a moment. Then he said, with more confidence than he really felt, ‘Why don’t we go and pick her up?’
‘Do you know where she is or are you just kidding on?’
‘Sticking my neck out, really. I could be wrong. She has to know we’ll be looking for her as prime suspect after her outburst at Curran Services. It doesn’t sound as if she took any trouble to cover her traces at the Rosses’ house. And if she goes on the run – where to? As far as I can tell, she’d got no contacts elsewhere, no understanding of how to disappear.
‘I agree with your reading of it, that she may not even have set out to kill Gabrielle and just lost it completely when she saw her. From what we know of Gabrielle, she’s unlikely to have made a sweet and soothing response to whatever it was Morven said.’
‘Certainly not if she was accusing her of murdering her son.’ Murray spoke with feeling, remembering Gabrielle’s reaction to her own clumsy question. ‘Asking for blood money maybe, now she’s got the inheritance from Niall.’
‘Exactly. When she calms down she’ll realise what she’s done – may even believe that she actually killed her. She’s in an unbalanced state and my big worry is that she might decide to top herself. So, let’s get round there right now.’
‘Round where?’
‘Her brother’s house. The house she feels by rights belongs to her.’
DI Hay strode into the incident centre in the high street and looked round. It was quiet; there were only three uniforms in the place and they were all from his own force. There was no sign of either DCI Strang or the chippy little constable and he went over to the sergeant.
‘Have you seen the chief inspector?’
‘Not today, sir.’
Hay looked pointedly at his watch. ‘You’d think with a murder investigation running into the ground he’d have some sense of urgency, but apparently not. Do you know if there were any developments yesterday?’
‘Don’t know, sir. I was on the afternoon shift and DC Murray was working here all afternoon, but she didn’t say anything. We haven’t had any more folk coming in either and the phones have hardly rung.’
Hay gave a little smirk. ‘Running out of options now, is he? What was DCI Strang doing yesterday?’
‘DC Murray said he was away. Didn’t say where.’
‘His day off, most likely. Taken the chance to go for a wee look at John o’ Groats, maybe buy a couple of postcards. That’s the trouble – they come in like tourists, strut about a bit and then leave us to clear up after. Well, lad, I’m taking you off this assignment. There’s nothing happening here so you can come with me along to the house in Forsich where the woman was attacked last night. I’m in charge of that and at least that investigation’s moving forward.’
When they arrived at the Rosses’ house his squad had already arrived and had assembled in the Rosses’ sitting room, ready for their tasks with their rubber gloves on. Hay came in beaming with satisfaction.
‘Good to see at least some people are taking police work seriously. I’ve brought the sergeant along to help – the trail’s obviously gone cold in Strang’s murder case and we can use him here. Now, how are we getting on?’
A woman detective from Wick had already started dusting for fingerprints while another officer photographed them but the others who were standing by exchanged glances. PS Lothian said, ‘We’re not sure what we’re meant to be doing, sir.’
Hay bristled. ‘What do you mean? You’re meant to be checking out the scene of the crime. Even though we know it’s going to turn out to be the husband in the end, he’s claiming it was someone else did it, so we need to be able to show there was no one else here. Right?’
‘Who did he say it was?’ Lothian asked.
‘Oh, some story about bad blood between the victim and some woman in the village. But there’s no sign of a break-in, right? And if they were sworn enemies, Mrs Ross wasn’t going to invite her in for a cosy chat, was she?’
He strode to the centre of the room and looked round about. ‘We need to reconstruct the scene. He comes home. They have a row. He goes for her. That table’s knocked over in the process – see? She’s backing away, that rug there wrinkles up and she falls over, bashes her head on the fender. So far, it’s an accident. But he’s not shocked, is he? He doesn’t call an ambulance right then, he bashes her on the head. At that point our helpful little DC trots up and stops him finishing her off and believes him when he tells her, all innocent, it was nothing to do with him. Wonderful the effect of big, innocent blue eyes when it comes to the ladies.’
The female detective looked daggers, but Hay didn’t notice. ‘Now, what you need to do is find what he used to hit her. Those wooden candlesticks on the mantelpiece there – start with those. And there’s that glass vase – you could make quite a dent with that. Look around you, for God’s sake. Here am I doing your job for you! Check those out, will you, Wilson?’
‘Sir.’ She came across with the powder and soft brush and picked up one of the candlesticks. She dusted on the aluminium powder and peered at the result.
‘Well?’ he barked.
‘I’d just be talking about what these look like to the naked eye and that’s not evidence – we’d need proper interpretation—’
‘Obviously, Wilson. But get on with it – what do you see?’
‘Comparing it to the record of Ross’s prints it looks very similar—’
‘What did I say?’ Hay crowed.
‘—but, sir, those prints are everywhere. And looking at the base of this,’ she turned it up, ‘I can’t see any sign of blood or tissue.’
‘Of course, you can’t be sure without a forensic test,’ he blustered. ‘Try the other one.’
She did that, then shook her head without comment.
‘There’s a poker there,’ PS Lothian said, pointing to the companion set by the fireside.
DC Wilson picked it up, checked, then shook her head. ‘Smudges,’ she said. ‘I can check the vase now if you want.’
Hay was getting irritable. ‘And you haven’t found any helpful prints?’
‘There’s another set of marks all over the place that I would guess are Mrs Ross’s, sir. There’s a full set right on the edge of the fireplace where she probably put down her hand to save herself as she fell. And there’s a different set on the arm of that wee chair, over by the window and what look like the same on the side of the door.’
Lothian said, ‘Really? That’s interesting. Someone sitting there, then touching the door on the way out—’
‘Doesn’t tell us much,’ Hay said dismissively. ‘No saying how long ago it was. Must have friends coming and going.’
No one said anything. With a look at the other sergeant, Lothian said, ‘What do you want us to do now, sir? Should we maybe search the grounds to see if the weapon was chucked away?’
‘What’s the point in that? If it was only Murray turning up that stopped him killing her, Ross wouldn’t have time to dispose of a weapon, would he?’
Under her breath, Wilson said, ‘If.’
H
ay heard it but couldn’t pinpoint who had spoken. He began to go red. ‘I can do without stupid remarks. You’ve got a job to do. Get on with it.’
The atmosphere in the room was becoming uncomfortable. Everyone looked at everyone else and eventually Lothian said, ‘Sorry – what do you want us to actually do?’
Hay went redder than ever, cleared his throat. The pause, as it became obvious that he had no idea at all how to make use of the officers waiting for instruction, was excruciating.
Lothian could bear it no longer. ‘Perhaps a couple of us could go and check out the timings for Ross driving from Aberdeen—’
The noise of a car drawing up outside was a welcome distraction. Hay went to the window.
‘There’s the man now. With a woman,’ he said. ‘What’s he doing here? I told him I’d send for him when we wanted to speak to him again.’
Lothian said, ‘He’ll be needing his car. And it is his house, sir. Do we have any right to say he can’t get back in?’
Hay looked trapped. ‘Well, if you lot are sure that you’ve checked out everything in here, I suppose that’s all right. We can clear out – I’ve no need to speak to him again yet.’
‘I’ve got the keys,’ Lothian said. ‘I’ll go out and give them to him, will I?’
But David Ross and Lilian Sinclair were coming up to the front door. They didn’t look happy. Hay said hastily, ‘Yes, you go and see them, Sergeant—’
They hadn’t paused; they were in the hall, walking purposefully towards the sitting room.
‘This is a crime scene!’ Hay called out. ‘Do not enter!’
They stopped. Ross said, ‘Then perhaps you can come out and speak to us here, Inspector. I have further information to give you and now that I know that my wife will recover I’m not in the state of confusion and anxiety I was in last night and I wish to discuss the procedure for making a complaint at the very highest level.’
Carrion Comfort Page 29
