Carrion Comfort

by Aline Templeton

  ‘Not necessarily dumb, Livvy, but certainly unthinking. I don’t want to stop you coming up with ideas, but for God’s sake share them before you put them into operation! Is there anything more bubbling away that I don’t know about?’

  Murray shook her head.

  ‘Right,’ he went on. ‘Now, assuming we can speak to Gabrielle, we want to take her through what happened last night, obviously. But I’d like to know more about her movements on the two relevant days, and I’d like to know quite a lot more about the relationship with Aitchison. He was clearly devoted to her and apparently they were allies—’

  She looked at him sharply. ‘Apparently? Do you think she might have done it, boss?’

  He put his hand to his brow, exasperated. ‘No, Livvy, I don’t “think”. I just want to check out where she was when, and whether the devotion between her and Aitchison was mutual. And I want to talk to Ross as well. You’ve met him – what was your impression?’

  ‘Seemed nice enough – pleasant manner. Few years older than she is but still quite buff, I’d say. Certainly, was very upset about his wife. He was suffering from shock – had to get him hot tea and brandy.’

  ‘The first thing we need to know is his whereabouts at the significant times. He’s been a bit elusive, with being offshore. I’ll be interested to see him for myself – though the elusive person I’d like most to see is Pat Curran.’

  ‘Gabrielle’s father? But—’

  ‘Yes, I know he’s dead, but his effect still lingers around here, and he’s something different to everybody. To Gabrielle he’s the father who was so perfect that when he died she fell apart. To Francesca, he’s the father who gave her an inferiority complex that she still hasn’t got over, to Lilian Sinclair he was a bad husband, to Morven Gunn he was the villain who destroyed her life, to Niall Aitchison he was a man who commanded his utmost loyalty, to his secretary he was a bit of a chancer but a charismatic man and a good boss. Take your pick.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Now that, you see, is the bee in my bonnet. We all have them.’

  Murray said, ‘See what you mean, though. Oh, that’s the sign for the hospital now.’

  Just as she turned in at the entrance, Strang’s phone rang. He listened to what Ailie Johnston had to tell him, then said, ‘I’ll put that in hand. Thanks, Ailie. That’s been very useful.’

  And, certainly, it had been. Apart altogether from the useful information she’d given him, she’d jolted his memory of the other thing that had struck him during the interview with Chris Brady. When he’d asked Brady for the second time if the latecomer had been Niall Aitchison, he hadn’t immediately said, ‘There wasn’t a latecomer’, he’d said, ‘No, it wasn’t,’ and then tried to cover up his reaction. He should have picked up on that; it told him that the latecomer was someone else. He’d better check that now.

  ‘I’m just going to make a call,’ he said to Murray, and keyed in the number for the helpful DI MacLean in Aberdeen, who proved not only helpful but keen to interview Bruce Michie.

  ‘Anything to get out of the health and safety briefing I’m down for,’ he said. ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’

  Which made up for discovering that Gabrielle Ross had been discharged and they’d had a wasted journey.

  Gabrielle didn’t cry. She felt hollow, numb – but unsurprised. It felt as if she’d known all along.

  In a way, this made everything simpler. She didn’t have to agonise any longer over whether she could possibly get well enough and strong enough to get back to running Curran Services. She accepted now that she couldn’t, that bit by bit her thoughts would get more confused, more frightening. She wouldn’t have to try to work out whether her memory might be getting worse and her behaviour becoming more eccentric; it would be and there was nothing she could do about it.

  But it meant she’d have to let Paddy down. He had been so proud of Curran Services, the baby he’d created and grown to successful maturity; once that was gone, he would have no memorial. And nor would she. Their names were writ on water – who was it had said that? Bog water, in their case, sucking them down into the black pools and the smelly mud, forgotten for ever.

  Oh Paddy, Paddy! What wouldn’t she give now to be able to throw herself into his arms for a bear hug, to hear his Irish voice saying, ‘There’s nothing so bad that your old da can’t fix it!’ If only she could find the faith to believe that one day they would be together again, all tears wiped from their eyes, but Paddy had been an irreverent atheist – though, as he always insisted, ‘a Catholic atheist’.

  Catholics didn’t countenance suicide, though. Lucky her atheism was just the ordinary kind.

  She hadn’t been able to look beyond her own fears and misery but now she must think about David. She owed him so much – everything, really – for his loving protectiveness after she got ill. He’d never reproached her for the house fire or the loss of his baby; he’d always been her rock when the sands were shifting under her feet.

  Today he’d said ‘We’re in this together’, and she knew he meant it. Loyalty was his greatest virtue and it would be his downfall. She could picture him in years to come, faithfully tending the vegetable she would have become, like someone cherishing some monstrous prize marrow, while his own life disintegrated. He had been so loyal to Pat too; that was the crucial thing. Niall had been loyal too, at one time.

  Death had been stalking her for weeks now and all she’d lacked was resolution. Now there was no doubt at all in her mind about what she should do. Preferably soon, before she had to go through the farce of hospital appointments and doctors trying to sound bright about some treatment that they knew wouldn’t do any good. Definitely before she actually started drooling. She just had to make it as easy on David as she could.

  It might be a less cruel outcome anyway. If she had just been stressed, if she had eventually got better once the worst had passed, she couldn’t see their marriage surviving long term. Somewhere along the line it had died, as she’d realised in the car this morning. She’d have left him, and he might have been more broken by that than by her chosen way out. He could convince himself that it was her love for him that prompted her to set him free from the burden of her infirmities – and from the knowledge that would die with her.

  She felt free now too. No more secrets, no more lies, no more obligations. Free, but very tired. She could sleep now and soon, once David left the house again, she’d look for the little silvery knife. If she could remember where she put it.

  ‘How did she take it?’

  ‘Sent me away. Wants to be by herself,’ David Ross said.

  ‘Is that a good sign or a bad sign?’

  ‘Damned if I know!’ He laughed.

  ‘You’ll have to keep up the pressure.’

  ‘I know, I know. But she’s tough.’

  ‘I didn’t think she’d have gone on as long as this.’

  ‘I didn’t either. Tough, like her father, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, that would figure. So, what next?’

  ‘Trust me. I’ll just have to play it by ear.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘That’s a car drawing up. Police is my bet. Yup. Bye.’

  David Ross opened the front door promptly, saying, ‘Oh yes, I’ve been expecting a visit.’ He greeted DC Murray warmly, though the look he gave DCI Strang was cool. ‘You’d better come through to my office. The sitting room’s an ungodly mess after your lot visited this morning.’

  Strang only nodded. Murray walked on with Ross, but she was aware that Strang had hung back; something in the hall seemed to have caught his attention.

  At the door to his office Ross paused, looking back, and Strang said, gesturing towards the sitting room, ‘Mind if I take a look?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ Ross said with an ironic flourish.

  Murray looked at Strang uncertainly and he gave her a nod. ‘Yes, just carry on. I’ll join you in a minute.’

  The office was bare of any furnishings apart from a desk, a few c
hairs and filing cabinets. A trolley held computer equipment and the back wall was shelved, containing box files that looked as if they went back years. Ross sat down on the office chair behind the desk and Murray took one of the seats opposite.

  ‘I do a lot of work from here just at the moment,’ Ross said. ‘I quite often have to go to Aberdeen, of course, and I get called offshore when there’s a problem there.’

  ‘You’ve been away recently, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a bug in one of the systems that keeps recurring. Not convinced I’ve nailed it even now.’

  Murray took out her notebook. ‘Perhaps you could give me details of your whereabouts on these two dates.’ She quoted them, and Ross frowned in thought.

  ‘On the Thursday I was definitely offshore. I was still there when the news about Niall broke – I contacted DCI Strang from the rig. Saturday 24th – yes, I was away then too. Left on the Friday but they got me back on the Sunday that time. It just depends when there’s a place on the chopper – as a humble techno geek I’m a low man on the totem pole when it comes to priority and they just shove me on when there’s a seat free.’

  She jotted that down, along with the name of the company, just as Strang came back in and took the seat beside her.

  ‘Can I just ask first of all how your wife is?’

  Ross grimaced. ‘Not great, I’m afraid. Mercifully her injuries are much less serious than we both thought’ – this said with a smile at Murray – ‘but she’s suffering mentally. She’s been under a huge amount of stress, first with the shock of her father’s sudden death, then the terrible business of the house fire. The loss of our baby was a dreadful blow too, and not unnaturally she’s had a few problems with memory and so on. But her grandmother suffered from early onset Alzheimer’s and she’s convinced that’s what she’s got. Even when I told her that the scan today showed no signs of it at all she wouldn’t believe me.

  ‘To be honest, her mother and I – and Dr Sinclair too – are afraid she’s suicidal. It’s been markedly worse since Niall’s death – that really seems to be preying on her mind, but she won’t talk to me about it. We’re worried – very worried.’

  ‘I see. Does she have any memory of what happened to her last night?’

  ‘All too vivid, I understand from her sister. That won’t help her mental stability, but I have to say I’m grateful personally after the treatment I got from your colleague last night.’

  Murray shifted uncomfortably as Strang said, ‘I can understand your feelings, sir. I’m sorry that DI Hay was insensitive when you were personally distressed, but I think perhaps you aren’t aware of how often this excuse is offered when there’s a domestic assault. Would you accept our apology? Of course, you are entirely within your rights if you want to make a formal complaint and I can explain the procedure and the investigation that would follow.’

  Ross gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘Oh, I’ve enough on my plate without that. Let’s pretend that lessons will be learnt, shall we, and I’ll let it go.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Ross. Do you know Chris Brady?’

  The question came so unexpectedly that Ross recoiled. ‘What – sorry?’ he stumbled.

  ‘Chris Brady.’

  ‘Oh – oh, I believe I met him once. Gabrielle’s father knew him – he was in the same line of business.’

  ‘And, of course, you know Bruce Michie.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Murray was struck by the change in Ross’s face. He had been relaxed and pleasant when he was talking to her; now there was a cold steeliness in his expression.

  ‘Are you a keen fisherman?’ Strang said.

  ‘No. Not in the least.’

  Strang raised his eyebrows. ‘The rods in the front hall …?’

  ‘My father-in-law’s. Oh, once or twice I went along with him to fish, but it didn’t take. I’m just too impatient, I suppose.’ He gave a self-deprecating smile directed at Murray, but she didn’t respond.

  ‘Where was that?’

  Ross’s face was calm, but Murray could see that his knuckles had turned white and a little pulse was beating at his temple. ‘Oh, just one of the little lochs up on the moor.’

  ‘Has it a name?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’ There was a tiny trickle of sweat on his brow, but he went on, ‘If for some reason you wanted to see it, Inspector, there’s a rough track just on the outskirts of the village you can drive up.’

  ‘Did you ever fish with Niall Aitchison?’

  Ross’s hands disappeared below the desk but from the tension in his lower arms Murray guessed they were being gripped together, hard. But he said lightly, ‘No, I’m afraid not. As I said, it wasn’t exactly my thing and he was really Gabrielle’s friend, not mine.’

  Then he paused. ‘Look, I don’t want to say this, but I think you perhaps need to know. Gabrielle’s big thing is loyalty. Niall held the balance of votes in the company and she told me she suspected that he was scheming with Bruce to take over – sell out, even. And she was obsessive about it – her father’s memorial, she called it. I don’t know any more than that but,’ he bowed his head, ‘it’s worried me dreadfully. She’s not reliable in her present state, you know …’

  ‘I see,’ Strang said. ‘And have you told DC Murray about your movements on the dates we are interested in?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said with another smile at Murray. ‘She’ll tell you I’m in the clear – isn’t that what you say? A good number of sea miles between me and the scene of the crime – though I’m uncertain as to exactly where that might have been?’

  Strang ignored that. ‘That’s all for the moment, then, Mr Ross. If we could speak to your wife now …?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Ross said firmly. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. She’s still suffering badly from the after-effects of concussion and you would have to get consent from Dr Sinclair before you could be allowed to see her.’

  For the first time Strang showed his teeth. ‘You can stall, Mr Ross, but that interview will have to take place shortly. I will arrange for a doctor to examine her.’

  ‘Of course. I understand that. I have tried to be as helpful as I can.’ He gave Murray another of the smiles she had begun to find seriously creepy.

  ‘I appreciate your cooperation.’

  As they got back into the car Murray gave a shudder. ‘What a scumbag! But we haven’t got anything against him, have we?’

  ‘Not a scrap of actual evidence. But trust me – we’re going after him. I’ve to be back for the press statement but the first thing you have to do is check his alibis. Meantime there’s something I want to look at.’

  ‘The loch? Back towards the village, then, looking for a track off to the left, yes?’

  Strang shook his head. ‘That’s where he wants us to go. He was so explicit that I would bet it was meant to mislead us. Drive on towards the old drainage works. I want to see if there’s any sign of a shorter way up through the bogs.’

  Ross had been sweating. Once they had gone the sweat dried and he felt so cold that his teeth were chattering, and his legs felt shaky as he stood up. There was brandy in the kitchen; he needed it now.

  Not too much, though. He needed his head clear and he needed reassurance and advice. He’d have to drive – he didn’t dare use his mobile. They were on his trail and they would have a tap on that any minute now. He’d started out that interview so confident and yet somehow without his realising it, a net had been woven to trap him. They’d need hard evidence, though, and he thought frantically back over what they might be able to prove.

  Not a lot, he thought. One phone call to Niall, that he could easily say had come from Gabrielle – nothing else. With his trouble-shooting job he was working on his own with no records kept so no one would be able to say exactly when he was offshore – and when he wasn’t.

  Gabrielle was the weak link. They’d agreed that pressure could be applied gradually; it was getting too late for that now. He scribbled a loving not
e to leave on the table with an excuse about going to the shop in case she came downstairs and then he left.

  It was little more than half a mile to the workings from the Rosses’ house. The rain had come on again, heavy, sullen rain that soaked into the ridges and filled up the drains below. The two detectives got out of the car and Murray went round to open the back.

  ‘We’ll need gumboots. Will these do for you? They’re Taylor’s.’

  Strang looked ruefully at his shoes – solid enough, but certainly not waterproof. ‘I’d better try,’ he said, sitting on the edge of the seat and with some difficulty forced his feet in. ‘Hope we don’t have a long walk to do.’

  They went through the gates into the yard. The equipment they had seen before was still there in the mesh cages, the padlocks still in place. Strang walked over to it, looking with particular interest at a small vehicle with caterpillar tracks, not much more than a cabin on wheels.

  ‘I’ll get someone down to take a good look at that,’ Strang said. ‘I think things are beginning to fall into place.’

  ‘She’d be the one with the padlock keys, wouldn’t she?’ Murray said. ‘Maybe Ross wasn’t just trying to dump her in it.’

  ‘Yes, maybe.’ Strang sounded abstracted as he walked out of the yard area and a little further back down the road. Then he stopped and pointed. ‘That’s what I was looking for,’ he said.

  She joined him. There was a small path, just beaten-down earth and barely noticeable, not more than a couple of feet wide, leading directly into the bog and she followed Strang as he set off along it. It was solid enough at first, but after a few yards it degenerated into oozy mud; there were signs of where the track went, but it was a question of picking your way from one hummock to the next and choosing the most solid-looking patches of scrubby grasses in between.