“I see what this is,” said Stewart. “All the other prisoners will be wary of you for being a serial killer but if they think you interfere with young girls that will put you in the beast category. Rather than be respected and feared by your fellow prisoners, you’ll become a target.”
“I didn’t touch the girl,” he exclaimed.
“Hey, I believe you,” said Stewart, holding up his hands. “But the press, well they’re a different matter. They will seize on this and ensure the world knows their own theories about what happened between you and Amelia.”
“But nothing did happen,” spluttered the Colonel.
“You keep saying that Victor. Maybe someone will listen.”
“Stewart,” he yelled as he left. “Stewart, get back here you sly bastard.”
He left the interview room, delighted that he’d finally upset the unflappable Colonel.
He found Wheeler waiting for him in his office. It had been a shock to Stewart to see that the Colonel’s home had been as fanatically tidy as his own office. It seemed they shared a similar form of OCD. That had given him the impetus he’d needed to finally break the vicious cycle and he’d deliberately strewn paperwork across his desk. It still bothered him and he itched to straighten it but he refused to give in to the impulse.
“Phillipa McNair was denied bail,” Wheeler told him as he hung up his suit jacket. “You should have heard the racket she made in court. It took four officers to bung her in the van to take her to Cornton Vale to be remanded.”
“She’s off our hands, thank God. How’s Amelia?”
“Being interviewed by the psychologist. She’s come clean about everything, although she is pulling the helpless little girl act. She will get the sympathy vote in court.”
“Probably.”
“How did you get on with the Colonel?”
“He told me about how he incited Amelia to leave Isla’s clothes at the cottage. According to him it wasn’t very difficult. He denied a sexual relationship.”
“So did Amelia. When the question was put to her she said, “Urgh, gross. He’s like a hundred.”
“He’s terrified of being labelled a paedophile.”
“The press will do that, they won’t be able to help themselves.”
“It’ll serve him right if they do.”
“They’ve found more bodies in the Colonel’s house.”
“What’s the tally now?”
“Eight. Two in the living room, two in the dining room and two in both bedrooms. Work has started on the final bedroom. The only rooms that don’t have bodies are the kitchen and bathroom but because of the position of the units in the kitchen and the bath in the bathroom it would have been impossible to place two bodies opposite each other.”
“And the Colonel does like balance. Any older than the eleven year old body?”
“No. At least, not yet. Where are you going Sir?” he said when Stewart pulled on his coat.
“Home to spend some time with my family and you are going to do the same. Come back in tomorrow at two.”
“Thanks Sir,” he grinned. His smile fell. “I keep having nightmares…”
Stewart patted his shoulder. “Me too. It can happen with intense cases. They will stop, promise.”
Wheeler stared into his superior’s tired eyes and nodded. He’d used to think Stewart was a bit of a wanker but he’d seen another side of him during this case and realised what a dedicated officer he was. Underneath the cold exterior Stewart actually felt deeply, perhaps a little too deeply.
“See you tomorrow Sir.”
“Try not to think about it. Give yourself a break.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said before leaving.
Stewart picked up his car keys and switched off the lights on his way to the door. He hesitated when he thought he heard a scratching behind the wall, causing cold sweat to burst out between his shoulder blades. He shook his head when he realised it was in his own head. He’d been hearing that sound ever since he’d seen that first body behind the wall in the Colonel’s house. He got the feeling he’d be hearing it for a long time to come.
As soon as he got home, he was booking an appointment with the counsellor.
Will sat in a wheelchair by his wife’s side, clinging onto her hand. She’d made it through surgery and the internal bleeding in her brain had been stopped. The hair up the left side of her head had been shaved and he couldn’t help but think how sad that would make her. She hadn’t regained consciousness since she’d been brought in and the doctors couldn’t tell him if she ever would. On top of the fear of losing her, he was struggling to come to terms with the fact that their own child had done this to her. If the police hadn’t told him she’d confessed he would have refused to believe it. He considered if he could have predicted this, if something in Amelia’s behaviour had indicated what was going to happen but he couldn’t. She’d been much more introverted lately, keeping to her room, sullen grunts instead of the happy chatter she’d been full of when she was younger but he’d thought that was just teenagers. All her friends were the same.
Amelia was being sent to his parent’s house to wait until her trial. Their solicitor had managed to avoid a remand home on the grounds that she’d been negatively influenced by an older man. Will had refused to have her back in the house, he couldn’t bear to see her. Neither did he want her anywhere near Maggie. If Hannah died he would do everything in his power to send his daughter to prison.
His family had been wonderful and had rallied round, uncles and aunts from all over Scotland converging on the hospital to provide support, helping look after Maggie, donating money for Amelia’s defence - not that he cared about that last one. They’d been great but he’d asked them all to leave so he could be alone with his wife.
He looked round when the door opened.
“Get out,” he snarled. “Get the fuck out.”
Alex walked in, closed the door and stood at the back of the room, shuffling awkwardly. “I’m sorry Will. I had to see her.”
“What did I say I’d do if I ever saw you again?”
“No offence but you’re in a wheelchair.”
“I can still kick you out,” he said, grabbing onto the rail at the side of Hannah’s bed in an attempt to haul himself to his feet.
“Sit down,” Alex told him, his gaze still on Hannah. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Will was forced to relinquish his efforts when agony pulsed through his leg. His head swam and his stomach heaved. While he was incapacitated, Alex moved to Hannah’s bedside and took her hand. “Will she be okay?”
“They don’t know,” muttered Will, sinking back into the wheelchair, realising he was helpless to eject him.
“And Amelia’s really responsible?”
“None of your fucking business,” he snarled.
“She told me she loves you, not me, that she has all along. We were just two unhappy people who made a connection but now it’s over. When she told me that I hated her so much. I thought we were going to start a new life together but it’s all gone and now I’m alone.”
“Aww bless,” said Will sarcastically.
Alex dragged a hand down his face and held his head higher. “I want to help.”
“You can start by pissing off.”
“I meant financially. You won’t be able to work for a while and you’ll need to help Hannah through her recovery.”
“We don’t know if she’s going to wake up,” said Will, voice barely a whisper.
“She will, she’s a fighter. I know you’ve had some financial difficulties and I don’t want you worrying while you’re both recovering. I want you to have this.”
“What is it?” said Will when Alex held a piece of paper out to him.
“It’s a cheque for twenty thousand pounds.”
“Trying to buy your way out of your guilt?” he snorted. “You might not realise this but money really can’t buy you everything.”
“No Will. I don’t fe
el guilty for falling in love with that amazing woman. I’d forgotten what true warmth and companionship was and she reminded me of how wonderful it can be. I just want to help.”
“Help? You destroyed my family. Amelia attacked Hannah because she found out about her affair with you. This is your fault.”
“No it’s not, it’s the Colonel’s. He messed with her head, not me.”
“I don’t want your money,” barked Will when he attempted to press the cheque into his hand.
“But you need it. Oh come on Will,” he said when he folded his arms across his chest and turned his face away. “Are you really going to let your family suffer for your pride? Think about Maggie. You’re a good dad, Hannah always said so. Well be that good dad, put your daughter before your dignity and take the fucking money.”
Will bit his lip as he considered it. That cheque would take a hell of a lot of pressure off. Swallowing down his pride, he snatched it from his hand. “Don’t expect me to say thank you.”
“I don’t expect anything. I’m moving to Glasgow so I can be closer to work. It’ll be too hard being in Strachur knowing Hannah’s so close and not being able to be with her. I prefer city life anyway, it was Phillipa who wanted to live in the country. She always had to have it her own way. I’m sorry about what she did to your leg by the way.”
“Aye, me too,” said Will glumly.
“At least there’s no permanent damage. That’s good.”
“Yeah, good.”
They looked at Hannah in silence, both praying for her to wake up but she didn’t.
“Right, I’d best be off,” said Alex after a few minute’s silence. “Thanks for letting me see her.”
“You didn’t give me a choice,” scowled Will.
Alex didn’t reply, leaving with his head bowed. He hesitated at the door. “When she wakes up tell her…”
“I’m not passing on any message. Bugger off.”
With a sheepish nod Alex left, quietly closing the door behind him. Will was left alone with his comatose wife, just the bleep of the machine connected to her heart for company. It was so depressing part of him wished Alex would come back.
Isla stared miserably at the hole in the ground as her grandfather’s coffin was lowered into it. The day was grey, the cold air filled with a light drizzle that soaked into everything. She was grateful for Mike’s big warmth who stood beside her, his arm around her. Ross stood on her other side, looking as miserable as she felt. They’d selected a cemetery in Dunoon, which felt a comfortable distance away. No one would tend his grave. Soon his tombstone would be lost, claimed by vines and weeds, eradicating his memory, the elements gradually eroding his name from the stone. They had considered cremation but neither Isla nor Ross wanted the hassle of scattering his ashes. Just the thought made them deeply uncomfortable.
They’d tried to keep the funeral quiet but word had inevitably got out. A lot of the residents of Strachur had turned out for the occasion, even old Mr Collins and his dog, who rarely left the village. Reporters had come too, including Sloss, who was being careful to keep well away from Mike. He stood at the gates to the cemetery with his camera, snapping photos with the rest of the leeches. Neil was there, making sure none of them intruded on this private moment. Stewart and Wheeler had turned up too, hoping to glean some clue as to who had killed Robert.
Isla felt numb as she took a handful of earth and scattered it onto the coffin. No one shed any tears. All the villagers recalled how Robert Campbell had intimidated and bullied them. Most of the mourners eyes seemed to be fixed on Isla anyway, who kept her head bowed. She missed her long hair, which would have shielded her face. She’d already decided to grow it back, she didn’t feel like herself with it so short.
Finally it was over and they could leave, Isla clinging onto Mike’s arm as they negotiated their way back to the Land Rover. Macbeth’s witches debated whether to go up to them and say something but Billy had a quiet word and told them to leave them be. For once they listened to someone else.
Phoebe hugged her before she left, the two women clinging onto each other. Hannah was still in hospital. She’d woken up three days after the surgery and had started on the road to recovery but she’d been left with muscle weakness down the entire left side of her body as well as impaired vision on that side, reduced concentration and memory, recurring headaches and insomnia. Will had had to give up work to look after her but the financial burden had been lifted, not just by Alex’s gift but by selling their story to the press. Ironically Hannah’s condition had only brought them even closer and they now doted on each other.
Ross drove them back to the cottage. No wake had been arranged for Robert, they hadn’t felt he deserved to be remembered.
“Thank God that’s over with,” said Isla as she got out of the car, speaking for the first time since they’d arrived at the graveyard.
“Aye it’s a weight off,” said Ross.
They headed into the sitting room and he poured them all a drink before raising his glass in a toast.
“I am not drinking to that man,” announced Isla.
“Actually I was going to toast Gran.”
“That’s all right then.” She raised her glass. “To Gran.”
Mike joined in the toast and they drank in silence.
Isla swallowed the warming whisky and placed her glass down on the table. “So Ross,” she began.
“Yeah?” he replied absently, gazing out of the window.
“Are you going to tell us how you killed Granddad?”
Mike paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. “What?”
Ross turned to face her, the colour draining from his skin. “I didn’t,” he croaked. “I was on holiday with you and Mum at the time.”
“Yes you were but we were only an hour and a half’s drive away. I saw you Ross. I couldn’t sleep and I looked out of the window. It was midnight. You got in Mum’s car and you drove off. I was so worried I didn’t go back to bed until you returned, which was just before six in the morning. I watched you take a jerry can full of petrol out of the boot and fill up the car, so Mum wouldn’t notice the petrol that had gone missing. She didn’t have a clue you’d even gone, she didn’t wake up until eight o’clock. That morning Gran called to tell us Granddad had run off.”
Isla wanted him to deny it, to tell her that her memory was playing tricks on her, that he hadn’t been gone that long and, unable to sleep, he’d just gone out for a drive around the local area. But he didn’t. Instead he sank onto the couch, his head in his hands.
“I’ve lived with it for years,” he said.
“It’s true?” said an astonished Mike.
Ross nodded. “You don’t know what it was like. He was a monster. Me and Gran took the brunt of it, he left Mum and Isla alone.”
“Why?”
“Because he resented his marriage to Gran. And because I was a boy.”
“A boy? Did he want another granddaughter?”
“No. He would have preferred two grandsons.”
Isla felt sick when he looked at her meaningfully. “Oh God Ross, please don’t tell me…”
“He abused me for years. It all started when I was off sick from school. Mum had to work so she dropped me off here. Gran was out too. I was eight.”
“Oh Ross,” rasped Isla, starting to cry. “Do you mean…sexual abuse?”
Ross just nodded, grinding the palms of his hands together mercilessly.
“How long did it last?”
“It stopped when I turned fourteen. I think I got too old for his tastes. But that didn’t stop the verbal threats, he even gave me a crack a few times. He became afraid I was going to let his secret slip as I grew into an adult. I got so sick of it that one day when I was nineteen I came round to have it out with him. I thought Gran was out but she was in the back garden and she overheard everything, she had no idea. He went wild, pinned me up against the wall and punched me repeatedly in the stomach. He was in his fifties and still so strong an
d muscular. I was always skinny and I wasn’t a fighter. He used to call me a poof for that, said I needed toughing up. That’s how he explained away the abuse, by saying he was trying to turn me into a man. Gran tried to stop him attacking me but he hit her. We were both bruised and bleeding on the floor and he told us he would kill us if we ever said a word, then he kicked me in the stomach. I knew then that he had to be stopped. I had no idea if he’d done the same to other boys but he seemed so practiced that I guess he had. He used to be a scout leader. I don’t know for sure if he ever did touch any of those boys but they were all so afraid of him. He deserved to be in prison but everyone was too frightened to go up against him. It was only a matter of time before he killed someone, he was becoming more violent and unhinged. I was more afraid for Gran than me.
He went out, leaving me and Gran injured on the floor. She was wonderful,” he said wistfully. “She ignored her own pain to help me. After tending to our injuries she made us both a cup of tea and we sat down at the kitchen table to talk. I said he was a monster and he had to die. She agreed but just the prospect of tackling him made her hands shake. I said to leave it with me but she refused, said it was her responsibility. She said if she’d reported him for abusing her he would have been locked up and wouldn’t have been able to touch me. It took her ages to stop crying, she kept saying over and over that she’d failed me. I didn’t blame her for a second. It was all on him.”
“Did Mum know about him abusing you?”
“No. Gran was stunned. He was always having affairs with other women, she was well aware of that, as was Mum. Gran didn’t mind, it meant he left her alone a lot more, although he did still demand his conjugal rights once a week. She’d no idea he even liked boys, he seemed to hold them in contempt. Between us we came up with a plan. We’d do it when we went on holiday, so you and Mum would be kept well out of it. I snuck out of the holiday home Mum had rented when you were both asleep, or so I thought, and drove to the cottage. Granddad had fallen asleep on the couch. He’d got so drunk he was out cold. Gran had got a big thick log from the back garden, which we felt would be enough. She raised it above her head but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Granddad snorted in his sleep and I got afraid, I thought he was going to wake up, so I snatched the log from her and smashed it into his face.” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “I remember how his whole body jumped. He made this weird groaning sound and his eyes flickered open. He looked right at me and God I enjoyed how surprised he looked. Not such a pussy now, I yelled before hitting him again. I kept going until he stopped breathing. His face was destroyed and I enjoyed that too. Me and Gran didn’t speak, we just wrapped his head in plastic so we wouldn’t get blood everywhere and carried him to the cellar. The irony is he’d already dug his own grave. He wanted to excavate the earth floor and put down a proper one.”
The Loch Page 31
