The hall immediately started to fill up with the people from the bar, and soon all eyes were on the speaker on the stage.
“My name is Sofia Waterson. I’m head of the organising committee for this evening. It’s been years in planning, but it’s paid off. I can’t believe we’ve got so many ex-pupils back here from 1991-1993 all at the same time. I hope you’re all meeting up with old friends, and having a great time!”
“Okay, so before I invite the organising committee up on stage for a quick round of applause, I do want to acknowledge the incredible sponsorship we received for this evening which actually all came from the generosity of one man. He’s an ex-pupil of the school who’s become a great success. You can see on the posters and the advertising that its all come from Ben Venue Capital Assets, and originally the owner had agreed to come up here and make a speech to you all and announce the surprise band for this evening, but earlier this evening he changed his mind. He said, and I quote, ‘This event is not about any one person, it’s about everyone here. About the school and the pupils.’ So, he’s chosen to remain anonymous and not take any credit for this evening. Frankly, I’ve been blown away by his generosity. Not only has he agreed to cover ALL costs for this evening, but he’s also agreed to pay for another event next year, for all the pupils from 1994 to 1996! Now, one last thing about the generosity of this man which I know is going to blow you away and make you cheer wildly and give him a huge round of applause – whoever he really is - is that once the band starts playing, it’s going to be an open bar. In other words, drinks will be on the house!”
There was suddenly a huge cheer and as predicted, a wild round of applause.
At the back of the hall, Stuart Nisbet joined in with everyone else.
“Okay, but before you rush back to the bar, I also want to say thanks to the organising committee, now assembled in front of you. You might recognise a few friends and familiar faces.”
Sofia gestured to a line of people who’d made their way quietly up on to the stage. She then ran through a few names, noting their responsibilities and asking for a token show of appreciation. Several rounds of applause ensued.
“Okay, now I would like to invite one of our old teachers up on to the stage to say a few words and introduce the band. We did ask the Headmaster from 1991- 1993 to come and say something this evening but he couldn’t make it. He sends his regards. Instead, I’d like to hand you over to Jason McIntosh, who you know taught maths to most of us.”
She gestured to a man in front of the stage and he walked up a few wooden steps and took to the microphone.
“Wow. I can’t believe tonight. What a fantastic event. Personally, I’m finding it all a bit emotional. So many faces that I’ve recognised. But they’re not just faces. They’re success stories. I am so proud to have taught at Portobello High School. In my opinion, probably the best Secondary School in the whole of Scotland!”
There was a spontaneous outburst of cheers and massive applause.
When it died down, Jason went on to give an emotional speech about the opportunities that the old school had given everyone, how it had helped change and form lives, turning children into valuable members of society. Creating happiness. Creating opportunities. Creating successful people with the right attitudes in today’s society.
The speech touched all those who listened, and many of those in the audience found themselves with wet eyes, and tears rolling down their cheeks.
Everyone who listened to Jason speak, agreed with everything he said.
Everyone apart from one person.
Willy Thomson stood at the back of the hall, nursing a whisky, and seething with anger and hate.
The bastard on the stage in front was top of Willy’s list for a doing. Before Willy had come, he’d made a mental list of three names as candidates for the main activity Willy had enthusiastically planned for later this evening.
Although there were a lot of former teachers milling around, two of the teachers he’d marked for personal revenge didn’t seem to have turned up.
Only one had.
And he was now standing on the stage in front of him.
Spouting drivel and talking a right pile of shite.
But as he listened to him drone, Willy’s anger was conflicted.
He was confused.
He was glad to see Jason McIntosh, and relished the opportunity which he now had to definitely take revenge and to kill the bastard later that evening.
However, since talking to Scott, his mind had been all over the place.
Scott had offered him help.
A new future.
An opportunity which Willy instinctively knew would never come again.
Willy had a shit life.
But Scott’s words and offer had really inspired him.
As Willy watched and listened to Jason McIntosh continue to talk, his mind went round and round.
“Do I kill the bastard and get the ultimate street cred I deserve, or do I let the bastard live and accept the help Scott offered?”
The whisky didn’t help make his thinking much clearer, either. For a moment he considered stopping with the drink. But the words ‘free’ resounded in his mind.
For Willy this was turning into a truly amazing night of opportunity.
An opportunity of a new life, as much drink as he could swallow, and the chance to kill one of the teachers who Willy blamed more than all the others for being personally responsible for Willy’s especially fucked up life!
“Okay, that’s enough from me. Now I know it’s the moment a lot of you’ve been waiting for… ” Jason began to round his speech of. “I was going to do it myself, but then I just saw Loudon Galloway standing down there… who was Head Boy in 1993! Let me invite him up here to introduce the band… ”
There was a small moment of confusion as the running order of the speeches was changed, and the ‘big announcement’ was delayed once again, but then within a few seconds, the old Head Boy of Portobello High School in 1993 was up on stage and everyone was cheering.
Sadly, the years had not been good to Loudon Galloway. Once a fit, handsome man popular with everyone in the year, and voted for as much for his looks as his personality, the man on stage was now fat, bald, and so drunk he could hardly speak.
He managed to say a few almost unintelligible words, before mentioning the name of a band which everyone immediately recognised.
“RunRig!”
Everyone went wild.
How on earth the school Reunion committee had managed to book what was one of the biggest bands in Scotland in 1993 and was still popular today, was incredible.
A moment later, the band burst out onto the stage, picked up their waiting instruments, and everyone went crazy.
An already good evening had just got ten times better!
-------------------------
Stuart Nisbet smiled to himself. He’d done the right thing. Three times.
From the way everyone had reacted, calling on a few personal favours and pulling a few strings in order to book RunRig had obviously been the right thing to do.
That was the first thing.
The second decision had been a long time coming, actually.
He’d called up his two girlfriends and suggested they shouldn’t see each other anymore.
Stuart knew they weren’t real girlfriends. He had been interested in just one thing from them, and in return, they had wanted just one thing from him.
Originally, he had imagined turning up here tonight with both of them on his arms, each of them looking stunning, and wearing clothes which showed of all the assets they had.
Stuart was after all, an expert asset manager.
Somehow however, that plan now just seemed totally superficial. And wrong. So Stuart had axed it. And them.
The third decision was even better.
When he’d originally approached the organising committee and offered to sponsor the Reunion Ball, it was because he’d wanted to get as much p
ublicity as possible for himself. For a long time, he’d dreamt about standing on the stage and bragging about how his company had been the only sponsor for the evening, and how his personal success had enabled him to splash the cash in order to make everyone else happy. The whole thing had been about him, and his plan to show off. To tell the world how great he was.
Earlier that afternoon though, everything had changed.
Everything.
Now, he knew that his original plan had been wrong.
None of this was about him.
And making it about him would be pointless. Wrong. Stupid.
Something had changed in Stuart earlier that afternoon. Something fundamental.
Exactly what, he didn’t know.
Who he had changed to, he didn’t recognise.
Who he would become, was exciting, but unknown.
Stuart knew that he’d been lucky in life. But instead of rubbing other people’s noses in his personal success, how much better would it be if he used his success to help others?
Earlier that day, Stuart had realised that the pursuit of wealth did not make anyone happy. It was the hard work en route which did. It was the journey, not the destination.
Stuart also realised that although he had so much, he also had so little.
If he offered to share what he had, perhaps he could persuade others to share with him, some of what they had?
His thoughts were not yet perfectly formed, he admitted to himself, but they were … interesting.
The others around him, most of whom were very poor, seemed to be a lot happier than he was. Almost everything that he wanted and still lacked, they had. So how could he boast that he had so much, when in comparison, he felt he had so little?
He had nothing to show off to them.
They on the other hand had a lot to show off to him.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
A woman’s voice. Soft and gentle.
Stuart turned to his right, and was met by two beautiful green eyes, level with his own.
“You probably don’t remember me, Stuart, but I remember you. You owe me 50p.”
Stuart laughed, and screwed his face up in an obvious effort to try and remember the name of his creditor.
“And that’s not to mention the interest, which I think probably comes to about £3000, at the extortionate rate of interest which you agreed to.” Her eyes twinkled when she laughed.
“Sonya?”
“No!” the woman hit him playfully on his arm. “Marie McDonald. I sat in front of you in the German class in second year, and you were always flicking rubber bands into my hair. And you borrowed 50p one day to catch the No 5 bus into town, but never paid it back.”
Slowly recognition dawned on Stuart. A faint memory of a rather spotty, gangly girl about thirteen years old, with the same infectious laugh.
“Marie?” Stuart turned around to face her full on, his body language now transformed.
For a second he considered reaching for his wallet and pulling out the pretentious wad of notes he always carried, and offering to make a settlement on the money he owed her. But he stopped short of doing it, remembering that such ostentatious behaviour was now consigned to his former self.
“Wow. You’ve changed. A lot.” Stuart stumbled. “And I mean for the better.”
“For the better? So, you mean I was a horrible toad before, small and ugly… ?”
“No, I mean, that… ” Stuart started to dig a hole for himself, then decided to go for it. “Actually, yes, I do mean that. The last I can remember of you in German class, you were small and toad-like… ” he said, smiling, “but now… wow… you’ve turned into a beautiful princess. Presumably because some handsome prince, now your husband, has kissed you?”
Marie blushed slightly, and Stuart found her reaction strangely endearing.
“I don’t believe in fairy tales. At least, not ones like that.”
“So, there’s no husband or kids?” Stuart asked, rather forwardly.
“No. Not yet. But I do have about ninety children.”
Marie watched the reaction on his face, and laughed again.
“It’s a long story.” She added.
“I’d like to hear it. Can I get you a drink from the bar? And perhaps we could sit down in the Chill-Out Zone next door away from the band. I used to love this music, but for some reason, just now I’d rather listen to Marie McDonald than them.”
It was a little bit forward, Stuart knew, but it came out before he could stop himself.
Marie’s eye twinkled again in the disco lights which were now sweeping the dance-floor, and for a moment Stuart saw a rush of thoughts pass through her mind. A moment’s hesitation.
Followed by a nod.
And a smile.
“But you’re paying. After all, you owe me £3000.”
Chapter 19
The Dungeon
Saturday
22.45
Mark McRae staggered to his feet and held out his hands in obedience to the commands just issued to him. The Indian stood in front of him, threatening Mark with the cattle prod.
“I’m going to put this blindfold back on you. The other guy doesn’t need it anymore and you can have it again. Then I’ll unshackle you from the pipes, and we’re going to go for a walk. If you try anything, I’ll use this and then bring you back here, and leave you alone for a week. Do you understand me?”
The Indian’s voice was deep, and as he listened to every word he said, Mark desperately tried to place it. Surely he knew the man? Why on earth would a stranger be treating him like this?
Try as he might though, Mark couldn’t place it.
Mark took a few steps forward and then stumbled. He felt so weak.
“Water… ” he tried to utter, hoping that his captor would take some form of pity on him, and let him drink something.
“What did you say? Did you just try to speak with me?” the Indian bellowed.
Mark was desperate for water, but the imminent threat of the cattle prod being used again drove him to shake his head instead. Silently. With no further effort to speak.
“Just in case, I’m going to put a gag in your mouth.” The Indian said, then pulled a cloth out a pocket, and forced it roughly into Mark’s mouth.
Then, a moment later, the blindfold was once again thrust onto his head and the world went black. He felt a tug on his hands as the chain around his wrists was yanked several times, and Mark realised that he was free from the pipe, although the handcuffs still held his wrists tightly together.
He felt a push from behind, and he stumbled forward, a powerful hand catching him by the elbow just as he worried he would fall forward onto his face.
“Watch out for the steps. You’ll go up them slowly, and I’ll guide you forward. It’s about a ten-minute walk, and then we’ll have some more stairs. You won’t make a sound. If you try to talk, cough, or even fart, I’ll stick this cattle prod so far up your backside, I’ll fry your kidneys from the inside out. Do you get me?”
Mark nodded.
Then he started to inch his way forward towards the ladder.
Fear once again started to course its way through his veins.
A cold, silent fear that engulfed him and amplified itself with every step he took.
A few days before he’d watched the other two leave, just like this.
Neither had come back.
-------------------------
McKenzie watched his wife with admiration as he saw her mingle with the other old pupils of the school.
She seemed to have many friends, and those she spoke with seemed genuinely pleased to see her again.
McKenzie also couldn’t keep his eyes of Little Bump. It was growing every day, and standing on the side of the dance floor, watching Fiona stroking her stomach, McKenzie felt incredibly proud and happy.
The past few months with Fiona had been brilliant.
A man could not have a better wife than her, and he knew it.
Unfortunately however, their investigations this evening were not being so ‘lucky’. They were all drawing a blank.
Conversations about old teachers, and the antics that everyone used to get up to in school were all over the place. His team were finding it easy to drop Weir’s or Blake’s names into a conversation and fish for results, but so far, no one had volunteered any information or reason which could for one second, suggest a motive for an ex-pupil - or another teacher - to want to kill them.
Both teachers had been popular. Well liked. And seemingly very good at their jobs.
So far, the main reason for the team being here was drawing a huge blank.
McKenzie was beginning to feel like nothing was going to happen this evening. He was even tempted to let everyone relax and have a drink.
That thought was crushed, however, the moment he set eyes on Willy Thomson who’d just walked into the back of the main hall.
Slimy and as gormless looking as usual, McKenzie recognised him immediately. Willy and McKenzie had form together. He’d been one of McKenzie’s first arrests, and they’d hated each other ever since.
Too late, Willy saw McKenzie approaching.
“So, William Thomson. What brings you to the ball tonight?”
“Went to Porty, didn’t I? Got a right to be here.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. William Thomson defending his right to be in a school? Without stealing anything?”
Almost as an afterthought McKenzie raised his eyebrows to question Willy.
“No. Ain’t stolen nowt. I just wanted to be back at the school. See my mates an stuff.”
“William, I’m sorry to have to break the news to you, but as far I can recall, you ‘ain’t got no mates!’”
“Listen, Detective Superindependent McKenzie, or whatever you call yourself nowadays, I ain’t done nothing, so back off. Leave me alone to enjoy the night, okay?”
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