Remember Me 1

by Ian C. P. Irvine

  McKenzie studied him for a second.

  “Who were your favourite teachers at school, Willy?” McKenzie asked.

  “Didn’t have any. I weren’t anyone’s teacher’s pet.”

  “Okay, so which teachers did you like the least. Even hate, maybe?”

  “All of them.”

  “Any of them in particular?”

  “Why?”

  “Nope. They were all the same. Bastards all of them. They were all so full of themselves, and none o’them could teach for shit.”

  “In your opinion.”

  “Exactly.”

  “It’s nothing personal, William Thomson, but you must admit that wherever you go, trouble is not far behind. So, I just want to say this to you, and I want you to listen hard. If there’s any trouble tonight, if there’s any fighting, if anyone’s hurt, and particularly if any of the teachers are hurt, I’ll be looking for you. You understand?”

  Willy Thomson stared at DCI McKenzie.

  It was almost as if he knew.

  But how?

  How did he know what Willy had been wanting to do tonight?

  “See you, you’ve got me all wrong, DCI Bloody Pie-in-the-sky McKenzie! I’ve gone straight, I have. I’m getting myself a trade. And I’m gonna get rich. So bloody leave me alone and go find some real criminals!”

  Willy had said the words without realising it, but once they were out, they excited him.

  It seemed that tonight, the bloody universe was conspiring against him, trying to steer him onto a new track, forcing him down the path of the straight and narrow.

  Obviously, any plans he’d had for sticking an old teacher later tonight would have to be put on ice for now. McKenzie would be after him in a second if anything bad happened. Plus, since he’d bumped into Scott Davies, he’d been unable to think of anything else except what they’d talked about.

  It was quite exciting really. Tonight was the night that Willy Thomson’s life was going to change.

  Maybe in a few years he’d be able to come back to the next school Reunion and turn up in a fast car… a big red one… just like those that everyone else had brought with them tonight.

  Willy Thomson smiled at the thought.

  Yep, the future was looking so bright, he needed sun glasses!

  -------------------------

  Saturday

  22.55

  McKenzie’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and after checking the caller display, he apologised to Fiona and the couple she’d just introduced him to, and hurried outside into the foyer.

  “Guv, hi, it’s DI Dean. You told me to call you on your mobile if I got anything.”

  “Fraser, it’s almost eleven? Are you still at it?”

  “Yes, Guv.”

  “It’s appreciated. Thanks. So, what have you got then?” McKenzie was impressed, and grateful. The man had been watching CCTV images for hours, and should have knocked off ages ago.

  “A white van. Seen twice at the school today on the road outside, and also passing through a traffic light at a junction in Leith about five minutes before you said you left the flat. I can’t get it any closer to you in Leith at the moment, but I thought it might be worth mentioning, because the same van was reported stolen about two weeks ago.”

  “Interesting.” McKenzie pondered the news for a second. “And yesterday or Thursday?”

  “Nothing, Guv. As soon as I got the match for today, I double-checked for the past few days. I couldn’t find any reports of that van in the vicinity of the school in the past few days. I’ve picked it up a couple of times in Portobello,… ”

  “But since that’s the main road in and out of Edinburgh, that doesn’t mean too much.”

  “Yes, I was just about to say that.”

  “And what do we know about the owner who reported it missing?”

  “Definitely not a suspect. An older man, about sixty-three years old. He’s been freaking out about the loss of his van, and the impact it’s had on his small business. He called to report the van missing within hours of it being stolen, as soon he noticed it had gone.”

  “Okay, good. Keep trying to tie that van closer to the flat in Leith, any closer sightings if possible… and also keep looking for any other vehicles, just in case the van has nothing to do with it. And last thing, put an alert out on that van, and if anyone spots it, or any automatic alerts come through from the ANPR system, let me know.”

  “Will do, Guv.”

  “Good work, DI Dean. Thanks!”

  -------------------------

  Saturday

  23.05

  Barry Quinn sat at the bar, getting drunk.

  He hadn’t seen Irene in over an hour. The last he’d seen of her was when she’d disappeared onto the dance floor with Paul Bentford. His first instinct had been to go over to them, warn Paul off and then grab his wife.

  His wife.

  But as he’d stepped onto the dance floor, he’d hesitated. Something held him back.

  What would he gain by forcibly preventing anything between Irene and Paul? If she wanted to be with him, rather than himself, then he should let her.

  Surely it was better to find out now, than continue to live a lie.

  So, instead, perhaps rather stupidly, he’d let Paul put his arm around his wife and guide her into the mass of frolicking party goers.

  Standing on the side, he’d watched them dance together.

  Not once had Irene looked around to see where her husband was.

  Then, when the dance had finished, she’d stayed for another.

  Barry had felt a mixture of emotions as he’d seen Paul wrap his arm around Irene and pull her a little closer.

  Forlornly Barry had hoped that Irene would push him away and establish a safer distance between them.

  Instead she’d thrown her head backwards and laughed, loving the moment.

  Faster and faster they had danced.

  And then it had happened.

  Paul had leant forward and kissed Irene on her cheek.

  It was only a small kiss, but after he had withdrawn, Irene had looked up at Paul, adoringly, then after a moment, she’d had moved towards him and kissed him on the cheek back.

  It was as if someone had stuck a spear in Barry’s heart.

  He couldn’t quite believe it.

  He’d stared, at first in disbelief, then in acceptance.

  Then the realisation dawned on him that he deserved it.

  After all, he’d been fantasising about doing the same with Fiona Lewis.

  He couldn’t watch any more.

  He’d turned around and left the hall.

  At first, he’d left the building and gone for a walk to cool down, calm down and think about what he’d seen.

  Then he’d returned to the school, headed to the bar, and lined up a series of drinks.

  Sometimes it is only when you’ve lost something, or someone, that you realise what you truly had.

  Too late, Barry Quinn had found out exactly how much Irene had meant to him, and just how good their life together had been - until then.

  It was funny how things worked out.

  All the time he’d been a success, he’d thought himself a failure.

  Then, just as he realised how much of a success he actually was, his life had collapsed around him, and he’d become the failure he’d always been scared of being.

  -------------------------

  Saturday

  23.10

  Marie and Stuart edged their way slowly along the side of the dance hall, looking at the tables of memorabilia and the displays of posters and pictures stuck to the vertical boards which lined its perimeter.

  The lighting was subdued now, so Stuart used the torch function on his mobile to cast some light on the information they read together.

  They’d been chatting and dancing together for over an hour, and in truth, they were getting on really well.

  Surprisingly well.

  Neither wanted to say it, but bo
th felt it.

  There was the spark of a connection between them.

  They were enjoying each other’s company.

  “It’s really strange, looking at all these photographs, and so-called memorabilia. How can they be ‘memorabilia’ when to me it’s all just like yesterday? Where have all the years gone? How can this have happened to us?” Stuart mused, as he stood side by side with Marie and they edged along the displays.

  “Sometimes I think that too. My memories of school are so vivid, but then I think of the years in between and all the things I’ve done since then, and I realise that time has passed. And the years have just flown by.”

  “True. So, I would love to hear all about what you’ve done since… ” Stuart’s voice trailed off, and his facial expression changed dramatically.

  An intense show of sadness had just swept away the smile which Marie was quickly falling in love with.

  “Stuart, what’s the matter?” she asked, then followed his gaze to the board and what he was looking at. It was the section that talked about former pupils who had died and were not coming tonight.

  “Maggie Sutherland. She’s dead.” Stuart said, pointing to the photograph of a lovely young woman on the board.

  “I remember her… she was in Crighton House, I think. She’s dead… ? How?”

  Marie bent forward studying the photograph. “What a shame… ”

  Stuart stood up straight, his eyes narrowing.

  “Marie, do you mind if I have a moment to myself? I think I’d just like to step outside and get a breath of fresh air.”

  “Certainly. No problem.” She replied, looking at him, concerned. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s a bit of a shock. That’s all.” He turned to Marie and smiled at her. A beautiful smile. Reaching out, he touched her gently on the shoulder. “I just need a few moments. But please don’t go away. How about we meet in the bar in ten minutes?”

  Marie nodded and gave a quick fleeting smile in return.

  When Stuart turned and left, Marie glanced back at the board, wondering if there was any more information about why she’d died.

  There was none.

  Just then, two voices called her name from behind her. She turned round to find two girls on her right, and a man on her left all vying for her attention.

  “Marie McDonald? Where on earth have you been all these years?”

  -------------------------

  Saturday

  23.15

  As the group of people in front of them moved away from the boards on the side of the hall, McKenzie and Wishart moved into the gap to take their place.

  “I’m sorry that we’ve messed up your school Reunion, Shona. I know you were coming anyway. Same for Sergeant Anderson. I hope that you are at least managing to have some decent conversations with friends?”

  “Yes, it’s a bit of a pain not being able to drink all the free champagne which is being handed out at the bar, but hey, I guess that’s the way the cookie crumbles.”

  “One of the great perks of the job.” McKenzie nodded, sarcastically.

  “Anyway, Guv, this is what I wanted to show you. This is the Remembrance Board, which shows the pupils and teachers who have passed away and couldn’t make it today. I’ve taken some snaps, so we car share them with the team later, but I thought it might help the work that McLeish is doing in identifying any previous deaths amongst the past pupils etc.” Wishart gestured at the board.

  “Absolutely, I saw this already, and I noted that it doesn’t really give much information on the ‘why’ some of them died. A couple died of cancer in relatively quick succession, and one in a car accident, but the rest are a bit vague.”

  “Do you want me to do some digging? Get some more details if possible?”

  McKenzie nodded.

  “Did you know any of them? Were you close to anyone of them?” he asked Wishart.

  She pointed to a picture of one of the boys.

  “I fancied him, I have to admit. We were close for a few weeks. It was a very fleeting thing. We were only fourteen. But you never forget…

  “Your first kiss?”

  Wishart nodded, now silent, and biting her tongue.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He had cancer. And a wife and two teenagers.”

  McKenzie never said anything. He just nodded silently.

  They turned their backs to the board and faced the revellers.

  “So, Shona, did you come here alone tonight? Or were you meant to meet up with friends?” McKenzie asked DS Wishart.

  “My partner hates Reunions. He refused to come. So I arranged to come with two of the girls. They’re over there, Karen and Sally.” Wishart pointed to two girls dancing with two men near the stage.

  “Oops, just got a message… ” McKenzie pulled out his mobile. “Two messages from Dean.”

  The first message was good news.

  “I’ve got more CCTV of the van actually in Weir’s street in Leith.”

  The second was even better.

  “Call me. We’ve found the van!”

  Chapter 20

  The Dungeon

  Saturday

  23.25

  Mark had fallen twice, each time heavily.

  He’d almost definitely broken a couple of fingers on his left hand, and the pain swept over him in waves.

  “Move!” the voice commanded from behind, a hand on his shoulder urging him forward.

  Twice he’d felt the cattle prod in his back, but thankfully each time it had just been to urge him on, and he’d not been subject to the electricity shooting through his body.

  Mark was trying his best to comply with the instructions issued.

  “Bend down a little… move forward, turn to your left, turn to your right. Slowly, lift up your feet… there’s a pipe there, step over it carefully… straighten up.”

  Mark was exhausted, ravished with thirst beyond belief. Before now, Mark had never been truly thirsty in his life. Not like this.

  His tongue was swollen, his eyelids half-closed, his throat so dry that it felt like it was made of wood.

  They’d been walking for about ten minutes now, slowly, negotiating a range of unseen hurdles.

  Even though Mark wore a blindfold, he could tell that they were still in pitch black. There was no extraneous light trying to fight its way through an edge, or no faint glow beyond the darkness of the cloth.

  With his eyes-blindfolded, and sitting in the dark for what must have been days, his other senses had become acute. He’d never realised how sensitive human skin was… he could feel the slightest variations in heat and cold across his body, and whenever a drop of water fell from above onto his skin, he’d feel it crashing against his body.

  His hearing was now amazing. Like a bat, he could sense when objects where near or far, and all around him he could hear water dripping from the ceiling, or the occasional scurrying of an animal somewhere around them.

  Mark knew he had to be in some sort of tunnel, or narrow corridor. He could hear the echoes of their movements reverberating off the walls on either side of them, and occasionally directly in front, just before he guessed they would have to turn a corner.

  “Stop!” the voice had commanded.

  Immediate obedience, Barry paused, awaiting his next instruction, and forming a shape in mid-air like the game of statues which they’d played as children growing up.

  For a few minutes they did not move, listening or waiting for something to happen, Mark didn’t know what.

  “Okay. Carry on. Quietly.” His captor commanded. The voice was once more accompanied by the tip of the cattle-prod, but again without any charge being applied.

  Mark’s brain was racing. Why the brutality before, but not now?

  Then it dawned on him.

  His captor was worried that someone might hear them!

  Perhaps, if Mark somehow made enough noise, someone would hear it.

  Maybe, if he kicked the next pipe, as loud as possible?r />
  This was his chance!

  It was a risk. If he was wrong, if it didn’t work, then with absolute certainty the cattle prod would be applied at its maximum setting.

  Mark knew it.

  “But without the risk of pain, there could be no gain!”

  The thought rushed through his brain, appearing from out of nowhere, either mocking himself or encouraging him, Mark was not sure either way.

  It took a few seconds to make the decision, to risk everything for the slightest possibility of being heard, and rescued, but once he’d made it, Mark felt a wave of adrenaline course through his body.

  He primed himself, ready to kick the next pipe they passed.

  It would be all or nothing.

  Perhaps the last chance he might have.

  Slowly he let the tension and energy build up within him.

  Any.

  Second.

  Now…

  -------------------------

  Saturday

  23.35

  Outside the school Stuart had taken some time remembering Maggie Sutherland. The announcement on the board hadn’t said why or how she’d died, but Stuart would find out, and send some flowers to her grave, wherever it was.

  Stuart couldn’t believe she was gone.

  Over the years he’d thought a lot about her. In Afghanistan his thoughts about her had bordered on obsession, but in Afghanistan an obsession like that had been healthy. It had kept many a man sane: pick an emotional moment with a woman - or a man – and replay that moment in your mind over and over again. Perhaps each time, twisting the reality of the memory slightly, morphing it from one truth to another, evolving the reality from a kiss, to a full-blown phantasy sex session that last not seconds, but hours.

  In Afghanistan, where details had been missing, they’d had months to imagine every single new pixel, fitting each of them together, perfectly.

  More than one wet dream had ensued. Sleep and dreams had become a man’s best friend.

  For Stuart, Maggie Sutherland had been his mental pin-up, the girl-at-home whom one day he would track down and marry.