Chapter 14
Marjory Fleming woke just before seven, unrefreshed after a restless night and troubled dreams. The room must have been too hot. Or something.
She reached for her mobile. Bill was probably out by this time and the kids were always dead to the world at this hour, but at least she could leave a message.
Her heart gave a little skip of pleasure as she heard his voice. ‘Oh, hello, love. Didn’t think I’d manage to catch you. Sorry not to phone last night – I got tied up until it was too late.’
‘No, it’s all right. I knew that was what must have happened.’
His voice sounded flat and tired and she was immediately alarmed. ‘Bill? Are you all right? The children—?’
‘No, no, we’re fine. But look – sorry to have to tell you on the phone, but there was a bit of a problem with your father yesterday. He’d a bad turn – got violent, started lashing out—’
‘Oh no! Oh poor, poor Mum!’
‘Yes, poor Janet. That’s the worst of it, really. He hit her and she fell. No broken bones, just a mild concussion, so don’t get upset. One of her neighbours – James Brodie, you know? – he heard the noise and went round and raised the alarm, and the services were brilliant. I took her to hospital in Dumfries and they’re keeping her for observation overnight, but she’s going to be fine.’
‘Why didn’t you phone me, Bill?’ Marjory was almost in tears. ‘I wasn’t doing anything that couldn’t be interrupted.’
‘What would have been the point? I was quite glad you didn’t phone, quite honestly, because I’d have had to tell you about it when you couldn’t have got back anyway, and there was nothing you could do except have a wretched night worrying about it. Janet would have been furious with me.’
‘I’d still have liked to know,’ she protested stubbornly. ‘And – Dad?’
Bill sighed. ‘They’ve taken him for psychiatric assessment, to try to see if they can get him stabilized. But of course he can’t go back home. Janet mustn’t be left alone with him again.’
‘Of course not. Even she must see that now. But I still feel I should have been there. Or known what was happening, at least.’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, Marjory. You were just doing your job.’
Having guilt added to shock and dismay didn’t help. ‘I’ll get to the hospital the minute I can. We’ll try and catch an earlier train and I’ll go in on my way back. They can send a car to take Tam back from there.’
‘She’ll want to see you, but don’t worry about anything here. We’re managing fine. And you’ll have quite a bit to do today. I heard on the radio the man’s been charged.’
‘With murder?’ Her spirits rose. If he’d been charged, he must have confessed. They wouldn’t have had time for lab results on the tarpaulin. Then she frowned, as Bill went on, ‘Yes, that’s right. Didn’t you know about it?’
She certainly should have known. Was this another Allan/Kingsley machination? Marjory said slowly, ‘I haven’t been in touch since yesterday afternoon. But that’s seriously good news – means we won’t be under the cosh today and other people can handle it.’
She heard him yawn at the other end of the phone. ‘Oh, Bill! What time did you get to bed?’
‘Don’t remind me! About two, I suppose. I didn’t get up till gone six, though.’
‘That’s only four hours, and you’re a man that needs his sleep. Tell Fin you’re having the day off.’
‘Well, the afternoon, maybe. He’s a good man, Fin. When I went out earlier he was heading off to do the rounds on the hill. He’s got a new dog – dead ringer for his old Moss, so he’ll be happier now.’
‘That’s good. See you later. I’ll phone when I know what’s happening.’
Marjory sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands. How sad, how awful it all was! And she hadn’t really done anything wrong, of course she hadn’t, except forget to make a phone call, but somehow she still felt miserably guilty about the whole thing.
By morning the fire had been out for some time, but a pall of acrid smoke hung in the damp air. The blackened timbers were still smoking and the ashes, though sodden, were still too hot even to rake through for the remains of the poor dog.
The fire chief was sympathetic but firm. ‘Let the air in, and it could all flare up. Sorry about your lassie’s pet, but you can tell her the smoke would have got it first. It’s most likely true.’
‘Yes.’ Jenna looked anxiously over her shoulder, watching for her daughter coming down. She couldn’t even guess how Mirren would react, but she would take it hard.
A little crowd of neighbours had gathered to make the usual expressions of sympathy, while satisfying their curiosity and assessing the threat to their own properties.
‘It’s just awf’ly worrying!’ one lady with exquisitely modulated Glasgow vowels exclaimed. ‘None of us are safe in our beds, Jenna! And what, might one ask, are the police doing about it?’
As if in answer to her rhetorical question, a police car appeared, nosing round the corner on to the narrow road around the bay, and at the same moment, Jenna realized that her daughter had appeared at the front door of the house. She was staring at the smoking ruins expressionlessly.
‘Excuse me.’ Jenna broke off the conversation to hurry across to her daughter and put her arm round her narrow shoulders to sweep her inside. ‘Mirren, you’re going to have to be very brave. The shed went on fire last night when we were asleep and I’m afraid poor Moss can’t have stood a chance. The firemen say he wouldn’t have felt anything, because the smoke would have reached him first – it would have been very quick.’
She was babbling as she took the child into the kitchen, and persuaded her to sit down. ‘I know how upset you’ll be, and I’m really, really sorry. I wish there was something we could have done . . .’
She had been expecting an explosion of rage, floods of tears, or – well, something. Mirren’s calm was unnatural, unnerving.
‘Oh, poor Moss! That’s awful,’ she said at last, but it was almost as if the words didn’t mean anything.
She must be in shock. Jenna didn’t know what to do. ‘Well – I’ll put the kettle on. Perhaps you should have some hot, sweet tea?’
Mirren made a face. ‘Yeuch!’
‘I’ll put the kettle on anyway. The firemen might like some. They’ve had a long night.’ And about five cups of tea as well, as witnessed by the dirty mugs on the draining board, but at least it gave Jenna something to do. ‘Do you – do you want breakfast?’
‘I’ll get some Shreddies.’ Mirren went to fetch a packet from the cupboard, then assembled a bowl, a spoon and a bottle of milk and sat down to eat composedly.
Her mother watched her helplessly. If she was in a state of denial like this, there was going to be a backlash later, and Jenna had no idea what form it would take, or how she would cope when it came.
‘There’s a policeman coming to the door, look.’ Mirren gestured with her spoon to a figure in uniform passing the window on his way to the front door.
‘Oh – right. I’ll go and let him in.’
Jenna recognized him; he was from the police station in Newton Stewart and he’d come to see her yesterday about the graffiti.
‘Come in, Sergeant Christie. I’ve got the kettle on – would you like a cup of tea?’
‘No thanks, Mrs Murdoch. Too much to do today.’ He was a neat, sharp-featured man with a small moustache and a permanent air of busyness about him. He followed her through to the kitchen. ‘Nasty, this. A dog killed too, I understand.’
Jenna tried glancing meaningfully from him to her daughter, shaking her head, but he ploughed on. ‘Sick sort of person who’d do that to a defenceless animal, in my opinion.’
She hardly dared look at Mirren, but she seemed not to have heard. Christie took a seat at the table, still in full flow.
‘Anyway, I think we know where to look for our villain, don’t we? Had him in yesterday to hav
e a wee word about your problem, and there he was still with the smear of red paint you mentioned on the side of his hand!
‘We charged him and he was released on bail yesterday afternoon, so our gallus fellow comes back here for his revenge – they’ve cheek enough for anything, these neds. But of course they’re not very bright. Sometimes you wonder how they walk about without bumping into things. Or drive, in McLeish’s case – not a happy thought, is it, him in charge of a juggernaut!’
He chortled, and Jenna smiled feebly.
‘Now,’ he went on, ‘did you see anything suspicious last night?’
‘Not a thing, I’m afraid. I was very tired and I went to bed early. Something woke me – a noise, or the smell of smoke, I think – but the shed was well ablaze by then.’
Christie had taken out a notebook and was scribbling down her answer. ‘And what about Mr Murdoch?’
‘My husband – wasn’t here last night.’
‘Away, is he?’
‘That’s – that’s right. Away. Just at the moment.’ Jenna was aware of her daughter’s eyes on her. ‘He’ll be back shortly.’
‘Fine. And you, dear?’ Christie was just turning to Mirren when there was a tap on the kitchen door and a young constable put his head round.
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I’ve someone here who says she saw something.’
‘Good, excellent! Wheel her in.’ He winked at Jenna. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere!’
The constable stood aside and Kelly McConnell appeared. She had clearly taken some pains to prepare herself for the starring role of major witness: she was wearing a disco outfit of cropped top and rah-rah skirt, and the way she had applied her make-up hinted at a possible future career as a plasterer. She cast a scornful glance round the shabby kitchen, at Jenna and the thin, pale child at the table, then, homing in on Christie, favoured him with her mother’s come-on smile.
Christie looked at her with some horror. He had daughters himself, two nice, well-doing lasses who would have been sent back upstairs to wash their faces if they’d come down looking like that.
‘Kelly McConnell,’ the constable told him, taking out his notebook in readiness.
‘Kelly, fine. Right, Kelly, what have you got to tell me?’
Kelly moistened her lips. ‘Well, last night I, like, came home from hanging out with – well, a friend—’
‘Time?’
She looked put out at the interruption. ‘Like – midnight, maybe? Didn’t really notice.’
‘Was anyone with you?’
‘No. There was just me and Chazz Armour at his house. We – kind of lost count of the time,’ she simpered. ‘Like you do.’
‘Where does this Chazz live, then?’ Christie’s distaste was evident.
‘Just round the bay there. I got home and went upstairs – being quiet, you know, because Dad goes, like, mental sometimes if I’m after ten o’clock?’ She giggled, looking up at Christie under her lashes.
He wasn’t amused. ‘Kelly, I’m a busy man. Can you get on with it and tell me what you saw?’
Kelly pouted. ‘Like, I’m trying to. I was just getting ready for bed and my window looks on to the road – and there he was!’
With a dramatic pause, she surveyed her audience.
‘Who?’ Christie barked. She was sorely trying such patience as he possessed.
‘This really, really scary guy, all in black. I couldn’t see his face. I think he might have had something over it, you know, like a terrorist or something. He was standing out there in the road, just looking at this house.’
‘Tall, short? Fat, thin?’
She hesitated. ‘I – I couldn’t say, really. He was down below me.’
‘And then what happened?’ Christie prompted her.
‘Well, I don’t know. Couldn’t see, after that. He just disappeared. Probably went to start the fire, I expect.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘Well, I went to bed, didn’t I?’ Disappointed by the effect she had produced, Kelly was sulky. ‘I was tired. Next thing I knew there were these fire engines and everything.’
‘You weren’t worried that there might be what you thought was a terrorist wandering about?’ Christie’s tone was sceptical.
‘She’s just making it up.’ Mirren’s shrill voice startled them all.
Christie spun round. ‘What?’
Mirren gave Kelly a contemptuous look. ‘I bet she didn’t see anything at all. She’s just trying to get attention. She’s a liar anyway.’
‘How dare you, you little cow!’ Kelly’s face contorted with rage. ‘She’s a total minger – always hanging around, all on her own, and she’s jealous of me! I tell you, I did too see that man – and I know who’s a liar, and it’s not me. You going to let her get away with that?’ She turned to Christie, glaring at him.
‘Now, now, Kelly, calm down. The constable there’s taken a note of what you said, and we’re very grateful to you for coming forward. Someone will take a formal statement you can sign, tomorrow, probably.’ Christie stood up, jerking his head to the waiting constable to get her out. She was most likely a total waste of time, this child. He found himself inclined to agree with the other one.
‘Why do you think what Kelly said wasn’t the truth?’ he asked her.
‘Because it’s just the sort of story she would make up – terrorists and things.’ Mirren’s theory sounded entirely plausible. ‘She always has to be the centre of attention, all the time.’
‘And did you see anything, yourself?’ Christie was interested.
‘My bedroom’s round the back. I heard my mum moving around and went out to see what was wrong.’
‘Yes,’ Jenna said. ‘That’s right. I told Mirren to go back to bed.’
‘And I did.’ Mirren went back to her cereal.
‘Good, good.’ Christie was hearty in his approval. He liked little girls who did as they were told. There weren’t many of them about these days. ‘Thanks, Mrs Murdoch. We’ll be in touch later and a forensic team will be working with the fire department to see how the fire was started – you’ll be amazed what they can find out.
‘When are you expecting your husband back?’
Jenna hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. He didn’t say.’
Christie nodded and left.
Mirren had finished her cereal. She stood up. ‘Can I go and see what they’re doing outside?’
‘Fine, but don’t get in anyone’s way,’ Jenna instructed mechanically, but as Mirren left she was frowning. There was something odd about her daughter’s response to this, something very odd.
Janet Laird was looking heart-breakingly frail, a small figure in the big hospital bed, with a great dark bruise on her temple which her soft white hair, pulled forward, couldn’t conceal. She was dozing, propped up on her pillows, when Marjory came in, but when her daughter said softly, ‘Mum?’ her eyes opened and her face lit up in its usual sweet smile.
‘It’s you, dearie! Oh, what a shame you had to come, with you so busy. I’m to be away home today so you could have seen me there.’
Marjory sat down on the chair beside the bed and took her mother’s hand. ‘I’m just upset I wasn’t here when all this happened. How are you feeling?’
‘Och, I’m fine. They’ve been real good to me in here. But how’s Bill? I was worried, keeping him so late last night.’
‘I’ve told him he’s to take the afternoon off. But look, Mum, I want you to come back to the farm. I don’t like to think of you by yourself in the house.’
‘Oh, I’ll not be by myself! John and Mary Brodie are picking me up this afternoon and Aileen from number twelve is making our tea. And I’m needing to get back anyway, to sort things out . . .’ Her voice faltered and Marjory squeezed her hand.
‘It’s awful, I know.’
Janet’s faded brown eyes filled. ‘He’s been such a good man to me, your father. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t mean it—’
‘Of course he did
n’t.’
‘– and now it’s like he’s being punished, locked away in that place. We need to get him back, Marjory. They’ll find some pills for him or something . . .’
‘Mum,’ Marjory began, with her old feeling of irritation at her mother’s stubborn determination not to face facts, but Janet simply wasn’t strong enough to be upset by being taken through the old arguments again. Once she’d had a chance to rest and to eat properly, without the strain of caring for Angus, it would be time enough to insist. She said instead, ‘You do realize they’ll have to keep him there for quite a while until they get his medication sorted out?’
Janet sighed. ‘He’ll not be happy. He likes his things about him, and I know his routine and what he likes to eat. I’ll need to explain that to them. I was thinking, maybe the Brodies could take me in on the way home—’
‘No,’ Marjory said firmly. ‘You probably wouldn’t be able to see him yet anyway.’ Then, cunningly, she added, ‘You don’t want to put the Brodies to any more trouble, when they’ve been so good to you. And if Aileen’s making your tea, you wouldn’t want it to get spoiled because you were late.’
It was a masterstroke. Janet’s face clouded. ‘Right enough, I wouldn’t want to do that. Maybe I could ask them about tomorrow—’
‘I’ll phone the hospital and if we can see him I’ll take you there myself.’
‘Oh dearie, I don’t like to ask you – but it would make a difference.’
‘Mum, he’s not just your husband, he’s my dad too.’ A sudden picture of her father as she remembered him as a child, tall and splendid in his police uniform, came to her mind and Marjory felt her throat constrict. Her relationship with Angus had never been easy, but there were those other memories too and it was hard to think of him as he must be now, just one more demented old man along with all the others.
‘I know, I know.’ Now it was Janet who was the comforter this time, and she produced a wobbly smile. ‘We just have to keep brave and cheery for him, pet.’
Marjory smiled too, but it was with the melancholy thought that whatever they might do, Angus Laird would now neither know nor care.
Lying Dead Page 21
