Hunt Hunted, Murder Murdered

by Michael McBride

'Shit. Listen if he comes back, get him to call me. It is urgent. We need to meet up.'

  'Bob, whats happening? This sounds serious'.

  'It appears so.'

  'What is it?'

  Bob spend a few moments explaining the seriousness of the situation. There are details which just don’t add up, and they needed Spiv to give them good reason why.

  'Just get Spiv to phone, because I think there is a real chance that the police will be reopening Dev's murder case – if Ingram appeals - and we all need to know exactly what happened last year.'

  'OK Bob, I will. Listen, I have to go but I'll get him to call.'

  'Cheers. Speak later'.

  'Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?'

  Bob sat at the dining room table staring, deep in thought at the walls around him, knowing he couldn't get Spiv unless he walked the streets looking for him.. They would catch up with him sooner or later.

  'It appears Ian Ingram is inventing stories that one of us killed his daughter. He has all our names. He has information about us all. You, me, Aid, Mon, Tom, Emm, Pam, Spiv.‘

  ‘Inventing stories?’

  ‘That’s what we thought. What we think?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Me and Aid’

  ‘So how did you and Aid come up with this?’

  ‘From the letters’

  'Wait. Run this by me again. How did this all come out?'

  'Aid. The parcel he got. It had letters in it. Lots of letters. Letters he had been holding back. Ingram has it all worked out. He thinks. We thought maybe it was just the scribblings of a mad man. But there is a timeline. There is a knowledge. There is reason behind it.’

  Bob walks away from Marie, pushing his hand through his short tufts of hair. She sits in silence as though waiting for a sick punchline.

  ‘Ingram thinks he knows who killed his daughter and Dev’

  These words held in the air. Ingram, the guilty man, was putting it out there that one of them was guilty.

  'So who does he think did it? '

  The doorbell went.

  6.3 Simon and Pam

  Pam laid Spiv's phone back down on the bedside table. She needed to speak to him. She glanced at herself in the mirror and fixed her early morning hair quickly.

  'Who was that?' Spiv shouted through from the en suite.

  Pam failed to answer and rubbed her hand over the crown of her head until she was happy that she was presentable. Spiv entered.

  'It was Bob'. She perched herself on the bed, looking up into his eyes.

  'What did he want?' As Spiv dried his armpits with a tiny towel, Pam looked at his crotch which was in full view. She smirked, before getting back to the matter at hand.

  'He thinks you are in trouble. Aid got another letter. Ingram thinks you were the last man to see Ollie alive'.

  'What? That’s ridiculous.'

  'It says you took her to Olive Island. That you were there with her.'

  Spiv tried to find words. He had thought – hoped – that this would never come out.

  ‘Shite. It’s obvious he is trying to get an appeal, an early release’.

  ‘Maybe. But Bob says Ingram has evidence. A scarf.'

  'A scarf?'

  'Your Pars scarf?' Pam threw the question at him knowingly and with little sympathy. It was just fact. The silence was short lived, as there was no more thinking to do.

  'I never killed her. She was fine when I left her. I’m sorry Pam. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you, I do, really. But I was stupid.’

  Spiv paced the floor, genuinely vexed.

  ‘Then I didn't know what to do when she went missin. I thought she must've wandered off. I never told nobody this though, so how the fuck does Ingram know?'. Spiv continued to wander the bedroom aimlessly, as if looking for something to make all this better.

  'I'm sorry Pam, I'm really sorry. This is a mess, a real mess.'

  Pam comforted him with her hand across his naked shoulder and then kissed his cheek.

  ‘We'll get through this. I'll help you.' She turned his face to hers.

  'I love you.'

  There was a moment. A moment that made it all better. That made all his worries ease. But it was only a moment, as Spiv slumped back onto the bed.

  'Shit! What am I going to do? He’s probably got the police onto me already.' Panicking, eyes glancing around the room, Spiv got up and frantically searched for the clothes he had strewn down the night before, wallet, keys and phone.

  ' I knew this would come out, and I look so fuckin guilty… but I’m not. I’m not. I promise you. Shit!' He poked wallet into one pocket, keys into the other. He slumped down onto the bed again.

  'Simon, it's OK. Stop worrying. If you listen to me, I will get this whole thing sorted out. I promise.'

  Spiv breathed out a huge sigh and stopped to listen.

  'How can you help me?'

  She took his hand and removed his mobile phone from it. Once again they eyeballed each other, this time with Pam squatting down in front of him as he sat on the bed.

  ’Just listen to me and do what I ask you to do’.

  6.4 Tom

  ‘Alright, Bob’

  Tom stood in last night’s clothes, sticking out like a sore thumb with his corduroy green jacket and laced shirt.

  ‘I just came to apologise for last night’.

  Bob ushered him over the threshold.

  ‘I was just going to call you’.

  They arrived in the front room as Marie made to leave.

  ‘Marie…’ Tom starts on a well practiced speech..

  ‘I can’t deal with you just now Tom. Leave it.’ She passes and mounts the stairs out of sight.

  ‘You can understand…’ Bob finished, and invited Tom with an open hand to sit.

  ‘You were going to call me? What for?’

  ‘I need some answers Tom. About Dev and that poor lass.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘This isnae easy. But we need to know if you know more about the disappearance of that wee lass, Ollie Ingram.’

  ‘What!? We have an argument and you decide that I’m to blame for that wee girl, for Dev’s death? Fuckin hell. I told you and I told the police the truth’.

  ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. But here’s what I am saying. Someone who was playing our treasure hunt game knows more than they are telling, and Ian Ingram knows it too’.

  ‘Knows what?’

  ‘Knows that Dev didn’t kill his daughter. In fact he says he is sure he knows who did.’

  They paused. Tom finally looked up into Bob’s eyes.

  ‘Spiv!’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘He said he had been off wi a lass, a schoolie. I bet it was her. I’d make it odds on that the school lass was Ollie Ingram.’

  ‘Do you know this, or are you guessing.’

  Tom stands up.

  ‘It makes absolute sense now. About 2 days before the treasure hunt, the night that lass was supposed to have disappeared, Spiv arrived back at the pub all flash like - you know what he’s like - and I said ‘You been getting some?’ He looked at me with a broad smirk on his puss. ‘Aye, nice and fresh’, he said and sniffed at his finger.’ Tom finished, and Bob curled his lip at the imagery.

  ‘That means nowt’.

  ‘No. Maybe not. But then again, he was up there at the Crook dropping off Pam plenty times. And he had opportunity. Who else has used Olive Island but us lot when we were courting?’

  ‘Mebbe you’re right. And even if your not, it’s what Ian Ingram thinks.’

  He paced across the living room, then turned back towards Tom.

  ‘It’s what Ian Ingram knows. He says he has a Pars scarf which he is going to have analysed. It’s Spiv's. It has to be.’ Tom nodded in agreement as another light bulb illuminated in his mind.

  ‘I mind him losing it. He couldn’t remember when he lost it. He made a fucking huge meal of it, then never mentioned it again.’
/>
  ‘Feelin guilty?’ Bob asks.

  ‘Maybe he was. So what do we do now?'

  Bob laces his shoes, and goes out to the hall, returning with his overalls.

  'Well I have to go to work...'

  'You found something else - another job?’

  'No, they took me back.’ Bob adjusted his blue collar. ‘Just need to keep my nose clean this time'

  'Good stuff. You want me to look for Spiv?'

  'To be honest wi you, Tom, I don't want owt to do with you again. I just needed to know what you knew. I know now, so whatever you do, to be honest, I couldn't care less.'

  'Bob, I told you, I was sorry man'

  'Sometimes it's just not enough. If you have any sense it will be Emma you start apologising to.'

  There were no more words and there was no sense of loss from Bob as Tom left.

  7

  7.1 Aidrian

  Aid hadn't heard anymore from Bob, so texted him again to find out if he had managed to catch up with Spiv. The bar sat empty and Aid felt as though he would be adding more value by being anywhere else. Marge, the interim bar manager, was going through the accounts across from him and she did not like anyone skiving off.

  'I'll go and get some more bottles out of the stables,' Aid called over, but Marge just sat in the natural dim light over by the window. He veered off through to the other bar. The stables area was only used for functions and still held a musty, stale smoke smell, regardless that the smoking ban had been in place for a good while. So Bob hadn't got Spiv yet, or at least hadn't let on.

  Aid glanced through and saw Marge still sitting calculating losses he assumed, for this quiet country bar. The phone illuminated and lit up his eyes as he typed in S..P..I..V. It started to ring, but no answer. Spiv wasn't taking calls by the looks of things. One last try before getting the bottles through and not have to face the bar manager’s wrath. P...A...M.

  'Hello'

  “Hi Pam. It's Aid'

  'Why are you whispering? I can't hear you very well'

  'I'm at work. Listen, I need to speak to Spiv. Is he there?'

  There was a pause. A definite and noticeable pause.

  'No, sorry Aid. He's not with me.'

  'Do you know where I can get him?'

  'Sorry Aid. I don't think I can help you.'

  'OK, you have no idea where he is?'

  'I think he is going to be away for a while.'

  'What do you mean a while?'

  'Just that’s what he said. He needed a break from everything. Needed to get away. '

  'Can you get him to call if you speak to him. It's pretty important. We need to speak to him.'

  'Yeah, Bob said'

  'Did you speak to Bob? Oh. Ok. Listen just, please, get him to call'

  'OK. I said I would’

  'It's really important Pam.'

  ‘Only if you don’t believe him. But I do. I thought you were his friends’.

  ‘Pam. I… I want to. I just want to speak to him. Ok’

  The call was brief and unhelpful. Why would he run off now? Unless...

  Another quick text to Bob to update him. A loud cough from through in the bar clocked his senses again and he chinked a few bottles together on the bunker before he gathered a few more, tucking the phone back into his breast pocket.

  'Is there anything else I can do right now Marge?’

  Marge said nothing, in mid calculation, while Aid realised his error.

  '5, 500 and 12, 50', Marge counted aloud to make sure Aid could hear. He acknowledged it with a palm mouthing sorry at her. Then he picked up some glasses from the drainer, looked for a dishtowel to dry them with and started thinking about the Spiv situation.

  What could he do to help out here? Was there anything that they still just didn't understand? They couldn’t just jump on a letter and blame Spiv. The scarf story was pretty scary, but maybe it was just a story. Whatever it was Ian Ingram had made the whole situation change. Aid’s opinion had changed. Suddenly things just didn’t fit as neatly as they had last year. He put down the pint glass and accidentally nudged a wine glass onto the floor. It shattered immediately.

  'Sorry, that was me. Is there a brush.'

  'Second door from the end of the back corridor'. Marge didn't look up. She was probably deducting the 30 or 40 pence damages from Aids pay cheque.

  Aid wandered off through the back corridor which led into the workers’ quarters, mainly offices and stores. The kitchen was off to the left and the larder within it. Then there was the main office and across from that was the wee office, where he imagined Ian Ingram spent most of the day when he had staff on. TV, PC, DVDs....

  Second from the end there were 2 doors opposite each other. One looked like it needed a Yale lock. That would be the one, so he flicked through the keys until he found the right one – a particularly stained affair – and unlocked the door. The room was dark, so Aid flashed his hand up and down the inside wall to find the light switch. It flickered on, and immediately he discovered that this was not the broom cupboard but a single bedroom. An employee’s pad – unoccupied, with nothing much in it. He switched off the light and the door began to swing closed when Aid stopped it – just open. Was this Pam's room? Was that why it remained bare? After she left no-one else had stayed here. The relatives all stayed in the Ingram's main house across the back from the bar.

  Aid switched the light back on and searched with his eyes for any details the police may have missed. What would they miss though? They would have had a damn good idea about what they needed to look for – much more than Aid did. He moved the bed and opened the drawers in an old desk that sat there. Nothing - but what did he expect? Something Pam had which indicted or freed Spiv? Maybe his head was running away with him. Maybe he shouldn't have taken this job, but with all the letters coming from Ingram maybe there was truth in some of it or all of it. He sat back on the bed trying to clear his thoughts. He would get out of here, out of this job and get back down to Rosyth to help Bob find Spiv. His phone jingled. A text – from Bob.

  ‘On the road. Goin 2 C Spiv. He's in Dumfries. I'll text you the postcode for your satnav.’

  A further jingle confirmed the satnav detail.

  ‘I'll b there soon. Take care.’ Aid replied

  Aid decided he would give back the bar keys and get out of there. He got up from the bed and stumbled over a waste basket, spilling the contents onto the floor. Clumsy day. Receipts from various shops in town, female purchases, and a note block. Nothing obvious on it but, using amateur detective skills acquired at an early age to read his sisters secret notes, he took the bar pencil which was tucked behind his ear and scribbled across the page to reveal the last message written on the pad.

  7.2 Tom and Emma

  It was late when Tom arrived back at the house. He took off his jacket revealing a striped jumper that Emma had bought him for his last birthday.

  Emma had slept in the spare room the previous night and was gone when he awoke in the morning. All day he had been texting her, and calling her folks. She would get over it... eventually. Never once did it cross his mind to change his ways. He would make up with Emma. He knew he would have to woo her and egg her into submission, but would ultimately get her onside and the sex would feel different, like it does with all those different women. It was a challenge he would relish. And he would, as always, succeed.

  Tom pushed the glass paneled front door closed, then immediately bumped into the side table. The noise of a vase tumbling acted like a switch as a light went on at the top of the stairs. So she had returned home.

  'Hello? Emma?'

  Footsteps above him, movement from the bedroom to the landing, and eventually Emma stood before him in an enticing, sexy black negligee, her blond hair wet and slicked back to the sides. This was not the norm. This was exciting in a different way and Tom’s heart pumped hard.

  'Hi honey'. Her voice was smooth and emotionless. Not in a cold way. She seemed fine. She appeared to have been healed.<
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  'Wow, is this for me?'

  'Who else?'

  Tom tossed down his jacket and started to climb the stairs.

  'But there is a catch'. She still spoke with that calm collected voice and looked amazing as she turned from him, baring her pert bottom.

  'Anything. I love you. Anything.'

  In the bedroom some candles burned on the window sill and the scent was warm and aromatic. Josticks had been burned, and the light from the flickering candle was sensual and inviting. He grabbed Emma's waist and she pushed him off.

  'I said that there is a catch. There will be no touching - yet. There will be some rules that you will abide by'

  'Anything'. He pushed her bra strap across her shoulder toppling it over her arm slowly while looking deep into her eyes.

  'I said no touching'. Emma pushed his arm aside and pointed to the bed.

  The bed had been stripped. Only a deep crimson satin sheet remained, and some cushions that Tom recognised were from the living room. Emma had really excelled herself here and he would obey tonight to get his love back. And what a way to do it. Emma picked up some ribbons.

  'Now strip for me'.

  Tom pulled his jumper up over his head. Nothing on below it. His torso rippled and looked good in the chilled air. He looked at Emma, eagerly awaiting a response. She just pointed at his lower regions.

  'And the rest'. Soon trousers, socks and boxers were lying on the floor and Tom, happy with his body as ever, stood in full glory while Emma bit at her lip and smiled a crooked smile. She was oozing sexuality to Tom. He made to move.

  'Hold on soldier'. She pushed onto his chest with one hand, and held a red ribbon in the other.

  'I am not ready yet. I need you to think about what you have done. I need you to beg for forgiveness'

  She pushed him onto the bed and walked alongside it. Then she grabbed Toms arm, tying the ribbon around it and the middle metal bedpost. She picked up another ribbon.