by Alex Walters
It was still quite early, only just gone nine. He was only out here because that bastard behind the bar had implied that maybe he’d had one too many already. Ally had thought of making an issue of it – well, he had created a bit of a stooshie until his mates had calmed him down – but it wasn’t worth the hassle. It would be bloody embarrassing if the landlord called the police. Former Detective Sergeant in pub fracas. Even in his current state, he could see that wouldn’t be smart.
So, in the end, he’d called it a night. After all, it wasn’t as if he had to go home, necessarily. Not back to that bitch. Kirstie wouldn’t mind if he called to see her. She’d just be watching TV, and she was always waiting for him whenever he called round. He’d sometimes wondered if it might be easier just to ditch the bitch and move in with Kirstie full time. But it wasn’t that simple. The bitch had money, or at least the prospect of money, once her dad finally fell off the perch. And if he moved in with Kirstie, it would just be frying pan to fire. It worked because he could see her when he wanted to and then leave it all behind. It was a convenient arrangement for both of them, and neither wanted anything more.
He felt uneasy these days walking through Cromarty late in the evening. They’d lived here for ten years now, and though he’d never brought himself to admit it, there’d always been moments when the place gave him the creeps. It was full of little alleyways and vennels, deep in shadows. Any bugger might be hiding there, waiting to jump out.
Ally had never thought of himself as a nervous man. On the contrary, he’d usually been the first to go looking for a fight. But he wasn’t getting any younger, and the last few years had knocked some of the stuffing out of him. Then, Rob Graham had called to let him know what had happened to Galloway and Crawford. Suddenly, all the years of those fucking letters hadn’t seemed so funny after all. They’d none of them really taken it seriously. Not until now.
They’d had their worries, of course. They made plenty of enemies back in the day, on both sides of the law, and none of them had entirely trusted the others. Ally suspected that was one reason why they’d all found themselves living up in this neck of the woods, as if they were all surreptitiously keeping tabs on each other. But any anxieties on that score had faded as the years went by. Jackie Galloway, whom none of them trusted, had quietly gone gaga, and the rest of them had given themselves up to drink and boredom.
Then, Galloway and Crawford had died. Maybe accidents, maybe not. It was clear that Rob Graham thought not. When he’d called Ally, he’d sounded shit-scared. As if he’d known something Ally didn’t.
Ally stopped, thinking he’d heard some sound behind him. The street was deserted, nothing moving in the pools of light below each street lamp. The wind from the sea was stronger, channelled up the alleyways from the shore. There was damp in the air, and he thought it would rain before morning.
He hurried on, peering into the shadows of each side road but seeing nothing but the occasional skittering of litter in the breeze. He was feeling more and more as if there was someone nearby, someone watching him. Someone following.
Cursing his own paranoia, he reached the corner of Kirstie’s tiny cottage. To his relief, there were lights on inside. He realised now he’d actually been scared she might be out, though she rarely left the house in the evenings.
His anxiety draining away, he reached out to press the doorbell.
It was only then he felt the presence behind him, the warm breath on the back of his neck. The hand tightening slowly around his throat.
24
Horton turned, her breath caught in her throat.
He was only a couple of metres away, his body silhouetted against the flickering lights on the main road. She had no doubt it was him.
‘Just fuck off, David,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. ‘Just leave me alone.’
‘Virginia –’
‘I don’t want to talk to you, don’t you understand? I don’t want to see you.’ Trying not to panic, she took a slow half step back, feeling for the edge of the door with her fingers. She couldn’t read his expression in the darkness.
‘Virginia.’ There was no evident emotion in his voice. She knew that if she gave him the opportunity, he’d begin the familiar game playing. Toying with her feelings. Manipulating her into letting him back into her life.
‘Just go away.’
He moved forward, but Horton had already stepped backwards into the hallway, slamming the door in his face. She could feel him pushing, trying to prevent the lock from engaging, but he was already too late. She slammed across the two bolts and stood back.
Shit, she thought. Shit.
Without turning on the house lights, she fumbled for her mobile, frantically searching for Isla’s number. The call rang out for agonisingly long seconds but then cut to voicemail. Unless the flight had been delayed, Isla should have landed by now and be on her way back, but she disliked using the hands-free. Horton ended the call and dialled again, hoping that Isla would notice the repeated call and guess something was wrong. This time, she left a message, her voice trembling, asking Isla to call urgently as soon as she picked it up.
She moved to peer out of the window. There was no sign of David in the darkness. Perhaps he’d given up. Perhaps he was trying to find some other means of access.
Still leaving the house in darkness, she made her way through to the kitchen, wanting to reassure herself that the back-door was safely bolted. The bolts were firmly in place, the deadlock secured.
The house was relatively secure, but she didn’t fool herself that David couldn’t force his way in, if he really tried. The windows were mostly part of the original fabric of the house, the glass easily smashed. It was difficult to imagine David going that far. He generally preferred to inveigle his way into others’ lives through more subtle means. But she knew he wasn’t beyond violence, if he wanted to get his way.
There was no sign of him outside the kitchen window. She was returning to check the living room when she was startled by the phone buzzing in her pocket. She assumed it was Isla returning her call and answered without stopping to check the screen.
‘Virginia.’
She forced herself to bite back the scream rising in her throat. Her first instinct was to respond, ask him how the hell he’d got hold of her number. But she knew it would be a mistake to engage. David had endless means of getting hold of any information he wanted. Maybe he’d tracked down one of her friends and used his persuasive wiles to extract the number. Maybe he’d used one of his dubious ex-police contacts. It didn’t matter. He’d got it.
Tomorrow, she could change the number. But tonight, it felt like just another vulnerability, another hole through which he could crawl back into her life.
Still resisting the urge to turn on the lights, she felt her way into the living room. The curtains were open, and there, silhouetted against the twin doors to the patio, was a figure.
She knew the locks were strong enough, and unlike the majority of the downstairs windows, the patio doors were toughened glass. But if David failed to gain access there, he might start seeking other routes.
She jumped as the phone buzzed again. She pulled it out and stared at the screen. Isla. Thank Christ.
‘Ginny, what’s wrong? You sounded panicky.’
‘It’s David. Fucking David. He’s outside. He was waiting for me. He’s at the back of the house.’
‘Jesus, Ginny. Call the fucking police. I’ll get there as quickly as I can. I’m only five minutes away. I stopped after I turned off the main road to check your message. But call the police. Now.’
Horton ended the call and hesitated. Her normal instinct would have been to do anything rather than involve her police colleagues in this. But David was here, outside the house she shared with Isla, trying to gain entry, and there was now no getting away from that. When she looked up, the figure had vanished. Moments later, the front doorbell rang, shrill and insistent. She could see a face peering through the window by the d
oor, trying to see into the house. The bell rang again, held down this time.
That decided her. She backed into the kitchen, feeling somehow safer there, and thumbed 999. ‘Police, please. Urgent.’
‘Police. How can I help you?’
Horton took a breath, trying to keep her voice calm. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Horton. I’ve an intruder in my garden. Potentially threatening. I need help here urgently.’ She gave the details to the call handler and heard the message being relayed to the dispatcher. ‘There’s a car fairly close by at the airport,’ the handler said. ‘They’ll be there in a few minutes. Do you want to stay on the line until they arrive?’
‘I’d better.’ The doorbell was still ringing, unceasing now. The sound of someone who would not be ignored. ‘You can hear that?’ she asked the handler. ‘He was waiting for me when I got back. I got into the house but he’s still there.’
‘Do you know his identity?’
‘Yes. That’s why I think he might be dangerous.’
Somewhere in the distance, behind the piercing sound of the bell, she could hear sirens. The doorbell stopped abruptly, and there were other sounds outside. A car door slamming, an engine starting. Horton remained motionless, listening for any clue as to what might be happening.
There was the sound of another car outside. The sirens were growing louder. Horton forced herself to walk back into the hallway and peer through the window beside the front door. Isla’s Audi was parked by her own car in the driveway, and the trees beyond were pulsing with approaching blue lights.
She pulled back the bolts and opened the front door as Isla climbed out of the car. ‘Has he gone?’
‘I think so.’
The patrol car pulled up behind Isla’s Audi, and two uniformed officers jumped out. Horton recognised one of them by sight, though she couldn’t immediately recall his name. ‘DS Horton?’
‘That’s me,’ Horton said. ‘And you’re PC McCann.’ She’d remembered the name as he’d drawn closer. A decent lad, she thought, new to the force. She’d had a couple of minor dealings with him, and had the impression he knew what he was about.
‘Billy McCann,’ he said. ‘Well remembered. Where’s this intruder, then?’
Isla turned and pointed down the drive. ‘There was a car heading off just as I arrived. Doing a fair speed, so a pound to a penny, it was him.’
‘We can put out a bulletin,’ McCann said, regarding Isla with undisguised curiosity. ‘Did you get sight of the car?’
Isla shook her head. ‘It was too far away.’
McCann turned his attention to Horton. ‘Any clues on the vehicle?’
Horton shook her head. ‘No. There was a car parked out there the other night. I thought that was probably him too. I didn’t get the make, but Isla thought it was a new car. We thought it was maybe a hire car from the airport. If it was David, he’d most likely have flown up here.’
‘David?’
‘My stepfather. That’s who it is. He’s left me messages. We think he was loitering ‘round the house. Then, tonight, he tried to talk to me and follow me into the house.’ As the adrenaline rush was dying away, Horton felt as if she could barely stand up, let alone answer McCann’s questions.
‘You think he’s dangerous?’
‘It’s a long story. He was – abusive when I was younger. And he’s been manipulative when I’ve met him since. I don’t know whether he’s dangerous now, but I wouldn’t want to risk being alone with him.’
‘You want us to try to pick him up?’
‘I’m not sure there’s any point. He’ll just come up with some story. I’ve no proof that he intended to scare me –’
‘Maybe he didn’t.’ This was the other uniformed officer, standing in the darkness behind McCann. Horton didn’t know him. His voice sounded dismissive, as if she’d dragged them out here on a wild goose chase. Maybe she had. When David had been leaning insistently on the doorbell, when she’d seen his silhouette framed in the rear windows, dialling 999 had seemed the only option. Now, she was beginning to regret it. She could imagine how this would be relayed around the station tomorrow. Another woman who couldn’t cut it in the job.
She looked past McCann at the second PC. He looked barely out of his teens, greasy hair and an acne-riven complexion. But with a cocky air McCann thankfully lacked. ‘Maybe he didn’t, son,’ she said, thinking how McKay would deal with this one. ‘But I couldn’t be sure of that from what I know of his history.’
‘No, I just –’ The PC looked to McCann for support but realised none would be forthcoming. ‘Aye, of course.’
‘You think he’s likely to come back?’ McCann said.
‘I don’t think he’s likely to come back tonight,’ Horton said. ‘I suspect he won’t come back at all now.’
‘Does he know you’re –?’
‘A police officer? I doubt it. We haven’t been in contact for a long time.’
McCann nodded. ‘Families, eh? Ach, tell me about it.’ He gestured behind them. ‘You’re sure you don’t want us to follow this up?’
She glanced at his colleague, still standing in the shadows outside. ‘There’s no point wasting your time.’
‘We could put a bit of pressure on him. Make it clear he’s not welcome.’
She allowed herself a smile. ‘He knows full well he’s not welcome. I’ve made that crystal clear.’
‘Well, if he reappears, don’t hesitate. It’s what we’re here for.’ He glanced over at his colleague. ‘Even if some of us might prefer to sit in the car with a fish supper.’
After the officers had gone, Horton watched as Isla slid the bolts on the front door, making sure the locks were fully engaged. She could see Isla was doing this deliberately, demonstratively, to reassure her that this place remained their refuge.
‘I’m sorry,’ Isla said, as she returned from the kitchen with an opened bottle of wine. ‘I’m not sure if calling 999 was the best idea after all. That silly little bugger outside.’
Horton shrugged. ‘There’ll be a bit of gossip in the canteen tomorrow. Apart from anything else, I’m guessing your existence will be news to some people, though I’ve hardly kept it a secret. But they’ll soon forget about it. And Christ knows what David would have done if they hadn’t turned up.’
‘You really think he would have done something?’ Isla stopped pouring the wine and shook her head. ‘Sorry. I’m sounding like that twelve-year-old they’d allowed to dress up as a policeman. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, do you think he’d have been physically violent?’
‘Who knows? He’s been violent enough in the past. But whatever he intended tonight, he scared the hell out of me.’ She took a mouthful of wine and sat back on the sofa. ‘The weird thing is that I almost feel better that it happened.’
‘Better?’
‘I don’t know. It felt like it brought things to a head. It was worse when he was lurking out there somewhere, and I had no way of responding. Tonight, he showed his hand, and I made it bloody clear what my answer was.’
Isla nodded, her expression suggesting she wasn’t entirely convinced by this assessment. ‘Let’s hope he takes no for an answer.’
‘He will,’ Horton said confidently. ‘He’s an arsehole, but he’s not stupid. He won’t risk another run-in with the police.’ Her voice sounded calm, but her eyes were fixed on the still uncurtained patio windows. She rose, and with a finality that suggested she wanted to bring the conversation to an end, she pulled the curtains closed. ‘Let’s go and sort some food,’ she said. ‘I’m starving.’
25
McKay stared balefully at the remains of his ready-meal lasagne. It had been okay, he supposed, though it would have been even better if he’d microwaved it until it was hot all the way through.
It was all a learning experience. A new house. A new lifestyle. A new bloody microwave, with half the power of the one he’d been used to at – His train of thought juddered to a halt, as he realised he’d stumbled unintentio
nally on the word “home.” That was how he still thought of the place where he and Chrissie had lived. That had been home. But it wasn’t anymore. Not for the moment, and maybe never again. This place was his home now. This bleak little bungalow where he owned nothing but a few basic household items.
He could already feel himself sliding, yet again, into melancholy. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his heavy waterproof from the back of the kitchen chair and, without hesitation, strode through the hall and stepped out into the cold night air. It was only when he was outside that he stopped to think about where he might be going and realised he had no idea.
The weather was beginning to change. The previously clear sky was heavy with clouds, and the air felt damp with the threat of rain. For want of any other destination, McKay turned down the narrow footpath to the seafront. The route was ill lit, illuminated only by the residual glow of the streetlights on the adjoining roads. McKay stumbled, cursing himself for not stopping to dig out the police torch he kept in his bag.
He was almost at the end of the path, the seafront road and the firth now visible before him, when he stopped and turned. He’d suddenly had an uncomfortable sense that someone was watching him. There was no sign of anyone behind him, although there was plenty of shrubbery in which a covert observer could be hiding. But why the hell would anyone want to watch him?
Resisting the urge to look back again, he continued down to the road. The tide was high, and the beach along the front was reduced to a narrow strip. The wind was rising, and in the half light, the crashing waves were faintly phosphorescent. Across the firth, he could see the line of lights that marked Fort George and Ardersier. Ginny would be back over there by now, no doubt enjoying another evening of domestic bliss with her partner.
To his right, he could see Rob Graham’s house, lights blazing, windows uncurtained. No longer Graham’s house, of course, he added to himself. He wondered how Shona Graham was feeling tonight. Lost, alone? Or relieved to be rid of a burden of a husband?
