by Helen Fields
‘Glynis,’ Ava said again. ‘Let’s sit down.’ There it was. That fractional falter of her smile, the double blink before she responded.
‘Of course. Come into the lounge. Forgive the mess, I was just writing some cards. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of something hot?’
Ava sat down on the sofa and waited until Glynis had perched on an armchair.
‘I’m sorry to have to bring you this news, but George has been found dead in his car. The initial indications are that it was suicide.’
Glynis’ mouth slackened, her brow drew in. There was a small shake of her head. Ava had seen it too many times, that moment of defiance, the refusal to accept the news of a death. She waited for Glynis to speak. It was always a question first. Where? When? How? Most often in a suicide: Why?
‘Something was wrong,’ Glynis said, her voice a thin tremor in the air.
Ava stared at her. ‘His heart again? Had his doctor given him bad news?’
Glynis shook her head. ‘Not that George told me. As far as I knew he was recovering well. But for the last couple of weeks he’s been, I don’t know, sullen. Not like him at all.’
‘I’m sorry to ask this, but did you suspect he might be a risk to himself? Had he talked about it?’ Ava asked.
‘No. No, I’d have told someone. Where is he now?’
‘On his way to the … he’s going to Ailsa Lambert’s office. She’ll take good care of him,’ Ava said.
‘It’s too late for that, isn’t it? His dinner’s in the oven. Plenty of green veg. Nothing high in fat or sugar. He hated it, the diet since his heart attack. Still, he always cleared his plate without complaint. Before, we used to have a cream cake every Friday, as a treat, you know. Hasn’t had one for six months. I think that was the thing he missed most.’
‘Glynis, let me make some calls for you. You should have your family here.’
‘I’d like to go and see George first if you don’t mind. There’ll be an autopsy if I’m not mistaken?’
‘Yes,’ Ava whispered.
‘How did he do it?’ Glynis asked, her mouth a tightly pressed trembling line across her face.
‘Car exhaust fumes,’ Ava said. Glynis tried to rise from the chair, wobbled, took her seat again. ‘Let me get you a glass of water. Don’t try to move.’ She walked to the kitchen and began opening cupboards to find a glass when feet shuffled in behind her.
‘Would he have suffered? I want the truth, Ava. I was married to a policeman for thirty-five years. There’s no point lying to me.’
Ava ran the cold tap to make sure the water was fresh as she thought how to answer the question. George Begbie’s wife was no fool, and the detail of the cases MIT handled wouldn’t have passed her by. Such was the baggage that came with marrying a police officer.
‘Headache, nausea. He’d have felt faint. Probably there’d have been a sense of panic if he was still conscious when his body recognised it was starved of oxygen. He may have had chest pains, especially given his medical history. Possibly some sort of seizure at the end,’ Ava said. ‘I’m so sorry. I wish …’
‘Please don’t,’ Glynis said. ‘I’ll take that water now.’
Ava handed her the glass and leaned back against the kitchen cupboards rubbing her temples.
‘You said something was wrong. Can you be any more specific?’ Ava asked.
‘There were a few late night phone calls. A couple to his mobile, at least one on the landline. He never told me who they were from. Made a joke about it to distract me. Then a package was left on our doorstep once when we were out shopping. No label. I told him he should call the police. He knew he was still a target given the number of people he’d put inside. He took the package to his shed, told me it was some rubbishy free samples. I always knew when he was lying.’
‘And you think whatever it was might have been enough reason for him to have …?’ Ava broke off.
‘George hated suicides. Said it was the cruellest thing to do to another human being. If you’re right and that’s what he did, then I have no idea who the man was I’ve been living with for more than half my life. I’d like to go and see him now please.’
* * *
They arrived at Edinburgh City Mortuary half an hour later. Dr Ailsa Lambert met them at the door, greeting Glynis with a hug. Ailsa held back her own tears as she showed them into the autopsy suite. There was a body beneath a sheet on a steel table.
‘I’m sorry I can’t offer anything more appropriate than this room. Everywhere else is in use. Are you sure you’re ready to do this, Glynis? I can formally identify him. You don’t need to make this your last memory of George,’ Ailsa said.
‘I need to,’ Glynis replied, crushing a handkerchief in her hand and staring at the concealed bulk of the man she had loved for decades.
Ailsa pulled back the sheet to reveal naked head and shoulders. There was an intake of breath from Glynis. Ava reached out an arm to put around her shoulders, tempted to look away but there was no scope for cowardice when Glynis was having to be so brave. Still, it was dreadful to see. Death was never so final as when you had to stare it in the face. Ava hated the slackness of the Chief’s jaw and the way the flesh of his cheeks had rolled back towards his ears, as if his body couldn’t be bothered to pretend to be human any more. Life had literally deserted him.
‘Why is he so red?’ Glynis asked.
‘Carbon monoxide poisoning can do that after death,’ Ailsa said. ‘Can you confirm that it is George?’
‘It is,’ Glynis said. ‘Oh God, it really is.’ She turned around and walked through the door into the corridor. Ava let her go.
‘Have you had a chance to have a look at him, Ailsa? Can you give me any information?’ Ava asked.
‘I’ve had a few minutes, that’s all. It’s been a busy day,’ Ailsa said, covering Begbie’s face once again with the sheet.
‘I heard,’ Ava said. ‘I’m sorry. You must have a lot of families needing you at the moment.’
‘I do, but George was my friend. I was working with him when you were still in school. Never thought I’d be asked to perform his autopsy. But the symptoms are classic suicide by inhalation of carbon monoxide. That cherry red colour of his skin? Means he had to have breathed the gas in. If you’re looking for me to tell you someone killed him and posed him there, then I can’t. He has no injuries. He wasn’t restrained in the car. He hadn’t defended himself.’
‘Nothing?’ Ava asked. ‘Really Ailsa? You knew him better than me, and I know the Chief wouldn’t have taken this way out.’
‘You don’t know anything of the sort. People break, Ava. They get bad news, they suffer a loss, they stop working and find their lives suddenly empty. They look in the mirror one day and find they got old and that scares the hell out of them.’
‘It’s cowardly,’ Ava said. ‘It was beneath him.’
‘Suicide is the most human and lonely of acts. It’s not for you to judge him,’ Ailsa said.
There was a pause. Ava reached a hand out to the huge man beneath the sheet, drew it back again and turned to the wall.
‘I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, Ailsa. I just feel like I failed him somehow. I should have visited more often after his heart attack. I should have made sure he was coping. I just carried on, always too busy.’
‘When there’s a suicide the people left have a tendency to make it about themselves – what they didn’t do, or say, or remember. It’s not about you, Ava. It’s not about Glynis, or their children, or anyone else. It’s about the place George found himself in. I’m not expecting to find anything in the autopsy to be honest, although I’ll be liaising with his doctor to check any recent diagnoses. His body was unmarked except for this.’ Ailsa walked around to lift the sheet from the left side of George Begbie’s body. ‘Here, on his inner wrist – you can barely make it out now because of the reddening – but it looks like letters, albeit clumsily drawn. Capital N next to a small c. I suspect they’ve been scratched into his
arm.’
‘Means nothing to me,’ Ava said. ‘N c. I’ll check it out. I’d better get Glynis home now. She’s been more stoic than I’d ever have expected, although of course she’s in shock. That combined with being the wife of a long-serving police officer. She probably spent years half-expecting that knock at the door. It’ll take a while to sink in. She’ll need to contact the rest of the family, too. Let me know, would you, when you have the full autopsy results.’
‘Of course. You should go home and get some rest, too. If days like this teach us anything, it’s that you never know what’s coming. Every moment counts.’
Chapter Five
‘I w-want to volunteer,’ the man said, his Adam’s apple working almost completely independently of the remainder of his body.
‘You know they won’t pay you, right? There aren’t any proper jobs going at the moment,’ a woman wearing clothes more usually seen at an eye-assaulting runway from London Fashion Week told him.
‘I know that. I’m not here for the money. I just really w-want to help. It’s a good thing you do here,’ he said.
‘You’ve got some alternative means of funding yourself that allows you not to have to work for money, do you?’ the woman asked, looking from his haircut down to his shoes in a manner that signalled disbelief.
‘I w-work somew-where else as w-well,’ he mumbled. ‘I just thought that a few hours a w-week might be a contribution. Even if I’m just making coffee or filing paperw-work.’
She sighed, pulling a sheet of paper from a drawer and clicking the end of a pen as she waited for him to finish the sentence.
‘I can take your name but I’m not sure there’s anything for you.’
‘That’s fine, Sian, I’ll take it from here thank you,’ another woman said, placing a gentle hand on fashion disaster’s shoulder and smiling softly. ‘Why don’t you come into my office? I’m Cordelia Muir. You are?’
‘Jeremy,’ he said, feeling the weight lift as he followed her. She was somewhere between forty and fifty although good bone structure, careful moisturising and a trim figure made it hard to guess precisely. The media had listed several different ages for her, all to be taken with a pinch of salt, but they were universally agreed on the good her charity was doing in a variety of African countries. Crystal was a clean water initiative that relied on educating communities in how to build wells, then funding them to teach their neighbouring village so that a network of safe, sustainable water systems spread like a life-giving spider web, changing lives and securing futures.
‘So, Jeremy, I have to say it’s very generous of you to offer to volunteer. Sian does our day-to-day administration and she has a fairly rigid view of the world, but she doesn’t mean any harm. I hope she didn’t put you off, but she was right to point out that we can’t pay you. We have limited resources and I make sure that as great a percentage of donations as possible reaches its intended destination. I’m not much of a one for expensive offices or endless amounts of staff.’
‘That’s w-why I’m here,’ Jeremy said, head down towards his lap. ‘I read that about you. It’s the reason I’d like to help. You seem …’ he blinked a few times, chewing his bottom lip. ‘You seem good.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘And if you’re serious about helping then I’d love to have you here. Can you tell me a little bit about yourself?’
Jeremy flushed, took a deep breath, and steeled himself to make eye contact as he spoke.
‘Twenty-five,’ he said. ‘I like to help people.’ He spoke slowly, deliberately, every word considered. ‘I w-was fostered. Nice people. I’d like to give something back. Other times I do some gardening w-work. Not much call for that in w-winter.’
‘I guess not,’ Cordelia said softly. ‘I know what you mean about wanting to put something back. I was lucky. My parents were both Kenyan but from wealthy families. They moved me here when I was just four, at a time when racial integration was still a work in progress. My father worked in the finance sector. I was sent to a decent school, had holidays abroad, got through university without any debt. After my degree I sailed into the corporate machine, making piles of money for people who didn’t need any more than they already had. I suppose I got fed up and wanted to find more of a purpose, and here I am. Doing something to improve the lives of people in Africa felt like joining up the ends of a circle for me. You know, I think you’re going to be a real asset around here. What matters to me more than anything is working with people who have a positive attitude and the desire to do good. Why don’t you come in next week, spend a few hours getting to know what we do and where you can fit in, and if you like us we can make it more regular? In the meantime, fill in a personnel form with some details and the name of a referee if you have one.’
‘I do,’ Jeremy said, allowing himself a small smile and a nod.
‘How about I make you a coffee before you go, just so you can experience how badly I do it. Everyone here will be delighted to have someone other than me in charge of the kettle.’
She handed Jeremy a form requiring basic details – address, National Insurance number, telephone contact, next of kin for emergency purposes – and a pen, then she disappeared out to rattle cups and teaspoons around in a sink. He filled the form in quickly then glanced around Cordelia Muir’s office. A family photo took pride of place on her desk. She was with her children. An older girl and a boy, taken a little while ago judging by the changes in Cordelia. Research had told Jeremy that her daughter was away at university while her son was attending sixth form college in Edinburgh. He wondered if she would mind him picking the photograph up, watching her through the glass partition as she opened the fridge door to put a carton of milk away.
‘You have beautiful children,’ Jeremy said as she walked back in holding two mugs.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, putting the steaming liquid down in front of him, showing no concern about him holding the precious image. ‘My husband passed away a couple of years ago. He was terminally ill when we had that photo taken. My daughter has coped better than my son. Randall is only seventeen. I think boys need a man around to help them through those transitional years.’ She smiled.
‘My father died when I w-was two,’ Jeremy said, putting the photo back down on the desk. ‘He and my mother were in a coach crash. My foster parents tried their hardest but teenage years are tough. I w-wasn’t very forgiving.’
‘I’m sure you were no worse than any other teenage boy, and it must have been harder for you than most. Your parents would have been proud of you now.’ She smiled. ‘You’ve filled in the form already? Wonderful. How about you come in Monday morning? I’m starting a new project and I’d appreciate some help with it. Nothing very glamorous I’m afraid, but I’d love to have you here.’
Jeremy beamed, taking a sip of coffee with shaking hands.
‘That w-would be great,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Mrs Muir.’
‘Cordelia. First name terms only in here,’ she said. ‘I feel as if fate brought you to us, Jeremy. I’m a great believer in fate. Welcome to the team.’
* * *
DI Callanach was waiting in Ava Turner’s office at the police station. He stood as she entered.
‘Luc,’ she said. ‘What’s the news on the body at Arthur’s Seat?’
‘Nothing much yet, ma’am,’ Callanach said, sitting once she’d waved him back into his chair.
‘Could you please not call me ma’am? I mean, yes in front of other people, but not when it’s just us. You know I’m uncomfortable with it.’
‘I’m uncomfortable without it,’ he replied. ‘I heard about the Chief. I wanted to see how you’re doing and check if there’s anything I can help with.’
‘You want to get falling down drunk with me later, make sure I get home safely, hold my hair while I throw up then sit next to me all night to make sure I don’t choke?’ Ava put her head on the desk in front of her. ‘God, I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. Does everyone know?
’
‘Sergeant Lively knows,’ Luc said. ‘So it might as well have been publicly broadcast. And I will, if that’s what you need me to do.’ Ava looked confused. ‘Hold your hair and make sure you don’t choke.’
‘I’m sure you have better things to do with your evening,’ Ava said, guessing he probably didn’t. Callanach had model looks that never failed to turn heads in public, but a false rape allegation made by a coworker during his time as an Interpol agent had made him reclusive in his private life. ‘I have work to do anyway. Tell me about the girl at Arthur’s Seat.’
‘Her name’s Lily Eustis. Nineteen years of age. In a gap year before university mainly because she was working to save money for her tuition fees. She was due to begin studying medicine next September at St Andrews. Her family has been notified. Mum, dad, one sister. I responded to the call but it’s not looking like a matter for the Major Investigation Team. Initial findings are that cause of death was hypothermia.’
‘How did she get all the way up there?’ Ava asked.
‘We don’t have the answer to that yet. She doesn’t own a car, lives with her parents. Apparently, she went out last night to meet a friend at a pub, and didn’t come home. That’s unusual but not completely unknown, although the parents say that normally she’d have phoned to let them know where she was staying.’
‘Have you spoken to the friend?’ Ava asked, scribbling notes.
‘No one knows who it was. Parents suspect it was a male but they’re not certain. Her sister has been calling Lily’s friends but none of them have any further information.’
‘Let’s keep it with MIT for now. Ailsa should be doing Lily’s autopsy as a priority. Keep me updated.’
Callanach stood up. ‘Why don’t you let me drop you home later?’ he said. ‘You can leave your car here. I’ll pick you up and bring you back in tomorrow.’
