The fountains of stone rose and fell just as she remembered. The white walls, the grey stone, the warm burnt orange of the tiles, the glazed windows whose shape made her think of flowers: it was a sort of silent music.
Marnie stood, letting it still the endlessly chattering voices and clear her mind. And at last, on the other side of that silence, she understood. For her, this wasn’t about a death or a will. It was all about her mother.
Drax and Anita, the only two friends Marnie had ever known her have, said they had lost touch with her, hadn’t seen her for years. She didn’t think she believed either of them. And if her mother was still alive, why should they lie?
Her mother hadn’t been the sort of mum you read about in cosy children’s books but she couldn’t just walk away: if DI Fleming had something to tell her, she had to know what it was. Whatever it was. Even if she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that afterwards she would wish she didn’t know.
It didn’t help that as she left with a final glance upwards, fighting her forebodings, she noticed the four grotesque, ugly faces carved around the central pillar.
Daniel Lee had spotted the press as he arrived and parked in the street nearby, then strolled past them confidently. There had been one or two glances cast in his direction but no one had accosted him then, so he adopted the same attitude on the way out and reached his car again unchallenged.
His rage had cooled as quickly as it had flared up. It always did, and latterly he’d got better at controlling it. Once he’d have gone for the jumped-up little prick of a sergeant and throttled him.
With the cooling came a deep unease. He’d believed he’d covered his tracks; it had been a shock that they’d got on to him at all, let alone so quickly.
Had Marnie told them something? She was dangerous, very dangerous, but she’d said she wasn’t going to speak to them. She’d better mean that – they all had enough problems without someone inviting her to do show-and-tell with her freaky memory.
No, it was probably just the good old local spy system that had shopped him. Anita, he could be sure, would have been discreet; he’d told her that the first time he heard of gossip would be the last time she saw him. There was the old bag who was her next-door neighbour, of course; she could give lessons to the KGB.
At least he’d managed to give the police a nudge in Shelley’s direction since they were probably too dumb to spot it on their own. Or pinpoint their own backsides, come to that.
Lee had just turned the key in the ignition when he noticed something. That wasn’t—
Oh yes, it was. That was Marnie Bruce crossing the road just ahead of him, on her way into the police station. She was going to the police after all – lying bitch!
For a crazy moment he thought about gunning the car’s engine and taking her out right there, in front of the assembled media.
Wiser councils prevailed. Everything was under control; he had to keep telling himself that. Keep calm. But as he drove off he tore roughly at a snagging edge on his thumbnail, then winced as a bead of blood appeared …
Fleming was dreading the interview with Marnie Bruce and wanted to get it over – always supposing that she appeared.
Since she’d been informed the day before that the injunction against revealing Karen Bruce’s identity had been amended to permit her daughter to be told, she’d thought long and hard about how to break the news, had lost sleep over it, even. But whatever she said, Marnie would have to hear the ugly truth that not only was her mother a sort of national hate-figure, but she had chosen to build her daughter’s life on deceit. How would Marnie feel when she discovered that even her name wasn’t her own?
It was only ten minutes later that Marnie arrived. Fleming had arranged to use one of the smaller waiting rooms as being the nearest thing to informal that the station provided and chatted about the cold weather as they took their seats there, but even so Marnie was clearly nervous. She sat on the edge of the chair, twisting her hands together in an unconscious movement. She was pale with dark shadows around her eyes and looked as if she had slept badly.
Fleming leant forward too, smiling. ‘Thank you for coming in, Marnie. I felt I owed you an explanation for having been less than frank with you earlier. I’ve been authorised now to tell you something that I’m afraid will be very difficult for you. Would you like a drink – tea, coffee?’
Marnie shook her head.
‘Right, fine. Could I just ask you first of all, where are you staying? I wasn’t sure if my messages were getting through and we need to be able to contact you.’
‘Do I have to tell you?’
‘Not have to, no, at this stage. But I think it would be advisable.’
‘I’m moving about a bit.’
Feeling faint irritation, Fleming said, ‘Well, where were you last night?’
‘I’m not sure of the address. Just an old cottage. But I’ll be leaving there soon.’
It wasn’t worth having an argument over. Marnie had answered the phone eventually and once she’d been told about Anita’s will the lawyer could take care of all that. First things first, though.
Fleming took a deep breath. ‘Marnie, when you asked me about your mother, I wasn’t in a position to tell you. She has a protected identity and there was an injunction against information about it being given to anyone, which included her daughter, until the injunction was lifted yesterday – only for you, I have to stress, and that only because of the particular circumstances we find ourselves in.’
Marnie stared at her. ‘A protected identity – what does that mean? Was she a witness, or something?’
‘No, Marnie, I’m afraid not.’ Fleming found she was twisting her hands too. ‘Have you heard of Kirstie Burnside?’
She shook her head.
‘When Kirstie Burnside was ten she was charged with murdering a child of eight, Tommy Crichton. She served out her sentence and when she was released she was given a new, protected identity so that she wouldn’t be persecuted. Kirstie Burnside was—’
Marnie was ahead of her. ‘My mother. My mother was a murderer. A child killer.’
She had turned so pale that Fleming thought she was going to faint. ‘Marnie, you need to understand that she had a terrible start in life. It only came to light when this happened that her father—’
She didn’t have a chance to finish. Marnie cut in, ‘Abused her? Oh, that makes it all right, then. My mother’s a murderer and my grandfather was a paedophile! Anything else you want to share with me?’
There was nothing Fleming could say in the face of her bitterness. She waited until Marnie raged on, ‘Why did you tell me this? You think it’s something I wanted to know?’
She could have said, ‘You asked me.’ Instead, Fleming had to give her the next bit of bad news. ‘The reason I felt you had to be warned is that if the press hasn’t already worked out who you are, they will very soon.’
Marnie looked at her in horror. ‘You’re going to tell the press?’
‘I’m not, no. But people in Dunmore know and they’re not going to keep quiet about it.’
‘They know? So that’s why …’ Her voice trailed off and a curious look came over her face, as if she was looking into the far distance.
It was a bit uncanny. Louise Hepburn, Fleming suddenly remembered, had said she’d noticed something like that too.
‘She’s coming straight at me – attacking me,’ Marnie murmured, and then her eyes seemed to snap back into focus again and she looked at Fleming as if bewildered. ‘But how could she have known? Anita knew at once too, only she wouldn’t admit it.’
‘I’m afraid it’s your appearance – red-gold hair, bright-blue eyes. You’re very like your mother as a child.’
‘Like my mother? I don’t know what you mean. She had dark hair – almost black! And her eyes – they were a sort of greyish-brown, I think. Not really a definite colour at all.’
‘Yes, I remember,’ Fleming said heavily. ‘Her colouring as a child was ver
y distinctive so she dyed her hair and I suppose used contact lenses.’
‘Yes, I remember she had contacts. But I never saw her without them.’ Again that remote look appeared. ‘She’s having a problem with one of them. She’s got her hand over her eye and she’s going out to the bathroom …’
‘Marnie,’ Fleming said gently, bending forward to touch the other woman’s arm, ‘what are you doing?’
Marnie gave a slight start. ‘Oh … oh sorry, it’s just a condition I have.’
Fleming listened in astonishment to her explanation about hyperthymesia. ‘You can remember absolutely everything as if it were happening just now?’
‘If a memory’s triggered, yes.’
‘But you don’t remember what happened the night your mother left?’
‘I never saw who hit me.’ She chewed at her lip. ‘So … so this is why you believe it could have been my mother who did it?’
‘That, and the lack of evidence that anyone else was there.’
‘I … I see.’
There were tears forming in her eyes. Fleming went on hastily, ‘There’s another thing that I have to tell you. We found a copy of a will that Anita Loudon had made, leaving everything to you.’
Marnie showed no sign of surprise. That was interesting, Fleming thought. ‘Did she tell you she had?’
‘No. I don’t know why she would.’
‘I should stress that this isn’t official. There may be another will somewhere with different provisions. We won’t know until we’ve finished going through all her papers and had proper confirmation from her lawyers. But as it stands, you will inherit her estate. So—’
‘You don’t need to tell me,’ Marnie said bitterly. ‘She’s dumped me in it, hasn’t she? You think I killed her to get it. I didn’t, by the way, though I don’t suppose you’ll accept that.’
Relieved to be moving on to more familiar terrain, Fleming said coolly, ‘No, I won’t “accept” it, but I don’t jump to conclusions either. You will have to make a formal statement about any contact you had with Anita Loudon, but I’d prefer to talk through it with you first, if you’re willing to do that.’
‘I told your detectives all about the first time, when I had to escape – I don’t want to go over it all again.’
Fleming nodded. ‘I’ve read the report. There were other occasions, though?’
‘Just one.’ There was a pause, then the odd look came over Marnie’s face again. She muttered, ‘Sorry.’ Then, ‘Give me a moment.
‘OK. It was on Wednesday evening. She took a long time to come to the door. I thought she’d maybe been asleep or something – she was yawning and she looks – looked a bit blank for a moment. She was wearing a cream and dark red skirt and a cream top and her lipstick was a little bit smeared. She doesn’t – didn’t look exactly pleased at seeing me and she didn’t ask me in, she just says – said, “Oh – Marnie! I thought you’d gone.”
‘I say, “Why should I? Just because your friends tried to drive me out?”
‘She says she doesn’t – didn’t know what I meant. I told her and she said she didn’t know anything about it. I don’t think that’s true.
‘Then she asks what I’d come back to her for, says there isn’t anything more she can tell me about my mother. I’m telling her I want to know how to find Drax.’
The mixture of tenses was intriguing, Fleming thought. Marnie seemed to be describing a current experience and having trouble expressing it as a report of a past event. As she had gone on with the story, she had stopped correcting herself.
‘She doesn’t want to tell me. I say to her if she doesn’t, I’ll come and tell the police you should talk to him about the night my mother disappeared and she’s getting scared about that.’
‘He was there?’ Fleming put in sharply.
Marnie’s eyes seemed to snap back into focus. ‘I don’t know what happened – I told you that already. Anyway, she said she’d give me the address for the nightclub, Zombies – you know? – provided I didn’t tell him that she had. So she went and wrote it down, handed it to me and shut the door. That was all. She didn’t say anything about a will. She didn’t seem to like me much – wanted to get rid of me as soon as possible.’
‘You weren’t surprised when I told you, though, were you?’
Marnie looked down, sideways. ‘Yes I was,’ she insisted.
It wasn’t convincing. Fleming filed that one away and went on, ‘So – you had Drax’s address. Are you going to see him?’
‘I went yesterday. It was a wasted journey. He said he hadn’t seen my mother for years. Until I got your message I was going to give up the whole idea, go back to London – just disappear, back into my old life. Now I wish I had.’
Fleming could sympathise with that but she said, ‘You’re forgetting that Anita Loudon is dead. We couldn’t have allowed you to do that. What time was it that you went to the house? You may have been the last person to see Anita alive.’
Marnie showed signs of alarm. ‘Around six, sometime. Look, she was alive when I left. I didn’t even step inside the house.’
‘I take it you saw no one else there? What sort of mood was she in?’
‘Apart from hostile, when she saw me? I don’t know.’ She put a hand to her head. ‘Is there much more of this? I’m very tired—’
‘Yes, of course you are. I’m sorry – you’ve been given a lot to cope with. Just finally, what did you do after you saw Anita?’
‘Just went back to … where I’m staying.’ Marnie got up.
‘Any witnesses?’
‘No. It’s not that sort of place.’
Fleming waited hopefully, but she didn’t elaborate. ‘We have to order you not to leave the immediate area for the next day or two. Since we have your phone number I won’t insist on an address but you must undertake to keep in touch. I’ll let you know when we’ve been able to arrange for the lawyer to see you.’
Marnie nodded. She said nothing more as Fleming escorted her to the front door then went back inside. She couldn’t imagine how Marnie must be feeling; she felt totally drained herself, but at least it was over and it was only quarter past eleven.
‘Right, Sarge,’ DC Hepburn said. ‘I’ll meet Andy in the car park by the harbour in half an hour.’
She rang off. She’d been hoping that MacNee would arrange for her to link up with one of the patrols to get back to the station but of course, if she and Macdonald were tasked to do interviews around Stranraer this made sense. She just hoped that MacNee hadn’t told him she’d been wiped out yesterday. Macdonald would love to have evidence of her unfitness for the job.
She was fine today. She hadn’t been aware of any more problems during the night and in an attempt to reset her mother’s body clock she’d wakened her when she got up for breakfast herself, despite Fleur’s protests that it was too early and she was still tired.
The sea was blue and calm today, the only evidence of last night’s storm being the sand and stones on the pavement opposite the house and tangles of seaweed heaped up on the shore and the sharp tang of ozone in the air. Hepburn walked briskly, puffing at the first cigarette of the day – always the best one – and hoping that Macdonald would be there when she arrived. The sun might be shining but there was no warmth in it and she didn’t fancy standing freezing.
Fortunately he was prompt and MacNee didn’t seem to have shopped her, but he went through the usual routine of coughing and wrinkling his nose about the smell of smoke. She’d been seriously considering giving up but just thinking of Macdonald crowing made her start twitching for the next drag.
She achieved a little half-cough, half-sneeze as she put on her seat belt. ‘God, what on earth’s that aftershave? I think I’m allergic to it – or maybe I just have a more refined taste than the women you knock around with.’
Macdonald ignored that. ‘The detail today is that we go to see Vivienne Morrison first. Anita may have confided in her – seemed under quite a lot of strain when we q
uestioned her at the shop – but she was too distraught yesterday to speak to the boss.’ He drove off.
‘Good. I’d like to know what was really going on. Anita was lying through her teeth, if you ask me.
‘Was there anything new at the morning briefing?’
‘Of course, you weren’t there. What happened – car break down?’
Hepburn shook her head. ‘Just we were late back from Glasgow and Tam dropped me off, knowing guys would be here today who could give me a lift back if necessary. Anyway – new stuff?’
‘Nothing dramatic. Still no weapon, still no witnesses to anything happening that night. With Anita’s house being just opposite the play park there isn’t much chance there would be. The boss didn’t say anything about your friend Drax in the meeting but Tam clued me in. Sounds as if you had an interesting time.’
She could hear the note of envy in his voice. ‘My money’s on him. Nasty bit of work. Fancies himself – thinks he’s only got to smile at a woman and she’ll fall at his feet. Repellent.’
Macdonald gave a crack of laughter. ‘Did he not realise he might as well try to cosy up to a rattlesnake? Crazy guy!’
For some reason, that stung her: a rattlesnake? ‘Well, I’m not a pushover, if that’s what you mean. Anyway I think he’s got business worries too – don’t know what, but he was on edge and I don’t believe it was just the usual nightclub owner’s reaction to a visit from the police, like he said.’
‘Now that’s interesting. His colleague Grant Crichton certainly has – was livid with his wife for showing me through to his study where he was snowed under with papers and he was pretty keen I wouldn’t get a glimpse of them.’
‘And Morrison’s the third member of the consortium. I checked it out on the Companies House register.’
The look Macdonald gave her almost suggested respect. She went on, ‘It’s a curious set of businesses to link up – haulage, construction, a nightclub. Their profits are fairly impressive, given the downturn, so they must be doing something right. Or else doing something wrong, that they’ve been pretty good at covering up.’
Bad Blood Page 23
