Bad Blood

by Aline Templeton

  ‘7–3 to us,’ Cammie’s voice sounded a little flat. ‘I scored.’

  His father beamed. ‘That’s my boy! All set for your full Scotland jersey in another year!’

  ‘Oh, we’ll see,’ was all that Cammie said and Bill looked across at Marjory with a raised eyebrow.

  Cat was at her father’s side, holding his hand. ‘Don’t do that again, Dad.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘It really wasn’t a clever idea.’

  ‘Stupid, that’s me. But don’t worry, lassie. I’ve learnt my lesson. Maybe I should go veggie from now on, eh Cammie?’

  His son managed a weak smile at the reference to his ex-girlfriend and Marjory said, ‘That might be too much of a shock to the system. But take it from me, fry-ups are out – the doctor sounded like prosecuting counsel when he asked me about your diet.’

  The nurse was hovering, ready to show them out. Marjory hung back to kiss him. ‘Hope it all goes smoothly tomorrow,’ she said. ‘No more frights, OK?’

  ‘Piece of cake,’ Bill said sturdily. ‘The doc seems quite relaxed about it.’

  ‘Of course he is,’ Marjory said. Agonising wouldn’t help and with Bill determined to keep it all low-key, the last thing he needed was her screaming hysterically, ‘It’s still an operation! I’m still scared!’ Instead, she said, ‘I love you, Bill.’

  He smiled up at her. ‘Oh dear – bad as that, is it? I’ll be fine, I promise. Oh, and I love you too.’

  Just as she left, he said, ‘I do feel upset about spoiling Cammie’s triumph. He seems very down – tell him we’ll celebrate once I’m home.’

  ‘I will,’ Marjory assured him but she had a nasty feeling that there was more to Cammie’s low spirits than just the anxiety about his father.

  ‘Yes, of course I can,’ DC Hepburn said when the phone call came from DS MacNee. ‘That’s awful about the boss’s husband. Do you think he’ll be all right?’

  ‘Can’t tell you. I only spoke to the daughter – she said Marjory couldn’t come to the phone.’

  ‘I’ll be with you in half an hour.’

  She felt the fizz of excitement that made her job such a rewarding one. A last letter from the dead woman, and she was going to see it before anyone, apart from Marnie herself. She could find that she was holding the key to the whole case.

  And she would have to leave her mother to do it. The fizz dispersed, leaving her with the flat feeling of misery she had been struggling with all day. The neighbourly warning had perhaps made her more alert to the signs of confusion but Fleur seemed to have deteriorated rapidly.

  It was making her unhappy too, for the first time. She had fretted all day about her husband’s absence and Louise was reduced to lying that he was away on business. Perhaps she should tell her again that he was dead, but would it mean her mother reliving the shock and horror? She needed to talk to a doctor before she did that.

  If she left her, might Fleur decide to wander out to look for him? She could lock the doors, of course, but what if something happened – what if Fleur managed to set the house on fire and couldn’t escape?

  Perhaps she should phone Tam MacNee and say she couldn’t manage after all, not until she could find a carer to stay with her mother while she wasn’t there herself?

  Louise looked into the sitting room. The television was on and Fleur was on the couch in front of it. She looked very comfortable and peaceful and quite often she was happy to sit half-watching the screen for hours on end.

  It wouldn’t take long, just to go in, hear what the letter had to say and mop up Marnie if necessary. To back out now would mean telling Tam her problem and asking for compassionate leave that, given the situation, might turn into resignation. It was a decision she wasn’t ready to take just yet.

  She slipped out of the house quietly, feeling leaden with guilt. But as the miles passed and her thoughts went ahead to what Anita Loudon’s letter might tell them, the excitement began to build again.

  No one seemed to be feeling chatty as Marjory drove back from Edinburgh. In the mirror she could see that Cat had again put in her earphones and had her eyes shut, but Marjory didn’t think she was sleeping. She still looked drawn and there was a little furrowed line between her brows.

  Cammie had been limping as he walked to the car and the bruise on his cheek was starting to take on lurid colours. He’d got off lightly, then, Marjory reflected wryly.

  ‘You’ll need a long hot bath when we get back,’ she told him as Cammie winced, getting himself settled in the front seat. ‘You’ll probably have to chip the mud off – it’s set hard.’

  ‘Maybe I’d better just start in the sheep dip,’ he said, making an effort at humour.

  ‘Will you have to come back for physio tomorrow? We’ll be over to see Dad anyway.’

  Cammie shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ he said, then lapsed into silence.

  Marjory had found the journey over quite constructive for thinking about the investigation but now all she could think about was what lay ahead of Bill tomorrow, and even that was better than going back: the terrible moments when she had thought Bill was dead.

  He’d always been the strong one, the one she could rely on always to be there for love and support and good common sense. She’d taken all that for granted; she hadn’t given his exceptional tiredness a thought, or his constant munching of indigestion tablets. He must have been struggling with that narrowed artery, feeling awful, and she hadn’t even noticed the warning signs. Too wrapped up in the absorbing job, of course, the vampire job that Cat – and even Cammie – felt had sucked the blood out of their family life. She felt crushed by guilt.

  At last, desperate to escape her own thoughts and the oppressive atmosphere in the car, she turned on the radio. ‘Let’s get the Scottish news,’ she said brightly. ‘Maybe they’ll have a report on the game.’

  Cammie agreed though without much enthusiasm and Cat took out her earpiece. Marjory half-listened to the latest spat in the referendum campaign between the Yeses and the Noes and tuned out another episode in the ongoing disaster that was the Edinburgh trams. It was only the last brief tailpiece that caught her attention.

  ‘In what the Galloway Constabulary are describing as an arson attack, a cottage by Clatteringshaws Loch, near Newton Stewart, was burnt to the ground in the early hours of this morning. There were no casualties but police are appealing for witnesses.

  ‘And now, sport …’

  Marjory felt the shock ripple through her. She could hear Marnie Bruce’s voice: ‘just an old cottage’ – and it was a cottage beside Clatteringshaws Loch that Karen Bruce had been living in when she’d been visiting her all those years ago.

  An arson attack – someone had tried to kill Marnie Bruce. At least they hadn’t succeeded, but would someone see to it that she was allocated some sort of protection?

  Her thoughts must have shown on her face. She glanced in the mirror as she pulled out to overtake a slower car and saw Cat’s eyes on her.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ she said fiercely. ‘Just for once, try concentrating on your own family. Dad’s having an operation tomorrow – oh, they make it sound nothing but he’s still in danger. If you loved him you wouldn’t even be able to think about anything else.’

  ‘Cat, of course I feel that. But someone may be in danger—’

  ‘And no one else will be able to look after them – just you? Either you’re delusional or all your colleagues are incompetent. I back delusional. But you’re allowed to choose.’ She got her mother’s mobile out of her bag.

  ‘Here it is. Take it if you like and make your call. But I meant what I said.’ Marjory waited for Cammie to say something – anything, but he didn’t. He was staring out of the window as if he hadn’t even heard.

  She bowed her head. ‘All right,’ she said.

  DC Hepburn felt quite shocked when she went into the waiting room with DS MacNee. Marnie Bruce’s bright red-gold hair was dull and stringy, with a patch of frizzled ends near the front; her eyelids were heavy
with purple, bruised-looking shadows and puffy with tears and lack of sleep. The room was warm but she was shivering visibly.

  ‘Sorry to keep you, Marnie,’ MacNee said. ‘You know DC Hepburn, don’t you? She’s brought along a couple of letters from your lawyer that we need you to read. We’ll want to read them afterwards, with your agreement.’

  Marnie looked at him coolly. ‘And if I don’t agree?’

  ‘Then we would have to get a court order. Obviously we’d prefer not to.’

  Hepburn held out the letters and Marnie looked at them incuriously. ‘Who are they from?’

  ‘This one’s from the lawyer, I expect.’ Hepburn indicated the typewritten one. ‘This one – it’s addressed to you in what we believe is Anita Loudon’s writing.’

  Marnie’s eyes sharpened. ‘But Anita’s dead!’

  ‘She left this with her lawyer some time ago.’

  Marnie took the letters and examined them with frustrating carefulness. Then she gave a little shrug and opened the typewritten one. She read it, then held it out to Hepburn.

  ‘He’s just asking to see me on Monday, that’s all. About her “legacy”, whatever that may mean.’

  Hepburn glanced at it but said nothing. Marnie was examining the second letter now. She made to open it, then stopped.

  She’s scared of what it’s going to say, Hepburn thought. And no wonder, with what had hit her these past few days. ‘Do you want me to open it for you?’ she said gently, but Marnie shook her head.

  At last she slipped her finger under the flap, opened it and took out the letter. There were three sheets, covered on both sides in Anita Loudon’s looping writing. She read it slowly.

  Hepburn found she was holding her breath. MacNee, standing beside her, shifted impatiently. Marnie read the last page then put it down in her lap.

  MacNee, unable to contain himself any longer, said, ‘Well, what does it say, then?’

  The woman looked almost dazed. ‘I-I don’t quite know,’ she said. ‘There’s too much …’

  ‘Shall I take it?’ Hepburn said softly and with a gentle, unhurried movement held out her hand.

  For a moment nothing happened, and then Marnie gave a little shrug. ‘Why not?’ and handed it over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  As DC Hepburn sorted the pages of Anita Loudon’s letter into order she wondered what a graphologist would make of it: written in blue-green ink, florid, with little round circles as dots over the ‘i’s and floating ‘t’ strokes that only sometimes connected with the upright. She began to read, with DS MacNee peering over her shoulder.

  Dear Marnie

  Remember me? Haven’t seen you since you were a wee girl. If you’re reading this, I must be dead – don’t want to think about that.

  I’ve left everything to you – nothing in the bank, but there’s the house. Why you? There’s no one else – and it’s to make up for what I did to you.

  Did your mum ever tell you the truth? She said she wouldn’t but maybe you know by now she killed a child – she was just a kid herself, though. I was there when she did it and I was a witness at the trial. And I lied. I shouldn’t have. It was a terrible thing I did, to her and to you.

  It was Drax did it really. Oh, Kirstie – that’s your mother’s real name, Kirstie Burnside – she killed him, right enough, but it was Drax made her do it. Tommy Crichton was a cheeky little sod and he’d tried it on with Drax, slagged him off about his mum being a slut – well, you didn’t do that. He had to pay. Drax said that, like it was some sort of law, or something.

  Us kids were allowed out after dark late for Halloween, guising round the doors, running about shouting and laughing. We got Tommy to come along with us – he was chuffed because we were the big kids. We took him away, off into the big field for a special game – Hunting, we told him it was called. And we did. He laughed at first. Then we surrounded him, and he couldn’t get away – it was horrible, horrible. I’ll have nightmares tonight, writing that.

  Drax wouldn’t do it himself, of course, he just wound up Kirstie to do it instead. He got a real kick out of that. She was his slave, you see. We both were – we had to be if we wanted to be his friend. And we did. I still do.

  We were all yelling, chanting, sort of. Kirstie went crazy, frenzied, Drax yelling her on, Tommy screaming. I covered my eyes but couldn’t move, somehow, not till he was just lying there and Drax said, ‘Come on, run!’ And we ran and ran and it was exciting and awful at the same time – and not real, too, in a way – like it really was a game.

  Once the police found out, I had to say he hadn’t been there, that he’d come along after. Kirstie wouldn’t say anything different – knew she’d never see him again if she did.

  Don’t know how much she saw him once they let her out. He disappeared for a bit but then he came back here and brought Kirstie to work in his business and we all met up again. She was Karen by then – I still think of her as Karen. He was sleeping with her and with me too. Never told her that.

  Then something went wrong and they disappeared. Don’t know why. Never saw her again. He appeared at my door a couple of years later, said she’d just done a bunk but I’m not sure. If she was causing trouble he could of killed her. He might, easily.

  If I’d told the truth maybe they’d have seen she was a victim, needing help. Drax was two years older and she’d an awful life. Her dad was a drunken monster – got put away for it himself, afterwards.

  You’d think it would fade all this time later. But it doesn’t. Gets worse. Didn’t think about it too much back then but now I think about it all the time. Don’t know if I believe in Judgement and that but I just get more and more scared. Mustn’t tell about that, though – or about all the other things he’s done – or I’ll lose Drax. But sometimes I think I’ll die of fear.

  Are you his daughter? Karen never said and I never asked. Didn’t want to know. All I ever wanted was to marry him and have his kids but he was never the marrying kind. And it’s way too late now.

  Hope the house sells well for you. You deserve whatever you can get – among us, we really screwed up your life. To be honest, it’s to make me feel better about what I did and maybe it has, a little. Only a little.

  I’m sorry – I couldn’t help it. Don’t hate me. If your mother’s still alive, she’ll tell you she understands.

  Anita

  There was a brief silence as the officers finished reading. Then MacNee said, ‘Right. Thanks, Marnie. I’ll leave you with DC Hepburn.’

  After he had gone, Hepburn said nothing, waiting for Marnie to speak. Reading it must have been a very emotional experience and though the prolonged silence felt uncomfortable she was determined not to break it.

  At last, her voice flat, Marnie said, ‘The house – that’ll be a lot of money, right? I didn’t know about the house, I swear. I expect you’ll really think it was me that killed her, now.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I suppose you might have known – she could have told you she was leaving it to you when you met – but the cottage being petrol-bombed is a good indication that you’re another victim.

  ‘What Anita said about your mother, though – does that make you feel any better?’

  Marnie grimaced. ‘Better? I don’t know. I’m not sure I can feel anything any more. She was always sort of his puppet, being jerked around. OK, he was controlling her but she let him, didn’t she? I was just … nothing.’ Her voice faltered. ‘Do you know what I wish? I wish to God I’d never started this.

  ‘Maybe my mother’s dead, maybe she isn’t. But Anita Loudon wouldn’t have got killed if I hadn’t come asking questions, would she, and I wouldn’t be scared to death because Drax is trying to kill me.’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ Hepburn pointed out. ‘There are other angles we’re checking out but what’s certainly true is that your life’s in danger. DS MacNee says you’ve refused police protection – I really think that’s crazy. You ought to take it.’

  Marnie shifted restlessly i
n her seat. ‘It’d be like being a criminal myself, being watched – and anyway they can’t protect you all the time, can they?’

  ‘So what are you going to do, then?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ It was a wail, and then she started to cry. ‘They’ve given me a loan because all my belongings were burnt and they told me to stay somewhere nearby. But that woman from the B & B in Bridge Street put me on a blacklist and I don’t know who would take me. They’d know who I was, too, and I can’t trust anyone, can I? What am I to do? I’m – I’m scared.’

  She looked so helpless! Wrung with pity, Hepburn said, ‘You could come and stay with me.’

  As she said it, the advice ‘Engage brain before putting mouth in gear’ came forcibly to mind. She must be mad! If anyone got to know she’d find herself out of a job. But she’d said it now.

  ‘Look, perhaps this is crazy,’ she went on, not waiting for a response, ‘but that way no one would know where you were. And come to think of it, you’d be doing me a favour too. My mother’s started getting very confused and I’m worried about leaving her alone all day. Until I get proper care arranged it would be a relief to know someone was around.

  ‘Oh, she’s not mad or difficult or anything. She’s a really sweet person, though I have to warn you she doesn’t speak English – just French. She’s very used to people not understanding, though – she gestures and smiles a lot.’

  Marnie had stopped crying and was looking bemused, as well she might. Probably reckons I’m off my head, Hepburn thought, and she could be right.

  At last Marnie said hesitantly, ‘That’s – that’s kind of you. I hate taking favours, but I don’t know what else I can do. If it helps with your mum I’ll feel better.’

  It was just what Hepburn had suggested and she managed to say, ‘Great!’ with suitable enthusiasm, despite a chill of foreboding. ‘I’ll just go and have a word with DS MacNee, then I’ll come and fetch you.’ Then she added awkwardly, ‘I – I won’t mention this arrangement to him. It’s just between the two of us, OK?’