Remember Me 2

by Ian C. P. Irvine

  “Yes. Please.”

  McKenzie lowered himself on to the rock beside the old man, and for a while sat silently, admiring the curve of the bay and the white sands, and listening to the hypnotic lapping of the waves as they ran along the beach and broke gently on the shore.

  It was truly a wonderful place.

  It reminded him of the film ‘Local Hero’, the classic film from his childhood where an oil magnate from the States fell in love with the Scottish scenery and a beach just like this, and refused to build an oil refinery that might threaten it all.

  “You have a wonderful home, Mr Gray. I love your front room and the sweeping vista of the sea and the beach. It’s incredible.”

  “Aye, that it is. It’s the source of all my inspiration. And it’s where I get all my work done.”

  “Work? What do you do? I’m sorry, I thought you were retired.”

  “Retired? Only from the rat race of life in the city. No, I write. I’m a writer. At least, I have been for the past twenty years.”

  “Aha… yes, I saw your laptop on the table in the room. Is that where you write?”

  “Every day. Three thousand words. Without fail.”

  “Wow. What do you write? Is it possible I’ve read any of your work?”

  “Thrillers mainly. Psychological thrillers. But you won’t have heard of me. I write under a pen-name.”

  “That’s a big achievement. I hear it’s almost impossible to get a publisher these days.”

  “Aye, it is. I gave up on that malarkey a long time ago. I self-publish. I do it all myself. I’m not so successful. I don’t sell many. But that’s not the point. I write because I want to, because I have to… that’s what a writer is, someone who has to write, must write, even if no one else is reading what they do. Although that’s always a bonus.”

  “So, who reads your work?”

  “My friends. The people I want to read my work… sometimes I send them my books for free. Writing is a good way of expressing ideas and sharing them with others. Anyway, enough about that. I’m sure that’s not why you came all this way out to see me.”

  “No, but it’s interesting.”

  McKenzie took the hint and didn’t pursue it any further.

  Instead, they sat together for a little longer, watching the distant colours in the sky, and listening to the sea.

  “Okay, I’m ready.” Mr Gray announced sometime later, and slowly raised himself to his feet. “Shall we?”

  Back inside, the tea was already poured and waiting. They sat down and took a few sips.

  “So, I know you’ve probably been asking the big question, ‘was she raped’?” The old man looked at them, and they could see the stress in his eyes. “I’ve asked myself the same questions for the past twenty-five years. And honestly, I don’t know. But the older I get, the more I think that perhaps she was. But it was all very different then.”

  “How?” Grant interrupted. “Rape is rape.”

  McKenzie shot her a look. She immediately shut up.

  “Did she go to the police?” McKenzie asked.

  “No. She didn’t. And that’s the thing.”

  “A lot of rape victims stay silent. Especially in those days.” Grant added, gently. This time McKenzie let it pass.

  “So how did you come to hear of it, Mr Gray? You mentioned earlier that you didn’t know about Maggie’s issues until the school’s councillor brought it up with you later.”

  “That’s true. The whole time this was happening, I was down in the school hall with the rest of the pupils… sorry, graduates. And I never heard anything about it for about six months. Maggie went to university and started studying Psychology and Philosophy at St. Andrews. About a month before Christmas, later that same year, she came to my office one day. She was in a terrible state. She told me she’d been raped by three of my teachers on the evening of the Ball. I listened to everything she had to say. Very carefully. I took it very seriously. I spoke to all the teachers at the school who’d known her, including her old councillor, and I got a lot of mixed reports from everyone. The girl was obviously very intelligent, but confused and emotionally damaged. I talked with the teachers concerned, Blake, Weir and McRae, and their side of the story was very different to hers, as I alluded to earlier.”

  “And what happened then? Did you get the police involved?” Grant prompted. This time McKenzie did glare at her, and a lot more menacingly than before.

  “No. Maggie was adamant she didn’t want them to get involved. But she wanted me to fire the three teachers, and to make an example of Blake. She particularly wanted me to punish Blake. Even then I got the impression that she felt very strongly for him, and that matters weren’t as simple as she claimed. There were a lot of complex emotions at play, that was evident.”

  “Rape affects victims very deeply, Daniel, and many victims are raped by people they love or are deeply acquainted with. Familiarity, however, does not equate to permission.”

  “Thank you, Grant. I think we all appreciate that.” McKenzie declared, “However, for now, please let Mr Gray elaborate on the situation as he experienced it at the time.”

  McKenzie sipped his tea, then offered some more from the pot to Mr Gray. He shook his head.

  “I don’t think that we should forget that this was 1993. Attitudes were very different back then.”

  “Rape is rape, regardless of where or when it takes place.” Grant responded immediately.

  “Grant, could you please take a moment to make a fresh pot of tea, and if possible, call the hotel and reserve a room for me for this evening along with the crew of the helicopter?”

  Grant glared at McKenzie for a moment, then stood, uttered “Yes, Guv,” and left the room.

  “Grant is correct,” McKenzie continued. “What happened in the end? Did you discuss this with anyone else? How was it left?”

  “I could think about nothing else for months. My work at school began to deteriorate. I need you to know that I took this very seriously indeed. But, at the end of the day, she was accusing three of my best teachers of something that in all honesty I couldn’t see them guilty of doing. They were good people. And she was now a consenting adult. A consenting adult. After all my considerations on the matter, I eventually decided that she was consenting. I knew that she was a very mixed up young lady… sorry… woman, now. Then… I came to believe that she had taken the initiative, and she had seduced them. They were young men, she was beautiful. They’d only done what many other men would have done too. Maybe even you, Mr McKenzie? Have you never ever done anything that you regretted?”

  A shudder passed down McKenzie’s spine. Did Mr Gray know that McKenzie had slept with his colleague at work, who’d then ended up dead because of it? Had Mr Gray done his research? Or had he just hit the nail on the head, by accident?

  “I understand the point you’re making, but did you discuss it with anyone else, or did the final action rest with you?” McKenzie probed further, deflecting the need to answer. Refusing to answer.

  “I decided not to do anything more.” He replied. Then waited for a response from McKenzie. He offered none.

  When the silence became uncomfortable, Daniel Gray continued.

  “The girl seemed reluctant… no she refused to let me get the police involved. I did suggest we should, but she said no. Just ‘no’. I thought that if she had been raped, as she claimed, then she should, would be happy to get them involved. But she didn’t. She was worried about her family, her career prospects, her university place… She seemed determined to ruin their careers, but refused to put her own in jeopardy.”

  “To be fair, that is probably understandable, I think, if she had been raped.” McKenzie added. “If she was raped, then she was already a victim, and she may not have wanted to make it even worse by setting herself up to be the victim once again.”

  “Anyway, the point is, she made me the judge and the jury, and left it all down to me to decide. Which I did, but at the end of the day I placed
the careers and statements of the teachers above hers. I told her I would take no action against them. She was furious. She made threats against me. And then I never heard from her again. Or about her, until I later read of her death in the obituaries, a hobby which a lot of us fall prone to when we start getting older.”

  McKenzie nodded.

  He drank some more of his tea.

  More silence.

  But this time, Mr Gray did not continue.

  It seemed that he had said all he was prepared to.

  For now.

  McKenzie looked up and saw that Grant had been standing in the doorway. Silently. For once not speaking. How long she had been standing there McKenzie did not know.

  After several minutes, Mr Gray announced that he was tired. Very tired. He wanted to go to bed.

  McKenzie went through the formalities of handing him a card and requesting Mr Gray to contact him if he could think of anything else that might aid them in their investigations.

  “I don’t know who killed the men. Or why? All I can tell you is about the incident which I know connected them together. Which I’ve done. It’s probably got nothing to do with their deaths. But I told you what I know, because you asked me to.”

  McKenzie nodded and shook the man’s hand.

  They walked towards the door.

  “How did you find me here, by the way?” Mr Gray asked.

  “We got your name and details from the school office. That gave us enough information to track you down from official databases.”

  “Good. I’m ex-directory now. I’ve become a bit of a hermit in recent years, and that’s the way I prefer it. I keep myself to myself.”

  -------------------------

  Three minutes later McKenzie and Grant climbed into their car and left Daniel Gray standing in the doorway of his cottage.

  After they had gone, Mr Gray wandered down the side of his cottage, carrying a bottle of whisky and a glass.

  He sat back down on his favourite rock overlooking the beach, poured himself a drink, took a mouthful, and closed his eyes.

  From deep within, waves of emotion rolled up and washed over him.

  He made no attempt to stop the tears, and for the first time since his wife’s death, he sobbed his heart out, howling like a child.

  Finally, at long last, it was out.

  Now, hopefully, it would all end.

  Chapter 30

  Sunday

  Island of Coll

  Airport

  23.00

  McKenzie stood on the tarmac at the airport waiting for the last moment before he had to board the helicopter for the return trip back to Edinburgh.

  Although he’d thought the lateness of the hour would necessitate an over-night stay on the island, the pilot was keen to fly back that evening.

  The good news was that a break in the weather would last for the rest of the evening so the flight back should be much smoother than it was on the way up. The bad news was that McKenzie would not be able to visit the old headmaster in the morning before returning to Edinburgh.

  “Would you please check on him before you go?” McKenzie asked Grant.

  “No problem. It might mean another night on the island, if I miss the ferry again, but I think it’s a good idea just to stop by and make sure he’s okay.”

  “I might have some more questions to pop to him. Or you might think of some yourself. But go easy on the questions about rape and if he should have done more about it then. All those who were involved are now dead, so rightly or wrongly, that case is dead too. The big question is, was what happened then related to their recent deaths? And also, did the poor girl really commit suicide, or was there another reason for her death? I’m not saying there was, but we have to just ask the question.”

  “I agree.” Grant said simply, not venturing into any other conversation either way about what had happened so many years before.

  McKenzie shook her hand, thanked her, and she agreed to keep him updated and to act as a future liaison with Mr Gray, should it be needed.

  Not much later, they were airborne, and McKenzie settled back, closed his eyes, and started to think.

  Thankfully, this time around, everything was a lot smoother. In spite of his mind being awash with questions, the movement of the helicopter and the rhythmic drone of the engines soon lulled him to the edge of sleep.

  McKenzie didn’t resist.

  The next thing he knew, he felt a jolt, opened his eyes and found they had landed at Edinburgh Airport.

  An hour later he was home, tucked up in bed beside his wife and Little Bump.

  -------------------------

  Monday

  Outside Marie McDonald’s House

  01.20

  “Please, wait for me here for a few minutes.” Stuart instructed the taxi driver, before climbing out and rushing round to the other side to open Marie’s door and help her out.

  She smiled.

  “Are you real?” she laughed. “Not only are you handsome, a pleasure to be with, but you’re a gentleman into the bargain.”

  “Not true. I’m just helping you out of the taxi as quick as possible, to save money on the meter.”

  She laughed, then Stuart followed her as she walked towards the front door of her house and searched for her key in her handbag.

  “When are you going back?” Stuart asked.

  “I’m meant to be heading back down to London on Wednesday. I could perhaps put it off a few more days, but not much longer. I promised my children I’d be back by Saturday.”

  They stood in silence for a few moments, each looking into the other’s eyes.

  For the first time that day there was a moment of awkwardness. Marie’s eyes were searching his, anticipating a moment that did not seem to be forthcoming.

  “I’ve had an amazing, and totally unexpected day, Mr Stuart Nisbet. I mean, an amazing day.”

  Stuart smiled.

  Standing in the doorway to her childhood home, she reached out and took his hand in hers. “But I still don’t know anything about you. We never talked. We were just too busy laughing and enjoying ourselves.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself so much. That it wasn’t just one sided. Not just me.” He coughed lightly. “Can I be honest with you for a second?”

  “Stuart, please.” She reached up and stroked the side of his cheek with one finger. “Always be honest with me. Tell me no lies.”

  “Marie, I really like you. I would love it if we could see each other again tomorrow? But I have a problem. I have to work in the morning. If you were free, maybe I could take the afternoon off? Or… ”

  “I’m sorry, I’m busy tomorrow.” She replied.

  “Okay, sorry, I know that was a bit forward of me… never mind… ”

  “But I’m free in the evening, if you are? I’m sorry I can’t make it during the day, but I’ve arranged some meetings to try and arrange some funding with various charities I know of… ”

  Stuart’s eyes lit up. “What time at?”

  “Can I meet you at the bottom of the Walter Scott Monument in Princes Street at 6 p.m.?”

  “How about 5.59 p.m. So that I can get a little more time with you? Plus, there’s a restaurant I’d like to take you to, if you would like to go with me?”

  She smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him.

  “If you promise to greet me with a kiss, I’ll meet you at 5.58 pm!”

  “It’s a deal.”

  For a moment, Stuart hesitated. As if he wanted to say something else. Then, the moment passed, and he lifted a hand and stroked the back of Marie’s head, gently pulling it towards him.

  Leaning forward he kissed her on the forehead, then stepped back.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Marie McDonald. 5.58 p.m. on the dot.”

  Then he turned, walked down the steps, climbed into the taxi and drove off.

  As Marie watched him go, for the first time in a long time, she suddenly felt a very weird sensation.


  She felt alone.

  In the nicest possible way.

  -------------------------

  Monday

  Mark McRae’s house

  11.20

  The morning meeting in the Incident Room at the portacabin had gone quickly.

  Everyone had a lot to do, and not much had changed since the last meeting except for McKenzie’s news and an update from Wishart on the questioning of Scott Davies.

  When McKenzie told everyone what had happened and what he’d learned, everyone was shocked. McKenzie could sense the added emotion that the news brought to the case.

  The action to check on the coroner’s report for Maggie Sutherland was given to Wishart, along with the task of learning about her family. Who were the next of kin? Did she have any surviving relatives they could talk to?

  Next, Wishart’s report on Scott Davies’s questioning was short but sweet.

  He’d been happy to come into the station for questioning and was genuinely shocked to hear of Willy Thomson’s death. Scott Davies had explained the offer he’d made to Thomson at the Reunion Ball, and had an alibi for the rest of the evening which had been checked and confirmed.

  For now, he’d been released.

  Given the latest death of another teacher, McKenzie had asked Dean and Anderson to help McLeish and Lynch make faster progress on calling round all the ex-members of staff and checking on them. Anyone they couldn’t locate after a day was to be flagged up for special attention.

  The meeting had then closed, and McKenzie had successfully managed to escape the campus and avoid being collared by Gary Bruce who would no doubt soon be asking about why there was a new team of forensics people working on the fourth floor.

  McKenzie knew he’d have to face that problem later, but for now he and Brown were on the way over to the house of Mark McRae.

  The house was an attractive two-bedroom semi-detached bungalow in Musselburgh, with a front door that opened onto a quiet road, and a view of the river not far away.

  It was a bit tucked away from the city and its night life, but an easy Uber ride which wouldn’t break the bank. It was an upcoming area, and although quiet, McKenzie could see its attractions.