Burnout

by Claire MacLeary

  Douglas’s head shot up.

  ‘You’re the one with the university degree. Put your tiny brain cells to work.’

  For once Douglas was lost for words.

  ‘Well?’ A muscle worked in Chisolm’s jaw.

  Desperately, Douglas looked to his colleagues for support. One after another they averted their eyes.

  Finally: ‘Rohypnol?’ The question in his voice suggested the answer was more in hope than expectation.

  Dave Wood gave a hoot of derisive laughter. Duffy looked quickly away. The other two watched and waited for Chisolm’s reaction.

  ‘Don’t mock,’ he responded, to Dunn’s audible sigh of relief. ‘Flunitrazepam, also known as Rohypnol, is rapid onset and has a short half-life. It metabolizes rapidly, so is undetectable after a short period of time.’

  ‘There’s one problem, though.’ Dunn moved to redeem himself. ‘It has been banned for medical use in the UK since 2016.’

  ‘Point taken. But it could have been illicitly sourced or old stock.’

  ‘Even so,’ Dunn persisted, ‘the blue dye that’s put into it now will appear if it’s added to any drink. Unless the liquid is very dark in colour. If we’re trying to stick this on the husband, that rules out the wife’s morning cuppa.’

  ‘If the drug was purchased on the internet,’ Chisolm countered, ‘generic versions don’t necessarily have the dye.’

  ‘True, sir.’

  ‘Then again, he could have used GHB. That’s colourless and odourless and has an even shorter half-life.’ Chisolm steepled his fingers. ‘So, humour me, you lot. If we run with this hypothesis, is it likely this outwardly respectable woman would have self-medicated such drugs?’

  ‘Categorically not, sir.’ Douglas was back on form. ‘Sheena Struthers had the means, though I’d have to qualify that. A woman of her…’ He hesitated. ‘…age group, almost certainly wouldn’t have had the knowledge.’

  ‘Five bags, full, sir,’ Duffy muttered under his breath.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘She could have Googled it, sir,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll continue, then, if I may,’ Douglas said portentously. ‘She had the opportunity. Turning to the husband, Gordon Struthers had the means, he had the motive, and he had ample opportunity. He…’

  Chisolm held up a hand. ‘Let me stop you there.’

  ‘Wh-what…?’ Douglas’s mouth turned down. He didn’t relish being halted mid-flow.

  ‘If we’re pointing the finger at the husband, we’ll need a lot more than that to build a case.’

  There was a general murmur of assent.

  ‘So. Actions. We have to look again at Gordon Struthers’ movements that morning, see how far he can back them up. Burnett, I want you to go over his statement with a fine-tooth comb. Duffy, you talk to the lab, see what they can do. Strachan, get back up to the hospital. Use all your feminine skills to get into Sheena Struthers’ head. Wood, get hold of that cleaner. Again, pin her movements down to the wire. Dunn, the financial irregularities Burnett flagged up, see what else you can find.’

  ‘Bit difficult, sir, without a warrant.’

  ‘We don’t have a hope in hell of getting that,’ Brian retorted. ‘But Gordon Struthers is hiding something, I feel it in my bones.’

  ‘Then apply some pressure,’ Chisolm said briskly. ‘Interview him again. Create a timeline of his movements. The time frame is critical if we’re to make a case. Pin him down to the last second, if you can.’

  ‘If we could only get into his computer,’ Douglas mused. Brazenly, he eyed Brian. ‘Fancy asking if he’d give us a look-see?’

  Brian snorted. ‘In your dreams.’

  ‘Don’t ask, don’t get,’ Duffy added. ‘If he’s nothing to hide, he might agree, just to get us off his back.’

  ‘It’s worth a go,’ Chisolm decided. ‘But, remember: kid gloves. We’re talking voluntary surrender. It’s critical we make the right call.’

  ‘Sir.’

  There was a stir in the room, as the team gathered papers together and made to leave.

  ‘Before you leave.’ Chisolm held up a hand. ‘A word of caution. I know you’re all frustrated that we’ve made so little progress on this one. But before you go rampaging, keep in mind that we’re working on a hypothesis here. And that’s all it is.’ He ran a hand across his brow. ‘Before I can take it upstairs, we need to be one hundred per cent sure there’s criminal activity involved and, what’s more, if Gordon Struthers is culpable, that the wife is not in any way implicated. Plus, we’ll need a load of solid evidence before they’ll sanction seizing mobile phones, what have you. You’ve already heard Struthers’ solicitor is on the ball. So tread warily.’ He broke off. ‘It’s important we’re sure-footed around this one.’

  A Different Complexion

  ‘Brian.’ Maggie dropped a kiss on his cheek. ‘I’m so pleased to see you. Thanks for coming along at such short notice.’

  They were in Marks & Spencer’s cafe, the closest Maggie could get to Queen Street without risking contact with those senior officers who’d ended her husband’s career.

  ‘You said it was an emergency.’ Sceptical, he rubbed at an imagined lipstick mark. ‘I dropped everything. Nipped out as soon as I could.’ He sat down beside her. ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’

  Frown. ‘No. Should I?’

  ‘It’s Colin.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s been nicked.’

  Brian’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What for?’

  ‘Theft.’ Her chin trembled. ‘That, and possession.’

  He cocked his head. ‘You’re having me on.’

  ‘No.’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘Wish I was.’

  ‘Take deep breaths.’ He extended a hand. ‘In…out…and again.’

  Maggie felt the thudding of her heart, the warmth of the strong hand pressed to her chest. Couldn’t decide which disturbed her more.

  ‘Now.’ Brian’s hand dropped to his side. ‘Tell me, when did this happen?’

  ‘Lunchtime today. It was your desk sergeant rang me, asked me to come in.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Yes. Straight away. I asked Sergeant Cowie to ring upstairs, see if you were around…’

  ‘Sorry.’ He shrugged an apology. ‘I was in a meeting. Only just got finished.’

  ‘Anyhow, it transpires Colin and another boy were on their lunch break when one or other of them had the bright idea to nick some badges off a car.’

  Brian grinned. ‘Sounds familiar.’

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ Maggie snapped. ‘It’s not funny.’

  His face straightened. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Uniform caught them red-handed. Then, when they emptied their pockets, didn’t the eejits have the makings of a couple of spliffs?’

  ‘Classic.’ Brian smothered a smile. ‘But you said Colin had been nicked. Have they actually laid charges?’

  ‘No. Cowie said it was up to the car owner.’

  ‘Well, then, you’ve nothing to worry about. There’s no way that’s going to happen.’

  ‘That’s just it.’ The tears welled again. ‘The car belongs to James Gilruth.’

  ‘Christ!’ Brian’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets. ‘That puts a different complexion on the thing altogether.’

  ‘I know. That’s why I was so desperate to find you, Brian.’ She clasped his hand in both her own. ‘I knew, if anybody would be able to sort this out, it would be you.’

  As she voiced the words, Maggie was overwhelmed by a tide of mixed emotions. She was hard-pressed to put a finger on what, exactly, they were. What she did know was that she’d seen another side to Brian. Over the years, she’d been careless of their friendship: taken his familiar presen
ce for granted, been dismissive of his abilities. Worse, since George’s death – guilty thought – she’d used Brian shamelessly in pursuit of her own ends. That afternoon, he’d demonstrated a positivity and incisiveness that she couldn’t help but admire. Looking back, she realised how devoted he’d been, how steady.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He raised the hand she held, planted a soft kiss on the back of her own.

  Maggie’s pulse quickened. Could she have a future with Brian after all?

  Don’t get carried away! Her rational head kicked in. Just because you’re in a pickle and he’s come to the rescue doesn’t mean you should start thinking about marriage. Soberly, Maggie weighed her options. What were her prospects – a forty-something mother of two with no money? And it’s not as if she was pretty. Well, not seriously pretty. And there was the eye, still. She’d determined to do something about it once she’d succeeded in her quest for justice. But would Brian want her? She experienced a small shiver of fear. She’d repulsed him in the past.

  For the first time, Maggie realised she had feelings for the man – witness how put out she’d been when he’d come on to that girl. Horrible thought. That was ages ago. They could be an item by now.

  ‘I’d better go.’ Brian freed his hand. ‘Boss is waiting on a report.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Leave it with me.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  All Jumbled Up

  In the rigid confines of the orthopaedic chair, Susan stirred. She stretched aching limbs, ground bunched fists into her eyes. In the half-light of the hospital room, she could make out the ghostly outline of the drip-stand, beyond that the small figure on the bed.

  She’d called in earlier on her airwave radio, been told to stay put. Her stomach rumbled. Oh, to hell! Susan had sacrificed hours of her precious free time in the hope of getting a result. But for every brief moment of lucidity, Sheena Struthers seemed to spend an inordinate length of time in deep sleep. Susan didn’t dare argue the toss lest she incur the wrath of her boss. She was scared to death of Inspector Chisolm. One angry look from him could send her scurrying for the sanctuary of the female toilets.

  She’d dozed off again when the door swung open and a nurse bustled in. The woman’s face didn’t look familiar – an agency nurse perhaps – and the light was too dim to make out her name tag. She ignored Susan’s presence, snapped on blue latex gloves from a dispenser and busied herself checking the patient’s vital signs.

  That’s what I get for messing with the charge nurse, Susan thought, wryly. Her stomach growled again. She’d ask the nurse to keep an eye while she nipped down to the vending machines. It was hours since she’d last eaten, and that was only a Diet Coke and a two-finger KitKat. Plus, she was dying for a pee.

  She eyed the figure bending over the bed. Hell, she might even have time to go down to the cafe on the second floor, stretch her legs, use the toilet while she was there.

  ‘How are you doing?’ She decided a charm offensive was in order.

  ‘What’s it to you?’ came the retort.

  ‘Just asking,’ Susan tried to pass it off.

  The nurse responded by turning her back.

  Never mind, Susan rubbed scrunched fists into hollow eye sockets, she could always use the en-suite. Now she’d been sitting that long, it was sod’s law that Sheena Struthers would wake up if she left the room.

  *

  As Sheena Struthers stirred, Susan shot out of her seat.

  She stood by the bed. ‘Sheena?’

  ‘You again?’ Drowsy voice.

  She smiled. ‘’Fraid so. Is it okay if I put the light on?’ In the gloom, Susan could barely make out Sheena’s features, far less her expression. She reached to a switch above the bed.

  ‘Don’t!’ Uttered with such vehemence, Susan started.

  ‘Not a problem.’ Hastily, Susan lowered her arm. She’d got off to a bad start. Still, at least the patient was awake.

  Susan’s eyes strayed to the window. The sky was streaked pink with the first glimmers of daylight. Beyond the window, birds were tweeting. Down the corridor a trolley clattered. Soft-soled shoes squeaked on polished floors. The sounds of the world waking up. She stifled a yawn. Please God, now the focus of the investigation seemed to be swinging back towards the husband, she wouldn’t have to spend too much longer in this dreary room.

  Sheena Struthers struggled to sit up. ‘What is it this time?’

  ‘Just a few more questions? I won’t keep you long. I wonder if we could run over the events leading up to your admission?’

  ‘But why? I already told you I can’t remember anything about that day. I’ve been racking my brains, but I’m afraid, from the moment I got into bed until I woke up in here, there’s nothing. Nothing at all.’

  ‘You don’t remember waking that morning?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or getting your morning tea?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or trying to get out of bed.’

  In the orange glow of the rising sun, Susan’s eyes flashed irritation. ‘I already told you.’

  Susan changed the subject. Wouldn’t do to get the patient agitated. Susan had given Vi Coutts a body-swerve after that first, bruising, encounter. She was chary of a return match.

  ‘Now I can see you properly, you’re looking heaps better.’

  ‘Am I?’ Doubtful look.

  ‘Definitely. Your eyes are clearer, and your skin’s a better colour.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been allowed out of bed.’

  ‘You don’t have a handbag mirror?’

  ‘The nurses comb my hair and, well,’ Sheena cast a glance over the apparatus at the side of the bed, ‘appearance has been the least of my concerns.’

  ‘Your husband, hasn’t he…?’

  ‘Gordon’s fetched bits and pieces from home, but as you know,’ she clasped to her head the hand that wasn’t attached to a tube, ‘my head’s been all over the place since my…’ Pregnant pause. ‘Accident.’

  ‘You’ve had a bad time.’ Susan’s sympathy wasn’t assumed. ‘Little wonder you’re feeling low.’

  No response.

  ‘What you’ve been through is enough to muddle anybody’s head. So don’t worry if you haven’t been able to answer my questions up till now.’ She took Sheena’s hand in hers, gave it a little squeeze. ‘I’m not trying to hassle you. As I told you before, I’m here to help.’

  ‘Before I left you last time,’ Susan tried to build on their small moment of intimacy, ‘I asked you about something you said to me.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘“Enough”, you said. What did you mean by that?’

  ‘Nothing. I mean…’ Flustered look. ‘You must have misheard. I don’t recall saying any such thing.’

  Susan eyeballed her. ‘I doubt that’s the case.’

  ‘Are you questioning my word?’ Sheena snatched her hand away. ‘My mind’s all jumbled up, can’t you understand?’

  ‘Not at all. Just trying to clarify.’ Susan leaned forward. ‘I’m trying to help you, Sheena.’

  Sheena’s face set, her lips compressed in a thin line.

  ‘Enough of what?’ Susan pressed, heart thudding. Was this the clue that would unravel the puzzle, or the delirious ramblings of a troubled mind?’

  Resolutely, Sheena Struthers turned her head away.

  Bugger! She’s clammed up now. But why?

  Susan laid her hand on Sheena’s shoulder. ‘You have to trust me,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘Woman to woman. I’m telling the truth when I say I’m here to help you.’

  Beneath the starched sheet, Sheena’s body stiffened. ‘Then why do you keep asking me the same questions over and over?’

  ‘I’m trying to find out what happened to you, that’s all.’

  ‘Happene
d?’ With a look of utter hopelessness, Sheena Struthers sank back onto the bank of pillows, her eyelids heavy, her mouth slack.

  She’s falling asleep again. For the second time, Susan cursed herself for not being quicker off the mark.

  She bent over the bed. ‘Can you remember what happened, Sheena?’ Urgent whisper. ‘Anything? Even the smallest detail?’

  Sheena’s eyelids fluttered. ‘Gordon,’ she whispered through lips that were dry and cracked.

  Susan’s pulse raced. ‘What about Gordon?’ This might be the breakthrough she’d been waiting for.

  There was silence, then, save for the tick and wheeze of the machines.

  A Bad Patch

  ‘Maggie?’ Ros raised her head from that day’s newspaper. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Ask away.’ The two were alone in the staffroom of Seaton School.

  ‘Did you ever think of leaving him? George, I mean.’

  Maggie looked into the troubled face of the younger woman. ‘I might have cursed him now and again.’ She smiled with just a trace of sadness. ‘But actually leaving? The answer’s no.’

  ‘Thought not.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Maggie hastened to add. ‘George was no saint. Not that he ever cheated on me,’ she added hastily. ‘And in the police service, believe me, there’s plenty opportunity for that. No, he was devoted, bless him, from the day we first met. It’s just…’ She broke off. ‘Now he’s gone I’ve made a saint out of him. For the kids’ sake as well as my own. But when I cast my mind back, I feel, if I’m honest, he lacked ambition. Was content with a quiet life, whereas I…’ She pulled a face. ‘I’ve always wanted more, Ros. More than is good for me, my mum used to say.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ the younger woman remarked. ‘Nic’s ambitious too. Not just for himself,’ she explained with a just a trace of embarrassment. ‘For me too.’

  ‘George was the opposite,’ Maggie chuckled. ‘Not that he was lazy. He put in the hours, rarely turned down an offer of overtime. But, deep down, I resented that he didn’t try harder. To better himself, I mean. Sounds old-fashioned, when you put it like that, but he was satisfied with his lot, whereas other guys – men with less ability in my opinion – rose above him. That, I’m now ashamed to admit, stuck in my craw.’