2007 - The Dead Pool

by Sue Walker; Prefers to remain anonymous

  Ally slammed down his glass. ‘So, you’re standing up for her now, eh?’ Raking back his chair, he marched towards the patio doors, hands thrust into pockets, and stared out into the night. ‘I never liked Morag Ramsay. That’s no secret. Craig was far too good for her. But I tolerated her. Her jealousy and possessiveness weren’t my problems. They were Craig’s. And her envy of lona…well, lona could give as good as she got in the catty women stakes. But Morag was more than that. In retrospect, she was a psychopath. It had to be her. There was no other plausible explanation. No random nutter running amok. And none of us wished lona or Craig ill. Just Morag.’ He shrugged his shoulders, and continued staring out at the black nothingness of the garden. ‘All I wanted from you was to ‘help’ the evidence, the case, along a bit. How the hell can you say now that she didn’t do it? How can you have helped them let her go?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ally. You’re getting things out of perspective. They would have let her go anyway. They didn’t have—and still don’t have—enough to hold her.’

  Ally spun round. ‘At the moment.’

  Eraser nodded. ‘Yes, okay, at the moment. But, listen. I don’t know for sure if she did it or not. But what I do know is this. The absolute bloody irony of it all is that if Morag hadn’t been drugged and boozed up, she either wouldn’t have done it in the first place or, if she had, she’d have remembered and admitted it. That, I know, is too much for you to handle right now, but it’s time it was said. lona may have brought it all upon herself. And that’s why I wasn’t prepared to get up in court and lie.’

  He knew he was pushing it. ‘And we’re guilty too for colluding in her stupid childish games. I see it now. You might think I’m some kind of rough, pig-ignorant dunce, but you’d be wrong. I recognize what you and lona were doing. What you are. What you were. Like some secret, silent virus, infecting us all with your apparent charm when, beneath that charm, you, both of you, were eating away at us, playing with us, fucking us around and fucking each other around. Oh, you used to be a nice guy a lot of the time, but the arrogant side of you—pumped up by lona, of course—thought you were a real player. Well, there’s a price to pay for that kind of manipulation. And it’s been and is being paid right now!’ He took a deep breath. ‘And, guess what? I can be a bit of a player too, pall You didn’t have a clue, did you? About me and lona. That I too had sampled her charms.’

  He knew he’d gone too far. Ally took four rapid steps forward. Fraser flinched. Was Ally going to hit him? But instead, he slammed his palm down on the desk. ‘You shit, Fraser. That’s it. That is bloody it! You’re no friend of mine. Just…Just keep away from me. I can’t trust you, can’t depend on you for anything ever again.’ With that, he marched towards the patio doors and wrenched them open.

  Fraser jumped up. ‘Look, stop! Ally, I’m sorry.’

  But Ally had disappeared into the garden and was tramping across the windswept lawn, taking a short cut down to the road.

  Fraser shouted after him. ‘Morag’s going to get her comeuppance anyway! Bonnie told me what’s happening with her. She’s going bankrupt, will lose the house, lose everything.’ He began trotting down the garden, desperate to catch up with Ally. ‘She’s got no family to speak of and she’ll be marked out as the killer who got off, wherever she goes. She’s broke and she’s losing her mind big time by all accounts. She’s finished, Ally. Finished, understand? Whether she ends up in prison or not, one way or another, she’ll be gone soon and probably end up selling the Big Issue, if not herself, down at Leith docks. Oh, and if it makes you feel any better, I’ll be following Morag to the bankruptcy courts before long. Wait, Ally, please! Don’t just walk away like that! I’m sorry…what I said about lona and me.’

  Suddenly, Ally halted and turned on his heel. It was impossible to see his face in the darkness, but the voice was steely. ‘I knew about you and lona. You weren’t important to her. She was just playing with you. She was good at that.’

  Fraser swallowed hard, trying to keep control. ‘Well, then. It looks like I’m getting my comeuppance all round. The business has gone to hell. I’m going to salvage what I can and get out of here as soon as possible. If I can sell the house for a decent sum, I might just break even and I’ll pay you back what I can.’ He held out his hands in appeasement. ‘But…I’ve thought about this for weeks. We have got to let everything from last summer go now. I mean it…it’s over, Ally. Just…just let it go, man. I’m sorry. Sorry that lona’s gone. Sorry for it all. But she is gone. Let it go.’

  His last few words had dropped to a whisper, whipping away on the wind. Ally wasn’t looking at him now. Instead, he’d half turned, ready to resume his journey down the garden. His body was eerily still, the wind flapping at the baggy shorts and shirt, his immobile silhouette like a near-ghost in the darkness. At last he moved his head to speak.

  ‘You can run away if you like. Bonnie too, for all I care. But, I tell you something. I’m going to stay. Until I know Morag Ramsay is going to get what is due to her. Bankruptcy? Destitution? They’re the least of her worries! She’s got two creditors that she mil honour. She will repay the debt she owes me. And, most of all, the one she owes lona.’

  Eraser shivered, watching as the ghostiy figure moved silendy away until it disappeared, engulfed by the night.

  Twelve

  Kirstin approached Jamie’s old house on foot, admiring the familiar sight before her. Jamie’s home was a magnificent Victorian villa, with the ruins of an old water mill further along the riverbank, at the edge of the property. Halfway up the gravel drive, she caught sight of Ross standing by a ground-floor bay window. In shirtsleeves and suit trousers he’d obviously come straight from work. His right hand was cutting short sharp chopping movements through the air as he spoke into his mobile. Probably making mincemeat of some poor minion who’d been forced to stay late at the office. Although the day had, inevitably, been another hot, steamy affair, by late afternoon the clouds had descended. Now, the night air was humid and heavy with the threat of thunder. Maybe she should have brought the car. She checked her watch. After nine. She’d allowed Ross to set the time for her visit; he was the one with the busy job, after all. Besides, it had left her free to talk to Donald Ferguson again, though she’d carefully omitted any of what Glen had confided in her. And she had called Glen. He’d seemed to sense her fragile mood over the phone and offered to meet up soon to talk more. She was grateful for the people who’d cared for Jamie. It was making her life easier, a bit less guilt-ridden. Both Donald and Glen, from their very different perspectives, had reassured her that whatever had been going on with Jamie, she shouldn’t blame herself for not being around. They had been around for him, and still he’d died.

  She paused in the driveway, still gazing at an over-animated Ross. Was she up to this? The day had been stifling, on the emotions as well as the body. The encounter with Morag Ramsay had been draining. There was something insidiously infectious about being in the presence of someone so brittle and tense, with such volcanic, suppressed depths of anger and pain. And here she was about to face another person with hidden depths of bitterness.

  She could remember the exact moment when she knew it was over, and that she was going to leave Ross. There had been no drama, no histrionics, no affair on either side. Rather, she’d been aware, by slow increments, of a change in him. He’d become more absorbed in his work, desperate to ‘get ahead’ at all costs, morphing into the kind of ruthless careerist she’d always abhorred. He seemed to have less and less time for her and her friends. She’d even resorted to going on holiday with them, leaving him happily slaving away at the office. And then finally, and most importantly, there had been his refusal to consider having children, fobbing her off with the ‘not yet’ excuse.

  Ross had not seen her departure coming. It was a complete bolt from the blue. He’d tried, variously, pleading with her, stalking her, begging her to try again. And then, almost overnight, he’d curdled. After their separation, he’d insisted she s
top seeing Jamie. She had little energy to fight Ross’s anger and bitterness. It was time for her to go. Leave Edinburgh, leave the country…

  She began walking again. Forget about all that for now. Just keep calm. As she reached the top of the drive, Ross looked up. He gave a nervous half smile and quickly wrapped up the phone conversation. She watched him jog out of the front room and, moments later, tracked his distorted outline as it approached her behind the frosted glass of the porch door.

  ‘Hi, Kirsty, thanks for making the time. Come away in. Let’s go to the morning room.’

  His smile and demeanour were unusually welcoming. And perhaps too forced. She had tried not to react to his use of ‘Kirsty’. Now was not the time to open old wounds. She nodded her greeting and followed in silence as the familiar sights and smells of a house she’d once thought of as a second home welcomed her back. She’d been anxious that any visit would have her collapsing in tears before she’d crossed the threshold, but she had been wrong. Rather, she felt comfortable, almost happy to be back and slowed her pace to take in the view down the wide hallway, glancing left and right at the few tasteful watercolours—multiple vistas of Edinburgh as seen from the top of Arthur’s Seat and Calton Hill. And then, near the end on the left, Jamie’s pride and joy. The photo gallery, which included several of her, enjoying various summers in the garden with the in-laws and Ross. Although they brought back happy memories, she brushed them aside. It was the last two images that held her gaze. One, captioned Jamie’s first day as Head Warden, showed him uniformed, standing to attention, but smiling. A wide, joyful beam, hiking stick in hand, the weir and Cauldron shimmering in the background. Finally, My Jeannie. A simple shot. Jean, caught unawares, sitting under a sunshade in the back garden, homemade lemonade to hand, her nose in a book. ‘It’s how I remember her, Kirstin. How I’ll always remember her.’

  ‘Wine? I’ve got some chilled rose.’ Ross had pulled the bottle from its cooler and was waggling her favourite summer tipple in mid-air.

  She was determined to sustain a jolly tone. This was going to be a difficult enough encounter. ‘That’ll be great, thanks.’

  She was aware that they were both on their best behaviour tonight, walking on eggshells, and she was content to play the game a bit longer. She wandered over to one of the huge windows that gave a view over the back garden. Unlike Morag Ramsay’s house, set high up on the hill a mile downstream, Jamie’s was within touching distance of the river. A short, well-trimmed lawn, with some carefully colour-coordinated bedding plants at the sides, led to a gentle slope down to the river. The waters were running slowly tonight. A gentle summer flow. Nearby, Jamie’s black rubber dinghy lay beached on the grass, oars askew.

  She nodded her head towards the view as Ross joined her, wine glasses in hand. ‘Who’s been doing the garden?’

  ‘Oh, a guy Donald recommended. Actually, Dad went off the garden this past year or so. Only interested in being on the river, so he got someone in. Does a good job. Charges through the nose for it, though.’

  Uninvited, she dropped her bag to the floor and sat on one of the two luxurious sofas that formed an outward-looking nook designed to encourage guests to face the river view. She continued staring out of the window, aware that Ross was hovering nearby, unsure whether to share the same sofa. Sensibly, he opted for the one opposite.

  ‘Look, Kirs—’

  ‘Ross, I wa—’

  Their openings had been simultaneous, leaving both in a momentary hiatus of embarrassed silence. She was the first to laugh it off, and Ross joined in a second later with an overloud guffaw that left her wondering if he’d been drinking before she arrived. He held up his hand as if pleading to talk first. She nodded for him to continue.

  ‘Listen, Kirsty, I’m pleased, really pleased you came. I wasn’t sure if I should call, but I took the risk and I’m glad I did. I want to apologize properly. I was thinking of writing you a card or something, but it’s better that you’re here in front of me.’ He paused to clear his throat before what was obviously going to be a difficult speech. ‘I admit, I could’ve got hold of you somehow to tell you about Dad. But…but I was so overwhelmed by everything and I was still so…so angry at you. I know it’s unforgivable, I do. And I know it’s one of many, many, too many, unforgivable things I’ve done. You leaving me…it changed me. I knew, know, I can never get you back. I know, or think I know, why you left. Shit, I’m so crap at this! Look, I’ve lost Mum and Dad. To that extent I’m like you. I now understand when you used to talk about how it felt to be orphaned. After your mum died, when both parents had gone. I agree, it doesn’t matter how old you are. When they go, you feel alone.’

  He paused, giving them both permission to take some refuge in their wine. She wasn’t enjoying this. He looked tired, almost on the verge of tears. His face was drawn and haggard, and it occurred to her that he probably wasn’t eating. She half smiled at him and offered another, barely discernible nod to continue.

  ‘Kirstin…I…I’m not sure how to put this, but I don’t want you driving yourself mad over Dad. The truth is…he’d been going a bit funny since Mum died. And I don’t mean senile. I mean he became very introverted. Oh, the river work helped, up to a point. But then…then he got everything out of proportion. The river became an obsession. Completely out of hand. I don’t know where to begin. You probably don’t know much of what I’m talking about. There were rows a—’

  She held up her hand this time. ‘I do know. I’ve been to see Donald. Met Glen Laidlaw. And I even got to see Morag Ramsay.’

  Ross’s glass stopped halfway to his lips. Eventually, he took a sip and then, slowly, leant forward to place the glass back on the coffee table between them. ‘Right. I’d no idea. What…what have they been saying? Glen and…and Morag Ramsay. Incredibk. Rumour is, she’s effectively a hermit.’

  She wanted to discuss everything Glen had told her, but he’d asked her not to. And anyway, it was a lot to dump on Ross, whatever she felt about him. Besides, she’d been unable to erase the uncomfortable, creeping feelings of disquiet that those photos had sparked off in her. Explicit. Pornographic. Taken by Jamie—the Voyeur? Or by Jamie—the Crusader for Moral Justice? A misguided act but with honourable intentions? Glen never seemed for one moment to have considered them sinister.

  She was aware that Ross was staring at her, waiting for an answer. ‘Morag Ramsay…eh, yes, she doesn’t venture out much. I presume you know that your dad was trying to get involved in her case? Had been to visit her in prison?’

  Ross gave a slow pitiful nod of his head. ‘Oh, yes. We had a big bloody row about it. And that’s just an example of what I was talking about. To try and sympathize with this Ramsay woman as a…an acquaintance, and I’m loathe to say that she could’ve been a friend, that’s one thing. Maybe even to visit her, though I was taken aback by that. No, it was this interfering, these offers of ‘help’. Dad didn’t know the first thing about criminal law! He was a property and commercial law man through and through, just like me. The last thing he knew about was murder, for goodness’ sake!’

  ‘She was charged with manslaughter, Ross. There is a difference.’

  He shrugged, knocking back the last of his drink and pouring himself a refill. ‘Yeah. But watch this space.’

  ‘Meaning what, exactiy? I take it you don’t like her?’

  He shrugged again, glancing out towards the river, now barely visible as night approached. ‘I don’t know her as such. Just seen her knocking about the river. I advised Dad to let her own legal team get on with it, and to be careful in his unquestioning trust of her. Dad painted this glowing picture of her. That she was really nice, vulnerable, even though she could seem a bit cold and unfriendly on the outside. I wasn’t convinced. I wondered if she was just a good actor. Charming and ‘nice’ when she wanted to be, but inside really a bit of a calculating, cold fish. In fact, from what I know now about her and her so-called ‘friends’, I wonder if she was using him. Trying to get him to soften his s
tance on her group, where she wasn’t exactly popular, and so gain some admiration from them.’ His eyes flickered towards hers, looking for some reaction, and then he glanced back to the river. ‘It obviously didn’t work. Dad was faithful only to the river’s needs. Though once she was arrested, she knew she could count on him for unconditional belief in her innocence. No, I wasn’t convinced. After all, the most unlikely people can do the most awful things.’

  ‘I don’t know, Ross. Jamie was a pretty good judge of character. And, having met her myself, I don’t agree with you. I think Morag Ramsay’s a genuine person. I’d guess she’s got a lot of problems, emotional ones, some of which I think were there long before the deaths of her boyfriend and lona Sutherland. The only credence I could possibly give to her being guilty is if she did it and can’t remember.’

  He laughed. ‘Hah! Barely credible.’

  ‘Not so. I don’t know what that lot were on, but they were having a high, and I mean high, old time together. It’s perfectly possible that she had amnesia. I’ve known you to have memory lapses when you’ve overindulged.’

  ‘Hardly comparable.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ross. Did you know that some of these so-called friends of hers had been spiking her drinks? They sound a bloody unpleasant lot. With the exception perhaps of Bonnie Campbell. But she hasn’t exactly rushed to stand up for Morag. It’s a shame. If even one of that group had stood by Morag, she’d be in a better state than she is today.’

  Ross clattered his glass down on the table with more force than was necessary. ‘And doesn’t that tell you something? Maybe her friends knew her better than anyone else. I told Dad as much. Warned him. Maybe I should warn you too. Be careful with this woman.’

  She shook her head, exasperation taking hold at last. ‘I’m not stupid, Ross. But, my first impressions of her made me think she was okay. The thing is, I don’t see how she could have done it anyway, even if she did have genuine amnesia about the event. There would’ve been other evidence. Actually, I feel sorry, very sorry, for her. She reminds me of some of the poor souls I used to meet when I was a paralegal. Some really sad cases. Victims, dumped on by all and sundry. Morag Ramsay’s one of them. She just hides it a bit better than most. Her brittle, defensive attitude makes sympathy hard to come by. In fact, if it came to court, I reckon a jury wouldn’t take to her one bit. And that would be bloody unfair.’