2007 - The Dead Pool

by Sue Walker; Prefers to remain anonymous

  Jules’s phone had been answered by someone else. Someone who sounded as young as Jules. English accent. Sleepy, as if he’d just been woken up. But there had been soft, chill-out music in the background. The guy had been in bed all right. More likely, it had been some post-coital spliff and drink that had accounted for the lazy slur in his voice. But Jules had sounded far from relaxed.

  ‘Stop calling here, Alistair. I mean it. It’s harassment. I’m sorry for you, you know. You need help. You need to sort your head out. But listen, I don’t want to have to tell you again. If this doesn’t stop, I’m going to make trouble for you. I mean it. This is the last time I’m going to tell you. It’s been over for a long time. I’ve moved on. So should you.’

  The phone had been put down and, after a dozen failed redials, he knew Jules had left it off the hook. But why did it really only hit home last night? Maybe he’d just had enough by then. He frowned at himself in the mirror, gentiy fingering his injured temple. Morag Ramsay. At the Cauldron! Unbelievable! She had finally lost it. She could have really hurt him. He still had half a mind to report her to the police. But no, that was a waste of time. In fact, she’d probably revel in it. Accuse him of lying and instruct her lawyers to tell the media that she was being harassed by the police. Best not alert them. However, he did want to talk to the police again about where the investigation was going. The last conversation with the senior investigating officer had left him frustrated. ‘We are still actively investigating the death ofyour sister and Dr Inine. But you have to realise, Mr Sutherland, that we need evidence, concrete evidence that will standup in court. We simply do not have that against Ms Ramsay at the moment. But please, be assured that we are determined to see justice done…’ He’d probably be fed more of the same placatory drivel and that would just make him angry. Best to leave that conversation for another day.

  He wandered through to the bedroom and gazed out of the window, looking down at the front lawn. How he’d made it back last night he didn’t know. It was a miracle no one had seen him. He cast an eye over his shoulder. Yes, there they were: his clothes from last night awaiting washing. In the sober light of day they screamed disapproval at him. What a fool he’d been. He had no one but himself to blame for what had happened with Morag Ramsay. He had taunted her, and you only had to see the look in those blazing eyes. She was utterly unstable. And despite his vowing to her—and to Fraser—that he would ensure the police charged her, he knew those were hollow threats. He turned away from the window. How far he had sunk now. Look what he had let happen to his life since last summer. He might as well have inhaled the silty waters of the Cauldron last night and been thankful for it. A release from pain, from anger, from fear. I’ve got to stop this. Stop haunting the Cauldron. Ican’t reverse things. Whafs doneis done. lona’s gone. It’s too late. All too late. Now stop it! And he would stop it. He had other ideas now.

  Slowly, he moved into his dressing room and began rifling through suits. He felt like being formal today. He’d give some semblance of order to his life, even if it was just for one day. His fingers hovered over the suit that had always been Jules’s favourite, and then he shoved it far along the clothes rail, out of sight. To hell with Jules, to hell with everyone. He was utterly alone now. He’d never been a great one for friends, anyway. But even those he could call acquaintances were not around now. Same with his various business contacts. He’d pushed them all away. Initially, they had been understanding. lona’s death had dealt him the severest blow, of course, and they understood. It’ll take time to get over. Get over! You never, ever get over something like that! The dolts! And, after a while, he could sense their thoughts. Allyshould be pulling himself together by now. He’s changed. He’s quiet. He’s surly. Monosyllabic. Quick to take offence. Paranoid, even.

  And he was neglecting his work. But what did that matter? He’d decided. He was selling up. Leaving. To go…he had a few places in mind, but he’d definitely go…somewhere. He wouldn’t tell or warn anyone. Just disappear. His parents wouldn’t care. They were practically estranged now, hunkered down further into their narrow lives in the back of beyond, to grieve over their favourite child. They’d always given lona the benefit of the doubt, since her mode of making money was ‘artistic’. Christ, you’d think she’d painted every bloody work she’d sold! In truth, despite a promising art school beginning, she’d been a disappointment artistically. ‘Those who can’t, sell, dear sister.’ It had been an unforgivably cruel remark from him, made what, over ten years ago? When his parents’ bias and favouritism towards lona had just about driven him to despair.

  But she’d found her rejoining barb in no time. ‘Yes, but at least I don’t have to lie about what I am, dear brother. Or perhaps you’re too scared they’d disown you? And remember, they certainly would have long ago if I hadn’t kept your grubby secrets. ’

  He pushed the thought away and brought back the image of his parents’ stony faces as they sat at the solicitor’s last year. The meeting was to discuss lona’s estate, and included a frosty exchange over selling the gallery. That was the last time he’d seen them, and the underlying message had been clear. He was to blame for lona’s death, one way or another. He should have been looking after his sister. And there was a final message in their disappointed and anguished looks: they had no other child. He was, essentially, an orphan. Alone.

  Fine. He could live without them. What mattered was what he was going to do with himself. Leaving, clearing out was the only option. Fraser was taking flight and so was Bonnie by the sound of it. Deserting the already sunken ship. So, why not him? Each day here made him feel sicker. But what was he going to do about Morag? He couldn’t have her followed from now to eternity. He needed to think things through. She was getting kicked out of her home. Good. But where was she going? The police just couldn’t be trusted to keep an eye on her, of that he was certain. Bonnie might know. Time for a visit.

  TRANQUILITY COTTAGE. The Riverside Sanctum of Bonnie Campbell. All Are Welcome If You Come With Peace And Love In Your Heart

  As always, Ally shook his head at the gaudy, amateurishly painted sign. The creaking gate had caused the usual fluttering of the ground-floor curtains. She’d better not try pretending she was out. The way he was feeling right now, he’d kick the door off its hinges if she tried that game. But she wasn’t going to. The door was opened and there she stood. Thinner and paler than ever, despite the sunny weather, her bony face was trying to give the impression of a surprised, welcoming smile.

  ‘Ally! Eh, hi, I…it’s lovely to see you. Please, come on in.’

  She hadn’t approached him with the offer of a warm hug or kiss to the cheek. Those days were long over. He slid past her into the gloom of the hallway.

  ‘Go on down to the back room. Make yourself at home.’ Her voice was unusually high-pitched, the tension getting to her.

  He gave a nod without turning his head and marched down the narrow hallway in front of her. Although she called her house a cottage, it was more idiosyncratic than that. Bonnie had made some quirky decisions when renovating it. The room sizes were uneven. A pokey front room, which he always avoided spending any time in, was balanced out by the back room, where he now stood. It was low-ceilinged but long, giving the illusion of more space than it actually contained, and its windows looked directly out on to the river, flooding every corner with natural light. And the final triumph of this room was that it remained mercifully cool in summer. Even so, he could feel the sweat breaking out under his shirt. Perhaps he too was nervous? Through her very oddness, Bonnie had the ability to unsettle. He surveyed the room with one glance. No change. Still the obligatory cushions and burnt-out candles.

  ‘Tea? Coffee? Something cold? I’ve no alcohol in at the moment.’

  Even though he’d kill for a cold beer, he ignored the lie, selecting a seat with its back to the garden and the river.

  ‘Sit down, Bonnie. We’ve something—two things, actually—to talk about.’

  She was s
tanding awkwardly in the doorway and making a fluttering movement with her right hand. ‘Oh? Okay, I’ll just get myself a cup of t—’

  ‘Bugger the tea. Sit down! There.’

  The rebuke had been as good as a slap in the face. Meekly, she slumped down into the chair opposite and tried to settle herself. ‘Ally? I’ve been mean—’

  His look shut her up immediately. He leant forward, elbows on knees, wiping trickles of sweat from his brow with his thumbs.

  ‘I want you to listen to me very carefully, Bonnie. I’ve seen Fraser and I know you’ve seen him too. I saw you both at the Cauldron the other day.’

  He waited for some show of denial. Nothing. She was sitting rigid but compliant.

  He went on. ‘I’m also damn sure you’ve seen Morag Ramsay recendy. An act of betrayal so disgusting I can’t tell you how furious and utterly let down I feel. Both you and Fraser have betrayed me. Betrayed lona.’

  As expected, she pushed her chair back and started waving her skinny arms. ‘It wasn’t that recendy. Honest. I just did a meditation with her, that’s all.’

  He dragged his chair forward to counter any further retreat. ‘I don’t care about your meditations. I’ve come to tell you two things. First, I’m liquidating my business and I want out of your clinic. I want you to get things in motion first thing on Monday and organize paying me back the remainder of what you owe me. I know it won’t be too much of a hardship for you, clever Bonnie. But I want it done, fast. Second.’ He inched forward again, the back legs of the chair gouging their way through the carpet. ‘I want to know where Morag’s going. I know she’s going bust. But I want to know her plans. And I think you know them.’

  He sat back, pulled out his cigarettes and lit up, daring her to remonstrate.

  She was swallowing hard, her thin neck convulsing with the anxiety. Nervously, she tucked stray straggles of thin hair behind her ears. ‘Look, Ally. As far as the business goes, that’s fine, fine. I’ll get things going on Monday. But with Morag. I don’t, I really don’t know where she’s going.’

  ‘But you could find out.’ His voice was a soft whisper, but he knew she was getting the message.

  ‘What d’you mean? I…I don’t know anything. I don’t see anyone. Yes, I saw Fraser the other day. But that was the first time in ages. And, anyway, we rowed. You must have seen that if you were at the Cauldron.’

  ‘What did you row about?’

  She’d had enough, and he let her stand up and move towards the window. She kept her back to him as she stared unseeingly towards the river.

  ‘I don’t understand, Ally. Why Morag? Why are you so convinced? Why is Fraser? Why did he say those things to the police and then change his mind?’

  She spun round to look at him. He stayed sitting, but swivelled his chair to face her, shaking his head incredulously.

  ‘You mean you honestly don’t think it was Morag? You must be joking!’

  She was shaking her head just as vigorously. ‘I don’t get it. You never seemed to think anything about it being Morag at first, and neither did the police. Until Fraser said those things.’

  Giving up on the cigarette, he stabbed the butt out in a nearby plant pot.’I was too much in shock to think about anything but my loss, for God’s sake! It had to be Morag. Underneath that cool, calm exterior, she was burning with insecurity about Craig. It was a no-win situation for her and somewhere, deep down, she must have known it. You capture a good-looking guy, it’s good for the ego. But other people will always want to get their hands on what you’ve got. And with someone like lona around, you’d better watch out. Morag was always on tenterhooks about Craig. She tried to hide it, but I saw it. If you didn’t, then you’re blind. And it made her such a bore. The only way she’d lighten up was if she had drink, or some chemical, inside her. But I began to wonder if she knew about Craig and lona and was just biding her time, ready to lash out.’

  He paused to draw breath, trying to control his increasing anger. ‘And Morag could lash out all right. Still can.’ He pointed to the healing gash on his temple. ‘Look, she did this to me last night. She had the cheek to be down at the Cauldron last night, saw me, freaked, and lashed out. And it’s not the first time. Morag has a problem with violence that you know nothing about. Believe me.’

  Bonnie frowned. ‘I…I don’t believe you, Ally. If, if, she did anything like that, then you must have provoked, threatened her. You don’t know Morag. I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened last summer. If she did it, she did it as a reflex thing. But no one will ever prove it one way or the other.’ She turned back to her river-watching. ‘I…I’m sorry for you, Ally. Really. What happened has had…well, a catastrophic effect on you…on your personality. I’m sorry. But, if you won’t get help for your anger and your grief, then I don’t know what to suggest.’ She sighed heavily, her back still turned rigidly towards him. ‘I want you to leave now. You’re disturbing me. Tainting my house. Please go.’

  He pushed back the chair roughly and walked up behind her, his breath on her cheek. ‘I don’t want any amateur psychoanalysis, thanks. But…I’m speechless. Morag’s pulled the wool over your eyes all right. I want you to find out where she’s going or at the very least when she’s running off. I don’t want her just swanning off into the world. I don’t trust the police to keep her in their sights. I mean it, Bonnie. I know you could find out.’

  She surprised him by spinning round, the light cotton shift swirling about her legs. ‘Don’t use that threatening tone on me! Two can play that game!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I know about Jules. Does that surprise you? I can see it does. I know he was there. Know you hid that from the police. That’s a serious matter, Ally. And I know you were going to humiliate lona that day by producing Jules as yours. It could get a bit grubby and unseemly, if all that got out, couldn’t it?’

  He moved swiftly towards her. ‘Don’t ever, ever talk to me again about Jules. Christ, this is the worst betrayal. You’ve let me down, you’ve let lona down. You’re despicable!’

  As he headed down the darkened hallway, he heard the first of her sobs, and nodded his satisfaction before slamming the door behind him. Moments later, he felt the onset of his own tears.

  Seventeen

  After Morag had left, Kirstin sat in the graveyard car park wondering what to do about lunch or if she even felt like eating. She needed to clear her mind of Morag Ramsay. The woman exerted a powerful but exhausting presence. All that pent-up emotion. And she desperately wanted a rest from thoughts of Jamie. Just for a while. So Glen’s phone call had been a welcome distraction: ‘I’m thinking of taking a very long lunch hour. I wondered ifyou’d like to join me?

  She’d agreed to drive over to his office and they’d taken the association’s Land Rover high up into the Pentlands, eventually settling on the fringes of a pine forest, offering magnificent views towards Glencorse Reservoir. He’d brought a selection of fruit, sandwiches and a flask of coffee.

  The picnic was perfect timing. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until he’d laid out the food. It had been a happy, almost carefree, hour chatting about herself. Glen, in return, had told her about how he’d ended up at the river association after years working for the Forestry Commission in Aberdeenshire. They were both steering clear of any serious talk about Jamie. Glen had obviously decided to strike a lighter note and had even made her laugh with a few affectionate anecdotes about him. Lunch over, they’d finished the last of the coffee. Now they were enjoying a moment’s peace in the sunshine. Sitting against a tree, she handed Glen the empty cup, shading her eyes to look at him as he cleared up.

  ‘When are you due back in the office?’

  He paused to sit back on his heels, squinting out at the view and at a distant group of hill walkers. ‘I’ve got another half hour or so. Eh…actually, I wanted to talk to you about something else to do with Jamie.’

  ‘Oh?’

  She waited while he tidied e
verything away and carried the picnic box back to the Land Rover. He returned carrying a blue plastic document wallet. She frowned at it as he sat down cross-legged opposite her.

  ‘What have you got there?’

  He smoothed a hand over the cover and began unconsciously unfastening and refastening the white plastic popper on the front, looking away over his shoulder again towards the view, as if suddenly anxious or embarrassed.

  ‘Glen? What is it?’

  He let out a little cough and then turned to look direcdy at her; a piercing, disconcerting gaze.

  ‘Kirstin, I don’t want you to think I brought you up here on false pretences, just to discuss this. But I did want to talk to you at some point and our first meeting wasn’t appropriate. And I wouldn’t want to talk over the phone. I suppose, I hope these are better surroundings than any other.’

  She felt the beginnings of tension tugging at her stomach. God, what else is coming?

  He fidgeted, as if trying to get comfortable. ‘I, we, well the association’s getting a bit worried about when we can get into Mill House. We don’t want to be pushy, but I wondered if you could have a word with Ross about it? We’re talking beginning of September. That’ll have been a good six months and more. I thought that would be plenty of time, but I get the feeling that Ross is…well, not really motivated to leave. Don’t get me wrong. I can totally understand that. It’s just that time’s getting on. D’you see?’

  She looked at him as if he’d just spoken to her in another language. ‘I’m sorry, Glen, but I haven’t a clue what you’re going on about.’