Narey returned to the conversation. ‘Did your wife regularly go to meet clients in the evening, Mr Cairns?’
‘Yes. It was usually easier. People work during the day so she’d make herself available at a time that suited them. And she would obviously need to see the space that they wanted her to work with.’
‘Do you have a list of her clients?’
‘Yes, but none of them are in Kensington Gate. I checked and your colleagues checked. The old Odeon? I don’t understand.’
‘Neither do we, Mr Cairns. But we will. How was your wife getting to Kensington Gate? Did she drive or take a taxi?’
‘She drove. I’ve given her car details to the police but it has never turned up. Her phone stopped responding. I tried to track it but the signal was dead or had been switched off. I think your colleagues thought she had just left me but I knew that wasn’t true. She didn’t take any clothes and her bank card wasn’t used.’
‘Tell us about your wife if you can, Mr Cairns. Anything at all that will give us a picture of who she was and what might have happened to her. Her job, close friends, hobbies, anything you can think of.’
His eyes flashed angrily at her and Narey knew it was her referring to the man’s wife in the past tense that had maddened him. She’d seen it before and silently cursed herself for doing it.
‘Jennifer had her own business. Interior designer. Fashioning homes for people who are either too fucking lazy or clueless to do it for themselves. She’d been doing it for five years and did well. She worked hard.’
‘And friends?’
‘She had quite a few. The police spoke to most of them after I reported her missing. I assume they’ll still have the list I gave them.’
‘All female friends or male friends too?’
‘What do you mean? We had many friends who were couples so the answer is both. What are you suggesting?’
‘Nothing, Mr Cairns. I’m just trying to get a picture of your wife’s social scene, establish anyone she would have interacted with. I’ll get a copy of that list from my colleagues. This is a difficult question, I know, particularly in the circumstances, but would you say your wife was happy?’
The man’s eyes darkened and he snapped at her. ‘Happy? How can you ask that?’ He glared at her then gulped at his whisky before continuing. ‘Yes I would say she was happy. We had our ups and downs. Who doesn’t? But our marriage was fine.’
‘You didn’t have any children?’
Another glare. ‘Not that it’s any of your business but no. We tried but it didn’t happen. I was probably keener than she was but . . .’ His voice trailed off sadly.
‘What other aspects of your wife’s life can you tell us about? Groups or organizations she might have been involved with, people she knew. Anything that might help.’
He banged his glass down on the table in front of him and splashes of whisky leaped into the air and onto the wooden surface. ‘Christ. I’ve already . . . Okay, okay. She had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances. She was popular, lively, always on the go. She did charity work, she spent time in galleries, socialized with neighbours. We’d eat out quite a lot, either dinners with mutual clients, sometimes her accountant or with my partner David McCormack. It’s a long list and I’ve already given it to the bloody police.’
She could see he was unravelling and just getting angrier. Any current thoughts weren’t going to be much help. One last question, a shot in the dark, then she’d let him be for now.
‘Mr Cairns, has your company done any work for a Saturn Property? You’re in related businesses.’
He paused, obviously wondering what the relevance was. ‘I know of them. I think we’ve met the directors at networking events.’
‘Would it be a Mark Singleton that you’ve met?’
‘Maybe. It was at those part-business, part-social type things. I can’t remember. Why? Is it important?’
‘Probably not. Okay, I think we should leave it there for today. I’m sorry if I’ve made any of this difficult for you. I can only imagine what you’re going through.’
‘Can you?’
‘We’ll arrange for a Family Liaison officer to call and they will make sure you are kept up to date with every aspect of the investigation. And we’ll arrange for you to see your wife and allow you to formally identify her when you are ready.’
‘I’m ready now.’
‘That’s not possible, sir. Not just yet.’
‘I’m ready now!’
‘We’ll let you know when that can be done. We’re as keen as you are to—’
‘I doubt that. I really do. Let me know as soon as possible.’
‘I will, sir. I promise you.’
‘No. I only need you to promise me one thing. Do you think you can do that?’
She’d never make the promise he wanted. She couldn’t do it because she couldn’t be certain it could be done. She’d do the next best thing.
‘Mr Cairns, I promise you we will do everything we possibly can to make sure that the person who killed your wife will be caught and punished.’
Chapter 25
It had been a long, long day but it couldn’t be over. Not just yet. Much as she would have loved to just fall asleep or, better still, drive over to Tony’s for some physical therapy, she still had work to do. She was at home in Highburgh Road and in bed but she was online and on the case.
Whether it was a good idea or not, she’d put all her eggs in the basket marked urbexing. Now she had to find out what she was actually talking about. The little knowledge she had came from the brief mention that Danny had made of it.
They like to go places they shouldn’t - that’s what he’d said. Then she remembered. He’d also said he knew someone that used to do it.
She had her iPad open at the website address Maxwell had given her but now it struck her that hearing it from someone who actually did the thing would be more helpful.
He answered after half a dozen rings. She knew he’d be working and probably couldn’t hear it over the noise of the taxi-rank queue.
‘Hey, Rachel. What can I do for you?’
She could hear cars going by and the chatter of a number of voices. Someone not too far away was singing ‘Flower Of Scotland’. She’d be lucky to get long with him so she got straight to the point.
‘Danny, when we spoke the other day, you said you knew someone who urbexed. Do you think he would talk to me?’
There was a pause at the other end of the line.
‘I don’t think so, hen. He doesn’t do it any more and I think he wants to put it behind him.’
‘Could you ask him, Danny? It’s important.’
‘I’ll ask, love. But don’t get your hopes up. Is this because of the body in the old Odeon then?’
She laughed. ‘Do you actually know everything?’
‘Naw, love. Just most things. And I’m good at guessing.’
‘That was no guess. You think there’s some urbexing connection between the Molendinar and the cinema site?’
‘Rachel, I’ve no real idea. You’ve got the facts there, you’ll know better than me. I’ve just got suppositions and an old copper’s nose.’
‘And what’s that telling you?’
‘Not to trust coincidences. I’d say it’s definitely worth looking at. And so do you or you wouldn’t have phoned me about it.’
‘It occurred to me when I was in the Odeon but it still seemed a stretch. Now I’m more inclined to think it’s the key. Thanks, Danny. Ask your pal for me, will you?’
‘I’ll ask. But don’t expect a yes.’
She finished the call and turned back to the laptop. OtherWorld. That’s exactly how it was to her but she had to step into it. She had to learn everything she could.
Winter sat and looked at the laptop in front of him, his fingers drumming distractedly on the keyboard. He hesitated, wary of clicking on the search result that had popped up in front of him. As if there would be no going back. As if it would
open the door that he’d promised himself to leave closed.
He stared hard at the screen, wishing some other answer to show itself. The option was to close the lid. He knew that was probably the sensible thing to do. The thing that Rachel would want him to do. If she knew. Holy shit, it was just as well that she didn’t.
The room was silent and the only noise came from the street outside; cars driving up and down Berkeley Street, and the comings and goings from the Mitchell Library opposite. His right index finger hovered above the enter button. All he had to do was press.
OtherWorld. It didn’t seem that scary in itself. Just a word.
Stuff this, he told himself. Do it or don’t. His finger was down before he could stop himself and the screen shifted.
The layout had changed since the last time he’d visited. Hardly surprising really: most forums got a makeover every now and again and it had been four, no five years since he’d dipped in. There was a lot familiar about it though. Seemed to be the same old subject categories for a start. High places, military sites, hospitals, asylums, cinemas, underground sites, quarries. It was all there, all you had to do was explore it.
He sat and looked at it for a couple of minutes, drinking it in and searching for familiar names among those that had posted. He didn’t recognize any but then he’d been gone for a while and most of those he was looking at were from elsewhere in the UK.
Did his login still work? That was the question. Only one way to find out. Login name, Metinides. Password, snapper1. He pressed enter again and he was in. He was still one of the crowd.
From the moment Remy had sent the messages about the walk to the Botanics, he’d been fretting over their return. He’d refreshed his inbox often enough that the F5 key was in danger of being worn out. It didn’t bring replies in any quicker but gave him something to do.
He’d ventured out to check on his dad a couple of times, taking him food and company, making both of them feel a little bit better. That apart, he’d stared at the screen, willing it to change. It turned out that his psychic powers were not all that they might be.
There was a lot of waiting. Replies came in slowly or didn’t come in at all. Ironically, the first was from Vixxxen and he had to steel himself before seeing what Gabby had to say about it.
Seriously, what is up with you, man? Okay, I’m glad you’ve seen the light and want to go out. Really glad. But a walk to the Botanics? What is this, a Sunday school outing? X
The X at the end was a very good sign and managed to put a smile on his face for the first time in five days. She was making fun of him and that was fine. Of course she hadn’t actually said whether she’d go but he could tell that she would. Whether he wanted her there he wasn’t quite so sure about but he couldn’t not ask her.
After that they’d come in in dribs and drabs, each greeted like a message from above.
Astronut said yes and so did NightLight. Hermit said it wasn’t his or her thing. LilythePink couldn’t make it. PencilPusher, Spook and Gopher said yes. Crow said maybe. CardboardCowboy, JohnDivney, Tubz, Digger9, BigTomDog and Ectoplasm didn’t bother to reply.
Of course, it might have been that one of them didn’t reply because he was dead.
It was enough, he supposed. A quorum of sorts. He’d done it. He’d actually organized an outing of the Glasgow urbexers. He suddenly wasn’t sure just why he’d done it. Or that he really wanted to go.
He thought of Gabby and the poor bugger in the tunnel and momentarily found some courage. He thought of all that he didn’t know and couldn’t do and lost it again. This wasn’t him, this wasn’t what he did. He rounded up bloody supermarket trolleys. That’s who he was.
The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. But it was done now. He couldn’t reach down the line and grab those messages back.
Narey’s eyes were tired and her head was beginning to hurt. Sitting in front of the screen wasn’t helping and neither was the amount of information she was having to take in. This really was another world. How the hell was all this going on and she knew nothing about it?
While most of Glasgow slept, others were creeping in and out of its history, climbing its past and exploring its near future. There were so many buildings that she knew and had forgotten about. She’d driven past so many of these places time and time again without thinking to step inside. She walked past so many of them without bothering to look up and be reminded that they were there.
Some of the images posted on the site were remarkable. There were photographs of the old ballroom at Gartloch Asylum and she could hardly take her eyes off them. She’d been to the building once before, with her dad when she was maybe seventeen, but they’d done no more than look in a window. It was incredible. The centre part of the tall ceiling was like the upturned hull of a ship in mosaics of cornflower blue and white. The walls were stripped of paint or paper but were still magnificent with pillars and ornate cornicing. The floor was in pieces, all rubble and old spars, but one look was enough to imagine ghosts dancing across it.
She had to stop herself from being engrossed in them. There were stunning shots from cranes, of old schools and churches, railway lines and subway stations, all places that she knew so well, or so she’d thought. This wasn’t another world. It was right here, right under her nose and everyone else’s. All they’d ever had to do was look.
So who were they, these people who’d looked where she and the rest hadn’t? It was a world of mystery, all user names and hidden faces. A lot of fun for them she was sure but not a lot of use for her. They got their kicks in the shadows, playing out of sight and undercover. In investigative terms, it was a frigging nightmare.
Maybe she could petition the court, get the website to cough up email addresses behind the user names, force service providers to give up addresses. It was a logistical and legal minefield but it could probably be done. It would take forever though and just what use it would turn out to be she wasn’t sure.
Who was Astronut? Who was LilythePink or CardboardCowboy? Who the hell was Digger9 who had climbed the university roof? Or Hermit who had photographed the old Transport Museum. Or . . . she stopped. Who was Metinides?
She shook her head. It had been a long night and had already turned into day. Her mind was all over the place and she was seeing tricks when they weren’t there. The site was obviously used by lots of amateur photographers. It wasn’t that surprising. A bit odd but not so surprising.
She checked names against posts, looking in vain for someone who had recently walked the Molendinar or explored the Odeon. No one had done the cinema but there was one report on the burn, all of seven years earlier. That didn’t hold out much promise but she’d try to check it out.
What she got from the website, more than anything, was that it all felt right. The kind of person that might walk the Molendinar would have been on OtherWorld. It was their home. And the Odeon too. It just fitted. Where it left her or the investigation, she didn’t know but she was on the right page. That much she was sure of.
Winter had sometimes wondered how many people on the site had ever wondered about his user name. Chosen after Enrique Metinides, the great Mexican tabloid photographer. The man who’d chased fires, crashes, shootings and suicides on the streets of Mexico City for over fifty years. The man who inspired Winter to pick up a camera and photograph dead people for a living.
Even if some knew or guessed then they wouldn’t think too much of it. Most of the forum users took photographs; it was intrinsic to the whole thing. Sure, some just went where they went and did nothing more than look but most took images away with them. Some for their own records, some to share the spoils with others, some just to show off. It didn’t matter, each to their own.
There were two messages lying unread in his inbox. One just an administrative memo about forum changes, the other from a name from the past. PencilPusher. Haven’t seen you online for a while, mate. Hope you’re doing okay. Stay safe. It was dated four years ago.
It
wasn’t someone he knew, not as such. They’d swapped messages online, talking about places they’d been or would like to go. Stay safe. That advice would have been better sent to someone else.
Winter’s fingers moved to the search function and he typed in PencilPusher. A flurry of results came up, the most recent being just ten days old. Nothing remarkable about the post, just talk of a potential explore. It meant PencilPusher was still on the go though. Someone he could talk to. All he had to do was send him a message.
Damn it. He still wasn’t sure this was something he wanted to do and knew it was something he shouldn’t. This stuff was supposed to be locked away in a drawer marked history, only to be opened in memories and even then only when he was sufficiently drunk to turn maudlin.
You couldn’t always pick your moments though and sometimes it came to him when he least expected or wanted it. Like when his mind drifted back to the last time. To the one that made him give it up.
Chapter 26
Six years earlier
He hadn’t wanted to make the climb. Not that night anyway. It was too wet and too windy and it was madness to even consider it in conditions like that. Euan was adamant that they should do it though. You didn’t chicken out of climbing Everest because there was snow on the mountain, he’d said. If they waited for a dry night in Glasgow, they’d be waiting a long time.
The argument went on for a while. Winter’s position had been pretty simple. The Glasgow Tower at the Science Centre was a big beast and needed to be respected. Climbing it in the rain when they didn’t have to was plain stupid. Euan said they’d picked a night to do it and should stick to it. He’d already told his girlfriend Lisa that he and Winter were going for a drink that night and he’d be out late. Winter had said that was fine - they should just go for the drinks instead. No, Euan insisted, they’d checked the tower out, knew where and when to climb, it was all in place and they should just do it. Winter had said the risk wasn’t worth it. Euan responded by saying the risk was what made it worth it. Then he accused Winter of being scared. It was a simple tactic but always effective. Few men were capable of resisting it even though they knew that was why it had been said.
In Place of Death Page 14
