by SJI Holliday
‘Right. Lorna, what’s the status with the computer? Have you been on to HQ?’ To Beattie, he said under his breath, ‘Could you not have taken the details on your notepad, Constable? You can clearly see this girl is in distress …’ Then he turned to Brotherstone and Hamilton and said, ‘Maybe we can continue this later? I’d like to talk to Pete myself’ – he turned to face Hamilton – ‘if that’s OK with you, sir?’
‘Yes, yes. I’m off now anyway, Sergeant Gray. I’ll leave things in your capable hands.’
Gray watched as the Big Ham ushered his crony and his son out of the station, then sucked in another deep breath.
‘OK,’ he said to the girl, ‘sorry about that. You caught us at a bad time. If you’ll just come through to the interview room, we can have a chat.’
The girl stood up, clutching a schoolbag awkwardly in front of her. ‘I was skiving school,’ she said, her voice wavering.
‘Never mind that now,’ Gray said gently. He turned back towards the desk. ‘Lorna, if the PC’s still on the blink, would you mind bringing us some tea and biscuits through please?’
‘We’ve no’ got any, Sarge …’
Gray lost his last crumb of patience. ‘Well away out and get some then!’
27
The girl was called Lydia McKenzie and, as she’d stated from the beginning, she’d been skiving off school. Gray wasn’t particularly concerned about that part. She didn’t look like a serial offender. More like someone who was a bit bored and fancied meeting up with her boyfriend during the day. Young love. He missed that feeling.
She’d wanted to talk to Gray without her parents present, and as it was only an informal chat, Gray had agreed. He’d have to pop round to see her at home later, though. Get her to sign a statement.
She didn’t really say much until Lorna appeared with a tray of tea and biscuits. The three chocolate digestives she ate had the useful side effect of loosening her tongue. Or, more likely, after the shock she’d had, the sugar was re-firing her brain.
‘So, tell me again, just so we’re clear …’ Gray had been scribbling frantically in his notebook and was worried that the scrawl might be indecipherable, even to his own trained eye.
Lydia sighed and took a slurp of her tea. ‘Tall. Thin. Black fleece. Balaclava.’ Another slurp. ‘Is this Tetley? I like Tetley. We never have it now, though. Dad doesn’t drink tea, so Katia – that’s our housekeeper – just buys whatever’s cheap and that’s usually PG Tips, and I find that a bit bitter. I do like Monkey, though.’
Gray tapped his pen on the table, trying to penetrate her adrenalin-fuelled ramble. ‘Anything else? You say he was quite close to you … Did you catch his scent? Was he clean? Smelly?’
Lydia looked confused. ‘Actually, come to think of it … he smelled of soap. Not many people use soap now. Dries out your skin. I recognised the smell though, cos Katia likes to put it in the downstairs loo. I think she thinks it’s posh or something …’
Gray coughed. ‘Don’t suppose you recognised the brand, did you?’
‘Funnily enough – yes … It was Dove. Very distinctive. I think it’s on three-for-two in Tesco’s at the moment … Katia thinks three-for-two is the most exciting thing anyone’s ever seen. I suppose they might not have things like that in her country …’
‘OK. Dove. Right.’ Gray scribbled it down. Could be important. You never know.
‘Can I go now?’
Gray hmm’d and flicked back through the pages of his notebook. ‘Yes. Hang on, though. You mentioned something about his face?’
Lydia sighed. ‘Yes. Something weird. Like it was too big for his head. I know that doesn’t make sense, but it was under a balaclava and I could still see there was something wrong with it. Oh, and he’ll probably have a bruised knee. I kicked back pretty hard, and I’m wearing these, see?’ She uncrossed her legs and lifted her foot up to show Gray. Sturdy-looking shoes with a hard block heel.
‘Bit warm in this weather, eh? Would you not be better in sandals?’
‘Huh,’ she said, ‘my toenails are a mess. Haven’t had time to paint them. I’d rather suffer the heat than display chipped nails!’
Fair enough, Gray thought, and hopefully you did some damage to the prick’s leg with those clodhoppers too.
He flipped the notebook shut. ‘OK, thanks Lydia. I’ll be round later to talk to you again with your parents …’
‘It’s just my dad, actually, and I’m sure you don’t need to tell him …’
‘Sorry, it’s just procedure. Off you go now. Lorna will see you out.’
When he stepped back out into the waiting area, the station was calm at last. Lorna was typing less aggressively on the keyboard. Beattie was busy with a pile of old files that he’d started sorting through a week ago and never got round to finishing.
This was how it was supposed to be. Calm, ordered. On the whole, crime-free. He hoped he wasn’t going to have to involve the big boys from the CID. Since the Scottish police forces had merged into one big gang, there were new rules and regulations and plans. Total pain in the arse.
They weren’t even sure that the station would survive. Cutbacks, restructuring. The Big Ham knew that his days were numbered. Technically they were now run by the new divisional commander in Dalkeith. The First Minister’s great plan had been to cut costs by cutting the number of chiefs, streamlining the force. Gray wasn’t so sure he liked the idea, nor many of the others being brought in by the SNP. He was pleased with the result of the referendum. Glad that the country had a new leader, not that he imagined it’d make much difference. He’d always thought of the First Minister as a Wizard of Oz type of character. All mouth, no trousers. Hiding behind a …
Christ!
In all the commotion, he’d forgotten what he’d picked up from Ian’s paper shop. He’d left it on the chair.
‘Lorna. You busy?’
‘Well, I’m …’
‘Right, I need you to look something up for me. I need you to search for any attacks, or attempted attacks, flashers, anything like that … Anyone who was wearing a mask.’
‘What kind of mask? Like a kids’ mask, or …’
He held up the sheep mask from Ian’s shop, slid it across the counter. ‘Any mask. We don’t know what he had on under that balaclava, but I’ve got a funny feeling about this. It’s not a deformity. I think he’s wearing a mask.’
‘But why? You can’t see his face anyway,’ Beattie said.
‘I ken that, Callum. He’s got a reason for it, though. We just need to work out what it might be … Call me if you find anything. I’m away up to the Track to see if our weirdo has left any traces.’
‘Should we not call Dalkeith? They’ll be fuming if—’
‘No’ yet, Callum. Come on. When did we last get anything interesting to investigate around here? See yous later.’
28
It wasn’t until the rattle of the letterbox woke me up that I realised I’d drifted off. I checked my phone. Had I really been asleep all afternoon? Or had I just tuned out for a bit? I only vaguely remembered sitting down. I reread the text that had come in when I arrived. Scott was curled up on the couch, fast asleep and snoring beer-scented fumes. I paused on my way out, to pick up the free ads paper that had landed on the mat. I would’ve stayed. Waited until he woke up, soberer, ready to tell me whatever it was that was so bloody important to him.
To be honest, though, I didn’t really care any more.
Once he’d told me it was over, I didn’t see much point in trying to flog a dead horse. It wasn’t as if we’d been best friends. Both of us were settling. Me trying to forget about Craig, him thinking I was a great catch because I was good in bed, even though all his friends tried to tell him I was a nutter. It had worked for a while. Until it didn’t. God knows, he was never my type. That over-styled hair, the ‘going out’shirts. I’d never really known what it was he saw in me, with my tendency to forget to shower and my tomboy wardrobe.
We didn’t even
have music in common. Scott was into mainstream crap like Coldplay and James bloody Blunt. He thought U2 were edgy. I was much more of an alternative sort of girl. Indie before everything became Indie. The Pixies before anyone in Banktoun knew who they were. I was into the sweaty, tortured rocker look. In hindsight, it was incredible we’d lasted so long. I think it was our completely opposing personalities that kept us together. Which is why it was pretty ironic that I was round there clearing up his mess while he slobbed about oblivious.
I ran back down to the bookshop, just in time to find Sharon fretting over the alarm. A skinny boy was leaning on the wall outside.
‘Oh thank fuck you’re back. I can’t remember the bloody code. I thought I was going to be here all night.’ She thrust the keys into my hand. ‘Oh, and cheers, by the way. Cheers for leaving me all afternoon. I nearly went insane in there with those bloody kids.’
Kids? What the … Oh shit!
‘Monday Club! Oh God, Shaz, I am so sorry. Honestly. I’d never have left you alone with that … It’s just, I had to … it went clean out of my head—’
‘Yeah. Whatever.’ She pushed past me and out of the door.
I was about to say sorry again when she turned back round and said, ‘And you can do my shift on Saturday morning,’ before flouncing off along the pavement, her DMs squeaking gently as she walked.
I sighed. Great. Another fuck-up from me. Another Saturday morning ruined. I needed to get my shit together. Decide what I was going to do about Maloney. Try to convince Claire to listen to me.
Now, though, I had somewhere I needed to be.
I typed in the alarm code and waited for the three beeps to confirm that it was set, then I locked up and left.
The best thing about Scottish summers was rarely the weather – the heatwave we’d been having for the last week would end soon, and we’d be left with the usual white-cloud mugginess, only broken by the window-rattling storm that was sure to be on its way. No, the best thing was the fact that it stayed light until nearly 10 p. m. People were different in the summer. More free. Not constrained by the dark and the rain that kept them indoors from October to March.
It was nearly six o’clock and the sky was still a bright turquoise blue, the air still warm. A perfect night.
I checked the text again. See you at seven was all it said.
After I left the shop, I stopped off at Tesco’s. As I walked past the café I had a sudden flashback to the breakfast. Bumping into him. Feeling myself getting sucked in by his charm. Did he even know what he was doing? I walked down the aisles, tossing things into my basket as I went. Nibbly stuff. Cheese, a packet of crackers. Houmous. A bag of pre-chopped veg sticks. I remembered Maloney’s smile and I still couldn’t work it out. Did he remember me? Was this all a game to him? I tossed a packet of tortilla chips into the basket, then headed to the wine aisle.
‘All right, Jo. Having a party? I didn’t think you had any mates.’ Sharon’s voice dripped sarcasm. She was hand in hand with the skinny boy from outside the shop. He had a shaved head and big brown eyes and long eyelashes like a cow. He wore a Metallica T-shirt and had those freaky ear spacers in both ears. The holes were already as big as ten pees.
‘If you take them out, do your ears grow back?’ I said, ignoring Sharon and nodding my head towards the boy’s ears.
His face flushed and he blinked. Like most of Sharon’s boys, he looked scary but had the personality of weak tea.
‘Um, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe?’
I snorted. ‘If they don’t, you can always stitch them up with black thread and start a new trend,’ I said, and laughed. Sharon scowled at me and the boy just looked redder. Must be annoying, blushing like that. I was about to comment on it, but Sharon got in first.
‘Well, make sure and enjoy yourself, whatever it is you’re doing. See you tomorrow.’ She took the boy by the elbow and he gave me a half smile before he got dragged off by the fuming Sharon.
I stared down at my basket and felt a bit bad for being such a cow.
I just couldn’t help myself.
Sand-face from the café served me at the checkouts. She had her name badge on this time. ‘Melanie’. Then I remembered her at school. She’d been friends with a fat blonde girl who stank of onion BO and always wore a skirt that was too short for her footballer’s legs. Mandy? Mindy? She’d tried to nick my lunch money once and I’d poked her in the eye with a six-inch ruler. She ignored me after that, and Melanie always looked terrified. She must’ve forgotten about it now, though. She barely glanced at me as she scanned through my items and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself asking about her friend.
By the time I’d walked through the town, across the bridge and along the side of the fields, the carrier bags were cutting into my hands and I had to set them down for a minute to let my hands recover. Dark-red weals had formed on my palms and the skin was burning. It wasn’t a long walk. Half an hour or so. I’d always walked everywhere so it was nothing to me, but I remembered Scott not being too happy when I’d once brought him up here. Once, because he complained so much I never did it again. And also because when I got there I decided I didn’t want to let him into the cottage. Thinking back, that might’ve been the first sign that things weren’t going to work out between us after all.
I worked out a way to pull my sleeves down under my hands to cushion myself from the handles of the plastic bags, which had become tight and sharp like cheesewire. Only five more minutes and I’d be there. I could already make out the outline of the cottage through the trees as I approached the edge of the field, lush green with an abundance of barley, the evening sun glistening across the tops of the plants.
Across the road, the woods were dimmed, trees casting long shadows across the dirt-track lane at the side. In the clearing, the cottage loomed ahead. Grey brick walls, blackened from damp in the corners. Windows curtainless, unlit, like black holes reflecting back the branches of the swaying oaks outside.
Light and dark.
I crossed over the road towards the cottage, feeling a smile play on my lips.
I was looking forward to this.
29
I’d always loved spending time in Gran’s kitchen. It had a warm, homely feel, in contrast to some of the rooms upstairs, which always felt a bit dark and cold, like there was never enough going on in them to bring them to life. Around the edges of the kitchen were a series of high cupboards, the doors once painted a sunny yellow, now cracked and discoloured. I took out plates, cream with a brown floral edge. Plates that were about the same age as me but that had fared significantly better.
I arranged the crackers on the plates, unwrapped the cheese. I hesitated for only a brief moment before pulling open the drawer under the sink and taking out a knife. Not just any knife. My gran’s favourite, and also the one I used when I helped her skin the rabbits. Ingrained in the small wooden handle were years of trapped blood.
I sliced the cheese and laid it on the plates. Then I wiped the knife on my jeans and dropped it back into the drawer. As I pushed the drawer back in, a piece of paper slid down the back, falling out on the floor beneath the sink. I bent to pick it up. It was a newspaper cutting, yellowing and fading like the cupboards that surrounded me. I unfolded it carefully, curious as to why it was in there. At first I thought it was a segment ripped from a sheet she had used to line the drawer, but it was too neatly cut to be that. My head swam as I read the words printed on there:
MISSING LOCAL MAN:
FAMILY FEAR FOR HIS SAFETY
My hands shook as I folded it back up, placed it neatly back in the drawer.
Not now, Jo.
Shoving the drawer closed again, I tried to shake the memory away.
I thought about Claire then, and I knew I had to talk to her soon. There was so much I had to say, but I had to be careful …
Pushing the dark thoughts from my mind, I laid a tray with the plates, cutlery, napkins. Added the wine and two glasses.
I was jus
t about to carry it upstairs to the bedroom when I heard a sharp rap on the door. I paused, waiting. Another single rap, then a break, then two in quick succession.
Morse code. Something that he had taught me.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check the time. 6.58.
He was early.
30
Gray headed back to the Track for the second time in as many days. Rumours were starting to spread around the town now. The would-be attacker had turned into a flasher … Next he would be seven feet tall. He needed to sort this out before it went any further. At this point, he still wasn’t ruling out an idiot and some sick prank.
He parked near the kids’ playground and was glad to see a few mums out with buggies, toddlers climbing like monkeys up the complicated-looking frames. They weren’t like that when he was young. They had a single metal-poled cube-shaped thing with concrete at the bottom. None of this ‘safety flooring’, the dull-red spongy stuff that seemed to be everywhere now. Funnily enough, though, he’d never known anyone to fall off one of the old-style ones and do themselves any damage. Maybe they were just more wimpish now.
Or maybe the opposite: one of the toddlers had already leapt off from the top of the slide and landed in a heap. It was no wonder the mothers were so neurotic.
He cut down the narrow alley, past Brotherstone’s house. Thought about popping in.
The son, Pete – he definitely knew more than he was letting on. It was obvious to think that he might be the one scaring the girls. His build was right, and the way his dad was trying his hardest to shield him from any sort of questioning … The boy’s innocence was a difficult thing to work out. Clearly he was desperate to talk to Gray. Clearly Brotherstone was desperate for him not to.
He could understand, to an extent. Brotherstone had a reputation to protect. Pillar of the community and all that. Plus, it wasn’t the first time that Pete had been accused of something like this.
