by SJI Holliday
Non-promotion aside, Reid was one of the good guys, and he’d be mightily pissed off when he found out what had been going on … Gray just always tried to push things as far as he could. He maintained this was because he liked to have something for them – give them a head start. Truth was, he was desperate to solve something important without them sticking their noses in. He’d got the stubborn streak from his mum.
‘Hello, Pete,’ Gray said, pulling out a chair.
The lad sat opposite, wringing his hands together like he was washing the dishes. He was wearing a thin beanie hat, pulled down almost as far as his eyebrows, which seemed a bit odd considering the weather, but Gray wasn’t going to be the one to question this boy’s fashion sense.
‘I need to tell you something about the man at the Track,’ he blurted. Gray knew from the few times he’d met him that he didn’t really understand the concept of introductions and small talk. Sometimes he wished there were more people like that. Better to get straight to the point than wander around in circles all day.
Gray raised a hand, and the lad fell silent. ‘OK, Pete. First things first – I just need to get my wee pad out so I can write this down.’ He pulled the black notebook from his inside pocket, laid it on the table. Took a pen from the top pocket, clicked it on. ‘Right then. Take it easy now. I’m not sure if I can write as fast as you talk, son.’ He smiled, trying to elicit a response.
Pete stared back blankly.
Gray nodded. Come on then.
‘He was outside our garden … He dropped something at the cut-through …’
Gray felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
‘What was it, Pete? What did he drop?’
It was then that he realised that Pete had a bag with him. A small rucksack. He’d had it down by his feet and Gray hadn’t registered it was there. He watched now as the boy unzipped the bag, peered inside. He lifted his head up, looked at Gray. An awareness registering.
‘I’ve not touched it. It was just in there. Here, do you want to see?’
He pushed the bag across the table, and without even picking it up, Gray could see what was inside.
A mask.
A black sheep’s mask.
45
My lungs wheezed with the exertion, unused to such strain.
Would Maloney call the police? He obviously knew someone had been in there. He had my watch … but did he know it was mine?
Shit. I thought back to that morning when I’d met him in Tesco’s café.
‘Would you like another coffee?’
Then Scott had turned up and ruined it all.
Maloney was there behind me. ‘Jo, you dropped this …’
He’d picked it up this time too. He’d remember it. An old-fashioned link bracelet watch with a dodgy clasp was something that stuck in your mind. I was sure of it.
The other question was, did he know what I had stolen? I hadn’t expected to find anything – I hadn’t even been sure what I was looking for. I didn’t even know yet what it was that I had found.
Despite everything, I felt safe in the woods. I stopped running, found myself panting hard. As I trampled through the mulchy earth I started to feel the pain in my thighs, my lungs. Everything slowing down. My heartbeat gradually returned to normal and I felt a sudden wave of tiredness, an urge to curl up under one of the heavy, sheltering trees, and sleep.
I was fucked now. I knew it. Going to Maloney’s house had been a mistake, but I’d set it all in motion now and it was going to have to come to an end.
I reached the pipe that crossed over the burn, towards the civilisation of Riverview Gardens. Claire’s house. I could’ve gone there. I could’ve ended this the right way. Called Gray. Told him everything.
But no.
Instead of crossing the pipe, I stayed in the woods. Birds fluttered away as I disturbed their air. A lone crow cawed, warning the wood of the danger.
I reached the edge of the wood and expected the darkness from the canopy of trees to turn to light as I approached the wide-open fields of golden corn, but the light was dull, muted. Fat black clouds hung overhead, ready to burst. The heat was cloying, sticky; thunder was on its way.
As I kept to the trodden path at the edge of the field, I could hear the burn babbling beside me. The sound of a lawnmower buzzed in the distance. The scurrying sounds of small animals in the hedgerow to my left.
I closed my eyes, remembering.
‘We’ll go away,’ I’d said. ‘Please.’
I hadn’t turned round, but I could hear their footsteps close behind me, getting closer. A murmur of voices, one slightly raised.
Claire had grabbed my hand. ‘I’m scared, Jo.’
I’d stopped and looked down at her. Watched her little pudgy face. Eyes filled with tears. Bottom lip quivering.
‘I know.’ The anger I’d felt earlier had gone. I was scared, just like she was.
I stopped now, recognising the spot. Even now, there was just a hint of a gap in the dense foliage. The taut wire of the fence was still stretched, ever so slightly, from where I’d wrenched it apart and pushed Claire through.
The first drop of rain splashed off the bare skin of my arm, snapping me back the present.
It was time to go back to Black Wood.
By the time I reached Gran’s cottage I was soaked through. My sodden jeans and T-shirt clung to my skin. Rain rolled down my forehead, into my eyes. My feet squelched inside wet trainers. I started to shiver, and when I inhaled I could smell that dirty, rainy smell with something chemical underneath, mixed with the stale, damp reek of my own clothes.
I found the key in its usual place. The door opened with a creak, and when safely inside, I let it bang shut behind me. I don’t know why, but I didn’t lock it.
The cottage was freezing. Luckily, there was a pile of firewood next to the hearth, and although I didn’t normally bother, I knew I needed to warm the place up, have a bath.
Work out my next move.
A towel lay draped over one of the kitchen chairs from when I’d left it before.
I peeled off my T-shirt, then my jeans, and as I did, something fell from the back pocket, landing on the tiled floor with a thud.
Maloney’s notes. I picked up the pile of folded paper and set it on the table, rubbing my arms to try to get warm. Then I rough dried my hair and my body, and wrapped myself in the towel. I’d never been very good at lighting fires, but this time luck was on my side. A pile of newspapers, rolled into sticks, then some kindling and two of the fattest logs. It took quickly, the whirling wind sucking the flames up the chimney like an angry dragon’s roar.
Watching the flames, I remembered what had happened when I’d left the cottage earlier. The strange air. The taps turning off. At the time I’d felt scared, but now, with the fire on and wrapped up warm, it felt like something that had happened to someone else. I was being stupid.
There was nothing here to be afraid of. My mind was playing tricks on me, that was all.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
I picked up the wad of folded paper and sat down on the mat in front of the fire – which was now licking the sides of the chimney as if it hadn’t had a taste for years. My skin was turning pink at last, losing its blue tinge. Slowly, I unfolded it. There were a couple of sheets, and I had to peel them apart. The top one was a newspaper clipping – which is what had caught my attention in Maloney’s bureau. The way it was jammed into the back of the shelf. Something had just drawn me to it. A feeling that it was significant.
I pulled off the top sheet, unfolded it fully.
MISSING LOCAL MAN:
FAMILY FEAR FOR HIS SAFETY
Maloney’s missing father. The same piece of paper from Gran’s drawer. I knew why she had it. I’d guessed, long ago, that she’d killed that man. Buried him in the woods. It was the next thing I planned to do, next morning when it was light again. I only had a rough idea where the grave was, a vague memory from that night when I’d heard her
crying, seen her dirt-crusted hands.
I unfolded the second sheet of paper and laid it on the floor. It was covered with notes and scribbles. A badly drawn diagram, a jumble of numbers and words.
It didn’t make sense.
Wrapping the towel round tighter, I walked over to the drawer beneath the sink, pulled it open slowly. The atmosphere was filled with my short, shallow breaths. The crackle of the fire. The heady scent of the burning logs.
The cutting was crumpled from when I’d jammed it in before. I placed it down on the floor with Maloney’s copy and the other piece of paper. As I went to close the drawer, I saw Gran’s paring knife, still streaked from the remnants of our picnic on Monday night … and a memory hit me.
The rabbit.
I stared at the kitchen table. Felt the spectre of a breeze trickle past my legs, tasted metal in the air.
Somewhere upstairs, a door banged shut.
46
Gray told Lorna to check the mask in as evidence and send Pete home. He would deal with Martin Brotherstone later. If only he’d let Gray talk to Pete right at the start … He just hoped that the councillor’s loyalty – or was it paranoia? – hadn’t led to an attack that could have been prevented. He’d planned to check out Brotherstone’s shed for any further evidence, but him not being in had thrown a spanner in the works. It would have to wait. He was swithering about going home for a hot bath and some time to clear his head when the call came in.
‘Sarge? Just got this from dispatch …’ Lorna swivelled the screen so he could see.
Reports of an intruder at Rose Cottage.
‘Where’s Beattie?’
‘Gone out to get a sandwich … he’ll be back in a minute, he said.’
‘Never mind, I’ll go myself.’ He stepped behind the counter and took the car keys off the hook, then walked out without another word. Beattie was another one he’d have to deal with later.
He pulled up outside the cottage and parked on the street. There was a car in the drive and not much space left behind it. He didn’t fancy reversing out onto the main road.
Was it coincidence that the very person he’d been trying to speak to was now calling to ask for his help? Break-ins weren’t particularly rife in the town, but there were always chancers.
He paused outside the heavy oak front door, hand over the ornate brass knocker, then stopped. He’d been to this cottage before, years ago.
The previous owners had used the back door as the main entrance.
He walked around the side, lifting the latch on the little gate. He took in the overgrown garden. Heavy bushes. Dark corners. He felt a sudden shiver.
Could someone still be hiding in there?
He was about to wander over and investigate when the back door opened and a man walked out. Gray gave him an instant appraisal. Tall, well built. Sporty type. Neatly styled hair. Clothes that looked freshly ironed. Too clean? He wondered, idly, if the man had recently got changed.
‘Hello, I’m Gareth,’ the man said, hand outstretched. ‘Thanks for coming so quickly.’
Gray took the hand and shook. Firm. Confident.
‘Hello,’ he said, ‘I’m Sergeant Gray. Call me Davie.’
The man nodded and Gray thought he detected a faint shakiness in the too-wide smile.
He didn’t meet the description of the man from the Track. Too broad.
But there was something.
Gray had a bit of a sixth sense for it, sometimes.
‘Come in,’ Maloney said, gesturing inside.
Gray followed.
Maloney stood in the middle of the living room. His shoulders had slumped slightly, and there was a definite hint of awkwardness.
Gray took his notepad out of his pocket. ‘So … Constable Beattie mentioned something about a break-in. Just wondering why you called the station and not 999?’
Maloney’s mouth fell open slightly. ‘Oh. Well, I didn’t think it was an emergency. I’m pretty sure they’ve gone. I got the number from the directory …’
His eyes flitted towards a dark-brown bureau. A small local directory sat on top, lying open.
It was Gray’s turn to be shocked. Even though the things still plopped through his letterbox once a year, he didn’t think he’d looked anything up in there in years. Everyone used the Internet these days. Local advertising was dead.
‘I can tell what you’re thinking, Sergeant. I haven’t even seen one of these things for years, never mind looked anything up in one, but, well, I’m new here. I was hoping to find some ads for things to do around here. Ways to meet people, you know? It was instinct that made me pick it up and get the local station number.’
Gray nodded. It sounded fair enough. So why did it just feel a little bit … odd?
‘Right, so. Is anything missing?’ Gray’s eyes scanned the room. It looked tidy. Minimal furniture. TV in the corner. Books piled on a coffee table. One of those fancy thin laptops next to the pile. Nothing apparently out of place.
Maloney shook his head. ‘That’s the thing. I don’t think so, but …’ He slapped himself on the head. ‘Sorry, I’m so rude. Would you like a coffee? Tea?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. Where’s the accent from, Mr Maloney? I can’t quite place it.’
‘Aberdeen – well, just outside. Small place called Laurencekirk. Moved there when I was thirteen and I seem to have picked up the twang …’ He laughed. ‘Not sure if that’s a good thing or not.’
Gray smiled, indulging him. Scribbled down the name of the town in his pad. ‘Moved there from where?’
‘Sorry?’ He looked shifty again. Like he’d been caught out.
‘You said you moved there when you were thirteen. Where from?’
Maloney swallowed. His eyes flitted to the right, then the left before he spoke. ‘Here,’ he said.
Gray tried not to register his surprise. ‘You lived here until you were thirteen? Can’t say I recognise you. Not sure I know any Maloneys at all, actually …’
‘Well, um. I wasn’t around much. I went to school up town. I didn’t really hang about with any of the kids from Banktoun, except, well …’ He shook his head as if trying to dislodge a painful memory. ‘And, eh … my name wasn’t Maloney back then. That’s my mum’s maiden name. We both changed to it when we left … Fresh start, after Dad died and …’
Careful, Gray thought. There’s something here. Take it slow.
He changed tack. ‘Right, so you came home, and someone had broken in, you say? If there’s nothing missing, what alerted you to it?’
Maloney pointed towards a brown leather sofa in the corner of the room, then walked over and sat down. Gray sat on a matching chair, opposite. Waited for him to continue.
‘Well, firstly, the door was unlocked.’
‘And you definitely locked it when you went out?’
‘Yes. I remember doing it. The lock’s a bit stiff, you see, and it’d been a bit of a struggle to turn it. I’ve got a locksmith coming tomorrow actually. The lock looks ancient …’
‘Probably a good idea to change it anyway, being new in. Maybe someone had a key …’
‘Well, yes. Someone definitely had a key. But not from me. Do you know who lived here before? Maybe they came back or …’
‘I doubt that, Mr Maloney. I do remember the previous owners, and I don’t think they were the type to sneak back into their old house.’
Maloney nodded, dropped his head slightly. Thinking.
‘The thing is, I’m pretty sure that I disturbed whoever it was when I arrived. I thought I saw a figure through the window, before I got out of the car. I was listening to the radio. Pearl Jam were on. I was waiting for the song to end before I came in.’
‘Man? Woman? Can you describe them?’
Maloney shook his head. ‘Like I said, just a shadow. I might’ve imagined it …’
‘So how did they get out? Did you check that they’d actually left?’
Gray remembered the odd feeling he’d experienced in the gar
den. Like someone was out there. Or maybe just gone, an imprint left behind.
‘I think they hid in the garden until I closed the door. I stood out there, but – well, it could’ve been anyone. They could’ve had a weapon … I just stood for a few minutes. I thought I heard breathing in the bushes. Rustling.’
‘Could’ve been an animal?’
They looked at each other. They both knew it hadn’t been an animal.
‘You did the right thing. Could’ve been a nutter. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but we’ve had sightings of a man up at the old railway tracks …’
‘The Track? Yeah, I heard about that. I was working in the library today. I overheard the librarian discussing it with some old woman in there …’
Bridie Goldstone, no doubt. By all accounts she’d been quite busy in the town, spreading her insider knowledge.
‘Do you mind if I have a look round? Check everything’s OK?’
‘Be my guest.’
Gray walked slowly around the room. Looked at the windowpanes. Painted shut at the front. He glanced at the directory lying on top of the bureau. It was open at the ‘local services’ page. The police station number there, as he’d said.
When he’d finished in the living room, he did a quick recce of the other downstairs rooms.
‘Have you been upstairs?’
‘Yes. Nothing out of place.’
Gray walked into the adjoining kitchenette and opened a couple of cupboards, out of nosiness more than anything else. The first one was full of neatly stacked plates and bowls. The second, a row of cereal boxes that looked like they’d been lined up with a set square and a spirit level.
He fought the urge to push one of them backwards, like the Julia Roberts character escaping from her psychopathic control-freak husband in that old film. Sleeping with the Enemy? Something like that. Thankfully, Maloney had mentioned a preference for indie music. The old house was giving him the creeps, and a sudden burst of Berlioz would definitely push him over the edge.
He’d sensed rather than seen Maloney get up from the couch, but when he turned he found the man had flipped open the lid of the bureau. He had one hand inside. Gray walked over and, as he did, Maloney flipped the lid closed again.
