The Health of Strangers

by Lesley Kelly

  Mona closed her eyes. Trying to play down the significance of what they’d done was only going to enrage her boss further. It was that bad. It was very, very bad indeed, but Carole was unstoppable.

  ‘I mean, Mona and Bernard were trying to help a Health Defaulter who was in danger.’

  ‘Yes, and while doing that they failed to involve the Police at the appropriate moment, broke numerous rules and protocols, and,’ Paterson threw a pen at Mona, ‘let’s not forget, did exactly the opposite of what I told them to do.’

  His pen bounced off the side of the desk and landed at the feet of Maitland, who stood in the doorway. The Guv ignored his arrival and kept talking.

  ‘So, Mona, if I’ve understood the situation correctly, this drug dealer, as well as the massed ranks of the Stirlingshire constabulary, is descending on Bernard in Dunblane, but what about Amanda? Where’s she gone?’

  Mona thought for a second. ‘Well, if she’s got enough cash she’s probably already getting out of the country. She knows we’re on to her. But the fact that she’s sending her messenger boy after Heidi suggests that she’s determined not to leave without the money she’s made, or . . .’

  ‘She’s not made enough to leave.’ Paterson looked up at her. ‘Which makes her . . .’

  ‘Dangerous. Guv . . .’ Before she could continue, her mobile rang. She looked at her boss, unsure if she should take the call.

  ‘Well, answer it.’ Paterson gestured in the direction of her ringing pocket. ‘It could be CID.’

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mona Whyte?’ The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. ‘It’s Vic Thompson here.’

  ‘Mr Thompson.’ She motioned to her colleagues to be quiet, and pressed the button for speakerphone. ‘This is Mona, how can I help you?’

  ‘That girl you were looking for – I’ve been thinking about it. She was here.’ Vic’s voice echoed around the room.

  ‘Really?’ Mona looked at Paterson, who raised an eyebrow. ‘What jogged your memory?’

  Vic ignored her question. ‘She’s a friend of a woman called Amanda Harris, who, I’m afraid to say, it has come to my attention, has been dealing drugs in my bar.’

  She glanced at Paterson who rolled his eyes.

  ‘You’ll be informing the Police of that fact, Sir?’

  There was a pause. ‘Absolutely. But,’ he laughed, a high-pitched, strangulated sound, ‘as you are aware I’ve had my run-ins with the Police in the past. That’s why I’ve contacted you first. Amanda’s a public health risk. You need to get a team over to her flat at . . .shit, I can’t remember her address. It’s Marchmont somewhere.’

  She looked round at her colleagues; their faces reflected her own confusion.

  ‘Absolutely, consider it done. We have her details.’

  ‘And there’s one other thing . . .’

  ‘Yes, Sir?’

  There was a silence, then a sigh at the other end of the line.

  ‘I have a number of guns that I use when hunting, Miss Whyte, all fully licensed of course . . .’

  ‘Of course, Sir.’

  ‘One of them is missing.’

  She looked at her boss, who was already reaching for his coat. ‘Are you at Morley’s, Mr Thompson?’

  The nervous, high-pitched laugh came through again. ‘I am. Perhaps I shouldn’t be.’

  ‘Stay there and lock the doors. We’re on our way over.’

  She clicked her mobile shut. ‘Carole – phone CID again.’

  Paterson made for the door. ‘Update them about Mr Thompson’s concerns and tell them to get a response round there sharpish.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Paterson.’

  ‘Come on, you two,’ he pointed at Mona and Maitland.

  ‘But, Guv,’ protested Maitland. ‘CID told us not to move.’

  ‘We’re meeting them there; they can hardly complain we’re out of contact. C’mon now. I’ve a bad feeling about this.’

  The three of them stood at the top of the stairs to Morley’s, looking down at the long-haired man who was trying unsuccessfully to pull the door open.

  ‘Afternoon, Donny, where’s your boss?’

  The ponytailed figure turned round. ‘You lot again?’ His face rippled with exasperation. ‘I thought you’d found Colette?’

  Maitland started walking down the steps. ‘We have. This is a different matter . . .’

  Paterson pushed past his colleague. ‘Where’s Vic?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Donny peered in through the window, holding his hand up to his face to block out the light. ‘The door shouldn’t be bolted.’

  ‘We told him to lock it.’ Mona stood next to him, peering in.

  ‘Why?’

  Mona ignored Donny’s question. ‘Can you give your boss a ring on his mobile and tell him Mona Whyte is here and he needs to let us in?’

  Donny opened his mouth as if to ask another question, then thought better of it and dialled his boss’s number. They heard a faint sound of ringing from inside the building.

  ‘It’s gone to his messaging service.’ The barman held the phone up to Mona. ‘Is Vic all right?’

  Paterson continued the policy of ignoring Donny’s questions, and rattled the door handle. ‘Is there another way in, son?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Donny began walking up the stairs. ‘The back alley.’

  They retraced their steps up to the pavement. Mona tripped, banging her knee. She cursed. Why wasn’t Vic answering his phone?

  ‘This way.’ Donny pointed them down a small lane which ran between Morley’s block and the neighbouring tenement. They picked their way in between the bags of rubbish, until they had travelled the full length of the building.

  ‘This is the back entrance.’ Donny pointed at a solid metal door. ‘Leads straight into the ground floor.’

  Paterson looked at the reinforced steel in disgust. ‘Not the most accessible way in, is it, son?’

  Donny pointed at a small window. ‘A good shove on that and we can get in. I’ve done it before.’

  To prove his point, he walked over to the window and gave the frame a good thump. As predicted, it opened slightly. He slid his hand inside and undid the catch.

  ‘I’ll climb in and unlock it.’

  Paterson put a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘Not so fast, sunshine, we don’t know who’s in there. We’ll wait for CID.’

  ‘Guv!’ protested Mona and Maitland in unison.

  ‘We could pop in there, get the door open, have a recce, no problem.’ Maitland moved toward the window.

  ‘No chance.’ There was a firm shake of the head. ‘As I said, we don’t know who’s in there. Maitland, get round the front and keep an eye out for CID.’

  While Paterson was focused on her colleague’s retreating back, Mona took the opportunity to pull the window open and have a look inside. There was a sound, something that could have been a very faint cry of anguish.

  ‘Guv!’

  Paterson turned round, and strode back toward her. ‘Get away from there.’ He pulled her away from the frame, and stood guard as if expecting her to try to push past him. She pointed over his shoulder.

  ‘There’s someone shouting for help in there.’

  Paterson’s look radiated suspicion.

  ‘Honestly, I heard something.’

  He pushed open the window, and again, a soft sound of pain drifted out.

  ‘Guv?’

  He looked back down the alleyway. There was a continued absence of cavalry. ‘Oh, God. OK. But be careful in there.’ He knitted his hands together. ‘Need a leg up?’

  She stuck her foot on her boss’s palms, and manoeuvred herself sideways through the space, and onto a desk at the other side. She’d barely landed on the wood when Donny’s head appeared beside her.

  ‘Hoi!’ The Guv’s voice could be heard outside. ‘Where do you think you’re going, son?’

  Donny grinned at her, and rolled off the desk onto the floor in a manner that suggested he’d used thi
s method of entry several times before. She pointed at the back door.

  ‘Get that open, and do not leave this room.’

  He indicated an open box on the wall. ‘Keys are gone.’

  ‘Is there another set?’

  ‘Should be one in the desk somewhere.’

  ‘Find it and get out.’

  She left him opening the desk drawers while she investigated further. The office door opened onto a windowless corridor. She stuck her head out and looked up and down the hall. There were several doors, all of them firmly shut, revealing nothing about who or what was waiting for her behind them. Amanda wouldn’t think twice about shooting her, if she stood in the way of her escape.

  ‘Help!’

  The voice was weak, but unmistakeably male: Vic in all probability. She stood where she was, straining to hear if there was anyone else in the building. There was a faint shuffling sound. Slowly, making as little noise as she could, she edged along the wall, and stopped opposite the room the noise seemed to come from. On the balls of her feet, she approached the door, turned the knob and threw it open, before flattening herself against the wall. She tensed, awaiting gunfire, or someone appearing from the room, but the silence continued.

  ‘Help me!’

  Still cautious, she stepped into the room and stopped abruptly. Vic was lying on the floor, rivulets of blood ebbing away from his body. On the wall above his head there was a large wooden cross. A vision of the preacher from earlier came into her head. Repent, sinner.

  ‘Shit.’

  She grabbed her mobile and dialled 999, but before she could get through, the room was full of people. Maitland and Paterson appeared at her side, and a couple of guys she vaguely recognised from CID were on their radios ordering an ambulance.

  ‘Donny,’ she turned and spoke to the bartender, who was leaning, ashen-faced, against the wall, ‘do you have any towels?’

  He fled, reappearing a minute later with some bar cloths. She bent down next to Vic, wrapping the towels firmly round his wound.

  ‘Ambulance is on its way.’

  He gave a slight movement of his head to show he understood, and closed his eyes.

  ‘No, Vic, stay awake.’

  His eyes opened again.

  ‘Talk to me, who did this?’

  There was silence, and Vic struggled to get his breath. Eventually he spat out a word.

  ‘Amanda.’

  Behind her she heard one of the CID men say to Paterson, ‘Who is Amanda?’

  Twenty minutes later Vic Thompson had been safely stretchered out of Morley’s and into the back of an ambulance, with Maitland and a CID man sent to ride shotgun. The other CID guy was deep in conversation with Paterson, in a low enough tone that Mona couldn’t quite make out what was being said. It didn’t take a genius to work out that the tone of the conversation was along the lines of what-was-the-HET-playing-at? She tried in vain to remember the detective’s name; Josephs? Jacobs? Something like that, anyway.

  She turned her attention back to Donny, who was sprawled on one of the bar’s leather couches. The colour had begun to return to his cheeks, and Mona noticed him nervously checking his watch.

  ‘Are you late for something?’

  ‘We should be opening up by now.’

  There was a chorus of snorts from Paterson and the remaining CID man.

  ‘Forget about opening up, son,’ the detective said, walking over to them. ‘This is a crime scene. Give it five minutes and my colleagues will be swarming all over this place.’

  ‘But . . .’ He leaned back in his seat, then after a moment’s contemplation got purposefully to his feet. ‘I can probably go then, if I’m not opening up.’

  Paterson motioned him back down. ‘’Fraid not, son. We’ve got a few questions for you about what’s going on here.’

  The CID man coughed. Paterson acknowledged the intervention.

  ‘I mean, of course, that my colleague from CID here has a few questions, what with this now being an attempted murder enquiry.’ He winked at the detective. ‘But, son, I know you’ve had a shock, and I think the best thing for everyone concerned would be a cup of tea. Care to show me where the kitchen is?’

  Donny looked at Mona, seeking a second opinion on whether refreshments were the way to go. She smiled encouragingly. ‘A cup of tea would be great.’

  ‘OK.’ He slowly got to his feet. Paterson ushered him through the door. As soon as it closed behind him, the detective started speaking.

  ‘You’re ex-CID, aren’t you? Mona, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yep,’ she said, without turning round. ‘Mona Whyte.’

  The detective didn’t offer any clues as to his own name. ‘Quite a story your boss was telling me about your involvement in all this.’

  She felt suddenly weary. There would have to be a lot of explanations to CID, SHEP and probably a lot of other people too, but right now she really did want that cup of tea.

  ‘I know he’s your witness, but can I ask him a couple of questions?’

  The CID man scowled at her.

  ‘We’ll share all our knowledge of the case, of course, but just right now it would be great to ask Donny some questions while he’s . . .’ She struggled for the right word.

  ‘Unsettled?’ The detective helped her out. He thought for a moment. ‘OK, have a crack at him, but we want everything you know.’

  The Guv appeared, holding the door wide so Donny and his tray of mugs could fit through. He placed four mugs of tea in front of them. Mona picked up hers, and sat down next to him.

  ‘Are you OK to answer a couple of questions?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He sighed. ‘Still a bit shocked, to be honest.’

  ‘Totally understandable.’ Mona pulled the photograph of Amanda and the blonde girl out of her bag. ‘Do you know this woman?’

  Donny looked at it for a second, his brow knotted. ‘Yeah – that’s Mandy Harris, isn’t it? What’s she got to do with this?’

  ‘And do you recognise the woman with her? It could be her girlfriend?’

  ‘Girlfriend?’ Donny gave a confused laugh, looking from Mona to Paterson, and back. ‘Hardly. It’s her sister, Angie.’

  Of course. The relaxed intimacy of the photograph. It was a family picture.

  Paterson leaned forward. ‘How do you know them?’

  ‘Angie’s boyfriend worked here, and she was in here all the time.’ Donny took a slow drink of his tea. ‘When Mandy moved to Edinburgh a year or so ago, she started hanging out here too.’

  The puzzle was rearranging itself in Mona’s head. ‘And Angie’s boyfriend’s name?’

  ‘Kieran Shaw. He doesn’t work here anymore, though.’

  ‘Why did he leave?’

  Donny shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I wondered if it was because he wasn’t happy about Mandy and Vic getting together.’

  ‘Amanda and Vic were in a relationship?’

  ‘For a while. I think he found her a bit, you know.’

  ‘A bit what?’ asked Paterson.

  ‘Bossy. A pain in the arse,’ Donny said. ‘I think he binned her, because he told all the staff she was barred. Haven’t seen her since.’ He turned to Mona. ‘Why are you asking all these questions about Mandy? It wasn’t her that shot him, was it?’

  ‘We’re still trying to establish what has happened.’ Mona ducked the question. ‘How long ago did Vic bar her?’

  ‘A month, maybe? Or even six weeks. I’m not totally sure.’

  ‘And Colette,’ said Mona, ‘and all the other religious girls. How long have they been coming here to church?’

  Something approaching a blush spread across Donny’s cheeks. He shifted around in his seat. ‘Colette had nothing to do with any of this . . .’

  ‘Absolutely.’ She raised both her hands in a placatory gesture. ‘We’re just curious how Mr Thompson came to be running a weekly service here – it seems a little out of character?’ She caught the eye of the CID man, who raised an eyebrow at her. Explaining all t
his was going to take a while.

  ‘That was Mandy’s idea.’ Donny shook his head, almost smiling, as if he still found the religious proposition ridiculous. ‘She was living with some German lassie who went to church, and she got to know the vicar guy . . .’

  ‘Pastor Mackenzie?’

  ‘Yeah.’ There was a brief silence while they waited for him to continue, but instead Donny looked at his watch. ‘Can I go now?’

  ‘Five more minutes.’ Mona was sure that he knew more. ‘So, why did Amanda want Vic to have a church here?’

  The barman shifted in his seat, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. He gave a shrug of his shoulders and sat contemplating his fingernails.

  The Guv leaned forward. ‘If there’s been something going on here, better to mention it now, son, otherwise your next conversation on the subject might be down at the Station.’

  ‘Or,’ said the CID man, ‘we might have to invite some of the churchgoing young ladies in for a chat.’

  He was good; five minutes listening to the conversation and he’d already identified Donny’s weak spot. What was his name? Johnstone? Jacobs? Jacobson! Ian Jacobson, she was sure of it.

  Ignoring the detective Donny addressed his comments to Mona. ‘I just pour drinks here, I don’t get involved.’

  ‘But you see things.’

  He sat back in the chair and folded his arms. ‘Less than you’d think.’

  ‘OK, OK, I get the picture. You don’t want to talk to us.’ Mona stood up. ‘Off you go then.’

  Donny didn’t move.

  ‘Seriously, off you go.’ She pointed to the door. ‘Of course, we’ll have to get our information elsewhere, starting, of course, with . . .’ She left the sentence hanging. Donny glared up at her.

  ‘If I talk to you, you’ll leave Colette out of this?’

  ‘As far as I can, yes.’

  For a moment he said nothing, obviously weighing up whether this was a good enough offer. He must have decided it was the best he could hope for, because he started to talk. ‘Mandy had it in her head that she could sell all kinds of shite to the students that were coming here – pills and stuff, making out it would stop them getting the Virus. She set up a website all about it, with all this student-friendly shite about French writers and stuff.’