Murderabilia

by Craig Robertson

  Jess charged into George Young’s room. Old Mr Young they called him, poor old soul who coughed from morning till night and could barely walk a few feet unaided. He was sitting upright in his bed, his mouth and eyes wide open.

  ‘Come on, George. Get up and come with me. Now!’

  Unblinking, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and got unsteadily to his feet. Jess strode across and put herself under his arm, taking the weight of him on her shoulder. She was a good foot shorter than he was but he was bent near double. Together they shuffled towards the door.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘It’s a fire, George. We’ve got to hurry. Come on, best you can.’

  The old man half walked, half let himself be carried. His breathing was laboured and broke into a bark as they got into the corridor. She looked back to see a wall of flame and knew they wouldn’t, couldn’t, get them all out.

  Maggie Dornan was nowhere to be seen. Jess swore out loud and marched the old man on towards the front door. ‘Come on, George. Nearly there.’

  The door was open when they reached it and she manoeuvred George into the space, taking a quick breather as she leaned him against the frame. Outside, a few feet away, Maggie was on her knees, coughing violently.

  ‘Maggie! Jeezus, we’ve got to get them out of there. They’ll all die!’

  ‘I can’t go back in there. It’s too late!’

  ‘We’ve got to.’

  Maggie just shook her head and buried her face in her arms. Jess pulled old George along another few feet and kicked the other woman in the shins. ‘Take him. Get him away from the building. I’m going back in. Make sure the fire brigade’s on its way.’

  The corridor was ablaze when she turned, a tunnel of fire. Through the heat haze and the flames, she could see frail bodies on the move. With just a moment’s hesitation, she ducked her head and plunged into it.

  The first person she reached was a woman, screaming and scrambling on her knees. Without stopping to see who she was, Jess dragged her along towards the door, scraping her across the carpet. She dumped her on the other side of the doorway and went back inside.

  She shouldn’t have favourites, she knew that and had been told it often enough, but if she could save only one then she knew who it would be. His room was at the far end of the corridor and she was going there.

  A thin, bald man was slumped against the wall unconscious, the smoke taking him or maybe a heart attack. She said a prayer to a God she didn’t believe in and pushed on past him, her own lungs searing and filling up.

  The building roared all around her, crackling and shouting. Her eyes were streaming and her throat was closing over, her nightdress was on fire and she had to beat at it violently to stamp out the flame. Someone bumped against her and she felt a body fall through the smoke. Turning to see who it was, she stumbled, one leg giving way beneath her, and she fell to the floor. Down the corridor, she thought she saw a door open and legs emerge beneath the worst of the smoke.

  She pushed on her arms and began to rise again but there was someone else stumbling in the swirl and he or she crashed over her and landed on her back. She screamed in frustration and the effort burned her throat.

  It was getting darker and yet brighter as the fire raged. No one was moving that she could see. Her eyes were so painful, she felt the need to just close them for a moment. She fought it but they ached and bled. She let them slide over and they immediately felt so much better that she let them stay shut a little longer.

  Somewhere beyond herself, she heard the wail of a siren calling to her. Was it there to rescue her or drag her onto the rocks? It was close by and yet so far away. She slipped one more time as the darkness closed in on her and swallowed her whole.

  CHAPTER 64

  Rachel sat upright in bed the moment the phone rang at five in the morning. She was immediately wide awake and one look at the time on the bedside clock was enough to scare her.

  She began to reach for the phone but he stretched his arm across her and stopped her from picking it up.

  ‘I’ll get it.’

  She heard the same worry in his voice that she felt inside. Her stomach tightened and she didn’t know if it was the pre-eclampsia or fear. Probably both.

  Her mind raced. It took a few moments to remember she wasn’t working, that she was off all cases. That really just left one thing. One person.

  ‘Hello?’

  A pause.

  ‘She’s not here just now. I’m her partner. I can take a message.’

  He was protecting her and she didn’t like it. Didn’t like that he had to.

  ‘What?’

  His eyes were wide. His mouth open.

  ‘But is he . . .?’

  His eyes closed. His face crumpled.

  Her heart dropped to her stomach like a plane dropping out of the sky.

  When his eyes opened again he was nodding, saying okay, right, okay, I will.

  He hung up the phone and turned to look at her. She didn’t want him to speak.

  She already knew what he was going to say.

  ‘Rach, it’s your dad.’

  She knew.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  She knew.

  It was what she didn’t yet know that was going to rip her in two.

  CHAPTER 65

  He didn’t let her go to the nursing home or the hospital. There was nothing to be gained from either, only risk.

  Stopping her wasn’t exactly easy. She’d screamed at him, threatened to rip his head off if he didn’t get out of her way. All he could do was hold her and try to quieten her, try to reason beyond everything that was utterly unreasonable.

  She had to stay and she had to calm down. It was all he had.

  In the end it was the pain that stopped her. She was still in his arms when she bent double and her knees gave way. The pain ripped through her middle and she had to give in, letting him guide her back into bed.

  He phoned the doctor, then held her till the pain subsided and only the tears remained.

  She’d known for a long time that her dad would go. That he didn’t have long left. But this! Oh, my God, this!

  She could have taken it if he’d passed away in his sleep as she’d expected him to. It would still have been heartbreaking but it would have been expected and almost a blessing. It had been so hard for him, such a proud man and so strong that to have all that stripped away was so unfair. She’d even have forgiven herself for being a bit relieved that he didn’t have to suffer that any more. But this . . .

  The sheer horror of it. It made her want to throw up. Made her want to scream. She couldn’t let it into her head, couldn’t picture it for an instant.

  And worse, much worse than even that, it was her fault. It was all because of her.

  The doctor had arrived within half an hour and had sedated her. She was swimming in that now, a horrible soup of half-thought and half-dream and all nightmare. She kept seeing her dad’s face, his young face, when she was a girl. Smiling, patient, understanding, always there. On the edge of her thought, though, there was a fire burning. Flames that kept trying to get into her picture. She had to fight to keep them away, fight not to think of him like that. She could only think of him alive. Alive and kind and strong and smart and loving.

  Tony had waited for the doctor, then phoned his Uncle Danny to come over and sit with her. He was there now, her guard, somewhere above and beside her in the mist. Keeping her safe and keeping her from leaving.

  The irony was Danny was like a second dad to her. As if there could be another. Just one dad. Fuck off, Danny. Leave me alone.

  It was her fault. All her fault.

  She was clinging to his last words and they were all that was keeping her from drowning. ‘Bye, Rachel. I love you.’

  I love you too, Daddy. I love you too.

  The flames were licking closer, setting a slow torch to her memories. She couldn’t keep it away much longer. Then everything would burn and she’d des
erve it.

  CHAPTER 66

  Winter stood, stunned, outside the cordon that kept onlookers away from the burned-out shell of Clober Nursing Home. Fire investigators busied themselves and uniformed cops were going door to door looking for anyone who may have been up in the middle of the night.

  Addison was there, chatting to the lead fire officer, both looking grim. He saw Winter and waved, holding up a hand to suggest two minutes. Winter nodded back, not sure what else to do.

  The building’s walls were charred black. Ravaged. Windows were blown out and the doors were buckled. He guessed the fire had been out for a couple of hours, but he could still feel its heat even from thirty yards away.

  He’d visited the care home maybe twenty, thirty times. He’d never liked the place. The staff were good enough but he hated her dad being caged in there. Now he’d give anything to have it back like that.

  He hated what this had done to her and what it would do to her. It terrified him what it might do to her health, to the baby.

  ‘How are you doing, wee man? Stupid question, I know.’

  Addison had ducked under the cordon and put a hand on his shoulder, dragging his gaze away from what was left of Clober. It struck Winter how unusual it felt, the contact. They weren’t the type that would touch or hug, nothing much beyond a handshake at New Year. Why was that? Why didn’t they? They should.

  ‘I just can’t believe it. Rachel was talking to him on the phone just last night. He was in good form, too. I’m scared for her, Addy.’

  ‘Christ, it’s not like she hasn’t got enough to cope with. He was a good man, her dad. Didn’t deserve this. None of them did.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Eight residents and one member of staff. Three got out but one of those, an old lady, is suffering badly from smoke inhalation and she’s touch-and-go to make it.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘It’s horrendous. Newspapers have all been and gone. You’ve missed it.’

  ‘Not why I’m here.’

  ‘I know. Sorry. I can’t help being a twat.’

  ‘Who was the member of staff?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The member of staff that died. Who was it?’

  ‘Name of Jess Docherty.’

  ‘Jess? Christ.’

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘She was close with Rachel’s dad. Really good with him. She did some shifts with us at the house to cover when we were working.’

  ‘That was her? Jesus, I’m sorry, man.’

  Winter was shaking his head angrily, staring at the nursing home. Addison studied him.

  ‘When are you going to tell me, Tony?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Cut the shite. I don’t button up the back. Jim Bradley, the fire lead, says it looks accidental at first glance, but he’s definitely suspicious. The fire was too good, too strong, too many things fallen just into place. And a cop’s father is inside? Suspicious as fuck, I’d say.’

  Winter didn’t have words. Where would he start?

  The lack of an answer was all Addison needed, though.

  ‘We’ve already had the conversation about you holding out on me. Was this deliberate? If you know anything about this, you’ve got to spill. Don’t give me any crap. This is serious.’

  ‘I can see it’s serious. It was Rachel’s dad. I’m up to here with serious. I know it’s fucking serious.’

  Addison stared at him and Winter glared back. They inched closer without either moving. Addison broke it off before they butted heads.

  ‘You’ve got some slack for Rachel and her dad but it’s running out fast. Tell her I’m thinking about her. And about what happened.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And you know where I am when you want to talk.’

  Winter nodded, a concession in the movement. ‘Yeah. I do.’

  ‘So make it soon.’

  CHAPTER 67

  ‘That fire was no accident. We both know that.’

  He wanted to argue the point with her, for her sake, but he couldn’t. They’d rattled cages and there had been a consequence. Believing anything else would be dangerously naïve.

  So, instead of trying to make her feel better with paper-thin reassurances, Winter could only accept it at face value. The question wasn’t whether the fire was deliberate or whether it was a way of getting at Rachel: the question was what they did about it.

  ‘Tony, my dad died because of me. And don’t tell me otherwise, because you know it’s true. That was a warning. To me, to us. A warning to stay away. Someone killed him and those other old people just to make a statement.’

  He wanted to argue with that too but couldn’t. She wouldn’t thank him for patronising her with what would basically be lies. Her emotions, her entire mental health, were on a knife-edge and he couldn’t take risks with that. He had to walk as carefully as she did.

  It wasn’t just the pre-eclampsia, not just the fears for their unborn child. He was scared for her.

  She was still talking, babbling really, steaming off a fraction of the tension she was boiling in but still leaving an ocean of it on simmer.

  ‘So it leaves us with a decision to make.’

  She let that hang there, a huge question mark that begged an answer. The time of his getting away with just nodding an agreeing was disappearing. He knew that, within moments, he’d need to be in or out and he had to make absolutely sure he got it right. For both their sakes.

  They were sitting curled up together in an alcove under the stairs where the previous owners had built in a cushioned drawer-space that doubled as a reading nook. It also made a good place to hide away from the world.

  ‘We either get scared off as they want or else we don’t,’ she pressed on. ‘We stay away from whatever it is or we don’t. We let them get away with killing my dad or we don’t.’

  The tipping point had been reached and his silence was no longer an option.

  ‘No one is letting anyone get away with killing your dad. Don’t lay that on me, because it’s not fair.’ He felt her begin to unwind in readiness to protest, but he subdued her by pulling her in tighter. ‘I understand, I really do. But it’s not the only consideration. This isn’t just about you and me. It’s him or her as well.’ He patted her belly to make his point. ‘I’m not saying no. I’m just making sure we know exactly what’s at stake.’

  ‘You think I’ve forgotten I’m pregnant?’

  ‘No. But you might have forgotten you’re ill. And you definitely seem to have forgotten you’re off the case. And that we have someone who can help us with this. But . . . as long as we know all that, ask me the question.’

  She squirmed and spiralled under his arms until she turned her body enough that she was looking him in the eyes.

  ‘Do we let them get away with it? Do we back off? Or do we finish this?’

  He had to be in or out. And he had to be right. He had to weigh the risk of doing this against the risk of not. Which was likely to do her more harm?

  ‘You do not leave this house. You get back into bed and you take as much care of you and our baby as you can. You do nothing without talking to me and you get the hell off those murderabilia sites. I don’t want to regret anything from this moment on.’

  ‘Do we finish this?’

  ‘Yes. We finish it.’

  CHAPTER 68

  Something had been niggling her way at the back of her mind for a while. It had bothered her in the way that a fly might when you know it’s round your ear but you can’t see or hear it. You just know it’s there and you can’t ignore it.

  It wasn’t a fly, though: it was a thought, a guess, more than a guess, a knowledge that she’d ignored. It was an idea whistling on the fringes of her thinking but banished somewhere deeper so her subconscious could work it out without being disturbed by real-time things. She’d always worked that way, almost from day one on the job. Maybe everyone’s mind worked like that, but she knew hers did. If she had a problem,
then often it was better not to try to wrestle it into submission but to let her brain get at it on its own.

  She’d lost count of the number of times she’d sat up in bed, wakened from sleep with the solution right at the front of her mind. Or even just doing something completely different, such as driving or showering, and suddenly the answer popped up when she least expected it.

  This time, she found it somewhere in the deep-blue depths of the bedroom wall. She’d been staring at it, hating it, examining it, wondering whether it was peacock blue or cerulean when it came to her. Something Tony had said. Maybe he’d meant it as a throwaway remark or maybe he too had the thought she now had.

  It was suddenly simple. And obvious. If it was correct at all. Shit, was it? She thought it through from all angles now, her conscious challenging the workings of her subconscious. She’d known it all along, she just didn’t know that she did. But was she right?

  Once she was sure in her own mind, she still had a decision to make. Follow her own agenda or do the right thing? Go all lone wolf or get the right help? She could barely think for the excitement of what she’d worked out, but she had to. She had to cut through the adrenalin and think.

  In the end, that was easy. This wasn’t about her and couldn’t be. She was off the case but she’d never be off the job. Doing anything other than the right thing wasn’t an option to her, not nay more.

  She stretched across the bed, her body complaining at the movement. She paused, sensing the onset of the pain but determined to suffer it. This had to be done.

  She called Tony and told him her thinking, leaving him speechless for a while. When he found his voice he tried to point her in the right direction but she stopped him, saying she already knew the way.

  She flipped through the contacts folder on her phone again and pressed call. It rang and rang and she was about to hang up when Addison answered.