The Darkest Goodbye

by Alex Gray

  Alex Gray was born and educated in Glasgow. After studying English and Philosophy at the University of Strathclyde, she worked as a visiting officer for the DHSS, a time she looks upon as postgraduate education since it proved a rich source of character studies. She then trained as a secondary school teacher of English. Alex began writing professionally in 1992 and had immediate success with short stories, articles and commissions for BBC radio programmes. She has been awarded the Scottish Association of Writers’ Constable and Pitlochry trophies for her crime writing. A regular on the Scottish bestseller lists, her previous novels include Five Ways to Kill a Man, Glasgow Kiss, Pitch Black, The Riverman, Never Somewhere Else, The Swedish Girl and Keep the Midnight Out. She is the co-founder of the international Scottish crime writing festival, Bloody Scotland, which had its inaugural year in 2012.

  ALSO BY ALEX GRAY

  Never Somewhere Else

  A Small Weeping

  Shadows of Sounds

  The Riverman

  Pitch Black

  Glasgow Kiss

  Five Ways to Kill a Man

  Sleep Like the Dead

  A Pound of Flesh

  The Swedish Girl

  The Bird That Did Not Sing

  Keep the Midnight Out

  COPYRIGHT

  Published by Sphere

  978-0-7515-5490-8

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Alex Gray 2016

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Words from ‘In the Snack-bar’ by Edwin Morgan from New Selected Poems published by Carcanet Press Ltd 2000.

  Lyrics to ‘Rainy Days and Mondays’ by Roger S. Nichols, Paul H. Williams. © Almo Music Corp.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  SPHERE

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London, EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  The Darkest Goodbye

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Alex Gray

  COPYRIGHT

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  This book is dedicated to Alanna Knight MBE,

  my beloved friend

  And slowly we go down. And slowly we go down.

  ‘In the Snack-bar’ by Edwin Morgan

  PROLOGUE

  One hot day in August

  He had to die. That had never been a matter for debate. The body at their feet was bleeding copiously from the stab wounds that had been inflicted. A young man’s life snuffed out, but hey, they were used to things like that by now. Weren’t they?

  It had happened quickly at the end, the drug dealer shambling towards them down that hallway, eyes glazed as he’d tried to focus on who was banging on the door of the tenement flat, a look of surprise turning to shock as the first blow had made him sprawl on the carpet. After that it had been easy. Knowing just where to make that fatal cut, letting out the warm blood. Not so easy dragging his thin wasted body into the bathroom. And it could be weeks till anyone came looking for him.

  It was also a warning to the others. Loose talk could bring everything crashing around their ears.

  The two figures emerged from the dark close mouth into the daylight of one of Glasgow’s busiest thoroughfares, soon merging into the crowds.

  Nobody glancing at either of their faces would ever guess that they had just killed a man.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘You’re early.’

  The old woman’s dark eyes narrowed as I entered the room, staring up at my navy blue uniform. Was there suspicion in those clouded eyes? Or was she simply trying to decide if this stranger standing in her bedroom was bringing the pain-killing relief she had craved through another long night?

  ‘Ready for your meds, darling?’ I asked, my laconic shrug and wide smile putting her at ease. ‘Give you a bit of peace, eh?’ I chuckled, inviting her to share in my little joke. She’d soon be at peace all right, enough to last for all eternity.

  But the patient in the bed did not return my smile and for a split second I wondered if she could possibly have guessed my real intentions.

  I put down the bag I’d been carrying and lifted out the plastic box containing the medication. Her eyes followed every movement as I unwrapped the sterile syringe and filled it with the contents of the phial. Surely she must be desperate for the release from her constant pain? If she’d had any choice in the fate that I was about to administer, wouldn’t she see me as some sort of angel of mercy? My smile never wavered as I pulled up the sleeve of her nightdress, preparing a patch of wrinkled flesh with an antiseptic wipe.

  Her head turned away as the needle pierced her arm, a reluctance to see what was happening. Then, as though she knew that sleep was about to follow, her eyelids drooped, her chest rising and falling in one huge sigh.

  I sat back and waited, watching the faint movement, a gentle rhythm that would soon give way to one final struggle as she gasped for breath. I would continue to sit in this room where the curtains were rarely drawn back until after ten in the morning. Other hands than hers were required for such small acts nowadays; hands like mine, clasped loosely together on my lap as I watched the woman sleeping.

  It had been easy enough to gain access. A simple matter to turn the key in the lock, the click hardly discernible. It would be returned later, shiny and clean, no traces on its yellow brass to identify me. Anyone happening to look at the figure who had walked into the house would have seen the navy blue jacket, standard uniform for most community nurses these days. It was expecte
d that the old lady at number thirty-three would have someone coming to look after her, though perhaps not at this early hour of a September morning.

  It would not be long now. I amused myself by imagining the contents of the used syringe travelling through these knotted veins on a journey that would end in the chambers of her heart. A sigh, a rattle, then it would be over. There was no need to stay until the end but something always kept me there, as though this final vigil was a thing that ought to be shared. I’d never had a word from any patient, no whispered ‘thank you’, no look of gratitude from eyes worn out with too much suffering. I’d have hated it if an eyelid had ever flickered; there was an inner need to have these moments of peace when the patient drifted away, mouth slackening, blood cooling as death came with its chill hands to carry them off.

  All over this city there were silent, seated watchers just like me, waiting for their loved ones to pass over. But the difference between us was that these patients were not my close relatives, never people known intimately, even though I might have smiled at them and called them darling.

  For a few minutes I turned away and yawned, stretching my arms behind my head, eyes closed for a moment, drifting into a half sleep, musing about Quiet Release… When I jolted awake, blinking to stare at the patient, it was only to notice that there was no visible movement from the bed.

  I clenched my fists in a sudden spasm of annoyance. She’d cheated me, the old bitch! It must have happened in those few seconds when sleep had dimmed my senses – the old woman had stolen away. Aye, death might be a process, the organs shutting down, the body cooling until rigor stiffened it, but there was something exciting about being there for that final intake of breath. And I’d missed it.

  For one angry moment I was tempted to grab hold of her frail old body and shake it. But the urge passed, leaving me standing beside the bed, fists unclenching as I stooped to pick up the bag from the floor. It was only as I turned to leave that I gave her one last look.

  ‘Goodnight, then, darling,’ I crooned, putting two fingers to my lips and blowing a kiss in the direction of the bed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  For everybody else it was just a day like any other day.

  Kirsty had almost passed the mirror when she took a step back, momentarily puzzled by the stranger whose frown so resembled her own.

  It was, she thought, like seeing herself naked.

  That quick glance each morning had seen a figure clad in the uniform of Police Scotland, PC Kirsty Wilson often pausing to adjust her hat, a piece of kit that she disliked intensely.

  This morning was different. Today was a new beginning, a step away from the routine she had enjoyed as a uniformed officer in Glasgow into the heady atmosphere of CID. In truth, since joining the police, Kirsty had always hoped to emulate her father, Detective Inspector Alistair Wilson, who was now on the point of retiring after thirty years of service. There would be a brief few weeks while father and daughter worked together as colleagues in the divisional headquarters at Stewart Street, something that was rarely allowed to happen within the force and was only being permitted because the DI would be leaving in early October.

  Kirsty started to frown back at the girl whose reflection was caught in the long mirror in the hallway of her flat, then gave a laugh instead, her mouth curving in the grin that came more naturally to her. It was a face that had lost its former chubbiness after her spell of basic training and regular attendance at the gym. Anyone looking at the police officer would have noticed high cheekbones and a pale complexion, with dark, almost black hair – the young woman’s features being typical of the ancient Celtic blood that ran in her veins.

  Kirsty smoothed down the jacket of her new trouser suit, feeling the slenderness of her waist with satisfaction. Gone were the days of scoffing her own home baking and curling up with a mug of full-fat hot chocolate in front of the television, though in truth she still enjoyed pottering in the kitchen and turning out some delicious cakes, especially for her boyfriend, James, whose stick-thin frame never seemed to change, however many calories he consumed. James had sat up poring over his textbooks well into the night, his dissertation for this final honours year proving to be more of a task than he had anticipated. Kirsty would not wake him but simply slip out and greet this new phase of her professional life alone.

  ‘Good morning, Detective Constable Wilson,’ she whispered, savouring the name for a brief moment, acknowledging the thrill of excitement that she felt inside.

  What would they make of her? It would be extra hard, given that her father’s reputation preceded her own. She’d have to prove to them all that she had deserved this step into CID. Giving the girl in the mirror a desultory wave of her hand, Kirsty picked up the shoulder bag lying by the front door, turned the key in the lock and stepped out of the flat, careful to close the heavy door behind her as quietly as possible.

  It was the sort of morning that suited new beginnings, she thought, pausing by the kerb at Barrington Drive to breathe in the cool early morning air. Few people were about at this time in the morning yet there was always the sound of traffic coming from Woodlands Road on one side and Great Western Road on the other. An arrow-shaped leaf from the row of cherry trees fluttered down at her feet, a harbinger of the swirling flight of autumn foliage that would spread all over the roads and pavements come the next storm. Kirsty resisted the urge to pick it up and put it into her pocket, something she had always done as a child. The first leaf of autumn, Kirsty, she could recall her grandmother telling her. It’s the sign of a new season beginning.

  Grandmother Wilson had been right about that long after her voice had ceased to be heard this side of eternity. September was a month when Kirsty had made new starts in both university and police college. She loved this time of year when early morning mists appeared, bringing a chill to the air and robins whistling in the shrubbery. Although these were harbingers of the cold Scottish winters ahead, there was something about the transition from long bright days to the darker months that gave Kirsty a sense of renewed vigour after the lazy days of summer. Whenever the trees in the park turned from dusty greens into the autumn tints of yellow and gold, fond memories came back to her of crunching through drifts of leaves on her way to primary school and hunting for conkers.

  It seemed a long time since she had come to the city, Kirsty thought, heading towards the path that would take her to Kelvingrove underground station. The flat in the quiet street that she shared with James was far handier for work and university than the one she had lived in when they had first met. That had been one of comparative luxury, the owner a Swedish girl whose wealthy father had indulged his daughter by purchasing a duplex apartment near Anniesland Cross. The time spent there had changed the course of Kirsty’s life in more ways than one.

  She thrust the thoughts of Anniesland aside, concentrating instead on what she had been told to expect this morning. An induction into CID, becoming assigned to a mentor whom she may or may not have met in the past and, best of all, a short meeting with the man who had inspired her to join up in the first place, Detective Superintendent William Lorimer.

  As Kirsty Wilson made her way out of the fresh early morning light and into the depths of the subway with its familiar smoky smell, she had no inkling just what else might lie ahead.

  For everyone else, it was just an ordinary day.

  For the woman heading to Stewart Street police station it was destined to bring unspeakable horror and a dilemma greater than any she had yet faced in her young life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sarah sniffed the air, wondering why it felt so different. She had worked in the gardens of HMP Cornton Vale in fresh air for most of the summer, but here, outside the prison gates, there was a scent of something smoky that reminded Sarah of her childhood. Bonfires and piles of leaves, dressing up for Halloween, misty mornings…

  It had been a misty morning the day she had left for work, the day that everything had gone wrong in her life, she remembered, shiveri
ng as she waited for the taxi that was supposed to come and meet her in the car park. She pulled up the collar of her thin coat, the same coat she had worn to come in here all those months ago. Feeling in the pocket, Sarah found a crumpled tissue. It was the cold air, she told herself, blowing her nose and sniffling again. That was all. So why were her eyes filling up with tears, making the view of the houses nearby all blurry? She should be happy, ecstatic even. She was out, after all. Wasn’t that what she had dreamed of every blessed night as she’d lain down in that narrow bed, trying to sleep, desperate to blot out all the images that had haunted her?

  The sound of a diesel engine made her look up as a silver car slowly wound its way into the visitors’ car park. Sarah stepped forward, knowing that this was a moment she had secretly dreaded. The car was coming to take her away from the place where she had been safe from the world outside.