by Owen Mullen
That was the clue, wasn’t it?
in their right mind
What was it like to get to that age, so old that money was bugger all use to you? How much had the bastard had stashed the day he’d turned his daughter – Malkie’s mother – down?
Plenty.
Malkie took a drink of beer. The last months had been hard. Especially New Year. Absolutely the worst time he’d ever had. Not only did he miss his mates, he’d had to listen to old Billy next door and that heuchter-teuchter Scottish pish. Fuck! Don’t let me get old. Going out at night when it was dark. Except it could’ve been worse. A lot worse. Remembering his grandfather’s address saved him. Without that, they’d have got him for sure.
His face had been on the STV News, but it hadn’t made any difference – the filth hadn’t come close. Arses would’ve been kicked after brainstorming sessions to figure out where he’d gone, produced precisely fuck all. London was the obvious choice – they’d assume he’d lost himself in the capital. Gradually, the fire would go out of the investigation, people would get transferred to other cases and he’d make his move, leaving old Billy considerably lighter.
Tying his grandson to the legendary scourge of Glasgow’s sub-post offices wouldn’t happen: Billy Cunningham served the last of his prison sentence in 1996 – the best part of twenty-five years. When he’d come out, the glory days were behind him and he’d dropped off the radar. Malkie didn’t fancy their chances of finding anybody who even remembered the old thief, let alone gave a fuck. The cops who’d arrested him were retired, in a care home, maybe even dead.
In the tiny lounge with its magnolia walls and tartan carpet, the volume from the television was unbearable. Malkie walked over and turned it off. Billy’s expression didn’t change – he stared at the silent screen, unblinking.
Weird. Sometimes Malkie wondered if he knew who was living in his house.
‘Fancy some roasted cheese and a cup of tea, Granddad? I’m having some.’
The old man didn’t answer.
As soon as Andrew saw Mackenzie he waved, then stopped at the bar to give Jackie Mallon his order. Mackenzie didn’t have to guess what it would be – it rarely altered: a black coffee and, if there were any left, a bagel. Jackie nodded and turned away. Although Andrew was NYB’s oldest customer, there was no love lost between him and the manager. The third time he’d brought her here, Mackenzie noticed how terse they were with each other and asked why. He’d mumbled something and changed the subject. She hadn’t let him off so easily. ‘An old girlfriend, is she?’
His reaction convinced her she was wrong. ‘You’re joking. If we were the last man and woman on the planet, the human race would be in serious trouble.’
‘I believe you.’
And she did. Andrew Geddes was a lot of things – a ladies’ man wasn’t one of them.
He kissed her on the cheek and sat down. ‘Sorry I’m late. Nothing ever takes the time you think it’ll take, does it?’
He was breathing hard. Mackenzie realised he’d been running – or as close to it as Andrew ever got. ‘Did you hear the interview?’
‘Yes, it was good.’
Answered a bit too readily. Or was that her insecurity?
‘You’re not just saying that?’
‘I’d tell you if it wasn’t. It’s important to be honest with each other. You came across well. Like somebody who understands what they’re talking about.’
‘Maybe because I do.’
‘Even when she threw in the question about standing as an MP, it didn’t catch you out.’
‘That was easy. I was expecting it.’
A waitress arrived with a coffee and a bagel on a tray. Andrew thanked her. His next comment surprised Mackenzie. ‘Except, if you’re asked again, be more neutral.’
‘More neutral? What does that mean?’
He dipped the bagel in the coffee; pieces of pastry floated on the surface. ‘Haven’t made up your mind. Aren’t ruling anything out. That kind of thing. The usual crap.’
‘Why on earth would I say that? It isn’t true.’
The annoyance in her voice didn’t register with him. ‘At the moment it isn’t. Who knows how you’ll feel six months or a year down the line?’
‘I know, Andrew. I won’t be interested.’
He wiped his mouth on a napkin. ‘You could help a lot of people.’
‘Isn’t that what the refuge is about?’
‘Of course.’
‘You’re right, I do want to do more. Except politics has no appeal for me.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She turned the focus on him. ‘How long have you been a policeman?’
‘Longer than I want to remember. What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘So how long?’
The detective counted in his head. ‘Twenty-three years.’
‘Then you’ve seen criminals get away with their crimes.’
‘Too many to count.’
‘And when it happens, how do you feel?’
‘Makes my blood boil.’
‘When you’ve been sure – I mean, really really sure – ever thought of doing something about it?’
He lied. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘That would mean breaking the law.’
Mackenzie drew away, unconvinced or unimpressed, Andrew couldn’t say. ‘And that would be more wrong than standing by watching an injustice, would it?’
Geddes was uncomfortable. Years spent in courtrooms listening to lawyers glibly making a case for clients who were obviously guilty had taken him to the edge. More than once he’d thought of resigning from the force and going into a line of work which didn’t involve dirtying his hands every other day on the scum of the earth. Always, he’d resisted. Because the alternative was opting out.
Across the table, Mackenzie wasn’t letting it go. ‘Would it, Andrew?’
Before he could reply, Charlie Cameron interrupted. Andrew Geddes was brusque, uncompromising, rarely allowing what he was thinking to go unsaid, as a result he had few friends. Charlie was the best of them. He was a private investigator with an office round the corner in Cochrane Street. Mackenzie liked him.
‘And they said it wouldn’t last.’
Andrew’s reply to the joke was gruff and humourless. ‘Did they?’
Charlie turned to Mackenzie. ‘Heard you on the radio earlier. Great stuff. What was that about running for parliament? The reason I ask is, politics is something I know about, my father was the chairman of the Conservative Party.’
‘Do you recommend it?’
‘Hardly. Wave bye-bye to your social life. Ask my mother if you don’t believe me.’
‘Is he still involved?’
‘No, retired. Doesn’t suit him at all. Apparently, he paces up and down with his hands behind his back like the captain on the bridge of the Titanic, muttering about the iceberg, except with him it’s Tory rebels. Anybody who doesn’t toe the party line is a traitor and a bastard. My mother says he’s impossible to live with and she should know, been doing it for over forty years.’
Andrew was still smarting from Mackenzie’s interrogation and didn’t join in.
Mackenzie said, ‘Got anything interesting on?’
‘Not at the moment. Ask me again next week and I’ll be snowed under. The nature of the beast.’
‘Weren’t you tempted to follow in his footsteps?’
‘I wasn’t, though he wanted me to. Brings it up every chance he gets. Convinced I’ve wasted my life.’
‘Any regrets?’
Charlie took the question seriously. ‘Plenty, though not about politics. I’d seen enough growing up to know it wasn’t for me. No, this way I can tell myself I’m making a difference.’ He spoke to Andrew. ‘Better shoot. Only came in for a takeaway cappuccino. Give me a call. Nice to see you again, Mackenzie.’
When he’d gone she said, ‘He’s a good guy, isn’t he?’
Andrew was his
grudging self. ‘All right, I suppose.’
She swirled the dregs in her cup. ‘You didn’t give me an answer.’
‘Didn’t I? What was the question again?’
‘Isn’t the worse thing – the very worst thing – to see suffering and do nothing?’
Andrew sighed. ‘Not if it means breaking the law. Otherwise we’re no better than animals. I believe, in the end, it comes out even.’
‘And what if you’re wrong? What if it doesn’t?’
What had got into her today?
‘We have to accept it and move on.’
‘And if somebody can’t?’
Mackenzie hadn’t been searching for romance when she’d agreed to go out with the dour detective. It had crept up on her. One day he’d come into her head and she’d realised she was in love with the policeman and his black and white view of the world. The last months had been the happiest of her life. Now, sitting beside him in a café bar in the centre of Glasgow, she felt a gulf open up between them. His reply left no room for doubt about where he stood.
‘Then I’ll come after them. Whoever they are.’
23
The woman at the door sounded out of breath, as if she’d been running. She opened her mouth and words tumbled out. ‘Maybe I should’ve made an appointment. Sorry for just turning up but it can’t wait. It’s only a matter of time before he kills her. My name’s Emily Thorne. Mrs Emily Thorne. Yesterday, I heard somebody from the refuge on the radio and knew I had to come.’
‘Then you want Mackenzie. I’ll see if she’s around.’
Women came to the refuge unannounced, the pain of the life they were escaping in their eyes. Caitlin had seen it often enough and was sure she’d carried it herself the night Mackenzie dragged her from the car and brought her there. Emily Thorne’s was a different pain.
Mackenzie was in the kitchen with Irene, peeling potatoes. Caitlin tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Got a visitor.’
‘Have I? Who is it?’
‘You don’t know her.’
Mackenzie followed Caitlin to the lounge. In the hall she put a hand on her arm. ‘You’ve told her we’re full? I’ve had three phone calls today already from people who heard me on that stupid bloody show. Knew I shouldn’t have done it. Imagine finally finding the courage to break free only to be told there isn’t room for you.’
‘Just a guess but I don’t think that’s why she’s here.’
‘What other reason could there be?’
‘You’re about to find out.’
Mackenzie closed the lounge door behind her and took a seat. Black eyes, bruises and broken bones were common with women who came to the refuge; the obvious signs of physical abuse. Emily Thorne was unmarked. She was wearing a tan coat, a Burberry scarf and brown leather gloves – a neat package, not more than five feet tall, with clear skin apart from shadows under her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was soft and Mackenzie had to strain to hear.
‘I told the lady how sorry I am for barging in. You must be very busy.’
Mackenzie shook the woman’s hand, noticing how thin the fingers felt inside the leather, and swept her concerns aside. ‘Don’t worry about that. What can I do for you?’
‘Not me, my daughter, Judith. She’s in danger.’
‘From who?’
‘Her husband.’
‘I think you better start at the beginning. Take as long as you need. There’s no rush.’
The woman smiled a nervous smile. ‘You’re right. I need to slow down, don’t I? Except, when it’s your only child, it’s hard.’
‘I can get us some tea if you’d like?’
‘No, no, don’t go to any trouble. I won’t stay long. It’s just that I’m out of my mind worrying about what’s going to happen. Yesterday on the radio you were discussing a difficult subject, yet you seemed calm. I knew I had to talk to you. My name’s Emily Thorne.’
‘And you’re here about your daughter, Judith.’
‘I am.’ Mrs Thorne took a deep breath, visibly trying to get hold on herself. ‘Okay. Eighteen months ago, Judith met a man. From the moment I saw Jack Walsh, I knew he wasn’t right for her. I told myself I was being over-protective – parents can be sometimes – though that wasn’t it.’
‘What was wrong with him?’
‘It’s not easy to put into words, but whenever he came into a room the atmosphere changed. At least, it did for me.’
‘Was she happy?’
‘Deliriously. She’d come out of a relationship which ended badly. I didn’t want to spoil it for her so I kept my opinions to myself.’
‘Her husband’s called Jack, you said?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What did her father think of him?’
‘He died when she was seven, though I’m certain he would’ve been the same as me. I brought her up by myself. That’s what made me doubt my reaction. It had been just the two of us for so long, perhaps I was afraid of losing her and inventing objections. Maybe no man would’ve been good enough for me.’
‘What did you do?’
‘For months and months, nothing. Not until after she admitted they were in love. Then I told her how I felt.’
‘And how did she take it?’
Emily Thorne sighed. ‘The same as anyone would – refused to speak to me. Accused me of being jealous. A few days later she moved out.’
‘Where do they live?’
‘He has a farm cottage near Alloa.’
‘He’s a farmer?’
‘That’s the story he spun Judith in the beginning. Turns out he’s a farm labourer.’
‘Surely she discovered that when she moved in?’
‘I’m sure she did. Unfortunately, she’s like her father. Once his mind was made up, nobody could change it. On top of that I taught my daughter to be independent. Speaking out against Jack was a mistake – the worst thing I could’ve done. They got married in a registry office without inviting me or anybody else. He’d convinced her to stop seeing her friends too.’
Mackenzie understood how easy it was for a controlling person to engineer a rift between people who’d known each other for years until there was no-one left but them. Emily Thorne was upsetting herself. ‘They pulled some strangers off the street to be witnesses.’ She shook her head at the memory. ‘Not what I wanted for her at all.’
Mackenzie hadn’t heard anything to explain why this woman was in her lounge.
‘You said Judith was in danger. How?’
Emily’s fingers played with the buckle of her coat. ‘I tried to reach her. When she saw it was me, she’d turn her mobile off. Six weeks ago, I tried again. This time it was unobtainable.’
‘She could have changed her number.’
Emily Thorne nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. She’s a legal secretary. I contacted the office, normally something I’d never do. Judith hated anybody phoning her at work. Said it embarrassed her.’
Mackenzie guessed what was coming. ‘And she wasn’t there.’
‘Not only that. They told me she’d left months ago. No explanation. One day she just didn’t show up. Like me, their efforts to get in touch with her failed. Eventually, they assumed she wasn’t coming back and hired another girl.’
‘Did you go to the cottage?’
‘Yes. Twice.’
‘Did you see her? Was she there?’
‘No. The curtains were drawn. I knocked and got no answer. But somebody was inside, I sensed it.’
‘Your daughter?’
‘Somebody.’
Telling her tale had taken a toll. Tears weren’t far away. Sitting on the couch, Mrs Thorne seemed suddenly smaller. ‘I’d take that tea now if the offer’s still open.’
‘Of course. Give me a minute.’
In the kitchen, Caitlin said, ‘What’s the story?’
‘From what I’ve heard so far, it’s hard to say. She seems genuine, though you can never be completely certain.’
Mackenzie put the tray on the table
and poured for both of them. Emily Thorne took sweeteners from her bag and tapped two into her cup. Everything about her was measured and precise and Mackenzie wondered if the answer wasn’t that Judith had met a man her mother hadn’t liked and was still finding fault with.
‘Did you go to the police?’
‘Right away. They promised they’d look into it.’
‘And did they?’
‘Yes. They called at the farmhouse. An officer came round later to let me know what had happened.’
‘And what did happen?’
‘Jack and Judith were at home. Playing Scrabble of all things. Jack invited the policemen in. When they told them why they were there, they laughed. Said they’d had to cut me out of their lives because I was an interfering old bag who disapproved of them getting married and wanted to split them up. According to the officer, Judith told them I was a lonely woman causing mischief. Can’t tell you how much that hurt.’
‘They believed them?’
Emily blew gently on her coffee to cool it. ‘No choice, given what they’d seen. Of course, that meant I couldn’t go to them again. I was on my own.’ Emily leaned closer. ‘I said I went to the cottage twice. Jack’s a heavy drinker – one of the things I didn’t like. When Judith introduced him I smelled alcohol. There’s a pub in the village close to where they live. I guessed they’d know him.’
Mackenzie admired how far the mother had gone to protect her child. ‘And did they?’
‘Not half. The landlord said he spent every night of the week propping up the bar.’
‘Had he seen Judith?’
‘When she moved there at first. Not in a while. I parked further down the road and walked back to where I could see the cottage. The curtains were drawn and the lights were on in one room. Apart from a dog barking in the distance, there wasn’t a sound. At eight-thirty he came out and stood on the steps like an animal sniffing the air. For a moment he hesitated. I thought he’d changed his mind and would go back inside. But he didn’t. He closed the door and locked it and headed down the road towards the pub, whistling as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I waited ten minutes to let him get far away.’ Emily looked at Mackenzie with her frank grey eyes. ‘Don’t mind telling you my hands were shaking.’
