The lad on the BMX took off. Warrant out for him, probably. His reaction inspired enough doubt for me to change things up.
‘Get your bike out my way before I lock you up, ya fuckin’ idiot,’ I said to mountain biker. I heard the west in my voice intensify, as it did whenever I resorted to this sort of language. It carries a threat that can’t be matched elsewhere in Scotland, perhaps anywhere at all. He smirked, but he moved. I thought that was it, but my stomach had not settled and then I felt why as I moved. The moustachioed leader took a grip of my shoulder.
‘Unless he’s plain clothes, he’s no a cop right now. Twenty quid. Then you can go.’
It may not have been the wisest move but having the little shit’s fingers on me sent a surge of adrenalin shooting through me. I slammed both palms into his chest. He didn’t expect it. He fell on his backside, his joint exploding into sparks. I knew he’d get up and try to save face, so I kept going. I stood over him, my fists balled.
‘I think you’re on your own, son. If you want tae have a go, then fine. Up you pop and we’ll go.’ At least I hoped he was on his own. This kid looked like he could fight, but if it was just him and me, then I was prepared. If anyone else joined in, even wee Mikey over there, it could get very messy.
‘That’s assault!’ the leader shouted, and I didn’t need the noise in my stomach settling to tell me it was over. He got to his feet and walked off. He waited until he was fully fifty yards clear before the insults started flying: ‘Polis bastard!’ etc., etc.
As Vicky opened the door to the care home, her face told me she hadn’t recognised me straight away in my civvies. She smiled awkwardly; her bottom lip was swollen.
‘What happened to your lip?’ I said.
‘Just a wee accident. Happens all the time when you’re moving residents around, you know? Are you here to see Martin again?’
‘Is he the same as yesterday?’ I asked.
‘Afraid so, but listen, we’re just getting organised for lunch—’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I could come back later. It’s my fault for just turning up unannounced.’
‘No, I was just going to say, why don’t you join us?’
‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to be getting in the way.’
‘Are you the policeman who was here yesterday?’ said a voice behind me. I turned to see a lady, about thirty or so with long dark hair. She was looking me up and down.
‘Eh, yes. That would be me.’
‘You didnae say he was a looker, Vic. How come you’ve no got the uniform on? Ye cannae beat a man in uniform, eh, Vic?’
Vicky was laughing, probably at the look on my face.
‘Leave him alone you. This is Sergeant … Oh I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten …’
‘Colyear, but just call me Don. Especially since I don’t have the uniform on.’
‘This is Michelle, she’s just getting first floor organised for coming down to lunch. She can show you to Martin’s room and maybe you can bring him down for us?’
‘That sounds fine,’ I said.
I followed Michelle upstairs and she opened the door to Martin’s room. He was sitting in a chair by the bed looking out of the window, or at least he was pointed at it. There was a musty smell about the place. Along one wall was a wardrobe and a set of shelves. Some popular novels stood there, but it was mostly thick academic volumes. On the bedside table a radio played softly.
‘How are you Martin? Are you ready for your lunch? That’s good,’ said Michelle, as if he’d answered her. She guided him to his feet and brought him slowly out of the room. Once in the hall she gave me his arm. He walked slowly, but steadily. Without thinking I was guiding him towards the stairs, but then there was some resistance in his arm. He knew where he was going. Instead of left we went right to a lift. Once inside he turned around on his own.
It reminded me of being on holiday when I was kid. I might have been five or six and we’d gone to see an aunt in England. Not a close relative and I don’t remember visiting them again, but they’d lived near Blackpool. We spent a day on the Pleasure Beach and someone thought I would love a ride on the donkeys they have traipsing up and down the sand. I was duly seated upon one of the beasts. There were other kids on other donkeys and they were being led by people to a certain distance and then turned around. Only I was left on my own. For a moment I thought there had been some mistake, that the thing might carry me off into the sunset, but no. At some invisible line in the sand, the donkey stopped and turned of its own volition and brought me back to my parents. The poor creature, having done this for so many years, had the distance burned into its DNA.
Martin was like that. In his fugue state, some part of his mind had the building mapped.
A soft ding sounded and the doors opened. Martin began to move and I simply held his arm and followed him to a large dining hall. Once there I sensed him giving his arm back to me. I looked up and Vicky, who was busy seating Mimi, was waving me towards a vacant table to the left. Once the seat was by his knee, Martin sat himself.
I approached Vicky, not quite sure what I was supposed to be doing.
‘Do you mind feeding him? Just lift the fork to his mouth, he’ll do the rest,’ she said.
‘Buckin-polis-bam-shit-fucked-bam-ur-day,’ squeaked Mimi. There was a smear of mashed potato on her cheek.
‘That’s right, Mimi. This is the police officer who came to see us yesterday. One of the staff will come to take your order. You can choose for Martin and yourself, the options are on the board.’
‘Me? Oh, I wouldn’t want to—’
‘Of course you would. There’s plenty and we all eat with the residents.’
Vicky went back to settling the ever-fidgeting Mimi and I returned to Martin.
‘Let’s see, Martin. We have a choice between lamb with all the trimmings, or it’s mac ‘n’ cheese,’ I said, reading from a large whiteboard on the wall nearest to us. At the latter option, Martin moved. It took me by surprise. His hand lifted from his knee a few inches and fell back again. I looked to see if Vicky had spotted this, but her attention was still with her friend with the Tourette’s. ‘Mac ‘n’ cheese?’ I said. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have the roast?’ Martin coughed. One sharp exhale and his eyes moved to me, then back to middle distance. ‘OK, if you’re sure. I’ll have the lamb and if you change your mind we can swap.’
Within a few minutes a tall lad came over. Somewhere in his twenties, burly, with massive hands and equally enormous smile through his thick, well-trained beard. He took our order, introducing himself as Mathew and returning with plates and a pot of tea.
Martin ate the pasta greedily. I could barely get a fresh forkful loaded before he let his mouth hang open for the next bite. I then ate my own lunch which, while being south of restaurant quality, wasn’t half bad. After lunch, staff took Martin for a shower and bathroom necessities and I had a chance to chat again with Vicky. It was interesting to see her work with her colleagues. She was around forty and had a soft way about her, and although a lot of her workmates were older, they all seemed to respect her authority. There was a solid community amongst the staff and she was at the centre of it.
‘Can I ask you something?’ she said as the other staff were preparing a changeover. The late shift had come in and were getting into scrubs. Vicky was putting her outdoor coat on.
‘Sure.’
‘Martin, he’s not in any trouble, is he? I mean, I don’t mind you being here, not at all, but if I thought that he was … well, I don’t know. I just mean is there something I should call his son about? Also, I have my own bosses I should probably—’
‘He’s not in any trouble, Vicky. I promise you. There has been the silliest link to an investigation we’re looking at and all we’re trying to do is cross it off. I’m just hoping to get Martin in one of these lucid states and then we can put it to bed.’
‘OK. Well, in that case, you’re welcome to visit anytime and stay as long as you like. It’s lovely th
at he has a visitor. Who knows how long he has left and I’m not sure if his son will even see him before … Well, not to dwell, eh?’
‘You’ve been very kind, Vicky. I wonder if I could ask one more favour though. If he comes back to himself and I’m not here, would you call me?’
‘Aye, sure.’ She took her phone from her purse and tapped away then handed it to me with a fresh contact page open. ‘Don-police’, it read. I typed my number and handed it back.
‘If it’s all right, I might just sit with him in his room for a while before I go?’
‘Absolutely. I think he’d really like that. He might not seem like he appreciates it, but some part of him does,’ she said and opened the door to leave.
‘Do you really believe that?’
She stopped in the doorway, her eyes searching the ceiling. ‘Actually, yes. I do. Have a nice night.’
Martin was put into bed by one of the staff, afternoon naps being standard in the place. I sat in his chair and looked out of the window. To the left you could just make out the three bridges spanning the Firth of Forth. The iconic red rail bridge, then the old road bridge, now put out to pasture with the gleaming sails of the new Queensferry Crossing fanning and posturing in its face like a flamboyant bird.
I pulled a book from the shelf, Economics for the Common Good by Jean Tirole. The cover explained that the author had won a Nobel Prize in economics and so I was curious. I read the introduction and then gave up; my head couldn’t quite grasp what I was reading. By then Martin was gently snoring. His arms lay above the covers and I took his hand. I thought about my own father with our slightly strained relationship, and I wondered how often I would visit him if he were Martin. The radio played sedate orchestral music and Martin’s breathing seemed to follow the beat.
I woke with a start as my head fell forward and my chin hit my chest. I must have clasped my hand tight as I came to as Martin snorted into life too.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I must have nodded off.’ I lowered his hand to the sheet and stood to stretch my back. I’d had a strange dream, one of those where you’re flying, but you don’t have full control of your direction. I glided above a silver-grey mist. Short tendrils reached up from the surface as if to take my hand, but my fingers slid through without resistance. It was illuminated by the moon overhead. The tops of buildings were just about visible through it. I had woken as my focus, which had been straight down at the hidden town beneath the cloud, was suddenly captured by a church spire I hadn’t seen coming and I would have flown directly into it.
‘I better get going, Martin, but I’ll come back if that’s OK with you?’ I gathered myself and pulled the door open.
‘Huukay,’ breathed Martin. I looked over at him, but he was already snoring once more.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mea Culpa
‘Jesus, where the hell have you been?’
‘Sorry, Sarge. Train again, but I brought you a—’
‘Get rid of those. The DCI has something for us, she’s on the warpath.’ DS Cunningham spoke in a growled whisper. He took both cups of coffee from Alyson and began looking for somewhere to ditch them. ‘Listen, if the DCI asks—’
‘Heads up. Here she comes,’ Alyson whispered back. She checked the front for her blouse and pushed at her hair. The DS was still trying to lose the cups as DCI Kate Templeton strode purposefully towards them along the corridor. ‘Ma’am,’ Alyson greeted.
‘There you are. You’re feeling better then?’ DCI Templeton spoke with a clear, educated English accent that never failed to intimidate. It cut with precision; a scalpel of a voice.
‘Ma’am?’ Alyson’s eyes flicked to DS Cunningham.
His eyes were wide, Go with it, they said.
‘Ah, yes, ma’am. Much better. Just a bit of … um.’
‘Well, I hardly think coffee is what the woman needs, Duncan. A touch of the shits is likely to turn into a full-blown dysentery if you throw caffeine at it. Come with me, both of you.’ DCI Templeton snatched one of the cups out of Duncan’s hand and sniffed at it before taking a sip. She marched back towards her office. The DCI was about the same height as Alyson, which made her at least an inch taller than Cunningham, and his short legs scuttled to keep up.
‘Touch of the shits?’ Alyson said, from the corner of her mouth.
‘Had to tell her something. What you want me to say? Ah, just late as usual, boss. Nah – said you nipped out to get pills for your stomach.’
‘Close the door, please.’ Alyson did while the DS took a seat. ‘Get up, Duncan, this won’t take long. You’re to go to Govan Police Station. There you will interview a man proclaiming to be responsible for our murder.’
‘What? Really? When did this happen?’ said Duncan.
DCI Templeton looked at the clock on the wall behind them. ‘Twenty … four minutes ago. He has not yet requested a solicitor, so I want you to speak to him before he changes his mind. Organise a marked escort and get over there now. There’s no time for strategy, just use what you know and get this confession on tape ASAP.’
‘Uh, yes, ma’am. Do we know—’
‘Duncan, are you listening? You should be halfway there by now. Now bloody well move. Report back to me once you’re done.’
They didn’t bother with the escort. Instead, they poured themselves into the back seats of a traffic patrol vehicle and were soon doing somewhere close to seventy through the town centre, maintaining the insane speed throughout Glasgow. They tried their best to discuss the case, but it was next to impossible over the siren. In less than six minutes they’d pulled up to the secure gates of the Govan station, which slid away to allow them entry. The driver dropped them at the door. Someone must have been watching from the camera, because the door buzzed just as they reached it. They pushed it open and an officer Alyson had never met before handed her a folder and told her to follow him. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and she’d only caught the rank on his ID, another detective sergeant.
He led them through corridors, flanked by two other officers with expectant faces. It seemed everyone was aware of why they were there. They stopped outside a door and the Govan DS gestured to it. ‘I’ll bring him up. The room’s all set. Good luck.’
‘Thanks,’ Duncan replied, and pushed the door open to the interview room. Alyson felt dizzy and even a little nauseous, partly from the fairground ride of a journey here and partly from the enormity of what was about to happen.
This room was the same as countless others she’d used. This room, and all the others like it, were the job now. Before, it was uniform, handcuffs and baton. Now, it was strategy and a tape recorder, only there was ‘no time for strategy’ here. The DCI’s posh voice echoed in her head.
‘How do you want to play this, Sarge? You lead, I’ll follow?’
‘No, I want you to lead. I’ll come in where I think it’s required. This is your show.’
The nausea changed gear. ‘You sure?’
‘You’ll be fine. You know this case inside and out. Take your time. Let all this rush just fade away. Take a breath.’ Duncan separated three plastic cups and filled them from a water jug that had been left for them on the table.
Alyson did as she was advised. She drew air in through her nose, held it, then exhaled out through her mouth. Just like the gym. She felt herself settle, the giddiness lifting. She opened the folder to find the case files she was familiar with. Or at least, a neat-printed copy of them. Instead of the glossy photographs, she held high-res paper prints, but they were all there, as well as the crime report. She lifted her head to the ceiling to check where the camera was and made a mental note.
There was a rattle from the door and the sound of voices. The door opened and Alyson made to stand, but felt Duncan’s hand on her forearm and she sat back.
‘Please take a seat,’ Duncan said to the man being shown in by the Govan DS.
‘Press the buzzer if you need anything,’ the DS said, and left.
The man pulled the
chair opposite them away from the table slowly, his eyes were fixed on the file in front of Alyson on the table. Everything about him was forgettable. Average height, average build. His hair a blonde-brown mix and not really styled in any particular way. He wore brown cords and a grey T-shirt that bore no logo or design. He was an investigative nightmare. You could have dinner with this guy and still struggle to pick him out at a VIPER parade.
Duncan sat across the table and to the left of the man, nearest the wall. He removed the two cassettes that were left for them from their cases and loaded them into the recorder. The man looked up and opened his mouth to speak, but he was silenced by the high-pitched whine from the machine as the tapes ran clear and began to record.
Alyson began talking before he could say a word; anxious to get his caution on tape before he uttered anything.
‘The time is fourteen-thirty-two hours on Tuesday the twenty-seventh of July. I am Detective Constable Alyson Kane of Police Scotland. We are in interview room two of Govan Police Station in Glasgow. I will ask the others present to identify themselves.’
‘Detective Sergeant Duncan Cunningham of Police Scotland.’
‘And you, sir. Would you please identify yourself for the recording.’
‘Uh, my name is David. David Ellis.’ The man seemed unsure if he should be talking to Alyson, or at the tape machine or to the camera above the door.
Alyson continued: ‘Before we start, I should state for the purpose of the recording that you have attended voluntarily. Is that correct?’
‘Yes. That’s correct.’
‘And you have elected at this stage to waive legal representation?’
‘I just want to tell you—’
‘Sorry David, but can you please just confirm for the recording that this is the case,’ said Duncan.
‘Yes. I don’t need a lawyer.’ He brought his hands up on to the table, one turning over the other, gripping the knuckles of each. He was still struggling to make eye contact.
Into the Dark Page 4
