I pulled on yesterday’s clothes and wandered into the kitchen, still a bit bleary-eyed. The back door was open and there was a cup of tea prepared for me on the countertop. I figured I could spare a few minutes. I quickly tapped a text to Alyson and joined Dad in the garden.
It wasn’t yet warm, but it was bright and looked like it would soon be a lovely day. I said as much to Dad as I sat opposite him at the little round table he’d recovered from the doorway of one of the many charity shops in Stockbridge and restored. The shop had been closed and he’d been on his way home from the pub, he’d explained, and someone had just dumped a load of stuff in front of the shop, convincing themselves that it was an act of charity rather than the fly-tipping it actually was.
‘It was a work thing, right enough?’
‘Sort of, yes,’ I said.
He folded his paper and swapped it for his coffee. The smell of it was inviting. There was another smell, something floral. Something he’d planted maybe. ‘Must be important if they’re calling you on a day off?’
‘It’s a favour I’m doing for a friend. You’ve heard me mention Alyson in the past?’
‘Aye, I think so. She’s the big, brawny detective?’
‘I’m not sure that’s how I described her, but yes.’
‘You should invite her round. You never have anyone round. Not since the redhead. Who, by the way, was out of your league, boy. Why you dumped her, I have no clue.’
‘Mhairi and me just weren’t a good fit, Dad.’ It was strange that he should mention her, I felt that she had been part of a dream. Though whenever Dad and I talked in recent weeks, this was something that would continually come up.
‘The hell with fit. She was a wee stunner. You think your mum and I fitted together like jigsaw pieces? Not on your life. No, we had to work at it. You have to work at it, Donald. Relationships don’t drive themselves, takes two sets of hands on the wheel.’
‘Well, it’s done. I don’t regret it,’ I said, and I meant it. Mostly. ‘I better get going. How come you’re up so early anyway?’
‘I’m always up early,’ he said and went back for his paper.
‘Away, you’ve not seen 7 a.m. since I moved in here.’
‘Well, I’m meeting a friend for breakfast, or brunch or whatever.’
His face was now hidden back behind the paper. I pushed my finger over the top and lowered it. As I did the floral smell hit me again. ‘Are you wearing aftershave?’ I said.
‘What if I am? I mean I shaved, so I put some on, after.’
‘So you have.’ His full white beard had been trimmed back like one of his bushes. His neck was now clean. His hair, which he’d been letting grow long was pulled back into a small ponytail. White strands that were not quite long enough to be tethered hung and framed his face.
‘Stop staring at me, for chrissake.’
He tried to pull the paper back up, but I wouldn’t let him. ‘You’re blushing,’ I laughed. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Away, I’m no blushing.’
‘You are so. Who are you meeting, exactly?’
‘I told you, a friend.’
‘What friend? It’s clearly not one of the barflies.’
‘Heather. All right? Now can I get back to the news, please?’
‘Heather? Who’s Heather? Faither, come on. What’s the story?’
‘For God’s sake,’ he said and folded the paper once more. ‘It’s not a big deal, all right. She works at the cafe I go to. We got chatting. Turns out she has a wee allotment and I sometimes help to dig out.’
‘I bet you do.’
‘Don’t be depraved.’
I laughed and stood. ‘Dad, you’ve nothing to be embarrassed about. I think it’s great. Especially if it means a healthier lifestyle. When will I get to meet her?’
His eyes rose and his mouth twisted as he thought. ‘What day is today? … and then I’ve got that thing next week, so … bloody never. She’s just a friend all right?’
‘OK, Dad. OK.’
I checked my phone as I collected my keys from the hall. There was a message from Alyson:
On my way, but get a statement anyway
I drove to the care home and was met at the door by Vicky. She explained that she’d gone into Martin’s room first thing and had found him been sitting at the window with a book in his hand.
‘Where is he now?’ I asked.
‘He’s in the garden. I’ll show you.’
Vicky wore a broad smile on her face, a face that was wearing a lot of makeup, I noted. I guessed something like this, a little bit of good news, must mean a lot in a care home. The windows and doors had all been flung open as the temperature rose. A refreshing breeze flowed through the corridor. I followed her to a door at the far end of the dining hall. I stepped out into a little garden area I hadn’t previously been aware of. It wasn’t a large space and there was nothing elaborate about it, but it was pleasant nonetheless. A small, paved path in a square enclosed a patch of grass with a few shrubberies dotted around, and the roses planted within them hung a lovely scent in the air. Martin sat at a bench on the far side. There were a few other residents, but they weren’t bothering the man who was scribbling into a pad of paper. I turned to look at Vicky, shocked at what I was seeing.
‘Come on,’ she said and practically skipped around the path. ‘Martin, someone has come to see you. I’ll let you two talk.’ She gave one last smile before she left us.
‘Thanks, Vicky,’ I said after her, and then to Martin, ‘May I?’
He looked up at me through glasses I hadn’t been aware that he wore. He took them from his face and let them rest against his chest on a cord around his neck.
‘Please,’ he said and moved along the bench a little. As I sat I saw the man taking me in, top to bottom. ‘I remember you from a dream,’ he said.
‘You do?’
‘I remember your face. You have a kind face. I’m told I’ve been something of a nuisance when I’ve not been quite myself. If I’ve caused any trouble, please accept my apology.’
I must have been staring at him – his face was a wonder. It was the same man, the one whose mouth I shovelled food into a few days before and yet this was a man who was made younger, firmer and charming by his lucid presence. Where his features previously hung in docile abandon, they now stood proud and strong on his handsome face. ‘It’s … really, it’s nothing to worry about.’
‘My name is Martin Simmons, though you already know that.’ He put out his hand and I shook it. His grip was steady and firm. ‘And you are Sergeant Colyear. Though not dressed like a policeman. It’s nice to meet you.’
‘It’s nice to meet you too, Martin. I hope you don’t mind the plain clothes. I do have ID in my—’
‘That’s not necessary. Victoria has told me who you are, and that is fine with me.’
‘Vicky has been telling you about my previous visits?’
‘She has. She also informed me of some late-night calls I made and how they have necessitated these visits. Again, I am sorry.’
‘Thank you, but it really is nothing to worry about. Not your fault, I’m told.’
‘It’s like waking from a heavy, drunken night. You don’t remember what happened and you worry that someone is about to tell you about all of the naughty things you’ve been up to. I asked Victoria what it was I said on the phone to cause the police to get involved, but she was either unable to tell me, or following your instructions not to.’
‘The former, I assure you. I’m looking into a sensitive case, or at least I’m helping out while others do. I really should do this in a more official capacity, if it’s all right with you, Martin?’
‘Certainly.’
I patted at my pockets and a sudden dread washed over me.
‘Something wrong?’ Martin said.
‘I was in such a rush to get here that I forgot my notebook.’
‘Would this do?’ He picked up his pad and pen and held them out to me.
It was an A4 pad and he had not been writing, but drawing. It was an admirable sketch of the lady sitting at the other end of the garden. It captured her looking out at distance, her hands folded on her lap. To the bottom-right of the drawing he had written ‘Penny for your thoughts’.
‘This is lovely, Martin. Do you know the lady?’ I said, gesturing at the woman on the bench.
‘No, I don’t think I do. I’d introduce myself, she looks lonely, but there really is no point. Anyway. Shall we get down to business?’
I took a fresh page and noted Martin’s details. It took him a while to remember his date of birth and he was less than certain he’d got it right. I’d check with Vicky later. ‘Martin, this will sound silly, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t give you a common-law caution before I ask you any questions. Do you mind?’
‘Mind? Not at all. It’s like television. Please, go right ahead.’
‘OK, Martin, I’m going to ask you questions. You’re not obliged to make any comment to these questions and anything you do say will be noted and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?’
‘I do indeed.’
I marked out the caution on the pad and wrote the first question before asking it. ‘All right,’ I began and looked around. I read with my voice lowered a little. ‘In the early hours of the seventeenth of March, a telephone call was made to the treble-nine system from this care home. Are you aware of this telephone call?’
‘Only what I’ve been told.’
I copied his answer and penned the next question. ‘Do you recall making a telephone call at that time?’
‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t.’
I looked around again, hoping to see Alyson arriving. I thought the best thing to do at this juncture would be to play Martin the recording, but I was on my own for the time being. I continued with what I had. ‘I’ve heard the telephone call and I can tell you that the voice sounds very much like you, albeit agitated and not as eloquent. Do you accept that you made this call?’
‘I don’t doubt it. But alas I can’t confirm.’
‘That’s fair, Martin,’ I said and noted the answer. Then continued: ‘The person making the call became very upset and began talking about the mutilation of a person. Does this mean anything to you?’
‘Oh, dear God. What was I saying?’
‘You, or the person calling, made reference to … injuries to eyes.’
I watched Martin’s own eyes rise and then drift off to the left. ‘Injuries to eyes?’
‘More specifically it was regarding “Cutting eyes out”. That’s what was said. Can you tell me why you would say something like that?’
‘I said that?’
I nodded as I wrote. There was a pause as I copied out the next question: ‘This is the sensitive part, Martin. You see, we are investigating the death of a child. The details of the injuries to this child are known only to a very few. This reference you make to eyes is pertinent and I wanted to know if there was any way you could know anything about the death of this child?’
‘Well, that’s disturbing. I … I don’t see how I could possibly know anything about … But…’ Martin looked to be in a mild state of shock. His hand trembled lightly as it rubbed at his chin. His eyes now met mine and he said. ‘Was it a boy? Was the child a boy?’
I hesitated. As warm as it was, I could feel the hairs on my arm standing. I wasn’t sure whether or not to confirm. The pen in my hand was poised over the pad, but I wrote nothing. This was Alyson’s case. She should be making this decision. Again, I looked behind me on the off-chance she was walking into the garden, but no. ‘Can you tell me how you know it was a boy?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sorry, it’s just that I seem to remember some kind of awful dream. I don’t even know when I might have had this dream. You don’t think that I had anything to do with what happened to—’
‘No, Martin, not for a minute. I’m sure it’s just some morbid coincidence. Are you all right? You’ve gone quite pale. I’d like to ask you more about this dream, but maybe I should get you some water?’
‘Thank you, yes. That would help, I think.’
I laid down the pad and pen and made my way inside. Rather than asking a member of staff I went to the kitchen and let the tap run until the water ran nice and cold. The smells of lunch spilled from the large ovens. One lady, dressed in industrial whites smiled at me, though her face wore a look of what are you doing in my kitchen? I filled a plastic cup and returned to Martin. He now sat cross-legged and faced away from me at a tree in the corner.
‘Here you are, Martin. Are you feeling OK?’
‘Huh?’ He seemed startled as he turned on the bench. ‘Oh. Ha.’ He laughed and took the cup from me. He took a long sip and handed the cup back. ‘Thank you. You’re a good boy, Alan.’ He turned back to the tree.
‘Martin, it’s Donald. Sergeant Colyear.’ I placed a hand on his arm, urging him to turn back to me. Again, he got a fright as if not aware that I was sitting right next to him.’
‘What’s wrong?’ he said. ‘What’s the matter, Alan?’
‘It’s not Alan,’ I said. A frustrated laugh left my mouth. ‘Look, Martin, if we could just finish up this interview. I have more … Martin, please, just sit down.’
‘Alan,’ he said, now on his feet and trying to walk towards the tree. I kept hold of his arm and tried to direct back towards the bench. He became rigid and his face took on a stony look of rage. ‘You’re not my Alan.’ His fingers dug painfully into the back of my hand as he tried to peel me off of him. ‘You’re not my boy,’ he shouted.
‘Please, Martin. Just sit down.’
‘Help!’ he yelled. ‘Help!’ and he began beating at my hands with his free arm. His eyes were wide and spit flew from his bottom lip. ‘Help!’
‘Hey, hey, hey!’ Vicky was running across the lawn. As she reached us, I let go of him. ‘It’s all right, Martin, it’s all right.’
‘Not my boy,’ Martin said. ‘Boy’ stretched out as he began to cry. His knees threatened to give way under him and I wasn’t sure if I should help, but another member of staff, the big lad, arrived. They each took an arm and began walking him inside.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Vicky as she passed.
‘It’s all right. I’ll get him back to his room,’ she said softly. That’s when I noticed Alyson. She moved out of the doorway to allow Martin and his helpers through. I sat back on the bench and waited for her to join me.
‘Always drama with you. I think you’re cursed,’ she said and sat.
‘It’s crossed my mind too.’
‘I got here too late then?’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘At least tell me you got a statement? My boss is being a total dick about this.’
‘Sort of. I forgot to grab my notebook as I left the house, but I have this.’ I picked up the pad from the ground where it had fallen in the excitement and handed it to her. ‘Oh wait, there was a bit more, but I forgot to write it down. Aly, he was talking about having seen something in a dream. He knew it was a boy. Somehow, he seemed to know something. Let me just try to remember exactly what was said.’
‘This is fine, Don. Never mind the crap about dreams. You’ve stopped here where he says he can’t possibly have had anything to do with it and he has no knowledge of anything. This is perfect.’
‘But Aly—’
‘Yeah, yeah. Spooky dreams, but let’s not, eh? Come on, I just drove here at a thousand miles an hour and without breakfast. Show me to a cafe.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dropping In
‘Sarge, do you have a minute?’
‘For you, Morgan, I have a full ninety seconds. What’s up?’
I couldn’t help but think of this lanky lad as a boy. At thirty-five I was pretty young myself, especially for someone promoted, but the sheer lack of con
fidence in Morgan Finney gave him the demeanour of a kid on their first day at high school. He wore a ubiquitous expression of fear and confusion. He hovered awkwardly, stooping under the doorframe of my office. He looked equally expectant to receive either an invitation to enter or a punch in the face.
‘Well, come in,’ I urged, and he did, shaking his head at himself. He handed me an envelope folder and sat. ‘What’s this?’
‘It’s the case I told you about. I took your advice and made some enquiries with the bank and it turns out they do have CCTV at the cashpoint. This is what I got from it.’
I pulled several sheets of paper from the folder. Upon each was a printed capture from the footage. Most of the frame was taken up by the face of the poor bugger who’d been marched to the bank to withdraw the cash, but at the edges there were some interesting details.
‘In the third one, Sarge, if you look just past the auld-boy’s chin there …’ In his accent ‘there’ came out as ‘thur’. I looked thur and right enough, another face, though not very clear. ‘I spoke to our fella and he confirms this is the guy who drove him, the same guy he’d been dealing with all the way through the debacle.’
The blurred face was of a prototypical thug; big, bald and brutish. He faced side on as if keeping a look out, or perhaps just bored. Looking at the time stamp in the top corner, it had taken over eight minutes for the victim to make the transaction. As the pictures progressed, our bald thug disappeared as a small queue formed behind the dithering old man. Then the victim was gone, replaced by a dark-haired woman. There were a few sheets with her.
‘What’s with these?’ I asked. ‘You hoping to track this woman down as a witness?’
‘No. Just look at the top left corner of those stills.’
I looked once at the seven sheets with the lady in front of the camera, then put the sheets together and flicked the pages. The edge of a white van ran like an old movie, reversing into the view of the camera and then taking off. On two of the sheets the corner of the reg plate was visible. We had a partial plate.
Into the Dark Page 6
