‘Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to the tea.’ I clicked on the kettle and checked the clock on the oven. It was a little after 10 p.m. and I’d been watching a movie in the living room, slowly falling asleep in front of it. I’d heard Alyson coming in and the sound of the microwave.
‘You had a bad day?’ she asked. She sipped from her glass, then exchanged it for a pen.
‘Something like that.’ She was mistaking my sleepiness for sullenness, but she wasn’t wrong.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘It’s nothing. Just when you come across two violent arseholes in one day, it can leave a bad taste. You get what I mean?’ I said, then grimaced, realising how that sounded.
Alyson laughed.
‘You’re planning a late one?’ I said, gesturing at the paperwork she’d spread across the kitchen table, scattered around a half-finished bowl of pasta.
‘Not really. I just want to get my thoughts together before tomorrow. I’m heading back to Rickerburn, this time to see Callum Bradley’s parents.’
‘Ouch. That does not sound like fun.’ I brought my tea over to the table and sat opposite.
‘It’s just awful. What do you say to the parents of a murdered child? Especially when all they want to hear from you is that you’re close to catching the bastard who did it, and you’re not. You can’t even tell them you’re any closer than the last time you made them live through all this again.’
‘What’s the purpose of speaking to them?’
‘The DCI wants it done. Wants us to ask them further about any link with priests. We had an initial chat that seemed to rule that out, but desperate times and all that. Thing is, we were holding off really pushing this question, not wanting to make the link known outside of the enquiry team, but there’s growing pressure from the media on this idea. DCI thinks the media team will have to put out a statement tomorrow. We need to find out if the media might have sussed the link from speaking to the family.’
Alyson dropped her pen onto the pad she’d been scribbling into and leaned back in her chair, stretching and yawning.
‘Scale of one to ten, how much do you believe there is a link to be found?’ I said.
‘You mean outside for your geriatric mystic?’
‘Yes. Other than that.’
‘Sorry, I know you’re just trying to help. You need to call me out when I’m being a dick. I’m so tired I don’t even notice it.’
‘All right. Aly, you’re being a dick.’ I leaned over and chinked her glass with my mug.
She gave me a grin and sipped. ‘So, ten being absolute surety that there is a link?’
‘Yes. One being certainty that there isn’t one.’
‘I would say I was a solid three.’
‘And your boss?’
‘That’s tough to answer. From the noises she makes you’d think she was convinced, but really that’s just her making sure we turn over every rock. Only she knows just how sure she is of a connection.’
‘What’s the current thinking on it? If you don’t mind me asking?’
‘It’s fine. My boss would probably boot me off the case if she heard us talking like this, but I know I can trust you.’
‘Course,’ I said, and felt a pang of guilt as I thought about my afternoon with Martin.
‘We can’t find a direct link between the two victims, so the thinking is this: is there a person between these two, whether that’s the killer or just some third-party that connects them?’
‘And so far?’
‘So far, fuck all. Hence the likes of this awkward chat tomorrow.’
‘The family isn’t religious then? No link there? His dad wasn’t some altar boy somewhere?’ I said, thinking about Martin’s words, ‘sins of the father’.
‘No. First thing we looked into.’
‘Yeah of course, sorry. Must sound like I’m trying to teach you to suck eggs,’ I said.
‘It’s fine, really. If you’ve got a suggestion spit it out. I’m not above a little inspiration.’
‘OK.’ I pulled my mug to my chest and thought. ‘Any link at all with the priest and Rickerburn?’
‘Not a one.’
‘The family and Edinburgh?’
‘Nope, beyond a very occasional visit, but nothing obvious there.’
‘Priest’s family? Any brothers or sisters who might have kids, no wait, grandkids around Callum’s age?’
‘That’s not bad, Colyear. I was a few days in before I checked that out, but no. He had one sister, spinster, deceased.’
‘Callum’s grandma? Grandpa?’
‘What about them?’
‘I dunno, just that they must be around ages with Father whatsisname?’
Alyson went searching through her paperwork, draining her glass as she did. I wondered if she took a day off that stuff when she wasn’t up to her neck in a murder inquiry. ‘Grandma’s brown-bread, grandpa is alive. Non-religious, never even been to Edinburgh.’
‘Never been to Edinburgh? How do you get to his age and never have visited the capital?’
Alyson’s mouth twisted. ‘Would you believe that before this case I’d only been in Edinburgh once?’
‘What? How’s that possible?’
She shrugged. ‘You’re either an Edinburgh person or a Glasgow person. I’m balls to bone Weegie. Unlike you, ya turncoat.’
‘There’s no reason you can’t belong to both cities,’ I said. Though in my heart I knew she had a point. It would be like supporting two rival football teams.
‘How’s your day tomorrow?’ she asked.
‘Day off for me. So long lie and plenty of very little.’
‘Lucky bastard.’
‘I was thinking about trying to get in touch with that woman from the bar. What do you think?’
‘This is the one who told you to call her, but didn’t give you her number?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘What’s the plan? Stalk her online and send a surprise friend request?’
‘No. I mean, that would be creepy, right?’
‘Yes, Don. That would be creepy.’
‘I was thinking I would just ask Mandy for her number.’
‘Still sounds a little crawly and you’d be putting your colleague in an awkward position. I think the best way to approach it might be to ask Mandy to pass your number on to her. If she gets in touch, great and if not, well, message received.’
‘That’s good. Yeah, I’ll do that. Night, Aly. Don’t stay up too late,’ I said.
Alyson discovered there was a way to walk to Leith from the New Town while avoiding the festival almost entirely. A series of intersecting tracks, collectively referred to as the ‘Warriston Paths’, had at one time been train lines, connecting the coastal north of the city to its centre. Now abandoned, they had been reconstituted as walking and cycling routes. Long, straight sections of pathways allowed you to follow the river down towards Leith with nothing but the occasional ringing of a bike bell from behind to disturb her podcast – a debate between two American trainers on over-training, what it constitutes and what the dangers of it were. Not something she had to worry about lately. There were lots of things she missed about home, but none more so than her gym. She had found one; a small outfit connected to an office building. It was used by amateurs on amateur apparatus, but was walking distance from the flat and was something of a port in a storm.
Over a wall she caught a glimpse of an old cemetery below, its headstones broken and overrun with ivy, as if the undergrowth were trying to pull the stones back into the earth. Two people stood down there, talking with their dogs on the leads while the dogs tied their legs like maypoles.
A light drizzle fell and there was a feeling that it might get worse, a lot worse. It had been particularly warm the past few days and there was a pressure in the air that was likely to be broken by a downpour.
Alyson made it to the office before the skies fully opened. She checked her watch and saw that she was exactl
y on time, to the very minute.
‘Cunningham’s taken a day, so I’ll be joining you this afternoon.’ Alyson hadn’t seen DCI Templeton coming, her voice just seemed to appear in her ear and now Alyson was half-jogging to catch up to her in the hall.
‘Is he all right? Is he sick?’
‘Sick? No. Something about his daughter going into labour or some shit. Anyway, rather than pairing you up with someone new, I’ll sit in with you.’
‘Aw, that’s lovely. It’s his first.’
The DCI stopped and turned, her face screwed in confusion. ‘What?’
‘Uh, grandchild. It’s Duncan’s first.’
Templeton didn’t respond. She continued on down the hall and Alyson wasn’t sure if she should still be following. ‘You have everything you need?’ Templeton asked.
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Good. As far as I’m concerned, I’m there for corroboration only.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Meet me at the car in ten minutes.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
The wipers swung to clear the screen from rain while the blowers fought to keep it clear from misting on the inside. After twenty minutes Alyson was beginning to think the DCI wasn’t coming, or that perhaps she had been referring to a different car. She decided to give it another few minutes before giving it up and going back inside. She sent a text to Duncan, wishing him and his daughter all the best. He didn’t have a habit of talking about his family, but he had mentioned this impending arrival frequently enough to show how excited he was.
She hurried to push the phone into her pocket as the passenger door was pulled open.
‘Cats and fucking dogs,’ Templeton said as she pushed her briefcase through the seats into the back. ‘How you lot stand to spend all your lives with this as summer, I’ll never know. Shall we?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Alyson was grateful for the satnav. Without it she wouldn’t have known to turn left or right at the first junction. ‘You get used to it,’ she said as she began to relax, stuck as she was in a line of traffic heading roughly towards the city centre.
‘The weather? How do you do that exactly? Develop gills?’
‘How long have you been in Scotland, ma’am?’
‘Would you mind if we cut the “ma’am” shit when it’s just the two of us? Kate is fine. Scotland? Let’s see, it’ll be three years this November.’
She would have considered this as doing Alyson a favour, dropping the authority, but there was safety in the formality, so far as she always knew how to address her in any situation. Now it had been removed it had also taken with it a comfortable detachment, leaving Alyson feeling somehow vulnerable.
According to the screen, they were on Queen Street, heading west, perilously close to city centre celebrations. She couldn’t see the festival, other than the endless placards advertising shows and artists that covered every inch of fencing, but Alyson could hear it, perhaps even feel it. A base drum beat somewhere in the distance, the occasional sound of a whistle. She was directed to keep right at Charlotte Square where a large, enclosed garden was filled with white tents and now people swarmed and congregated at lights, umbrellas forming great shields.
‘Where did you come from, uh, Kate?’ It felt stupid in her mouth. Perhaps she’d just try to avoid addressing her at all.
‘The Met, initially. Greater Manchester after promotion. I got my pips there before accepting the DCI position up here. Do you have family?’
‘It’s just me and Mum. How about you?’
‘Husband. Two kids. You know, the whole kit.’
‘That’s lovely.’
‘Yes, they’re all right. They can stay.’ Alyson was fairly certain that was Kate’s attempt at humour, she pushed a smile on to her face. ‘Do you mind if I close my eyes for a bit. I find driving frightfully boring.’
‘Sure, go ahead,’ said Alyson, thinking … None taken.
Alyson turned on the radio as they entered the limits of Rickerburn. Kate woke with a start and wiped a little drool from the corner of her mouth.
‘We’ll be there in five minutes,’ said Alyson.
‘How are you feeling about this?’ Kate asked, stretching her arms out over the dash and rolling her head left and right.
‘Fine. It’s no problem,’ she lied.
They pulled up to the house, a semi-detached ex-council number. It was around five minutes on foot to young Billy’s place. Alyson ran through the opening lines in her head as they walked up the drive, the sound of stones crunching against the paving slabs under their feet. She reached for the bell and pushed. If it rang inside the house she didn’t hear it, so she knocked as well.
The door was answered by Mr Bradley. He gave a wan smile and pushed the door wide.
In the kitchen, Mrs Bradley sat at the table. She didn’t look up as they entered. She held a cup of coffee between her hands that had formed a milky film on top, long since gone cold. Mr Bradley slid a hand over her shoulders as he took the seat next to her.
‘Please,’ he said and gestured at the two chairs opposite. Alyson sat and laid her folder down in front of her. ‘Oh sorry, can I get you a tea? Coffee?’
‘I’ll get that, Mr Bradley. Please,’ said Kate.
She really was leaving this to Alyson. Alyson wasn’t short of confidence, and when Duncan had left her to it she didn’t feel like she couldn’t handle things. But in front of Kate, the boss? She felt her cheeks flush.
‘How are you both?’ Alyson asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t. How the fuck do you think they are? Bad start, though Mr Bradley did his best to rescue the situation.
‘We’re doing OK, aren’t we, love? We’re keeping it together.’
‘It always pains me to have the victims of such atrocious matters have to relive any part of it, and so I’m sorry that we need to be here, only there have been some developments that you need to be made aware of.’
As she said this, Mrs Bradley looked up. She was thirty-six, but you could have plausibly reversed those numbers. The lines or her face were deep and dark, and her brown, shoulder-length hair hung limp at her face. Mr Bradley was also drawn around the eyes, and had lost weight since the last time she’d seen him. Alyson had inadvertently made the mistake of triggering a little hope in those tired faces. She hurried to clarify. ‘We’re no closer to finding the person responsible for what happened to Callum, I need to make that clear, but we are working around the clock.’
Kate brought a cup of tea over to the table and laid it in front of Alyson before sitting. Nothing for herself. ‘There’s going to be a story run in the newspaper, perhaps as early as tomorrow, that you need to be prepared for,’ Kate said and then looked at Alyson, giving the subtlest nod to continue.
‘Did you happen to see on the news, a report of a priest murdered in Edinburgh? This is going back a few weeks now.’
‘Yes, of course. Shocking,’ said Mr Bradley.
‘The thing is, we think that case and ours are related.’
Mrs Bradley’s trembling left hand sought out Mr Bradley’s. ‘In … what sense?’ she said.
‘We’re all but certain the person who killed Callum also killed this priest. We can’t go into the specifics of this, but the press have gotten wind of the connection and are likely, the tabloids at least, to run front-page stories.’
‘Probably as harrowing and sensationalised as possible. Have you been contacted by members of the press in recent days?’ Kate asked.
‘No, not for a while,’ Mrs Bradley looked to her husband, who shook his head.
Kate continued: ‘Well, you will. It’s up to you, how and if you respond, but if you wanted my advice, you just say “no comment at this time” and direct them to us. Are you still in contact with the lawyer we set you up with?’ During the immediate media clamour after Callum’s murder, Kate had passed on the details of a good QC, someone who had managed media attention in the past and had done most of the microphone work in
those initial weeks.
‘Again, not for a while,’ said Mr Bradley.
‘Give him a call and then you tell him to call me. I’ll tell him what I can and he’ll keep you right. Now, Alyson here is going to ask you some questions. The most important thing at this time is that we continue with our enquiries, so any help you can give us is vital.’ Again, Alyson got the nod.
Over the space of the next hour, she ran thorough some old information, asking if there was anything they could elaborate on, anything they might have missed. There was a break of around ten minutes to let Callum’s parents compose themselves as they ran through the events of the day of the murder. There was nothing said that added to their statements in any meaningful way.
She moved the questions on to the pertinency of Father McCauley, but there was no avenue to explore. There was no connection to Edinburgh, to the Catholic faith, to religion in any capacity. At one point, Alyson was almost wishing Kate would step in. ‘Is there anything you’d like to add, ma’am?’
Kate looked like she was drifting off. Her arms were folded and she looked particularly comfortable in her chair. She cleared her throat and straightened up. Her head began to shake. ‘All I would say is that if there is anything at all you feel that we should know, however small or seemingly insignificant, you will call us right away?’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ said Mr Bradley. He and his wife stood, as did Kate, but something had Alyson rummaging back through her file. Something that Don had said last night and was ‘seemingly insignificant’.
‘Sorry, just very briefly. Let me just find … something. Uh, here. Your father, Mr Bradley, is the only living grandparent, is that correct?’
Kate’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but she did not interject.
‘Yes, that’s right. Sadly, Donna’s parents never got to meet Callum and my mother passed when he was very young.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. How about any great uncles or aunts?’
‘None. None alive, at least,’ said Mr Bradley.
‘And your father, he lives in town too?’
Into the Dark Page 16
