The Woman on the Cliff

by JANICE FROST

“George Farquhar.”

  Innes nods curtly. “I take it he’s been informed.”

  “Of course. There’s been a forensics team out at the park where Izzy was attacked all afternoon. Izzy was interviewed by a detective sergeant earlier.”

  “Has forensic evidence been collected from Izzy?”

  “Yes, sir.” Innes hasn’t lost his air of authority and PC Fraser automatically addresses him as she would a superior officer.

  “Have there been any other incidents like this one recently?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any reason to believe Izzy might have been targeted?”

  Despite my weariness, Innes’s question has me instantly alert. Where is he going with this? It was a random attack, wasn’t it? A sick individual waiting for an opportunity. Izzy was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or is he suggesting she’s been stalked? Tracked down and hunted like an animal? I tuck my hands deep inside my pockets to hide the fact that they’re shaking.

  “No. At least, we don’t think so. I did ask Izzy if anyone had been pestering her.”

  I can see PC Fraser is starting to doubt herself, her lack of experience. She is so young. Has she even come across a crime like this before? Innes runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.

  “This young man, the one who helped Izzy. Has he been questioned?”

  “I believe so.”

  “You believe so?” Innes’s tone is dry as dust.

  “Are you police?” PC Fraser asks.

  “I was.” Innes gives a cough. “I’m retired.”

  PC Fraser’s eyes widen. “I’ve heard of you. You’re Innes Nevin. My dad knows you.”

  Innes stares at her, his expression slowly changing to one of astonishment. “You’re Pat Fraser’s lass?”

  “Aye, that’s right.”

  “Pat and I were at school together,” Innes explains, turning to me. To PC Fraser, he says, “You’re a sight bonnier than your old man ever was, that’s for sure.”

  PC Fraser smiles politely. She tells me she’ll be outside Izzy’s room when I return. After she’s gone, Innes says, “Look, do you fancy a drink? I think you could do with one. There’s a place less than five minutes from here. Bronn can come with us. I should let him out of the car for a bit.”

  I glance at my watch. I’m reluctant to leave the hospital — it feels like I’d be abandoning Izzy. But the doctor said she’d be asleep for hours.

  “Just a quick one, then. I don’t want to leave Izzy for long.”

  “You’re staying the night.” It isn’t a question. Innes is a father. He takes it for granted. “Make a list of what you need me to bring from the cottage.”

  We leave the hospital and go outside to the car park. Bronn greets us ecstatically. The pub is neither cosy nor welcoming. It’s sparse and functional, the hangout of hard-drinking locals who eye us with suspicion as we walk in the door. The barmaid is slow to serve us, even though she’s only drying a shot glass and watching a pool game taking place in the bar.

  We sit down at a table some distance from the bar. I reach for my drink. The coaster is stuck to the bottom of the glass. Bronn settles beneath the table with a sigh. There will be no bones on offer here.

  “I’m so sorry this has happened to your daughter,” Innes says. “I’m sure the police will catch the perpetrator. The young man who helped her might be able to give a description.”

  “Yes. I’m sure you’re right.” Something’s playing on my mind. “Seeing Izzy like that, I couldn’t help but think of Moira, what she must have suffered. And of what might have happened to Izzy if that young man hadn’t come to her assistance.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from, Ros, but going forward you need to focus on Izzy and the fact that she’s okay.”

  “I know . . . I know. It’s just . . . I’ve been through it before. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love to an act of violence.”

  Suddenly, I am telling Innes about Doug. I end by saying, “When my husband was killed, I refused to believe it. For seven years, I convinced myself that he’d been taken prisoner and was alive somewhere, that he’d come back to us one day. It didn’t seem like pure fantasy. Journalists were forever being abducted by hostile parties. There were stories in the news all the time. Or so it seemed to me then.” Innes listens without comment. “Even after a visit from a colleague of Doug’s who’d witnessed my husband’s execution — he was shot in the head at point-blank range — I refused to acknowledge the truth. How stupid was that?”

  “You were in shock.”

  “For seven years? I was deep in denial.”

  “You must have loved him very much.”

  “Yes.” The lump in my throat prevents me from saying more. We sit in silence, the past cloaking me in a shroud of melancholy.

  “I lost someone too,” Innes says, so softly I think I’ve misheard him.

  “Your wife? How did she die?”

  “One day I came home from work to find her unconscious on our bed. She’d taken some pills. Left a note saying how sorry she was for leaving me in the lurch.” His voice is bitter. “I was the one who left her in the lurch. Always at work, never enough time for her and the kids. If I’d been a better husband and father, maybe . . .”

  Instinctively, I cover his hand with mine. I don’t tell him it wasn’t his fault because I sense that, despite the self-reproach, Innes has acknowledged this already. He nods.

  “I should get back to Izzy.”

  “Of course.” Innes accompanies me back to his car where he finds some paper and a pen for me to write a list of items that I need him to bring from the cottage. As I hand it to him, my hand grazes his. Our eyes meet. We lean closer together, but at that moment, Bronn gives a sudden tug on his lead and a small bark. He’s heard something, a rabbit or some small rodent in the bushes.

  “Try not to worry too much,” Innes says, turning back to his car.

  I walk back to Izzy’s ward through dimly-lit corridors. PC Fraser is still there, but she bids me goodnight soon afterwards, telling me to call if I need her.

  After she’s gone, I settle down in the chair next to Izzy’s bed, covering myself with the blanket that some thoughtful person has provided. I gaze at my daughter. A stranger walking into the room would be horrified by the sight of her face, but again, I think what a beautiful sight she is to behold.

  Still, I hope she doesn’t ask for a mirror any time soon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the morning, Innes arrives at the hospital with the things I asked him to bring — some toiletries, a toothbrush, a change of clothes. He leaves before Izzy is awake, telling me he’ll hang around in reception until I join him.

  When Izzy stirs, I move swiftly to her side. She’s a little disoriented. “I’m here,” I say reassuringly, hoping my words will dispel the panic I see in her eyes as she wakes.

  “Mum.” Her eyes fill with tears and I hold her delicately, remembering how she flinched when I hugged her the day before. All of yesterday’s bravado has gone, and I feel a sudden rush of anger at the man who has reduced my daughter to this watered-down version of herself. I’ve brought Izzy up to be strong, independent. I won’t let her think of herself as a victim.

  A nurse comes in, pushing one of those trollies that look ‘busy’ with medical equipment. She takes Izzy’s blood pressure, gives her some medication and then asks if she would like some help to take a shower. She suggests I take a break, so I kiss Izzy and go in search of Innes, who is waiting patiently in reception, reading a book.

  “I’ve got a flask of coffee in the car, and some breakfast. Let’s go outside,” he suggests.

  “Where’s Bronn?” I ask when we reach the car and there’s no excited animal to greet us.

  “I’ve left him at home. He’ll be alright for a couple of hours.”

  Innes pours coffee into mugs and takes the lid off a large plastic container. Inside are croissants, some fruit and yoghurt. “Thanks. I
didn’t realise I was hungry, and the coffee is a treat.”

  As we eat, I stare out the side window, at the brick wall next to the car. It seems like an appropriate metaphor for where we are with things. A feeling of unease prickles through me. I look out the back window at the other cars in the car park, as if expecting to see a face at one of the windows, watching us. Next to me, Innes takes a bite of his croissant, catching the flaky crumbs in a napkin. I know he’s watching me out of the corner of his eye.

  We eat in silence for a few moments. Innes finishes his croissant, lowers the window and shakes out the napkin he’s been using. A couple of gulls appear from nowhere, but they’re quickly disillusioned by the measly offerings and fly off. They land on a nearby wall and sit, watchful, in case something meatier follows.

  “I should get back to Izzy,” I say. Innes packs away our picnic breakfast.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “About your wife.”

  There’s an awkward silence. Then, Innes says, “I’m sorry about your husband.”

  “It’s hard, isn’t it? Being on your own.”

  “That’s why I got a dog after the kids left. Helps to have another heart beating in the house, or so everyone told me. Can’t say I disagree, though Bronn’s not much of a conversationalist.”

  “I could do a portrait of him for you,” I offer.

  “Thanks, that would be . . . nice.” I sense Innes is being polite. He probably thinks what I do for a living is a bit weird.

  Before we can carry on our tentative conversation, a car appears out of nowhere. The driver eyes up the parking space next to ours. It’s not really wide enough to accommodate his four-wheel drive, so Innes sighs, and signals that he is ready to go.

  “Thanks again for breakfast,” I say, jumping out. I walk away with a sense of things left unsaid.

  Why do I believe in Innes Nevin? I hardly know him, and yet he evokes a sense of loyalty and trust in me that may be unjustified and is certainly untested. I have travelled halfway across the country and into his home with scarcely a moment’s thought. Isn’t it about time I examined my feelings for this man? Is curiosity about Moira’s murder really my sole motivation for being here?

  Innes and I are connected by Moira’s death but if I’m being honest, I feel another kind of connection to him. It’s been a long time since I’ve let my guard down regarding matters of the heart. Those short-lived relationships in the years after Doug’s death were never intended to be anything other than a distraction from my grief, and the loneliness I felt when Izzy was growing up.

  Reluctant to cross-examine my feelings, I return to the ward and find that Izzy has an early morning visitor, a young man.

  “Mum,” she says as I approach, “this is Tom. My hero.” Tom blushes scarlet, and I embarrass him further by embracing him on the spot and thanking him effusively.

  “It was nothing,” he says modestly. “Just what anyone would have done. I’m glad I was in the right place at the right time. I brought flowers.” He turns to Izzy apologetically. “The nurse wouldn’t let me bring them in. It’s not hygienic, apparently.”

  Izzy smiles, winces. She looks down. I wonder if the pain has reminded her of what she looks like.

  “Did you get a look at him? Izzy’s attacker?” I ask.

  Tom looks crestfallen. “The police asked me that. I couldn’t be much help, other than to say it was definitely a man. The police took all my clothes to search for evidence — you know, like hairs and stuff that their forensics people can analyse.”

  “Thank you. I can’t tell you how grateful I— we are, Tom. Are you a student too?”

  “Yes. Second-year medic.” He says this with a hint of pride. He looks at Izzy. “I hope this won’t put you off studying here. It’s a terrible thing to happen in your first term.” Then he says, “I’d better go. Let you two have a chat.” To Izzy, he says, “Would . . . would it be alright if I come again?” He blushes anew as he says this, and my heart goes out to him. I’m already fantasising about him as my future son-in-law.

  “Yes,” I gush before I can stop myself. “Er . . . Izzy?”

  “Sure,” Izzy agrees. Her eyes narrow when she turns to me.

  “Great. See you soon.” Tom backs out the door and is gone. I know I’m in for an ear-bashing.

  “Mum! Could you have been any more embarrassing?”

  “I see you’re feeling better.”

  “I was until my overbearing mother turned up and shamed me in front of the cutest boy ever, who also just happens to have saved my life.” Her mood changes abruptly. “I don’t expect him to come back. I mean, why would he? I look hideous.”

  “Not for long, Iz. Once the swelling goes down, you’ll soon be your lovely self again.”

  Izzy sighs deeply. “I hope so.”

  We chat for a while. A little later, a young woman pops her head around the door. One of Izzy’s friends from her hall of residence. I promise Izzy I’ll visit again later and leave them to have a catch up.

  I walk a little way down the corridor, looking for a room where I can make a call. There’s a day room where patients and visitors can sit when they want to escape the ward. It’s furnished with some chairs, a coffee table, a bookcase with a selection of novels — crime and romance titles dominate. Double doors lead to a garden area outside. Unfortunately, the door is locked. I could do with some fresh air. I sit down and call Elspeth.

  The call goes straight to voicemail. Elspeth is probably at work. I feel a stab of disappointment. After a moment, my phone rings.

  “Ros? Hi. Is everything okay? You don’t usually call me at this time on a work day.”

  “Hi, Elspeth. So glad you’re there. I’m in St Andrews. Izzy’s had an . . . an accident.”

  Sharp as ever, Elspeth picks up my hesitation. “What kind of accident?”

  “She was assaulted. Last night. She’s okay. Looks awful but they’re saying it’s mostly superficial.”

  “Jesus! How awful for you both. Look, I’m meeting a client this morning, but I’ll drive over this afternoon. You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. Where are you staying?”

  “Er . . .” This is awkward. “With someone. A friend.”

  “Oh, anyone I know?”

  “Yes, at least you might remember him. His name’s Innes Nevin. He was the young PC who was involved in Moira’s murder investigation.”

  The silence is so profound that I wonder if Elspeth has been called away. Finally, she says, “Well, you’re a dark horse, Ros Maitland. How long has this been going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on.” I realise how unlikely this must sound. Elspeth knows nothing of the circumstances that have brought me to Fife and into Innes’s home. It’s natural for her to assume that we’re romantically involved. Not surprisingly, she snorts.

  “I met him when I came up with Izzy in October. We got talking. It’s, er . . . kind of complicated.”

  “Sounds it. Look, it’s none of my business, Ros. I’m just glad you’ve got someone to turn to. Would you still like me to come over? I can be there by half three, four o’clock?”

  “That would be great. Thanks, Elspeth.”

  “Give Izzy a hug from me.”

  “I will.” It’s going to be hard not to confide in Elspeth.

  I wonder what I can do to occupy the time until she arrives. My car is still at Innes’s place, so I can’t go far. I make my way into town and walk around the shops for a bit. It’s weird being here and no longer being a student. I look at the fresh young faces scurrying between lectures and feel a pang of nostalgia. You can go back to a place but after an absence of many years, it’s never the same, I know. Too much has happened since my student days for me to recapture more than a shadowy trace of the girl I was back then.

  I choose a café and sit down, wrapping my hands around my cup to warm them. My phone pings. Izzy has sent me a picture of her sitting up in bed. There’s a teddy bear balloon tied to her bedpost, and a box of chocolates on her bedside cabinet. M
ore pictures follow. Selfies of Izzy surrounded by her friends, all with long hair and unnaturally perfect eyebrows. When did all young women start looking the same?

  The thought that Izzy wasn’t targeted last night reassures me. She could have been any one of those young women. She’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  I finish my coffee and potter around a bit more, and then it’s time to go back to the hospital. Elspeth arrives soon after me, during a lull in visits from Izzy’s friends. “Hi, Aunt Elspeth,” Izzy greets her, forgetting to drop the ‘Aunt.’ Elspeth gives a momentary start when she catches sight of Izzy’s face. I’d told her what to expect, but it seems that the warning failed to prepare her for the reality.

  “Hi, gorgeous!”

  “I’m not gorgeous. I’m hideous.” There’s no self-pity in Izzy’s voice. She’s been posing for selfies with her friends all morning and seems to have embraced her temporary face.

  “I was being polite,” Elspeth jokes back. She hands Izzy a basket of fruit. “I’ll send flowers when you get out of this dreadful place.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Izzy says, suddenly subdued. Elspeth and I exchange looks. She feels safe here, I realise with a flash of anger.

  We chat for a while. A little later, there’s a tap on the door and Tom appears. Izzy greets him with the words, “Brilliant timing. Mum and Aunt Elspeth are just leaving.”

  Elspeth smiles at me. We know when we’re not wanted.

  “Would you like me to come back later, darling?” I say. Izzy looks positively alarmed at the suggestion.

  “Her boyfriend, I assume?” Elspeth’s question reminds me that I forgot to introduce her to Tom.

  “Actually, no.” I explain about Tom rescuing Izzy from a worse ordeal.

  “Well, from the look on both their faces, I don’t think they’ll be just friends for long. By the way, I’ve booked a table at the Old Course. I hope you don’t mind. My treat.” Before I can object, Elspeth takes my arm and steers me to her car. On the way, she quizzes me about Izzy’s ordeal. “What are the police doing about it?”

  I explain that they’ve screened Izzy and Tom for forensic evidence, and collected whatever they could from the scene. “Unfortunately, the attacker’s face was covered, so neither Izzy nor Tom could give a description. And he was wearing gloves and a mask, so there’s not likely to be any DNA evidence.”