The Woman on the Cliff

by JANICE FROST

  “Wow,” Lucy says. “Now look who’s the conspiracy theorist.”

  But there’s a dark side to all of this, which Lucy acknowledges. “If you’re right, then Stuart really was innocent and Moira’s actual killer was never caught.”

  “There’s more,” I say. “All the documentation relating to the investigation into Moira’s murder was destroyed in a fire.”

  “Convenient,” Alec murmurs.

  “Innes Nevin worked the case with him,” Lucy says. “He must remember some of the details.”

  “He was only a PC at the time. Inexperienced. His involvement was minimal. For instance, Menzies never told him about you being the last of our group to see Moira alive. Or that you’d given Menzies a description of the man you saw her talking with. The case has troubled Innes ever since. As he gained experience, he began to question why the whole investigation was closed so quickly. Stuart’s suicide seemed to confirm his guilt, but . . . what if it wasn’t suicide at all?”

  Lucy’s eyes widen in horror. Alec’s lips set in a tight, grim line. We are all silent for a few moments.

  “But why kill Moira? Or Stuart? What possible motive could there have been for anyone? They were two innocent young people. Surely they weren’t a threat to anyone?” Lucy says.

  There doesn’t need to be a reason, I think. In my mind I have a vision of a universe that is morally bankrupt, where money and the promise of a comfortable life outweigh the value of a single human life. It’s like staring into an abyss. I think of Doug, kneeling on that dusty roadside with a gun to his head, his mind empty of hope. He’d been in the game long enough by then to appreciate that, for certain individuals, life is cheap — of less value than possessions or a fanatical ideal or . . . pretty much anything. Some people don’t need a reason to kill.

  But in Moira’s case, I’m sure there was a motive.

  “I for one am glad to hear that Menzies got a nasty disease and that he suffered. I just wish his mind hadn’t disintegrated to the point where he probably forgot what an evil bastard he was.” Alec is pitiless in his condemnation of Menzies.

  “I wonder if somewhere in that splintered mind of his, he felt remorse. His wife told Innes that Menzies seemed tortured by the memory. Apparently it distressed him greatly to speak of it,” I say.

  Alec shakes his head. He doesn’t want to be convinced. Lucy just looks sad. I hope this isn’t going to rekindle those past negative feelings.

  “I suppose that even if his wife agrees to give a statement to the police about what he told her, no one’s going to believe that it wasn’t just his dementia talking. His memories wouldn’t have been reliable by that stage, just a jumble of the real and the half-imagined,” Lucy comments astutely.

  “People with dementia have moments of complete lucidity,” I say. “Menzies’s wife might be able to comment on what her husband’s state of mind was like when he talked about this subject.”

  “Like she’d want to believe the man she’d lived with for twenty-odd years was a liar, a cheat and maybe something much worse,” Alec says.

  “She must have a conscience, or she wouldn’t have contacted Innes in the first place,” I point out.

  “Do you think the man I saw talking to Moira that afternoon could have been her killer?” Lucy asks.

  “We don’t know. Obviously, it would be useful to identify him.”

  “Have you been able to find out anything at all about him? I remember thinking he was a bit too old to be a student, but could he have been staff?”

  “Absolutely nothing. I thought maybe you could help with that. Give us a description, if you can remember what he looked like after all this time.”

  Lucy nods. “I can still picture his face. Probably because he was with Moira the last time I ever saw her alive, it’s etched in my memory.”

  “Well, that’s a start,” I say.

  “So, you and Innes Nevin are reinvestigating Moira’s murder together?” Lucy asks. I guess this is a roundabout way of asking what else Innes is to me.

  “I, er . . . we were, but it’s . . . complicated now.” I sigh. “Elspeth’s just told me that Innes was accused of planting evidence on a suspect he was investigating in a case in Glasgow.” I look at each of them in turn to gauge whether they see the significance in that. Their sombre faces tell me that they have grasped the irony. “It gets worse. The suspect died in mysterious circumstances before he could be brought to trial.”

  I’m not sure what I’m expecting — stunned silence? Incredulous stares? Exclamations of surprise at the parallels with Moira’s case? Instead, Lucy bursts out laughing.

  I feel a surge of irritation. How dare she laugh? These are serious allegations, and if they are true, they cast doubt on everything Innes has told me about Menzies, and Moira’s murder. Surely, she can see that?

  “I’m so sorry, Ros. It’s just . . . that is such classic Elspeth. She always was a jealous, spiteful bitch. If anyone could dig up dirt on Innes Nevin to thwart any possibility of a relationship between you and him, Elspeth would be the one to unearth it.”

  “There is no relationship between Innes and me,” I say, a little too quickly. “And Elspeth isn’t jealous of my relationships. Well, maybe she was back then, but she’s a grown-up now.”

  Even as I say it, I know that Elspeth might be grown-up, but she hasn’t outgrown her jealous nature. It comes back to me how not long after I started seeing Doug, Elspeth called me to say that she’d just happened to bump into one of his old girlfriends, who’d told her what a shit he’d been when she became pregnant with their child, to the extent that she’d terminated the pregnancy.

  When I confronted Doug, he told me the baby wasn’t his. His girlfriend had been seeing his best mate behind his back for three months while Doug was out of the country. The dates confirmed that the baby was his friend’s. Elspeth hadn’t even bothered to check her facts.

  “Well, Doug’s ex didn’t say that when she told me the story,” was Elspeth’s excuse when I confronted her over it.

  “I know that you and Elspeth were — are — friends, Ros, but that woman could start a row in an empty room. She was always playing us off against each other. I wanted to be closer friends with you — Shona and Moira did too — but Elspeth always seemed to find a way to make sure you didn’t have time for anyone but her. She was the one who shredded Moira’s clothes that time, you know. We all knew it.” Except you. Lucy’s too polite to say it. “And all because Moira was screwing Andrew Kelso.”

  “It’s just as well Moira’s relationship with Kelso wasn’t more widely known, or he might have been the one set up for Moira’s murder,” Alec comments. “I guess Stuart was an easier fall guy.” From Alec’s comment, I gather that Lucy has told him a lot about what went on in our house on North Street.

  “More wine, anyone?” Alec asks.

  “I should order a taxi back to my accommodation,” I say, looking at the clock.

  “Stay over,” Lucy entreats me. “I’ll make up a bed for you in the spare room.”

  I think of my cramped room at the guest house. It feels safe and cosy here with Lucy and Alec. “Thank you.”

  Alec refills my glass.

  “So, the question is . . . what do we do next?” Lucy says.

  “We?” I say, smiling.

  “Alec and I will help in any way we can.” She pauses before adding, “Perhaps you should ask Innes how he can use my description of the mystery man to find out who he is. That is, if you don’t feel awkward contacting him again, Ros?”

  This thing is bigger than my feelings about Innes Nevin. And, besides, after what Lucy’s said, I feel I owe it to him to hear his account of what happened in Glasgow. “No problem,” I say. Sorry, Elspeth.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Elspeth always seemed to have some excuse for not introducing us to Piers. If it hadn’t been for Moira telling us he existed, I would have begun to wonder if he, like the elusive Gav from Edinburgh, was a figment of her imagination.
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  And then, one Friday morning in February, Elspeth drew me aside in the kitchen of our house on North Street and confided that Piers was arriving that evening. “Don’t tell the others,” she said.

  “What others?” I said. “Shona’s on a field trip, Lucy’s gone home for the weekend and Moira’s going away with Andrew this afternoon.” No doubt this was precisely why Elspeth had chosen this particular weekend.

  All that day I could barely concentrate on my work for wondering what Piers would be like. Elspeth had told me that he was twenty-four, a postgraduate student at Edinburgh University writing a thesis on some dry topic to do with the economics of the GDR.

  She’d shown me a photo-booth picture of him, a washed-out image of a serious-looking young man with brown curly hair and a beard, wearing aviator-style glasses. He looked as if he’d had a bad case of acne in his teens, for his face was still pitted with scars which the beard couldn’t quite disguise. I guessed that Elspeth had been attracted by his left-wing leanings more than his looks.

  They were in bed when I returned home after my four o’clock lecture. I heard the bedsprings creaking as I reached the landing at the top of the stairs. I collected a few books and went down again. At seven in the evening, the pair of them joined me in the kitchen.

  “Ros, Piers. Piers, Ros,” Elspeth said. Her faced was flushed and she appeared to be too embarrassed to look at me.

  “Hi, Piers. Nice to meet you.” I couldn’t resist adding, “At last.” Piers raised one hand in a solemn wave and gave a brief smile. He was taller than I’d expected, and broader. He was also quite handsome in real life. The acne scars were less noticeable, and he’d dispensed with the glasses. Perhaps the photo-booth picture was a couple of years out of date.

  “We’re going for a curry, then down the pub,” Elspeth said. “Want to come?”

  “No thanks. I’m really tired. Think I’ll just watch telly for a bit and have an early night.” It wasn’t as if they got a lot of time alone together, so I decided to leave them to it, much as I wanted to find out more about Piers.

  On Saturday, I went off to the library first thing. Elspeth and Piers were still in bed. I had a feeling that they wouldn’t be in a rush to get up. I was happy for Elspeth. Maybe now she was in a relationship, she’d get over her infatuation with the unattainable Andrew Kelso.

  It was lunchtime when I returned to North Street. The smell of burnt toast told me that Elspeth and Piers must be having a late breakfast. I joined them in the kitchen, where they were eating beans on toast. We chatted for a while, and then they went out to do some shopping. They returned a couple of hours later and disappeared back up to Elspeth’s bedroom for a while. Later, they announced that they planned to go to the cinema, and afterwards the pub. Again, I was invited along, and again, I declined.

  Piers struck me as intelligent, and if not exactly dull — he knew a lot, especially about politics — he was a tad humourless for my taste. I could understand what Elspeth saw in him. He was after all, one of Kelso’s protégés.

  I had resigned myself to another quiet evening alone in the house, when around eight, the front door slammed shut. I ventured into the downstairs hall in time to see Moira hauling her weekend bag up the stairs, spitting oaths.

  “What’s up?” I asked. “Thought you weren’t coming back till tomorrow.”

  “Bloody Cousin Hans is what’s up. He only turned up at the hotel we were staying at in Edinburgh, so Andrew spent the morning in the bar with him. Then Andrew tells me Hans’s wife’s just left him and he’s going through a bad patch, and he needs a bit of support — blah, blah, blah — so I might as well come back to St Andrews or be prepared to amuse myself for the rest of the weekend. Flipping cheek!”

  “Hans? Hasn’t he got any family or friends in Germany he could turn to?”

  “You’d bloody think so, wouldn’t you? He’s closest to Andrew, apparently. To tell the truth, I got the impression he just wanted me out of the way.”

  Moira’s ill-humour seemed to dissipate. She smiled at me. “Look, do you fancy going out? I can’t face spending the evening moping around the house. Might as well have a bit of fun.”

  I agreed readily, glad to earn a reprieve from my lonely evening.

  “Oh, sorry, were you planning on doing something with Elspeth?”

  “No, er . . . Elspeth’s out.” Moira was sharp. She didn’t miss the slight pause, and she knew that Elspeth rarely went out without me.

  “Is Piers in town?” She was going to find out anyway, so I nodded. “Great. I can’t wait to meet him. Give me twenty minutes to get changed and slap some make-up on.”

  My pleasure at the prospect of an unexpected night out was quickly superseded by worry about a collision between Moira and Elspeth, so from the moment Moira and I left the house, I was on my guard. It didn’t escape my notice that Moira was also watchful, but for an entirely different reason. Clearly, she relished the prospect of an encounter with Elspeth and Piers.

  We spent a couple of hours in a pub on Market Street. Around eleven, we decided to go to the students’ union disco. My sense of dread deepened as we walked into the darkened sports hall. Elspeth and Piers could be in here somewhere, so it was up to me to ensure that Moira didn’t see them. It seemed an impossible task, even in a crowded hall.

  I’d tried to stay sober, but my nerves had sent me to the bar repeatedly throughout the evening, and I could tell from the heightened effect that the music and lights were having on my senses that I was well on the way to being drunk. Already, I was swaying along to the music and gazing in wonder at the splinters of coloured light spilling across the floor from the disco ball.

  There was always a good turnout on a Saturday night. Most people were tanked up on cheap pints of cider from the union bar or high on dope. Moira took my arm and propelled me through the throng of dancers towards the bottom end of the hall. She liked to be near the front, where she could get onto the stage to show off.

  Sure enough, she immediately jumped up on the stage, leaving me to jiggle along to the music or stand at the side. I made my way to the side, dodging lighted fag-ends held in drunken fingers.

  Please don’t let Elspeth and Piers be here. The haze of cigarette smoke choking the atmosphere made my eyes sting. I rubbed them and looked about. There, about two feet away, was Elspeth, with Piers next to her, his eyes fixed on the stage. I didn’t need to follow the line of his sight to know who he was looking at. Elspeth was furious.

  “What the fuck is she doing here?” she mouthed with a nod at the stage. I shrugged, and shuffled over to her.

  “She came back early. Andrew’s cousin turned up again.”

  Elspeth’s eyes narrowed. “Did you tell her Piers was coming this weekend?”

  “No! How can you say that? I promised, didn’t I?” Elspeth’s eyes bored into me. I hoped she wouldn’t turn around and see Piers ogling Moira. At that moment, the song ended. Next, was a slow dance.

  Piers grabbed Elspeth, pulled her into his arms and led her onto the dance floor. I stood watching them with a feeling of impending disaster. Moira had already jumped from the stage and was making her way through the thinned-out crowds to join me. Elspeth scowled at me over Piers’s shoulder. I felt trapped between two seismic forces about to clash.

  When Moira reached me, I told her I wasn’t feeling well. “Too much to drink, too quickly. Should have paced myself. Or had something proper to eat earlier.”

  Moira was dismissive. “Come on, Ros, we’ve only just got here. You’re probably just dehydrated. Drink some water and let’s have a boogie.” Her hips swayed and she pulled me out onto the dance floor. Here we go, I thought. Sure enough, it didn’t take long for her to spot Elspeth and Piers.

  “Aw, just look at the lovebirds,” she said in a loud voice.

  “Moira, please . . .” Please what? Please don’t spoil things for Elspeth? Please don’t flirt with Piers? Please forgive Elspeth for ripping up your clothes and detesting you for being clever and
for being with Andrew Kelso? It was too much of an ask. I wished the song would go on for ever. It was the Eagles — ‘Take it to the Limit’ — and Randy Meisner’s voice became ever more strangulated as the song reached its climax.

  Elspeth and Piers were soldered together. Piers’s hands were clamped to her bottom, Elspeth’s arms were around his neck and they were engaged in a deep, passionate kiss. As the music faded, their hold on each other loosened and they looked about the darkened hall, eyes glazed over with lust. In the heat of the moment, Elspeth had evidently forgotten all about Moira.

  Moira stepped in front of me, waving. “Elspeth! Over here! Come and introduce me to your friend.”

  It would have looked bad for Elspeth in front of Piers if she’d ignored Moira.

  “Hi, Moira. Piers, this is my flatmate, Moira Mackie. Moira, Piers Thornton.”

  Did Piers already know about Moira? Andrew Kelso had introduced Piers to Elspeth. Had he told him about his affair? It seemed unlikely. Andrew was a frequent visitor to our house on North Street but we’d all been sworn to secrecy about him and Moira. They were discreet about their affair around town.

  Piers gave no indication that he’d heard Moira’s name before. In fact, he said, “You never said that you had a fourth flatmate.”

  Elspeth feigned innocence. “Are you sure? I must have, and you forgot.”

  “Well, once known, never forgotten,” Moira said. She smiled at Piers. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

  “Piers and I were just leaving,” Elspeth announced.

  Piers looked surprised. “We were?”

  “Oh, don’t be so boring,” Moira said. “Ros and I have just got here. Come and have a boogie with us. Piers?”