Cross Purpose

by Claire MacLeary

  The rain had come on. It puttered softly on the bonnet and spotted the windscreen. Inside the car, there was complete silence.

  Lewis spoke first. ‘Miss, gonna get us an ice cream?’

  ‘Shut yer mooth, ye retard, ye.’ Willie silenced the boy.

  ‘Well,’ Maggie sighed. Alongside her tryst with Brannigan and pursuit of Willie up the Esplanade Court stairs, this had turned into yet another abortive exercise. ‘If none of you will tell me what’s going on, we’d better be heading home.’

  She checked her rear-view mirror. Turned her key in the ignition.

  Kyle’s hand shot up. ‘Did ye tell her aboot the lassie?’

  Willie’s head whipped round. ‘Shut yer mooth.’

  Maggie switched off the ignition. She turned to Kyle. ‘What lassie?’

  The wee boy’s eyes were screwed tight shut.

  ‘Willie?’ She leaned into the passenger seat.

  Willie Meston studied his lap.

  ‘Ryan?’ she turned once more.

  Ryan Brebner looked out the side window.

  ‘I asked you a question. I need an answer.’

  Willie sat immobile. There wasn’t a sound from the back.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ Maggie’s voice was firm, ‘and I’m prepared to go on waiting if we have to sit here all night.’

  ‘But Kyle,’ Ryan’s voice. ‘Ah’ll git in bother if…’

  ‘Then tell me what Kyle’s referring to.’

  Ryan shook his head.

  ‘I’ll tell you, Miss.’ Kieran’s voice.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Willie hissed. ‘If ye hudna phoned the filth… Ah wish noo ah’d let Wiseman duff ye up, ya swotty wee bastard, instead o’ lettin ye in ma gang.’

  ‘Me an all,’ echoed Lewis from his seat behind Willie.

  ‘You shut yer gob, ya feal shite.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Maggie rounded on the two. ‘I want to hear what Kieran’s got to say.’

  ‘We were in our den, Miss.’

  ‘That piece of waste ground at the top of the Chanonry?’

  ‘Yes. We go there to play, only…’ Kieran’s voice faltered. ‘That night, the night the girl got killed, Kyle got upset. He started crying, and…’

  ‘Naw ah nivver.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘Didna.’

  Maggie turned. ‘Don’t interrupt.’

  ‘Then Lewis got hacked off. He climbed back over the gate. Next thing we heard was him screaming.’

  ‘Ah wis no!’ Lewis protested.

  Lord Almighty! Maggie’s heart thundered so hard she clasped a hand to her chest. That cry, the one she’d heard when she’d practised surveillance, could as easily have come from the graveyard as the waste ground. She waited in dread for what was coming next.

  She tried to still the tremor in her voice. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We went over the fence. There was no sign of Lewis. Only his bike lying…’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We went into the kirkyard to look for him.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘It was that girl, Miss.’

  ‘The student?’

  ‘Yes. Willie said she was dead.’

  Oh my God! Maggie could scarcely credit what she’d just heard. Her mind shot into overdrive. ‘And was she, d’you think?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Kieran puzzled. ‘We tried to take her pulse but we didn’t know how.’

  ‘So,’ she prompted, ‘what did you do then?’

  ‘We were scared. And Willie said…’

  ‘Ah said,’ Willie cut in, ‘we should get the fuck outta there.’

  ‘You ran away?’ Maggie asked in a strangled voice. ‘Why?’

  ‘She wis deid,’ Willie insisted. ‘Or near as.’

  ‘You didn’t think to tell anyone?’

  ‘There wis naebody tae tell.’

  ‘I don’t mean at the scene,’ Maggie reasoned. ‘I mean you could have contacted someone in authority: your mum, the Community Police Office…’

  ‘Call the polis?’ Willie snorted.

  ‘An ambulance, then?’

  ‘State o’ thon quine, it widna be much use tae her neither.’

  ‘So let me get this straight – you left the girl lying there and did a bunk?’

  Kieran looked away.

  ‘Well?’

  There was silence, then, ‘We moved her to a better place first.’

  Maggie’s blood ran cold. ‘You moved what you thought was a corpse?’

  ‘Aye.’ Small voice.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘No far,’ Willie again. ‘A gravestone. Wan o’ thon big yins,’ he added helpfully.

  Maggie knew from Brian that the girl’s body had been moved. But still, she couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Whose idea was that?’

  Willie spoke up. ‘Mine.’

  ‘So…what happened after that?’

  Kieran again. ‘We went home.’

  ‘Straight home?’

  ‘No. We stopped at the shops to wait for Lewis.’

  Maggie frowned. ‘But I thought Lewis was with you.’

  ‘He was, Miss, only…’

  From the back seat, Lewis blurted out. ‘Ah jist went back fur a keek.’

  There was a long silence. Alongside Maggie, Willie stared straight ahead. She checked her rear-view mirror. Ryan and Kieran were looking out the side windows, though they couldn’t have seen much, for the glass was streaked with rain. Kyle’s head was back down. The wee boy had stopped wriggling. She supposed he was about ready for bed.

  ‘A keek, you said?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Maggie’s heart hammered in her chest. Her mind tumbled with terrible imaginings. ‘And that’s all you did, Lewis? ’ She strove to keep her voice normal. ‘Just look?’

  From the rear, there was not a sound to be heard.

  x

  It was raining harder now, water drumming on the roof of the car, running in rivulets down the windscreen. Every now and again, a huge wave hit the breakwater, sending a shower of spray through the railings. The water hit the vehicle like a whiplash: scattered and scratchy, as if someone had flung a handful of coarse sand.

  ‘Did you go back then, Lewis?’ Maggie prompted. ‘Down to Seaton? Meet up with the others?’

  A whispered, ‘Aye.’

  ‘And did you tell them? About looking at the girl?’

  ‘Aye,’ affronted tone. ‘Ah telt them when ah met them at the shops.’

  ‘Ye’re fuckin lyin,’ Willie spat from the passenger seat.

  ‘Ah’m no.’

  ‘Regardless,’ Maggie stepped in, ‘I can’t believe that you lot came upon what you believed to be a dead body and didn’t choose to tell anyone.’

  ‘Clipe here called the polis,’ Willie jeered.

  ‘Somebody had to,’ Kieran shot back.

  ‘Willie said,’ Lewis again, ‘that we’d get in trouble if we telt onybody.’

  ‘Trouble? You’re already in trouble. Deep trouble. More trouble than you’ll ever know.’ Maggie turned to address the others. Come to think on it, she was in deep trouble as well. She recalled Brian’s strictures about meddling in police business. After that last telling off, she wondered how she was going to explain this episode. And never mind Brian. What about Chisolm? Her heart plummeted into the footwell.

  It was still raining hard, a sharp east wind whipping off the North Sea. It rocked the old Volvo. Maggie fervently wished she hadn’t parked somewhere quite so exposed.

  ‘Fit ye gaun tae dae, Miss?’

  ‘I’m going to take you straight down to Queen Street.’

  ‘Naw,’ Willie sprang to life, ‘ye canna dae that.’

  She turned. ‘I thought you weren’t afraid of the pol
ice, Willie?’

  His lip jutted. ‘Ah’m nae.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  ‘It’s ma da.’

  ‘I understand that.’

  ‘Naw, ye dinna.’

  ‘I do,’ Maggie’s voice softened. ‘Believe me, Willie, I’m sorry about your dad.’ She reached out a hand. Roughly, Willie shook her off. ‘And I really do understand now why you’re so reluctant to get involved with the police. But don’t you see that you’ve already put yourself bang in the middle of a police investigation?’

  ‘How?’ The boy’s face was the picture of misery.

  ‘Lots of ways. What about tampering with a crime scene, for a start? Or maybe withholding evidence? I believe the police are still looking for that girl’s mobile phone.’

  There was a muffled sob from the back.

  Willie Meston shrugged. ‘Ah didna nick the quine’s phone.’

  ‘Somebody did.’ Maggie looked at the lad. His face was even whiter than usual. And pinched, like a wee old man.

  ‘Right,’ she straightened in her seat. Reached again for the ignition key.

  ‘Ah hiv tae git hame,’ Lewis muttered.

  ‘Me too,’ this from Ryan. ‘Ah’ll get murdered if ah don’t get the wean back.’

  ‘Whatever, there are questions the police need answers to.’

  ‘Nae way ah’m gaun tae the pigs,’ Willie made to open the door.

  ‘Not so fast,’ she activated the central locking system. ‘I’m taking you down there right now. All of you.’

  ‘But…ma da, he’ll…’

  Maggie was overwhelmed by a wave of fatigue. She’d been buoyed by the prospect of nailing Willie’s supplier. Of saving the boy – and the others, by association – from falling into a life of petty crime. But to discover that these five small boys, four of them her own pupils, had embroiled themselves in a murder investigation was too daunting to comprehend.

  ‘Tell you what…’ She had a sudden rush of blood. ‘Why don’t we do a deal? You lot come with me, but instead of going down Queen Street, I’ll take you to a friend of mine. Then you can tell him the whole story.’

  James Goes AWOL

  She was already there when he opened the door. She was wearing her work uniform: white tunic with a Nehru collar, short sleeves with a cuff, dark trousers – straight-legged – flat shoes. She looked, he thought, like a dental nurse. The notion appealed to him: the idea that this girl would minister to his hygiene. He felt a stirring in his groin.

  ‘You managed to get away?’

  ‘Yes,’ she gave a small shrug. ‘Said I had a hospital appointment.’

  ‘Good girl.’ James Gilruth rewarded her with a thin smile.

  Some weeks back he’d taken out a lease on the apartment: six months with standard conditions. James wasn’t at all sure he’d require six months. But the location was convenient: one of the quieter streets running down the hill off Justice Mill Lane. The perfect bachelor pad. That was how the estate agent’s particulars had described it. Classic, James grimaced. When he’d made his cursory inspection visit, he was met by a cramped hallway, a narrow living area open to a minimalist kitchen, a bedroom just large enough to accommodate a bed and a tiny ensuite shower room. Hardly James Gilruth’s idea of bachelor living. But the apartment was adequately kitted out: double bed, leather suite, flat-screen television, kettle and crockery in the kitchen. The agent had been willing to negotiate on the rental figure, and the underground garage was the clincher. There was no way James would want his Jaguar with its personal plate parked in plain sight. The set-up suited his purposes perfectly. For now.

  The television was on. She must have been watching it whilst she was waiting for him to arrive. James caught a snatch of the STV lunchtime news:

  17-year-old Aberdeen University student Lucy Simmons was buried on Saturday in a private ceremony at her local church in Frimley Green, Surrey. The body of Lucy, pictured last summer on a family holiday in Sri Lanka, was discovered in the curtilage of St Machar Cathedral on 22nd May. Although the tragic death of the first-year History of Art student, initially suspected to be murder, was later attributed to natural causes, it has had far-reaching consequences: an investigation is currently underway into drug dealing involving children in the Seaton area of the city, and a petition to improve safety issues in Seaton Park has resulted in a consultation process involving…

  ‘Switch that thing off.’

  The girl did as she was bid.

  James took hold of her arm, steered her in the direction of the bedroom.

  He didn’t bother with the preliminaries. Time was money, after all. And the girl was on his payroll, whichever way you chose to look at it. He took his glasses off. Laid them carefully on the bedside table. Lay back, legs spread, eyes closed, as the girl removed the necessary clothing. He felt the tension in his spine begin to ease as she worked him over. God, she was good… Way better than that meat from Eastern Europe. Though there wasn’t the same edge to sexual relations in the apartment, he’d discovered: the buzz he got when Michelle sucked him off in the salon. Nothing came close to that – the thought that his wife could be sitting just through the wall having her hair done, that at any moment someone could walk in on them, catch James Gilruth, king of cool, with his dick out. He pursed his lips. Partitioning off that back room had been a masterstroke. This place did have its compensations, though, James thought with a small grunt of pleasure: a bed to lie flat on, a shower to get cleaned up in. Above all, it was completely anonymous. In the handful of visits he’d made to the flat, James had never once encountered another soul. Not in the car park. Not in the lift. Not in the hallway. He ran his tongue over his lips in satisfaction.

  She was sitting astride him now, her small butt slapping against his hip bones every time he thrust into her. James tugged at her nipples, his manicured nails digging into the soft, pink flesh. His eyes were open now. It amused him to watch the expressions on her face. The girl had spirit, he had to hand it to her. Never cried out. Never complained, not even when he was really giving it to her.

  Emitting a loud groan, James ejaculated. He let his head fall back onto the pillow. God, that was terrific! He’d take a quick shower, he resolved. Have her give him a full body massage, maybe suck him off again. Then he’d send her packing.

  It would be back to business.

  James Gilruth had things to do.

  Urquhart Road

  Brian sat in his bedsit. He was dog-tired. Operation Cross Purpose was stretching to infinity, and there was no end in sight. Chisolm had been tetchier than ever that evening. If we don’t get our finger out soon, the press are going to have our guts for garters. And then God help the lot of you.

  Brian saw his chances of making an impression on the new DI vanish faster than water down a plug-hole. He’d been so hacked he was tempted to join the rest of the team for a quick snifter in the Athenaeum. But since he’d split with Bev, he tended to shun company. And besides, that way ruin lay.

  He stood up. Wandered through to the cubby hole that was optimistically called a kitchen. He opened the fridge and sighed. There was bugger-all to eat: a single egg, an end of mouldy cheese, a few limp vegetables in the salad compartment. He unscrewed the cap off the milk and took a cautious sniff. On the turn. Brian closed the fridge with a thump.

  He looked around. There were dirty dishes in the sink, an untidy stack of carry-out containers on the draining board, an airing rack in one corner draped with damp shirts and socks and underpants. Christ, what a fucking way to live. And it was all down to Bev. Brian hadn’t seen it coming. What a knob! And him a copper too. He’d been oblivious to the warning signs: the tarted-up appearance, the nights out with ‘the girls’. Put the lengthy phone calls down to loneliness, the way she kept finding fault with him down to Bev’s time of the month. Brian kicked himself. Wasn’t the husband always the last to know? Oh, wel
l… He made a beeline for the door. Looked like it was going to be another takeaway.

  x

  ‘Brian?’

  He checked his caller display. ‘Hi, Maggie.’

  ‘Yes. Look, I’m sorry to be calling you in the evening like this.’

  ‘That’s OK. Wasn’t doing anything critical.’ Christ, Brian thought, as he stood waiting for his Indian meal, if she only knew.

  ‘It’s just…I need to ask for your help.’

  ‘Oh?’ Guarded voice. On the last couple of occasions he’d offered Maggie Laird his opinion, he’d been sent off with a flea in his ear. You never knew where you were with women. Brian had learned that the hard way. Still… His heart warmed. It was good to hear Maggie’s voice.

  ‘D’you remember last time we met, I told you about the young lad, Meston?’

  ‘Ye-es.’ He watched as his tinfoil trays were stacked in a carrier bag.

  ‘And you weren’t convinced?’

  ‘Look, Maggie,’ he slid a note across the counter, ‘I’m sorry if I came over the wrong way. Only…’

  ‘I know,’ Maggie’s voice softened. ‘It’s your training, that’s all. Anyhow, I need to see you.’

  His heart missed a beat. Then he steadied himself. She was only coming round to talk about the Meston kid. Still, that was better than nothing. ‘When?’ he asked.

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Oh,’ Brian was torn between euphoria and desperation. On the one hand, he’d never willingly pass up the opportunity to see Maggie Laird. On the other… His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since mid-morning.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Would it be OK if I came to your flat?’

  ‘We-ell…’ There she goes again, he thought, putting me between a rock and a hard place. He didn’t respond.

  ‘Brian, are you still there?’

  ‘Yes.’ Weary voice.

  ‘So…can I?’

  The handles of the flimsy carrier bag were cutting into his fingers. Brian put a hand under the bag, burning his palm in the process. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘It’s just…’

  Maggie didn’t seem to have heard. Brian wondered if he’d manage to clear the worst of the mess before she turned up. Otherwise… He was weighing his options, when: