2007 - The Dead Pool (13 page)

Morag turned down her mouth in a doubtful moue. ‘
Or
, he’s waiting to get his own back in some other way. I wish you could meet Ally. You might understand what I mean. But…mmm…maybe not. Anyway, I want to thank you. For bringing me here but also, mainly, for last night. We’re effectively strangers, I know, but…I…just thought of you and I remembered having your number and…to be honest, I had no one else to call.’

Kirstin sighed. Morag was confusing her. One moment she seemed fully in control, the steely exterior deflecting any attempt at sympathy, yet the next moment she seemed to be worrying obsessively, adamant that Kirstin should believe her.

‘It’s fine, Morag. You did the right thing. Really. Just steer clear of Ally and try to forget about last night. It’s over.’

But those few hours of the early morning had stayed stubbornly with Kirstin, the traces of fear and anxiety still clinging to her. Added to that was her sheer puzzlement at Morag’s excessive behaviour and Ally’s tearful reaction. But she was determined to hide her feelings and tuned back into Morag’s voice, trying to shrug off the image of Ally Sutherland’s injured, sobbing figure.

‘…I
do
feel ashamed to say I had nobody else to call. It’s…it’s barely believable, but true. I used to have a wide circle of friends, far beyond the river crowd. But now? Who would want to befriend the ‘Cauldron Killer Witch’?’

In a rare gesture of vulnerability, Morag raised a hand to wipe under her sunglasses with her fingertips. The last sentence had been said without trace of melodrama or self-pity. Indeed, Morag had almost whispered it, as if to herself.

Kirstin shifted in her seat, trying to see Morag’s eyes. ‘I know there’s not a lot I can do to help, but I’m going to be around for a while longer. We can meet up, talk any time. Tell me, what’s next for you?

Well, there’s a hypnotherapist who is going to try to help me with my memory.’

‘Really?’

Morag nodded. ‘Yes. An initial session has been arranged for next week. I’m dubious, though.’

‘Dubious?’ Kirstin frowned.

‘I’m not convinced about it. I just want to get away from here and start a new life.
With
what,
as
what, I don’t know. I don’t even know if that’s possible. The shadow of what’s happened is not going to miraculously disappear. The police won’t give up trying to get me. They just won’t. It may sound a bit dramatic but I’m thinking of changing my name, my appearance, and then trying to get a job somewhere. England, maybe. Or I could go to one of the cities up north. Maybe not Aberdeen. Craig had links there. Possibly Inverness? I don’t know. It all sounds so…so unachievable. Maybe it’s an outlandish notion, d’you think?’

Kirstin shrugged. ‘Not really. It’s what you need, isn’t it? To start a new life? But…with this hypnotherapy thing…don’t you
want
to know what happened, find out what you can remember and wipe the slate clean, as it were? Then you can move on to your new life.’

Morag leant forward, elbows on knees, and stared at the ground. She wasn’t answering. Kirstin caught her breath. Had she offended her by prying too deeply?

At last Morag looked up. The sunglasses were still locked in place, keeping her eyes invisible. ‘I think I’m reaching the stage where I just want to run away from it all. The thing with Ally has pretty much decided me. I’d probably be better off trying to put everything behind me. And yet…he and the police will
never
be off my case. It’s bloody hopeless.’ She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. ‘Hah! Even though I don’t have bars on the windows, I’ve pretty much been given a life sentence anyway, haven’t I?’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry for that. But if the hypnotherapy works, and even if the police won’t recognize the outcome, at least
you’ll
know, within yourself, what happened that day. Isn’t that the most important thing?’ Kirstin tilted her head and smiled, trying to encourage Morag to open up about the memory issue.

Without warning, she stood up. ‘The bastard! How dare Ally threaten me! Say I can’t go to the river! If he and the rest of them hadn’t buggered about with my drinks and all the rest of it, I wouldn’t be in this wretched position.’ Anger at the memory of their betrayals almost crackled like an electrical current around her. ‘I tell you this, I know now that Jamie was trying to be more of a friend than I realized at the time. And certainly more than all the rest of them put together.
Bastards!
’

She paused to take a deep breath, clearly trying to control her fury. ‘You know, when Jamie visited me in prison, he said, ‘I’m no longer in touch with her, but I wish you’d known my former daughter-in-law. She had a firm sense of what was just and unjust. Shame she’s not here right now. We would have made a good team.’’ Morag straightened her hair and pushed the sunglasses more firmly into place. ‘But it’s too late for all that now. Far too late. Look, I want to make my own way back home. I’ll…I’ll see you.’

To Kirstin’s astonishment, Morag bent stiffly and gave her a tight hug before pulling away and wandering along the dusty path. She gave a last turn of her head. Was that a half smile trying to cover the sadness and anger? It had been too fleeting to be sure. The mask of brittleness had been drawn down again before her final wave of farewell. Kirstin tracked the slim figure’s progress, the warm breeze catching at Morag’s light summer shirt, her words from Jamie’s prison visit still hanging in the air. ‘
We would have made a good team
.’

Kirstin slumped back on the bench, overcome by an overwhelming sadness that caught in her throat. She glanced over towards Jamie’s gravestone shimmering in the morning heat. The tears came easily once she let them. She pitied Jamie, whatever change had overtaken him. She pitied Morag. And some compassion had to be left over for that wretched couple. What a way to die.

Despite her steely, defensive exterior, Morag had no power—it had all been lost long ago. No friends or supporters. Indeed, she seemed to have lost control over everything. Even the will to live. After all, hadn’t she tried to end it all in prison? All in all, it was a surprise that Morag wasn’t a gibbering wreck. And yet, wouldn’t it be best if she tried to remember? But…who was she to say what was best for Morag? Thank God, she wasn’t in her shoes.

Kirstin eased herself up from the bench and wandered over to Jamie’s gravestone. Gently, she laid her fingers on the deeply chiselled letters of his name and began tracing them one by one. If Jamie had lived, Morag would have had a worthy ally in him, fearlessly championing her cause. No doubt he’d have ruffled feathers. Morag’s cause would likely have become an obsession to replace his river work, irritating everyone: Morag’s lawyers, Ross, the police. But so what? That was his nature. Jamie would have given his all. And perhaps that was the point. Discovering how or why he died might not be possible. But helping Morag was. Therefore, in honour of Jamie—the Jamie she wanted to remember—maybe that should be where she directed her energy?

She bent down to rearrange the lilies that Morag had left. An elusive thought that had been niggling away since last night returned to her mind. It was that frantic phone call from Morag. The first words. About Ally. ‘
Kirstin! Kirstin! I’ve killed him. It’s happened. Again!
’

Again.

Ally pulled his T·shirt on over his head. It had cooled down. The sun would be leaving their picnicking spot in shadow soon. Still, everyone seemed happy to play on. He checked his watch. Jules would be well on his way. Good. Time to get this party going
.

He jogged up to the group, clapping his hands. ‘Okay, you lot! Enjoy your last bit of indulgence for now. It’s games time! Right Morag, this’ll be base, here at the wall. You count to a slow hundred
.

The first one caught takes us all out to dinner after the holidays. Or you do, Morag, if you can’t find us!
’

He watched as Morag gave a half nod and finished her drink. Wearily, she got to her feet, helped by Bonnie and Fraser. Ally moved back as lona stepped forward, swinging something from her hand
.

‘
And just in case you feel like cheating…
’

He smiled as his sister tied a soft cotton napkin across Morag’s eyes. ‘There you are. Oh, and can I borrow your sarong? Don’t want to get my legs, or back, scratched up. Thanks
.’

Ally waited for some reaction to lona’s cheek, but Morag’sonly answer was a shrug and another nod. Boy, was she out of it. He moved forward again and began turning an already unsteady Morag round and round
.

‘
Herewe go!
’

Morag immediately staggered on beingreleased, but somehow kept herbalance. With both hands outstretched behind her, she found the wall and managed to lower herself on to it. Ally swivelledback towards the others, a forefinger held to his lips
.

‘
Ssh. Right, Morag. Start counting!
’

He was relieved to see that his childish pantomime actions seemed to have infected the others with equal mirth. Even Bonnie was stifling a giggle as Fraser held a hand over her mouth. About time. She needed to lighten up. lona was evidently enjoying herself, leaning against Craig, pointing exaggeratedly and repeatedly between them and the area beyond the footbridge, having no doubt about when they intended to hide
.

Slowly, Ally backed away from the others, nodding down the path towards his rendezvous, and mouthed a ‘good luck’ at them all. Then he was off. As he sprinted away, he heard Morag begin to drone a slow, monotonous count. By the time he was nearing the bend in the path, he risked a final glance back. Morag was rocking herself to and fro, like a small child, as she recited the numbers at a snail’s pace. Beyond her, in the distance, he could see lona and Craig, hand in hand, skipping over the bridge
.

He smiled after them. Fine, off you go, as far away from meas possible. Enjoy yourselves. For now. It’II be short-lived
.

A
lly Sutherland looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. A hot bath and long-overdue shave had made him feel a shade better. But he was looking old, and very much the worse for wear. He knew the cause. It wasn’t just the nightmare-infused sleep or the encounter with Morag Ramsay. No, the root cause was Jules. Yet another relationship had bitten the dust. But this one had hurt hardest of all. He’d lost him. The final blow had been delivered in the early hours of the morning. He recalled making it through the front door and ridding himself of his damp clothing. Thirty seconds under an icy shower had pummelled some sense back into his aching mind and body. But not enough.

Jules’s phone had been answered by someone else. Someone who sounded as young as Jules. English accent. Sleepy, as if he’d just been woken up. But there had been soft, chill-out music in the background. The guy had been in bed all right. More likely, it had been some post-coital spliff and drink that had accounted for the lazy slur in his voice. But Jules had sounded far from relaxed.

‘Stop calling here, Alistair. I mean it. It’s harassment. I’m sorry for you, you know. You need help. You need to sort your head out. But listen, I don’t want to have to tell you again. If this doesn’t stop, I’m going to make trouble for you. I mean it. This is the last time I’m going to tell you. It’s been over for a long time. I’ve moved on. So should you.’

The phone had been put down and, after a dozen failed redials, he knew Jules had left it off the hook. But why did it really only hit home last night? Maybe he’d just had enough by then. He frowned at himself in the mirror, gentiy fingering his injured temple.
Morag Ramsay. At the Cauldron! Unbelievable!
She had finally lost it. She could have really hurt him. He still had half a mind to report her to the police. But no, that was a waste of time. In fact, she’d probably revel in it. Accuse him of lying and instruct her lawyers to tell the media that she was being harassed by the police. Best not alert them. However, he
did
want to talk to the police again about where the investigation was going. The last conversation with the senior investigating officer had left him frustrated. ‘
We are still actively investigating the death ofyour sister and Dr Inine. But you have to realise, Mr Sutherland, that we need evidence, concrete evidence that will standup in court. We simply do not have that against Ms Ramsay at the moment. But please, be assured that we are determined to see justice done…
’ He’d probably be fed more of the same placatory drivel and that would just make him angry. Best to leave that conversation for another day.

He wandered through to the bedroom and gazed out of the window, looking down at the front lawn. How he’d made it back last night he didn’t know. It was a miracle no one had seen him. He cast an eye over his shoulder. Yes, there they were: his clothes from last night awaiting washing. In the sober light of day they screamed disapproval at him. What a fool he’d been. He had no one but himself to blame for what had happened with Morag Ramsay. He had taunted her, and you only had to see the look in those blazing eyes. She was utterly unstable. And despite his vowing to her—and to Fraser—that he would ensure the police charged her, he knew those were hollow threats. He turned away from the window. How far he had sunk now. Look what he had let happen to his life since last summer. He might as well have inhaled the silty waters of the Cauldron last night and been thankful for it. A release from pain, from anger, from fear.
I’ve got to stop this. Stop haunting the Cauldron. Ican’t reverse things. Whafs doneis done. lona’s gone. It’s too late. All too late. Now stop it!
And he would stop it. He had other ideas now.

Slowly, he moved into his dressing room and began rifling through suits. He felt like being formal today. He’d give some semblance of order to his life, even if it was just for one day. His fingers hovered over the suit that had always been Jules’s favourite, and then he shoved it far along the clothes rail, out of sight. To hell with Jules, to hell with everyone. He was utterly alone now. He’d never been a great one for friends, anyway. But even those he could call acquaintances were not around now. Same with his various business contacts. He’d pushed them all away. Initially, they had been understanding. lona’s death had dealt him the severest blow, of course, and they understood. It’ll take time to get over.
Get over!
You never, ever get over something like that! The dolts! And, after a while, he could sense their thoughts.
Allyshould be pulling himself together by now. He’s changed. He’s quiet. He’s surly. Monosyllabic. Quick to take offence. Paranoid, even
.